Dear Fellow,
I hope you are faring well. Please join me as I unravel a thought that has been on my mind for a while now. Your inputs and observations shared in the comments section will go a long way. Let’s ride.
In academic writing, you are obligated to provide documentary evidence for nearly every claim you make. Authority sources (documents produced by experts in a field of study) are of more value as documentary evidence. It is assumed that everything you can think of or imagine has been in existence in history. And that is why there is a term in academia known as “historicity” (as one of the criteria to verify the reliability of any claim).
Knowing significant much about these terminologies has transformed the way I interact with people. I am wont to disagree with uncommon claims or assumptions by anyone unless the person presents reliable evidence (preferably documentary evidence) in support of them. It has become a habit to the extent that my friends now give a preamble, saying something like, “Please don’t ask me for a reference,” before they make bold claims. While it may seem awkward, I like that is now a part of their consciousness, at least around me, to have the sense that their claims can be supported (or refuted).
I made a commitment to being that way—an accountability partner to uphold the need for referencing and citing sources for claims—when I became conscious of the harm we do ourselves by not being conscious of the responsibility to test the reliability of all we say on a daily basis. The most annoying situation for me is when we make comparisons—for example, “This Nigerian in my neighbourhood is the best this or that in this country; I have not seen his kind anywhere.” Yes, listen closely around you for statements like this after reading this piece. (I have grown to be so conscious of them over time.) And it doesn’t help us. How so?
Statements like that breed mediocrity and complacency, despite how well-meaning they may seem. The person who is calling that person (as an example yet) “The best this or that in the country”, how far the length and breath of this country has this person covered, travelled to or read about? How many others doing the same thing across the country is this person aware of? By what standards is the person making such assessment? And this has filtered into our professional and prestigious arenas—you only need to be in an award ceremony in our public (and even in some private) schools to see this. People being fed false hope, safe to say, faith clothed in untruth.
But the arena in which I think about this issue more is in our books. They are so numerous in number, even in my city alone, to make a bold claim. But the very few biographies I have read shows overestimation of victories and downplaying the weaknesses of the subject or main character of the texts. (Fiction writers know better to never create a character that is without a weakness, if their story must be logical.) I resist mentioning some titles, not to shame anyone. But my aim here is to appeal to our consciences, as we all are storytellers, because we all tell stories—of how we did something, to our younger ones; of how our day went, to our lovers; of how we successfully did something, to a friend, etc.
I hope I was able to get you asking this question already: So what about all this? If yes, here is my answer: What if we begin to handle information and share our stories differently? What if we rid ourselves of the desire to compare our characters or ourselves to others, in order to be the best in a category? What if we share our stories essentially as a record of our experience dealing with the issues of life? Not under any compulsion to be the best by our own judgement. How about you think of your story as an addition to the dataset of the collective human experience? Blessing Sabo Ombugadu puts it this way: “Our narratives act as data points of a different kind, richer and more nuanced than any survey form.”1
Your story need no authority sources; you know your experience better. But be true to your history, and you need not embellish the narrative.
Your LetterMan,
Tongjal, W. N.
PS: I hope you found something meaningful in this piece. I hope you do. I will appreciate your thoughts in the comments section. Thank you.
Blessing Sabo Ombugadu, “Cartographers of the Unseen,” in The Twelfth Despatch: On Writing and Becoming, ed. by Micah Timothy Evi, Habib Robert Simon, Zipporah Ayomide Adigun, and Sarah Ayuba Tawus (Jos: ACTi Publishing, 2024),194–198.