“…the labour of our heroes past, shall never be in vain…”
His
name was Sunday Anyasado. It is not a name taught in History classes. It is not
a household name. If it appears in books of History, it is usually as a
footnote. Even Google is uncharacteristically silent about him. He was not
alone. They were 21 in number. They and others are the unsung heroes of
Nigerian independence.
Today,
we are going with Onigegewura to Iva Valley to pay tributes to the memory of
Sunday Anyasado and other fallen heroes, the martyred miners of Enugu who paid
the supreme price for their fatherland. After all, as Papa Chidiebere, our
neighbour in Aba Alaro used to say: si kele onye nti chiri; enu anughi, ala anu. [Salute the deaf; if the heavens don't hear, the earth will hear.]
It was once upon a Friday afternoon in the
month of November. It was a November to remember.
In
the Nigeria of 1940s, coal was the leading mineral. It was the crude oil. It was
the engine that drove the colonial government. Enugu was the coal capital not
only of Nigeria, but of the entire West Africa. Enugu coal fed West Africa and still met Nigeria’s needs. During the World Wars I and II, Enugu
coal powered the railways of the British Empire.
After
the Wars, Enugu coal provided the resources to run the Nigerian Railways and
the Electricity Undertaking. It was the fuel that ran the tin mining companies
of northern Nigeria as well as the steamships that plied the West African
coasts.
Sunday
Anyasado was one of the young men who came to Enugu in search of employment. He
came from Obazu Mbieri Owerri. He was recently married. Enugu was the city of
dreams. It was the place to find work. Young men trooped into the city from far
and near. They came from the North. They came from the West. They came from the
South. They came into Enugu, the city of coal.
Anyasado
and his compatriots were shocked at what they found in Enugu. He was employed
as a hewer. His job was to cut the coal and put it in the tub which the tubmen
pushed. Others were engaged as timbermen, they set timber. It was a dangerous job. Their job was
to remove the timber that had been used to support the roof of the shaft to
prevent it from collapse, after the coal had been removed. Others laid the rail
track for the tub-wagons to run on. They
were the railmen.
Anyasado
soon discovered that a miner’s working life was not a bed of roses. Above the
ground, the Europeans were smartly dressed. They wore clean-cut shirts with a
pen tucked in the breast pocket. They
were the bosses. They dictated instructions to the Nigerian miners.
Under
the ground, the miners who were Nigerians worked in close confinement. They
huddled together in the dark. The environment was low on oxygen and low on morale. As if that was not enough, the
workers were not provided with quality working tools. Boots were especially a
rare commodity. It was to be provided to only workers who were favoured by the
European bosses.
The
bosses also introduced the practice of ‘rostering’.
This was done by hiring more men than were needed. The game plan was to ensure that
the surplus would be used to ‘fill in the gap’ caused by regular workers who
might be absent. You can therefore imagine the fate of a casual worker when no
one was absent from work.
The
workers realized that they needed to come together if they were going to
protect their collective interests. They formed a union. It was called Colliery
Workers Union.
The
Secretary General of the CWU was Okwuidiliyi Ojiyi. He was a former teacher. Ojiyi was a Comrade with a
difference. According to Brown, “unlike
many other African staff who saw their posts as opportunities for personal
advancement, Ojiyi used his training in Nigerian labor law to develop demands
that fully exploited the legal parameters set forth by the state.” No
wonder, the British colliery officials labeled him “a scheming rogue.”
Though
he was not trained as a lawyer, Ojiyi knew more labour law than an average
lawyer. When the manager tried to fire him for his labour activities, he
shocked the British manager by quoting the new employment regulation to the
effect that three months notice was required. The manager was stunned. Years
before, a Briton, T. Yates, had slapped him. Ojiyi took him to court. The court
found Yates guilty and he was fined. That was Ojiyi for you, the Gani Fawehinmi
of 1940s.
Under
Ojiyi’s leadership, the workers’ union began to assert themselves. Ojiyi
submitted a memorandum where he demanded increased pay for the workers. He also
demanded new boots for the workers. To underscore the seriousness of his
demand, he threatened that if his demands were not meant, the workers would go
on strike.
