I discuss Nigeria and the world at large because I strongly believe MyOpinionCounts!

Month: March, 2015

Isiaq ‘Deji Hammed’s Poetic Peep into a Buhari’s Presidency

General Buhari

General Buhari

In to the future, I take a peep

Peeping with my prophetic eyes, I see a drastic leap

Leaping from where we are, to where we ought to be

Being our resolve, to align with he

He, the atypical Muhammadu Buhari

Buhari, the symbol of our collective quest to hurry

Hurry our nation in to its rightful positions

Positions of envy in the comity of nations

Nations, of Africa, of the World, await

Awaiting the Black Giant’s cease to abate

Abating and derailing from what they used to know

Knowing fully well that Nigeria is not meant to kowtow


When, in to the Buhari’s Presidency, I take a peep

Within the next four in the years of leap

We would have turned the pages of impunity, together

With those of corruption, indiscipline and larceny, altogether

He, the no nonsense Muhammadu Buhari

The symbol of our thwarted 14 Febuhari

The symbolic date of our resolve to demonstrate that indeed

We, the people, to us power belongs, indeed and in deed

Will bring in to fruition, our Past Heroes’ aspirations

Will bring in to fruition, our future expectations

With our renewed collective will for the March 28’s bet

With him, Change we want, and Change we will get

Isiaq Hammed An elephant does not pass by and you describe his presence with a wave of hand. Isiaq Hammed came to us READY-MADE! He is a giant contributor.

Isiaq Hammed
An elephant does not pass by and you describe his presence with a wave of hand. Isiaq Hammed came to us READY-MADE!
He is a giant contributor.

Take Charge! Vote Buhari for Change! by Emmanuel Oritseweyinmi

General Buhari

General Buhari

The ring is ready for another rumble. Blood courses through my veins in futile attempts to stop my heart from racing. This man here is praying. That man there is hyperventilating. And can someone please tell this woman beside me that she’s holding on too tightly and her blackish green sweat is beyond disturbing, quite unpatriotic I might add. And can anyone help me whisper to that raging loudmouth by the corner that he’s preaching to the choir. And I’m their director.

That cock and bull story of how a soldier is no good for Nkem, my daughter, is getting old. The loudmouth said it last Friday, yesterday his rants annoyed me to bed and here he is today, saying the same thing. Even the walls seem tired of his discourse; I saw them crack this morning as he spoke.

The young man must think so little of me. He is particularly excited at how the soldier’s age completely disqualifies him from being in contention for Nkem’s hand in marriage.

Is he calling me blind for not regarding the wrinkles on the suitors face? He must have mistaken my squinted eyes for decoration. Maybe he has.

Or is he insulting my memory by reminding me of things I already am reminded of? I saw sweat trundle down his forehead as he pumped his fist in the air and went on pointing out the wrongs the old dove has done. He called him unrefined, extreme and harsh. Of this, I already am aware of.

Or maybe he thinks I’m deaf. His parents must have told him I fought in the Great War. Maybe he thinks all the noise of grenades and gunshots must have clogged my ears. Yesterday, when he chattered endlessly, I actually wished they had been clogged. His “salient” reasoning poured like rain much to the dismay of sanity, and unsurprisingly to the admiration of the gullible crowd at the village square.

He must really think I’m deaf, for I don’t understand why he enjoys reiterating every unsavoury speech the man said in times past and expects me to applaud him for his “thorough approach”. I am aware this soldier believes some things I do not, and has said some things that probably should be unsaid–if only that were possible– but the fact that I choose to have him in spite of all the scandals that surrounds him is a pointer to how bad the other option is. In spite of his flaws, picking him is a risk I am willing to take.

This crusader has forgotten that although he may be family, he can only suggest, not command me on what to do. Nkem, my little princess has gone through a lot. Her ex-husband, Dothan, had her for six whole years and you need to see the state she was in before I snatched her from his arms.

Battered and bruised, she could barely recognize me. She fell asleep as I took her to the hospital, and when she finally came around, the first word she said was “Papa”. She called me father. But I know i don’t deserve this title. Her father was a man like none other. A warrior-par-excellence. Yet, a very homely man. He knew when to wear a smile and when to take care of business. A man of steel and brawn. Maybe it’s that bit of him that I see in this soldier that has me decided on him. Nkem needs someone with a firm hand, but a gentle grip. Someone that, if needs be, would catch a grenade for her, without thinking too hard about it. And this “soldier boy” looks the part. I may be wrong about him, but i doubt it.

