Book Review: Dele Giwa’s Granite Journalism, by Simon Kolawole
Reviewer: Simon Kolawole
Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen,
One of the tragedies of Dele Giwa’s assassination is that the manner of his death has sometimes overshadowed the significance of his life. The tragic bomb blast threatens to become more famous than the pen. His murder has remained a subject of public fascination, sometimes at the expense of his extraordinary contributions to Nigerian journalism.
The book, Dele Giwa’s Granite Journalism, (edited by his friend and colleague, Mr. Ray Ekpu, with a foreword by Dr. Yemi Ogunbiyi), is a necessary collection. It brings together 74 pieces written by Giwa himself, two interviews with him, and 16 tributes by some of the finest journalists and writers of his generation—some of whom are now of blessed memory. Divided into three sections—Thinking Aloud, Interviewer Interviewed, and Voices on Murder—the book gives us an intimate portrait of a man, his mind, his convictions, and his craft.
I must commend Mr. Ekpu for this invaluable contribution to the preservation of Nigerian journalism’s history. He has done something more enduring than merely celebrating a departed friend: he has allowed Giwa to speak again in his own unmistakable voice.
For me, the greatest attraction of this book is the writing itself. Giwa belonged to that rare class of journalists who could transform seemingly ordinary experiences into fascinating stories. His prose was lucid, elegant, playful, and frequently provocative. He had an enviable ability to engage the reader from the opening sentence and sustain that engagement until the last full stop.
He understood something that many writers never quite master: good writing is not about displaying your vocabulary. It is about communicating ideas in a manner that informs, entertains, and stimulates thought. Giwa could be profound without being ponderous, critical without sacrificing humor, and capable of discussing complicated political questions without losing the ordinary reader.
Take, for instance, his piece “Golden Fleece,” which recounts his experiences in the United States and his decision to return to Nigeria. What starts as a routine autobiographical account turns into a delightful exploration of race, migration, identity, ambition, and patriotism. As he wrote in the Sunday Times on April 8, 1979: ”To live well in America, you must work hard and hard and work. My first job in a plastic factory brought tears to my eyes. For less than $80 a week, I’m working with a bunch of illiterates… I regretted leaving my reporter’s job at the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation in Ibadan. By the time I was hired for the job, I was fired from the job two weeks later. Molten plastic had removed the skin from my two palms, and the heat from the plastic molding machine had killed the glow in my skin.”
Similarly, another essay entitled “False Day Backup” details his encounter with airport officials, turning a frustrating experience into a humorous yet grim commentary on institutional dysfunction and Nigerian society.
Whether writing a three-part portrait of Peter Enahoro or chronicling a day in the life of President Shehu Shagari, Giwa possessed an exceptional eye for detail that made his characters come alive and his observations carry a sharp sting.
Beyond his literary flair, this collection reminds us that Giwa was a journalist of strong convictions. His articles on press freedom, censorship, political power, and professional ethics demonstrate an abiding concern for the role of journalism in society.
In The Problem of Living by the Pen, he examines the challenges confronting journalists, reminding them that their professional responsibility is not to act as prosecutors, but to serve as carriers of information. Furthermore, his 1979 arguments on election reporting—urging journalists to look beyond zoning and campaign hype to thoroughly interrogate promises, programs, and personalities—remain remarkably relevant to Nigerian election coverage today.
His moral fortitude is also highlighted in his account of an interview with General Muhammadu Buhari, where he stood firm on the defense of truth and press freedom. Giwa understood that journalism was not merely a private profession, but a heavy public responsibility.
Giwa’s intellectual range extended far beyond national borders. He explored international politics, race relations, Western media, and the moral dilemmas of humanity with effortless grace. Pieces like “Summer of Silence”—which moves smoothly from a personal reflection on approaching middle age to global questions about nuclear weapons and human existence—demonstrate his ability to bridge the personal and the universal.
Of course, Giwa was not a saint; he could be combative, impatient, and uncompromising. But these very qualities revealed a writer passionately engaged with his society, refusing to retreat into the comfort of indifference.
Forty years after his brutal assassination, the remarkable thing is not simply that Nigerians still remember his name, but that his writing continues to command our attention and challenge our assumptions. He lived for only 39 years, but he produced enough stellar journalism to secure a permanent place in our intellectual history.
I warmly commend this book to journalists, writers, students of history, and everyone who appreciates the power of the written word. Dele Giwa’s killers silenced the man, but they did not silence his journalism.
Thank you.
