Shell Shocked - Ogoni Refugee Report

Refugee camp, Come, Benin — West Africa
Place: _______________________________________________
950
Total number of refugees in the camp: ________________________________
800
Total number of Nigerians (Ogoni) in the camp:_________________________
136
Number of Ogoni women: __________________________________________
410
Number of Ogoni men:_____________________________________________
254
Number of Ogoni children under 18:__________________________________
5
Number of health attendants:________________________________________
100
Number of cinder block rooms:______________________________________
200
Number of tents: _________________________________________________
3
Number of people per room / tents: __________________________________
Four tins (28 grams) of tomato sauce, one packet
Food ration per person per month:___________________________________
(50 grams) of sugar, one kilogram of fish, four kilograms of gari and rice, one half
_______________________________________________________________
kilogram of beans, one liter of oil, one spoonful of salt
_______________________________________________________________
Average cost in U.S. dollars (USD) to the United Nations
11 cents per day
of caring for a refugee: __________________________________________
2.5 billion USD
Royal Dutch Shell’s projected cost savings from 1998 restructuring: _________
1
"It is a strain to be a refugee. Nobody would like to be a refugee. Myself, it is until I came to this
place that I knew the proper definition of refugee. Before when I heard about refugees, I thought
that they were the lowest class of people on earth. And that thought seems to… be the true
assumption. They don't have anything to do on earth. You are turned into being a street beggar.
I did not know that circumstances could reduce you to be a beggar. I did not know. Now I do.”
—Gaston, Ogoni refugee, age 29
This is a report about Ogoni refugees. The Ogoni are a minority ethnic group of 500,000 people
from the delta region of southern Nigeria. More than 800 of them have been forced out of Nigeria.
Many of them are now refugees in Benin. Others are in refugee camps throughout Africa.
Most refugees are victims of complicated politics and failed governments—situations that are difficult for an outsider to comprehend. Unless you spend hours studying the newspaper and memorizing
facts, it’s impossible to know the story. Most of the situations are very complex, very confusing.
The Ogoni refugees are different. Their situation is simple. Shell-shockingly simple.
Royal Dutch Shell’s irresponsible oil production in Nigeria has caused these Ogoni to
become refugees. Shell's quest for oil—the drilling, the pumping, the oil spills, the gas flares—has
destroyed a once fertile Ogoniland. The Ogoni responded to this violent destruction with peaceful
protests made famous by Ken Saro-Wiwa and The Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People
(MOSOP). Collusion between Shell and the military government resulted in a brutal crackdown of the
Ogoni movement, and Ogonis were killed, raped and tortured. In 1995, Ken Saro-Wiwa was murdered
by a kangaroo court set up by the Nigerian military. Since then, many Ogoni have fled the country to
stay alive. Now they are refugees in Come (pronounced Ko-may), Benin. They have been languishing
there for three years. There is no long historical discourse needed.
These refugees are different. Shell-shockingly different. The Ogoni are corporate refugees.
The Shell-shocked refugees in Come have planted a garden in the camp. They have grown flowers.
Still, the camp is not beautiful. The refugee camp is a construction site. The site was being developed
as a hospital for the local community in Come, but the UNHCR took it over and made it into a refugee
camp—before the buildings were finished.
Of the 800 Ogoni who call this construction site home, about 300 of the lucky ones live in the four
cinder block buildings. The others live outside in tents. The tents are old now; some have been in use
for three years. These tents and half finished buildings are a far cry from Ogoniland. As Shell executives return to their homes each night in exclusive neighborhoods around the globe, the Ogoni are
excluded from their homes. They sleep in tents with holes in them, where the rain falls. Hard.
Couple this with the other problems in the camp - poor sanitation, lack of food, inadequate health
care, no formal schools or recreational activities - and the stage is set for a slow spiritual and physical
death. One refugee explained:
“If they keep us in Benin and what we are passing through, then by the time we go back home
our mental state might have collapsed. We cannot exist here. We know we can be fruitful. We
can be useful…to both God and to humanity. Here—I fear I am becoming a lunatic here.”
These refugees suffer in many of the same ways as refugees around the world. They suffer the same
hopelessness, the same despair, the same frustration as refugees worldwide. They are all people with a
nightmarish past, an empty present, and an uncertain future.
But, in a fundamental way, these refugees are different from most. The Ogoni are corporate
refugees. Shell's refugees.
Featured in this report is testimony from nine of the Shell-shocked refugees. The report concludes
with a discussion of the issues underlying the situation and a summary of recommendations. The timeline that follows on the next two pages provides a contextual reference for the stories told by the
refugees.
Destruction of people’s land for natural resources is nothing new. But the extent of the social and
environmental devastation in this case—the fact that a corporation’s activities have forced 800 people
into a refugee camp by rendering their homeland unlivable—this is indeed a new and shocking turn of
events. Even for a corporation with the power, shameful history, and ruthless reputation of Shell, this
case begs a new question of corporate accountability.
The UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) is doing a bare minimum in the face of human
tragedy. As in other parts of the world, they have provided some degree of sanctuary for a people in
peril. Though it is the UN’s responsibility to care for refugees, why should the governments of the
world be forced to pay for a corporation’s misdeeds? Why is Shell unaccountable, operating today
despite the ecological devastation, suffering, and even death it has caused the Ogoni people? And what
can we do about this situation? These are some of the questions raised, and answered, in this report.
2
3
This is a partial timeline indicating key events in the Ogoni struggle. A more complete version can
be found on the internet at www.moles.org. Terms in bold are those important to the Ogoni struggle
and are used throughout the testimonies. While environmental devastation and human rights abuses
have been going on in many communities since Shell began operations in 1958, this timeline focuses
on the Ogoni and their campaign since 1990.
June 26, 1990: Ogoni leaders sign the Ogoni Bill of
Rights. The Bill calls for “political control of Ogoni affairs
by Ogoni people, control and use of Ogoni economic
resources for Ogoni development, adequate and direct representation as a right for Ogoni people in all Nigerian
national institutions and the right to protect the Ogoni environment and ecology from further degradation.”
Ogoni Bill of Rights, Presented to the Government and People of Nigeria
with an Appeal to the International Community, December, 1991
October 2, 1990: The Ogoni Bill of Rights is presented to
Nigerian ruler General Babangida. The Movement for
the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP), a non-violent action group, is formed to promote it.
1993: Bopp van Dessel, head of Environmental Studies for
Shell in Nigeria, resigns, saying: “They were not meeting
their own standards, they were not meeting international
standards. Any Shell site that I saw was polluted. Any terminal that I saw was polluted. It is clear to me that Shell
was devastating the area...It also keeps the door for dialogue and co-operation with other involved parties firmly
shut.”
April 28, 1993: Willbros, a contractor working for Shell,
begins bulldozing crops under the protection of Nigerian soldiers on farmland in Biara, in preparation for the construction of the Rumueke-Bomu pipeline. Ten thousand Ogoni
hold a peaceful demonstration to protest the construction.
April 30, 1993: Willbros calls in government troops in
response to the demonstrations. Eleven people are injured
when the security forces open fire. While attempting to collect what remains of her crops, Karalolo Korgbara is shot,
later losing her arm as a result. According to a letter from
Willbros to Shell, “Fortunately there was a military presence
to control the situation.”
The Ogoni Crisis: A Case-Study of Military Repression in
Southeastern Nigeria, Human Rights Watch/Africa, July 1995, Vol. 7,
No. 5, p. 10.
Okuntimo, RSISTF Operations: Law and Order in Ogoni, Memo from
the Chairman of RSISTF to His Excellency, the Military Administrator,
Restricted, 1994, 12 May.
July 6, 1993: Ogoni author, playwright, and activist Ken
Saro-Wiwa is elected President of MOSOP.
May 22, 1994: Ken Saro-Wiwa, Ledum Mitee (Deputy
Leader of MOSOP) and several others are arrested in connection to the deaths of four Ogoni leaders, although not formally charged for almost a year. Saro-Wiwa and Mitee were
nowhere near the murder scene. Amnesty International
issued a statement that Saro-Wiwa's arrest was “part of the
continuing suppression by the Nigerian authorities of the
Ogoni people's campaign against the oil companies.”
