In this section I want to show how community-held ideas, norms, principles, and beliefs that in some instances predate British colonial administration have influenced the practice of Native Authority Policing and subsequently other forms of non-state policing. Socialisation is used here to explain the process of making individuals members of a society. The process of making young men social. A major manifestation of this socialisation is the extent to which ancestral cult worship constituted a major influence in the practice of local policing. This was the case in communities of the Plateau Province where there had been established practice of ancestral cults providing a specific variant of pre-colonial policing services. In spite of the major headway of Christianity, in the Plateau lowlands ancestral cults have retained considerable prominence and importance, in some communities up to the present. The scenario observed is best described as a landscape of religious coexistence, not to refer to adherents of different religions living together but rather, a considerable number of people who are simultaneously active/passive adherents of different religions. For instance, there are Christians who are active adherents and participants of masquerading and ancestral cult worship. The ancestral cult worship has different functions and cultural roles, ranging from the religious to the political and aesthetic.387 However, for our purposes we are concerned with the element that focuses on the enforcement of order within the community, and masquerades that emerge or come out to discipline errant members of the community, women388, children, and uninitiated.389 As I will later discuss in chapter seven, ancestral cults also play a critical role in times of collective violence, as an elderly Tarok informant recounts, The Orim are our ancestors; they keep us and they protect us, they are our spiritual guide. They help to maintain order and they have the authority to enforce our traditions and our inherited norms and values. The ancestors are also critical in times of war; when we need to defend ourselves they lead the way and guarantee victory.390 To be considered qualified to serve in the Native Authority police from the late 1950s, when indigenous peoples were encouraged to join, until when it was dismantled in 1969, it was advantageous if an individual had been initiated into the ancestral cult. According to Danladi
387 Elizabeth Isichei, Studies in the History of Plateau State, Nigeria, (London: Macmillan Press, 1982), 25.
388 Alhaji Ali Dakshang, Interview by Jimam Lar, Dadur ‐ Langtang North, 7.10.2012.
389 Roger Blench, The Coded Language of the Orim, the Ancestral Spirits of the Tarok of Central Nigeria, Paper
for the Conference on “Spirit, Languages, Silence and Secrecy” African Secret Languages, (Koln, December 2‐3rd, 2005), 2.
390 Alhaji Ali Dakshang, Interview by Jimam Lar, Dadur ‐ Langtang North, 07.10.2012.
128 Tanglar, at the time recruitment officers were keen to ask the question, initially the potential recruits feared it might disqualify them; some locals at the time equated the colonial regime and the church as the same, and believed the church would not support ancestral cult initiates serving in the police.391 For instance, Isichei citing Bawa notes that amongst the Goemai the purpose for relating masquerades and ancestral cults to non-state policing institutions is critically informed by the fact that they had the capacity to instil fear and dread amongst the people, particularly women and the uninitiated, and because of their anonymity and supernatural dread they were (still are in some areas) peculiarly well suited to enforce the unpopular decisions of the native authorities.392
It must be taken into cognizance that most traditional institution groups like the ancestral cults or secret societies within the Province were never formally accepted as part of the Native Authority system. They were intermittently called upon on an informal basis by the chiefs to keep the young men in check, so also within this context and period it was a situation where the initiated were policing not only the initiated but equally policing themselves. The local officials had been fascinated by the ancestral cults and to an extent associated the ancestral cult with discipline, uprightness, and embedded legitimacy. Mahmud Mwangil393 offers the explanation that there were occasions where local colonial officials would condemn certain cultural practices in their annual reports as backward and barbaric, yet be pragmatic enough to initiate ways of using it. The existing systems of policing and maintaining law and order at the time were particularly useful because they were accepted by the people, and thus not difficult to enforce. More so, the colonial government despite its reservations recognised the close relationship between religion and law in most non-Muslim societies on the Plateau.394
The point to be inferred here is that policing was occurring at a time that these societies were undergoing a phase of transition. On a social front, the religious landscape was being altered by the transformations ushered in by Christianity. On the political front ethno-consciousness driven by the involvement of the Plateau minorities in the nationalist movement was equally ushering in significant changes, as I have discussed in the previous chapters characterised by the contestation for power and local authority between the local chiefs and the emerging educated elites.
391 Danladi Tanglar, interviewed by Jimam Lar, Jos, 12.01.2015.
392 Isichei., 19.
393 Mahmud Mwangil interviewed by Jimam Lar, Dadur, Langtang North, 07.10.2012.
394 John Smith, interview by Jimam Lar, Cheltenham, UK, 17.08.2013.
129 To be sure, the colonial authorities were never keen on the idea of integrating ancestral cults and secret societies into local administration. The political and social roles, as well as the judicial or adjudicative roles of these groups were regarded as somewhat ambivalent.395The main objective of the colonial officers was to midwife the evolution of strong chiefs and a centralisation of power thereof. The intertwined entanglement of ancestral cult practice and local policing was therefore a phenomenon that emerged from within the negotiated space of local communities and their immediate local officials. Interesting enough it was not in all local areas that the NAPF was present and active, therefore while the colonial system depended on the chiefs to enforce order where there were no NAPF the traditional policing institutions in some cases ancestral cults continued unabated. The ancestral cults were not just influencing the policing practice of the NAPF; they were more importantly also providing policing services.
