By Joseph Lengmang, PhD

There are moments when a society must decide whether it wants to remain trapped by its history or draw lessons from it and build a better future. Governor Caleb Manasseh Mutfwang’s recent apology to the Igbo community in Plateau State over the painful legacies of the Nigerian Civil War should be understood in this light.

It was not an admission of collective guilt. It was not a rejection of Plateau’s history, nor an attempt to diminish the courage of Plateau sons who fought and died during the war. At its heart, it was a gesture of empathy, an acknowledgement that old wounds, even when inherited, can continue to shape relationships between communities.

During his engagement with Igbo leaders drawn from Plateau State’s 17 local government areas, the governor recognized the longstanding contributions of the Igbo community to the economic and social development of the state. He also called on Igbo entrepreneurs to mentor, train and employ Plateau youths. Viewed in its entirety, therefore, his message was not one of ethnic appeasement, but an invitation to partnership, reciprocity and shared prosperity.

Unfortunately, a few words from that broader conversation have been isolated and thrown into the furnace of partisan politics. Some critics have questioned the governor’s authority to apologize on behalf of Plateau people. Others have interpreted his suggestion that Plateau people were “deceived” into participating in the war as an insult to the courage and sacrifice of Plateau soldiers.

These concerns deserve to be heard, particularly where they arise from genuine personal loss. Many Plateau families paid a heavy price during the Civil War. Some lost fathers, brothers and uncles, while others lived with the emotional and economic consequences for decades. Their sacrifices must never be dismissed.

However, grief should not become a competition.

Honoring Plateau soldiers does not require silence about the suffering of Igbo civilians. In the same way, acknowledging Igbo pain does not diminish the losses endured by families in Plateau, the Middle Belt or elsewhere in Nigeria. A mature society must be capable of holding several painful truths at once.

The Civil War was not created by one decision, one individual or one ethnic group. It emerged from a tragic chain of coups, countercoups, massacres, political miscalculations, military decisions, fear and the complete collapse of trust among Nigeria’s peoples. Many soldiers fought courageously for what they believed was the preservation of the country. Civilians suffered for decisions they did not make. Leaders on all sides took actions whose consequences were borne largely by ordinary families.

It is therefore legitimate to debate the governor’s choice of the word “deceived.” Public officials must accept scrutiny, and history should never be reduced to convenient slogans. But it would be unfair to allow one disputed expression to swallow the unmistakable purpose of his intervention.

That purpose was reconciliation.

The apology was not a court judgment. It did not pronounce every Plateau person guilty, impose legal liability on the state or rewrite the history of the Civil War. It simply said: “We recognise that you carry pain. We acknowledge that our histories became entangled in tragic ways. Let us not pass the bitterness of yesterday to our children.”

Surely, a leader does not require a referendum before expressing sorrow. Governor Mutfwang may not have the authority to rewrite history, but he has a responsibility to heal relationships, reduce tensions and strengthen the sense of belonging among everyone who calls Plateau home.

Leadership is not only about signing budgets, constructing roads and commissioning projects. It is also about recognising the invisible fractures within society and finding the courage to address them. Sometimes the most important bridge a leader builds is made not of concrete and steel, but of words, empathy and trust.

History offers useful lessons. In 1970, German Chancellor Willy Brandt knelt before the memorial to the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Brandt had resisted Nazism and was not personally responsible for its crimes. Yet he understood that leadership sometimes requires accepting moral responsibility for wounds one did not personally inflict. His silent gesture became an enduring symbol of reconciliation.

South Africa did not emerge from apartheid by commanding its citizens to forget. It established the Truth and Reconciliation Commission because it understood that national unity could not be built over buried grievances. Neither example suggests that apologies are magic. They do not restore lost lives or erase painful memories. But they can open doors that denial keeps permanently shut.

This lesson is especially relevant to Plateau State. For more than two decades, our communities have suffered from mistrust, competing historical narratives and the politicisation of identity. We have become so suspicious of one another that even gestures of empathy can quickly be recast as betrayal.

If every attempt to heal a relationship is interpreted only through the lenses of party politics, ethnicity or the next election, our leaders will eventually learn that there is no reward for taking risks for peace. We will then be left with politicians who speak only to their supporters and communities that listen only to themselves.

The Igbo community has been part of the commercial and social life of Jos and other Plateau communities for generations. Its traders, professionals, artisans and entrepreneurs have contributed meaningfully to the state’s development. In the same way, Plateau people live, work and build businesses across Nigeria. Our lives are already interconnected. The challenge is to transform this everyday interdependence into genuine trust and shared responsibility.

Governor Mutfwang’s appeal was therefore not one-sided. By asking Igbo business owners to mentor and employ Plateau youths, he also placed a responsibility on that community. Peace becomes sustainable when hospitality is answered with partnership, belonging with contribution, and recognition with reciprocity.

The governor’s critics are entitled to question his choice of words. Nevertheless, criticism should clarify public debate, not inflame it. Plateau does not dishonor its fallen sons by extending a hand of friendship to the descendants of those who also suffered. Rather, it gives a higher meaning to their sacrifice by helping to build a country in which another generation will not be summoned to fight a war born of fear, hatred and mutual suspicion.

Governor Mutfwang should therefore not be cast as a prosecutor of Plateau’s past or an advocate of one ethnic community against another. He should be understood as a leader attempting—perhaps with words that could have been more carefully chosen, but with an intention that remains defensible—to widen the circle of belonging.

An apology does not erase history but changes how we carry it.

Stripped of political noise, the governor’s message was profoundly simple:

“We acknowledge your pain. You belong here. Let us build the future together.”

That is not provocation or surrender.

It is the difficult but necessary work of leadership.