Dothan, although not outrightly evil, is in cahoots with the wrong crowd. They pervert his judgment and cloud his cranium with corrupt concepts. They feed him lies. They tell him he’s invincible and we are all fools. He has always been a simple man, easy to manipulate. His friends know this. They never liked him; they were only after all he had. Nkem was all he had. Without her he was no better than a drunken fisherman by the waterside. So the gullible Dothan attended to their every whim, bending like the palm tree to a strong wind. And when I heard he had begun pimping her out to please these evil men–the so called “cabal”– he heard my roar. I refuse to stand by doing nothing while my favourite falls. I refuse to do nothing while things go awry.

Now back to the loudmouth activist and his hatred for all things military, be they active or retired. I accept, he may never fully understand why i take this risk. But I hope he’ll join me and see the error of Dothan’s ways. I hope he agrees with me and hopefully, someday when we look back to how bad things were before the soldiers came back, we’ll rest knowing we did what’s right.

Have you heard? Our Nkem is getting married this month. Have you gotten your Invite? Of course, the Invite is the PVC. Your vote is your voice in her betrothal…do have your say wisely.

Take charge!

Home! away-from Home! H!aH!

The question to ask is this: Why must people give me reason(s) to connect good things with bad. And it seems they often do. At least, each time I enter Afro-shops in Dortmund. Home away from home. I am not missing home. Good?! That exactly is the problem! There are things I definitely want to miss about home, some of them prompted my departing after all. Top of the list is dirt!

The other time I went to buy okro. My sister followed me. I was thankful at first the usual close-to-badfish odour did not welcome us. The thankfulness was short-lived. The pay-counter was beyond dirty. The young oldwoman attending us was unkempt. Yes, she is young, but must have chosen to age herself faster. She hit the rickety scale. Then tried to type in something. The machine did not respond. She hit again. When it finally answered, I paid for my two plantains. My sister handed over her fish. The woman put her fingers into a small transparent cup beside the scale, punched in something to tell the price of my fish. I already mentioned the pay-counter was beyond dirty, allow me spare you the details. In short, the whole place is a successful mess.

Skin-bleachers are everywhere, in Germany too! I was lucky my own laughter did not choke me when I read someone said she was not bleaching, that she was only toning. Was it Yvonne Nelson or another actor like that. Yes, this is how good our sense of comparison and humour is. It sounds perfectly cool, init?! Crazeman-logic.

In there I had attempted to strike a conversation with my sister.

Me: Iya Bukunmi, have you heard?

Iya Bukunmi: What?

Me: I heard our people now use shampoo toner cream to “tone” skin colour to yellow! I read it on a blackberry thread.

We continued our conversation outside the Afroshop. I began the shampoo toner talk because I saw a woman who must have been a user of this terrible method of skin degradation. She left too soon for my sister to notice what I saw. Her whiteness yellow pass palmoil. But why are our people like this?, I asked my sister.

Apparently, self-hate would stop at nothing to kill her victim. That was how the other day I saw this teenager who overnight turned mulatto; she is now a mix of bad yellow and spot-stained black around neck, fingers and wrists! I almost screamed at her! ALMOST! She used to be black. She was beautiful. We used to enter (enter!) the same metro and tram, so I knew her well. What desperation could have driven her to damage her skin this bad?! I will not pretend to know.

Bad role models? Maybe. Talking of bad role models reminds of a black couple I saw last year in Bochum. I was sure I set my eyes on them, saying nothing until they disappeared into their parked jalopy. I was beyond thankful Ibukun did not follow me out that day. She would have asked why I looked on with so much pity and disgust. The mulatoness of this couple showed they are unrepentant bleach cream users. The husband has a burnt back neck. The redness lay between deep-pink and light-lila. The wife looked more terrible. When the young lady I was with told me they had actually come to buy more bleaching cream from the Indian shop-owner, I could not be more surprised. I remembered the Yoruba logic of that proverbial cough-victim who but would not stop biting at coconuts and chewing dry-corn. This stubbornman-story was the only explanation I could find for the couple’s addiction to bleaching.

Now think of children birthed by these parents and the picture of a shampoo toner offspring is perfect. I told a friend she could consider our friendship over that day if she ever shampoo-tone herself. Abi? Even if I hate myself, I will not be foolish  enough to teach my children to self-hate. Lailai!

