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Wondry subscribers can listen to new episodes of Lawless Planet early and ad free right now. Join Wondry in the Wondry app or on Apple Podcasts. It's just after midnight on May 22, 1994, in Agonyland, a small region in southern Nigeria. The air is thick and quiet except for the distant whine of insects and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Inside his home, Ken Saro Wiwa is finally drifting to sleep when the front door explodes open. Boots thunder inside and shouting erupts. Ken bolts upright as soldiers flood his bedroom. Before he can speak, they drag him from the room at gunpoint. Under arrest, they don't tell him the charges, but they don't have to. Ken is a writer, a relentless, fearless critic of the Nigerian military regime and the corporations they're in bed with. Namely Shell, the massive oil company which has been extracting crude oil from the Niger Delta, Ken's homeland, for decades. He spent the last several years exposing the cost of that extraction, the spills, the flares and the poisoned water supplies. And he's accused Shell publicly and repeatedly of treating the region like a dumping ground, a fueling an ecological disaster.
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What we are working on now is crude oil, not soil. This land is lost for the next thousand years. Nothing is going to grow here.
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Ken's writing and speeches have made him a target of the Nigerian government, which depends on Shell's oil profits to line their own pockets. For the next 48 hours, the soldiers don't let him speak with anyone. Not his friends, not his family, and certainly not a lawyer. They beat him, then put him in handcuffs and leg irons, and still no one will say what he's been accused of. Finally, on the morning of May 23, a military commander walks into the holding cell, followed by by a camera crew. He orders them to take photos and videos of Ken filthy, bruised, still shackled, as if he's already been convicted. It's a propaganda image meant to say this is what happens to people who descend. The officer tells him he's being transferred. He'll need to make a formal statement about his role in the murders of four elder chiefs. That's when it hits him. They're not just detaining him, they're not just trying to silence him either. They're setting him up. Ken Saro Wiwa is about to be framed for a crime he didn't commit. A crime that carries the death penalty. From Wondry. Hi, I'm Zach Goldbaum, and this is Lawless Planet. Each week we tell a new story about the true crimes fueling the climate crisis and the people fighting to save the planet or destroy it.
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I accuse the oil companies of encouraging genocide against the Oguni.
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Shell discovered oil in the Niger Delta in 1956, but they also unearthed something else. A political climate ripe for exploitation. Nigeria was a British colony but gained independence in 1960, only to fall into a brutal three year civil war followed by a series of military dictatorships. And through it all, its economy became increasingly dependent on foreign companies like Shell, who paid for access to its natural resources. That's how Shell was able to operate with near total impunity in the Niger River Delta for decades. By the early 90s, Shell's global revenue was almost double the GDP of all of Nigeria. But Ken Saro Wiwa, he became the David to Shell's Goliath. He accused them of poisoning the land and fueling political violence. In return, he was surveilled, harassed and threatened and eventually framed for murder. This story is about one man's attempt to hold a giant corporation accountable and the price he paid for it. But it's also about businesses getting into bed with repressive governments and when that happens, how far they'll go to protect their interests. Ken Saro Wiwa is from Ogoniland, named for Ken's people, the Ogoni. They're an indigenous group who make up less than 1% of Nigeria's population and have lived in the region for over 500 years. Decades before Ken's arrest, Ogoniland was lush and green, home to one of the largest mangrove systems in the world. People farmed in the wetlands and they fished in the tidal rivers that feed into The Atlantic water so clear they could drink from it. But that's not the version of Ogoniland that Ken Saro, Wiwa's younger brother Owens remembers.
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The first instance where you know you are Ogonia Ogoni is that you're going to see flares, yellowish in the glow.
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Owens is talking about gas flares, jets of flame from the burning of excess natural gas that's extracted from the Wells. Owens is 16 years younger than Ken. He was born in 1957, one year after Shell realized that Ogoniland sits atop one of the richest crude oil reserves in the world and began drilling.
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As you get nearer, you're going to hear the noise, you know, like a jet engine just sort of polluting the stillness. And the noise was really intense. And then as you drive in more, you start to breathe, you know, very, very poisonous air.
