Former World Bank vice president Obiageli Ezekwesili, and a former Nigerian cabinet member, is one of the leaders of the #BringBackOurGirls movement. Photo: Getty
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Why is there such a culture of misinformation surrounding the case of Nigeria’s kidnapped girls?

The tragedy of the two hundred girls kidnapped in Nigeria won’t be as high-profile a story as individual western kidnap victims – and the Nigerian authorities aren’t helping.

Two hundred or more girls have been kidnapped in Nigeria. In most countries, even where the government demonstrates contempt for the electorate, the authorities would be going into overdrive, making all the right noises, mobilising every conceivable resource – leaving no stone unturned might be the mantra. It’s the type of tragedy that, handled well, might even secure another term in power.

The Nigerian government appears, in contrast, unmotivated by such petty concerns as appeasing the electorate. There is national fury at the ineptitude of the authorities’ response to the recent kidnapping. Despite an increase in the budget for such purposes, there remains an absence of any coherent strategy to tackle security in the country. In the face of Boko Haram’s escalating five-year extremist uprising, this is extremely worrying for Nigerian citizens.

A culture of misinformation surrounds the case. Nigerian commentators are appalled that nobody even seems able to agree on the number of girls that are missing, with figures from between 100-234 flying around. It is hard to get a sense of the facts.

The day after the abduction, the military claimed to have rescued the majority of the girls. It later transpired that they had done no such thing, but that 40 girls had – without any support from the authorities – managed to escape. Rumours are now starting to emerge that the girls may have been smuggled into Cameroon and sold for less than £10 each into forced marriages with militants.

Even in the west, we know that black lives are not valued, and black female lives even less so. We saw this in the stark contrast between media coverage of the racist murders of Renisha McBride and Trayvon Martin last year. The subsequent outrage at this, where it existed, seemed to be concentrated among black women, and to take place online, outside the traditional halls of power.

Similarly the reaction to the Nigerian tragedy is happening largely on Twitter, and seems to be concentrated among Nigerians, other Africans, and members of the African diaspora. Nigerians are demanding that the government, and the world, take the issue seriously.

The trending hashtag, #BringBackOurGirls, is advocating for government action and an international response now. While many of the tweets focus specifically on this case, others are taking it as a metaphor for the wider state of play. The case is symptomatic of what is happening in the country generally, and demonstrates the apathy that Nigerian leaders have towards ordinary Nigerian people.

Yesterday, approximately a thousand protesters marched to present a letter to the National Assembly in the nation’s capital Abuja. A speaker from the House of Representatives appeared, in the rain – a significant gesture in a country whose leaders are famed for their dismissive attitude to the hoi polloi – to address those gathered. However, while this may be “polite”, it remains inadequate in the absence of any meaningful action.

While the UK and global news media are waking up to the story now, the response has been slow, and relatively insignificant in comparison to what we might have expected had these events unfolded elsewhere.

The lack of interest shown by Nigerian politicians might be read in the same way that the limited coverage in the western media, and the absence of an international response, can be understood. The intersection between race, gender, and class has created a perfect storm of inaction. The Nigerian elite exhibits a similar attitude to the poor as that shown by the west towards black and brown lives.

While for a privileged few, involvement in the Nigerian state comes with all the trappings of power, for most, Nigeria remains an illusory façade of a nation, failing to provide any of the structural mechanisms, safety, or support networks, which the citizens of a functioning state might expect to enjoy.

The victims here are not rich, western or white, they are not from Kent, or even Korea, but from Chibok in north-eastern Nigeria. We have become almost immune to stories of death and violence from such parts of the world. Despite the horror that so many are missing, the fact that there are over two hundred almost desensitises us further to what is happening.

These girls are nameless, faceless victims. Their tragedy will not be humanised in the way that the high-profile stories of individual, western, kidnap victims are. Paul Gilroy advances the term “infrahuman”, to describe those bodies marked by race, whose alterity condemns them to worthlessness.

The lives of a nameless mass of infrahumans are not worth that of one European individual. The barbarity of the temperate zones in which the infrahuman resides, condemn them to short, brutal, lives. Such media representation of the infrahuman allows us to ignore the histories of the former colonies, and the role of Europe in the production of overseas theatres of violence.

Thus reconfigured, the structural problems that plague the British invention that is Nigeria are claimed to be the natural order of things, testimony of the barbarity and ineptitude of its people. But Nigerians have had enough. Perhaps this will be a tipping point, sparking real change in the country.

Nigeria has so much potential, if only this could be harnessed, and allowed to develop. I remain suspicious of outside, particularly western, intervention, in Africa. To succeed, Nigerian transformation must be indigenous, and start at grassroots level. If nothing else, the response of ordinary Nigerians to these painful events shows us the capacity that exists within the country for the masses to mobilise, and, crucially, make their voices heard.

