The Brooklyn Rail

“Art is not a mirror held up to reality but a hammer with which to shape it.”
—Bertolt Brecht

Tunde Kelani’s 1999 feature Saworoide [Brass Bells] remains a timeless classic that examines Nigeria’s political and economic turmoil. Released just over twenty-five years ago, the film not only offers a layered critique of the moral decay and political disarray of 1990s Nigeria, but also mirrors continuing struggles with political ethics, historical reckoning, and representation. These enduring themes solidify its place as Nollywood’s most effective political movie.

The film’s screenplay was written by professor of Yoruba literature Akinwunmi Isola, who would later adapt it into a book published in 2008. The film’s title is derived from an iconic brass bell talking drum, linked to the crown and the king through ritual incisions, to become an instrument of checks and balances that plays a pivotal role in the film.

The film is set in the fictional Yoruba community of Jogbo, blessed with an abundance of wood that attracts timber investors and lumber companies. After the death of the community’s esteemed monarch, a man with a disdain for communal values and morals, Lapite (Kola Oyewo), imposed himself as the new king. Before he is enthroned, he suppresses opposition and bribes local leaders to stay in power. To engage in corrupt practices, he refuses to take the compulsory traditional rituals when he takes the throne. Only months into his reign, he conspires with chiefs to divert community resources and wealth for their personal use.

Kelani uses Jogbo as a microcosm of Nigeria to serve as a canvas for his satire. The town’s experiences mirror Nigeria’s challenges, from the scramble for power to the devastating consequences of resource extraction and exploitation, suppression of press freedom, police brutality, and economic hardship. By fictionalizing Nigeria, Kelani avoids direct censorship, allowing for a more nuanced exploration of these sensitive issues.

To portray the destructive nature of resource-driven politics, Kelani substitutes timber for crude oil, Nigeria’s lifeblood. Timber is the most coveted resource in Jogbo, sparking fierce competition and corruption among the community’s elite. This parallels Nigeria’s oil-rich Niger Delta, where decades of exploitation have led to environmental degradation and civil unrest.

Strictly adhering to the Brechtian high-toned epic theatre of keeping the audience aware, Kelani uses a narrator to set the tone of the film. Through historical contextualization, he uses songs, music, and idioms to educate, probe, and lighten the mood. He also uses dialectical materialism to expose the underlying socio-economic conditions of the people in the community. The breaking of the fourth wall, especially through Baba Opalanba (Adebayo Faleti), Kelani castigates and makes the audience conscious of their roles in shaping the sociopolitical activities of their community.

In a specific scene where the chiefs celebrate the purchase of their new cars, a journalist asks them where they get the money to buy such expensive cars. Irritated by the question, the chiefs call the palace policemen to drag the journalist out of the premises. In a recent scenario, Nigerian senators are defending buying luxury vehicles and spending a whopping sum to renovate the vice president’s Lagos residence, despite economic difficulties in the country.

At a press conference organized by King Lapite to celebrate his reign, the same journalist asks the king to speak about the development he’s brought to the community since taking the throne. He also questions the king for his failure to curb the excesses of the loggers and lumbering companies in the community’s forest, asking why the money generated from the lumber companies was not used for community development. In response, the king lambasts the journalist. The next day the journalist is arrested by the police and imprisoned.

This suppression of press freedom in the movie terrifyingly mirrors the current struggles of journalists in Nigeria. The trend of repression of press freedom in the country is alarming. Nigeria recorded twelve out of thirty-nine violations against the press reported in West Africa in the last quarter of 2023. The incidents of violence, intimidation, and harassment against journalists and critical voices in Nigeria are deeply concerning.

In a bold move, the youth of Jogbo stage a peaceful protest at the palace, seeking to bring to the king’s attention the devastating impact of the loggers on their farmlands, wildlife, and community. Instead of listening to their concerns, the king dispatches one of his chiefs to address the youth. Rather than attempting to appeal to the protesters through mutual dialogue and understanding, the chief—in a shocking turn of events—threatens the youth. This refusal to dialogue is eerily prescient of the Nigerian government’s defiance to dialogue with the youth during the 2020 nationwide #EndSARS protest and the current president’s pretentious speech during the push for salary increments and the nationwide End Bad Governance protest. Viewing the film today, one gains insight into the cyclical nature of history, prompting a deeper understanding of contemporary issues through the lens of past narratives.

