National symbols and commemorations are never neutral. They are not merely dates on a calendar; they signal what a nation chooses to remember, which pain it acknowledges, and which narratives are woven into a shared identity.
In Nigeria, this symbolic burden is compounded by a particularly fraught historical overlap. The designation of 15 January as Armed Forces Remembrance Day coincides not only with the end of the Nigeria–Biafran War in 1970 but also with the country’s first military coup in 1966, which was followed by violence that helped set Nigeria on the path to civil war. This layering of meaning creates deep and lasting tension.
A day intended to honour military service is, for many Nigerians—especially in the South-East—inseparable from memories of a contested beginning, a devastating conflict, and a legacy of grief that has yet to heal fully.
If Nigeria is to take the post-war pledge of “no victor, no vanquished” seriously, it must be equally committed toensuring that the promise is reflected in its national symbols.
A country emerging from a fratricidal conflict cannot afford carelessness in matters of memory. Symbols that are insufficiently thought through risk reopening wounds rather than healing them.
History offers clear lessons on the power of symbolism in post-conflict reconciliation. After the American Civil War a conflict marked by deep divisions over identity, unity and belonging the victors consciously avoided triumphalism.
General Ulysses S. Grant reportedly prohibited celebrations at the Confederate surrender at Appomattox, reminding his troops that the defeated were “our countrymen again”. Importantly, the United States did not anchor its national day of military remembrance to the anniversary of the Confederate defeat.
Memorial Day stands apart as a solemn occasion to honour all war dead, deliberately kept separate from dates that might revive sectional grievance. That distinction created space for collective mourning without embedding victory and defeat in the act of remembrance itself.
Nigeria, too, has recognised the unifying power of symbolic action. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s decision to restore Nigeria’s first post-independence anthem, Nigeria, We Hail Thee, was controversial, yet its logic was explicitly symbolic: a return to a moment of early national optimism and shared purpose.
Earlier, President Muhammadu Buhari’s recognition of 12 June as Democracy Day addressed a long-standing historical grievance over the annulled 1993 elections. These choices set an important precedent, demonstrating that the Nigerian state recognises the need to recalibrate national symbols to promote inclusion and historical balance.
Against this backdrop, the case for rethinking 15 January becomes harder to dismiss. For many in the South-East, the date remains a time of mourning, captured in the enduring expressions Ozoemena “may it never happen again” and Echezona “do not forget”. Insisting on a single, official narrative of celebration on that day risks sending a painful message: that their grief is secondary, or worse, inconvenient.
A nation committed to unity should not ask any part of itself to suppress its memory in order to belong.
Those who argue for retaining the date often invoke the need to honour the armed forces. That objective is entirely legitimate but it need not be tied to the anniversary of Nigeria’s most divisive conflict.
The armed forces are a national institution, drawing personnel from every region and ethnic group, with a long record of peacekeeping abroad and service at home.
Their sacrifices can be commemorated on a date unburdened by civil-war symbolism, one that reflects their role as a unifying national shield rather than recalling their most contentious deployment.
Unaddressed history does not fade; it hardens. When the state fails to acknowledge painful memories, others will fill the vacuum often in ways that deepen division.
The persistence of separatist sentiment in the South-East is not only a political phenomenon but also an emotional one, rooted in the sense that history remains unresolved and that suffering is insufficiently recognised.
Symbolic gestures are not a substitute for justice or equitable development, but they are a necessary foundation. They speak to dignity, recognition and belonging.
Decoupling Armed Forces Remembrance Day from 15 January would be a modest yet consequential act.
After more than two decades of uninterrupted democratic rule since 1999, Nigeria has both the space and the responsibility to reassess symbols inherited from periods of military rule and to ask whether they still reflect its democratic values and aspirations.
Such a step would signal that the state hears the quiet insistence of Ozoemena, honours the promise of “no victor, no vanquished” in its fullest sense, and recognises that national unity cannot be sustained through selective or exclusionary remembrance.
True reconciliation requires the confidence to revisit inherited symbols and ensure they serve the Nigeria we seek to build, not the circumstances from which they emerged.
By separating the commemoration of military service from the anniversary of a national trauma, Nigeria would move beyond a fragile, victory-tinged peace towards a more candid and inclusive one.
In doing so, it would affirm that the highest purpose of remembrance in a democratic society is not to sanctify the outcomes of war but to honour all who suffered from it and to renew, collectively and deliberately, the solemn pledge that such a tragedy must never be repeated.
(Emeka Chinonso Okafor is a development consultant and a political analyst)