INSURGENT CIVIL SOCIETY AND DEMOCRACY IN NIGERIA:OGONI ENCOUNTERS WITH THE STATE, 1990 - 1998

O. Okechukwu IbeanuDepartment of Political ScienceUniversity of Nigeria, Nsukka

Research Report for ICSAG Programme of the Centre for Research and Documentation (CRD), Kano

INSURGENT CIVIL SOCIETY AND DEMOCRACY IN NIGERIA:OGONI ENCOUNTERS WITH THE STATE, 1990 - 1998

Introduction

From 1990 to 1998, the Ogoni were at war with the military-authoritarian state in

Nigeria. In that period, the Ogoni, an ethnic minority of half a million people living in the

Niger Delta, mobilised themselves into numerous popular organisations led by the Movement

for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP) to confront the state. At issue were

environmental degradation, resource control and equitable participation in the governance of

Nigeria. Niger Delta, the world’s largest mangrove swamp, is Nigeria’s oil belt. This 14,000

square miles of wetland, creeks, tributaries, thickets and lagoons that drain the River Niger

into the Atlantic contains most of the country’s hydrocarbon deposits. By implication, the

delta holds the bulk of the economic resources that sustained successive military regimes in

Nigeria. Yet, years of neglect and ecological devastation have left much of the Niger Delta

desolate, uninhabitable and poor. Given the position of crude oil as the lifeline to the military

regime, any dissent in the Niger Delta had to be brutally repressed. By the same token

however, the Niger Delta was destined to become a rallying point for the democratic

struggles of civil society against military rule in Nigeria in the 1980s and 1990s.

The Ogoni struggle symptomatized the popular discontent of the peoples of the Niger

Delta with military rule. This discontent saw frequent seizure and destruction of oil

installations, hostage taking, popular dissent and mass anti-government action across the

delta for over a decade. In July 1981, 10,000 villagers in Rukpokwu blocked the routes to 50

Shell oil wells, while the inhabitants of three villages in Egbema seized Agip installations at

Ebocha. In October 1989, angry villagers in Oboburu destroyed drilling equipment worth

millions of dollars belonging to Elf Oil Company. Among 22 persons seriously injured were

two expatriate engineers. In November 1991, over twenty villagers of Umuechem were

brutally murdered by para-military forces in an early morning raid on the village sequel to

their protest against Shell. Beginning from mid-1998, youths belonging to the Ijaw ethnic

group have incapacitated scores of oil wells and flow stations belonging to multinational oil

companies like Shell and Chevron. Well into 1999, they still battle government forces for

control of the oil installations in what has been called the Egbesu wars (Ibeanu, 1999a). In

September 1999, the people of Bonny in a mass demonstration occupied the multi-billion

Naira Nigeria Liquefied Natural Gas project, stopping construction work for weeks and

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delaying its takeoff date. However, the Ogoni struggles stood out because of the level of

mobilisation and effectiveness it achieved under the direction of MOSOP. In deed, the Ogoni

approach became the model for other oil producing communities and their organizations in

the struggle against military authoritarianism.

The conflictive encounter of the Ogoni with Nigeria’s militarist state is very important

because it raises a number of crucial conceptual and empirical issues about insurgent civil

society and the democratisation process. It also raises these issues in the context of the

environment, which though important has not been a major focus for the democratic struggle

of civil society organisations in Africa. First, the Ogoni story raises the issue of security,

especially the relationship between state security and human security in state-civil society

encounters. This is important in understanding the struggles of civil society as well as the

response of the state. Second, it raises the issue of popular civil society movements, their

internal organisation, resources and strategies. Finally, the Ogoni story raises the issue of the

future of insurgent civil society in the post-authoritarian era. This chapter seeks to address

these cardinal issues.

Theoretical perspectives

The growing academic interest in civil society-state encounters reflects the reframing

of the raison d’être of the nation-state in a globalising world. Clearly, globalisation is having

a cathartic impact on the nation-state as we have known it since Westphalia. This impact has

been twofold. At one level, globalisation is having an aggregative/recompositional effect on

the nation-state. This has led to more peaceful coexistence and cooperation among states at

the international level and among constituent parts of the nation-state at the domestic level, a

trend linked to growing aggregative, transnational and supranational articulations. These

aggregative processes have also made it possible for collective solutions to be found for

shared problems. At another level however, globalisation is having a disaggregative/

decompositional effect on the nation-state. This is epitomised by increasing disputations

about sovereignty, citizenship, nationality, human rights, political participation and access to

resources. In the process, many contradictions embedded in the state formation project have

been unearthed, particularly so in Africa where the nation-state is of relative recency (Ake,

1997).

At both levels of this dialectical impact of globalisation on the nation-state, civil

society has emerged as a central force in reframing political, economic and social relations

both within and between states. At the transnational level, the increasing transnationalisation

of NGO activities and cross-national contacts among civil society organisations are 2

contributing immensely to the reshaping of thinking and discourse about the nation-state and

citizenship. Moreover, at the national level in many countries, civil society organisations are

raising issues and championing causes that challenge political authoritarianism, economic

deprivation and social exclusion.

It is not therefore surprising that relations between the state and civil society have

become of central concern to intellectuals, social activists and policy makers in this global

ferment. Generally, two views are predominant in the characterisation of state-civil society

encounters. The first sees the state as reactionary and resistant to progressive change, while

civil society represents progress and development. Consequently, the relationship between

the two is inherently conflictive and tense. This viewpoint has a lot to do with experiences

associated with authoritarian regimes in the Third World, where the tasks of democratisation

and protection of human rights have become the central preoccupation of civil society.

However, whether this state-civil society articulation is necessary and fundamental, rather

than incidental and fleeting, is an issue that is not resolved by this perspective. It does seem

to us that the generalisability of this characterisation of state-civil society encounter is

suspect. Not only have some sections of civil society played patently reactionary roles in the

struggle for democracy, but also in many cases the impetus for democratisation have

genuinely and independently come from within the state.

The second characterisation of state-civil society relation sees it as cooperative and

complementary. This is the common view from the North. Undergirded by Western pluralist

conceptions of politics, this viewpoint portrays the state, in a sense, an extension of civil

society. State structures and policies are the products of the activities of a parallelogram of

autonomous, coordinate powers (civil society). These powers act as countervailing forces

both to one another and to the state, producing an equilibrium which is expressed in political

structures and state policies (Poulantzas, 1978: 265). Thus, in discussing the relations

between the state and civil society in Europe, Gidron, Kramer and Salamon (1992) speak of a

“collaborative agent partnership”. Taylor and Lindsay (1992) speak in terms of “market

pluralist and welfare pluralist” arrangements, while Kramer (1981) posits a “pragmatic

partnership” (see Taylor and Bassi, 1998).

