The Unlearned Sets To Tutor The Learned.

By Dr jarlat Uche opara

I wouldn’t wait to see it come to pass. Like a tsunami, feet would be swept off, with a whirlwind, gowns and wigs would be blown off, unmasking the very masked facea that have held him down with the coal of victimisation and the ashes of selective justice.

The courtroom would soon become a crucible, an arena where history, and not just the law, has been on trial.

In the dock, he would stand , no longer a firebrand leader but a lone figure in a Fendi shirt, the very emblem of his long, defiant captivity. Behind him, the seats where his lawyers once stood and defended him would be vacant, a physical and profound symbol of his decision to dim the last link between his cause and the structures of the system he fought to dismantle.

He had dismissed them all—the learned silks and trusted counsel—choosing instead to represent himself, to be both the defendant and his own last hope.

His voice, familiar to millions through clandestine broadcasts would now echo witha new, raw vibration that would speak truth to power, caring less whose ox is gored . We would be hearing not just his voice, standing in the duck but sounds of a man who had chosen to become his own witness, to pour his own soul onto the unforgiving stone of those holding him down.

His words wouldn’t be just legal arguments; more of a cry against what he saw as a deep and fundamental injustice, a defiance that stemmed not from a lawyer’s logic but from a patriarch’s unyielding belief in his people.

He would speak with spark of anger and disaffection about his illegal rendition, his years of incarceration, and the violence that had driven him from his home.

He would weave the story of his personal ordeal into the larger tapestry of a nation’s broken promises. In his defense, he would not just be defending himself against charges of treason; he surely would be challenging the legitimacy of the entire proceeding, holding up the mirror of his suffering for the world to see.

The heart-searching moment lay not just in the words he would speak, but in the silence that hung around them . It would be a silence that would be filled with the weight of unfulfilled promises, of lost lives, and of a struggle that had outlasted the hopeful beginnings of a new nation.

It would be the sound of a man, stripped of everything but his conviction, betting his life on the power of his own truth.

In that solitary act, in that bare-knuckled fight for justice, he would transformed the court room from a mere legal chamber into a stage for a people’s long and aching heart song.

Nnamdi Kanu has reached his limit. His power of endurance is failing him. The elasticity of his resilience has gotten to its limit and the crave to sacrifice his life for the cause he believes on very compelling.

Gone beyond intimidation. Above the fear of death. His life a sacrifice, setting it ablaze as a sweet offering for the course he so much believes in , so be it.

My heart goes for you and my prayers for your liberation one that remains unceasing. You carried this fire for a long time. The scourge, the burnt and the sours so emotionally, so psychologically and so physically you bear all these, calmly with deep and strong will that cannot be broken by the fiercest wind of tribalism.

You have shown boldness, courage and wisdom unequalled. I have no doubt that your freedom is heaved in sight.

Jarlathuche@gmail.com