Boele, Ogoni—Report of UNPO Mission to Investigate Situation of
Ogoni of Nigeria, 17 - 26 February, UNPO, May 1,1995, pp50
anuary 4, 1993: Three hundred thousand Ogoni celerated The Year of Indigenous Peoples by peacefully protestng against Shell's activities and the environmental destrucon of Ogoniland. It remains the largest demonstration
gainst an oil company ever. “We have woken up to find our
ands devastated by agents of death called oil companies.
Our atmosphere has been totally polluted, our lands degradd, our waters contaminated, our trees poisoned, so much
o that our flora and fauna have virtually disappeared,” said
n Ogoni leader to the crowd. “…We are asking, above all,
or the right to self-determination so that we can be responible for our resources and our environment.”
August 5, 1993: Over 100 Ogoni are killed in Kaa, a town on
the Ogoni and Andoni (another delta ethnic group) border.
Kaa was effectively destroyed, and 8,000 were made homeless. While Shell and the government portrayed the event as
“ethnic conflict,” soldiers later testify that they were involved
in the attack. MOSOP blamed the military for inciting the
clash and Shell for its complicity. Twenty similar “ethnic
clashes” were to occur over the coming months. Eyewitness
accounts place Nigerian troops in Shell helicopters and indicate that Shell Police were used in the repression.
January 4th has become known as Ogoni Day.
4
P. Ghazi & C. Duodu, How Shell Tried To Buy Berettas for Nigerians ,
The Observer, 1996, 11 February and V. Oteri, Letter to the Inspector
General of Police, Re: Acquisition of Ammunition and Upgrade of
Weapons, 1994, 19 January
May 12, 1994: Major Paul Okuntimo, head of newlyformed Rivers State Internal Security Task Force
(RSISTF), sends a “restricted” memo to Lieutenant
Colonel Komo, military administrator of Rivers State,
remarking that “Shell operations still impossible unless
ruthless military operations are undertaken for smooth
economic activities to commence.” To counter this,
Okuntimo recommends: “Wasting operations during
MOSOP and other gatherings making constant military
presence justifiable; . . . wasting operations coupled with
psychological tactics . . . restrictions of unauthorized visitors, especially those from Europe, to the Ogoni.”
The Ogoni Crisis: A Case-Study of Military Repression in
Southeastern Nigeria, Human Rights Watch/Africa, July 1995, Vol. 7,
No. 5, p. 10; Richard Boele, Report of the UNPO Mission to
Investigate the Situation of the Ogoni in Nigeria, May 1, 1995, p. 23.
Statement from Bopp van Dessel on Granada Television Documentary
Shell Nigeria—World in Action May 13, 1996
C. Bakwuye, Ogonis Protest over Oil Revenue, Daily Sunray, June 6,
1993, p. 1 & p. 20
December 15, 1993: Shell purchases weapons to crush
dissent. V. A. Oteri, then Shell's security advisor, requests by
letter an audience with the police to discuss “crucial matters
relating to the disruption of our operations.” One month
later he sends another letter requesting “the supply of
150,000 rounds of 9mm ammunition . . . we also wish to
apply for supply of semi automatic weapons.” Later he writes:
“We also wish to confirm that we will be prepared to pay the
cost of acquisition by your nominated dealer/supplier.”
R. Boele, Ogoni: Report of the UNPO Mission to Investigate the
Situation of the Ogoni of Nigeria, 17 - 26 February, UNPO, 1995, 1
May, pp50; Human Rights Watch / Africa, Nigeria: The Ogoni Crisis: A
Case Study of Military Repression in Southeastern Nigeria, 1995, July,
Vol. 7, No.5; A. Rowell, Green Backlash—Global Subversion of the
Environmental Movement, Routledge, 1996
Amnesty International, Ken Saro-Wiwa, Writer and President of the
Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP), Urgent
Action, 1994, 24 May.
November 10, 1995: Saro-Wiwa and eight others are executed in defiance of international appeals for leniency.
Michael Birnbaum, a lawyer who observed the trial for the
Bar Human Rights Committee of England and Wales, says
the judgement of the Tribunal was “not merely wrong, illog-
ical or perverse. It is downright dishonest . . . I believe that
the Tribunal first decided on its verdict and then sought for
arguments to justify them.”
M. Birnbaum, A Travesty of Law and Justice: An Analysis of the
Judgement in the Case of Ken Saro-Wiwa and Others, Article 19,
1995, December, p. 2
Wide international condemnation and outrage of both the
military junta and Shell erupts. The condemnation leads to
the strengthening of limited sanctions. Nigeria is suspend
ed from the Commonwealth. All European Union member
states recall their Ambassadors for consultation and impose
limited visa restrictions on Nigeria, as well as an arms
embargo. The US withdraws its Ambassador and extends
pre-existing restrictions on military links and sales.
February 16, 1995: Evidence is found that Shell bribed
witnesses at Saro-Wiwa’s trial. An affidavit was signed by
one of the two chief prosecution witnesses in the Ogoni
trial, Charles Danwi. It read: “He was told that [for testify
ing against Saro-Wiwa] he would be given a house, a con
tract from Shell and Ompadec and some money . . . He was
given 30,000 Naira . . . At a later meeting security agents,
government officials and the Kobani, Orage, and Badey fam
ilies, representatives of Shell and Ompadec were all pres
ent.” A similar affidavit was later signed by the second pros
ecution witness.
M. Birnbaum, Nigeria: Fundamental Rights Denied: Report of the
Trial of Ken Saro-Wiwa and Others, ARTICLE 19 in Association with the
Bar Human Rights Committee of England and Wales and the Law Society
of England and Wales, 1995, June, Appendix 10: Summary of Affidavits
Alleging Bribery
January 4, 1996: Large numbers of Ogoni celebrate
Ogoni Day, despite a military clampdown. Soldiers and The
Mobile Police fire tear gas and ammunition at an Ogoni Day
rally in Bori, the major Ogoni town. Four youths are killed
and many people wounded.
March, 1996: The UN High Commissioner for Refugees
(UNHCR) reports that 1,000 Ogonis have fled to Benin
since Ogoni Day on January 4th. The UNHCR called the
flight “worrisome.” According to the UNHCR there have
been a number of threats to the refugees from the Nigerian
security forces.
Nigeria: “Permanent Transition”, Human Rights Watch/Africa, Vol.8,
No.3(A), Sept. 1996, p. 42.
What follows is testimony from nine of the refugees. In some of the interviews, brackets have been added [for example] to correct grammatical errors in speech or to improve the flow of testimony. The interview questions have been
noted in bold. The refugees’ names have been changed and the faces blurred in photographs to protect them from
reprisal. Their voices will tell their story—the story of Shell’s refugees.
5
Immaculate
Name:____________________________________________
26
Age: _____________________________________________
Female
Gender:___________________________________________
Shopkeeper and musician
Profession:________________________________________
Songwriter for rallies
Role in struggle:____________________________________
Immaculate brought a picture of herself to the interview. It was a picture taken in a studio when
she lived in Nigeria. She wanted to show how she has changed. She wore a blue Nigerian dress in
the picture. She had on earrings and an elaborate head scarf. She looks thinner now, in person.
Her nice clothes are gone. Immaculate’s contribution to the struggle was her music. When Shell’s
contractors went to lay pipeline armed with a band of soldiers, Immaculate went to meet them
with a chorus of women.
What did you do in Nigeria?
I had a shop. I was a local singer. I bought cartons of fish from companies, then weighed out the
kilos and sold them. I composed Christian songs. I also had the opportunity to compose songs for
The Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People.
When I was farming, when I was still small, the soil was thick and black. Now it looks like ordinary
sand. The crops don’t grow. The cassava was big, two people would draw it from the ground. Now
the cassava is small. Since those things don’t grow there is not much food.
On our land, sometimes there were locations, [you’d] see a big, big iron pipe. If it bursts out,
[you’d] see crude oil. Sometimes it flows in the gutter. Sometimes on the land. When we were children we would paint ourselves in the oil. We played, we didn’t know it was bad for us. When we grew
up we stopped doing it.
Why did you think it was important to be involved in MOSOP?
I thought that since they (Shell) drill oil they should be able to do something about the oil. I wrote
songs and choruses and we would sing them at the rallies. We used my shop to have meetings.
Once the men were put in prison we women came out. They used the trucks and big vehicles to
come to work. We would stand in front and stop them. We held cassava leaves—the leaves are for
peace—and say “No [drilling] here today.” We were many. Six hundred women. We were on the
right side. If you kill me, my blood will be on your hand.
