Imagine a scenario where a bomb exploded in Abuja on Democracy Day. It is hard to fathom the sheer terror or the ensuing chaos of trying to call for help and not being able to get through to anyone. Or worse, calling a loved one that was in the area when the bomb went off and getting no reply. Imagine rushing from one hospital and mortuary to the next, praying to find your husband and simultaneously filled with dread that the mangled body at the end of the hallway is your wife?
It is quite ironic. On Democracy Day, the day Goodluck Jonathan was sworn in as President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria; the day Nigerian children danced calisthenics in Eagle Square forming the words ‘one nation’ and ‘one love’ in front of a select few, the rest of the Federal Capital Territory’s residents stared at their mobile phones in bewilderment.
Sunday was a day we were supposed to be celebrating the triumph of the constitution over military-style rule of force. As usual, Nigerians and their unflagging optimism were in for a rude awakening when our government and private telecommunication companies unilaterally decided to cut-off all communication.
The sheer brazenness of this act illustrates clearly how Nigerians see change on paper, and yet see the exact opposite in reality every day. Our presidents may no longer wear uniform, but their relationship with us is essentially the same: commander and subject. The only difference is that instead of harsh commands, our elected officials give us a metaphorical pat on the head, and tell us it was for our own safety.
For many people, the communication shut down was only a mild inconvenience. There are probably people who suffered for it, and in time, we will read some stories about them. However, one has to wonder, did the person who made this decision really think it through? Nigeria is not the first country to have a swearing in ceremony and other countries have found a way to do it without cutting their citizens off from the world.
The implications of our communication blackout are scary. As North African nations struggle to wrest power from corrupt regimes, they shared the spotlight with the technology that made it possible. It was not just phone calls that were missed. In a country that has 24 million Internet users – the largest number in Africa -thousands, if not millions, of people were disconnected from social media and the world.
It is equally disturbing how private telecommunications firms agreed to this plan. It brings several questions to mind, the first based on the fact that they must have lost quite a bit of money. So why would they agree to forgo the bustling sale of airtime for almost 24 hours? They are businesses and their purpose is to be profitable. Then again, the government may have made their little time out profitable through some sort of compensation. But what is their duty to their subscribers? What gives them the right to cut off a service already paid for? Will BIS last a day longer for FCT residents who own BlackBerry phones?
Access to information is universally regarded as one of the characteristics of a democratic society. If our government can block off an entire city, they are in direct control of the information that can reach residents and what is revealed to the outside world. The next time Jos is in crisis, telecommunication providers can simply shut down the networks again and the rest of Nigeria will hear the official version of the blasts four days later.
The president promised us a breath of fresh air and he may well have meant it. Over the next four years, there is no telling what new ways our government is imagining of infringing on our rights.
By Michaela Ehimika