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In July 1970, Ken and Owens are living in the heart of the Niger River Delta in a city called Bori, the capital of ogoniland. Ken is 29 and working as a commissioner of education for the government. It's the height of summer. Villagers in a nearby town called Kagbaradere are going about their business when suddenly the ground trembles. In the distance, a column of thick smoke spirals into the sky and moments later, explosions. Fireballs shoot into the air. Ken learns that a Shell operated oil well has just suffered a blowout. A pipe burst and now crude oil is gushing out of the earth in an unstoppable torrent. The spill rages on for three weeks. Ken visits the area and watches helplessly as oil floods the waterways and coats the soil in an effort to contain it. Shel decides to burn the oil off, but that releases clouds of toxic smoke, darkening the sky and leaving scorched earth in its wake. Ken takes Owens to see the devastation.
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The epicenter of the spills. Everything will just be black. No leaves on the trees and you just see branches, you know, coming out of the ground. It was a tree earlier, but right now it's no longer a tree.
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Farmland has been destroyed, drinking water poisoned, the air filled with noxious gases. Shell offers virtually no support to the people living through the disaster. The Ogoni people sound the alarm. They file a formal complaint with the local government about pipelines being laid across farmland without permission, about roads that are literally collapsing under the weight of heavy machinery and oil spills that are destroying their fishing and farming industries. Shell dismisses their concerns. The Ogoni people are a small ethnic minority. Although the land they live on is rich in oil, they've Got no political power. Here's Ken explaining the situation.
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We have been, to a very large extent, powerless. Powerless in the context of Nigerian politics, where a small group of people, a minority who have no protection under the constitution because this is the organized banditry that goes in the name of government in Nigeria, does not provide for minority rights at all.
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After the 1970 blowout, Ken became more outspoken, arguing for the autonomy of the Ogoni people. That didn't sit well with the Nigerian authorities, and he was forced to leave his government job. That's when Ken made a surprising pivot to comedy.
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Ken was a comedian. He liked to laugh. He laughs every time he finds a way to laugh and to make people to laugh.
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In 1985, Ken found an outlet for both his comedy and his activism. That's the theme song for Basse and company, a sitcom that Ken created. It skewers greed and corruption in Lagos, the Nigerian capital at the time.
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So Basset and company he produced, he wrote, you know, sometimes directed some of the episodes. It was quite a hilarious Comedy show, and 30 million Nigerians used to watch it when it aired.
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About a third of the population of Nigeria tunes in every week, and it runs for 150 episodes.
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The moral of Bastion Company was looking at the society, at how people try to get rich so quickly. Always made sure that people were punished, especially when they tried to get rich illegally.
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The show follows Bossy, or Mr. B, as he navigates the big city and tries to get rich. His catchphrase is to be a millionaire, think like a millionaire. He's also constantly hounded by his landlady to pay rent. Stop dragging your feet Lazy bones drag my feet.
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The millionaires run fast to what?
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The millions.
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But even as Ken becomes a household name in Nigeria, his homeland continues to fall into decline. And Owens, who by this point has become a doctor, sees the impact of oil drilling on his patients.
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Most of the times in my clinic, you know, when I get in and I see quite a lot of children, they bring in, you know, with respiratory problems. Their mother used to tell me that they had this blowout and this smoke or this chemical, you know, that they were breathing, and the children would start coughing.
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By the early 1990s, Shell controlled nearly half of Nigeria's oil production. Other companies like Chevron and Mobil were there too, but none had the same footprint. Nigeria was Shell's number one source of oil, which meant Shell had every incentive to keep it flowing, no matter the cost to the people living above it. And the Nigerian government had arguably even more incentive since oil accounted for 90% of the country's export income. But the Ogoni people don't see a penny of that money. They're sliding deeper and deeper into poverty. Schools shudder, Hospitals vanish. Electricity is scarce. Piped water almost non existent. Ken and Owens see billows of smoke and flares every time they drive to the countryside to visit their mother. On one of those rides, Owens talks about the struggles he sees in his patients. And Ken pushes Owens to fight back.
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So he said, how can you tolerate this? You know, you see this happening and you don't say anything and you just treat people and keep quiet. I said, well, you know that I just do what I have to do, that's to make them well. And I think that's my calling. He alluded to the fact that you can actually do more. You can prevent those attacks rather than just treat them.
