Fela Anikulapo Kuti: Greatness Beyond Fame, Faith, and Time

 

I call Fela Anikulapo Kuti the greatest prophet of our time. I place him in the same moral and historical class as Martin Luther King Jr. This is not exaggeration. There is a reason he named himself ANIKULAPO: the one who carries death in his pouch. Fela did not deny death. He challenged it. He stared it in the face and continued to fight until it finally took him. That level of courage is rare, not only in music or politics, but even in religion. It is perspective shaped by history, sacrifice and truth.

I have listened to Fela since I was a teenager. Before streaming platforms, before algorithms shaped taste, I owned his music on radio cassettes and later on discs. I listened to Fela in my teenage years, my twenties, my thirties, and I still listen today. His music has remained relevant because the injustices he confronted are still alive.

Many Gen Z listeners today do not truly know who Fela was, what he stood for, or the depth of his craft. Music consumption has changed. Today, many listen only to sound, beat and digital mixing, often through apps that prioritise trends over substance. Lyrics are secondary. Meaning is optional. Inspiration is rarely sought.

Songs about pleasure, romance, desire and momentary escape dominate attention, while songs that question power, expose injustice or demand accountability are often ignored or dismissed as “too serious.” This shift is not accidental, and it has consequences.

This is one of the reasons Africa still struggles to move forward. Leaders do not take this generation seriously in the way earlier generations were taken seriously. In the past, those who challenged imperialism, colonial rule and military oppression were young people in their early twenties and thirties. Figures like Obafemi Awolowo, Nnamdi Azikiwe and others were intellectually sharp, politically conscious and fearless at a young age.

Today, many in their twenties and thirties are politically disengaged, emotionally distracted and intellectually underdeveloped in matters of governance and justice. It often feels as though the political reasoning of the age group that once drove liberation has been delayed or stunted.

A common mistake is the constant comparison with young people in Western countries, without understanding history. Many Western societies are enjoying the dividends of struggles their forefathers already fought and won. Their institutions were challenged, reformed and stabilised over generations. Africa, on the other hand, still needs to confront corruption, imperial influence, poor governance and internal betrayal. Comparing outcomes without comparing historical responsibility is dishonest.

Even more troubling is the repetition of old mistakes. The same errors made by previous generations are being repeated. We now see young people openly supporting, celebrating and defending leaders who loot public resources, even when the evidence is clear. Loyalty is given to personalities rather than principles. This is exactly the culture Fela fought against.

Fela did not just oppose bad leaders. He opposed the mindset that worships power, excuses corruption and mocks accountability. He understood that oppression survives not only because of those in power, but because of those who cheer them.

Comparing Fela to people whose primary concerns are wealth, fame, awards and validation is therefore immature. Everyone can be great in what they do, but only a few become greatest, and even fewer survive the test of time. History is full of once-celebrated figures who disappeared with their era. Fela did not disappear. He became evergreen.

Fela did not chase relevance. Relevance chases him. His music is still recorded, studied, debated and feared decades after his death. That is not popularity. That is legacy.

I respect religious leaders, but I respect Fela more than most of them. Not because faith is unimportant, but because Fela lived what many only preached. He did not promise heaven while ignoring hell on earth. He saw death clearly and confronted it without fear. He knew the cost of truth and still paid it.

Fela was not a musician who happened to be political. He was a political force who used music as a weapon. Afrobeat was not just a genre; it was a language of resistance. He confronted military dictatorship, imperialism, corruption and cultural self-hatred with courage that many loud voices today do not possess.

His influence went beyond Nigeria and Africa. Across the world, leaders, thinkers and activists have drawn inspiration from revolutionary music that spoke truth to power. Fela belongs firmly in that tradition. Even among today’s political elites, many listen to such music privately, because truth often penetrates places official speeches cannot reach.

Across generations of musicians, Fela’s influence is undeniable. Artists such as 2Baba, Burna Boy, Wizkid and many others operate within a musical space that Fela helped create. His rhythm, his defiance and his refusal to compromise continue to echo. But borrowing sound is not the same as inheriting courage.

He spoke when silence was safer. He sang when prison, beatings and destruction were the price. His home was burned. His body was battered. His mother was killed by the Nigerian state. Yet he refused to bow. He named names. He mocked generals. He challenged power openly. Even today, his name still unsettles authority.

To compare Fela with people who cannot speak honestly against injustice, poverty or state violence is not only wrong, it is an insult to his legacy and to the sacrifices he made for the country. It reduces struggle to entertainment and resistance to branding.

Awards fade. Charts reset. Platforms become obsolete. But ideas that confront power and defend dignity do not expire.

One day, statues will be erected for Fela, not by corrupt leaders trying to cleanse their image, but by revolutionary leaders who understand what he represented. Not leaders who name streets after themselves or create awards to celebrate their own failures. History has shown this pattern repeatedly across the world.

There comes a moment when false greatness collapses. Statues fall. Names lose meaning. Legacies dissolve under truth. When that time comes, the descendants of those who abused power will feel shame. But those who stood firmly on the side of justice will remain standing.

Fela will remain.

He was a prophet who warned us.

A comrade who stood with the people.

A revolutionary who refused compromise.

There is a saying that if you want to hide something valuable from a generation, put it in a book. That is why Fela must be written about, studied and preserved. Not as entertainment, but as history, resistance and prophecy.

Fela Anikulapo Kuti did not live for fame. He lived for truth. And truth, no matter how delayed, always outlives noise.

That is why I say, without apology, that Fela was not just great.

He was necessary.