Pluralist analysis generally and the cooperative-complementary thesis in particular

have been criticised as inapplicable to non-European settings. For one thing, their

equilibrated notion of society flies in the face of constant social disequilibrium, crises, change

and discontinuities. For another thing, the parallel-coordinate view of social actors masks the

division of society into dominant and subordinate classes with contradictory interests. Indeed, 3

not all sections of society are part of civil society. It is only those interests that are part of the

political conjuncture through organisation are, strictly speaking, within of civil society. Thus,

Ake argues that the peasantry in Nigeria is external to civil society (1985a: 25). Above all,

the portrayal of a Gesellschaft, associational society has been argued to have very limited

application to the African situation in which communalism and mechanical solidarities are

still very predominant. In fact, whether a civil society in the classical, Hegelian form exists in

Africa is debatable. Even if it exists, it is debatable as well whether the bulk of Africa’s

people, who are essentially non-urban and non-associational (in the pluralist sense) are part of

it (Mamdani, cited in Pillay, 1998).

A flaw that both characterisations of state-civil society relations share is the

monolithic portrayal of the state and civil society. There is need for an approach to state-civil

society relations that deconstructs and disaggregates both. Deconstructing them means

understanding how their various facets and structures articulate at given historical

conjunctures; and by disaggregation we mean fathoming the various levels of structuring of

the state and civil society, as well as their encounters. What should then become clear by

pursuing these lines are twofold. First is that state-civil society encounters are not uniform

(antagonistic or complementary) but multiform, therefore the need to study them in specific

historical contexts. Thus, an ideographic approach aimed at understanding the particularities

of each case, as a means of arriving at unifying characteristics of the general (nomothetic) is

imperative. Secondly, there is need for an approach that is diachronic rather than synchronic.

Within this approach, we should undertake periodised analyses of the forces that determine

the historical development of the state, civil society and their encounters. Consequently, a

transactional approach looking at the exchanges between civil society organisations and the

state becomes very useful.

Literature on state-civil society transactions focuses mostly on encounters between

insurgent civil society and the state (Nzongola-Ntalaja, 1987; Wamba-dia-Wamba, 1996;

Momoh, 1996; 1998). A common starting point is the notion of the second independence or

liberation. The first independence, that is decolonisation, turned out to be a ruse. It failed to

achieve neither democracy nor development, the two planks on which the masses of Africa

waged the nationalist struggle. Consequently, a second independence struggle waged from

below by the democratic organisations of the people becomes a desideratum. Mass

movements in the South are taking up this challenge. Indeed, the failure of the state and the

private sector, representing the two developmental paradigms of socialism and capitalism, to

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engender democracy and development has led to the insurgence of civil society in its mass

form (Wignaraja, 1993: 13; Ibeanu, 1998: 11-12). Wignaraja aptly argues that:. . . as the poor and vulnerable groups in the South deepen their understanding of their reality, they also, through greater consciousness-raising and awareness, action and organisation, can bring about changes both in their lives and in society that the same time contribute to economic growth. The deepening of their understanding can begin with collective protest against some form of social injustice or with a positive development action undertaken by a group (1993:5).

In Nigeria, these groups include student movements, peasant organizations, workers unions,

as well as more recent pro-democracy organizations pushing for an end to military rule, such

as Democratic Alternative and National Democratic Coalition (NADECO). (Momoh, 1996;

1998). Pan ethnic organisations have also been involved in pushing for democracy.

Nevertheless, as we have indicated elsewhere (Ibeanu, 1999b) the role of these organizations

in the transition to democracy has to be deeply and empirically studied by case because of the

reactionary tendencies of ethnic organisations. We also think that the analysis of the

relationship between civil society organisations and the state should begin with a

characterisation of the state. This is important in order to understand the complex

articulations of the state with social forces of which civil society organizations form part.

Our theoretical departure point in characterising the Nigerian state in its encounters

with the Ogoni is the rule of the militariat. By the militariat we designate a social category,

which though related to the Nigerian military, is not coextensive with it. The starting point in

deciphering the militariat is the military’s domination of the Nigerian state. Since its

establishment by the British, the Nigeria military has undergone three main stages of

transformation propelled essentially, but by no means exclusively, by politics. From its

nascence in the last years of colonial rule until independence, the Nigerian army was a career

for educationally under-achieving young men. Nevertheless, by the first five years of

independence, a growing number of educated young officers had emerged. Mostly trained

abroad, many of them had perceived the inevitability of an increased political role for the

army. This role was itself fuelled by ethnic politicians whose calculation was to raise a crop

of officers from their ethnic homeland who would be loyal to the ethnic group and, by

extension, to them, the ethnic leaders. At this stage, the Nigerian military transformed from a

mere career into a prop for ethno-political factions.

However, the strategy of the ethnic leaders soon backfired because of a sub-

transformation that occurred in the military at this stage. Although initially a prop for ethno-

political factions, the military quickly transformed itself into a contender for power. In doing

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this, soldiers adopted the ethnic calculus to which ethnic leaders had exposed them earlier on.

Therefore, initially ethnic political factions enlisted the military, now military political

factions enlist ethnicity. This stage came to a head in the civil war (1967-1970), which pitted

soldiers of the North dominated by the Hausa-Fulani against those of the East (Biafra)

dominated by the Igbo.

The military’s “successful” prosecution of that war under its own political direction,

rather than that of civil authorities, served to establish the army from 1970 onwards as a very

important political force. Among other things, it further undermined civil-political control of

the military. Huge personal wealth acquired by individual officers from war contracts

underscored the demise of civil control over the military. Officers began to feel that they

were not only masters of violence, but also masters of politics as well as important business

entrepreneurs. A political future for the military became guaranteed.

The final transformation of the military occurred from around 1986. From being a

political faction, the Nigerian military, particularly its upper echelons, became the core of an

emerging social category. It was precisely the military’s “specific and over-determining

relation” to political structures, which was occasioned by its politicization that constituted it

into a social category (see Poulantzas, 1978: 84). However, the final impetus to this

transformation came from the extensive economic and political reforms of the mid-1980s.

The military by destiny or design led the technocracy that implemented those reforms.

