Farewell Molobi

The news of the death of Rotimi “Molobi” Musa Yaqub Obadofin was a very saddening one for me. I gathered it came from a ruptured appendix whilst he was at Osogbo, on April 7. I did not share some basics of his “Marxism-Leninism”, even at the time I worked closest with him. He did have several flaws (which of us, do not in some form or the other), which did make me wary. But, he was one of the greatest teachers I had on organising within the mass of the people and particularly the working class. Such a debt is one that one never fully pays, not even when you pay a tribute on his departure, from the multifaceted scenes of politics which he was a key player in, for some four decades.

I met “Molobi” as we fondly called him at the time, in the first quarter of 1989, at Ilorin. He had relocated to Lagos before then, as far as I could recall. He however was in our beloved Petrograd, Ilorin and was a looming presence at the workers’ study group of the People’s Liberation Movement, which he was leader of. I had been a revolutionary since I was 13, but was rabidly, in my view then, as a young activist in Unilorin, “anti-Marxist”. There was some hogwash of an ideology in my head which I termed “concertism” and saw as bringing the best of self-interest which appeared to give capitalism vibrancy and the planning/welfarism which was the good I could see in socialism, in the service of Pan-Africanism.

On the basis of this, I was part of a group of young black nationalist militants - with guerillaist illusions as well- if you will, while at high school. We resolved to find like minds as we entered tertiary schools. This was how I met “Nameless”, whom I tried to recruit. I remember my angst when he started talking about the ideas of those godless authoritarians in the Kremlin, till he gave me the copy of Engels pamphlet Socialism: Utopian and Scientific. What struck me was just how what I read not only sat well with the essence of my views on emancipatory progress, but also how different this was from everything one could grasp about the Soviet Union. I remember Femi “Bamidele” who owned the copy mentioning that it was a bit difficult to find the original text as almost every page was covered with notes I made!

Within a week I had gulped some 6 pamphlets and books (including those “What Is?” on Marxism-Leninism, the Party and another which I can’t remember now). By the second week, I was invited to the workers’ study group meetings that used to hold at the house of a supporter who worked in the Bank of the North. This was where a few months later, I met Yaqub.

It was one of those encounters you don’t get to forget. After the meeting, he spent almost two hours with me. I could see he was sizing me up at the beginning. And then, he went on to give the simplest breakdown of socialism as idea and system that I have ever had anyone do even since then – without being in anyway simplistic. Studying Mao Tsetung shortly after that, I could not but find similarities in their approaches to the theoretical, as a guide to action. If personal affinity had been central even at that early age in my life to my politics, with what I knew of him then, I would have been stuck as a “Marxist-Leninist”.

But, when to my questions on the Soviet Union, which I saw as being nothing but monstrous, he defended the heritage of Stalin and described Gorbachov as a bastard (I didn’t disagree with the latter characterisation, but for quite different reasons), I knew I was not yet where I was to be, organisationally.

I however forever cherished cutting my teeth with a group which prioritised reaching out to the workers over just sitting and talking to themselves as many socialist circles were wont to do. We used to make factory visits and had series of educational meetings with militants at factories like Tate & Lyle, Coca Cola, MatchCo and a few others in the town. Close ties also existed with shop stewards at the Bacita sugar mill in Jebba. Our base was from what used to be Molobi’s home; the broken down Triumph Motel by Iyana Ga’ Akanbi. My theoretical development also benefited immensely from Molobi’s Special Bookshop somewhere around Agbo’oba, which was a major channel for Marxist literature. He had been inspired to open the bookshop by Ola Oni’s efforts on 6 Odeku St at Ibadan.

The quest for emancipatory socialist politics led me and with me, comrades at the mini-campus of Unilorin whom “Nameless” had earlier described as mere nihilists to me, before I met them, into the folds of the then Labour Militant supporters (now DSM), for a brief while. This was not without its usefulness. It helped clarify a very important element of what was “Marxism-Leninism” – the hemlock of Stalinism.