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Now Ken had found his calling. In 1990, at the age of 49, Ken returned to Ogoni land and joined forces with local leaders to form the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People, or mosop. It's a nonpartisan, nonviolent movement demanding environmental protections, political representation and economic justice. Ken and Mosop draft an Ogoni Bill of Rights. They demand the right for Ogoni people to represent themselves in government. They also want the ability to determine what to do with their own land. In an interview, Ken describes the current situation as a form of domestic colonialism where power, wealth and decision making are stripped from the people who live on oil rich land.
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It's most unusual and it's not right because people have lost farmland so that oil may be found. Well, what are you going to give back to the people?
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The movement gains momentum quickly and Ken becomes its leading voice. At a rally under the scorching sun, Ken climbs onto a makeshift stage. He looks out over the crowd, packed shoulder to shoulder in the heat, and lays out his vision for Mosop. And then he makes one more thing. Climbing.
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In, recovering the money that has been stolen from us. I do not want any blood spilled. Not of an Ogoni man, not of any strangers amongst us.
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Mosap will not resort to violence to get their way. This is a peaceful movement. Two months after ratifying the Bill of Rights, Mosap shares it with the Nigerian military government. They demand that the state step in and give Ogoniland protection against Shell's destruction. But ultimately, nothing changes. By the end of 1992, Ken and Mosop decide to issue an ultimatum. Shell and other oil companies must pay back rent, unpaid royalties and reparations or they must leave Agoni Land. There's an implicit threat there. But no one knows just how far the nonviolent Mossop is willing to go. Ken wakes up early. He's nervous, excited, maybe even a little sleep deprived. He was up late fine tuning every word of the speech he's about to give. Today is the big day. January 4, 1993. Agoni Day. Ken and Owens head to the heart of agony land. It's still morning, but the rally site is already packed. The air is buzzing, drums pound, dancers move in hypnotic circles. And villagers chant slogans in both Ogoni and English. With protest signs bobbing above the crowd, they read, stop looting Ogoni resources and Shell steals Ogoni land. Ken and Mosop leaders have declared Ogoni Day a day of resistance, pride and visibility. Across the region, 300,000 Ogoni people have taken to the streets. And remember, they're a group of about a half a million. So that's a huge turnout and they're doing it all in open defiance of the Nigerian government, which has banned public gatherings. They're singing who will deliver us from trouble? Ken and Mosop will deliver us from trouble. The Ogoni people believe in Ken, who stands before the crowd and delivers the speech he's been preparing for.
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We are going to demand our rights peacefully, non violently, and we shall win.
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The energy is electricity. Owens remembers watching the crowd roar as his brother spoke. He says on Ogoni Day, his people were fearless.
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I think it's the biggest gathering that I've ever been to in my life. There was that atmosphere of joyful liberation. The people felt liberated. They felt energized.
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Recalling a Goni day, Ken later said, quote, if I had died the day after that, I would have died a very happy man indeed. And this demonstration, it works. Just days later, Shel begins withdrawing staff from Ogoni land. Officially, they say one of their workers was injured by protesters and they have safety concerns. But Shell and the government are no doubt spooked by this show of support for Mosop's agenda. At this point, Shell's fortunes are inextricably tied to Nigeria's military regime. The company is pumping nearly a million barrels of oil a day out of its Nigerian reserves. That's about $5 billion worth of oil per year. Both Shell and the Nigerian government have a lot to lose, which means Ken just went from being a nuisance to being public enemy number one. The victory of Agoni De is short lived. Just a few months later, Ken Saro Wiwa and his fellow Ogonis find themselves with a new enemy The Andoni, a neighboring ethnic group. But they don't understand why there's never been bad blood between them. But then, almost without warning, in July 1993, violence erupts between the two groups. Ten Ogoni villages are wiped out. The attacks are fast, they're brutal and most suspiciously professional. Armed men sweep through in coordinated strikes, firing automatic weapons, some of them wearing military uniforms. At his clinic, Owens Wiwa scrambles to treat the survivors.
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There was something I've never seen before. High velocity gunshot wounds that could only come from military hardware.