Tired of the king’s dishonest practices, Jogbo youths disrupt a social function at the palace, stealing the king’s crown. To assert his supremacy, and to recover his stolen crown (his pride), the king collaborates with some lumber investors and calls on the military leader Lagata (Kunle Bamtefa) to quell the agitation. Lagata and his boys ransack the community and forest, arresting and killing the youths.

The youthful agitation and the fierce military intervention depicted in the movie are prophetic. The 2020 nationwide #EndSARS protests highlight the timeless struggle for a better government portrayed in the movie. It underscores the power of collective action against corruption, injustice, and police brutality. King Lapite’s deployment of the military to repress the youthful agitation buttresses the real-world incident where state governors and politicians sought police and military intervention during the #EndSARS protest, which resulted in carnage. This stark parallel stresses the recurring theme of how authority resorts to force to maintain control, depicting the cyclical struggle against oppressive systems.

Saworoide touches on how foreign powers, especially rich companies, influence the sociopolitical affairs of a country. These foreign powers often prioritize their interests over the welfare of the nations they engage with, frequently supporting corrupt regimes that align with their agendas rather than endorsing leaders genuinely committed to their people’s progress. For instance, the American government backed former President Muhammadu Buhari’s election in 2015. The current president, Bola Ahmed Tinubu, also enjoys significant support from the US government. This kind of exploitative relationship is foreshadowed in Saworoide when timber merchants gather to pledge allegiance to the corrupt Lapite. As the youth agitate for the king’s transparency and community development, a member of the lumber companies initially supports them financially and otherwise. But when the lumber companies realise that the youths’ agitation is affecting their earnings, they introduce the tyrannical Lagata to the king to curb the protest.

“We are suffering amid plenty,” says Gojugo, Lagata’s second in command, during a discussion where Lagata plots a coup against the corrupt monarch. That statement is similar to what Nigerians always say whenever they are tired of a government’s inability to make the country better. The pseudo-populist Lagata explains that the corruption of the king and his chiefs fails to bring prosperity to the community, and his taking over will make everything better. But when he does take over the affairs of the community, things go from bad to worse, more like what is going on in the country today. King Lapite and Lagata represent how Nigerian politicians often rig elections or force themselves into office.

In the scene after Lagata’s takeover, the chiefs are moaning about the tragic death of the corrupt Lapite while decrying the tyranny of Lagata. However, in a subsequent scene, instead of forming an opposition against the new government, they connive with him to siphon the community’s wealth and advise him to get rid of political activists and critics. This scenario is equivalent to Nigerian politicians forming allies with their supposed rivals to milk the country’s resources. Some of the youths even form an association to show their allegiance to the government, despite his despotism. When the youths pay a solidarity visit to the palace, now a barrack, the youth leaders proclaim their support for Lagata and declare the association’s readiness to die for his cause. Isn’t that what we are witnessing with this present administration?

The dissenting use of music in the movie also emphasizes its enduring legacy as a revolutionary piece of filmmaking. Baba Opalanba is a griot who conveys an emotional but bemused sermon through idioms. Using poetry and music, he chastises the corrupt chiefs for aiding the king’s deceptive practices and disregard for communal values. Much like how music played a pivotal role in conveying the message of discontent and resistance in the movie, contemporary movements, such as #EndSARS and End Bad Governance, leverage the use of protest songs to express societal grievances and fuel collective action. Saworoide transcends entertainment. It’s a mirror that reflects Nigeria’s societal struggles, boldly illustrating that without vigilance, the cycle of corruption and power abuse will persist, a lesson still pertinent in the country’s current sociopolitical terrains.

A movie with catastrophic themes often ends with optimism or triumph over adversity. The death of King Lapite and the iron-fisted Lagata puts an end to the corruption and despotism in the Jogbo community. “Jogbo was lucky,” the erudite Adebayo Faleti says at the end of the movie.

However, Nigeria is not a fictional state like Jogbo. Too bad, things might never change.