IGBOZURUOKE MEDIA

Few voices in contemporary African thought have articulated the expansiveness of Igbo identity as powerfully and with as much conviction as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Her declaration that “I was Igbo before the white man came” is not merely a rhetorical flourish, but a profoundly poetic and historically grounded one. It reminds us that Igbo identity predates the artificial borders imposed by colonialism, predates the Nigerian state, and predates the racial categories of Western taxonomy that continue to shape political consciousness today.

In her famous doctrine, “Igbo bu Igbo,” Adichie invites us into a generously inclusive and expansive understanding of who belongs. Her theory of Igbo bu Igbo is clear: Igbo identity is rooted primarily in culture, language, memory, and ancestry, rather than in political boundaries or dialect differences. It transcends artificial state lines and modern political classifications. Whether someone comes from Anambra State, Enugu State, Ebonyi, Abia State, Imo State, Delta State, or Rivers State, they are part of the same historic family if they share the heritage, memory, and worldview that define the Igbo. These states are simply the branches of the same family tree. It is a profoundly humanistic view. It is a noble vision.

But it is also a dangerously incomplete one. Because history – especially Igbo history – tells us something uncomfortable: a people can be undone not only by their enemies but also by their own. Big tents attract both believers and arsonists. The inclusive Igbo tent, so passionately defended by Adichie, may today be facing this exact dilemma. When does generosity turn into vulnerability? When does openness allow forces that weaken the very identity it aims to protect and preserve?

These questions are no longer just theoretical; they have become urgent and existential. They pose a troubling paradox, one that embodies both the promise and the peril of the big Igbo tent. If Igbo identity is so capacious that anyone with cultural proximity, ancestral association, or even nominal affiliation can claim it, how do we explain the ongoing and persistent phenomenon of internal sabotage within the Igbo political and social spheres?

This is not a new question, and the Igbo are no strangers to internal betrayal. During the tragic years of the Nigerian Civil War, the Biafran struggle was not only undermined by external forces but also weakened internally by individuals the Igbo themselves labeled with a word that still carries a bitter sting: saboteurs. These were not outsiders. They were individuals with Igbo names, who spoke Igbo dialects, and moved freely among Igbo communities, yet aligned themselves with forces determined to undermine the collective war effort and crush the Igbo political aspirations.

These were insiders, and they were dangerous.

This contradiction has haunted Igbo political thought ever since: how can people who share the same identity work so consistently against their own interests? It is a question that has never fully gone away. And today, it has resurfaced with renewed urgency. So, the existence of saboteurs in the 1960s already challenged the romantic idea that cultural identity naturally creates collective loyalty. But if sabotage was present then, how much more likely is it to exist now? Let’s look back at how the war ended and how the Igbo handled their immediate post-war realities.  

You see, one of the most consequential legacies of the civil war was the widespread dispersal of the Igbo across Nigeria. I call it the Great War dispersal. It sparked one of the most notable internal migrations in Nigerian history. After the war, devastated economically and politically, the Igbo did what they have always excelled at – they moved, traded, rebuilt, and survived. This survival-driven migration placed Ndi Igbo in almost every major commercial center across Nigeria – and even beyond.

From the markets of Kano to the commercial arteries of Lagos, Igbo entrepreneurs rebuilt their fortunes in often hostile environments. So today, Igbo traders dominate markets from Kaduna to Oshogbo, from Port Harcourt to Sokoto. They are everywhere. But the result of such dispersion is not just economic; it represents a social transformation. What started as an economic necessity quickly became a demographic reality: the Igbo became, without question, the most geographically dispersed ethnic group within Nigeria.

Every Nigerian city has an Igbo market. Every Nigerian town has an Igbo trader. And more and more, every Nigerian community has Igbo families formed through interethnic relationships. Igbo men sleep outside their ethnic group. Igbo women sleep with men from other ethnic groups – Yoruba, Hausa-Fulani, Ijaw, Efik, and many others. As a result, children are born into households where multiple ethnic identities intersect.

In many ways, these encounters and relationships are beautiful expressions of human connection and national integration, demonstrating the resilience and triumph of the Igbo spirit – adaptive, cosmopolitan, and entrepreneurial. However, they also bring a complication that Igbo intellectual discourse has largely ignored. What happens to group cohesion when identity becomes socially expansive but emotionally diluted? Why hasn’t the Igbo intelligentsia explored the complex sociological reality of interethnic ancestry as both a practical and per formative aspect of identity? Children born of these crisscrossed unions may carry Igbo names, grow up in Igbo households, and claim Igbo identity, yet their social orientation may be shaped by multiple cultural backgrounds.

This is not a problem by itself. The issue arises only when such individuals – whether intentionally or unintentionally – pursue interests that seem harmful to the collective well-being of the Igbo. It is then that the puzzle becomes unavoidable. I’m afraid that issue has already come up, and the puzzle has become unavoidable. It is a present dilemma.  

The spectacle of individuals who loudly claim Igbo identity while forming alliances with clearly identified Igbo adversaries and pushing agendas that seem deeply hostile to the collective interests of the Igbo has recently reached a critical point. Some undermine political unity. Others insult and belittle Igbo knowledge and the historical trauma of the Igbo experience. Still others actively work with forces that aim to weaken Igbo bargaining power within Nigeria’s political system.

This contradiction raises a troubling question: Are the Igbo really sabotaging themselves? Or are we witnessing something more complex – a fragmentation of identity itself? If identity is solely cultural, then sabotage must be seen and explained as a moral failure. But if identity also involves ancestry, upbringing, and genetic inheritance, then the explanation could be more layered. And this is where I take critical issues with Adichie’s Igbo bu Igbo.

 Dr. Vitus Ozoke is a lawyer, human rights activist, and public affairs analyst based in the United States. He writes on politics, governance, and the moral costs of leadership failure in Africa.