Speaking Truth to Power: An Interview with Chinua Achebe

Chinua Achebe, the Nigerian novelist and poet—and AAUP member—reflects on freedom, political oppression, and higher education.

Roger Bowen

Bowen: How long have you been a member of the AAUP?

Achebe: I think probably four or five years.

Bowen: What prompted you to join?

Achebe: Well, I think it is a good idea for teachers to organize themselves and to have a platform, which is much the same as what I said to writers in Nigeria when I founded an association of Nigerian authors. I said to them, you know, what we are doing is wonderful, but it is also dangerous because we have little influence. And there is somebody called the "emperor," and most of the time we won't ever be involved with the emperor, but when we are, it is necessary to have the power of a group.

Bowen: And the emperor is a symbol of what, the government?

Achebe: The authority. It's kind of a metaphor, but one we need to take seriously. Now in the United States, I don't think there is the same clarity about the emperor. I think here the emperor is very, very, clever and doesn't often show his true colors, but his authority is manifest.

Bowen: Twice in Washington recently, I hailed cabs and the drivers had accents. I asked where they were from originally, and both said Nigeria. I asked if they knew Chinua Achebe, and they said, "He is a national hero." So I asked what novels of his had they read? Both said Things Fall Apart, and one added Arrow of God. I found it fascinating that Nigerian expatriates who have made their homes in the United States know who you are, respect your writing, and see you as a great thinker. Now, do you keep track of events going on in Nigeria?

Achebe: Oh, yes. I do indeed. In fact, just now I am in some kind of trouble in Nigeria. The trouble increased recently when I rejected a national honor. I turned it down because I was not pleased, I was not happy with the way things are going and am alarmed that Nigeria is falling into the hands of thugs—corrupt, terribly corrupt bandits.

Bowen: Does the government look the other way when corruption occurs?

Achebe: That's right, not only does the government look the other way, but these thugs also boast openly that they have connections at the highest level.

Bowen: Is President Obasanjo complicit? [Olusegan Obasanjo was elected president of Nigeria in 1999, ending sixteen years of military rule.]

Achebe: Yes, in fact he is the one involved. He is the one who is supposed to fix this, and he is the one in whom we once had some faith. He came to power in 1999, but he has not performed. So I did not see any reason to accept the national award from him.

Bowen: Let me ask this question: within Nigeria and universities in your home state and elsewhere, is there such a thing as academic freedom?

Achebe: Well, it is touch and go. There is some, but not enough. There is always the danger of violation, because when there is poverty, salaries are not paid, students are constantly on strike, and the universities are closed—sometimes more often than they are open. In that kind of situation, we can't really talk about academic freedom.

Bowen: If I'm teaching political science at a Nigerian university and I say out loud to my students that Nigeria's democracy is underdeveloped, would I risk losing my job?

Achebe: You might, but that has not been happening a lot lately. One reason is that far more people have given up on change and are trying to leave the country. Many Nigerian academics now live here or in Europe.

Bowen: Is it your sense that Nigerian intellectuals are leaving the country and going to Europe and the United States because they want more freedom to profess honestly, or . . . ?

Achebe: Well—the fact that they are hungry, you have to put that in perspective, and if people are not paid their salaries—there are so many reasons for them to look somewhere else for work.

Bowen: So it's not just that they can't speak their minds but also that they are underpaid.

Achebe: Yes. Underpaid faculty who have insecure working conditions are unlikely to speak their minds.

Bowen: You attended a Nigerian university during the last years of British colonial rule. As a student, was it your perception that your professors were speaking honestly, that they were not fearful of British power, and that there was an honest, open, and intellectually free dialogue?

Achebe: I think, to a large extent, yes. I give credit to some of my teachers. What impressed me most was that some of them did not pretend to know everything. I had a professor in religion who became a great friend of mine. He said we can only teach you what we know. We cannot teach you necessarily what you want or even what you need. We teach what we know, and the rest is up to you. And I think that is really wonderful. Because what the student learns is more than just the material, it is the passion to search for truth.

Bowen: How did you discover that you were a writer?