1993 is when the [Nigerian] government tried to force Shell into the land, to drill the oil by force.
We said no. All these women, when we used to sing like that, the police used to chase us. The police
people [came with] the army. As soon as they [catch] you they will just get rid of you. Like me, I was
arrested and put in Kpor prison. When I returned from that prison—I spent one week—I paid a
bribe. In Nigerian prison the toilet is the [cell]. All over the floor [there were] maggots.
I was put in prison because I used to sing. At that time people [began] to carry my name, talking
about my name. They said “Here are the women.” We used to protest, singing. That is why they took
down my name, to chase me out.
6
The tension was then too high (1994). All over Ogoni were police. Every place [we’d] have no less
than 50 soldiers. In every village. Soldiers would carry the goats from the houses and the people
would run to the bush. You could not stay home. If they see you as a woman they will rape you. If
they see you as a man they just shoot.
When the guns went off everybody ran, no time to stop. When I crossed the border, my children
were with me.
After you crossed the border into Benin, what happened?
When the UNHCR officer saw me, she cried. My hair, my dress—she was crying. She interviewed me,
I filled [out] forms. It was in the evening that she brought food for me, in the office there, by herself.
Now [I’m in the camp] in Come. If they spoke English here, I would have gone to a studio and tried
to see who can put me in. I have the desire to sing. Since I came to the camp, I formed a group of
people in camp - we sing in the church, presenting numbers. They [are] songs of comfort.
What about your future, what do you hope to do?
About my future, I don’t know what to really say. Suppose I’d be taken from here, to a nice country,
the country is secure. Then a place I can work. As soon as I work six months, get money, then I
would have joined a group—a kind of singing something. If possible go to school more. I don’t really know much of the things that I’m supposed to know, like composition. I’m not yet to that level. I
would concentrate on my music.
When I was small I used to enjoy the Shell people. When you reached their location you’d pick
[from the trash] an old canned Coke or empty plastic [to play with]. Then I didn’t have any idea what
they were doing.
The Shell people may think the Ogoni people are stubborn for telling them the truth. But a lot of
blood has been spilled in the world, that they should try and tell Shell people to listen to our Bill of
Rights, to try to know what we need.
7
Name:____________________________________________
Tertius
Age: _____________________________________________
27
Gender:___________________________________________
Male
Profession:________________________________________
Student
Role in struggle:____________________________________
Student Activist--Member of
The Niger Delta Human Rights Organization
The first thing you notice about Tertius is his eyes. His eyes are big and brown, but they stand
out more for their expression than for their size. He has an imploring expression. He seems to
be asking “Why” of the world that has made him a refugee. Tertius was active in The Niger Delta
Human Rights Organization, a group that works to protect human rights not only of the Ogoni,
but also of people throughout the delta impacted by Shell and other companies’ operations.
Tell me about your work on campus.
What happened is that we [had] what we called The National Union of Ogoni Students. We would
announce materials about oil pollution and violations in The Niger Delta. We don’t need to keep quiet,
we need to shout so that people will hear.
[Every] December 10th we observe what we call International Human Rights Day. It [had] to do
with a protest march, a peaceful march. At that time (1995) we were also going into a sort of campaign work - a campaign to boycott Shell, though at that time if you go about talking about much
[you’d] be seen as anti-Shell and you know what that means. So we [were] always being very careful,
bearing in mind the fact that we were in a state government university.
On that campus, if you go into protest Shell, maybe carrying placards criticizing the activities of Shell,
ou might be picked up by a state security agent. And so they have this, I mean the opportunity, the
esources to arrest you, detain you, without anybody really knowing, because there’s not a talk of raising
an eyebrow. The company, this Shell is so powerful that they influence even the institution. They influence the institution as well as the state. You know, the Vice Chancellor [of the university] also sometimes
s interested in these contracts from Shell . . . So we were very, very careful in the way that we do it.
Shell, as we all know, is a multinational oil giant. I don't know how they came about having their
own security task force—internal security, or what we call their own police. [. . . the security forces]
will warn you. “You think you are more than Shell. Why do you think that? A student like you, why not
concentrate on your studies? You think you can [beat] Shell? Do you know Shell oil?” You'll be threatened. And if you are not careful the way you go about it, at the end of the day they [will] pick you up,
the authorities will not make noise, the authorities will even pretend that they don't know what is happening. Nobody cares about it.
8
We observed in 1996, January 4th Ogoni Day alongside other students who also suffer the same fate
. . . Early in the morning we were confronted on the road near the high court, that was where we met
these men, these soldiers. Because of the number we were they couldn’t actually do anything. They
went back . . . they reinforced, they came back.
What happened when the soldiers came back?
I must say that a lot of people ran. You [had] to escape for your dear blood, because their orders
were to shoot. So we ran to the bush. I assembled ourselves somewhere and we continued because it
was as if it was a war, a war between unarmed students—Ogonis—and the armed soldiers. So we
were quite aware that if you are shot—because they do shoot—that nothing will happen, nobody will
condemn it, and so we were being very careful. All we were interested in was that there must be
[Ogoni] day. We had placards we were carrying “No to Shell, The struggle must continue . . .”
I stayed nine nights, until the 12th, with my Mother, my aged Mother, but I [knew] the state of
things. I did not sleep in the house. I slept somewhere in some other place. [. . . one] night soldiers
visited the house twice. The first time they raided the house, she was the only person inside there.
They tried to ask her where I was. She tried to behave as if she didn’t hear what they were asking.
The soldiers felt that she was not [cooperating] with them. She was pushed and she fell down.
9
They later came back about 3 AM . . . Early morning that day, [they] also came. And already, she
was not sleeping, she was just sitting in her bed and she told me that they came again. She refused,
like I said, she acted like she [didn’t understand] English. When they asked about me for the third
time she said she didn’t know about me, and she was stripped naked.
Somebody who saw [the soldiers said that] my Mother was naked today because of me, that if she is
killed, that they will not forgive me. So I told her to actually leave the home and find her way to somewhere where her life would be secure, that actually I am also going just because I am scared for my
life. Since then I have not seen her.
On January 4, 1997, there was Ogoni Day in my village all over the place. Soldiers came the following day and got [the chief] and beat him. They got the chief and anybody they saw. My Mother was
one of those they saw. They kicked [her] in the stomach and she fell down. And the hit in the stomach —nothing [was done for her], there was no medication . . . the news was that she died of a lack
of medical attention. The chief later also died. Some of these are reported in documents.
What do you think about what your Mother went through?
I keep on consoling myself with the fact that ordinarily my Mother wouldn't have [lived forever] . . .
Moreover there is nothing I can do about it. She has suffered for me so much . . . A lot of people were
saying that she died because of me—and all those things—so I was really afraid that actually she has
died because of my activities.
The fact that she [never told me] “Look, you should stop this,” suggests to me that she was proud.
A lady told me [that my Mother] did not lament over my exile, over the rumor that I was arrested.
What are your hopes for the future?
I changed my decision to write my degree in engineering, and if I have [the] opportunity now, I’m
going into law, precisely human rights law. But painfully, it is painful to observe that this arrangement
. . . appears an impossibility. I go through delusions because of the way things are going. I think
“Where do I go from here? Will I die in the camp or how is it going to look?”
My mates who were in school with me when I was in school, some of them have graduated now and
’m in the camp. If I go back home, certainly I will be killed. So I’m afraid for my future, I don’t feel
atisfied about it. Maybe the way things go, I won’t be able to do [anything]. I will be just wasted, what
one might call another genocide. Because I’m sure that—I am beginning to think that Shell—the
multinational—is interested in [frustrating us] over time. And the Nigerian government, I think that
heir strategy this time is to subject us to a slow death in a situation where we cannot be useful to ourselves.
The future is an illusion. The only reality is uncertainty. It appears as if we will be kept [in the
camp] under these types of [inhumane] conditions. I am afraid—I’m terribly afraid, I must confess—that if something is not done, this class of the Ogoni people—the future of these people is not
much. That is what I think about my future at this time.
10
Name: ____________________________________________
Faith
Age: _____________________________________________
47
Gender:___________________________________________
Female
Profession: ________________________________________
Small business owner
Role in struggle:____________________________________
Deputy Leader of women’s
group
Faith is a tall woman with a quiet yet determined demeanor. She is one of the older refugees.