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When the smoke clears, the damage is staggering. A thousand agonies are left dead. Another 30,000 are driven from their homes. Owens, Ken and the Ogoni leaders don't buy the story of an ethnic clash. To them it looks orchestrated. They begin to suspect that this isn't a tribal war. It's a proxy conflict. A state enabled assault designed to crush the Ogoni uprising without leaving fingerprints. In October, Ken is invited to government broker peace talks between the Ogoni and the Endoni. Military officials are there. Shell executives are too. Ken is handed a resolution to sign. He scans it carefully until one line stops him cold. It says it is in the interest of the Ogoni and Andoni communities and all the governments in Nigeria to ensure an immediate resumption of all full economic and social activities within Ogoni and Andoni areas. It's buried in diplomatic language, but the meaning is clear. Let Shell come back and operate at full force. Once again, Ken refuses to sign, but other leaders do. And the peace accord goes through without him. Weeks later, Shell re enters Ogoniland, this time with military escorts. The Ogoni continue to resist, but Shell is about to get a powerful new ally in their fight against Mosap and Ken Saro Wiwa. That's because a new dictator has taken power in Nigeria, one even more ruthless than his predecessors. His name is General Sani Abacha.
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Nigeria is the only country we have. We must therefore solve our problems ourselves. Consequently, the following decisions come into immediate effect. The interim national government is hereby dissolved. The national and state assemblies are also dissolved.
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That's General Abacha in November 1993 explaining to the people of Nigeria that he's just seized power in a military coup. He wastes no time banning political activity and jailing his opponents. And under his new regime, he empowers lieutenant colonel Daouda Musa Como, a military governor in the Niger river delta to create a new unit, the Internal Security Task Force. Its mission control the Ogoni people, crush Mosop and restore law and order to the region. Officially the task force is for the protection of law abiding citizens and outsiders trying to do business in the area. But 400 military personnel are sent to various Mosop demonstrations in the spring of 1994. A unit commander orders the shooting of unarmed protesters outside of Shell's regional headquarters. And according to Amnesty International, just 10 days later, Shell makes a payment to the task force. Amnesty uncovered other evidence that Shell and the Nigerian government were working together to end the Mosop protests and find a way for Shell to resume operations. And their tactics to do so were escalating. Soldiers committed unlawful killings, rape, torture, and the burning of villages, all without consequences. By the spring of 1994, the Ogoni people had gone from the excitement of their peaceful protest campaign to experiencing mass violence. Their movement was under siege. It's May 21, 1994, a day that will change Ken's life forever. That afternoon, four prominent Ogoni elders gather in the town of Gyoku. All four men have publicly distanced themselves from Mosop. One was even a former leader of the movement, but is now critical of its direction. As Ken became more outspoken and aggressive, he alienated some people who argued that the best solution for the conflict was to work within the system to petition the new dictator, General Abacha, for peace. But to many who are still in Mosop, the four elders are seen as traitors who have aligned themselves with Shell and the Nigerian government. Ahead of the meeting, the elders received word about potential threats of violence, even murder. They asked Lt. Col. Dauda Musa Como and his internal security task force for protection, but none was provided. What happens next is chaotic and brutal. The details are murky. Eyewitnesses contradict each other. But by the end of the day, all four elders were are dead, Beaten and killed by an angry armed mob aligned with Mosob. As soldiers stationed nearby watched and did nothing to help. The next morning, Lt. Col. Komo calls a press conference. Standing before a bank of cameras, he holds up a black plastic bag. Inside, he says, are the bones from the chief's bodies. Then he makes his accusation. Ken Saro Wiwa did this.
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Ogoni is leaded by irresponsible and reckless stubbery of the moss element, which, as I said, must stop immediately. And I therefore call on you to report accurately this event and to stop you being used as propaganda to tools conveniently for some dictator like Kensara Weaver.
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Ken wasn't in Gyoku that day, but a pamphlet had circulated beforehand labeling the four elders as collaborators with Shell. Some say Ken wrote it. Others insist there's no proof. Either way, the state has its excuse. On May 22, 1994, the day after the chiefs were killed, Ken is in bed when soldiers burst into his home. They arrest him along with other Mosop and Ogoni leaders. Ken is shackled, photographed for propaganda, and held without charges. Amnesty International declares Ken a prisoner of conscience.
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They detained him incommunicado. He was reportedly held in chains. And Amnesty felt, on the basis of the information that it had, that this was a politically motivated arrest.