Now,
under the Defence Regulations at the time, strike was a violation of the law.
Onigegewura has told you that Ojiyi was an expert in labour law. Do you know
what he did to circumvent the law? Of course you know that nwaanyi muta ite ofe mmiri mmiri, di ya amuta
ipi utara aka were suru ofe.
[If a woman decides to make the soup watery, the
husband will learn to dent the garri before dipping it into the soup].
In
other to avoid being charged with organizing an illegal strike, Ojiyi and the
workers came up with the idea of ‘Go-Slow’.
This is what is commonly referred to as ‘work to rule’. Using ‘coded’ Igbo
language, Ojiyi instructed the miners about welu
nwayo. The workers understood. They began to work so slowly to the extent that
the production was grossly affected.
The
management of the coal company was shocked at the way the ‘natives’ had
outsmarted them. The workers were technically not on strike. The police could
not be called and the workers could not be sacked. The white managers knew that
they had been beaten at the game. A truce was called.
The
workers had won!
It was agreed that ‘rostering’ would no longer be practiced.
The management also agreed to stop racial discrimination in wages. The most
important part of the agreement was its wage award which granted over £150,000 in
back wages to most categories of workers with effect from 1946. The workers
were happy! They had discovered a new weapon! Their unity was their strength.
There
was however a problem. It was about the award given to the workers in the sum
of £150,000.
Some of the workers raised complaints about the calculations of their wages.
The extent of arrears was also another point the union and the board could not
agree on. It appeared that another welu
nwayo was on the horizon.
It
was in the midst of this fresh agitation that the company, in violation of the
earlier agreement, announced that it would resume ‘rostering’. Rostering what??? The
workers screamed in unison. As if that was not enough, the management
introduced a sort of ‘divide and rule’ tactic. Seniority pay was granted to all
workers but the hewers were exempted. I hope you have not forgotten that Anyasado
was a hewer. He was personally affected by this disparity in wages. He was
newly married. He needed the money to take care of his new family.
How
could the blade that was used to successfully shave the head of the
vulture become blunt when it was the
turn of the hawk? What offence have we committed? The hewers wondered. Anyasado
and his co-hewers asked the Union to intervene on their behalf. By November, it
was clear to all that the management was not going to change its mind. The
hewers’ executive decided to stage another ‘go-slow’.
The
hewers knew that the management would blink first. Using the techniques they
had earlier mastered, they began to go very slowly. It was a very slow
movement. It was so intense that only one tub of coal was filled in a day. The company
management was alarmed. Not again! Instead of calling the workers for a talk,
the manager issued them with a warning notice. He told them that if they
refused to stop the go-slow they were breaking their contract.
The
workers refused to back off. The management refused to blink. It was a
stalemate. Though the manager was a Briton, he must have overheard from Papa
Chidiebere that agwo
emeghi nke o jiri buru agwo, umuaka achiri ya hie nku. [If a snake fails to show its venom, little kids will use it in
tying firewood]. The manager decided to show his venom.
He stormed back to his office and began to dismiss the miners. On
November 10, he issued fifty letters of dismissal. The miners thought it was a
joke. When they woke up on November 11,
the manager had sacked 100 of their colleagues. And he was not about to
stop. On November 12, he issued another 50 letters to the miners. He didn’t
stop there. He began to recruit new workers to replace the sacked miners.
November 12 was a Saturday. The entire city of Enugu felt
something was about to happen. What it was, nobody knew. The air over the city
was clouded, not with smoke from the mines but from a sense of foreboding. It
was rumoured that the workers would change from just go-slow to a sit-in strike. In other words, the workers
would occupy the mines and prevent new recruits from entering the mine.
This was confirmed on November 14, when the miners, fearing that
they would be replaced with new workers, began a sit-in. They were supported by
their wives who came to the mines to demonstrate against the management. The
visibly angry women destroyed equipment and smashed windows of the offices. The
company had to ask the police to disperse the women. In the process, some of
the women were injured.