However, we couldn’t still understand why despite that, the Soviet Union could be considered as a worker’s state of any sort with the adjective of deformity. There were also two other issues that made our liaison with LM bound to end soonest even before it began. First, was the Pan-Africanist element of our thinking, we defined this as “scientific Pan-Africanism” a concrete expression of working class internationalism within a continental/global-racial context forged by history. Second, the bloody repression of the massive anti-SAP revolts on May 1989 reinforced our conviction that the revolution had to be able to defend itself. And of course, the counter-offensive could be considered as probably the best form of defence.

To cut a long story short, and get back to the main subject of this piece, by the end of 1990 we had formed the May 31^st Movement. A year later, I had to relocate to Unilag from Ilorin. Mayists, as we described ourselves, were barely five in Lagos. And all of us were students. Drawing inspiration from my factory visits at Ilorin years earlier, I did a yeoman’s job of visiting factories where I organised educational sessions for shop stewards and other activist workers. But of course, beyond the fact that a “foreman” does not equal to “four men”, I was not under the illusion that it was such limited intervention that could coalesce into the building of workers’ power.

At this juncture, despite being clearer on the ideological differences which separated us, it was to Rotimi Yaqub and the organisation he was building with workers in Lagos, that I turned. The group was called Labour Redemption Movement. It published a cyclostyled monthly paper: Labour Guard, which I had first come across on the field at a shoe factory in Sango-Otta. Yaqub was very happy to see me. The split in what we (i.e.Mayists) called the Household (of Triumph Motel) was by then work-in-progress, so to speak. He was feeling isolated sort of, from the core of cadres that had been his immediate lieutenants. For me, it was entryist work, but I never hid where I was coming from Yaqub (his position on what would come out of work with Coordinating Secretary of M31M proved prophetic a decade and a half later). By then, quietly but with dogged persistence, “Molobi” was building what would be the largest non-trade union, workers’ organisation since the 1960s SWAFP.

Rotimi was -in several ways- I would argue, the political inheritor of Wahab Goodluck after Baba Goodie’s death in 1991. He literally took over No 25 Olajuwon St., Yaba which had been the political base of “IF & WOG” (Ibidapo Fatogun& Wahab Omorilewa Goodluck). This was LRM’s office. You could hardly come there any evening and not meet activists, most of whom were workers. These included shop stewards as well as national officers of unions. In 1993, LRM tested its strength in the NLC Lagos State Council elections. A campaign body “New Hope” was set up as a front for this.

The candidate for Chair, Comrade Lanre from NULGE came second, losing to the CSTWUN candidate (a pro-establishment fellow...can’t remember his name now, who would later be a commissioner in Colonel Buba Marwa’s administration), with Comrade Ayodele Akele coming third (personally, I felt more ideological kinship with Akele, by the way). Rank and file flocked to LRM (and particularly its successor organisation), but Rotimi was more one for socialism from above and thus, not surprisingly more concerned with winning control of the bureaucracy. Anyway, Comrade Ify from the NPA Workers Union and also a candidate of LRM emerged as Vice Chair.

Building the successor organisation to LRM was arguably the zenith of Molobi’s work on the Left. Sadly, enough after that, came his turn to ethno-nationalist “self-determination” struggle. This was the Imoudu Front of Nigeria (IFN). At its height in 1994, it had a membership of well over 2,000 spread across a dozen cities and towns in the north, east, south-south, west and of course, Lagos which was our stronghold. Almost a third of its members were dock workers. Others came from unions and workplaces in road transport, aviation, railways, the public services, broadcast, etc.

It was not unusual for us to enter any of the docks then and there would be dozens if not hundreds of dock workers immediately summoned to listen to presentations on how we could defeat the bosses, or receive directives on the next line of action. I served as the protem General Secretary under Molobi till the first Congress of the IFN which took place on July 3, 1993, at the Imoudu Hall, NLC headquarters, when Comrade Oye’ from the docks was elected as General Secretary. I was elected co-coordinator of Propaganda and Mobilisation with Comrade “Xmakad”.

IFN never published a paper called “Imoudu Front of Nigeria” as I read somewhere recently. That was the name of the organisation. We published The Imouduist. It was cyclostyled just like Labour Guard. But there were some major improvements. By the time IFN was formed, Mayists had increased in number, but we still remained largely on campuses. But, I had managed to win my other comrades to the value of entryist work in the unfolding organisation. The cadreship of The Imoduist’s editorial board was drawn from our ranks. This included myself, Jherico, Opeolu F and the late Rasta Paul.