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And while Ken sits in a cell, the crackdown begins. The government unleashes the Internal Security Task Force. And if they had been harsh before, they are even more brutal now. Task force soldiers raid dozens of Ogoni towns and villages, shooting at random, looting and destroying property. Women are raped. Men are killed. Children and the elderly are beaten. The campaign of terror drags on for months. One colonel from the Internal Security Task Force uses Shell to justify the violence, writing Shell operations still impossible unless ruthless military operations are undertaken. The sheer scale of the task force's attacks put Shell in an awkward position. The oil giant still hasn't resumed production in Ogoniland, and now they announce that they can't until, as one Shell executive puts it, we have the local community on our side. As soon as Ken goes to prison, his brother Owens goes into hiding. That's because the military has also named him as a suspect in the murder of the four chiefs.
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It was a very difficult period. I went sleeping in friends houses that must have slept, you know, maybe in 20 to 30 different locations. Sometimes I slept in church, sometimes I slept under the bridge because there was a time that it was even a hazard for anybody to keep me the way the military were looking for me.
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Owens hasn't actually been charged with any crime, but he sees what happens to people who get on the government's radar. So he keeps a low profile. Meanwhile, letters from Ken are getting smuggled out of prison, and they worry Owens. Ken's health is deteriorating. He has a heart condition, and prison is making it worse. Then, in February 1995, nine months after Ken's arrest, he and two others are charged with inciting the murders. The remaining men are charged with carrying them out. All of them face the death penalty. By now, international pressure is building. Human rights groups condemn the arrests and the trial itself. The case will be heard by a special tribunal consisting of two judges and a military officer, all appointed by Nigeria's dictator, General Abacha. Ken's supporters think it's all for show. A guilty verdict seems inevitable. They're also calling out Shell for their complicity and begging the corporation to intervene on the activists behalf. But Shell stays silent. Then comes a strange opportunity. In late April 1995, Owens manages to snag an invitation to a British consular party celebrating the Queen's birthday. Owens attends not for the party, but to find one man, Brian Anderson, Shell Nigeria's top executive.
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I told him what my mission was. I would like to meet with him. And he asked me why. So I told him that I wanted him to intervene with what was happening with my brother and others and that they are innocent. He gave me an appointment to come to his house.
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So on the first Sunday of May, Owens goes to Brian Anderson's home.
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I was let into his living room and it was quite massive. Mr. Brian Anderson came in, was very cautious, asked me about my childhood. I was hopeful. I thought I'd found the key that will unlock the door for my brother's freedom.
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Then Owens tells him about Ogoniland. He describes the poison creeks, the illnesses of his patients, the stillbirths and his brother wasting away in prison.
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When I started talking about the change in Oguni with oil and the environmental devastation, he got very, very, very defensive. He said he has flown over Ogoni and he did not see the devastation. So I said how did you fly? So he said he flew in a helicopter. I said, well if you are really on the ground, you are going to see the film of oil on the rivers, on the streams that people drink. And if you go down deeper you will see that there are no fishes in those rivers. You can't see that in a helicopter.
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Owen says that after hearing him out, Anderson agreed to help Ken on two conditions. One, Mosop must publicly state that Shell is not responsible for the environmental damage. And two, the international protests have to stop. Owens was stunned. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't deliver that. He didn't control Mossop and he certainly couldn't control protesters around the world. But according to Owens, Anderson wouldn't budge. He refused to help unless those demands were met. A week later, Owens received a letter from Ken to pass along to Anderson. Ken wrote, every day we spend in detention enhances the Ogoni cause and puts Shell on the block. Even death will only make me a martyr and enhance the cause. Shell are the ones who need to show trust and goodwill. They have screwed Ogoni enough in the past. Owens took the letter to his next meeting with Anderson. According to Owens, the oil executive read it carefully, then told Owens that if his brother wanted to be a martyr, that was his business.
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When he Asked for the protest to stop. He was condescending. He was snobbish. I don't think he had any intention of doing anything to get my brother freedom. That was the last time I saw him.
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Ken's trial begins in February of 1995, and it quickly devolves into a farce. Family members of the defendants are beaten and harassed. Defense lawyers are attacked outside the courtroom. Evidence is thrown out. Defense witnesses are blocked from testifying. And two prosecution witnesses would later admit they were bribed with job offers from Shell if they lied on the stand. In June, Ken's legal team walks out of the courtroom in protest. They call the trial illegitimate, a violation of Nigerian and international law. Human rights groups agree. Protests erupt in London, New York and Amsterdam. The global outcry gives Ken some small degree of hope. In his final statement to the tribunal, Ken stands tall, voice steady, speaking not just to the court, but to the world.
