Renaming a university that already has a strong institutional identity to honor a dead politician is problematic for historical, academic, political, and emotional reasons.
By FAROOQ KPEROGI
In Nigeria, there’s a disturbingly haunting temporariness in the appellative identity of every university that derives its name from its location. If the current trend holds, they will sooner or later be renamed after a dead or living politician. The University of Ibadan; the University of Nigeria, Nsukka; the University of Lagos; the University of Calabar; the University of Port Harcourt; the University of Benin; the University of Ilorin; the University of Jos; the University of Uyo; and the federal universities in Lafia, Wukari, Dutse, Gusau, Gashua, Dutsin-Ma, Kashere, Birnin Kebbi, Lokoja, and Otuoke would be wise not to be too cocky in the stability of their onomastic and institutional identities.
I often joke that those of us who graduated from Nigerian universities that were named after cultural or political figures from their very beginning or in the inchoate stages of their existence are the true “first-generation” universities because alma maters are not in danger of a sudden, unwelcome onomastic and institutional rebirth in the image of a dead or living politician.
Seriously, though, we need to have an honest, soul-searching national conversation about the violent disrespect for institutional identity that the abrupt, top-down renaming of well-established universities represents. Renaming a university that already has a strong institutional identity to honor a dead politician is problematic for historical, academic, political, and emotional reasons.
Although people in government may not know this, universities are repositories of tradition, intellectual heritage, and regional identity. It is expected to represent knowledge, critical thinking, and universal values, not the legacy of an individual whose contributions to society may be narrow, contested, or politically motivated.
Take the University of Abuja that has now been arbitrarily renamed Yakubu Gowon University. It’s the first university to be located in our capital. Its old name communicates its locational identity, which is central to its uniqueness. It has been known by that name for more than three decades. Renaming it after a person, however historically significant that person may be, erases the core of its identity, especially after several decades.
The name University of Maiduguri, now renamed Muhammadu Buhari University, connects the institution to a geographic and cultural region. The school even has a catchy slogan that derives from its informal short form that I absolutely love: “If you want to be made, come to UNIMAID.” It’s a powerfully poetic yet irresistibly persuasive marketing slogan. It signalizes the message that the university is the laboratory for churning out successful people. Replacing the school’s name with a political name robs it of this unique promotional poetry. It also erases and rewrites its institutional memory.
That’s not the only damage. Renaming well-established universities after politicians also risks turning the universities into political monuments. It suggests that universities are mere tools for political patronage or historical revisionism, not neutral centers of learning and research.
Renaming universities that already have a healthy, time-honored institutional profile also creates branding anarchy. Certificates issued by the universities, research papers written by their faculty and archived in global databases, their international rankings, alumni associations, and legal documents suddenly become inconsistent or outdated. This can hurt global recognition and academic reputation, especially for our first- and second-generation universities that already have decades of international visibility.
That was why the students, staff, and alumni of the University of Lagos resisted the renaming of their school to Moshood Abiola University Lagos with all that they had. Most UNILAG people had no problems with the late MKO Abiola. In fact, I would hazard a guess that most UNILAG people loved (still love) and voted for him on June 12, 1993. But they also cherish and want to protect their institutional identity. Those are not mutually exclusive sentiments. You can love a political and cultural figure but never want him or her to supplant the identity of the school you love or are associated with.