IBB & Death Threats

Death threats in a time of kidnapping


Uzor Maxim Uzoatu



Journalism is a dangerous job even at the best of times. In Nigeria where the times tilt from bad to worst it is akin to a death sentence being a journalist. Just the other day, after my column entitled “Babangida on politics of personality” was published an “Unknown” caller put through a call on my line reserved for only sms messages.

“You are Uzor, you wrote that nonsense on IBB, you are a politician, you are dead!” the voice at the other end said breathlessly.

“This line is only meant for text messages,” I said evenly. “You can send your text message if you please…”

“We are going to kill you!” the voice cut in.

“Do you really need to make a phone call before killing a person?” I asked, only for the fellow to cut the line.

I did not pay much attention to the call, knowing that not a few cranks have taken advantage of the cheapness of mobile phones to play idle pranks.

Shortly after, the man called again, saying, “Uzor, you are dead” and cut off before I could deign to make a reply.

When he called yet again I pressed the “answer” button without bothering to put my ear to the phone to hear his gibberish. I felt he could waste his credit till kingdom come. It was when he kept repeating the call at the office that I gave the phone to my colleague, Ayodele Ojo, the Saturday Editor to answer the call.

“Speak out loud so that I can hear you,” I heard Ayodele say over the phone before turning to me to say that the man has cut the line.

Ever since, the voice has not called again, and I happen to still be alive! I have not looked back to see if I’m being stalked. I still come to work without taking any security precautions whatsoever. I as ever frequent my regular haunts without let or hindrance. In short, my life has not changed in any way whatsoever. Death will come when it will come, as the great bard wrote, death threats or no death threats.

We cannot stop doing journalism because Dele Giwa was threatened and then killed. Bagauda Kaltho was brutally murdered yet Nigerian journalists are still penning truth to power. The only thing that struck me in receiving the death threat calls was that it was happening at a time three journalists and their driver had been kidnapped in Abia State. Not a few persons have called over the phone to inquire of my safety since the advent of the menace of kidnapping journalists in Nigeria. The solitary voice calling for my death was by far outstripped by the many praying for me to be alive. The minority of murderers deigning to superintend over Nigeria should actually be pitied.

My concern really is about the freedom of my colleagues in the custody of the kidnappers rather than the threats of a disembodied fellow. Making death threats over the phone reminds me of a scene in the celebrated Western film, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, in which the assailant pointed a gun at the hero in the bath-tub and was sounding triumphant with so much talking. Of course the man in the bath-tub had his gun under the foam and promptly shot to death the assailant by saying the following words: “If you want to shoot, shoot; don’t talk!”

One refuses to be intimidated. Babangida in his first coming was driven away by my pen. Now that I have a laptop I don’t think he can survive any better. Already people all over are hearkening to my poem to vote for him with stones! Not even the deadliest killer squad in the world can help him survive! A tear for him…

As my hero Che Guevara would say, "Whenever death may surprise us, let it be welcome if our battle cry has reached even one receptive ear and another hand reaches out to take up our arms."