Recently, as President Tinubu was embroiled in controversy during his state visit to Turkey, I found myself just a short distance from him. Unlike the grand receptions he received, my own trip was unaccompanied by any dignitaries or an official entourage. I relied solely on Google Maps and Google Translate to navigate the bustling streets. Nevertheless, my journey was not without its charm. While political turmoil swirled around him, I deeply engaged with the rich history of Istanbul, a city that has endured the rise and fall of powerful empires far more significant than any contemporary state.
My exploration commenced at Hagia Sophia, which was constructed in 537 AD as the world’s largest Christian cathedral. For nearly 916 years, it served as the heart of Eastern Christianity, embodying the grandeur of the Byzantine Empire. The momentous day of May 29, 1453, marked the fall of Constantinople to Sultan Mehmed II, who subsequently transformed Hagia Sophia into a mosque. Its towering minarets and magnificent dome have since contributed to its architectural legacy, serving as a testament that while power may shift, the imprint of history remains indelible.
Historically known simply as 'the City,' Constantinople was a hub for Greeks who spoke of traveling eis tin polin, which naturally evolved into its modern name, Istanbul. Across from Hagia Sophia lies the sprawling Topkapi Palace, established by Mehmed II following the conquest. This royal complex not only served as an imperial residence but was also the heart of governance for the Ottoman sultans for nearly four centuries, where law, faith, military power, and bureaucracy converged to maintain order across vast realms.
A brief drive brought me to the Bosporus Strait, a key waterway linking the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara and symbolically separating and connecting Europe and Asia. Along its banks, minarets and church domes coexist, while palaces overlook military fortifications, illustrating the city’s unique duality. Istanbul embodies both halves of the old world, and it has historically been a meeting point for civilizations, where the legacy of Rome persists long after its fall, where Christianity flourished, and where powerful empires confronted one another without erasing the city’s multicultural character.
As I wandered through these historical spaces, I found my thoughts increasingly focused on concepts of power—how it is acquired, preserved, and ultimately relinquished.
Rome itself did not initially emerge as an empire but began as a republic based on shared governance, public engagement, debate, and rule of law. However, as Rome expanded, its republican frameworks found themselves ill- equipped to manage such vast territories. Protracted discussions hindered prompt decision-making, elite rivalries obstructed governance, and civil strife caused the populace to view freedom as perilous rather than aspirational. Consequently, the Romans faced a formidable choice.
They opted for order rather than abstraction.
This uncomfortable reality of political history holds true even today. In periods of heightened insecurity, societies tend to prioritize stability over personal freedoms. As situations become increasingly perilous, individuals often surrender their rights, yearning for assurance when violence seems imminent and the future uncertain.
Empires offer what republics struggle to provide during crises, such as stability, security, and unmistakable authority. Conversely, republics focus on dialogue, delay, and negotiation. Faced with existential fears, the call for order frequently drowns out the ideals of democratic process.
This age-old lesson resonates profoundly within contemporary Nigeria. A segment of the Nigerian populace appears to crave the return of military authority, fully conscious of its oppressive history. This desire is not driven by a fascination with authoritarian governance, but rather a weariness stemming from prevailing insecurity, discord, and systemic failures that have transformed personal freedom into a mere luxury. When democratic systems falter in safeguarding lives and property, their ethical foundations lose relevance. Citizens cease to ponder who governs them and instead begin to question the very possibility of governance.
Rome did not transition into an empire because it forsook liberty; it did so because liberty could not uphold stability on such a grand scale. Augustus did not seize power contrary to the people's will; he was welcomed to restore order. This paved the way for centuries of imperial peace, albeit at the unalterable expense of republican freedoms.
History provides a stark warning regarding the trajectory of such a path. Rome evolved into an empire, while Constantinople transitioned twice between being a Christian and a Muslim imperial capital. The Ottoman Empire ascended and ultimately fell, as did other dominant powers that mistook supremacy for invincibility.
Ultimately, no empire sustains its reign indefinitely. Authority is inherently transient, and dominance has an expiration date. The vestiges of Rome, the transformed structure of Hagia Sophia, and the tranquil courtyards of Topkapi all communicate a singular message: authority is borrowed, never truly possessed.
Perhaps it would be wise for President Tinubu and his associates to traverse the streets of Istanbul before heading back to Nigeria—not merely as tourists, but as students of history. This ancient city has humbled rulers, endured numerous ideologies, and survived countless certainties. It stands as a quiet reminder that regardless of how powerful a leader may feel at present, history invariably wields the final judgment.
From Istanbul, with admiration.
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