The debate over a young UBA trainee who addressed Chairman Tony Elumelu by his first name has ignited a broader discussion about Nigerian social conventions. One side condemns the action as disrespectful, while the other defends it, citing UBA's established first-name culture. However, political consultant Temitope Lakisokun argues that the real issue lies not with the individual but with the borrowed corporate convention itself.
Second-Order Thinking and Nigeria's Institutional Blind Spot
Lakisokun, writing for Premium Times, posits that the debate misses the central question: why has a convention once seen as progressive become so awkward when applied across generations? The answer, he suggests, involves second-order thinking—considering the long-term consequences of a change, not just its immediate benefits. Nigeria, he argues, has historically neglected this deeper analysis.
He draws a parallel to the 1975 dismissal of civil servants by then-Head of State Murtala Mohammed. Many of those dismissed had served diligently, trusting the government to honor its commitment, yet were left destitute with no private property or safety net. The purge taught surviving officials that loyalty offered no protection, leading them to secure themselves while in office. This, Lakisokun contends, was the moment Nigeria's corruption problem found its institutional footing.
The Great First-Name Revolution and Its Unintended Consequences
The corporate first-name culture in Nigeria, Lakisokun explains, originated in the 1980s and 1990s when executives returned from short courses at American business schools like Harvard or Yale, convinced of the benefits of softening hierarchy. The idea was to reduce the intimidating distance between 'Oga' and subordinate, fostering honest conversation. Initially, it worked because executives were peers in age and experience; the informality sat atop an understood structure.
However, the trouble began as time passed. The contemporaries became elders, their children joined the organizations, and now their grandchildren arrive as trainees and interns. The convention, designed for one generation, now clashes with societal norms outside the office. A chairman in his sixties may say "Call me Tony," but society dictates that an elder be addressed with respect. The young person is caught between two conflicting instructions.
Chesterton's Fence and the Function of Social Conventions
Lakisokun invokes G.K. Chesterton's famous principle: before tearing down a fence, one must first understand why it was built. Social conventions, like titles, may appear outdated but often perform invisible functions that have worked for so long they go unnoticed. The Nigerian corporate first-name revolution, he argues, borrowed the visible feature of American informality without considering the underlying social system of individualism and social mobility that supports it.
In Nigerian societies, age, seniority, and relationship have historically organized social interactions. These distinctions did not imply unequal worth but established relationship—something the first-name convention can obscure. Respect, he clarifies, is not the same as servility. While rejecting the culture of 'Oga' and 'Madam' when used to demand obedience is fair, the answer to excessive deference is not necessarily eliminating every marker of seniority. Other modern societies, like France with 'tu' and 'vous' or Japan with 'san', maintain such distinctions without sacrificing modernity.
The Deeper Nigerian Problem: Form Without Function
The incident, Lakisokun notes, is more revealing than a simple story about an impolite young Nigerian. The institution created the convention, the employee followed it, and the result felt wrong to many. This should prompt an examination of the convention itself rather than blaming the individual. The policy, designed by contemporaries for contemporaries, has become an 'albatross' when applied to a new generation.
This is not an argument for rigid hierarchy, but for thinking before dismantling institutions. Nigeria, he argues, has a habit of importing ideas because they appear modern without understanding the assumptions that make them work. "Before telling every Nigerian employee to call every senior person by his or her first name," he writes, "ask one very simple question: What happens when the chairman is old enough to be the intern's grandfather?"
The lesson is not that young Nigerians must fear their elders, but that modernity does not require forgetting why social conventions existed. "Respect can coexist with equality just as much as warmth can coexist with formality," Lakisokun concludes. The next time an old-fashioned convention is encountered, the reflex to tear it down because someone in Boston or Palo Alto does things differently should be resisted. The first question should be: Why was the fence built?