The gathering cloud became heavier and darker.
The miners were fighting to save their jobs. The company was
determined to assert its powers. The women were determined to support their
husbands. The colonial government did not see the strike as just a labour
issue. The workers’ action was seen as “an attempt to use armed resistance to
undermine the government, believing that the strike was a ‘terrorist plan’ to
create havoc.”
What had started as a labour dispute had quickly escalated to
become a national issue and a political matter. The Government’s position was
that a sit-in strike constituted a threat to national safety because the
workers had access to explosives.
The events of Friday, November 18, 1949 which started a dramatic
chain of events affecting the whole of Nigeria actually started a day before
when the colonial government sent 900 policemen
to Enugu. They were all armed. All of them had rifles and side arms.
By 11am on November 18, the armed policemen arrived at Iva Valley.
They were clad in protective gear and wore newly acquired metal helmets. They
were led by a Briton, F. S. Phillips who was dishing out the orders: ‘Left!
Right! Left! Right!
The armed policemen marched briskly to the mines. Their mission
was to take control of the explosives. Many of the miners were seeing the black
uniform of the policemen brought from outside Enugu for the first time. They
all gathered around to witness what was going to happen.
“Are they going to kill us?” One of them asked.
A policeman apparently overheard the question. He was a Nigerian
like the miners. He walked up to the man who asked the question and told him:
“We do not come here to shoot you people. You are demanding your rights from
the Government. The Government will pay you this money.”
The miners became relieved. One of them responded: “We are glad
you people know this, but you people should know we be brothers.”
The police officer nodded and walked back to join his colleagues.
With the assurance of brotherhood, the miners broke out in hymns and solidarity
songs.
“We are all one!” They sang lustfully.
At the sight of the singing miners, the Briton who led the police
team, F. S. Phillips became alarmed.
According to him, he only heard: “a tremendous howling and
screeching noise going on” to which several men danced in a “dangerous” way. He
felt the hymns being sung were tribal war songs. He decided that the miners
were getting excited, and were becoming “more and more menacing” indulging in
what he called a war dance.
Phillip turned to the Assistant Superintendent of Police who was
standing next to him, F. S. Ormiston and said, “I will have to fire!” No one
gave a contrary opinion.
Then he gave the order: “Fire!”
Sunday Anyasado was oblivious of the lurking danger. He was
dancing happily. He was one of the miners who came out of the mines to see the
policemen wearing black. He joined his colleagues chanting and singing in front
of the crowd facing the troops and their commanding officer.
After giving the order to shoot, Phillip himself aimed his
revolver at a dancer immediately in front of him who, according to him, was
“jumping up and down and his eyes were popping out of his head – like a lot of
the others.” He pulled the trigger.
Within seconds, he had shot Anyasado in the mouth, killing the young man
who had come to Enugu to look for money to feed his new family. Phillip was not
done. He turned his revolver to Livinus Okechukwuma, a machine man from Ohi
Owerri. He shot him at a pointblank range. Okechukwuma died immediately.
Okafor Ageni was a tubman from Umuabi Udi. He was inside the mines
when he heard the shots. He came out to find out what was happening. He was
killed on the spot. All these while, the singing men did not realize that they
were being shot at. They just realized that some of their colleagues were
collapsing with blood gushing out of their bodies. They surged forward to find
out what was happening.
Phillips saw the men moving towards the troop like waves of
Atlantic. He gave fresh orders to the troop to shoot at the men. His men
obeyed! Unarmed and defenceless, the hapless miners of Enugu realized what was
happening a second too late. They were being killed! This was a one sided war! The songs
stopped suddenly. The hymns died abruptly. The miners turned and fled.
Phillips did not stop. The volley kept coming out. Many of the fleeing
miners were shot in the back. Phillips continued shooting. It was clear that he
had lost his wits. R. A. Brown, an Assistant Superintendent of Police, shouted
the order to stop shooting. He started going along the line of fire to deflect
the rifles of the shooting policemen into the air.