As a social category, the Nigerian military was inserted with pertinent effects at all

the levels of structures - political, economic and ideological. Consequently, it became not

only a political force but also a social force. We characterise this military-based social

category as the militariat. Until recent political changes that saw the inauguration of an

electec government, the militariat was Nigeria’s dominant, though not hegemonic, social

category. It has a specific terrain of interests and draws its “membership” from various

segments of society. This means that although the long period of military rule in Nigeria

facilitated the dominance of the militariat the social category is not exclusively military. As a

social category, the militariat has three component strata, consisting of both military and

civilian agents. These are the business class (comprador), middle class (petty bourgeoisie)

and foreign capital. For the first two, their strongest defining interest is the use of the state for

private accumulation, through public works contracts. Consequently, they support the

“strong” and economically interventionist state. Historically, the business and middle classes

in Nigeria have used the state to serve personal and sectional interests, especially ethnic and

other communal interests. The third stratum of the militariat is foreign capital, notably those 6

investing in the petroleum sector. The bulk of foreign private investment in Nigeria is in that

sector, involving most of the big names like Shell, Total, Mobil, Agip, Elf and Chevron.

From the above characterisation of the militariat we may deduce that its rule balanced

on three props namely, military dictatorship, communalism (especially in its ethno-religious

form) and petrobusiness. By petrobusiness we mean social ensembles that control Nigeria’s

petroleum industry. They include major foreign and local investors in upstream and

downstream activities in the petroleum industry, including exploration, contracting,

consulting, and marketing. These three props respectively capture the major political, social

and economic moments of the rule of the militariat. First, military dictatorship involves the

continued military domination of the political space, limiting the democratic aspirations of

the popular masses of Nigerians. This is achieved through the systematic use of state violence

against individual opponents and targeted groups, which are defined as constituting a threat to

state security. A necessary correlate of military dictatorship is the diffusion of a culture of

militarism. Derived from the military organisation, this culture favours violence and force

over persuasion; order over discussion and bargaining; exclusion over inclusion and coercion

over conviction.

Second, communalism, especially in its ethnic and religious forms, is also a defining

moment of the rule of the militariat in Nigeria. To be sure, communalism, especially

ethnicity, predates the militariat, being a constitutive element of Nigeria-type states as they

emerged from colonialism. This is widely recognised in the literature, albeit differently

formulated (Ake, 1985b; Ibeanu, 1993; Mamdani, 1996; Nnoli, 1978). However, the rule of

the militariat has maintained and deepened communalism. In the first place, in the absence of

institutionalised means of political mobilisation under military dictatorship, communalism

has burgeoned as pan-ethnic organisations fill the space vacated by political parties and

pressure groups. Furthermore, various factions of the military have found in communalism a

means of legitimising their seizure of power. Appeal to their co-ethnics for support against

threats from other ethnic groups has been a common strategy of successive military regimes.

Finally, civilians have also found in communalism a means of pursuing their interest under

the military. For one thing, military regimes tend to give more access to economic resources

to ethnic in-groups, that is, ethnic groups supporting or appearing to support the military

regime. For another thing, ethnic out-groups find in ethnicity a means of mobilising the

ethnic homeland against “marginalisation”.

Third, while military dictatorship and communalism provided the political and social

props of the rule of the militariat, foreign capital bankrolled it. The principal expression of 7

the interest of foreign capital in the militariat is petrobusiness. Petroleum exploration in

Nigeria dates back to the first few years of this century. Organised marketing and distribution

started around 1907 by a German Company, Nigerian Bitumen Corporation. In 1956, the

Anglo-Dutch group Shell D’Archy discovered oil in commercial quantities at Oloibiri, a town

in the Niger Delta. By February 1958, Nigeria became an oil exporter with a production level

of 6,000 barrels per day. Other multi-national oil companies, such as Elf Aquitaine, Mobil,

Total and Chevron, have since joined Shell (now Shell Petroleum Development Company of

Nigeria - SPDC). At peak production in the 1970s, Nigeria’s output was two million barrels

of crude oil per day. The second area in which the interests of foreign capital find expression

in the militariat is the huge foreign debt of Nigeria. It stood at $32.5 billion in 1996, with a

repayment arrears of over $15 billion. The rule of the militariat ensured that this debt,

accumulated mostly in profligacy, was not be repudiated. By 1998, Nigeria was spending

N44billion (about $500 million) annually in servicing this external debt.

The ideology of the militariat is authoritarian liberalism. To be sure, neither the

individualist liberalism of Adam Smith and Gladstone nor the social liberalism of Keynes and

Lloyd George is implied here. The militariat is liberal only as far as it is a servant of

capitalism and neo-liberalism. But its capitalism is the “prehistoric” form characterized by

brute force with neither social responsibility nor individual freedoms. That is why the

ideology of the militariat is authoritarian and petty bourgeois. This petty bourgeois ideology

is concerned principally with getting access to economic opportunities. Its hallmarks are

power fetishism, political instability and tendency to support the strong, interventionist state,

myth of social advancement, aspirations to bourgeois status, and revolts taking the form of

petty-bourgeois Jacqueries (see Poulantzas, 1973: 37-38 and 1978: 335). It is patently

conducive to authoritarianism and communalism.

The militariat and conflict in Ogoniland

The rule of the militariat has been responsible for the conflicts that have dogged the

Niger Delta, especially those involving the Ogoni. The most fundamental basis for conflict

between the Nigerian state and Ogoni people is the contradictory conditions of security

privileged by Ogonis on one hand and the militariat (particularly petrobusiness and state

officials) on the other. For the militariat, security means an uninterrupted production of crude

oil at “competitive” (read: low) prices. This is its paramount concern irrespective of the

impact on the local inhabitants and environment, or the economic irrationality of the process.

For example, the militariat is willing to destroy renewable natural resources, such as arable

land and aquifers, for continued extraction of a non-renewable, finite resource like crude oil.8

On the part of Ogoni people, the condition for group security is the maintenance of

the carrying capacity of the environment. Security for them is a recognition that an

unsustainable exploitation of crude oil, with its devastation of farmland and fishing waters,

threatens resource flows and livelihoods. Therefore, protection of the environment is

invariably linked to this perception of security. When livelihoods are threatened, a feeling of

deprivation ensues. A people that feel deprived also feel anxious about their livelihoods. Such

people are insecure. Consequently, a condition of security for the Ogoni is the elimination of

deprivation through a just distribution of resources. This, for them, means that a good part of

wealth generated from their land should return to them.

