By Editor-in-Chief 
It was the 30th president of the United States of America, John Calvin Coolidge, who famously said that “no person was ever honoured for what he received. Honour has been the reward for what he gave”. Coolidge, universally renowned for the taciturnity that earned him the enduring moniker Silent Cal, once explicated a truth that has since become timeless and universal: that honours are reserved not for the loud or flamboyant, but for those whose lives and personal sacrifices quietly delineate the boundaries of our shared humanity.
His words endure not merely for their brevity but for their depth. They serve as a reminder that greatness often resides in silence, and that the true measure of a life is not in its applause but in its service. Those who shape the moral frontiers of humanity do so not in pursuit of accolades, but in devotion to a cause higher than themselves. It is they – not those who, clad in the gaudy trappings of borrowed grandeur, wear their mediocrity like Prada at the bazaar of vanities – who, through the quiet and steady sacrifice of self, trace the true contours of what it means to be human. For it is not in spectacle but in service, not in ostentation but in quiet endurance, that the soul of humanity is revealed. While some barter their substance for attention, others, with unheralded grace, build the moral architecture of humanity, brick by unseen brick, guided by conscience rather than applause.
Today, in our country, the truth of the labour of love which underlines Coolidge’s profound remarks is lost to politicians and personages of power who grant public recognition to themselves when they have given nothing but penury to a country that either totters at the precipice of collapse or has fallen like the house that Karl Maier wrote about in his book, This House has Fallen: Nigeria in Crisis. A clear example of this self-reward of recognition is the 2023 national honours list, in which lowly ranked presidential aides conferred honours on themselves – a clear abuse of the honours system. But, there is a new trend that has taken hold of governance in our country. Enter the trenders: legislators and personages of power who game the system to establish universities in their villages and backyards; and obsequious public officials who have turned honorary doctorate degrees into mere trinkets, hawked like wares at a bustling bazaar, betray the very dignity such honours are meant to uphold. What was once a solemn recognition of contribution to knowledge or service has become, in their hands, a carnival of self-congratulation where robes are worn not for merit, but for masquerade. In seeking prestige without principle, they cheapen both the institutions that confer these honours and the values they once stood for. While honorary degrees are not inherently problematic, the sheer frequency and context of these awards call into question whether merit or political expediency is the primary criterion for selection. It is difficult to ignore the growing perception that these recognitions have become less about acknowledging genuine contributions to academia and more about reinforcing political patronage and self-congratulatory indulgence.
There is a bitter irony that runs like a dark thread through it all – an irony that finds our country heaping confetti upon rogues, while those who have given their all through tears, blood, and unyielding toil are quietly consigned to oblivion, unhonoured and unremembered. It is a tragic inversion of values, where deception is adorned with garlands and integrity is left to wander the margins. Our country, it seems, too often reserves its loudest applause not for virtue, but for visibility; not for sacrifice, but for spectacle. In such a country, the true heroes go uncelebrated, their legacies written not in marble but in dust. So how can a country with its cultural, creative, intellectual, and historical landmarks marked by the great services and sacrifices of icons arrive at the passé of rewarding dubious politicians and not appear puny in the eyes of the world?
There is something indubitably tragic about a country that overlooks cultural and music icons like Bongos Ikwue who, in the words of another icon, Emma Ogosi, “words will not be enough to appreciate the influence he has had in the industry and many music stakeholders are still hoping that governments at both state and federal levels should roll out the drums to celebrate this rare gem, now that he is with us.” This is the sad procession on parade: a dear fatherland where mediocrity is elevated above merit, opportunism is exalted over selfless service, and fleeting power is draped in praise while true sacrifice fades quietly into obscurity. What does it say about our fatherland when those who contribute nothing but strife and division are given national honours while those who unite through art and culture are forgotten? What does it say about our leadership when self-adulation takes precedence over genuine service? What legacy are we leaving behind when public service is no longer about the people but about the aggrandisement of a privileged few?
Bongos Ikwue is not just a musician; he is an institution, a living testament to the soul of our country’s music. His lyrics have echoed through generations, encapsulating the ethos of a people in search of meaning, identity, and hope. And yet, we see no official celebration of such a man, while undeserving politicians bestow upon themselves honours they neither earned nor deserve. Bongos Ikwue belongs to a pantheon of legends whose contributions transcend entertainment. His music carries messages of love, patriotism, resilience, and identity. These are themes that shape our experiences, that give meaning to our country’s cultural journey. Unfortunately, history is never kind to a country that neglects its heroes. To ignore him is to ignore a vital part of our country’s artistic and cultural history. His work is not merely entertainment; it is a living archive of our people’s joys and struggles, hopes and heartbreaks, rendered in rhythm and melody. In his voice, generations found echoes of their lived realities; in his lyrics, they discovered the poetry of everyday life. To dismiss his contribution and the contributions of our cultural and creative icons is to silence a part of our national memory, to sever a thread in the intricate tapestry of who we are.
