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I have no issue with King Charles. I have no objection to his throne speech in Canada. What I do question, however, is what this moment says about how we see ourselves — and how we continue to define Canada not by what it is, but by what it is not. When Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was asked some years ago what the Canadian identity is, his response was: “We are not Americans.” That answer stuck with me — not because it was offensive, but because it was empty. Why are we so comfortable defining our national identity in contrast to others, instead of taking the time to articulate who we are? Now, in 2025, as King Charles prepares to deliver the throne speech in Canada — a role traditionally reserved for the Governor General — I feel a similar discomfort. Not because of tradition, but because of the subtext. Once again, we seem to be reaching for external validation, relying on monarchy to remind the world (and perhaps ourselves) that we are not the 51st state. But I can’t help but w...

 In an era where information is more accessible than ever, where education is widespread and technology has all but eliminated ignorance as an excuse, one would expect humanity to be at its most enlightened. And yet, a silent crisis persists — a crisis not of intellect, but of inner trust. Despite knowing, deep within ourselves, what to believe and how to act, many of us still outsource our thinking and our beliefs to external authorities. The question is not whether we know what’s right, but why we choose not to believe it. This phenomenon is both baffling and troubling. Our forefathers, who had far fewer tools for decision-making, often demonstrated a level of conviction and moral clarity that seems elusive today. They made choices based on instinct, communal wisdom, and a raw but honest understanding of their environment. Meanwhile, we — with our degrees, data, and digital assistants — second-guess everything. We defer to algorithms, experts, and bureaucracies, even on matters t...

 In the fields, a shepherd quickly learns that sheep and goats, though often kept side by side, are entirely different creatures when it comes to herding. Sheep flock together, following a leader or the voice of a familiar handler with relative ease. Goats, on the other hand, are bold, curious, and often independent to a fault. They challenge boundaries, test fences, and require more inventive, patient handling. In many ways, the same can be said of people — especially in the political arena. Modern societies are, consciously or not, composed of both “sheep” and “goats.” Some citizens are naturally inclined to follow — not because they are weak or foolish, but because they value stability, trust leadership, and prefer the safety of collective movement. Others push back. They question authority, explore alternatives, and are often harder to unite under a single banner. Like goats, they can be maddeningly stubborn but also refreshingly original. Both tendencies serve a purpose in a f...

 Nigeria, with a population exceeding 200 million, is a land of rich potential, vibrant culture, and untapped resources. Yet, the country continues to be plagued by political instability, corruption, and infrastructural decay. These challenges have pushed many Nigerians—particularly the educated and middle-class—to seek better opportunities abroad. It’s often said that the biggest sign of a nation's failure is in its brain drain. But we must not lose sight of a critical truth: the Nigerians who have left represent a small fraction of the population. The majority still remain, enduring the same systemic issues with no escape route. In Canada, and other Western nations, members of the Nigerian diaspora often point to the exodus as proof that “Nigeria is not working.” They cite failing institutions, lack of security, and economic hardship as justification. Ironically, many of these same individuals, when faced with criticisms of their adopted countries, are quick to dismiss them as is...

 I remember a time when I lived in Nigeria, watching the U.S. elections from afar. When Hillary Clinton lost, I cried. It felt like the world had made the wrong choice, and something deeply symbolic had been shattered. I mourned her loss with sincerity, though I had never set foot in America. Years later, after moving to Canada and beginning to understand the nuances of North American politics—its history, its media machinery, its contradictions—I looked back at that moment and laughed. Not because it was foolish to care, but because I realized how little I truly knew. I cried from a place of idealism, shaped by narratives I hadn’t learned to question. That memory haunts me, not because I felt too much, but because I understood too little. Today, after years of reading, watching, questioning, and re-evaluating, I sometimes wonder: *Is all this knowledge necessary?* The more I know, the more disillusioned I become. Complexity replaces clarity. Heroes become flawed. Systems once reve...

As an Arsenal fan, I’ve lived through the full spectrum of emotions that come with supporting this storied club. The Wenger years, particularly toward the end, often felt like a slow bleed—a cycle of hope, frustration, and misery that tested the loyalty of even the most diehard Gooners. Fourth-place finishes were celebrated like trophies, and the banter era was in full swing. Fast forward to today, and the narrative has shifted dramatically. Under Mikel Arteta, Arsenal are no longer the punchline. We brag now, and for good reason. The club is competing at the highest level, challenging for titles, and playing football that stirs the soul. Yet, as we head into another pivotal season, a nagging question lingers: what happens if Arteta falters again?  Let’s start with gratitude. Arteta, a managerial novice when he took the reins in 2019, has transformed Arsenal from a mid-table side into genuine contenders. His first job as a head coach, and he’s delivered a second-place finish, an FA...