Stockholm Syndrome Among Our People: A Mental War We Refuse to Admit - Bennylee

 

I am a humble man respectful, reserved, and honest. I speak my truth without fear, and to my followers, I owe an apology. Many of you will be disappointed by what I’m about to say, because truth is not comfort. My truth will pierce your heart, your bones, and your illusions.

We are a people suffering from a disease far deadlier than poverty a mental captivity, a Stockholm syndrome of the spirit. We have fallen in love with our captors, our colonizers, our religious oppressors. We defend those who enslaved our ancestors while mocking the gods that made us who we are.

You might not like my truth, but you follow me because something inside you recognizes its power. Some of you love my art and the divine talent Olódùmarè placed in me. Others follow because I proudly wear the cloth of our ancestors Yoruba tradition, culture, and identity. But understand this:

I was not raised in submission. I was not raised to silence truth for acceptance. I was raised differently to walk in the consciousness of who I am and where I come from.

You cannot change how I speak or how I fight.

You cannot rewrite my truth to suit your comfort zone.

When I see comments like “Bennylee is not Omoluabi” or “He’s no better than the people he criticizes,” I smile. Those words tell me I’m doing something right that I’m touching the nerve of your denial. You want truth only when it flatters your ego, not when it exposes your hypocrisy.

Because when Sàngó, Ògún, Èṣù, and the Òrìṣà are insulted you laugh, you scroll, you keep silent. But when I post about a pastor or a crusader, your outrage suddenly awakens. You rush to defend mortals but stay silent when your own divinities are spat upon.

That is the disease of mental colonization a people who fear their own Orisa but revere the gods of their oppressors.

You correct no pastor. You question no imam. Even when they manipulate you, drain you, deceive you you justify them in the name of faith. But when one of your own speaks truth, you brand him “arrogant,” “uncouth,” or “possessed.”

Let me tell you this truth:

Only madness can cure madness. “Wèrè là fi n wò wèrè.”

Sometimes, fire must meet fire before light returns.

When the Oluwo of Iwo, EruRasheed Akanbi, insulted the Traditional kings and our Ancestors and spat on the Orisa, many of you felt it was wrong but you stayed quiet because he wears a crown. That is not respect. That is fear and confusion disguised as decency.

You forget that the Alaafin and Ooni were never enemies.

The real enemies are those reviving the old colonial strategy divide and rule the same trap that led to the fall of Ilorin during Afonja’s rebellion. History is repeating itself, and too many of you are too blind to see it.

The new plot is simple:

Separate Oyo, Osun, Ogun, and Ilorin under a false banner of religious unity, tag it Yorubaland and tell the others that they are OÒTU... Then create division within Yorubaland, and slowly Islamize the monarchy and erase the sacred kingship system the living link between the Yoruba people and their ancestors.

They call it peace, but it’s an invasion.

They call it reform, but it’s assimilation.

The attack on the Ooni of Ife is not random it is a targeted cultural war. They call him Abore (Chief priest) to belittle him, to strip him of his royal and spiritual identity, to suggest that a man loyal to Iṣẹ̀ṣe cannot lead a land with Muslims. This is not about religion it’s about power, control, and identity theft.

Even the Mufti of Iwo publicly declared that Ooni is unfit to lead us or be called OLORI ALADE because he’s an Oníṣẹ̀ṣe. That is not just an insult to the Ooni it’s an insult to every Yoruba person who still honors their roots.

Make no mistake this is a war.

You may not hear gunshots, but you are under spiritual siege.

A war against memory, against identity, against consciousness.

And while they wage this war, you children of Odùduwà sit quietly, debating “respect” while your essence is being rewritten. You are more loyal to Abraham than to Odùduwà. More devoted to Mecca and Jerusalem than to ule Ife, the cradle of your civilization.

You wear your chains and call them salvation.

You worship your captors and call it faith.

And when one of your own dares to speak truth, you attack him, because he forces you to confront the mirror you’ve been avoiding all your life.

But I will not stop.

I will not dilute my truth to make it palatable for cowards.

Our silence is our death.

Our ignorance is their weapon.

We must wake up.

We must remember.

We must reclaim what we lost before it’s too late.

You can hate me, but you cannot silence me.

You can unfollow me, but you cannot erase the truth.

Christianity and Islam may wear different garments, but their colonial intent remains the same to uproot us from our foundation and make us worship through foreign eyes.

For me, Bennylee, I will remain the voice that unsettles your comfort zone.

I will remain the mirror you avoid.

I will remain the messenger of the ancestors even if my message burns your ego.

Because truth must not whisper in a generation that has chosen to sleep.

Only the truth loud, raw, and unapologetic can set us free.