I think of using the toilet in a “normal” African church somewhere in Europe to see what is wrong with anything communal in Africa. If the toilet is not being cleaned non-stop (yet stinks of piss plus uncomfortable to use), then the water-pipe is leaking. I might even have to pour water using a bucket to flush my business. Scratch that, I exaggerate a little. The last time I was in such a toilet in London, memories of Iza-antiseptic tormented me. I missed and I did not miss home in that short moment. I was sure to keep my bladder under control till I got home. Each time I entered a good toilet, say Mc Donald, I was sure to tip the toilet-boy/-girl well after I finish. And I think of say many of these boys/girls (read MEN/WOMEN) are good churchgoers.

Yeah, it is that bad, so I avoid at all cost being haunted if I could. Hear a nightmare: I once heard a slab covering a pit-latrine gave way under the feet of a toilet-user. That was long ago. Each time I squatted, remembering the fate of the unknown fellow scared the hell out of me. If you don’t understand why I was that scared, stop trying, you never would!

Hell is real! At least for those who chose to live in the hell they left behind. The last time I showed up in that congregation was on my second visit. I went with Tumi. I throw-way face when he first complained the mounted loudspeakers were deafening. Our own noise as fellow-singers only increased the whole thing. He began to cry. Ibukun pinched me. I took a walk, away from the noise. We met a bird on the green grass and I was sad we had no food to feed the beautiful companion.

Some worshipers walked past us into the congregation of hell-believers. A woman was shout-talking. When we returned, the pastor was cursing himself to prove he told nobody secrets left in his custody by counsel-seekers who had visited during office hours! During prayers he saw some of us had trouble sleeping because a python pursued us in our dreams; the python spirit was in our midst, he concluded. When service ended, he prayed favours for those who shall visit government offices the next day. His declaration confirmed my fear all along. I was (back) home!

Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM): Where are the jobs, Mr. President?!

Mr. Tanimomo is a scholar resident in Germany. He guest-blogs on http://www.ahjotnaija.wordpress.com He is author of the popular bi-weekly: Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM).

Mr. Tanimomo is a scholar resident in Germany. He guest-blogs on http://www.ahjotnaija.wordpress.com He is author of the popular bi-weekly: Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM).

This was how you got your first job: you walked into his office that Tuesday morning, in your black faded suit, frustrated, upset and infuriated. ‘I will like to work here sir, for free’ you told him. He looked at you with something that was between suspicion and surprise; he sighed, then told you he liked your courage and good spirit but it was not a requisite for the job, however he was willing to give you a chance. You chuckled and your heart was finally at peace because at last you could look forward to the end of the month as you did in your NYSC days. Numbers ran through your mind as you thought of what the salary would be: 80k? 100K? Maybe 120k? Then you increased it. 150K?! And you felt a tinge of excitement.

‘So, Bade Taiwo, you can start work next month, we won’t be able to afford your salary yet but we can fund your cost of transportation. That will be Ten thousand Naira.’

You felt like dying a thousand death and thought yourself stupid to have brought up the idea of working for free. But on a second thought you remembered the numerous offices you had gone to submitting CVs after CVs praying daily as you went and laying your hands on the white envelop in which you sent most of them: ‘I declare favour over you, whoever reads you favours you, I will get this job in Jesus name.’

You had started with the big companies, you submitted your CVs to Chevron in Lekki, BAT in Victoria Island, Glo, MTN, Channels Television and many more. Then when your account was waning from so much spending and no crediting, you considered the smaller companies. None of them sent you a response. You hated yourself and sometimes your parents for not helping themselves when their mates did, for not being rich or influential enough to write you letters, send you to an uncle or send you to a friend.

You accepted the job at Surulere. At least it gave you that relief of leaving home for work, you stayed with your cousin in Yaba, you trekked every morning to Ojuelegba before you joined one of those long buses that called ‘Itire! Itire!! Itire!!!’. You worked yourself off, trying so hard to please your boss, you read more than the others and stayed at the office longer.

Six months later, your boss increased your salary. You began to earn 60 thousand Naira, you thought of renting your own apartment somewhere close by and leave your cousin’s house but it made no sense, so you stayed on, you endured longer.

One year after you took the job at Surulere, on a Tuesday morning while you attended to the database of the company, he walked into your office. Mr. Stevens, one client that hired your company to hire for them, he told you that his company wanted an HR executive and asked if you did not mind working with him. It was a cool idea, so you left your job in Surulere and took Mr. Stevens’ job on the Island. Ten months after, you bought your first car, it was a red Toyota Corolla 200 model. Second hand, but that was the best you could do. Life was taking a good turn, you thought. You had thought of proposing to Yewande. A right move. You could not have asked for someone better, she was there for you in the very low. Many times it was Yewande who lent you money from the meagre 40,000 Naira she earned as an insurance sales-rep, you rarely paid back, she loved you, you knew.