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There is no possibility whatsoever that I or Mossad could ever have planned any such action. And I will forever vow it, no matter what any forum decides upon.
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The tribunal announces its verdict. On October 31, 1995, Ken Saro Wiwa and eight other men are found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. But even though the sentence is dire, many still believe there's a chance for a final appeal. General Abacha has other plans. According to the Nigerian newspaper Premium Times, on the night of November 8, while Ken and the others wait for updates about their status, Abacha gathers a small circle of advisors. They discuss what to do about the group now known as the Ogoni Nine. One aide warns that delays will invite more pressure. Another says the Ogoni problem must be resolved once and for all. The decision is made. It's the morning of November 10, 1995, and Ken Saro Wiwa sits alone in his cell, staring at the concrete walls. He wishes he could write letters, essays, anything to stay sane. But the guards confiscated his pens and notebooks weeks ago. The prison has stopped letting families of the condemned men bring food. Ken and the others are left to starve with no explanation. Now, just after 11:00am the guards return. Ken and the others are pulled from the cells where they've spent the last 16 months. For a moment, Ken thinks they're being transferred, maybe to a civilian prison. Maybe there's hope. But minutes later, the truth becomes clear. They're being taken to the gallows. Ken Saro Wiwa's reported final words are quiet but defiant. Lord, take my soul. But the struggle continues. By noon, all of the Ogoni Nine are dead.
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I never even thought that an innocent person who has been talking about non violence in every speech. I never thought anything would happen to him.
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A day later front pages around the world world shout the same headlines reporting on the deaths of the Ogoni nine. The backlash is swift. Protests erupt outside of Shell offices and gas stations. Demonstrators light candles and hold signs. World leaders including Nelson Mandela and British Prime Minister John Major condemned the executions and declared that Nigeria should no longer be part of the the British Commonwealth. Shell expresses regret over the executions. They say that Brian Anderson, the Shell executive that Owens had met with, personally appealed to General Abacha for clemency on humanitarian grounds. But it turns out he had only done so the day before the executions. Too little, too late. Less than a week later, Anderson appears on npr. It's a rare, unexpected interview, possibly a last ditch effort to contain the fallout. Anderson opens with Shell's usual talking points, saying that the corporation does everything in their power to prevent their operations from affecting the Niger river delta. But when asked about the trial and executions, he goes on the defensive.
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Our company is not a company that should take an involvement in a judicial finding. We have said all along that it's up to the courts and up to the people of Nigeria.
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But the interviewer presses him. Surely because of the importance of oil to the Nigerian economy, that gives Shell some leverage over the actions of the government.
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We have of course a potential influence, but we are very cautious indeed about trying to use such influence. We do not believe it's in the companies like Shell's interests and should not be carried out that we become involved in the political issues of a country.
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But seconds later, Anderson admits Shell does use its influence on the government.
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We will try to influence them on issues to do with the commercial interest of our company and what we believe could be the correct policies for the government to follow for the economic benefit of the country.
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The contradiction is glaring. Shell won't intervene to stop state violence, but they will to protect profits. And those profits they're about to get big. Even as calls for an oil embargo grow, Shell doubles down. They confirm plans for a $3.8 billion natural gas plant in Nigeria. A massive expansion and a long term bet on the country and its regime. Brian Anderson says it's for the good of the Nigerian people that it'll generate wealth. But not long after Owen's WIWA comes forward. He tells a reporter about his secret meetings with Brian Anderson. He reveals that Anderson said Ken could be free if Mosop dropped their international campaign against Shell. What Owens didn't know was that he wasn't the only one secretly meeting with Brian Anderson ahead of ken's trial. From April 1994 to August 1995, Brian Anderson had at least three closed door conversations with General Abacha talking about how the Ogoni unrest was affecting Shell's business. Amnesty International later uncovered internal Shell documents.
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And reported throughout this period, the company was encouraging the Nigerian military government and the military unit involved to take action against these protesters. Even after the company knew what was likely to happen.