Achebe: Well, I knew from inside me I had a story. You see, I had a burning sensation to tell this story but did not know its shape or form. So I had to figure it out. My teachers could teach me about Dickens and Hardy; not how to write an African novel.

Bowen: Is Things Fall Apart, your best-known novel, inspired by Shakespeare?

Achebe: Rather from Yeats.

Bowen: Did you read Yeats, then, as an undergraduate?

Achebe: I did.

Bowen: And the notion "things fall apart" struck you as significant. Did you have the title in mind before you wrote the novel? Or did you attach the title after you wrote the novel?

Achebe: You know, I think it came in the course of the writing. Yeats's poem struck me when I first encountered it. It was a very deep and profound meditation on the widening gyre of human history and the ever-present possibility of catastrophic encounters.

Bowen: What year was that published? 1958? You were a young man then.

Achebe: Yeah, I was very young then.

Bowen: That novel brought you international acclaim.

Achebe: I was very happy, very lucky.

Bowen: Do you require your students here at Bard to read your writings?

Achebe: Well, I think the answer is no. I teach them African literature generally.

Bowen: Can you compare what it's like to be a student today at a Nigerian university with what it was like when you were a student?

Achebe: Oh, it's like night and day.

Bowen: Which is night and which is day?

Achebe: Day is my time, and night is now—and that is not because of the students.

Bowen: It's the government?

Achebe: It is because of the country, the government, of the collapse of so many things. Talking about Nigeria is so painful, because the image that always comes to my mind is the proverb I have in my language. It says when you are told that the house has fallen, you do not ask "What about the ceiling?" or "What about the windows?" We are talking about a calamity.

Bowen: You were a student when the British still ruled Nigeria, and your novel Things Fall Apart focuses on the devastating impact of colonial rule. It breaks up society, creates strangers among people in the same village, and is an extraordinarily destructive force. Colonialism brought Christianity, the military, and trade. Now, you lived through colonial rule, which from your novel's perspective was a negative experience. Yet, in education, you're saying that it was better then than it is today?

Achebe: Yes, but let me explain. It is not because the students today are not as bright as we were. Many of them are better. It is not even because the faculty is not as good. The faculty today is better. But today's faculty and students do not have the tools to work with. There are no books, for instance, no libraries, for instance. It's very, very difficult or impossible to teach. The faculty are leaving in droves.

Bowen: Do you know of any faculty currently in Nigeria who are being persecuted for speaking truth to power?

Achebe: Well, I think in Nigeria the conditions are such that it is not even necessary to look for faculty speaking truth to power because so many people, so many of the best people, are no longer in the country. There is very little that any one person can do in the collapsing situation that we have. The collapse of the economy, the hunger, and the violence today make it difficult for someone in the country to speak truth to power. What can be said that everybody doesn't already know? I do not know how else to put it.

Bowen: Did you teach in Nigeria before coming here?

Achebe: Yes.

Bowen: How many years did you teach there? And in which university?

Achebe: Well, I taught in one university, the University of Nigeria. Before that, I was a broadcaster.

Bowen: Radio?

Achebe: Yes. That was the only profession I had. I was there for ten years. Then came the crisis in Nigeria—the civil war.

Bowen: 1968?

Achebe: 1967 and 1968. Then I left my job in Lagos following the first military coup in Nigeria. It was led by a number of young officers. Many of them came from my part of the country.

Bowen: Did you stay in Nigeria then or did you leave?

Achebe: Well, I stayed in Nigeria, but I left Lagos at that time and moved to my state in the east, as did millions of others, to their home states to be safe. Ultimately, that was what led to the secession of that part of Nigeria under the name of Biafra. So I was part of all of this. I was never really a fan of soldiers and never fascinated by the military. So I returned home in sadness, because it seemed to me this war was a disaster.

Bowen: Were you able to write and be creative during that period?

Achebe: That was the period when I wrote most of my poems. And also many of my short stories, such as "Girls at War."

Bowen: Were any of your stories censored or forced out of circulation by the government?