She lifted up her dress to reveal a scar that runs the length of her thigh. The scar is from an
encounter with the Nigerian military. After all that she has been through, she seems to worry
more for others than for herself. “The youths need to get out of this place,” she says.
Tell me about your life in Nigeria.
I graduated from university in 1977 in biotechnology and chemistry. I thought that with all of the oil
companies I would be able to get a job. But if you are an Ogoni, they don’t hire you. I couldn’t find a
job for over two years, so I opened a sewing business and a shop. I had four girls working for me. It
was in 1993 that I was invited to join MOSOP. I waited a bit. I wanted to see what they would do. In
1995 I started going to meetings. I went to the meetings because these is no electricity in my land, no
good water, no schools. Compared to other parts of Nigeria, Ogoniland is the poorest.
Can you see the presence of oil companies in your area?
When I was in primary school I saw the heavy equipment, the trucks arriving. Workers came and
started drilling. The whole village was noisy and shaking. They worked day and night. There was a
network of pipes laid in the village—through compounds, fields. Oil pipes are sensitive at the joints.
They would leak there. At first, as children, we were excited about the leaks. We would gather the
crude oil and use it on our fires. Later on, we noticed the plants withered where oil spilled. When
crude oil spilled on water, a film formed on the top, all the fish died. We drink that water.
The second largest oil well in Rivers State is behind my Grandmother’s house. I never knew any
person who has benefited from oil. If there would have been anyone who would have benefited,
Mother’s family would have been the richest. Instead, the fields were destroyed. When we saw the
plants were dying we realized something was wrong. I was 16.
In 1995, after the killings (of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the others), there was a ban on MOSOP activities.
In April 1996, a UN fact finding team came. I mobilized the women to testify. I went from house to
house and wrote placards to call the women. The chief supported me. I wasn’t scared because in my
town we had never had a direct encounter with military forces. I had no idea what would happen.
11
Soldiers broke into my house. They ransacked my home, destroyed all property. Thieves used the
opportunity to remove sewing machines. I was advised not to come around at all. I left Rivers State
because I was chased. I stayed with people who could feed me. I was afraid for my life with soldiers
there and people knowing who I was. Underground, I stayed inside being lonely. I read my Bible, I
prayed. I was losing sight of what [was] happening outside.
Later on soldiers came into the village to arrest people who testified. They asked “Where is this
woman who will not stop her activities?” They are rough boys. I was beaten. I was kicked, and I was
being beaten, kicked, and punched along the road, and at the end was such—I don’t know—the soldiers must have kicked me in the waist and I fell. I was taken to a station and released the following
day. I was released because of the injuries, because I had to go to the hospital. I went through an
operation because the bones were fractured, I had fractures—the thigh and leg, I had a wound on my
Achilles tendon that was not noticed, the doctor didn’t see it. It is still there.
How long did you stay underground?
In February 1998 I went to the UN High Commission for Refugees office in Cotonou, Benin. But for
two weeks they didn’t see us. I was with another woman. We asked if we could sleep on the premises.
We had no money, food, or friends. They said no. There, too, we were afraid for our lives. After some
days we saw some strange men coming in. We suspected them—maybe they had information about us.
For five days we slept in a kiosk. My friend became sick. It is for that reason we were finally cleared
and sent to the camp. We were glad at least to have a place to sleep for the night, to have food to eat.
But we didn’t feel quite safe in the camp. Why? We were given a place to sleep that was open. Being
women, we could be attacked at any time. We were close to the fence. The fence was so low.
Now, in the camp, I don’t feel so secure. I still live in that tent. The tent where I stay is old and is
leaking. Some people we think were Nigerians tried to invade the camp.
When we queue up to get food, that’s the worst. That is the worst.
We have gone so far, it is not good if the struggle does not continue. It is my dream. Ken SaroWiwa came up with this vision and this idea. When I heard about it I thought “This will liberate my
people.” This struggle should be given a chance to survive.
Once the soldiers attacked you like that, weren’t you scared to continue with
your activities?
. . . I realized that my life and any other person involved in this struggle’s life is in danger. I continued with activities despite the risk because I thought of those who had died for this struggle. It is the
only way there could be a better life for me and my generations.
On January 1st I had a meeting in my house to plan for Ogoni Day. There was a rally in the town of
Eleme. It was dispersed by the soldiers. Those same soldiers came into the village to make arrests. I
got the information before they reached my house. I left. It was after 7 PM. I went to the bush. In
the night I went to another town. I was moving from place to place. The market women would tell me
where the soldiers were.
12
13
“I am expecting that the children, in time to come, will have a lot of problems.”
—Farmer, age 30.
The Ogoni youth—especially those children of school age who make up 32% of the camp
population—see their future fade with each day that passes. In the camp there are no
formal schools. There is no advancement. Only idleness. These children, in particular,
are the victims of Shell’s quest for oil and for profits. Profits are put before the future of
a generation.
There are also university students in the camp. They were pursuing their studies at
universities throughout the country when they were forced to flee for their lives. Their
statement follows.
We, the members of the National Union of Ogoni Students, an affiliate organization of the
Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP) currently in exile here in Benin
Republic, wish to thank you . . . for your support for the Ogoni people.
It is generally believed that the future of any people depends on its youth. Presently, the
future of Ogoni appears very bleak, for if we the students, in whose hands the future lies,
remain in this state of intellectual stagnation . . . we fear that we will gradually waste away
both mentally and physically and will soon become useless to ourselves, Ogoni, and humanity.
The Ogoni people have for some time now suffered relentless persecution by military governments in Nigeria. Our leaders have been murdered, our youths hunted and killed like
game, our women raped while our homes and properties are plundered and destroyed. We
have suffered all this for demanding our right to self-determination within the Nigerian
nation-state and for daring to challenge the ecological atrocities committed by Shell in Ogoni.
Although Shell continues to deny these as unfounded assertions, they have refused to allow
an independent audit of their environmental practices. The question is why?
We recognize that it is only with your help that we can ever hope to make Shell accept
responsibility for the damage [they have] done to the Ogoni environment and for the deaths
and untold hardship [we] have suffered as a result.
We therefore appeal to you to boycott all Shell products until [the corporation] accepts
and remedies the damage they have done to the Ogoni environment. We enjoin you also to
halt the purchase of Nigerian oil—it is stolen property (the Ogoni and the rest of the Niger
Delta, from where it is [drilled], are not paid due royalties).
We ask this not because we begrudge Shell their legitimate profits, but because we strongly
believe that Shell owes the people on whose land they operate the responsibility to ensure
[those] operations do not adversely affect our existence.
14
15
terror in ogoni
The Ogoni fled Nigeria in fear for their lives. The excerpts that follow recount the infamous campaign of terror—the “wasting operation.”
Rose, a farmer and hair dresser age 36, tells of her encounter with the notorious Major Paul
Okuntimo.
There was a time, this Okuntimo, that is the leader of the armed forces, came into our village and he
gathered everybody in the village, but only women came out. So he stayed in the [center] and began
to shout, began to talk in a very loud voice, that “Where is Ken Saro-Wiwa now, where [are] the eight
others? Where are those brothers that know how to fight? They should come.” The army rounded up
everybody. I don’t know whether they wanted to frighten us or maybe they wanted to kill us.
[Okuntimo said that they were told to] clear everybody in that village, and other parts of Ogoni, that he
was taught 21 ways of killing human beings, that he has just operated four methods, that this time
around he is going to deal with us.
So the next day, the chief of that village called me and a few women in The Federation of Ogoni
Women Association (FOWA) and said “Come, let us go and make food for them.” If we don’t [bring
food for them], they will not allow us to rest one second. Even [with the] maltreatment they are doing
us, they still want to get food from us. And they take some by force. So we just give some so that our
lives will be a little bit safe. A few women contributed gari flour, plantains and other things. So we
took it to the center. Okuntimo the leader of this armed force was there. We gave them the food.
All the villages were contributing through the women, because men [were at great risk]. They see a
man and they beat [him]. The type of beating they are beating—wow. They flog, a person will be
shouting. No mercy. With the females, they just come and rape some. That is what we pass through.
So that place—our chief told me that a soldier there was from the North. I tried to speak [in that
soldier’s language], Hausa, to the man, that he should help us. So he said that—in Hausa too—that
our people are too heady, they did not want to hear what the government is saying, that we should forget about everything and let the oil belong to the government, that we are so stubborn, [that] we
demonstrated when they want to lay the pipeline—that is [why we have problems].