Opeolu’s fiancée then (they got married shortly after that period) was a computer analyst and helped us to design a more dignifying cover than what we used for Labour Guard. The cover also came now in red unlike LG that was all black and white. The Imouduist was more explicit in its socialist agitation for three reasons.

First, Yaqub felt more entrenched within the working class than when LG was being published, to engage on contentious issues. A master strategist, he would always say, if you run before you’ve learnt how to crawl you’ll most likely crash. Second, the Founding Congress of the IFN explicitly declared socialism as the organisation’s goal. Albeit, this was done with some stagiest allusion to first winning the “national democratic revolution”.

But considering Yaqub’s “Marxist-Leninist” background, it was significant that he also warned at that Congress that workers should be wary of being sucked into the unfolding June 12 moment behind the “custodian” of the June 12 mandate. As he rightly noted, “the two sides fighting are actually one side”.

The third reason was that, while I met LRM & Labour Guard as on-going projects, together with the other Mayists as I mentioned earlier, we were part of the founding of IFN & bringing The Imouduist to birth (we actually proposed the name adopted for the paper). Once Yaqub did not feel his leadership position was being threatened, he was ever ready to listen. Indeed, generally speaking, he was one of the best listeners I ever met on the Left. He could listen to you talk for an hour, briefly asking questions here and there for clarity regarding what your position was. Then he could take an hour and a half to respond!

By 1994, the ranks of IFN had swelled to about 2,400 members. All but about 60 of these were rank and file workers. Out of the 60 some forty were elected or appointed trade union bureaucrats (NAC/CWC or NEC members in the unions). Barely 20 of us were not in the trade union movement or the working class par se! A few of these like Xmakad (also of the same generation as Yaqub, more or less & who had worked much earlier with Baba Goodie) became full timers in some friendly unions. Several years later, three of us were to also become trade union full timers. Of these, from the younger generation, I was the first to start working for a trade union. And Molobi played a role in this.

We were not to realise it at that moment, but 1994 which was the height of IFN’s growth, would also mark the beginning of its end. The second Congress of the IFN took place on July 14, at the NULGE secretariat on Murtala Mohammed Way, Alagomeji, Ebutte Meta. It was a more low-keyed event than the first Congress, for several reasons. MKO Abiola had recently been arrested and General Sani Abacha’s crackdown on popular movements had begun. Wariebe Agamene, the PENGASSSAN President and a member of IFN was present. The oil workers had begun their mass strike which would last for some 74 days, 10 days earlier. IFN provided the general staff for Agamene’s work during this period, from a “safe house” somewhere on Kilo Rd, Surulere.

In September of that year the O’odua Youth Movement was formed by comrades who had been central elements of Yaqub’s organisation. There had been friction in the “Household”, the details of which I never fully knew. I never hid my being a Mayist from Yaqub. We would have several inter-personal discussions on what the Soviet Union was. But all his attempts at convincing me that it was not only socialist, but such an approach as Stalin’s could not but be considered as necessary, failed. Thus, not surprisingly, there were limits to the extent of what he made known on “internal matters”, being a fiercely organisational man.

At a time, out of curiosity, I laid my hands on some documents that gave me an insight into the “new effort” which as far as I could decipher from those was dubbed the “National Liberation Movement (NALIMO)”. I can remember Pop Revo & Femi Bamidele banging on the toilet door for me to handover “their” document at Olajuwon St! But, I knew from discussions with Yaq, that, despite the split, he was always keen to know what his bosom comrades were doing. It sought of makes you remember Lenin asking after Martov on his deathbed. OYM was the first of the Yoruba self-determination groups, formed in that period. It never really became a large movement. But it would be the forerunner of the role an ethnic-centred ideology could play in building a mass movement, warts and all. 

The O’odua People’s Congress formed 11 months later caught on like wildfire. At its peak when the 20^th Century came to an end, it claimed to have not less than 3 million members! In truth though, it could most likely count hundreds of thousands in its ranks. Yaqub was quick in identifying both the potentialities and the limitations of the pathway of self-determination which OYM opened and OPC had consolidated upon. By 1996, thereabouts, in conjunction with a number of comrades such as Baba Omojola & Iku’ he formed the O’odua Liberation Movement.