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Shell executives had received quiet assurances from high up in the Nigerian government that the Mosop leaders would be found guilty. They knew the outcome of the trial before it began. Shell denies those reports. For decades after the executions of the Ogoni Nine, their families and community members tried to force Shell to face justice. And for decades, Shell mostly managed to avoid it. Then, in 2009, a landmark civil trial was set to begin in New York. The suit was filed by Ken's brother Owens, Ken's son, and family members of other executed leaders. It alleged that Shell was complicit in the arrests and executions of the Ogoni Nine. If the trial had gone forward, it might have revealed more about Shell's ties to the Nigerian military regime. But just days before the trial's start date, Shell agreed to a $15.5 million settlement. Shell called the payout a humanitarian gesture and continued to deny any wrongdoing. For the company, this settlement was likely just a rounding error, less than 100th of 1% of their annual revenue. The story of Ken Saro Wiwa and the Ogoni Nine is about more than a single protest movement or a single execution. It's about power. How it's wielded, how it's resisted, and how often it's persistent, protected. Ken challenged the system that enriched bad actors while poisoning his home. And for that, he was killed. As Brian Anderson tried to argue in that NPR interview, Shell has always claimed neutrality when it comes to dealing with repressive regimes they do business with. But in doing so, they just give the worst impulses of those governments to pass. In the years since the executions, Shell paid settlements, faced lawsuits and pledged to move on. But the oil kept flowing, the land remains polluted and the people of Ogoniland are still living with the consequences. Ken once said that the environment is man's first right. The fight he led wasn't just about oil. It was about dignity, accountability and the right to a livable future. In February of 2025, Shell sold off its onshore operations in Nigeria, pulling the ripcord as estimates of cleanup costs for the Niger River Delta soared into the billions. But oil's grip on Nigeria is far from over. The Nigerian government has since announced plans to restart drilling in Ogoni Land, so while Shell may be stepping away, the industry definitely isn't.
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There's still some resistance from the people, but the poverty is so much. I'm afraid that in the quest for drilling more oil, the government is going to send soldiers to the place. There are going to be another round of human rights abuse and history may repeat itself.
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In June, after 30 years, the Nigerian government pardoned Ken Saro Wiwa, but they stopped short of a full exoneration. Owen's Wiwa thinks he knows why.
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They know that he was and remains innocent of those charges for which he was murdered. They know because they tell me they won't go to that length. Wow. Because they are still dependent on the oil companies as we speak today.
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Follow Lawless Planet on the Wondry app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to new episodes of Lawless Planet early and ad free right now by joining Wondry in the Wondry App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey@wondry.com survey next week, the story of the largest green energy scam in US history carried out by a seriously unlikely duo.
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Levan was a Bel Air billionaire when he joined Forsake with members of the polygamous Kingston clan.
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We use a lot of sources when researching our stories, and for this episode we especially recommend the books Were Vultures Feast by E.K. okonta and Oronto Douglas and the Politics of Bones by J. Timothy Hunt, as well as the reporting of the Guardian, Amnesty International and the New York Times. Lawless Planet is produced and hosted by me, Zach Goldbaum. Alex Burns wrote this episode. Our senior producer and senior story editor is Derek John. Senior producers for Wondry are Peter Arcuni and Andy Herman. Our senior Managing Producer is Nick Ryan. Our Managing Producer is Sarah Kenny Corrigan. Our Associate Producer is Lexi Perry. Additional audio recording by Glory Ohagwu Music and sound design by Kenny Kusiak. Dialogue edit by George Draving Hicks. Our music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Freeze on Sync Fact checking by Naomi Barr. Our legal counsel is Deb Droze. Executive producers are Marshall Louie, Aaron o', Flaherty, n' J' Ajeri Eaton and Jenny Lauer Beckman for wondering. Thanks for listening. We'll see you next week.
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Wonder.
Host: Zach Goldbaum
Date: August 18, 2025
This powerful episode of Lawless Planet centers on the life, activism, and tragic fate of Ken Saro-Wiwa, a Nigerian writer and environmentalist who led a nonviolent movement against the ecological devastation of Ogoniland by Shell Oil and the Nigerian military dictatorship. Through interviews, archival audio, and narrative, host Zach Goldbaum exposes not just the crimes against one people but the deeper relationship between global corporations, repressive governments, and environmental destruction—posing urgent questions about accountability, justice, and the price of resistance.