In this discussion, I told the man that the commander in chief—Okuntimo, he was there—I was
16
telling the man that this useless man, I don’t know what is wrong with [Okuntimo], that he keeps acting as if he is proud that he has been taught 21 ways of killing human beings. And the man quickly
showed me with his eyes that the very man I am talking about understands Hausa. I was shocked. He
was right there. I was afraid. But Okuntimo—he looked at me but he did not say anything. He was
speechless. Then I knew that he really [understood]. So I called the lady chief and said “Let us go.”
So we went.
Before that day was out, in the evening, I learned that the army [was] coming quickly. A friend of
mine called me and said that we should hide, that Okuntimo said that army should come and search
for a woman who came with the chief, that he wants to ask me questions. So from there I took off. I
ran to the bush very far from the village. I stayed in the bush, even dug a very big pit for safety. [We
had dug it earlier.] Some of our children could stay there. If soldiers pass by they will not know that
there is a place like that in the bush. We stayed there.
17
Paul, a pastor age 33, describes how the soldiers descended on his village one night. The operation
described here was typical throughout Ogoniland. Entire villages were destroyed in a single night.
In June, the 6th of June 1994, after Ken Saro-Wiwa was arrested, the churches decided to gather
and have a word of prayer. There was this wasting operation in Ogoniland. They [got] into the town,
they shoot on sight, burn houses, scatter villages, rape our girls, and loot property. If there is any person around, they descend on [that person]. At two in the morning I was sleeping in my room. I
heard BOOM BOOM at the door. Because of how the military was terrorizing the place, I didn't used
to sleep [well]. You were very conscious of your safety. When I heard this I immediately woke up.
I heard my cousin shouting. The children were crying. Students lived with us—five girls. If I put
out my head I would be shot dead. I crawled into the gutter. By the time they came to my room I was
already hidden in the gutter, the tunnel. There were my brother, there with his wife, all the girls in the
yard—they were tortured. My brother’s wife in pregnancy was tortured. Beatings. They beat you
mercilessly. They raped the girls. Soldiers were deployed all around the place. I remained in the tunnel until after three. I went through the tunnel and crept into the farm.
They moved into the village at the same time. So all the activists, all the activists were located. As
it’s happening here, it’s happening there. My brother was shot—we did not see his corpse, even today
[we have never seen it]. I ran away. My uncle was shot dead. They lit fire to the house. My friend
was shot in his bed. They carried him outside and dropped him on the main road. Another family—
they shot a boy to death and the whole house was burned down. The dead would have included myself
if [I had not] escaped through the tunnel. Running in the night—one girl was shot in the breast.
Flying bullets. Another girl was shot in the fingers. Her two fingers were cut off.
18
Name: ____________________________________________
Dumka
Age:______________________________________________
42
Gender:___________________________________________
Male
Profession: ________________________________________
Businessman
Role in struggle:____________________________________
Speaker and organizer
Dumka has owned his own business for years. He was a prominent entrepreneur in the community. Now he has nothing. This is a man who is used to giving orders, to controlling situations
and commanding respect. These days he is utterly powerless - a faceless victim in a system he
cannot control.
What kind of business did you have?
I am a trader, a supermarket trader. I sold cosmetics, soap, drinks—beer, mineral water. It was
quite a big business. I spent all my life in Ogoni. I traveled to Port Harcourt but I came back. I traveled to Lagos but I came back. I spent all my life in Ogoni.
In 1990 I embraced MOSOP. I embraced MOSOP because, when I traveled out as a trader, there are
other things I see happening in other lands which are not [happening] in Ogoni. I feel that all those
things should be in Ogoni—for example a bank, where I could get a loan for my business. But there
is nothing like that. All the oil that Nigeria has to develop other places is gotten from Ogoni.
I used to use my shop to address my fellow Ogoni people and other people about the things we are
witnessing which [are] not good. We used to talk to the people, mobilize the people to become aware
and conscious. The police started to put their eyes on us. That was in 1990. Everything started dwindling right from that time. The police and soldiers started to intimidate people.
In 1995, on a Sunday, 4th March, I went to my village [and] I came back home around 7:30 PM. I
saw a man who came [inside]. He asked me who owned this [house]. I said “It's myself.” He said.
“OK, you are invited to Kpor.” That is the headquarters of internal security. As he was [talking to] me,
I saw a man with a gun come across on the road. All of a sudden I saw another one . . . I never knew
that the whole of the yard [was] occupied with soldiers, guns, clubs, every other thing—dangerous
weapons. So I came out. By that time they were about 40 or 50 [soldiers]. He took me and handed
me over. They drove me to . . . Kpor. I spent five weeks there.
19
What was the charge against you?
They said that I posted papers in the motor park instructing the people not to turn out to welcome
the military governor. That was the allegation. You know the MOSOP struggle is peaceful. It is by
prayer and you know, campaigning that we use to achieve what we want, not by violence. As God may
have it, I was released with the help of one other soldier who was annoyed at what they did. After that
time I think Ogoni stayed about six to five months without any serious arrest.
On the 26th of October . . . I saw that the whole [market] was scattered, nobody there, but I [didn't] know why, what happened. I drove home. As I entered the compound—I had not even stepped
out of the car—I saw a station wagon at my back. One major, by name Amos, came. He said I [was]
invited at Kpor. We drove to Kpor. At the junction we saw people coming from Port Harcourt in this
luxurious big bus. They were keeping them naked, searching them. I thought “What is happening?”
We never knew that that 26th Friday was the date they were to give the final word on Ken SaroWiwa’s case. We were arrested, I was arrested in advance before that time. I was there for four
weeks. A friend who came, it was through [him] that we were told that Ken was killed. So we cried.
Stranded. It was when we got the call that we relayed the news we heard. It was shocking to everybody. All our prayers, all that we were doing became weak. [We lost all] courage. We heard the helicopter—ta ta ta ta ta ta ta. They said that was a Shell [helicopter], they want to go back and start their
oil business. We [lost all] courage.
The major told us while we were in the prison that we should thank our God. Let there be no uproar
n Ogoni, [that] if there is uproar that we as the leaders, they will pick us and take us to the waterside
and shoot us. There was a plot on my life. The police said they would kill us through secret means, not
put us in a cell, because when they put us in a cell, The World Council of Churches, the American government, the international community—human rights organizations—they do make noise.
20
What happened to your business?
I have seven children. I was not there. My wife could not even be settled in the shop because by
and by the security men would be calling. The whole thing was a ruin. The business collapsed. When
they knew that my presence was not in Nigeria, they pounced on her to produce me. Their security
and presence in the house was no longer safe for them. They made their way out, too.
Shell would pay for their (The Mobile Police) [food], . . . and even the motorcycle they used.
Members of the internal security used this motorcycle always during the oppression. The presence of
Shell in these Ogoni problems Shell does not deny. They are involved.
We left home and are living in exile here in Benin and Togo in some of the worst parts of Africa
where the refugees are. It is the fault of Shell and the government.
21
Name:____________________________________________
Moses
Age: _____________________________________________
32
Gender:___________________________________________
Male
Profession:________________________________________
Farmer
Role in struggle:____________________________________
MOSOP member
Moses has lots of ideas. His speech is lofty, inspiring – he could be a Socrates or Plato from days
gone by. Instead, his brain is slowly wasting away. He is worried about the others in the camp.
You see, you are bored. And almost everyday of your life you are kept in perpetual fear. There have
been frequent sicknesses attacking people in camp. Sometimes it’s not that they would have been
attacked by this disease but because of, maybe, lonely hearts. Most of us are growing old.
Moses fights to keep active. He spends time writing poetry.
Never on earth could you be
In Papa’s ears
You are disguised death
In old mama’s dying ears
You whisper hell, hell
Pouncing and brutish you are
A predator upon my progeny
Ogoni hears you
Vampire, extinction, genocide
You claw her veins
And drain her blood
The innocent are shattered
In your realm
She is strangled out
Wailing and gnashing her teeth
Never on earth could you be
Slashing your hot tongue
Never upon Ogoni
The finger that fed you
As much as you are
Oh! Shell, hell is yours
22
23
Name:____________________________________________
Victoria
Age: _____________________________________________
30
Gender:___________________________________________
Female
Profession:________________________________________
Graduate student in religious studies
Role in struggle:____________________________________
Expert on Ogoni Culture
Victoria aspires to be a lecturer in a university. She speaks confidently and with authority. She
would be a great lecturer. Her specialty is Nigerian indigenous religion, with an emphasis on the
Ogoni. She feels passionately that her culture should not die with the older generations.