The response of the militariat to this contradiction of securities between it and the

Ogoni is to unleash state violence through militarism. State violence against the Ogoni clearly

illustrates the tendency of the militariat to privatise the state, in this case using its coercive

apparatus to pursue the private economic interests of petrobusiness. Thus, although conflicts

in the Delta appear to be between social groups, this is only an illusion because it is actually

the violence unleashed by a state privatized by the militariat that is the cause of conflicts.

Ake et al (nd) therefore argue that what is happening for the most part is violent aggression

by the state rather than conflict. This is because:Those who are aggressed, communities, ethnic groups, minorities, religious groups, peasants, the poor, counter elites, are often not in any dispute or even systematic interaction with the people who aggress them. The aggression often occurs in the routine business of projecting power, carrying out policies without consultation or negotiation with other parties or spreading terror to sustain domination (Ake et al, nd: 8 - 9).

We agree that state aggression is very important in understanding the Ogoni crisis.

However, we do not accept that the aggressor has to be the direct user of the instruments of

violence for conflict to be said to exist. What one has to do to be an aggressor is to exercise

control. That means that the aggressor has the capacity to call those instruments of violence

into use. When Shell called in the 2nd Amphibious Brigade (or caused them to be called in)

to shoot unarmed villagers of Biara in Ogoni, including women and children protesting the

destruction of their crops by Shell contractors, it was not the soldiers who were the aggressors

but Shell and government officials.

Our thinking is that state violence is an important aspect of state-civil society

encounters in Nigeria, perhaps a special characteristic of it. This characteristic exists because

of the private appropriation of the state in Nigeria by the militariat. Consequently, the

coercive apparatuses of the state, which should be above the specific interests of conflicting

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parties and employed sparingly to maintain internal security, are used brazenly to aggress,

repress and suppress opponents.

Environmental pollution and deprivation in Ogoniland

There are numerous negative environmental impacts of crude oil mining and refining.

Pollution arising from oil spillage destroys marine life and crops, makes water unsuitable for

fishing and renders many hectares of farmland unusable. Brine from oil fields contaminates

water formations and streams, making them unfit as sources of drinking water. At the same

time, flaring gas in the vicinity of human dwellings and high pressure oil pipelines that form

a mesh across farmlands are conducive to acid rains, deforestation and destruction of wildlife.

In addition, dumping of toxic, non-biodegradable by- products of oil refining is

dangerous to both flora and fauna, including man. For instance, metals that at high

concentrations are known to cause metabolic malfunctions in human beings, such as

cadmium, chromium, mercury and lead, are contained in refinery effluents constantly

discharged into fresh water and farmland. They enter the food chain both by direct intake via

food and drinking water, and indirectly. For example, fish is known to be able to store

mercury in its brain without metabolizing it. Man in turn could eat such contaminated fish

(Nwankwo and Irrechukwu, nd).

Specifically in Ogoniland, it has been recorded that 30 million barrels of crude oil

were spilled in the area in 1970 (Earth Action, 1994). According to Shell, this was because of

sabotage by the Biafran Army after the civil war (1967 - 1970) (Shell, 1995: 8). Shell figures

also claim that “in Ogoni from 1985 up to the beginning of 1993, when we withdrew our staff

from the area, 5,352 barrels of oil were spilled in 87 incidents”. However, other independent

sources give much higher figures. According to Earth Action (1994) there had been more

than 2,500 minor and major oil spills in Ogoniland between 1986 and 1991, including a

major one in which Shell dallied for forty days before patching a ruptured pipeline. However,

rather than take responsibility, state officials and oil companies are quick to blame oil spills

on sabotage by local communities. For instance, Shell claims that out of 87 oil spill incidents

in Ogoniland between 1985 and 1993, sixty (about 70%) were sabotage, 44 using hacksaws.

This agrees with the picture that the government wants to paint. According to the Rivers State

government, out of 11 incidents in Ogoniland in 1990, 8 or 73% were sabotage (Ezeanozie,

1991).

Still, apart from oil spills there have been other far-reaching environmental damages

in Ogoniland. For instance, in the 1960s Shell constructed a narrow road through the town of 10

Dere to link its oil wells. This destroyed the drainage system of the town leading to sever

flooding. To date, the community is still seeking compensation for thirty-nine years of

suffering. In Gbaran, Shell also constructed a road to link its installations with a major road

from Yenagoa to Mbiama. Consequently, water flow to a large section of timberland was cut

leading to the atrophy and death of 1,000 acres of forest (Mitee, 1997: 6-9). In addition, gas

flaring by major oil companies like Shell, Agip, Mobil and Elf is said to release 35 million

tonnes of carbon dioxide and 12 million tonnes of methane into the atmosphere annually. In

November 1983 alone, Shell flared over 483 million cubic metres of gas from its oil wells. In

these gas flares, temperatures reach as high as 1,400oC. Such tremendous ecological damage

led the Ogoni to accuse petrobusiness, especially Shell of genocide.

Massive ecological damage has gone hand in hand with resource scarcity in

Ogoniland. Consequently, local communities have come to associate the two, sometimes

unjustifiably. For instance, there is no doubt that the general economic situation in Nigeria

has deteriorated tremendously in the last decade. Inflation has risen in leaps and bounds and

the value of the national currency (the Naira) has fallen dramatically from about $1 = N3 in

1986, to $1 = N80 in 1996. Under an IMF imposed Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP),

public spending was widely cut, employment in the public sector was frozen and state

subsidies to mass consumption goods such as petrol have been withdrawn. Thus the pump

price of petrol, the major energy source, has risen from N0.75/litre in 1986 to N20 since

1998, with recurrent periods of serious scarcity. These have drastically affected standard of

living and resource availability across the country, including oil-producing communities. It is

not surprising that the resentment of oil-producing communities like Ogoni escalated at the

height of SAP. Evidence shows clearly that although there had been conflicts before 1980,

the situation worsened since the second half of the 1980s and into the 1990s.

However, because oil exploration by multi-national oil corporations has dominated

the lives and livelihoods of people in oil-producing areas for four decades, and being

increasingly aware of the contradiction of riches between themselves and petro-business and

government officials on the other, local communities are holding oil companies and the

government responsible for their deprivation. This has shown in the demands that are being

made: roads, schools, hospitals, employment, support for farming, indeed everything to

improve their livelihoods. Oil companies and government insist that these claims are

exaggerated. Still the point is that they reflect a strong feeling of deprivation in local

communities.

