Of Scotland, the Biafra war, Buganda turmoil, and the goose bumps of secession

The 2016 British referendum vote to pull out of Europe was a kind of secession. In that unexpected move, known by its acronym, Brexit, the Brits decided to break away from the European Union, of which they had been part for over four decades.

Now Britain faces a few serious problems right at home, including the likely revival of the secessionist movement in Scotland, one of the devolved regions of the United Kingdom, which overwhelmingly voted to remain in Europe in the Brexit vote.

Earlier, in 2014, in a separate referendum, the Scots voted to remain a part of the UK, narrowly defeating those who wanted to secede. Now, in the light of Brexit, it is strongly likely that the Scots will demand a new referendum about their position in the UK. It would be naïve to assume that the secessionists­ cannot win.

I have a soft spot for Scotland. You might remember my telling you, in 2014, of my life and adventures in “Caledonia” (the ancient Latin name for the region), back in the 1970s. I think I mentioned my wedding in Dunblane, another Scottish city, where I wore a kanzu, while my best man was clad in a kilt.

I did not tell you then of Edinburgh, the region’s capital, where my bride and I had our honeymoon. It is a beautiful city, with its picturesque Royal Mile and its famous Festival that draws artists and tourists from all over the world every summer for a “carnival” of creativity.

Edinburgh is also a great centre of scholarship, the University of Edinburgh being the alma mater of many eminent scholars I have been privileged to meet, like Mwalimu Julius Nyerere, the renowned phonologist Prof Francis Katamba, and my literary colleagues, Laban Erapu and Arthur Shatto Gakwandi. It is also home to the famous Moray House Training College, where many East African lady educationists close to my heart were trained.

Maybe I, too, would have become a great scholar if I had gone to Edinburgh. But Makerere, the Commonwealth Office and the British Council, in their wisdom, decided to send me to the then-new Stirling University in the Scottish Midlands, where I had a great time. Did I tell you of an occasion when I walked into a supermarket on the campus and one of the attendants invited me to try out a Scottish dance step with her, as if we were at ceilidh (an informal Highlands party)?

I certainly encountered a lot of lively and warm-hearted people in Stirling. But the city lies in the heartland of the Scottish Nationalist Party, which has always had its reservations about the Union (with the rest of the UK) since it was effected in 1603 under (the same King) James VI of Scotland and I of England.

The Scottish Nationalists object to most things English, including the RP accents which our education encourages us to imitate. The Scots ridicule them as “Sassenach” (a derogatory term for the English). These bonnie lads and lasses are strong supporters of secession from the UK.

But talk of secession invariably gives me goose bumps (or is it goose pimples). The fact that Scotland did not secede from the UK in the 2014 referendum, despite the spirited fight of the Nationalists, suggests that I am not the only one averse to the tendency.

My aversion, however, is not mere instinct or emotion. It arises from what I know of history and of the realities which I have witnessed in my long life. Secession is not a new concept or rare political experiment. It has been advocated and tried out in different parts of the world throughout history.

QUESTIONS

The three most important things we have to assess in each of those experiments are: its necessity, its practicability and its productivity. How, why and when should the fragmentation of a recognised geopolitical entity be contemplated? What are the chances of implementing such fragmentation, even if it were necessary? What would be the benefits of such fragmentation? Usually, fragmentation leads to further fragmentation: if you could secede from them, I can also secede from you, and so on, ad infinitum.

I cited the Scottish case because it is fairly remote from us, and the distance might help us to put our own problems in some perspective. But there is no lack of instructive instances close to us. Seventy years ago, the Indian subcontinent split into India and Pakistan and, eventually, Bangladesh. But their problems remain, as may be seen in the perennially strained relations between India and Pakistan, two nuclear powers, with their endless wrangles over Kashmir. 

Closer to home, our coastal problem, for example, did not start with the MRC. A few wazee will remember the call, in the early 1960s, for the “Protectorate” to go with Zanzibar rather than with the “Colony” (mainland).

In 1966, the Buganda Kingdom Parliament (Lukiiko) ordered Obote’s Uganda Government to move out of the kingdom. It was a declaration of secession, a totally impractical move that plunged the country into such turmoil that its effects are still felt down to this day.

The Biafran secession in 1967 was even more tragic, not only sending millions to their deaths but also causing appalling suffering and misery, and scarring Nigerian minds for generations.

For us literati, Christopher Okigbo was destroyed in body, mind, spirit and creativity, as Mazrui suggests in The Trial of Christopher Okigbo. Nor did Chinua Achebe ever fully recover from the trauma of that secessionist misadventure.

Among the new generation, our plucky and ebullient Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has, with considerable success, tried to put a brave front on our recollections of those times.

But the jitters remain. There was, for example, near panic about the screening of the film version of her Half of a Yellow Sun in Nigeria. The wounds are still festering.

Secession is, at best, an ambiguous adventure. Even the mere word should not drop lightly from our lips or pens.

Prof Bukenya is a leading scholar of English and Literature in East Africa. [email protected]