You also moved out of your cousin’s and got an apartment in Ketu Alapere, you bought your Plasma TV from the December bonus of that year. It was on this Plasma TV you watched your president’s chat on a Sunday evening. You knew the drill, the four journalists with whom your president had the chat would have been paid, their questions screened by various presidential media aides, you knew because your friend, Larry works with a media aide to the president. But you watched on, boring it was, your president spoke tiredly, something close to a drawl, you had laughed several times on his bad use of metaphors, his sense of comparison was poor, he was terribly poor for a PhD holder!

‘My government has provided at least 1.5 Million jobs’, the words strolled out of the TV .

‘What?! Bloody liar!’

Then you thought of Ade, Bisi, Yemisi, Ranti, Mezu and your many other classmates with whom you completed your degree, they still roamed the streets looking for jobs that seem not to exist. You knew Kene, Uche, Bayo had taken to playing lotto hoping that one day fortune would smile on them and they would make millions from predictions.

About 100 graduated from your class that year, you read History and International Relations, just eleven of you have something you can call a job, six worked in a bank, one lectured, the other three in the telecommunications companies while you were beginning to thrive in your HR company. Of course many others too had their jobs, Ranti, Denrele, Shadia, Fatimo, Fahd, Abdul, Charles taught in schools where they earned 30,000 Naira. Others freelanced as marketers selling anything good for the season.

‘Where are the jobs, Mr. President?! All through that night, you kept asking yourself and you wished the president could hear your thought.

Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM): I Don’t Blush when I Smile!


During my youth service, my friend and I played the game screen-shot above. You must have heard this riddle with varying characters: Either a non-human animal or an animal. Three lions and three men must cross a river. Their canoe can only carry two individuals at once. How do they cross so that each time the lions do not outnumber, outpower and eat the outnumbered men? In this case, it is all men; the three cannibals are blacks and the three missionaries are whites.

We might have cried ‘othering’ had the game been scripted as a novel or poem but it was so benign that we played on, my friend and I trying to be the first to complete the task. How does the new media further advance such narratives and binary oppositional themes of the blacks as cannibals and whites as their saving Lords and colonial masters? By the way, Personally, I have an issue with the English language, so it irks me we call Britain our colonial masters; for one the English language has been a safe haven in which this othering is hidden and conveyed.

To what extent do these narratives affect our psyche as Africans. In the series, Roots, a child was able to quell the ‘rebellion’ of blacks on the ship, though the writer, Mr Alex Haley was Malcolm X’s friend, I still wonder why he gave such enormous power over brave warriors to a white child. In contemporary narratives, othering is still rife, blacks are still the inferior and whites the superior, we have lived with it as Africans because it seems normal and benign so. Except the N-word is mentioned or an obvious derogatory term is used for a black person, we don’t feel the sting. Hence in the recent movie, Hercules, the barbarians are still black while the conquering nations are whites. So do you still wonder why the Cameroon-Nigerian Dencia’s whitening cream still sells well?

Like other histories, our history is not perfect and I won’t deny there were instances of human sacrifice and rituals in it. Nobel Laureat, Prof. Wole Soyinka explained by fictionalising the historical Elesin incident with Olunde. While this ritual was understood in the Yoruba cosmology as a way of transiting the king into an ancestor and helping the prosperity of the town, the West also have equivalents as revealed in Olunde’s question to an oyinbo official. Words like martyr, hero are used to describe the Western equivalent of our Elesin and others who willing gave their lives for the prosperity of their nations.

Mr. Tanimomo is a scholar resident in Germany. He guest-blogs on http://www.ahjotnaija.wordpress.com He is author of the popular bi-weekly: Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM).

Mr. Tanimomo is a scholar resident in Germany. He guest-blogs on http://www.ahjotnaija.wordpress.com He is author of the popular bi-weekly: Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM).

Here is an example, after the French revolution, the French paraded the heads of their lords on stakes, and guillotined their kings, this is the height of barbarity if looked at from a centurial angle. And this happened in modern era, after the industrial revolution. The oyinbos whitewashed their history by the ongoing (post)modernization, whereas our history stares at us and refuse to go away like Mugabe refusing to leave the seat of power.