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The “Ogoni Bill of Rights”, which the Ogoni presented to the government and people

of Nigeria in October 1990, claims that their land has provided Nigeria 30 billion dollars in

oil money since 1958. In return, Ogoni people have nothing. For instance, there is no

representation whatsoever in all institutions of the Federal Government of Nigeria, no pipe-

borne water, no electricity, no job opportunities for the Ogonis in , and no socio-economic

projects of the Federal Government. The Bill of Rights further insists that:

. . . the Ogoni languages of Gokana and Khana are underdeveloped and are about to disappear, whereas other Nigerian languages are being forced on us. . . . That the Shell Petroleum Development Company of Nigerian Limited does not employ Ogoni people at a meaningful or any level at all, in defiance of the Federal government’s regulations. That the search for oil has caused severe land and food shortages in Ogoni one of the most densely populated areas of Africa. . . . That Ogoni people lack education, health and other social facilities. That it is intolerable that one of the richest areas of Nigeria should wallow in abject poverty and destitution (MOSOP, 1992: 10 - 11).

Some of these claims have been challenged by Shell, the government and even neighbouring

oil producing communities like Asa-Ndoki (Shell, 1995; Daily Champion, 26/8/94; AM

News, 12/10/85). But, it is the sense of relative deprivation, the gap between expectation and

actualization, congealed in these claims that is important for it is why men rebel (Gurr, 1974).

It is also this sense of deprivation that is sucking more and more oil-producing communities

into the whirlpool of conflict with the state and oil companies in Nigeria.

State violence and popular resistance in Ogoniland

The formation of MOSOP by Ogoni intellectuals, professionals and youths focused the

Ogoni struggle and made it easier for the mass of ordinary Ogoni people to mobilize against

their conditions. At the same time however, the existence of MOSOP also focused state

violence on the Ogoni, as anxieties grew in government circles about the possibility of a mass

uprising in the Niger Delta. State violence against the Ogoni took four major forms. First, it

took the form of harassment of Ogoni leaders through surveillance, arrests and detention. From

1991 when the Ogoni struggle began in earnerst, their leaders became regular victims of the

state’s security and intelligence agencies. On many occasions, the then leaders of MOSOP like

G.B. Leton, Kobani and Saro-Wiwa were detained and questioned. In January, 1993, they were

arrested in Lagos. In April of the same year, Saro-Wiwa was arrested twice. On June 21, 1993,

he was arrested again with two other MOSOP activists, N. Dube and K. Nwile. On July 13,

criminal charges were brought against them (Ibeanu, 1999c; Human Rights Watch, 1995). In

December 1993, Ledum Mitee, another MOSOP leader was arrested and detained without

12

charge. Between May and June, 1994, following the murders of four Ogoni leaders, several

hundreds of people were arrested in Ogoniland (Human Rights Watch, 1995).

Second, state violence was used against the Ogoni by encouraging violent conflicts

between the Ogoni and their neighbours, and using that as a pretext to repress the Ogoni. The

government readily proclaimed such clashes to be ethnic clashes. But the frequency of the

clashes (among erstwhile peaceful neighbours), the extent of devastation and the sophistication

of weapons employed convinced many independent observers that “. . . broader forces might

have been interested in perhaps putting the Ogonis under pressure, probably to derail their

agenda” (Claude Ake, quoted in Human Rights Watch, 1995: 12). Between July, 1993 and

April, 1994, there were at least three such conflicts between the Ogoni and their neighbours,

involving the destruction of many villages, loss of life and refugees. Among these were the

Andoni in July, 1993, the Okrika in December, 1993 and the Ndoki in April, 1994. In each

case, the Ogoni were blamed by the security forces.

Third, state violence against the Ogoni involved setting the Ogoni against themselves.

From early 1993, it had become clear that the military government sought to divide the Ogoni

and set them against one another. The obvious target was MOSOP because of its popular

appeal and effectiveness. The Ogoni people themselves knew this. Persistent disagreement

among the leadership was music in the ears of the military regimes. Finally, when internal

divisions within MOSOP led to death of four prominent Ogoni sons on 21 May 1994, the

military saw a perfect opportunity to solve the Ogoni problem conclusively. As we shall see,

the unprecedented repression and execution of the leaders of MOSOP consequent on this

incident, sounded the death knell for MOSOP

Finally, state violence also took the form of direct repression using the armed forces

and police. Extra-judicial killings, flogging, torture, rapes, looting and extortion by the

security forces against the Ogoni have been widely reported. In fact, following the situation

in Ogoniland, the Rivers State government established an Internal Security Task Force under

one Major (later Lt. Col.) Okuntimo. His job was the systematic use of violence against the

Ogoni. Indeed, Okuntimo had bragged on prime time national television that the army taught

him 204 ways of killing people, but he had only used three the Ogoni. Between May 1994

when the four prominent Ogoni personalities died in the town of Giokoo, Gokana and early

1995, at least fifty Ogonis were executed summarily by security forces. Earlier in April 1993,

in what has become known as the Wilbros Affair at least eleven Ogonis, among a woman,

were shot at Biara by a detachment of the 2nd Amphibious Brigade based in Bori. They were

protesting the laying of a pipeline from Rumuekpe to Bori by Shell contractors Wilbros. 13

Major U. Braimah of the Brigade claimed that his men were carrying out duties directed by

the military government.

In this systematic repression of the Ogoni, women were particularly at risk. Not only

were Ogoni women victims of sexual violence by security forces and invading fighters from

neighbouring communities, they were also victims of their own community leaders and

family members. In a recent study, we found that Ogoni women were victims of nineteen

different forms of violence (Ibeanu, 1999d). As Table 1 shows, 99% of 100 Ogoni women

sampled for the study were either victims of violence or knew those who were victims. Out of

70 respondents who did not suffer violence personally but knew those who suffered, 44 or

63% said that the victims were their relatives. This means that about 73% of our respondents

either were victims of violence or had relations who were.

Table 1 also shows that security forces – army, police, intelligence agents, etc. – were

the worst culprits in committing violence against Ogoni women. In fact, out of 2,356 “hits”,

that is the total number of times all the acts of violence were identified by our respondents,

the security forces scored 1,112 or 47%. The security forces were followed by government

officials (27.7%) and neighbouring communities (14.2%). Clearly, security forces were the

villains in the Ogoni crisis. Fifty percent or more of respondents identified them as having

committed 16 of the 19 acts of violence. Sixty percent or more identified them in 15 forms of

violence against Ogoni women, while 70% or more identified them in half of the cases. These

are systematic rape (71%), killings (92%), sexual slavery (73%), beating (91%), harassment

(90%), destruction of property (89%), forced pregnancy (70%) and imprisonment (82%).