Beyond the external factors which convinced him on the turn to self-determination, as the way forward towards building a (proletarian?) mass movement, there were also a few internal factors. By 1995-96, we had lost our control of the docks. Our leading figure at the docks was Baba Alabi. One Bakare who had earlier been groomed by Baba Alabi became the arrowhead for right-wing sentiments and action in a battle for the leadership of the Dockworkers Union of Nigeria (DUN).

First, in the middle of this war which cost lives with many thrown into the sea, Decree 4 of 1996 came into effect merging DUN, NPA and the Stevedores union to form the Maritime Workers’ Union of Nigeria (MWUN). This strengthened the right-wing in the docks. Bakare would later become the deputy president to Ukamina, the first President-General of MWUN in what reduced unionism in the docks to a gangsters’ paradise, with many of our supporters “ousted” (I will come back to this -the 2^nd “ousting” in the docks, later).

Second, a significant number of IFN members in Lagos and the South West had been drawn into the OPC. The ethnicist narrative was becoming a powerful one for explaining the annulment of June 12 by Generals from “the North”. It was even more powerful for mobilising resistance. More so, these were rugged workers in the docks and road transport sector who craved action. It seemed IFN was more into “socialism talk, talk” as one of them put it to me. But OPC on the other hand not only promised action, it presented them with arms to fight.

It is also instructive that the turn to self-determination was not for Molobi’s circles stricto senso a Yoruba nationalism agenda, even if this was for many reasons (not the least being that the bulk of Yaqub’s collaborators were Yoruba), mainly O’odua-centred. I remember that comrades in the South East with “Odi’ I” as the arrowhead were also directed to establish an Igbo self-determination group, while collaboration was established with groups in the Niger Delta, particularly the Urhobo & Itsekiri considered to be “our brothers”, as Yaqub would say.

Before moving on from this juncture in the life of this colossus, I do suspect that there was a dimension to this turn, beyond the political. Rotimi Yaqub was one of those on the Left for whom discipline meant, the strictest sense of dedicating every time, every energy and every thought to struggle. Abstinence from alcohol, smoking…and women had been characteristic of him. This however was the period he found love, in “aunty Joke”. He had lived the most frugal of lives as a professional revolutionary. He made money to get by with some small businesses here and there. The proceeds from most of these, he ploughed into organising what he then believed in; building workers’ power for socialist revolution.

He lived in a single room at Mushin, which many younger comrades passed through -particularly of the Ilorin hue – when they moved to Lagos. With marriage came the challenges of not only living for himself and what he stood for. He believed he owed Joke and their children, the best of what he could offer…. particularly as she accepted his life of commitment to struggle, despite not necessarily sharing his revolutionary conviction. 

My working relationship with Rotimi Yaqub gradually began to fade during this period. While I had my misgivings regarding the micro-nationalist turn, despite his constant reference to Lenin’s support for Norway’s self-determination from Sweden, it was the deepening of my commitments within the students’ movement that led to this.

Several comrades, particularly Sowore and “Malcolm X” had complained over the years that I spent more time in the factories than on campus, particularly Unilag were I was schooling, except when it was elections time, when I would always lead the triumphant campaigns of the Left. Then between 1994 and 1996, I got saddled with being spokesperson of the National Association of Nigerian Students and Speaker of the University of Lagos Students Union (ULSU). M31M had also been growing as a tendency within the campuses and had to be nurtured.

Subsequently, I proceeded for my service year. Despite the poor means of communication then, I kept in touch with Molobi. I also linked him with some of the best fighters he ever had, who had been groomed in the Mayist traditions, but who shared his sentiments on the pursuit of self-determination. After resigning from my dad’s consultancy in 1998, I was not ready to work anywhere but in the trade union movement. I swore never to work for capitalists or be a part of what I saw as NGOist “developmental sector” fraud. My undergrad supervisor, Prof. Dafe Otobo wanted me to join AUPCTRE. But that same week, Rotimi Yaqub informed me of openings at Medical & Health Workers’ Union of Nigeria and asked me to get across to Comrade S.O. Joshua.

