There is a thing that has come to exist in the literary space these days, and this is especially common in the African—to be more concise, Nigerian—literary space. Look around closely, and even you would see it. You’d smell it, even, like thick black smoke in the air, clouding eyesight so that we can no longer see the beauty of liteary art for what it is through this mist.
Favoritism. That’s its name. Favouritism. I don’t know if this word perfectly describes it, but ‘favouritism’ is the most fitting word I can think of at the moment.
There has always been a hierarchy in the literary world, yes. And, believe me, I think this is rightly so. Of course, there has to exist a form of hierarchy amongst artists in all forms of art. We artists are not all equal. There are some artists who know better than others, who have seen the world of art for what it is, and have touched more lives than their counterparts. These are the ones at the peak, who relatively amateur and emerging artists look up to. I’d henceforth refer to them as “veteran artists.”.
And there are others who are still trying to find their footing, who have become like seeds, pushing their way up through soil. These ones I’d refer to as “amateur writers.”
Every amateur writer hopes to one day become a veteran. I do. We all do.
In previous years, this hope he or she would see through by working hard and putting himself and his art out there; winning awards and getting noticed by readers and writers alike. Art does not hide, you see. It is like a glimmer of light in a dull sky. Everyone who looks sees it, and everyone who loves it appreciates its creator. Think of your favorite Nigerian writer at the moment who emerged between 1990s-2006, and I’m almost certain you can remember the work of his or hers that pulled your attention to them.
For Chimamanda, everyone knows it is her Purple Hibiscus that drew the world into her clasped hands. Same thing for Elnathan John and the others we know.
That was a long time ago, however. Things seem to be changing these days, and for the worse I am afraid. Emerging writers no longer want to wait until their skills have been honed enough to get them the recognition they crave. I see this all around me. It’s grown even worse with the emergence of social media. All amateur writers want these days, seems to be recognition. This isn’t bad. It’s perfectly normal.
But by recognition, as regards the unquenchable desire that eats amateur writers up, I do not mean recognition by readers. At least not directly. What I mean to say is, amateur writers want and would do everything to be recognized by the veterans, who would in response pull them into an already created umbrella of fame. These veteran writers achieve this by recommending their loyalists in honorable mentions, by publishing, and by even lobbying to see to it that these loyalists get or win awards. The amateurs just stare, doing nothing.
It almost seems as if they (these amateur writers) have lost hope in what their skills and talents can get them, and have taken to hinging their hope on someone else. On an already established figure. They become sycophantic, singing praises where none should be sung and dancing to mental tunes when there are in reality none being played. A veteran writer speaks, and it is the word of God to the amateur one. True. Void of lies. Veteran coughs and that is life defined.
All this, and for what?
Have no doubts. Veteran writers take a bulk of the blame too. Why sell your favours for a loud-mouthed appearance of loyalty? Why lift something, someone, that really shouldn’t be lifted, especially as they are others all around who are, at best, better than the one who bows to you like you have become a statue?
Why recommend someone who does not merit a recommendation? Why let another make a home of your shadow?
Favoritism does not only make the one on the receiving end of the favour lazy; it makes the many others who are unlucky to be on the not-favoured side discouraged and frustrated. Of all the hornets that sting a writer, frustration is the most pain-inflicting.
It really isn’t fair.
Veteran writers have to try to not meddle in the affairs of the younger ones. I know I am in no position to question or oppose the ones above me. But, even children sometimes speak to their fathers. Let audiences pick. Don’t impose a person on readers. Let us all struggle, let us all clamber our way to the top. So that we can say proudly that it was all us. No one but us.