July 15, (THEWILL) — What is heavier, 200 pounds of bricks or 200 pounds of feathers?
The answer is feathers.
Two hundred pounds of bricks is just a bunch of bricks. But if you try to carry 200 pounds of feathers, you also have to carry the weight of what you did to the poor birds…
A man kept a parrot. That parrot also used to talk. One day, the man said to the parrot:
“I am going on a long journey, if you need anything from there, tell me…”
The parrot replied:
“There is a forest of parrots. Our gurus live there, our companions live there. Go there and give my greetings to the guru parrot and say that a slave parrot, living in a cage, bound in slavery, greets your free parrots…”
The merchant reached the forest and gave the message.
Suddenly, there was a sound of fluttering. One parrot fell, then another, and then the whole forest of parrots dropped dead.
Shocked and saddened, the merchant returned.
On his return, the parrot asked:
“Did you give my greetings…?”
He said, “It is very sad. I did. But your guru died… and all the disciples also died.”
Hearing this, the parrot also collapsed.
The merchant, stunned, picked up the parrot’s limp body and threw it outside.
But lo and behold—the parrot immediately sprang to life, flew away, and perched on a tree branch.
The baffled merchant cried out, “What is this…? What just happened?”
The parrot calmly replied:
“The point is, unknowingly, you delivered the message I needed. My guru taught me through his act. The message is: ‘Die before you die.’ I did just that. And when I died before I died, you threw me away and paved the way for my escape.”
The riddle opens with deceptive simplicity: what’s heavier—200 pounds of bricks or 200 pounds of feathers? The answer, we’re told, is feathers—not for their mass, but for the burden of guilt. It’s not the object, but the unseen weight of consequences that makes it heavier.
This is the poignant metaphor that hangs over Nigeria’s constitutional quest. Like the feathers, the 1999 Constitution carries the weight of history—of betrayal, of military imposition, of dashed hopes, of ethnic tensions and repeated failures. It is this accumulated burden, not the document itself, that grounds our constitutional attempts.
Now, see the parrot story. The “slave parrot” yearns for liberation and sends a coded plea via its captor. The response? Mass feigning of death. The message? Escape lies not in fighting, but in appearing to die—so the captor discards you. And in that discard lies your freedom.
This is where Nigeria finds itself again.
The Senate embarks on yet another comprehensive review of the 1999 Constitution. Zonal public hearings echo across the federation. Proposals are tabled: state police to combat insecurity, shifting labour to the Concurrent List for decentralised governance, granting states control over inland waterways, creating more states and local governments, and reserving 10% of legislative seats for women and 5% for Persons with Disabilities.
Simultaneously, The Patriots, led by elder statesman Emeka Anyaoku, plan an Emergency National Constitutional Summit—a more fundamental gathering of concerned Nigerians to reimagine the country’s foundation.
But we’ve been here before.
1979’s Constitution was once hailed globally, yet it collapsed under the weight of ethnic rivalry, personal ambition, and military intervention. Was the document the problem, or those meant to operate it? Like the merchant in the parrot tale, those in power mistook the message, missed the lesson, and reinforced the cage.
The truth? The cage isn’t the constitution—it’s the political mindset.
Let’s not forget the 1994/95 Constitutional Conference, the 2005 National Political Reform Conference, and the 2014 National Conference. Each of these represented significant intellectual and consultative investments, brimming with hope, ideas, and bold recommendations: true federalism, resource control, inclusive governance, rotational presidency, regional autonomy, and mechanisms for national cohesion. Yet, like the forest parrots, these reports were allowed to “die.” Ignored, shelved, or cherry-picked to suit ruling class convenience.
Why? Because real change demands dying before dying—letting go of entrenched interests, centralized patronage, and the suffocating grip of federal power. But Nigeria’s power brokers have refused to “die.” Instead, they wear new robes, rearrange bars, and call it reform.
Some of the current proposals sound promising—like state police or inclusive legislative seats. But under what mindset will they be implemented? A tool in the wrong hands becomes a weapon. Without radical safeguards, state police can become political militias. More local governments may end up as cash points for political elites. Creating extra seats for women and Persons with Disabilities is progressive, but what if the deeper systemic and cultural barriers remain untouched?
The proposed National Constitutional Summit by The Patriots reflects a deeper anxiety: that the official amendment process is inherently limited. That those who benefit from the status quo cannot truly dismantle it. It recalls past calls for a Sovereign National Conference—a gathering outside the existing legal and political cage, empowered to fundamentally renegotiate Nigeria’s foundation, not just patch up a broken system.
So, again, the fundamental question lingers: is the constitution the problem, or are we?
The 1999 Constitution carries the unbearable weight of its illegitimate birth—imposed by the military without popular consent, built on a unitary framework masked as federalism, and manipulated for decades by a cynical political class. It is a cage forged from distrust, exclusion, and centralized control. Tinkering with its bars will not free the captive. True transformation requires that we, like the parrot, die before we die.
To make Nigeria’s constitutional feather fly, we must embrace a profound political and societal metamorphosis.
It requires the death of illusion—accepting that piecemeal reforms have failed, and that true federalism, not symbolic decentralisation, is essential. It calls for the death of impunity—ensuring constitutional provisions are enforced rigorously, no matter whose ox is gored. It demands the death of exclusion—bringing in genuinely marginalised voices, not just political elite consensus. And it insists on the death of the “Nigerian factor”—the cynical, corrupt mindset that poisons even the noblest intentions, and the building of institutions strong enough to resist capture.
The Senate hearings, like the merchant’s message, are in motion. But will Nigeria’s political gurus—those in power and the people they claim to represent—receive these messages as calls for radical transformation? Will they choose to die to old ways so a new nation can live? Or will they stay in the cage, debating the colour of the bars, while true flight remains elusive?
The weight of the feathers—our history, our wounds, our failures—is immense. But only a courageous collective act of constitutional and spiritual “dying before dying” can lift it.
Only then can the Nigerian parrot soar.
May Nigeria win.
*** written by Prince Charles Dickson, PhD from Nigeria.