What is your hometown like?
My home is a community, not very big—like a town—located near where we have the Yolla oil
fields. We have rivers, streams and farms. Most of our people are farmers. We plant cassava, yams,
vegetables, pumpkins, pepper, melons.
Before Shell came into Ogoniland, we were peasant farmers, we were agriculturists, and we were
fishermen. So with the coming of Shell into the land, our farm produce was no longer yielding much
for us. As a result of the cap spilling in the land, the trees all dried up. It was a very big oil spill,
sometime in 1973 or thereabouts . . . I was very little but I can remember, I saw many people, you
know, who were just running helter skelter to escape. And because of the cap spilling, we also have
acid rain. It [destroys] the roofs. And we are peasant people. We don’t have money. We cannot even
afford to repair these roofs. Sometimes you see rain dripping down because of the damage of the
roof coming directly down during the rainy season. And you tend to live in cold.
Tell me about your school life.
I was a postgraduate student in religious and philosophy studies. I got my undergraduate degree in
religious studies. I was in my final year of school. Actually, I wanted to be a lecturer. I am interested
in African traditional religion. I was finished with my coursework, about to start with my research.
It was at the postgraduate [level] that there was MOSOP. When we had our meetings we used to
discuss things affecting youths. People used to shy away from the Ogoni people. They didn’t really
want to identify with [us] because they felt that we were low class people. In those days, the Ogoni
people were not educated. The other tribes would take the Ogoni as house help or [for] menial work.
We used to get the students to really identify with the Ogoni people so that they will know that we are
people who have an identity.
24
Knowing how violent the government could be, weren’t you afraid be a part of
these activities?
I was really worried because I felt my life was threatened. But at the same time I felt that we should
not stop these campaigns . . . We needed to fight for our rights. At the rally in December, 1995 (to
mark the one month execution of Ken), we all came out with our leaves, we were all in black. The
leaves were a sign of peace, a non violent struggle. So all the students were together. While we were
at that rally—I don’t know how the security operatives got to hear about it—they came in and drove
so many people away and I think some people were shot.
From that day onward, the security operatives started looking out for some prominent people who
were chairs of organizing the rally. And basically in the University of Port Harcourt, I was a target
because when we had a symposium of the graduate students, I used to give lectures. So they felt that
might have helped the protests . . . What I lectured about was mostly on culture and religion.
On that day of the protest [at the university] they shot into the air. We knew it was no longer child’s
play. I had to run. I fell and was hurt a little, but I wasn’t shot. Later soldiers came looking for me at
home. The army was all over the place. We ran into the bush to hide. When I returned to my house,
I found that the soldiers came in and had taken documents and photographs. I knew I needed to go
into hiding. But the soldiers came when I was still there. I was at home. I hid under the bed. My
grandmother answered the door. She said I wasn’t there, but the soldiers pushed her down. I hid
under the bed. They came in the room. They found me. I was screaming. There were three soldiers.
They, they, they they raped me. I fell unconscious. I awoke in a clinic three days later.
25
What did you do then?
I went to Cotonou, Benin. On the 14th of March, 1996, they took us to the [refugee] camp. There
were security problems in the camp. I got so scared. I felt the Nigerian government could do anything
at any time. I wanted to get to Europe. I was so scared. I left the camp because I didn’t feel safe.
I went to Ghana. I found my way into the port. At that time I had some money, so I paid a man to
sneak me onto a boat. I took some bread with me. I thought the boat was going to Europe. But then,
after some time, we stopped in a port in Nigeria. I was terrified. I mean, I thought I was being taken
back to Nigeria. Finally the boat left Nigeria, and I was on the ship, in that small room, for more than
a week. It was an inner room with a window.
When the ship landed again, the people there were speaking Spanish. I was in Equatorial Guinea. I
emembered a friend who was from there. He had been at my university in Nigeria. I wrote his name
down on a piece of paper. Finally someone found him for me. He was so surprised. He welcomed me.
In January of [1998], the Nigerian government sent out secret armies to help overthrow the government of [Equatorial Guinea]. Because of that the government now [had] a crackdown on all the
Nigerians who were there, and so many Nigerians were killed. I felt that [ the government of Equatorial
Guinea] might kill me or get me and repatriate me back to Nigeria. And I was so scared. And my friend
knew that there was no way he could hide me. So what he did was that he found a way of getting me out
of the country on one of these fishing trawlers that goes on the ocean. That is how I returned to Benin.
After all that you have been through, do you ever regret your involvement in the
struggle?
People cannot come and exploit our wealth and give that to the other states whereas we have nothing to show for it. How long are we going to keep quiet and look at them? I have always done the right
thing and I will continue to do it. I think that the Ogoni people have a bright future.
The struggle might take a long time to achieve, but in the end I feel that we will overcome.
Personally I think that here, while I am [in Come], my life is not safe, I know that. But I know that
someday I will be able to contribute a lot to the international community and to the Ogoni community
as a whole. That’s what I think.
26
Asmana
Name: ____________________________________________
34
Age: _____________________________________________
Male
Gender:___________________________________________
Newspaper publisher and journalist
Profession:________________________________________
Exposed collusion between
Role in struggle:____________________________________
Shell and the Nigerian regime
Dynamic is the best word to describe Asmana. It is easy to understand why his newspapers have
been a success. He is from the Yoruba ethnic group, one of three non Ogoni Nigerians in the
camp. On the Yoruba's land, too, there is oil. He knows that the Ogoni plight today could be the
Yoruba's tomorrow. Today, Asmana is a refugee for siding with the Ogoni, for exposing Shell's
crimes against them. The Nigerian government is so threatened by Asmana that they kidnapped
him from Benin. Asmana was recently released from a year and a half in prison and returned to
Benin.
Tell me about the kidnapping.
It was when I was putting pressure on her (the UN officer) that she resettle me [from the refugee
camp to another country], that the Nigerian Security people, the operatives caught me here. I was
kidnapped around 10:30 PM on Friday, February 14th, 1997. I had just gone to Bible school. I [had]
told my wife I was going to the Bible School. The UN representative thought I was just crying wolf
until the Nigerians—security agents, you know—closed in on me.
Somebody said - just a friend, said I should see him—said I should come over to [his house] for
drinks, or what have you. It was around 10 PM. You know, the guy speaks English. Once in a while
you have to relate with the citizens. So I went to his house.
So, as I just came, he said, “Oh, Asmana, how are you? How's everything? In the house, I have
some drinks for you.” That is how we entered. So, I never knew that that place had been hired by the
Nigerian government. And the guy who brought me—my host —disappeared. Before I could escape
they started beating me. “Asmana! We are looking for you! What are you doing in Benin Republic?”
Then, I was down. And while I was down, and I was shouting, and I thought my, you know, voice
would attract neighbors—they raised, they increased the volume of the television and the radio, so to
drown my voice and shouting. And, of course, there were guys who were holding guns, and I fought
with them . . . I was shouting, “Don't kill me! Don’t kill me! What do you want?” They said, “We are
taking you back to Nigeria. We have been looking for you for a long time. Yes! This is a big fish!”
How I knew that it was the Ambassador (Nigerian Ambassador to Benin): I had pretended that I
[passed] out while they were beating me. So, when I, when I slumped on the ground, about 30 minutes later somebody entered and said, “Ah, Your Excellency, how was your operation?” He said, “Fine.”
27
So he said, “Would you package, you know, my baggage?” So they packaged me on the bed. So, I was
praying that Oh Lord! As we move through the security checkpoints that maybe luck would come by
my way. That it would stop them.
I was inside the [trunk of the] Benz. So I overheard some gendarmes asking, “Ambassador, why
are you going to Nigeria at 1:00 o'clock in the morning?” It was 1:00 o'clock now, because the kidnapper sat around, to package me, do everything, and to settle with the guy, because I overheard the guy
saying, “Look, I don't want a check. Give me my money!” So the guy sold me.