To progress, African governments and universities must rise up; the media is a major actor in socialization; the industry should be funded to counter these narratives. What if we had a movie in which Amina of Zaria is fictionalized to have led a war and won against a Western state? What if the historical sites of Ife are replayed not in documentaries that but in movies for larger public consumption. What if apps are developed in Africa by Africans with emoticons that are black and behave like us. For crying out loud, I don’t have a blush when I smile as my BBM smiley portrays neither do I get red in the face when I am angry (I get red in the eyes instead). Our institutions of higher learning will lead the charge for change. One way is moving beyond the classical reasoning of literary appreciation as entailing only books, the media has to be criticized. The earlier we start, the better.

EuroSpot: It’s (not) the Greeks again!

It’s (not) the Greeks again!

Lets end before we start: Greece is bankrupt! So crystal clear is this truth even a blind man sees the broke-country is finished. Think of the Nigerian Pidgin proverb: Dem no dey tell blind man say rain dey fall! It is raining thunderstorm in Greece!

A backjump. September 2006. Newspaper served. On a KLM cityshopper from Amsterdam. The title on the front-page: Greece Fiscal Misery! Same old topic; a bizarre submission that Greece had lied to the European Union Common Currency Zone (Eurozone) to gain entrance. In short, she was a cheat, the report concluded.

Greece Prime Minister Tsipras

Greece Prime Minister Tsipras

There are reasons for admitting this proverbial broke-vulture into the Eurozone. The least believable is to blame a Greek-manipulated fiscal report. Long before Greece admission, politicians in Europe were acquainted with the truth that Greece is as corrupt as any country in Sub-Sahara Africa, for example Nigeria. The political nepotism and economic irresponsibility of Greece far outweighed anybody’s imagination. So, a claim of being a cheat could not be tenable to have neglected doing the needed if Greece must be admitted into the Eurozone.

At the other end is one of the strongest aims of Greece admission, which is, the ‘Big Fishes’ of the Eurozone were out to make a ‘permanent’ financial-quickie of a country double-killed by her own potpourri of corruptible tendencies. Admission into the common currency market only catapulted a comatose country into her own abyss.

Therapies to bring back Greece to fiscal sanity long before 2008 economic meltdown had not worked; attempts by finance-czars to halt her continual fall after 2008, if it worked at all, amounted to near-killer suffocate-dosage. Greece became to Europe an economic nuisance.

The blame is not solely on the doorstep of the bigger Eurozone countries. Greece had her problems before admission. I need not remind that longthroat is a perfect character of leaders running a corrupt state. These leaders forget most times there is a singular winner in a quickie-affair; except parties involved are clear about their intention from the word-go. Anything aside this is pretense. Greece and her leaders were never smart to have hidden her financial woes because her yansh was never covered. With this action, I could only think of Greece as an ostrich hiding her head in the sand.

Trust politicians, they are always spot-on with all sorts of rhetoric to whip-in maximum gain for themselves. The ensuing fiasco as to (non-)implementation of the austerity plans is a good chance. Think of recent gain by various right-wing parties in the last European parliament election and the picture is complete; Greece’s problem was a good selling point. A comparison of Greece prime minister and his finance minister to a second-hand car dealer from whom no one would want to buy a car is the least of jabs shot at Greece in recent times. When a bigger suffering befalls a man, smaller and hitherto below-status insults will begin to show face. Such is Greece misfortune at the moment.

Prime Minister Tsipras and his Finance Minister Mr. Varoufakis

Prime Minister Tsipras and his Finance Minister Mr. Varoufakis

Hurling insults at Greece will not make the problem leave us, we must discuss issues in ways that construct solutions. To begin with, Eurozone’s insistence on pulling through the hard austerity measures for which successive governments in Greece had been voted out by angry Greeks is an indicator of a failed policy. Latest protest in Athens against Tsipras Leftist-led government is an indication of what shall happen should Greece be pressed further. Reason given thus far that other countries have gone through same and returned cleaner is nothing but a hoax. European politicians know.

Reality check is a confirmation of contrary claims that financial sanity cum structural stability has returned to Italy. Spain’s (youth) unemployment rate is a clearer pointer to a looming problem waiting to explode. The Irish idyll is what it is at the moment: a sham. That Ireland and Portugal were able to payback billions as scheduled does not prove austerity measures are working. Sarah Warenknecht, German Leftist Leader in the Bundestag, said the obvious in a recent debate: The giant/stronger p(l)ayers in the Eurozone have thus far only been paying their own bills. They send money to broke-countries only to disburse/return them in installments as agreed in the austerity plans. The much needed structural reforms are not achievable (and cannot be) within a short period. The imminent collapse of the house of cards only need time to materialize. And we are confronted with the next crisis.