Opening Scene (00:00–03:48):
The episode opens with a dramatized midnight raid: soldiers burst into Saro-Wiwa’s home, brutally arresting him without charges. He’s a famous writer and relentless critic of Shell and the Nigerian government, accused of fueling crimes he didn’t commit.
Political Context:
Zach details Nigeria’s path from British colony to military dictatorship, with Shell operating nearly unchecked and the government dependent on oil profits.
Environmental Collapse (06:45–09:15):
Saro-Wiwa’s brother Owens offers vivid memories of their once-lush homeland, its beauty erased by oil extraction, fires, and pollution.
Shell’s Indifference:
The Ogoni file formal complaints, which are ignored due to their minority status and lack of political power.
Impact on Communities (12:27–13:48):
Owens recalls treating children for respiratory issues caused by oil wells and polluted air.
Ken Challenges Owens:
Ken insists, “How can you tolerate this?...You can actually do more. You can prevent those attacks rather than just treat them.” (13:48)
Formation of the Movement (14:25–15:46):
In 1990, Ken co-founds the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP), seeking nonviolent change and drafting the Ogoni Bill of Rights for environmental, political, and economic justice.
Commitment to Nonviolence:
“I do not want any blood spilled. Not of an Ogoni man, not of any strangers among us.” — Ken Saro-Wiwa (15:46)
Massive Uprising:
On January 4, 1993, 300,000 Ogoni rally in defiance of the government ban on gatherings—more than half the population.
Quote:
“We are going to demand our rights peacefully, non-violently, and we shall win.” — Ken Saro-Wiwa (18:16)
Quote:
“There was an atmosphere of joyful liberation. The people felt liberated. They felt energized.” — Owens Wiwa (18:37)
Immediate Consequences:
The movement forces Shell to withdraw, but also marks Saro-Wiwa as an enemy to both Shell and the government.
Ethnic Conflict as Cover (19:20–22:52):
Violent attacks on Ogoni villages, likely orchestrated by the state, kill 1,000 and displace 30,000.
Military Coup and Crackdown:
General Sani Abacha seizes power, bans politics, and empowers a brutal security force to crush the Ogoni.
Murder Charges and Arrests (26:00–28:01):
Four Ogoni elders critical of MOSOP are murdered. Mosop is blamed, and Ken is arrested.
Quote:
“Ken Saro Wiwa did this.” — Lt. Col. Daouda Musa Komo (26:43)
Quote:
“He was reportedly held in chains...This was a politically motivated arrest.” — Amnesty International (27:50)
Escalation of State Terror:
The Internal Security Task Force unleashes mass violence, rape, and killing in the region.
Shell’s Secret Deals (31:19–34:43):
Owens Wiwa’s personal recollections of meetings with Shell executive Brian Anderson, who offers help only if MOSOP drops their activism against Shell internationally:
Trial Irregularities:
Witnesses bribed, defense lawyers harassed, and the verdict predetermined by government and Shell collusion.
The Hangings (36:16–38:34):
Ken’s final words: “Lord, take my soul. But the struggle continues.” (38:07)
Shell’s Official Response:
Brian Anderson on NPR:
Aftermath and Revelations:
Later evidence shows Shell was actively encouraging government crackdown and knew the trial was rigged. (42:23)
Civil Suit and Settlement (42:42–44:44):
In 2009, after years of evasion, Shell settles with the families for $15.5 million without admitting wrongdoing.
Oil’s Enduring Grip:
Despite settlements, Ogoniland remains polluted and poor. In 2025, Shell pulls out, but the government plans to resume drilling, setting the stage for a new cycle of exploitation.
Ken’s Pardon:
In June, after 30 years, the government pardons Saro-Wiwa without exoneration, still reliant on oil interests.
The episode is investigative, deeply empathetic, and charged with moral outrage. Zach Goldbaum guides listeners through complex history using personal stories, survivor voices, and dogged research, never letting the analytical edge dull the emotional impact.
This episode captures the tragic intersection of corporate greed, state violence, and environmental justice through the lens of Ken Saro-Wiwa’s struggle. The story is not just a recounting of a historical injustice—it’s a cautionary tale about the enduring dangers of industry and power unchecked, the high cost of dissent, and the unfinished work of justice in Nigeria and beyond.