Everyone goes deaf…sometimes deliberately! But there is a politics of deafness that only god governance can heal. Read more…
I’ve been called “deaf” more times than I can count, but it never really struck a chord until last week. My mother kicked things off when she asked me to fetch a cane—apparently, she planned to administer some old-school discipline. I just blinked at her in confusion. “Are you deaf?” she asked. “Yes!” I replied.
Clearly, this led to a fantastic logic loop: how could I fetch a cane if I couldn’t hear her instructions? Hours later, my father decided to “open” my ears using a whip made from the shrubbery that lined our compound. Since then, I’ve become hyper-aware of my hearing!
Truly, I can hear myself when I speak. I also hear the delightful silence that fills the room when nobody’s asking me for money. And when I’m feeling feisty, I can definitely hear the jabs about my head size! Last week, though, I found myself aligning with the deaf community.
You know, there’s a big difference between hearing your own voice and having someone else acknowledge you’ve been heard. The latter truly confirms your status in society. After all, even if you’re pushing up daisies, you might still hear yourself, right? That’s a question for the afterlife, though—please send your responses to the national conference as memoranda.
What a confounding conference!
When my name didn’t appear on Obasanjo’s confab list, I held onto a shred of hope. I thought, “Maybe I’ll be grouped with the deaf and the prostitutes!” Alas, when the latter packed their bags for Abuja, my name remained a ghost. I began to suspect I had gone deaf myself. Then, when the association of the deaf protested their exclusion from the Abuja jamboree, it hit me: some of us genuinely face marginalization.
Justice Niki Tobi seems to be the real missing piece in this whole debacle. If the deaf had made it to the conference, they could have taught him sign language—whether he liked it or not! If he ignored them like he did Chukwuemeka Ezeife, well, a little nudge might have opened his eyes to their struggles. But let’s be real: that would mean he’d have to stop watching television. We’d all know he’s no “tele-anything,” not even “tele-guided.”
Anyway, the deaf want their voices heard at the conference, and why shouldn’t they? “Over two million deaf Nigerians demand justice,” they declared. At that moment, I realized: a whole lot of us might just be deaf! They’re Nigerians too, even if they missed Obasanjo calling Tafa Balogun “ole!” Some of them even expressed regret at missing the announcement of the Okija Shrine patrons, blissfully unaware that Ehindero had claimed it as a trophy for long service.
Politics of hearing as everyone goes deaf
Their demands for “justice” leave me anxious. Tobi is the only “justice” I know at this conference. So why do the deaf want his head? Sure, they might not hear much of what goes down, but that N2.4 million (over three months) could certainly buy some hearing aids for a few of them.
Let’s face it: once in a while, we all go deaf. Some are born that way, while others acquire it after a bout of illness. Then there are those who, like fine wine, grow deaf with age.
Confab head: “Sir, please make your contributions to the debate. You’re to address the house now.”
Delegate: “Which house? I have properties in Lagos, Ibadan, and Port Harcourt! The ones I bought in Abuja? That boy el-Rufai has demolished some and demands O of C or whatever for the rest. Anyway, you’ll have to repeat that. I’m growing deaf with age. I’ll be 85 next week, you know.”
Still, some of us go deaf on purpose. Like politicians and yours truly! Politicians do it when it comes to the welfare of the governed. For instance, Obasanjo never heard that NEPA has been on life support, that the roads are more potholes than asphalt, or that resources managed regionally could lead to real development. They may claim to be “listening,” but you’d be hard-pressed to find signs they’re hearing our cries. As for me? My people say a poor man is deaf, so I tend to zone out when my wife presents her shopping list as long and convoluted as Ehindero’s motto.
A shared experience: Everyone goes deaf
Politician: “This country is blessed because we have leaders who listen.”
Citizen: “Yes, they listen so hard I suspect they’re ‘hard of hearing’!”
Wife: “I need to buy garri, yam, bread, tea, clothes, etc.; pay the maid and driver. Oh, and I need cooking gas, a freezer, and even fresh air. Honey, did you hear me?”
Me: “I’m listening. But, sorry, I didn’t catch that last part about fresh air!”
Forget the figures tossed around by the deaf association; everyone goes deaf sometimes—willfully or otherwise. Eventually, we all go deaf! Forced into it by social noise or political pollution. While the voluntarily deaf and those who grow deaf with age are well represented in government, those who become deaf by accident or natural causes seem to be systematically overlooked. We’ve never had a deaf president, governor, or lawmaker, yet we rarely see any “hearing” politician or leader who actually listens. Maybe it’s time we elect deaf leaders to show everyone how it’s done!
Most of the time, those who can hear take their gift for granted, mistakenly believing that just hearing can transform our political landscape. Was that the faulty assumption behind excluding the deaf from the confab? A monumental blunder, much like the police recently followed suit.
Ehindero suggested they swap roles with teachers. “Leave your traditional duties and start teaching,” he ordered. Should teachers then start collecting N20 tolls? “You should no longer sit in the office. Go to schools and teach the principals or students the effects of indulging in crime,” he said, adding, “It’s time for the police to regain its image and integrity!” Teaching is their secret weapon for integrity restoration?
Need for truly ‘hearing’ leadership
Seeking an audience or teaching requires listening, which implies hearing. But is mere “hearing” enough to perform? Politicians have certainly heard all the grandiloquent speeches they’ve been perfecting in Abuja, but where’s the will to act on the proposed solutions? The police are also well aware of the crimes and criminals, yet the system stifles their efforts.
The welfare of the foot soldiers often disappears into the abyss of officers’ accounts. Just take a look at Tafa’s bulging belly! In moments of despair, greed and intoxication overshadow reason. That’s how the innocent end up casualties over a measly N20. So, how will “teaching” kids about crime stop the elders from snatching our national cake?
Listen up! We’re tired of leaders who merely listen; we need individuals, whether deaf or not, who can actually hear our cries and take meaningful action. A good leader doesn’t need to hear our pain to understand it. If they empathize, that’s a start. If they can see our struggles, even better.
*First published in Saturday Sun on March 12, 2005.
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