Someone told me I’ve been neglecting my people on Instagram. I’m so sorry, folks. It was not intentional. As I grow older, I take fewer pictures, indulge in little or no pampering, and entertain less penitence.

I understand that, unlike those on Facebook and Twitter, some of you on Instagram are young, sensitive, and have a weird relationship with history, which I must acknowledge is not your fault.

I will go straight to the point. For us to understand each other, I need to explain my job. My job is simple — to hold our leaders accountable or, as some of you put it, to talk crap about the people we pay to serve us. It is an essential job, and I take it very seriously.

It is vital always to remember that we pay those people to work for us. They are the ones who should be calling us Sir and Madam and not the other way around. They should answer us whenever we demand an answer. It is non-negotiable. Simply put, they are the ones that should be sucking up to us.

If they don’t want to serve us or wash our feet, they should pack their things and go home. They are not doing us a favour by occupying public offices. It is not a license to order us around or to lord it over us. It does not bestow on them special rights over our humanity—their rights end where our rights begin.

We are choking to death because we allow their daily impunity to overwhelm us. Impunity exists not because we do not know what is right or wrong and what to do about it. Impunity exists because we first look at the face, the tongue, the tribe, the religion, and the smile before we make our declarations and pronouncements.

I learned everything I needed to learn about Nigerians in 2001. That was when I wrote an article called “The Trouble With Igbos.” I woke up the next day, and my email was full of hundreds of emails. Some were calling me the greatest Igbo man ever made by God. Others were calling me the worst self-hating Igbo since Ukpabia Asika. One Igbo professor, now one of my best friends, wrote me three long emails in less than 24 hours, giving me a lecture on the Igbo people and Nigeria. The week after, I wrote the “Trouble with Yorubas.” Just like the week before, Yoruba people descended on me. People like Professor Bolaji Aluko published a three-part long rejoinder to my little article. By the time the third week came and I published “The Trouble with Fulanis,” nobody was left to console me, only abuses.

The experience got me cooked. I became immune to praise and abuse. My immunity lasted for a while.

Then, I started the Dr. Damages Show in 2011, where my job was to, once again, hold government officials accountable. It, again, requires me to talk crap about people.

President Goodluck Jonathan was unfortunate to be the man in charge then. Worse for him, people said I looked like him. He received from the show what is now called wotowoto. People accused me of betraying our brother from the Niger Delta. With the likes of Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, Diezani Allison Madueke, Stella Oduah, and others around Jonathan in the line of fire, the accusation of self-hate from Igbo people returned. Meanwhile, for other Nigerians, I was doing a great job. When Buhari took over, and Dr. Damages continued to do its work, this time, focused on Buhari, suddenly I had become an IPOB member and anti-Nigeria.

Fortunately, I have been cooked. Praises and abuses do not penetrate. Now that Bola Tinubu is in office, we shall do our job to the best of our knowledge. There is nothing that abuses and praises can do to stop us.

This Dr. Damages’ space is not here to appease the people of today. It is here to bear witness as the eyes and ears of tomorrow’s people who will inherit the footprints, templates, and mess we are leaving behind today.

Is it fair that we hold government officials accountable? Yes, of course. Considering the privileges they bestowed upon themselves just because of their positions, yes, it is.

Once they assume these positions, they are responsible for everything wrong with our lives. We don’t want excuses from them. We demand only solutions.

If our wives do not bear for us a baby boy, it is their fault. If our palm wine tapper climbs down and the palm wine is not tasty, it is their fault. If they don’t like it, let them quit.

I understand that some of you are bored by my job. Eayeah! I feel your pain. Unfortunately, I am not stopping because some of you are bored. Even if the unborn generation comes over early and tells me they are bored, I will tell them, “Sorry, folks, that is not a reason to stop. I need to complete my job.” When my contract is over, I will take a bow. So, bear with me.

I hope you understand.

Thank you.

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo teaches Post-Colonial African History at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. He is also the host of Dr. Damages Show. His books include “This American Life Sef” and “Children of a Retired God,” among others. His upcoming book is called “Why I’m Disappointed in Jesus.”