Achebe: Well, what happened in Nigeria was a very, very sophisticated kind of harassment, considerable harassment. I stayed in Nigeria then, so I was not seen to be running away, to share in any punishment that others suffered. At the end of the war, I was harassed for a number of years, but I was able to travel within Nigeria. Yet I was not able to get a passport. When I confronted the minister for foreign affairs to inquire why his department was refusing to give me a passport, he assured me that I was entitled to a passport.

Bowen: When did you get your passport restored?

Achebe: Finally, in 1972, I got a passport. That was when I came to the United States. I was also tired. I really wanted a break. So I was invited by the chair of the English department at the University of Massachusetts. So I went there for two years. And at the end of that, I went to the University of Connecticut for one year. Then, at that point, even the military in Nigeria began to ask why I wasn't home. So I was able to return to the University of Nigeria in 1975.

Bowen: You went to the University of Nigeria and you taught poetry, English, the novel?

Achebe: Mainly English.

Bowen: Did you have students in your class at the University of Nigeria who went on to become writers?

Achebe: Yes, yes. There are quite a few, actually, among them a fellow who recently wrote my biography.

Bowen: Are you still in touch with your former students?

Achebe: Yes.

Bowen: In Nigeria today?

Achebe: Some of them are in Nigeria. Some are abroad.

Bowen: Besides UMass, UConn, and Bard, have you taught in any other American universities or colleges?

Achebe: One semester at City College, in New York, and at Dartmouth for one term. I was actually there until I went home to attend a meeting of the union of my village of which I was the president. When I was preparing to return to Dartmouth, I had the automobile accident that changed my life forever.

Bowen: You were hospitalized in London?

Achebe: Yes.

Bowen: While there, Leon Botstein, Bard's president, heard about your health problems and offered you a position at Bard. You have been here for ten years?

Achebe: Twelve years.

Bowen: What courses are you offering at Bard?

Achebe: African literature, women writers, short stories, pioneer African writers, and the image of Africa in the West.

Bowen: In what ways do you believe your work has contributed to deeper human understanding, or to a deeper understanding of the human condition?

Achebe: Well, it is difficult to apply this ex-pression to my own work. But I think I can answer it safely by saying that I know I've been told wherever I go that my work has been influential in this way or that way. Let me give one example, just one of many. Some years ago, I received a batch of thirty-two letters from a class at a women's college in Korea. Each student wrote to me about her experience with Things Fall Apart. Some were quite tough about the novel's chief character, Okonkwo, saying that he was a fighter for his people and should not have been allowed to fail. One of them went further to explain to me that the reason she loved Okonkwo was that he reminded her of fighting Japanese colonialism.

Bowen: As imperialisms go, British imperialism was fairly benign, when contrasted with, say, Japanese imperialism in Korea or China. Yet in either case, people suffered. Okonkwo resisted, even as he was trying to make sense of his life within the village. So he is a kind of universal character in many ways, isn't he?

Achebe: Yes.

Bowen: Colonized peoples can identify with him. But the fact that you killed him off in the novel, is that a statement, do you think, that true justice doesn't always prevail?

Achebe: Well, yes, yes. The "good man" does not necessarily always succeed. Having said that, I should also say that I was not suggesting that Okonkwo was a perfect man. He had his faults. He contributed to his own undoing.

Bowen: Is this tragedy of Okonkwo autobiographical? Do you identify in some ways with him? Were you, like him, a great wrestler at one time?

Achebe: No, I wasn't, on the contrary. My father was a great wrestler before he became a convert to Christianity. He became a church teacher.

Bowen: Oh, so your father did convert to Christianity?

Achebe: Yes. Both my parents did. They were first-generation Christians. I was born into Christianity. I did not have to reject anything or to choose anything.

Bowen: But in Things Fall Apart, you characterized Christianity as a subversive force.

Achebe: Yes, yes, yes. And my father, his generation, I still do not fully understand. I often wonder why someone would reject the religion of his ancestors for some brand-new one. It seems like the act of traitors. But it is quite impossible for me to see my parents as traitors. So there is something my parents' generation saw that my generation cannot really appreciate.

