The Truth-teller -By J. Ezike

It takes revolutionary courage to walk the path of the individual, to echo one’s own convictions in objection to common knowledge and amidst the noise of popular opinions. It cost me grueling years of pure, unadulterated observation to learn the society of my childhood and to conscientiously reject myself as part of that coven of mediocrity by being a radical in a Villain World where sword greets the head of the Truth-teller.

Growing up in a murderous society that offers no iota of kindness or common regard even to the purest minds and dreams of visionaries, I witnessed, on a daily basis the fading away of a people’s consciousness and the light of their soulful existence fizzled and snuffed into the centric eye of great darkness – a darkness they have come to embrace in complacent surrender.

Being aware of what follows dissent, it brings no wonder why these long, miserable years have been marked by an unhealthy conformity, if not total orthodoxy in thoughts. For if one were to speak what the eyes beholds, what the flesh feels and what the mind knows, he gives a note of sudden expiration upon his life and makes himself a mortal enemy to the society of his childhood.

J. Ezike

Out of the unbearable agonies and oppressions of the Modern Empires founded upon the existence of the always pliant masses, one is forgiven to postulate that the hideous image of a society is not solely the creation of the Caesar in power but in fact, the passive people’s creation, their collective creation of the maladies they suffer and the miseries self-induced by acquiescence. Thus, the only audacity, with uncommon peculiarity, that this vicious society has witnessed has been the radical audacity of the radical minority.

It is on this tainted blur that a phenomenon has emerged: the Biafran Revolution – a movement of the radicals who question the collective conditioning of their minds, the state of their existence and the silent death by Citizenhood. It is in fact, a rebellious response to the historic ordinance of the twentieth century man whose imperial priesthood gave rise to the marriage of a multiplicity of repelling forces and altered the natural laws and made them eternal preys to the jungle-like existence that feeds and devours their frame of conscience.

Every tribe is a unique lion, and when three or more lions of both distant and distinct backgrounds are conditioned to share one coveted universe, an endless war of jaws is forever made.

I met wisdom at a young age. My rebellious instincts are the reflex of a survivor, of a radical who having mastered his fears and perspired the terrors of death from the pores of his juvenile skin saw honor in the death-commanding venture of truth-telling. As a young boy who soaked his mind in the rebellious, soul-charging vocals of Fela, I concurred that the only life-giving resolution to the existential injustices was to damn the terms of death and the grave consequences of righteous rebellion. I had decided in a corner of my mind to rather exist as the one without a country, exiled from the murderous society of my childhood, to divorce myself from its history and fashion out an isolated journey into the rebellious objectives of the awakened self.

In short, whether such path is honorable or not, the decision is to inspire the madman in oneself, to release that alienated personality and its unbridled sentiments which are without timidity and desire of public approval.