Comrade Joshua at the time was Ag. General Secretary of MHWUN, and President of the Nigeria-Cuba Friendship & Cultural Association, which I was also a member of, and would later serve as National Publicity Secretary. Molobi was the Treasurer of the NCFCA. Joshua asked me to apply but made it clear that he was not going to pull any strings; I had to pass a written test and oral interview. That was quite okay by me. The rest, as the saying goes, is history.

We maintained a healthy inter-personal relationship, though we were only to meet off and on, over the next twenty years. While working at the MHWUN National Headquarters on Jeminatu Buraimoh Close at Barracks bus stop, Western Avenue, I would cross over the pedestrian bridge to buy snacks by aunty Joke’s place and while away time talking about the “strange ideas” of a luta, I and her husband shared. And, vintage Molobi, he was always there, when it mattered a lot for you to see a comrade and friend.

When I lost Tina, he appeared at my place in Igbogbo, Ikorodu to console me. I never knew how he got the address, as that was on the outskirts of town and few comrades outside Ikorodu had actually ever been there. Years later when I got married to my lovely wife, Lola, at Ore, in Ondo state, there was Yaqub! I tried to send him an invitation but my efforts failed. He however learnt of it from comrades and said “you know I cannot but be here”.

His politics had however by then, moved from self-determination struggle of resistance on the streets to the illusionary romance with electoralism. The dividing line was however not as sharp as it would appear. While in theory, ija’ngbara (liberation struggle) which OLM & most of the other components of the O’odua nationalist social movements propounded had the oppressed & exploited working class of Yoruba stock as its epicentre, in practical terms, two interrelated things had come into play.

First, the (primary) enemy was now not the bosses, the capitalists, a class. It was “the Hausa-Fulani hegemony”. Obviously, collaboration with “our” (i.e. Yoruba) capitalists was naturally considered as being apt and somewhat necessary. It could also be accepted to see the Hausa-Fulani mai taba, or mai tea as “tools” in the hands of the Hausa-Fulani hegemony.  

The former reflected itself in involvements with bodies like the O’odua Development Council and later the Afenifere. The second assumption was justified by the interconnectedness with “Hausa-Fulani” interests through means like BBC Hausa which was used to mobilise the otherwise working class-people of “Hausa-Fulani” extraction.

It was within this context that Rotimi M. Yaqub dropped what he now described as the “slave name” Yaqub, adopting his family name of Obadofin as his surname. He also then invoked his blue blood to boot. I was actually aghast when I first heard him described as Comrade Prince Rotimi Obadofin. Never one to be found wanting in giving a convincing narrative as response, when I expressed my surprise at this, he went into a story of the greatness of the role of things like kingship in maintaining the customs and traditions of Africans as a people, which any Pan-Africanist should be proud of.   

Not surprisingly, Rotimi Obadofin ran for the governorship of Kogi state on the platform of the Afenifere-inspired Democratic People’s Alliance (DPA) and lost. He would later be an aspirant in the primaries of the Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN). I remembered something he told me then which further confirmed my fears about electoralism as essentially being a pursuit of wild geese, for activists.

He had a parley with an imperial ex-governor who has been placing his stooges on seats across several states, particularly within the South West region. He convinced this oga at the top that when it comes to organising as well as being representative of the will of the people, he, Rotimi Obadofin was the one to pick. The lord of bourdi-somewhere agreed in principle. He then said that, since Kogi is a small state, all it would take to win it would be just some N2bn! He promised to support Rotimi with N1.5bn, but asked that Molobi show seriousness by raising “just” the remaining quarter of the said amount. To this, M. Yaqub said he was like “ha, sir, where would I get even a tenth of that?” The oga at the top’s response was that, then you are not serious about contesting for governor. Go and consider running for a councillor seat in your LGA or even the Chairmanship.

