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History has a curious sense of humour. It sometimes watches quietly while descendants polish the medals of their ancestors, only to discover that history does not award fresh honours for inherited applause. Every generation must write its own chapter. Even the most illustrious surname cannot substitute for present-day service, just as a family portrait cannot plough a farm or build a bridge.
The latest controversy over the recognition of Alhaji Mujahid Asari-Dokubo as the Amanyanabo of the Source has become a contest between inherited prestige and visible public engagement. It is a debate that challenges every Kalabari son and daughter to ask a simple question: should leadership be measured by ancestral pedigree or by contemporary relevance?
Among supporters of Asari-Dokubo, the answer comes swiftly. They insist that while history deserves reverence, it should never become a monopoly. No family, however distinguished, owns the copyright to Kalabari civilisation.
Names are important. But deeds are immortal. A surname may open a conversation, but only service sustains respect. Even the tallest iroko tree was once a seed that had to prove itself against the storms.
Supporters therefore ask an uncomfortable but legitimate question of Kio Amachree: beyond the celebrated achievements of his father and grandfather, what enduring personal imprint has he left on the sands of Kalabari? Every generation is ultimately remembered for its own footprints, not merely for the shoes it inherited.
To many in the kingdom, this is not an attack on ancestry but a defence of accountability. The living owe today\'s people today\'s service. Yesterday\'s greatness cannot forever settle today\'s questions.
Those who admire Asari-Dokubo point to a different record. For decades, whether one agreed with his methods or not, he has remained one of the loudest voices speaking for the Niger Delta, resource justice and the dignity of the Ijaw people. His admirers argue that he stood in the heat when many preferred the comfort of the shade.
Politics may divide opinions, but visibility is difficult to deny. Across Nigeria and beyond, the name Asari-Dokubo evokes strong reactions because he has never been a silent spectator in matters affecting his people.
His supporters therefore find it ironic that a man whose public life has revolved around Kalabari and Ijaw advocacy should now be told he lacks legitimacy by critics whom they perceive as being distant from the daily realities of the kingdom.
There is an old African proverb that says a child who stays too long away from home should return with stories, not instructions. Supporters of the new monarch invoke that sentiment, arguing that meaningful engagement with one\'s homeland matters when offering prescriptions for its future.
Their criticism is not that members of the diaspora should remain silent. Far from it. The Kalabari nation has benefitted immensely from its sons and daughters abroad. Rather, they contend that influence becomes stronger when accompanied by sustained engagement with the people whose future is being discussed.
Perhaps the greatest comedy in this unfolding drama is that everyone suddenly claims to be the most passionate defender of Kalabari. If passion alone could dredge rivers, build schools, empower youths and preserve culture, the kingdom would by now rival paradise itself.
Kalabari people, however, are known for their wisdom. They know that shouting \"history\" repeatedly does not automatically settle history. Sometimes, the loudest microphone merely amplifies disagreement.
Supporters of Asari-Dokubo maintain that his recognition as Amanyanabo of the Source has brought renewed attention to Torusarama Piri and strengthened conversations around Kalabari heritage. They see this not as an erasure of history but as another chapter in its continuing evolution.
What the kingdom needs today, they argue, is less litigation in the marketplace of public opinion and more investment in peace, culture, education and economic opportunity. Communities flourish when energy is directed towards development rather than perpetual internal rivalry.
There is little honour in winning an argument if the community loses its cohesion. Thrones endure, petitions gather dust, but divided families can spend generations repairing broken trust.
No one questions the immense contributions of earlier Kalabari statesmen whose names remain etched in history. They deserve celebration. Yet monuments to the past should inspire the present, not imprison it.
Supporters of Asari-Dokubo believe that his emergence should be viewed through that lens. They see a leader whose visibility, influence and commitment to Kalabari identity have earned him the confidence of many within his community. They insist that recognition should be judged not only by genealogy but also by service, sacrifice and the confidence of those represented.
Kalabari has always been greater than any individual, any lineage or any single throne. Its greatest victories have come when its people spoke with one voice despite their differences. That enduring lesson is perhaps more valuable than any petition or counter-petition.
If the kingdom must choose between endless division and purposeful unity, many supporters of Alhaji Mujahid Asari-Dokubo already know where they stand. Their conviction is simple: history should be honoured, service should be recognised, and the future of Kalabari should be built not on inherited titles alone, but on the living commitment of those who continue to stand with their people.