The miners fled in all directions. The living jumped over the
bodies of their fallen comrades to escape. Some ran back into the mines. Others
found refuge in a nearby stream. The wounded were praying for the police not to
shoot them again.
Their task completed, the troops marched back to Enugu, leaving
the dead, the dying and the wounded.
After what seemed like an eternity, the miners who were lucky to
escape started coming out from where they were hiding in ones and twos. They
began to count the bodies of their colleagues. Carolyn Brown put the number of
the dead at 22. Toyin Falola put the number at 21 and the wounded at 50. Olasupo
Shasore put the number at 21 and listed their names as:
Livinus
Okechukwuma
|
Ngwu
Nwafor
|
Agu Ede
|
Okafor
Ageni
|
Thomas
Chukwu
|
Jonathan
Ezani
|
Ani
Amu
|
Onoh
Onyia
|
Nnaji Nwachukwu
|
Simon
Nwachukwu
|
James
Ekeowa
|
Sunday
Anyasado
|
Felix
Nnaji
|
Andrew
Okonkwo
|
William Nwehu
|
Augustine
Aniwoke
|
Ogbania
Chime
|
Moses
Ikegbu
|
Nwachukwu
Ugwu
|
Nduaguba
Eze
|
Ani
|
|
The news of the killings sent a shock wave across the country.
Nigerians became united in grief and anger. Their brothers had been killed in
cold blood. It was a massacre, an attack on defenceless workers. Nigerians rose
up as one. Nationalists discarded their differences. They formed the National
Emergency Committee.
From Enugu to Lagos, Nigerians were speaking with one voice to
condemn the shootings. From Aba to Port Harcourt, ordinary citizens took to the
street to protest the brutality. The souls of the martyred miners refused to
rest in peace. Their shed blood continued to water seeds of revolution from
Kano to Ibadan. The government had not seen anything like that before. The
police and the army were put on alert.
All over the country, the song was the same: “Freedom or death!
Independence now! No more white man’s rule!” Britons were being attacked openly
and shops owned by expatriates were being looted. From their graves, the miners’
hands began to shake the colonial empire. The days of the colonial government
were numbered.
The government was forced to set up a Commission of Enquiry to
examine the direct and remote causes of the Enugu shootings. The Commission was
made up of two British and two African judges. The Britons were: Sir William
Fitzgerald and RW Williams. The Africans were Justice Samuel Quarshie-Idun and
Justice Adegboyega Ademola.
The Fitzgerald commission sat between December 1949 and January
1950. The Commission, in its report, criticized the government for its slow
pace of decolonization and went further to condemn the government’s trade union
policy. It blamed the government for confusing a purely industrial dispute with
a political confrontation. The Commission advised the government to grant the
Nigerian people the right to govern themselves.
The Commission concluded that: “Tragic as the events at Enugu were, there is a lesson to be learnt
which if learnt…will not leave that tragedy as a mere waste of life or bitter
memory.”
Onigegewura
hopes that the next time you sing the National Anthem and you come to “…the labour of our heroes past…” you
will remember Sunday Anyasado and the other martyrs of Iva Valley. They are
Nigerian Heroes.
May
their labours not be in vain! May their sacrifice never be a mere waste of
life!
I
thank you very warmly for your time.
-Olanrewaju
Onigegewura©
History Does Not Forget
The right of Olanrewaju Onigegewura© to be identified as the author of stories published on this blog has been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright laws.
Credits
and Further Reading Materials:
The
Proceedings of the Report of the Fitzgerald Commission of Enquiry in to the
Disorders in the Eastern Provinces of Nigeria
Olasupo
Shasore: A Platter of Gold
Carolyn
Brown: The Dialectics of Colonial Labour
Control and The Iva Valley Shooting at Enugu Colliery
Toyin
Falola: Colonialism and Violence in
Nigeria
Onogbo
Achogbo: Iva Valley Tragedy
James Akpeninor: Merger of Politics in Nigeria and Surge of Sectarian Violence