When we got to the Nigerian security post at the Nigerian-Benin border, I thought “Oh! Maybe this
is where they'll get them.” We, we sat about 15 minutes, you know, they were questioning him. “Why?
Why? Why? Why are you travelling by road, you know, as an Ambassador, this night?” He said he had
an urgent call in Abuja. You know, to see the Head of State. But that was where—that was my last
hope. So, eventually, I was buried, so to say. And I [was taken] to Nigeria.
They took me to the underground cell at the Directory for Military Intelligence. And then they
brought me out. They poured water on me to revive me, and I said, “For God's, where am I?” And
they said, “You are back [in] Nigeria. You ran away. You thought we [wouldn’t] get you. You don’t
know anything.”
will not [sleep] a night in this country! What can you do? Can you take me to the border?”
So, then I came [back to Benin]. My wife came to the door. When I saw her, I was weeping. “How
did you get here? What happened?” she said.
You are not Ogoni, yet you are involved in this struggle. How did you get
involved?
I'm Yoruba, yes. You know, I'm from an oil-producing state as well. So, I was involved [in the
struggle], and Ken Saro-Wiwa and myself, we met when I was in University. We lived close together
So, when he started the [work], he had the support of the press. And so we [were] in the forefront of
this struggle until the guy was caught. So we knew that we, too, were not safe.
What was prison like?
So, I [was] in. In that place there were some governors, some journalists who were also being
detained, you know. So they put me in the place—the underground cell. I was imprisoned there. I
was the only person there. I was chained and manacled. I was just weeping. I had even [told my
wife], “Look, don't sleep—when I come back we will have fun.” You know, we were just playing. But
he was waiting for me. So I felt in my mind, what would happen to my family? How would they know?
I did not see the sun for twenty months! I was kept in the gulag—[it was] too cold. Apparently
they thought, look, after about six months, this guy will just give up. So, after nine months—I was still
alive. One year. They were surprised. I was manacled in chains. They were passing my food to me
through the - you know, it's like the slot in the door. My wife was [fighting for me from the outside]
. . . the government was embarrassed. In fact, Abubakar was in South Africa, [when] he mentioned
that there was no prison—there [were] no political prisoners in Nigeria [anymore]. So, my lawyer
appealed.
So the jail-keeper said, “Come Asmana, we will pack your loot.” I [thought that] they probably
wanted to relocate me—maybe to send me to Abuja, or some other place. I said, “Where are you taking me?” They said, “Just pack your loot.” So that was how I left. So they now took me . . . they just
dropped me at the bus stop. They said I should go. So I thought, I just thought one guy would come
from one end of the dark alleys, and wipe me out. So, I took off and I met my lawyer, and I said “I
28
29
“I and my colleagues are not the only ones on trial. Shell is here on trial... The company has, indeed,
ducked this particular trial, but its day will surely come... for there is no doubt in my mind that the
ecological war that the company has waged in the delta will be called to question sooner than later,
and the crimes of that war will be duly punished. The crime of the company's dirty war against the
Ogoni people will also be punished.”
—Ken Saro-Wiwa,
Final Statement to the Nigerian military tribunal
that convicted him and ordered his execution
It is easier to celebrate heroism in death than in life. While Ken Saro-Wiwa is remembered by the international
environmental and human rights movements as a martyr who died exposing Shell's role in the destruction of his
homeland, other Ogoni—such as those whose stories you have just read—are not so honored.
It is easier to apologize for crimes past than to reform ongoing practice. While Ken Saro-Wiwa was a hero and
what Shell did was wrong, the story cannot end there. There are still heroes whose stories have not been told, and
there are still crimes that have not yet been answered for. Corporate crimes, and the heroes who oppose them,
are not part of history. They are part of our daily reality. We urgently need to recognize today's heroes and rectify
current crimes.
The fact that the Ogoni in Come continue to defiantly survive is heroic. These Ogoni are not ordinary refugees.
They are corporate refugees. They wake up every day in squalid conditions not because of their political or religious beliefs, but because they dared to stand up to a multinational corporation that provides Nigeria with fully
half of its hard currency income. They despair because corporations—particularly Shell—still hold sway in
Nigeria. As long as multinational profits are more important than these people, they cannot safely go home.
We know more today than we did three years ago about Shell's past crimes in Nigeria. We can begin to quantify the environmental double standards of the company by pointing to pollution levels that are 700 times higher
than allowed in Europe. We know how Shell uses field operatives (the “Shell Police”) to manipulate and divide
communities. Despite repeated categorical denials, Shell now reluctantly and with qualification admits to both
paying the military and importing weapons. We know that two of the prosecution witnesses at Saro-Wiwa's trial
have subsequently signed sworn statements indicating that they were bribed by both the Nigerian military and Shell
to testify against Saro-Wiwa. We know now, as we did then, that Saro-Wiwa, the other eight, and two thousand
more Ogoni, have been murdered because they dared to expose the dark alliance between Shell and the Nigerian
military. We know now, as we did then, that Shell is guilty while the Ogoni are innocent.
Despite this, it is the Ogoni and other Niger Delta peoples who live today in squalor, while Shell and other oil
companies are poised to increase investment and profits in Nigeria. General Abulsalam Abubakar’s “new Nigeria”
is being hailed by most of the international community as a breath of fresh air. We cannot forget that General
Abubakar was the third in command in the previous regime that persecuted the Ogoni and forced them to flee to
Benin. While token reforms towards democracy have been made, the fact remains that Niger Delta peoples—
from whose land flows the oil that enriches the Nigerian military and corporations alike—remain underrepresented, overburdened, and repressed. Today's crimes must be rectified, today's heroes must be recognized.
Empowered and inspired by the Ogoni example, other communities in the delta have been pressing their case.
The Ijaw—the fourth largest ethnic group in Nigeria, from whose land comes a majority of the country's oil—
30
have been protesting against Shell, Chevron, Mobil, and Texaco flow stations and local government centers. In
December 1998, the Ijaw issued an historic document, the Kaiama Declaration, which reads in part:
• “That the political crisis in Nigeria is mainly about the struggle for the control of oil mineral resources
which account for over 80% of GDP, 95% of national budget and 90% of foreign exchange earnings.
From which, 65%, 75% and 70% respectively are derived from within the Ijaw nation. Despite these huge
contributions, our reward from the Nigerian State remains avoidable deaths resulting from ecological
devastation and military repression”.
• “That the violence in Ijawland and other parts of the Niger Delta area, sometimes manifesting in intra and
inter ethnic conflicts, are sponsored by the State and transnational oil companies to keep the communities of the Niger Delta area divided, weak and distracted from the causes of their problems”.
• “We, therefore, demand that all oil companies stop all exploration and exploitation activities in the Ijaw
area. We are tired of gas flaring, oil spillage, blowouts and being labeled saboteurs and terrorists. It is a
case of preparing the noose for our hanging. We reject this labeling. Hence, we advise all oil companies
staff and contractors to withdraw from Ijaw territories by the 30th December, 1998 pending the resolution of the issue of resource ownership and control in the Ijaw area of the Niger Delta”.
It is a clear and reasonable demand. Until justice comes to the delta, the oil companies should leave. Today’s
heroes have the right to call today's criminals to account.
The Ogoni and the Ijaw are not alone. Around the world today indigenous peoples and local communities on
every habitable continent are threatened by new oil projects. Although Big Oil comes with the promise of riches,
time and again they deliver only ruin. As forty years of oil development in the delta has shown, the end result of
oil development is poverty, pollution, and more corporate refugees. The Karen of Burma are in hiding because of
their opposition to Unocal and Total’s pipeline through their homeland. The U’wa of Colombia face an increasingly high stakes battle against Occidental because of their principled stance against all oil development on their
sacred homeland. To combat this trend, and to save our last remaining ecologically sensitive areas and the global
climate, hundreds of organizations, local governments, and individuals are now calling for a moratorium on new
oil & gas exploration in ecologically and culturally sensitive areas. Today’s heroes fight for their future while
today's criminals defend only their profits.
Although multinational oil companies are almost above the law, there is hope. Precedent setting lawsuits are
being brought against Texaco for their destruction of the Ecuadorian Amazon, Unocal for their role in human
rights violations in Burma, and Shell and Chevron for environmental and human rights violations in Nigeria. The
lawsuits are long shots, though—there is little precedent for holding multinationals accountable for their activities
abroad. That is why you need to get involved. Victory for the Ogoni has implications worldwide. Join the boycott
of Shell and let them know by sending the postcard at the back. Public pressure does make a difference.