Bowen: Political theorist Benjamin Barber describes two worlds today: one is very provincial, insular, cut off from the outside world, maybe similar to villages in Nigeria before British imperialism. He calls it jihad. The other is "McWorld"—cosmopolitan, culturally imperialistic. Of these two opposing forces, McWorld eventually triumphs over jihad. Now, I think back to Things Fall Apart, and I think of British imperialism in the nineteenth century as a kind of forerunner of American, some would say, cultural imperialism. Wherever you go, people want to see American movies or TV, listen to American music, wear American clothes, and on and on. Is that comparison lamebrained in your view? Or is there merit to it? Or does it remind you of what happened to nineteenth-century Nigeria?

Achebe: Overall, there is merit there, and that's the success of McWorld, the persuasive power of wealth.

Bowen: Is power a function of wealth?

Achebe: Yes.

Bowen: You think that was true in the Nigeria of the nineteenth century?

Achebe: Yes. Among the Igbo people, for example, there is deep suspicion of power and great wealth within a system of small villages. So they created a system of titles to keep wealthy citizens harmless. If you want a big title, you can pay for it; but then you must take responsibility for feeding the whole village for a number of days. So in the end, the powerful, the titled, go bankrupt. Hence they are respected in the community, but broke, and, therefore, no longer a threat.

Bowen: You should share this theory with President Obasanjo. Shifting gears, when you look at U.S. higher education, what do you identify as the major problems, the issues that concern you?

Achebe: Quite frankly, I have not studied it really, because I have focused on the many problems in Nigeria. And I think in the United States, higher education is working well compared with what's happening in Nigeria. When I am asked if I will write a book about America, I say no—I'm not going to, because there are so many people writing books about America, and one more book from me is really not that important, whereas other parts of the world have no one attending to their problems.

Bowen: You are a student of the human predicament, a very sensitive observer, and I have to believe that you have a perspective on behavior in American higher education that many Americans do not have. As a novelist, as a person who observes human behavior and the human predicament and characterizes it in strong and powerful language, what have you observed about American higher education? I know you have observations.

Achebe: Maybe. But I also truthfully believe that providence places you in the world in order to address specific issues.

Bowen: So you think that it is providential that you are here in the United States?

Achebe: Well, in my mind, it is providential, just as it is providential that I was born in Nigeria. What I can do is to make this kind of link in students' imagination so that they realize that the world does not end in America. There is a place, a far place, in Africa.

Bowen: You said that one of the great problems with democracy is it does not really work very well. American democracy is one of the strongest and oldest in the world. Do you really think in some ways that America is a model for Nigeria or other countries? Or, is there a certain path, a different kind of path, that each country must take to realize democracy?

Achebe: I think that every people should decide for themselves what political system they need. There is really a contradiction, of course, in what I'm saying.

Bowen: There is a bit of contradiction. All people should be able to figure their own route or otherwise "things fall apart." It takes an external force disrupting a society in order to make the point that people should be free to determine their own future, and maybe we don't appreciate that freedom until there is an external force, whether it's imperialism or whatever type of force.

Achebe: Yes, yes, one does not ignore what's coming from the outside. You've learned what you need from the rest of the world, yet you cannot really learn certain things from others. In the end, you know, you alone have to put it all together.

Bowen: What do you think that Bard students learn from you that they might not learn from an American professor?

Achebe: That there is another world somewhere. There are people there, real people, not funny people but good people with ambition that they should be aware of. That's enough for a start.

Bowen: That's quite a bit. Do you think that the American students you've met are sufficiently open to international scholars and different views?

Achebe: Many of them are. Students in America are very curious.

Bowen: You think the aspirations of American students and faculty are any different from the aspirations of Nigerian students and faculty?

Achebe: I do not think so.

Bowen: Are there universal values?

Achebe: Yeah, there are. There are some differences, too, in the approach. The students in Nigeria are far more serious about being students and learning than students here. The students here have a lot. A lot is given to them. So they are not starved for knowledge or for this or that.

Bowen: Would you characterize yourself as a political writer?

Achebe: Yes, provided I explain that I don't mean I'm a politician. I think politics are at the very root of what life is; but in the West, politics is downgraded, thanks to the cleverness of the "emperor."

Bowen: Thank you for sharing your insights.

Achebe: No, no. This has been my pleasure.

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