Till his death though, Rotimi Yaqub kept up the dream of someday providing leadership for Kogi state through the ballot box. At the time of his death, he was part of the supporters of James Faleke. This was in my humble opinion rather unfortunate and was not unlike seeing the historic Zik of Africa become merely the Owelle of Onitsha. Despite my misgivings about his later day project, I did what I could when he requested that I link him with comrades of younger generations that he knew I had cordial relations with, and who were in bourgeois politics like him, for support. I never cared for the details of what transpired between them -and these were friends, but whom I never had or would request for “assistance” from- but each time, M. Yaqub would call to say “thank you Baba Aye. Something came out of it”.

When I started writing this piece at Nairobi 4 days back in the midst of trying to meet an avalanche of deadlines, I felt a moral obligation to reflect on the loss of a titan whom I worked with and held in high esteem. There’s a saying in Yoruba that roughly translates to “the person that has your back when you’re alive has done little besides s/he who does so when you are no more”. Thus, paying the last respects is, I believe, a necessity in this pathway we have chosen.

But tributes for those who we trudged through the dirt roads of the barricades together must not be hagiographic. Indeed, we do a disservice to their memories and even more so to the living movement of working class-people’s struggle that did bind us together at some point in time, if we take such an approach. Activists who might not have known them need to learn from their limitations, no less than from their strengths.

Yaqub did have several flaws. The unspoken or muted “comas” in several tributes I have read on “social media” took my mind to the questions a few persons who had worked closely with him before I did, asked. The central one of these was always “how have you been able to work with him, for this while?” I will not want to go into allegations they then raised, which I never could substantiate. But, there were a few issues I did find problematic, myself.

Probably the most worrisome for me was that fair was foul and foul was fair, once it could aid organising, for Molobi. I would sit in the office at Olajuwon with M. Yaqub and several persons or groups of persons would come in at different times and he would narrate the same idea or event with such different slants (dependent on which he felt could best suit winning such persons over to his argument or into any of the concentric circles of the organisation, he felt apt at the moment to recruit the person/group into) that you couldn’t but wonder if it was the same idea/event that was being discussed at each point in time. And then, I remember a poster of Imoudu we did and the quotation attributed to MAO Imoudu on it was a Yaqubuesque one. When I pointed this out, he merely shrugged and said, “well, that is obviously what Imoudu would have said, anyway”.

Subsequently, I have seen several comrades use such an approach, in different ways. But, like Gramsci I hold the view that to tell the truth is revolutionary. This is why for me, one of the most incisive quotations for revolutionaries, from Amilcar Cabral remains: “Hide nothing from the masses of our people. Tell no lies. Expose lies whenever they are told. Mask no difficulties, mistakes, failures. Claim no easy victories”. The traction won with half-truths and fabrications can hardly ever last.

There was also the problem when M. Yaqub was leader of the Coalition of O’odua Self-Determination Groups (COSEG) about accountability and transperency. This resulted in a lot of friction. But, I did think that there was a deeper problem than that which appeared to be the problem. M. Yaqub, spent most of his life after school as a professional revolutionary. But he was not a full timer paid by a revolutionary organisation. The organisations he built most of the time, before the June 12 period and its discontents, actually had no money.

When M. Yaqub was not organising, in those periods, he was doing some small-time business or the other. And these were not only for his own subsistence. He equally ploughed in the bulk of whatever he earned into supporting several younger comrades and for the furtherance of the cause. He thus felt (not that this was necessarily justifiable) some sense of proprietorship when the naira started rolling in from Ilorin and Alausa. I remembered when in desperation he came to ask me to plead with my brother, “the lion of Simpson Street”. He claimed that da Silva was after his life over fallouts of sharing formula for COSEG organisations on some funds. And he then kept hammering on his argument that when he was toiling to build organisations with resources he could have used to build a better life for himself, where were everyone then castigating him regarding COSEG funds.

There are two lessons I drew from this. First, being a professional revolutionary without organisational funding for this is dangerous for both the activist and the movement, albeit in different ways. In a sense, I talk from my experience as well, which helped me to situate his. Second, all activists must consider it a responsibility to put our purses where our mouths are and not leave someone or a few persons to bear the burden of an organisation’s sustenance. Worse still is tying the resourcing of our movement to external forces. What did the O’odua groups in, through the channels of “progressive Yoruba” bourgeois politicians, equally killed the spirit of the pro-democracy movement which to a great extent morphed into NGOism, through the channels of “donor funds”.  

