Moshood Abiola was the first democratically elected President of Nigeria in 1993 in nearly three
decades, winning the elections with steadfast determination. Decidedly obstinate, believing
in the future of Nigeria’s peaceful existence, Abiola demanded productive change—“a smooth
transition” from the military government that had enforced an entropic and stagnant state
of existence in Nigeria since it’s independence in 1960. Soon after Abiola won the election he
was arrested for treason by dictator General Sani Abacha, and sent to jail—welcoming the
beginning of his political demise. The film “The Supreme Price,” which opens in New York and Los Angeles theaters tomorrow, Friday, October 3, opens with Abiola, the generous Muslim businessman/ aristocrat/
philanthropist, turned leader of Nigeria’s Social Democratic Party (SDP), but it gets interesting
with the eternal deliverance of the intriguing Kudirat, Abiola’s wife who took her husband’s
place in the SDP, and was eventually slaughtered in her pursuit to democracy and justice.
Carrington and Nigerian Nobel Laureate in Literature, Wole Soyinka—the film mainly focuses
on the ruminations of Hafsat Abiola, daughter of the couple, and a human rights, civil rights
and democracy activist, herself. Through her advocacy work she has been able to instigate the
importance of female resistance to the unfairness of patriarchy. Hafsat has an ease, and with
compelling command she distills the corruption of a country that she loves so dearly. There are
clips of her, post her mother’s death, on American television, questioning why the States had not
embargoed Nigeria’s oil supply, or frozen the accounts? Off camera she laments, “US and Britain
don’t care about democracy, only oil,’—punctuating a passing Nigerian man’s fierce addendum
in the film, “In Nigeria… petrol is life.”
In response to her mother’s readiness to fight, and die, for her country, Hafsat created the
Kudirat Initiative For Democracy, focusing on re-conditioning the placement of women in
Nigerian society, removing them from patriarchal methods which indict their own delegitimacy.
“Customs become legitimate,” she tells a room full of women, but she pushes for them to dream
of progressive change, instilling hope of time that “when we come, men will stand down.” The
exceptionality of her voice, and vision, makes it hard not to believe in the message that she is so
determinedly fighting for.
The consciousness of Kudirat is persistent in the pulse of the film, and that of Hafsat herself.
The only time Hafsat breaks down, on camera, is when she is reminded of her mother’s belief
in her daughter’s possibility to create real, effectual social change. It’s the shattering of barriers,
the steep emotional curve of allowing a terse, but heart-rending realization wash over you.
As Hafsat mourns, the tears, compound her message—and that emotional engagement, and
vulnerability was when this story, and film, got to the heart of the issue.
It started off as all stories do—with reverence to the dead, bloodied in their graves, the heroes,
and the martyrs, those who gave so much. But, for me, the contemplation of what that struggle
means, and it’s imminent and brutally unjustified end, is surfaced in this film with so much
humanity. It is a deeply profound and beautiful experience, and an integral film to watch.
write this, I am consumed by Hafsat’s final message: “any society that silences it’s women, has
no future.” So, with that, may we remind ourselves to never be silenced.