Oke-ogun is on my mind today. But I need tofollow a detour to get to my favorite landscape and its innocent people.
The credit for the 21st century popularisation of the term “moral revolution” is, without argument, Kwame Anthony Appiah’s. It was his 2009 book, The Honor Code: How Moral Revolutions Happen that reintroduces the term and injects it into our modern consciousness as the moral equivalent of scientific revolution. In his account, a moral revolution occurs when a people who have been long engaged in a shameful, embarrassing, immoral way of life or behaviour abandon it in favour of a decent or morally defensible practice. Among his examples, one that resonates with us in this part of the world is the abolition of transatlantic slavery.
The practice of hunting, capturing, parking, and transporting, against their will, thousands of human beings across the Atlantic and forcing them into servitude was so inhumane and barbaric that it is still now a surprise that it was considered acceptable and legitimate for such a long time in spite of the efforts of a number of abolitionists and beyond the lifetime of the pioneers. That is the nature of tradition.
“Tradition” is a customary way of doing things that is unique to a group, a habitual way of life, what sociologist Edward Shils defines as “anything which is transmitted or handed down from the past to the present”. Of course, being handed down does not necessarily entail being accepted. A tradition is a tradition only because it is accepted by the next generation. The acceptance of a traditional idea, belief, or practice is subject to what the people it serves make of it in terms of their well-being. The notion that a tradition necessarily has a suffocating grip on a people is, therefore, misleading. The influence of a tradition depends on the moral weight that the people accord it. A tradition survives if subsequent generations accept it, and that also depends on how they assess it relative to their interests.
Beneficiaries of the practice of enslaving African peoples obviously found it acceptable relative to their interests; hence their tardiness in accepting the abolitionists’ logic. When eventually they saw the proverbial light, the tide shifted and moral revolution occurred.
With the foregoing as a backdrop, I am interested here in what appears to me to be movement in the opposite direction of the kind of moral revolution that I just described. Hence my title: reverse moral revolution.
If there is moral revolution, can there be a reverse moral revolution? Can a people with a good moral tradition abandon it for whatever reason, reverse course, and initiate a practice or set of practices that negate human flourishing? To my mind, the answer is “yes” and there can be no better example than the realities of our everyday experience.
We are heirs of a rich tradition of cultural and moral values which privileges the community as the bearer of value and the protector and benefactor of the individual. Distant relatives would gladly contribute pennies and shillings for the upkeep of a young boy or girl on the way to school or college. They saw themselves as the keepers of their brothers and sisters. Teachers were accorded due respect as the guardians and mentors of the youth. Religious harmony was taken for granted as clerics of all faith took seriously their calling as shepherds of the entire people. Religion was an instrument for forging communal peace and allaying fear about the unknown. For the Yoruba, the individual who exemplifies its ideal of the human person is an omoluabi and that was what everyone desires to be.
Failure at realising the goal of becoming an omoluabi is not just the failure of a family; it is the failure of the entire community if the young ones turn out to be exiles from the moral community. When communal values that enrich human flourishing are set aside by a new generation, there is reverse moral revolution; and since such a revolution is against the ideal of human flourishing, it a communal failure.
There is no doubt that this is where we are now even as we are yet to place our feet on the first step on the ladder of development. We have fully embraced the post-modernist distaste for moral values even as we collectively suffer from its suffocating grip.
It is happening in real time in unusual places. As Georgia was on the mind of Ray Charles, so Oke-ogun is always on my mind. And as I sit by my current River of Babylon, contented and grateful for my life’s story, I cannot but remember my Zion, and I am certainly not ashamed to sing of its heritage, its innocence, its virginity, its rustic beauty, and above all, what I still celebrate as its core values: hard work and contentment. While the opportunities were limited, we learned that tenacity of purpose and perseverance paid out. And there was communal cooperation in the training of children. While four eyes were there in the making of the baby, two hundred are involved in its upbringing. It was the tradition I grew up in and my generation accepted it and passed it on.
I am uncertain what is going on now and has been for some time. Do teachers still see themselves as the conduit for the transmission of communal moral values? Or are they overwhelmed by the incessant urge for primitive acquisition that defines our national life? Of course, teachers cannot take on the responsibilities that parents and the community abandon. And when parents run after the elusive happiness of material wealth, they ought to be reminded that the children they fail to train will end up squandering whatever wealth they are lucky to accumulate.
The foregoing is not without a context. I received two calls in the past week from two friends for whom I have a lot of respect. They were both concerned about the current terrain of the moral tradition of our people. In particular, they raised issues about the young ones who cut school, do drugs, and engage in cult activities, and about parents who appear to have no time for the education and upbringing of their children. They offer solutions as well, which is part of what makes them respectable.
One solution is the recruitment of role models among the successful members of the professional class—those who passed through the proverbial fire and were not burnt; those who did not reach the pinnacle of achievement by cutting corners, and those who do not take political activism and participation as a means to self-advancement at the expense of the community. I hasten to say that Oke-ogun is not lacking in such individuals who put others, and especially the community before self, and that is one reason I applaud and endorse this suggestion as a viable option.
The issue, of course, is not all that simple. Successful role models are willing and ready to make contributions and pay back a debt of gratitude to the community that gave them a chance in the first place. But you don’t get clean hands when you use just one hand to self-wash. And when one side lifts, and the other pushes down, you don’t get the luggage onto the head as you desire.
This is the predicament of Oke-ogun today as it is of Nigeria as whole. There is a side that is genuinely concerned about bringing up the next generation to their God-given potentials. And there is a side that sees the youth as exploitable entities. For the latter, good education is an impediment. I believe that the forces of good can and will overcome through tenacity and persistence. After all, that is the proud and enviable tradition of Oke-ogun.
