An Immediate Solution That Fosters Long-Term Problems

 Imagine a situation where two siblings have a misunderstanding—a fight. How would you, in the position of an uncle, one of the siblings, or just a neighbor, resolve this issue now? If both parties are at fault, will you ask the younger to accept all the blame and remain silent simply because he or she is younger than the other party? Or will you insist that one should be punished because between the two siblings, one is more financially capable than the other, hence the one with less financial strength should carry all the blame?

I am vividly aware of an African tradition that tends to favor eldest children over others: “He or she is your elder; you ought to respect him or her no matter what he or she does.” This principle, in olden days, was considered acceptable and even necessary for maintaining family order. But looking at it closely, you can see a dangerous loophole: the younger must respect the eldest irrespective of the elder's actions. Even if the elder's behavior is dominating, controlling, or outright abusive, the younger is expected to simply endure it because of the deeply ingrained belief that elders are always right.

This approach creates deep and lasting enmity. The younger person is forced to accept fault that is not his own simply because he is younger. In that moment, you have silenced someone's right to justice, to voice, to dignity. You have communicated to that younger person that their feelings do not matter, that their perspective is invalid, that their pain is irrelevant—all because of an accident of birth order.

And what happens next? At any given opportunity, the younger may seek to reclaim what was taken from him. The human spirit instinctively rebels against injustice, even when it cannot express that rebellion openly. The conflict was never settled properly. It was never resolved. It was only suppressed.

This is not reconciliation; it is a time bomb.

When I was a toddler, there was a kind of game where a person older and taller than you would pass his leg over your head and say in Hausa: “In ka yi girma ka rama” — meaning, “When you grow up, revenge it.” It was presented as play, as humor, as tradition. But beneath the laughter, a message was being planted. The older child established dominance, and the younger was taught that his dignity would only come when power shifted. The message was clear: you have no power now, but one day you will, and when that day comes, you will do to others what has been done to you.

This is how cycles of abuse perpetuate themselves across generations.

Consider another scenario. A university lecturer repeatedly fails a student, delaying his graduation unnecessarily. When the student complains, the lecturer dismisses him and later says almost proudly, “That is what they did to me when I was a student. And now you should do the same to others when you have the chance.” Years later, that student graduates, works hard, and secures a position at an embassy. One day, the lecturer’s son comes seeking a visa. The officer recognizes the name. He remembers the humiliation and the injustice.

Will he be fair and objective, judging the application on its merits? Perhaps. But the temptation toward revenge will be real. The memory of being silenced, of being told to accept injustice because the other had power, will whisper in his ear. Even if he resists that temptation, the fact that such a thought can arise reveals the poison planted years ago.

Asking people to surrender their right to justice because of age, financial status, or background is profoundly wrong. It does not create peace; it creates pressure. It does not resolve conflict; it buries it alive, where it continues to grow until it finally erupts.

The only just and lasting solution is simple: give fault to whoever is at fault. Age does not determine right and wrong. Financial status does not determine who is correct. Family position does not make one person’s actions more excusable than another’s. If both are at fault, both should acknowledge their fault. If one is more responsible, that one should bear appropriate responsibility. Justice must be blind to everything except the truth of what happened.

This does not mean disrespecting elders. Respect is due to age, yes. But respect does not mean agreement with wrongdoing. Respect does not mean silence in the face of injustice. Respect does not mean accepting blame that belongs to another. True respect honors the person while still holding them accountable for their actions. And true respect for the younger person means treating them as a full human being with rights, feelings, and a voice.

If you have been hurt and wrongly silenced, your anger is a natural response to injustice. It tells you that something was wrong, that you were treated unfairly, that your dignity was violated. Do not let anyone tell you that you should not feel what you feel.

But holding onto that anger is harmful to you. Forgiveness is not about them; it is about you. They may not acknowledge what they did. The wound may still feel fresh even after years. Yet keeping that anger is like holding a dead rat in your hand. The rat cannot hurt you anymore, but if you keep holding it, it will begin to smell. The stench will cling to you. It will affect everything you touch. The one who suffers most from unforgiveness is not them—it is you.

Let go.

Not because they deserve it. Not because what they did was acceptable. But because you deserve freedom. You deserve to breathe without the weight of old pain. You deserve to wake up without bitterness. You deserve to remember your past without being dragged back into its darkest moments.

Free your heart from those who wronged you. Every moment spent replaying old injuries is a moment stolen from present joy. Every ounce of energy devoted to resentment is energy you cannot invest in building something beautiful.

Your heart is meant to hold memories of places you love, people who make you happy, and moments that revive your spirit. Sweet memories renew you. They give you strength. They remind you why life is worth living. But when your heart is cluttered with old wounds and grudges nursed for decades, there is no room for sweetness.

Do the hard work of clearing it out. Acknowledge the pain. Name the injustice. Grieve what was taken from you. Then, slowly and deliberately, choose to release it. Not in one dramatic moment, perhaps, but day by day, choice by choice, until one day you realize you have not thought about that old wound in weeks. That is freedom.

To those in positions of authority—parents, uncles, elders, neighbors, teachers—do not take the easy path. Do not silence the younger because it is convenient. Do not protect the elder simply because they have always been protected. Do not impose solutions that merely postpone the explosion.

Listen to both sides. Seek to understand before you judge. Acknowledge the feelings of the younger even as you call them to respect. Hold the elder accountable even as you honor their position. Seek genuine reconciliation, not forced compliance. True peace is not the absence of conflict; it is the presence of justice.

And to those who have been silenced, forced to carry blame that was not theirs, told to accept injustice because of age or position: your voice matters. Your feelings are valid. Your pain is real. Seek healing. Seek justice where it can be found. And where it cannot, seek the strength to release the burden—not for their sake, but for yours.

The cycle of revenge must stop somewhere. Let it stop with you. Not by pretending the wound never happened, but by choosing to break the chain. They hurt you; you will not hurt others. They silenced you; you will give voice to those who come after you. They passed down poison; you will pass down wisdom, freedom, and the courage to forgive.

This is the only solution that does not create tomorrow’s problems while solving today’s. This is the only peace that lasts.

By Nasarah Peter Dashe