These figures strongly suggest the centrality of state violence in the Ogoni conflicts.

Strategies of the Ogoni resistance

On their part, the Ogoni responded to state violence by increased mobilization and

media campaign against the state and oil companies, locally and internationally, sometimes

through violent demonstrations spearheaded by the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni

People (MOSOP). Shell was particularly targeted in this very successful campaign. All over

the world, demonstrations against Shell became common, and in some countries, Shell

products were boycotted.

14

Table 1: Violence Against Ogoni Women During the Crisis

VIOLENCE AGAINST OGONI WOMEN

MAIN PERPETRATORS OF VIOLENCE“HITS”**(RANK)

SECURITY AGENTS

COMMUNITY LEADERS

HUSBANDS/ RELATIONS

WOMEN ORG- ANISATIONS

GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS

OTHER COMMUNITIES

Verbal abuse 205(1st)

66 30 - 1 51 57

Harassment and intimidation

194(2nd)

90 9 - 3 62 30

Imprisonment or detention

193(3rd)

82 23 1 - 64 23

Destruction of property 178(4th)

89 16 - - 41 32

Denial of access to resources

173(5th)

62 5 - - 72 34

Shooting and killing 148(6th)

92 1 - - 28 27

Dispossession of property

143(7th)

68 2 - - 36 37

Discrimination by social institutions

140(8th)

43 19 - 3 55 20

Denial of education 135(9th)

35 6 1 1 75 17

Beating and flogging 124(10th)

91 - 3 - 24 6

Sexual slavery 99(11th)

73 1 - - 7 18

Systematic rape 98(12th)

71 1 - - 21 5

Abandonment 91(13th)

27 6 20 1 35 2

Forced pregnancy 91(13th)

70 - - - 13 8

Forced labour 89(15th)

64 1 - 1 19 4

Rejection of women victims of rape

86(16th)

17 18 36 1 11 3

Forced prostitution 75(17th)

49 1 - - 22 3

Betrothal for economic reasons

51(18th)

17 4 7 - 16 7

Forced marriage of widows by husband’s relations

43(19th)

6 8 26 - - 3

Total Hits 2356 1112 151 94 11 652 336As % of Total Hits 100.0 47.2 6.4 4.0 0.5 27.7 14.2

** The number of respondents indicating that Ogoni women suffered each form of violence. The total possible “hits” for each row (act of violence) is therefore 600 (100 respondents multiplied by 6 perpetrators). The difference represents respondents who did not think that Ogoni women suffered the form of violence.

MOSOP raised huge sums of money through its “one Naira per Ogoni person”

campaign in 1993. At the same time, Ken Saro Wiwa used his local and international contacts

as a member of the literary profession to publicize the struggle and embarrass the military

15

government. As he once put it, “by the time I finish, Nigeria is going to be ashamed standing

before the council of the world” (Ibeanu, 1999c: 21). In 1993, the international community

recognized the Ogoni as an indigenous people. MOSOP also joined the informal international

group representing the “unrepresented people of the world”. These international contacts

gave their struggle an added advantage by providing platforms that are more visible for

pushing the Ogoni demands on the Nigerian state. Internationalisation soon yielded political

fruits. For instance, the United States, European Community and the Commonwealth

imposed sanctions on the military governments. On 6 May 1994, the Congressional Human

Rights Caucus of the U.S. House of Representatives wrote to General Sani Abacha informing

him of their concerns about human rights violations in Ogoniland. The Caucus also asked

him to do everything to end such violations.

Another strategy adopted by MOSOP was to widen the conflict terrain by sensitising

neighbouring communities and ethnic groups suffering the same conditions as the Ogoni. As

early as 1990, the Ogoni struggle had already become the touchstone for other communities.

The nightmare scenario for the military was the entire Niger Delta exploding in an anti-state,

anti-oil company confrontation. Consequently, the Ogoni struggle had to be contained by

violence and other communities tempted to follow the Ogoni example would be similarly

dealt with. For instance, the Umuechem case in which over twenty persons were murdered in

1990 after Shell Officials called in the para-military Mobile police force to deal with

demonstrating villagers, is already well publicized. More recently, Human Rights

Watch/Africa has documented the cases of a number of other communities in the Niger delta

including Obagi, Brass, Nembe Creek and Rumuobiokani (Human Rights Watch, 1999). Still,

the violence did not deter MOSOP and its leadership in trying to forge an alliance of the

people of the Niger Delta against the military-controlled state and oil companies. In April

1993, Saro Wiwa was in Warri, Delta State to address the National Association of Itsekiri

Students. The Itsekiri are another oil-rich, minority ethnic group in the Niger Delta. On

arrival, 20-armed policemen apprehended him, temporarily detained him and later took him

to the Patani Bridge that links Delta and Rivers States. He was sternly advised not to return to

Delta State. The reason for this illegal act by the police was that the authorities feared that his

address would incite the students into action.

Long after the state brutally repressed MOSOP, the impact of its pan-Niger Delta

alliance continued to show. The latest is the struggle of the Ijaw ethnic group in the State of

Bayelsa. Bayelsa State, one of the main petroleum producing States of Nigeria, is almost

totally inhabited by the Ijaw, an ethnic minority. What became known as the first Egbesu war 16

began when an Ijaw youth leader was arrested and detained by the military Governor of the

State during the rule of the dictator General Abacha. He was held without trial in the

Government House (the military Governor’s official residence) for allegedly distributing

“seditious” documents questioning the financial probity of the Governor one Navy Captain

Olu Bolade. In reaction, a group of youths said to be members of an Ijaw cult, the Egbesu,

stormed the Government House in Yenagoa, disarmed the soldiers on guard and released

their leader. Many residents of Yenagoa, including policemen and soldiers, believe that

members of the cult were able to break into the “high security” Government House because

they wore charms that made them impervious to bullets. The success of the first Egbesu war

obviously enhanced the profile of the youths and the cult, and encouraged more young

people, many of whom were unemployed (youth unemployment in Bayelsa State is very

high), to join the protests. In a matter of weeks, stories of the invincibility of the Egbesu had

spread throughout Ijawland and beyond. The success of the Egbesu youth in the “first war”

also logged into wider demands by the Ijaw for more petroleum revenues. Prior to the Egbesu

war, demands for more petroleum revenues to be allocated to the Ijaw had been vociferously

made by the Ijaw National Council and MOSIEN (Movement for the Survival of Ijaw Ethnic

Nationality). The formation of MOSIEN was largely influenced by MOSOP and Ken Saro-

Wiwa is regarded as an icon of the Ijaw struggle.

