We’ve just witnessed a masterclass in post-colonial pathology. Boris Johnson—the man who once described black people as having “watermelon smiles,” called African nations “fantastically corrupt,” and lamented that Britain was “not in charge” of the continent anymore—was not just welcomed to Imo State, Nigeria. Governor Uzodimma paid him to come, hosted, and gave him a platform.
And what did he do with that platform? According to reports, he delivered a backhanded compliment so steeped in colonial logic it took one’s breath away. He reportedly told his audience that while Nigeria got “rubbish” like him including whiskey and other perishable products, it had, “not unlike its colonial past,” sent its best to the UK like its best doctors, scientists and other allied professionals and of course its raw materials including oil and gas. Who could have known.
Let that sink in.
A figure with a documented history of racist and imperialist rhetoric was invited by Governor Hope Uzodimma, presumably at great cost, to insult his hosts, him, his state and country, and reframe their relationship with Britain in explicitly colonial terms. And the Supreme Court governor, it seems, applauded.
This isn’t just a lapse in his judgment. It is a profound, self-inflicted slap in the face of the Nigerian people, and a case study in a sickness that still lingers long after independence.
The “Other Africans” Delusion
One can almost hear the internal reasoning of the Governor Uzodimma: “He’s talking about those Africans. Not us. We are different. We are the giant of Africa, educated, sophisticated, and rich. His crude generalizations don’t apply here.”
This is the first and most tragic error. It is the delusion that the colonial gaze makes fine distinctions. It does not. To a mind that sees the continent as a “blot,” a monolith of corruption and need, Governor Uzodimma and Nigeria are not the exception; it is merely a larger data point. The invitation was an attempt to buy proximity to fluffy power, believing it would confer an exception. Instead, it confirmed the rule: that some among our elite still define their worth by their proximity to the former coloniser, even when he holds them in contempt.
The Transactional Elite and the Stockholm State
Who would do this? The answer lies in a disconnected, transactional elite. For Governor Uzodimma that extended the invitation, Johnson was not a moral entity but a commodity. A “big name.” A “controversial figure.” A gateway to London’s networks. In the global speaking circuit, offensive history is often laundered into “edgy brand value.”
This is where the concept of Stockholm syndrome becomes a painfully apt metaphor. It describes a situation where hostages develop a psychological alliance with their captors. While Nigeria is no longer a hostage state, a segment of its ruling class remains in psychic thrall to the old power dynamic. Exemplified by Governor Uzodimma, they seek validation from the very source of historical denigration. He mistook the presence of a former British Prime Minister for an honour, rather than seeing it for what it is: a paid performance of continued superiority.
The Double-Edged Insult
Johnson’s quoted statement is the crystallized insult. It works on two levels:
- The Self-Deprecating Dodge: By calling himself “rubbish,” he employs a classic British tactic of faux-modesty, making the insult seem like a shared joke.
- The Colonial Re-frame: The core of the statement reinforces the imperial center-periphery model. Nigeria’s role, in his telling, remains what it was in the 19th century: an extractive periphery. Its best human resources—doctors, engineers, lawyers, scholars—are still meant to flow to service the British center. In return, the periphery should passively accept whatever the center sends back, even if it’s self-proclaimed “rubbish.” He didn’t just make a joke; he narrated a continuing subservience, and our hosts paid him to do it.
Who is Bereft of Self-Respect?
The blame lies squarely with the Governor Uzodimma who wrote the cheque. He is bereft of the historical consciousness and national self-respect that should be the bare minimum for anyone claiming leadership or influence.
This episode is more than an embarrassment. It is a symptom. It reveals a deep-seated crisis of dignity within our halls of power. True sovereignty isn’t just political or economic; it is psychological. It is the unwavering knowledge that your nation’s honor is not for sale, and certainly not to a peddler of colonial nostalgia.
The people of Nigeria, who daily defy stereotypes with their resilience, innovation, and brilliance, deserve better than to be represented by those who would pay for their own humiliation. We must stop inviting the architects of our disrespect to dine at our table, and certainly stop serving them our self-respect as the main course.
The bill for this event was settled in cash. But the real cost—to our national dignity—is incalculable.
Let’s hope that Governor Monday Okpebholo does not feel the need to invite President Donald Josephine Trump for an Edo is Shinning Summit after Trump leaves office.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 