Finally, for me, was the shock of seeing someone I held dear in my heart as a fighter and a mentor, melt before steel. Sometime in 1994 or 1995 when we were taking up the fight of the ousted dockworkers, right-wing thugs confronted us, somewhere in Apapa, armed with a gun or two. We were much more, and with fire in my blood, I called for us to advance and bo wo mo ‘le (swamp them)! M. Yaqub tried to draw me back, I tore my arm from his hands and we marched into the bastards with workers. They fled, pistols and all. But in that brief moment, the livid fear I saw in his eyes almost stood me in my tracks…. with shock!

Later, as we reviewed the day’s events and I raised my disappointment he told me that those “iron rods” spew death….as if I didn’t know. When he came to me over da Silva’s threat which I mentioned earlier, there was that same naked fear in his eyes which reminded me of the face of a shell-shocked one of the “Ilorin Militant Five” on February 19, 1992, probably because it was that same day that I and da Silva met on the teargas-filled battle field that mini campus had become…establishing a longstanding friendship based on mutual respect as fighters.

I don’t think that revolutionaries should be unnecessarily reckless, but the best ideas alone will not lead to the system’s overthrow. And, particularly for someone who espoused the armed struggle as a way forward “victory or death” had to be more than a mere slogan.

I think it was partly his “over carefulness” for want of a better phrase, in general that was thus reflected. For example, he would harangue comrades over crossing the road in a reckless manner, pointing out that the life of a comrade was too important to be lost cheaply. But I also think it was more than that. I cringe from using the word cowardice, out of the respect I had and continue to have for him. But I honestly cannot think of another, more apt.

Several comrades leveraged on this in different ways to get him to make commitments he otherwise would not have made, within the self-determination movement. But ever the wily old fox himself, he found a way to wring back advantages lost through such ploys.

In summing up, I daresay that I did ask myself several questions as well as I wrote this tribute to M. Yaqub…. a self-styled Marxist-Leninist to the very end, even when he became better revered as “Iroko” of the O’odua self-determination movement. I did feel something similar to pains I felt when I had the honour of delivering the tribute of the Medical & Health Workers’ Union of Nigeria at the burial of Ola Oni, leader of the Socialist Revolutionary Vanguard…who died as leader of the Apapo ono O’odua.

The loss of some of our very best -in their different ways- to the marsh of the self-determination struggle (and in a different sense, to the shit of NGOism) is a heavy cross for the Left to bear. Probably the left side of the morbid symptoms of the dying old that refuses to die and the emergent new that struggles to be born? But such symptoms complicate an already complex reality of the popular movements’ life and dynamics.

All said and done, when we grieve for those from our ranks who have gone, we must not only see where we are all coming from. We must, from this, learn not to lose faith. The beautiful ones have not only been born. They have died…and still more would be born. There is no one so good that there is no bad aspect of, as there is no one so bad without a good aspect of. Despite several shortcomings of Molobi, he did his bit as he best felt he could, in the different ways he did.

It is a pity that he did not get to document that glorious moment of his organising prowess which the IFN was. A few years back when we last had a discussion that lasted for hours, during a visit of his to Abuja, I raised the need to document that moment, for posterity and for the current generation (and even many on the Left in that period, but who never knew or merely had just glimpses of the picture of what IFN was….and could have led to), to learn from. In the days of working underground and with raids by such pigs as Akpoyivo, I lost a trove of documents -including of that magnificent effort.

Molobi assured me (the ever meticulous archivist, he was) that he had virtually every edition of The Imoduist and Labour Guard as well as documents of our work in building IFN and that he would take up the task of putting things down. Alas, this will now, never be. Memories of the great loss of a library of the Left after the death of Ibidapo Fatogun, for example, should not be relived.

I grieve with his wife “aunty Joke”, and his children. Molobi loved them with a passion. I grieve with his aged mother and siblings, particularly Haruna, whom I equally met in the movement, family meant a lot to him, even within the throes of struggle. I hope they take solace in the life he lived….one which left its marks on the sands of time, and in the hearts of many.

Sun re, oga mi, Molobi….sun re, olowo ori Joke….sun re o!

Abuja

April 12, 2016