Mark Dummett

TWENTY-FOUR YEARS AFTER the execution of Ken Saro-Wiwa and his eight colleagues (the Ogoni 9), I welcome the publication of a new edition of Silence Would be Treason: Last Writings of Ken Saro-Wiwa. These letters and poems portray the writer, the activist, the family man and above all a man who passionately cared about the manmade ecological disaster in his homeland. Writing to Sister Majella, in a letter dated 1 December 1993, Ken Saro-Wiwa wrote:

Keep putting your thoughts on paper. Who knows how we can use them in future. The Ogoni story will have to be told.

The sad truth is that more than twenty years after the execution of the Ogoni 9, Nigeria’s oil producing region remains a blighted land. There are hundreds of oil spills in the Niger Delta every year and Shell and the other oil companies operating there are still not doing enough to either prevent spills, or clean them up. The impact on the hundreds of thousands of people unfortunate enough to live next to the oil wells and pipelines where spills occur is catastrophic.

Shell, the largest operator, likes to blame local communities for the pollution, accusing them of cutting open the pipelines to steal oil. This is indeed a problem, but Shell overstates the issue to deflect criticism of its own failings, such as the poor state of its pipelines, and its terrible record on clean-up.

Ken Saro-Wiwa wrote that oil pollution had turned the Niger Delta into an “ecological disaster.” The United Nations Environment Programme vindicated his claim – described by Shell at the time as false – in 2011. Its researchers found that the people of Ogoni, Saro-Wiwa’s homeland, had “lived with chronic oil pollution throughout their lives.” This pollution had contaminated the fields where they grew food, the water where they fished and the wells from which they drank.

Amnesty International campaigns for a proper clean-up of the Niger Delta because of this clear link between the oil pollution and the impact it has on the health and the livelihoods, and therefore the human rights, of the people. Talk to anyone over the age of 60 in the Niger Delta and they speak wistfully of swimming, in childhoold, in the clean waters of the creeks, which meander through the region – one of the world’s most ecologically important wetlands.Visit these creeks today and you see signs warning people not to go close, you see dead mangrove trees lining the shore, and mud that is black with oil. The people are understandably angry, and have refused to allow Shell to pump any more oil from its wells in Ogoni.

But tragically, the pollution continues. Shell, which has been operating in Nigeria since the days of the British Empire, transports hundreds of thousands of barrels of oil a day along pipelines that cross the villages, fields and creeks of Ogoni from neighbouring oil fields. These pipelines are old and leaky. We know this because of internal Shell documents that the company was forced to disclose during a recent legal action in London. The court papers include an internal memo by Shell based on a 2002 study that states that, “the remaining life of most of the [Shell] Oil Trunklines is more or less non-existent or short, while some sections contain major risk and hazard.” In another internal document dated 10 December 2009 a Shell employee warns that, “[the company] is corporately exposed as the pipelines in Ogoniland have not been maintained properly or integrity assessed for over 15 years.”

In August 2015 I travelled to the village of Kegbara Dere, in Ogoni with colleagues from Amnesty International and the Centre for the Environment Human Rights and Development, which is based in the Niger Delta. There, we visited a place called the Bomu Manifold. It is an important facility for Shell that is guarded by the Nigerian military. The manifold is a hub for the company’s pipelines, which run from the oil fields to an export terminal on the coast. In 2009, there was an operational fault on one of these pipelines, which then exploded, causing a major spill. Under Nigerian law, Shell has an obligation to start cleaning up spills within 24 hours, whatever the cause, and return the affected land to as close as possible its original state. The company said it had completed this work at the Bomu Manifold in 2012. Yet we found that a wide area was still visibly contaminated with oil. A large area of land looked like a bomb had landed on it. There was no vegetation, but mounds of charred and oil encrusted soil. We saw streams spreading the contamination into a wider area, where people live and farm.

We visited another three locations which Shell said it had cleaned-up but which also remain visibly contaminated. Incredibly, the pollution at one of these sites, Boobanabe, also in Kegbara Dere, dates back to a fire at a Shell oil well in 1970. One of village elders, Emadee Roberts Kpai, remembers the day when Shell first came to the area. “They promised that if they find oil here they’ll transform our community and everybody will be happy.” But the transformation was not what they had expected. Emadee’s farm and fishponds have been devastated by oil pollution from nearby Shell pipelines. Now, he says “We have no hope for our children in this community”. Whether Emadee’s bleak assessment of the future comes true or not rests not just with Shell, but also with the Nigerian government. So far, its record of holding oil companies to account has been woeful. President Muhammadu Buhari has pledged to restore the oil-wrecked environment, but his government has done little to implement the UN’s recommendations from 2011. Doing so would be the best way of honouring the memory of Ken Saro-Wiwa.

Mark Dummett

London August 2018



Silence Would Be Treason Copyright © 2018 by Mark Dummett. All Rights Reserved.

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