Sixty years on, the morning of January 15, 1966 still reverberates across Nigeria, but most painfully in the North as one of the darkest ruptures in our national journey. On that day, a fledgling democracy, barely six years out of colonial rule and nurtured by men of integrity and vision, was torn asunder in a violent military coup.
The founding fathers, their blood still moist on our political soil, were swept away in a single stroke. Their dreams of a united, democratic, prosperous Nigeria abruptly snuffed.
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The architects of the coup, led by Major Chukwuma "Kaduna" Nzeogwu, Emmanuel Arinze Ifeajuna, Chris Anuforo, Timothy Onwuatuegwu, Adewale Ademoyega, Don Okafor, Ben Gbuli, Emmanuel Nwobosi and others, claimed to act out of frustration with corruption and the failure of governance. But the method they chose, bullets over ballots, and force over dialogue exacted a horrific price from the nation.
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That morning, Nigeria lost Prime Minister Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, the architect of parliamentary governance and the nation's voice on the global stage; Sir Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto and Premier of the Northern Region, a statesman of deep-rooted commitment to national unity; Chief Samuel Ladoke Akintola, Premier of the Western Region; and Chief Festus Okotie-Eboh, the Federal Minister of Finance, among many others. They were murdered, abducted or slain with cold, calculated precision.
Beyond the political elite, the coup claimed many top military officers: Brigadier Samuel Ademulegun and his pregnant wife; Brigadier Zakariya Maimalari; Colonel Ralph Shodeinde; Colonel Kur Mohammed; Lt. Colonel Abogo Largema; Lt. Colonel James Pam; Colonel Arthur Unegbe; among others. Some wives and aides of these leaders, including Hafsatu Bello, were also killed, deepening the sorrow and outrage across the country.
These deaths were not simply deaths, they were blows to the very soul of a nation struggling to find its footing. The image of bodies dumped by the roadside, and Balewa's lifeless frame discovered days later, remains etched in the collective memory of Nigerians who yearn for what might have been.
What followed was a tumult of uncertainty. A counter-coup in July 1966, fueled by revenge and ethnic anger, led to the assassination of General Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi, who had taken power after the January coup, and his host, Lt. Colonel Adekunle Fajuyi. Northern soldiers rose in search for revenge, and retribution spread through barracks and cities.
That counter-coup did not simply topple a government. It unleashed violence unprecedented in the nation's history. Hundreds of soldiers were killed, and waves of pogroms swept the country. Conservative estimates suggest that thousands of civilians were killed, families uprooted, and entire communities shattered. Fear, suspicion and bitterness settled deep into the heart of the country and set the stage for the Civil War.
Soon after, the nation bled into civil war as the Eastern Region under Colonel Odumegwu Ojukwu declared secession as the Republic of Biafra. The war exacted a catastrophic human toll, and though it ended in 1970, its social and psychological scars still haunt generations.
It is worth asking where did Nigeria's leaders go wrong after that cruel dawn in 1966?
First, the failure to uphold justice and accountability deepened mistrust. Many of the coup plotters were detained but not adequately prosecuted; others survived to re-enter public life. The perception of selective justice, combined with policies that later appeared to reward regional affiliations over merit, entrenched cynicism about the rule of law.
Second, ethnic chauvinism and parochial loyalty solidified into identity politics. Political appointments, resource allocation and military postings that were once matters of competence became proxies for ethnicity. Rather than forge a shared national identity, the political class often exacerbated divisions, planting seeds of resentment that sprouted decades later into insurgencies, separatist agitations and cyclical crises.
Third, successive leaders, both military and civilian repeatedly sacrificed governance for patronage. Transparency gave way to cronyism. Loyalty to the nation was overshadowed by loyalty to patronage networks. Public resources became a currency of political reward, not development.
And still today, lessons remain unlearned. Politicians speak of unity yet act in narrow sectarian interests. Leaders promise reform but perpetuate old systems that reward loyalty over competence, and ethnic identity over national purpose.
But all is not lost.
The legacy of the founding fathers, men like Tafawa Balewa, Ahmadu Bello and Samuel Akintola teaches us that Nigeria's strength lies in its diversity, and its endurance depends on leaders who place patriotism above partisanship. These were men who, despite their divergent backgrounds, believed that Nigeria could flourish as a shared home for all citizens.
To heal the wounds that have festered for six decades, today's leaders must embrace accountability and equity.
They must strengthen institutions, not personalities. The rule of law must be absolute, consistent and without favoritism. They should promote inclusive governance that reflects Nigeria's diversity, not just its political alliances.
Leaders must come together and reform the security sector to uphold constitutional order rather than factional loyalties.
Political leaders must put a stop to using ethnic and religious differences to remain in power and instead, they should collectively invest in civic education to strengthen national identity over parochial allegiances.
Most importantly, they should champion equitable economic development so that every community feels part of the national project.
Sixty years after that tragic morning, we must commemorate not only the dead but the lessons their deaths should imprint on us. This anniversary must not be a ritual of remembrance alone. It must be a call to collective conscience.
Let this milestone be a catalyst for renewal for a Nigeria that honors its founding ideals, confronts its demons with honesty, and pursues unity not as rhetoric but as a national commitment.