General Abacha’s death in June 1998 and improvements in human rights and

expansion of the political space made it possible for Ijaw demands to become more openly

articulated and vigorously pursued. The first Egbesu war had guaranteed a central role for the

youth in this new dispensation. A spate of hijacks of oil installations by Ijaw youths in late

1998 confirmed this. Note however that oil companies, which armed some unemployed

youths to defend oil installations, indirectly caused some of the hijacks. Their ragtag armies

sometimes turned their weapons against them for ransom. The phase of resistance, as the

youths called it, culminated in a grand Convention of Ijaw youths in Kaiama town on 11

December 1998. The meeting issued a document addressed to the Nigerian government and

oil companies raising issues of control of oil resources and environmental protection. The

Kaiama Declaration gave oil companies until 30 December 1998 to withdraw from Ijawland.

It also expressed solidarity for MOSOP (Ijaw Youth Council, 1999). The government upped

the ante with a spate of condemnations and threats to use force against the youths. In his New

Year broadcast on 01 January 1999, General Abubakar, Abacha’s successor, gave indications

of a military action against the youths. From early December 1998, there was massive

military build-up in Bayelsa State by the government, including the positioning of frigates in 17

the Gulf of Guinea. Throughout December 1998 and early January 1999, Bayelsa State was

virtually in siege and the atmosphere was tense. The second Egbesu war was inevitable. It

started when military men in Yenagoa, the capital of Bayelsa State, confronted Ijaw youths

participating in a cultural festival. In the ensuing violence, which lasted for over one week,

many Ijaw youths lost their lives in Yenagoa and Kaiama, property worth millions of Naira

was destroyed and scores of people were displaced.

End of an era: the implosion of MOSOP

Although the interest of the petty bourgeoisie finds strong expression in the militariat,

an historic role of the petty-bourgeoisie in Africa has been the mobilization of the people into

mass movements for social and political goals. Sometimes these movements are progressive,

serving popular interests. At other times, however, they have tended to be reactionary,

serving only the interests of the petty-bourgeoisie. In between, there is a back and forth

movement of these organisations between progress and reaction. The tragedy of such mass

movements is that in the reactionary fits of the petty-bourgeoisie they have a high propensity

to implode under the weight of selfish interests of individuals.

In studying mass organizations like MOSOP, it is possible to isolate three main

phases of development, with the phase of implosion as the third. First is the mass movement

phase when intellectuals and professionals articulate the disaffection of the mass of their

people. In MOSOP, the issuance of the Ogoni Bill of Rights, with support from all Ogoni

people, epitomized the mass movement phase. The second phase is the phase of structuring.

Here, the organisation creates and streamlines roles and structures. It becomes more complex

as the demands of pursuing the cause become more extensive. Nonetheless, structuring also

serves to diffuse power struggles and personality clashes among leaders by parcelling out

offices to them. In this however lies a paradox. Parcelling out of positions diffuses conflicts,

but it subsequently becomes the harbinger of conflicts because the roles and positions provide

the base for leaders to build cliques and loyalists to enable them stake a claim to control the

organization. Once powerful cliques dig in, then the end is near.

In the structuring phase of MOSOP, the Movement was organized into six zones

(based on the six Ogoni kingdoms), two special zones and ten federating organizations such

as those for women (FOWA) youths (NYCOP) and Chiefs. Later, following the implosion of

MOSOP and exile of many Ogonis, this structure was further expanded with the addition of

MOSOP-Canada, MOSOP-US and MOSOP-UK.

Implosion is the third phase. Simmering power struggles and personality clashes come

to a head during this phase. Certain events may serve as triggers and the appearance of the 18

divisions within the leadership may follow the lines of ideology, ethnicity, profession,

generation gap or wealth. However, the ferocity of the struggle depends on the material

benefits at stake and the personalities of the leaders. In the end, intrigues within the

leadership divide and confuse the people as they line up behind contending personalities. At

this stage, the organization implodes and turns on itself. The involution and implosion of

MOSOP, clearly aided by the militarist Nigerian state, climaxed on May 21, 1994. On that day,

an irate crowd of Ogoni youths attacked and killed Chief Edward Kobani, a former

Commissioner in the Rivers State government, Chief Albert Badey, a former Secretary to the

State government, Chief Samuel Orage and Chief Theophilus Orage.

It all began in April 1993. Following the Wilbros Affair, some leaders of MOSOP

were accused of selling-out to government. The rancour generated by that had hardly died

down when a controversial decision by MOSOP led to the boycott of the June 12,

Presidential election that year. At the time, it was obvious that the leadership of the

Movement had split into two. One group led by Dr. Leton, President of the Movement, Albert

Badey, Dr. Birabi, Chief Kobani and the Orages believed that the decision negated an

undertaking that MOSOP made to the Babangida government during negotiations then going

on. Subsequently, both Leton and Kobani resigned their positions as President and Vice

President of the Movement. They accused Saro-Wiwa of being brash, foolhardy,

confrontational and authoritarian. They also claimed that Saro-Wiwa created the National

Youth Council of Ogoni People (NYCOP) as a private army for intimidating and eliminating

his enemies. The group purported that there was a plot by the Saro-Wiwa faction to kill 13

Ogoni leaders, among them some of those who later died on 21 May 1994.

On 21 June 1993, security operatives arrested Ken Saro-Wiwa concerning the boycott

of the presidential election. In reaction Ogoni youths, probably members of NYCOP, went on

the rampage. Later, their neighbours, the Andoni ethnic group, seized on this demonstration to

attack some Ogoni villages like Kaa in August 1993. The Andoni claimed that Ogoni youths

molested their people during the demonstration. A subsequent peace accord brokered by the

Rivers State government was rejected by a good number of MOSOP members loyal to Saro-

Wiwa. Exchanges of angry letters among leaders of the Movement followed until some leaders

of Gokana, one of the five Kingdoms that make up the Ogoni ethnic group, repudiated MOSOP

and Saro-Wiwa in the so-called Giokoo Accord of March 1994. At that point, the involution of

MOSOP became complete and the struggle became Ogoni against Ogoni. Those who supported

the Accord were widely seen as traitors and labelled Dere, an Ogoni word for vulture. A

19

gathering of this group at Giokoo two months later attracted angry crowds of youths and

villagers. The four Ogoni leaders lost their lives in the fracas that followed.