Sign the petition asking the world not to forget the kidnapped girls here. Emma Dabiri tweets as @TheDiasporaDiva

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The joy of only winning once: why England should be proud of 1966

We feel the glory of that triumphant moment, 50 years ago, all the more because of all the other occasions when we have failed to win.

There’s a phrase in football that I really hate. It used to be “Thirty years of hurt”. Each time the England team crashes out of a major tournament it gets regurgitated with extra years added. Rather predictably, when England lost to Iceland in Euro 2016, it became “Fifty years of hurt”. We’ve never won the European Championship and in 17 attempts to win the World Cup we have only won once. I’m going to tell you why that’s a record to cherish.

I was seven in 1966. Our telly was broken so I had to watch the World Cup final with a neighbour. I sat squeezed on my friend Colin’s settee as his dad cheered on England with phrases like “Sock it to them Bobby”, as old fashioned now as a football rattle. When England took the lead for the second time I remember thinking, what will it feel like, when we English are actually Champions of the World. Not long after I knew. It felt good.

Wembley Stadium, 30 July 1966, was our only ever World Cup win. But let’s imagine what it would be like if, as with our rivals, we’d won it many times? Brazil have been World Champions on five occasions, Germany four, and Italy four. Most England fans would be “over the moon” if they could boast a similarly glorious record. They’re wrong. I believe it’s wonderful that we’ve only triumphed once. We all share that one single powerful memory. Sometimes in life less is definitely more.

Something extraordinary has happened. Few of us are even old enough to remember, but somehow, we all know everything that happened that day. Even if you care little about the beautiful game, I’m going to bet that you can recall as many as five iconic moments from 50 years ago. You will have clearly in your mind the BBC commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme’s famous lines, as Geoff Hurst tore down the pitch to score his hat-trick: “Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now”. And it was. 4 - 2 to England against West Germany. Thirty minutes earlier the Germans had equalised in the dying moments of the second half to take the game to extra time.

More drama we all share: Geoff Hurst’s second goal. Or the goal that wasn’t, as technology has since, I think, conclusively proved. The shot that crashed off the cross bar and did or didn’t cross the line. Of course, even if you weren’t alive at the time, you will know that the linesman, one Tofiq Bakhramov, from Azerbaijan (often incorrectly referred to as “Russian”) could speak not a word of English, signalled it as a goal.

Then there’s the England Captain, the oh-so-young and handsome Bobby Moore. The very embodiment of the era. You can picture him now wiping his muddy hands on his white shorts before he shakes hands with a youthful Queen Elizabeth. Later you see him lifted aloft by his team mates holding the small golden Jules Rimet trophy.

How incredible, how simply marvellous that as a nation we share such golden memories. How sad for the Brazilians and Germans. Their more numerous triumphs are dissipated through the generations. In those countries each generation will remember each victory but not with the intensity with which we English still celebrate 1966. It’s as if sex was best the first time. The first cut is the deepest.

On Colin’s dad’s TV the pictures were black and white and so were the flags. Recently I looked at the full colour Pathe newsreel of the game. It’s the red, white and blue of the Union Jack that dominates. The red cross of Saint George didn’t really come into prominence until the Nineties. The left don’t like flags much, unless they’re “deepest red”. Certainly not the Union Flag. It smacks of imperialism perhaps. In 1966 we didn’t seem to know if we were English or British. Maybe there was, and still is, something admirable and casual about not knowing who we are or what is our proper flag. 

Twelve years later I’m in Cuba at the “World Festival of Youth” – the only occasion I’ve represented my country. It was my chance to march into a stadium under my nation’s flag. Sadly, it never happened as my fellow delegates argued for hours over what, if any, flag we British should walk behind. The delegation leaders – you will have heard of them now, but they were young and unknown then – Peter Mandelson, Trevor Phillips and Charles Clarke, had to find a way out of this impasse. In the end, each delegation walked into the stadium behind their flag, except the British. Poor Mandelson stood alone for hours holding Union Jack, sweltering in the tropical sun. No other country seemed to have a problem with their flag. I guess theirs speak of revolution; ours of colonialism.

On Saturday 30 July BBC Radio 2 will commemorate the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final, live from Wembley Arena. Such a celebration is only possible because on 16 occasions we failed to win that trophy. Let’s banish this idea of “Fifty years of hurt” once and for all and embrace the joy of only winning once.

Phil Jones edits the Jeremy Vine Show on BBC Radio 2. On Saturday 30 July the station celebrates the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final live from Wembley Arena, telling the story of football’s most famous match, minute by minuteTickets are available from: www.wc66.org