By Guest Writer
Every generation possesses an inalienable right to define its own heroes. While history records figures whose greatness transcends time and epochs, it is neither natural nor just to deny succeeding generations the freedom to recognise excellence within their own cultural moment. Greatness is not a finite resource, and it is not inherited by negation. Each individual must be allowed to pursue significance independent of the shadows cast by predecessors. People sometimes fail to realise how transitions between generations can be rough. Social transitions can sometimes be filled with tension and misunderstanding. Paradoxically, many figures now revered as icons were, in their own time, misunderstood, resisted or outright disdained.
If this paradox were not true, one must ask why figures such as Gani Fawehinmi appear greater in death than they ever were in life. In memory, he is celebrated as the Senior Advocate of the Masses, a tireless defender of the oppressed and an uncompromising voice against military dictatorship. Despite these, when he sought political power through the same masses whose cause he championed, their support was conspicuously scarce. He contested elections. He presented himself for leadership. And the inevitable question arises: how many people truly voted for him? This contradiction exposes an uncomfortable truth about society’s relationship with heroism. We often admire courage at a safe distance but hesitate to shoulder the cost of standing with it in real time. We canonise what we once resisted. We sanctify in retrospect what we could not accommodate in the present. It is only after their departure that society fully grasps the magnitude of the vacuum they leave behind.
A further complication arises from our obsession with comparison. We habitually ask: Who is greater? Messi or Ronaldo? Wole Soyinka or Chinua Achebe? Alabi Pasuma or Saheed Osupa? Jay-Jay Okocha or Kanu Nwankwo? Dangote or Otedola? King Sunny Ade or Ebenezer Obey? Obafemi Awolowo or Nnamdi Azikiwe? These questions, while popular, are shallow. They collapse distinct contexts and purposes of excellence into a false hierarchy. One is compelled to ask: toward what end are these comparisons made? What truth do they ultimately reveal, beyond inflaming sentiment and rivalry?
Fela Anikulapo Kuti was undeniably great. That fact is not open to dispute. His artistic genius and political courage remain potent nearly three decades after he died. His continued relevance is itself evidence of the depth of his legacy. But greatness is not diminished because another generation finds resonance in a different figure. Also, celebrating contemporary excellence does not amount to erasing historical significance.
Can anyone today claim to surpass Fela? Such a claim is premature, or perhaps incoherent. Legacy is not adjudicated in real time. It matures through decades of cultural endurance and critical reassessment. If we are to speak honestly, the only fair arbiter of such questions is time itself. Let us allow the present generation to live, create and define meaning on its own terms, and reserve final judgments for history.
To ask who is greater is often to misunderstand what greatness truly is. In the end, reverence for the past and recognition of the present need not be mutually exclusive. A society secure in its values can honour its legends without weaponising them against the aspirations of those who come after.
Matthew Alugbin, PhD, teaches at Edo State University.