The Ogoni are not forgotten. As thousands of people around the world pause on January 4th—Ogoni Day—to
recall their sacrifice, we must redouble our efforts to aid those Ogoni still at home, still in prison, and still in refugee
camps. Join the thousands already boycotting Shell, already picketing their pumps and protesting their plants. The
justice that Saro-Wiwa sought is still elusive, but the intensity of his vision is now shared by hundreds of thousands.
Celebrate the heroism of these Ogoni, and dedicate yourself to justice for victims of corporate power everywhere.
31
What you can do
Shell is not a faceless corporation. It is run by people who have the power to change the situation. Jack E.
Little, President and CEO of Shell Oil in the U.S., and Mark Moody-Stuart, Chairman of Royal Dutch Shell
International, are the men who can create positive change and who will be held accountable if they do not.
They have an opportunity to do the right thing in Nigeria and set an example for corporations worldwide.
Demand that Shell publicly support and help fund a permanent solution—acceptable to the Ogoni leadership
—to the Ogoni refugee problem.
1. Send the attached postcards to Shell Oil and to the UN High Commission for Refugees.
2. Boycott Shell. Do not use their stations, whether it be for gas or the products sold there.
3. Inform others of why you are boycotting Shell and encourage them to do the same.
4. If you own a Shell credit card, tear it up and send it to Jack E. Little. Explain to him why you have torn
up your card. The address is printed on the attached post card.
5. Write a letter to the refugees. Letting them know that they have your support will give them the hope they
need to keep going each day. A letter to West Africa costs one dollar (USD) in postage from the U.S. The
address is:
Attention Ogoni Refugees
C/O UN High Commission for Refugees
BP 135
Come, Benin
West Africa
6. Organize a picket of a Shell station in your town. For advice on how to organize a picket, call Project
Underground in the U.S. at (510) 705-8981 or e mail us at: [email protected]
7. Join the electronic Shell-Nigeria activist network. To subscribe, send an e mail to: [email protected]
In the body of the text, write: subscribe shell-nigeria-action <your email address>
The Ogoni have maintained their belief in justice throughout their ordeal—from the torture and murder in
Nigeria to the suffering in the refugee camp today. It is through people like you that they take courage and
hope. Moses, the farmer who wrote the poem about Shell, explained:
“We know it is only through the support of the international community that we have even
come this far. If we had only been a few individuals, we wouldn’t have succeeded. But we
must continue. As Martin Luther King said, no [one] will ever give you your rights unless you
demand them.”
These ABC’s were written by the refugees. The children know them by heart.
A
B C
FDE G
H
I J LK
MN
PO
ST R UQ
V X W
Y
Z
ABC’s of MOSOP
A stands for Abacha and Auta, master haters and killers of the Ogoni people.
B stands for blood. A lot has been spilled.
C stands for court. Court trials are denied us, only kangaroo courts try us.
D stands for defense. Ogoni has no defense.
E stands for environment. Ours has been polluted by Shell.
F stands for fishing and farming. Our daily occupations were lost by oil spills.
G stands for God. God alone do we trust.
H stands for home. We are homeless.
I stands for intellect. Ken Saro-Wiwa taught us to use our brain and fight with the pen.
J stands for justice. We are denied.
K stands for Komo. Lieutenant Colonel Komo, killer of Ogoni.
L stands for love. Those who love Ogoniland will continue to fight, no matter how long it takes.
M stands for men. Men were hunted daily by the Abacha junta.
N stands for nine, the symbolic number. The Ogoni Nine were hanged for the truth.
O stands for Okuntimo and Obi, master killers who killed the Ogoni Nine.
P stands for paradise. Ogoniland was designed by God to be a paradise on earth.
Q stands for quench. Quench not the spirit of Ogoni.
R stands for rest. When shall the Ogoni have rest?
S stands for suffering. The Ogoni people have suffered too much.
T stands for torture, the daily food of the Ogoni people.
U stands for unity. Our unity was destroyed by Komo and Shell.
V stands for victory. We shall have victory.
W stands for women. Women were beaten, battered, and raped.
X stands for x ray. X rays reveal Shell’s genocide of the Ogoni.
Y stands for youth. Our youth were arrested and detained.
Z stands for zeal. Nothing can stop our zeal for the Ogoni struggle.
For more information contact:
If you would like to send financial or other humanitarian aid to the Ogoni refugees, you can do so
through the UNHCR:
Cesar Pasor Ortega, Senior Desk Officer - Africa
UNHCR Headquarters
Case Postale 2500
CH – 1211 #2 Depot
Geneva, Switzerland
32
Project Underground
1847 Berkeley Way
Berkeley, California 94703
USA
http://www.moles.org
Written by Steve Kretzmann and Anne Rolfes
Interviews conducted, transcribed, and edited by Anne Rolfes
Edited by Danny Kennedy
Design and Printing by Inkworks Press
Photographs by Project Underground and friends
Thanks to Marcella Adamski, Adotei Akwei, Catherine Bald
Pratap Chatterjee, Laurel Bertoncini, Mary Hower, Patric
Naabien, Andrea Porter, Andy Rowell, Sally Swanson, and th
Ogoni friends who must remain anonymous for their own safety
Printed on 100% post-consumer recycled paper
Dear Mr. Ortega,
Despite your organizations’ best intentions, the Ogoni refugees in
Benin are clearly not safe. The sign reproduced on the reverse side of this
card was posted by the camp coordinator at the gate of the camp in Come
in which they are meant to be provided sanctuar y. Now we have learned
that the government of The Republic of Benin is considering moving
these victims to an even more insecure location near the Nigerian border.
Instead of allowing this to happen we ask you to investigate the conditions in the camp and to address the problems that exist there. Please
expedite the handling of those in need of resettlement—especially the
victims of torture who are present in the camp. All of these refugees
deserve special attention because of the circumstances into which they
have been forced by the actions of Shell and the Nigerian military.
Any steps taken to address their issues should be taken in full consultation with the camp leadership. We appreciate your efforts to support the
needs of the Ogoni in Benin.
Sincerely,
1847 Berkeley Way
Berkeley, CA 94703
USA
http://www.moles.org
PLACE
60¢
S TA M P
H E R E
Mr. Cesar Pasor Ortega
Senior Desk Officer, Africa
UNHCR Headquarters
Case Postale 2500
CH-1211 #2 Depot
Geneva, Switzerland
P.S. Please keep me informed of action taken to alleviate their suffering
at the following address:
Dear Mr Little,
The Ogoni problem is not solved. Nigeria is not free. As a result I will boycott Shell,
and ask my friends and family to do likewise. Please do not send me junk mail to
convince me of your efforts to improve—I will wait to hear from the community
and the media that Shell has changed its actions, made amends in the delta and supported a full democratic transition in Nigeria before buying from your company
again. In the past, Shell U.S. has claimed to be separate from the atrocities in
Nigeria. This is not the case, as evidenced by your strategic alliances with Shell in
Nigeria. Shell Nigeria and Shell U.S. also have the same parent company, Royal
Dutch Shell.
Shell cannot escape its past. The heroic struggle of the Movement for the Survival of
the Ogoni People and other groups committed to non-violent social change will catch
up with you. Unless the spirit of demands most recently laid out by the Ijaw are met,
Shell will be persona non grata throughout Nigeria. As an initial gesture of good
faith, I urge you to comply with the Ijaw demands, and immediately suspend your
Nigerian operations pending a just and equitable resolution to the ongoing crisis.
Meaningful commitment to Nigeria's future means a commitment to energy for
human needs before corporate greed.
As we spread the word about the Shell-shocked refugees, your company will become
persona non grata around the world. Shell's statements about "principles and profits" are only as good as the paper they are written on. Until the refugees forced out
by sheer corporate abuse are resettled with the care they deserve and the clean up
of their homeland is complete, Shell's commitment to principles will be lip service
only. As a man in charge, make Shell support a permanent solution to these problems according to the needs and demands of the communities from whom you
derive your profits.
Sincerely,
1847 Berkeley Way
Berkeley, CA 94703
USA
http://www.moles.org
PLACE
20¢
S TA M P
H E R E
Mr. Jack E. Little
President and CEO, Shell Oil
P.O. Box 2463
Houston,
Texas 77252