On 6 February and 30 March 1995, Ken Saro-Wiwa, who had become the overall

leader of MOSOP, Ledum Mitee, vice president of MOSOP and 11 other Ogoni activists were

charged with the murder of the men before a tribunal. In the period leading up to the trial and

during the trial itself, the actions of government indicated the perversion of justice and a

premeditated plan to eliminate the Ogoni leaders. For instance, they were held in army custody

regardless that they were civilians, they were denied bail, their lawyers were harassed by

security men and the tribunal refused the tendering of vital evidence. At a point, the leading

defence counsel, Chief Gani Fawehinmi, abandoned the case citing the infringement of due

process. At the end of the mock trial, Saro-Wiwa and eight other accused were convicted and

condemned to death. Ledum Mitee and others were acquitted. Shockingly, before the convicts

could lodge an appeal they were executed at the Port Harcourt prisons on 10 November 1995.

Their hurried execution stunned Nigerians, suggesting that there had been an a priori decision

to kill the MOSOP leaders, especially Saro-Wiwa. In fact, there were widespread rumours that

the dictator Sani Abacha asked for the execution to be filmed and brought to him as a

confirmation that the convicts were actually executed.

The implosion of MOSOP completely shattered the Ogoni struggle. In the kangaroo

murder trial of Ken Saro-Wiwa, Ledum Mitee and other Ogoni activists, the principal

prosecution witnesses, such as Garrick Leton and Priscilla Vikue, were their own people (CLO,

1996: 194). Also, the execution of the “Ogoni nine” shocked a majority of Ogoni people and

spread fear among many activists. Of course, many of them were detained for long periods

without ever being charged to court. Many others were forced to flee into exile in Europe,

America and neighbouring African countries. At one point, there were over 1,500 Ogoni

refugees in Benin Republic.

A popular view in Nigeria is that the division within the Ogoni leadership was an

ideological one between moderates led by Leton and militants led by Saro-Wiwa. While that

may be true, we think that the division went beyond that. Without doubt, the mass of Ogoni

people backed MOSOP to protect their livelihoods and democratic rights. However, personal

power and pecuniary calculations drove some of their leaders. This confirms the dominance

of petty-bourgeois ideology. To be sure, the petty-bourgeoisie is not given to ideological fi-

delity. They are simply power fetishists. In any case, they lack the discipline and strength of

character to pursue any ideological line consistently. What is always overriding is power,

money power. Moderates could become militants and militants moderates in a short period. 20

The tragedy of popular movements like MOSOP is the inability of the ordinary people

to impose their will on the leadership. Since popular control is weak, these movements easily

degenerate into authoritarianism. There is an overriding tendency of the petty-bourgeiosie to

concentrate power in themselves, first as the leadership and then, inevitably, as individuals

because collective leadership is not the strongest point of the class. The signs are always

clear: internal bickering and self-seeking manoeuvres for power and money. Moderation and

militancy are only strategies not philosophies. In short, a successful mass movement like

MOSOP was destined to implode and crumble within because of leadership in fighting for

power and control.

MOSOP in the post-authoritarian period

A major challenge that faces insurgent civil society organizations that come into

existence in the authoritarian period lies in redefining their role in the emerging democratic

dispensation. One position is to leave things in the hands of the elected representatives of the

people. This is the approach favoured by government and the so-called political class. The

underlying assumption in is that the military has gone, democracy has arrived and insurgent

civil society has done its work. The second position holds that democracy is a process and not

a finalized condition. The replacement of military government by elected civilians is only a

step in that process. Democratic institutions have to be consolidated and insurgent civil

society has a role to play in that.

The second position is clearly the more sustainable one. It is even more so because, as

we have shown, in the authoritarian period in Nigeria we were dealing with a social force (the

militariat) rather than a mere military regime. As such, the roots of authoritarianism go quite

deep. However, the need to restructure insurgent civil society is a desideratum. It is a

daunting one at that because of the high risk of divisions and disagreements in carrying it out.

There are four possible fault lines.

Divisions within individual civil society organizations.

Divisions among civil society organizations, that is within the pro-democracy coalition.

Divisions among the democratic/popular forces that civil society organizations represent,

for instance communities, professions, etc.

Divisions between civil society organizations and the democratic/popular forces they

represent.

MOSOP is already confronting the challenges of post-authoritarian restructuring. In

fact, there have been such strong internal divisions that sympathetic observers are worried

about the survival of the Movement. In late 1998, the wing of the Movement in North 21

America announced the removal of Ledum Mitee as President of MOSOP. This move was

widely criticized as unconstitutional, since only a congress of MOSOP can take such an

action. Those involved were also critized for going to press without first exhausting internal

mechanisms of conflict resolution. The announcement has since been withdrawn. However,

wide demands for a MOSOP congress to be convened have not materialized because of

disagreements over a date and venue. Observers suggest that two factions have emerged or

are in the making. Ledum Mitee, the current President, leads one, while Owens Wiwa, Ken

Saro-Wiwa’s brother leads the other. Observers further suggest that the factions differ on the

limits of the Ogoni struggle, as well as on how to refocus it. The Mitee group believes that

the immediate focus should be to reintegrate the Ogoni into the wider society to enable them

rebuild their lives that militarism shattered. Of course, the longer-term concern must be

wider issues of resource control and self-determination. The other group however believes

that the Ogoni struggle is incomplete until the Niger Delta issue is resolved. They feel that

the struggle has now moved into the final lap and that MOSOP must maintain its militant

approach to ensure total victory.

Conclusions

Insurgent civil society organizations such as MOSOP played a crucial role in the

overthrow of military authoritarian rule in Nigeria. MOSOP was particularly important

because of the special context of the Ogoni struggle, namely the interface of democratic

struggles, environmental questions and the centrality of crude oil to the survival of the

militarist state in Nigeria. MOSOP posed a very profound challenge to the rule of the

militariat because of this special context of the Ogoni struggle, especially the deep-seated

contradiction of securities that crude oil conjured. Effective organisation and strategy by the

Ogoni under the aegis of MOSOP successfully countered state violence. In the end, MOSOP

had to be broken from within.

The role of insurgent civil society in the post-authoritarian era remains important to

democratization. However, civil society organizations must restructure and refocus for this

new role. This process is fraught with disintegrative pressures, both from within the

organizations and from outside. In the end, what is required is continued commitment to

internal democracy and to the enthronement of justice in the wider society.

22

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25