Another influence on non-state policing structures, particularly contemporary forms of vigilantism that was drawn from the ancestral cult worship, is the practice of coded language.
This is a non-structured form of elucidating group belongingness. In linguistic terms, it is referred to as an anti-language. “An anti-language is nobody’s mother tongue; it exists solely in the context of re-socialisation, and the reality it creates is inherently an alternative reality, one that is constructed in order to function in alteration.”396 The adoption of such coded language allows non-state policing actors to create a community of practice, the anti-language by its nature has an anti-linguistic intention, and the language is used, or adopted so that non-members do not understand what is said. This is still the practice amongst vigilante groups in Plateau State. I personally witnessed it while on patrol with vigilante group members in Langtang North and Shendam local governments. In Langtang North, it was a fusion of expired397 words from ancestral cult worship and the local Tarok language. In Shendam, on the other hand it was a coded language with influence from Hausa. Few words required for daily patrol operations were coded. I was informed that with mobile phones the VGN in Shendam were rarely relying on the coded language as they could communicate via text messaging and calls. Albeit, they complained that they often do not have money for phone credit.
395 John Smith, interviewed by Jimam Lar, Cheltenham, United Kingdom, 17.08.2013.
396 Halliday, M.A.K., Language as Social Semiotic, (London: Edward Arnold, 1978), quoted from Rajend Mesthrie, and Ellen Hurst, “Slang Registers, code‐switching and restricted urban varieties in South Africa: An analytical overview of tsotsitaals with special reference to the Cape Town variety”, Journal of Creole Languages 28,1, (2013), 107.
397 The language of the ancestral cult requires constant renewal to maintain its secrecy. The VGN members were using words and phrases no longer used by the cults in their communication.
130 In pointing out how such ancestral cult practices and secret societies influence contemporary youth practice Pratten has argued that masquerade practice constitutes repositories of idioms of youth initiation, and modes of collective covert and overt action,398 that appeal to youths making claim to securing and protecting their communities in several contemporary contexts.
Consequently, there is therefore a dynamic contingent history of secret societies to trace (in my case ancestral cults) and an active, discursive use of the past in the present.399 As shown form the forgone analysis, the widespread presence of what Pratten describes is not in doubt.
In considering its significance however, I differ from Pratten’s understanding. According to Pratten, the practice of imbibing and embedding secret society and ancestral cult practices within the repertoires of vigilante policing practice is a representation of claims to pre-colonial legitimacy over rights to land and resource ownership; it is a means of making claims in opposition to the state. These groups, Pratten argues, construct moral communities, deploy physical and spiritual power, and determine when there is a just cause to use these for the good and protection of the community.400 “They are seen to draw on repertoires of practices and cultural logics linked to the ideology and practices of precolonial initiatory societies.”401 From what I observed in the areas I studied, it seems Pratten’s insights do not apply to Plateau State. I would rather suggest that vigilante groups in our context are not in opposition to the state. These practices are not informed by opposition to the state or employed with the state as its target. Rather, they are to engender social legitimacy - vigilantes are not bringing back a forgotten pre-colonial practice. These practices have continued in spite of the arrival and growth of Christianity and Islam. We should perhaps look beyond formulations that understand this particular manifestation as a return of the occult, or secret society. Firstly, while these practices have undergone some changes, they have remained embedded in community consciousness and practices. Therefore, they are not necessarily coming back, which suggests that at some point they were abandoned. Secondly, I would suggest that what we are witnessing are young men deploying local cultural agency to combat manifestations of extreme socio-economic stress in the face of decades of ruthless economic and political restructuring. I argue that to take the appropriation of ancestral cult and secret society practices by vigilante groups as a serious form of return to cultural historical practice is to not understand its function. These practices should rather be seen as an entry point, a livelihood option – simply a means or tool to earn a living. A similar trend would be the boom in
398 Pratten, “The rugged life”, 99.
399 Ibid.
400 Ibid., 85.
401 Pratten, “Singing Thieves”, 179.
131 clergymen as a response to the ruthless economic and political restructuring. When interviewed informants (theoretically) talk about the power of the ancestral cult, how it abhors cheating and backbiting, how it is against them breaking the law, how charms are sacred and sacrosanct etc., the next day (in practice) the same person is collecting a bribe.