By the way, one cannot cease to wonder if Europe’s strongest woman-politician Germany’s Angela Merkel is this bereaved of ideas to rescue this house from collapsing. Only if in self-denial, the current austerity measures as put together will help only to postpone the next crisis to a later date. Speculation is that she wants to sit out her current/last term as German chancellor managing an European crisis she helped create with far-from-reality policies and disillusioned politics.

Talking about collapsing house of cards, a related Yoruba proverbs sheds light on the next issue. Ile ta ba fi ito ko, eri ni o wo! A house built with saliva is bound to be demolished with the first dew. That the Eurozone has only moved from one financial turbulence to the next confirms a foundation-fault. Think of the Leftist position upon the introduction of the common currency, which is that many countries outside Germany and countries with comparable strong economies and stable structures were not ready to introduce the Euro. Weaker countries may be allowed at a later date but not without having put in place crisis-proven structures and good economies.

Europe failed to listen. Many European countries, particularly the volatile members would not have listened anyway. They were bent on catching-in cheap monies. The immediate benefit of reaping now to sow later was too alluring to be ignored. Either way, Germany will always benefit from the arrangement, she too was interested in the immediate economic gains. This way, the countries with the Euro plunged themselves into spiraling crisis.

Were there intelligent political managers at the helm of affairs in countries like Greece, they would not have agreed to an all-importing economy; beyond farm produce Greece hardly exports anything tangible to/outside Europe. Same goes for Spain and Portugal. They are of course holiday paradise, a booming branch so long people come to their shores. Not to forget, Germany, Holland, France etc are also strongly represented in this branch, so the earnings are not going to the South alone. Add to that was the crazy unsustainable house market-price boom. The crash of the utopia could not have been louder anywhere than in Spain. House worth millions depreciated beyond redemption. Truth is, an economy built on market speculation and abracadabra economic theories cannot survive tomorrow. Germany’s Economy Minister summed-up the woes of these countries when he emphasized in a speech only an economy based on trade, handwork and industry is that which last the test of time, not one established on finance speculation and non-existent money/gains a la hedge-fund trickery etc!

Not only must Greece be enabled to start a new country by canceling a larger portion of her debt. If she must remain in the Eurozone without being caught in the next crisis, she must put structures in place, no doubt, but not under the scrutiny of current austerity measures. Here is the reason: Like Germany would never survive a day with a Greek-led economic package, same way can Greece never survive a Germany/Brussels-led economic package. Think of Germany’s ways and you inch a step closer to understanding the logic. Greece is not Germany, and Germany is not Greece. For instance, Germany’s Wirtschaftswunder was made possible not only for the Marshall Plan but because of Germany’s cultural understanding of the work concept. Greece will rise again within the Eurozone, if allowed to stay, but at Greece’s own pace and as acceptable within the purview of her cultural understanding of the same concept. Forcing them to work on a diet of rationed “dictatorship” from Brussels will not work; it will at best lead to successive Greek government being “toppled” at the polls even before her election!

On a final note, some are of the opinion the much talked-about wrong-footed take-off of the Euro is an issue we ought to be done with. I disagree. The mistake was made because political optimism was prioritized against commonsense economic choices. The current crisis is an opportunity for the Eurozone to correct these foundational faults. The fingers on the wall at the moment, particularly in Greece, point unfortunately to hurry-hurry politics that helped made the crisis possible in the first place. How else does one explain the initial no-renegotiation-stance by the Eurozone upon Tsipras’ election as Greek’s prime minister as if there was a singular correct perspective to resolving Greece fiscal problem. Think of Germany’s chancellor unwarranted meddling in Greek’s internal affairs shortly before election with soft threat that voting a party other than one which follows through on the austerity plans might spell doom for the tiny country. Few weeks after, the Bundestag voted with a resounding majority to temporarily extend Greece credit; an indication for other European countries to follow suit. Desperate moves would have been unnecessary were the package humane/good enough for any country to begin with.

Greece exit is in nobody’s interest. Of course, the Eurozone will survive with(out) Greece, but a stronger Greece in the Eurozone will benefit both Greece and the Eurozone. Like the adage goes, when two elephants fight, the grass suffers. At the moment, we must not forget the worst sufferer of the crisis is the common (wo-)man in Greece. They must be relieved.

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