A country must not choose which voices it honours and which it allows to fade into silence. In neglecting such a figure like Bongos Ikwue, our country risks more than cultural amnesia; it risks sending a dangerous message to those who carry the flame of creative expression: that excellence without political affiliations is expendable. Yet, it is the artist who sings truth to power, who captures the heartbeat of the streets, who dares to imagine a different humanity. If citizens are to preserve our country’s soul, our country must first begin by honouring those who have made sacrifices to it. Any country that refuses to honour its true heroes sets itself up for a future where excellence is neither pursued nor rewarded. It means that cultural icons, scholars, and thinkers will take their talents elsewhere, where they are appreciated. It means that the best and brightest minds will see no incentive to contribute meaningfully to the fatherland. It means that mediocrity will continue to dominate every sphere of governance, education, and the arts. I pause briefly here to ask the sobering question: what country are we truly building? Is it one where merit, integrity, and service are recognised and celebrated, or one where the corridors of power remain the exclusive preserve of those who strut about in designer labels, treating the solemn business of governance like a catwalk? As long as our country continues to reward vanity over value, and pageantry over principle, it will remain a country in search of its true identity and higher purpose.
It is a tragedy of national proportions when those who labour selflessly in silence are overlooked, while the loudest and flashiest are elevated to positions of influence. In such a society, virtue becomes a liability, and excellence is punished. When honours are dictated not by service or sacrifice, but by spectacle and sycophancy, we erode the moral spine of our republic, and teach generations to come that substance is secondary to showmanship. The case of Bongos Ikwue is but one among many voices in a long choruses of forgotten excellence. Across our country, there exists a quiet multitude of writers, artists, educators, and innovators whose gifts have shaped our national consciousness, yet whose names have been pushed to the periphery while political actors bask in borrowed or undeserved glory. These are individuals whose creative and intellectual labours have defined generations, enriched our cultural fabric, and expanded the horizons of what it means to be citizens of Nigeria. To neglect them is not merely an oversight; it is an act of self-erasure. And to persist in this willful amnesia is to ensure that ours remains what it have too often been: a country that neither knows nor honours its own.
A country that does not celebrate its thinkers, dreamers, and cultural custodians is one that slowly forgets how to dream. For it is in the songs of musicians like Bongos Ikwue, in the verses of poets, in the quiet revolutions of teachers and inventors, that a country’s soul is renewed. Our cultural and creative icons are not seeking favour; they are seeking recognition, not for their egos; but for the legacy they offer us. Their works are not transactional; they are transformational. When we fail to lift them up, we rob ourselves of the inspiration and wisdom they carry. If the only names we remember are those etched into ballots, then our history will be poorer, and our future, dimmer. Our country must begin to look beyond the noise of politics and turn to the quiet architects of our identity. The path to national renewal doesn’t begin in the corridors of power alone; it begins with the courage to honour those whose lives have enriched our collective story, often without recognition, applause, or reward. It begins when it looks beyond political whoredom and pays homage to the poets who give voice to our pain, the musicians who sing us into unity, the teachers who plant the seeds of nationhood in our young minds, and the innovators who imagine solutions where none exists. These are the quiet architects of our nationhood. These are people whose fingerprints are etched into the soul of our country, even if their names are not inscribed on monuments. To honour them is not merely a symbolic act, it is a moral imperative. It is a declaration that our country truly values depth and sacrifice over spectacle and power. When our country fails to do so, cynicism takes root. But when our country elevates those who have laboured in humility and brilliance, it restores the broken link between the governed and the ideals that once inspired citizens’ dreams.
Until then, ours remains a country in search of itself – outside itself.
The time has come to redefine what we honour and whom we elevate. If we are to rebuild our country on a foundation of justice, dignity, and hope, then we must enthrone merit as the cornerstone of public life. We must celebrate those who give their time, talent, and truth, not for applause; but for the good of country. Only then can we begin to heal the fractures in our national soul and build a country worthy of its name and promise. There is still time to right this wrong. There is still time to recognise those whose contributions have enriched our collective heritage. There is still time to ensure that when history is written, it does not speak of a country that turned its back on its heroes, but as one that finally found the courage to celebrate those who truly deserved to be honoured.
The true essence of honour lies not in what one receives, but in what one gives as President John Calvin Coolidge rightly remarked.