Opinion
By Valentine Obienyem
I read , and even commented on, the reports about the amended Anambra burial law. Here is my comment: “ I support the amended funeral law. Let mourning be what it is called. The only area I disagree with is the option of a fine – and a paltry ₦100,000 at that.There should also be no cooking. We should celebrate people when they are alive.” Later, I also came across a clarification from my very good friend and Commissioner for Information, Dr. Law Mefor, that the report was not true. Yet, I must confess something unusual: I am one of those who secretly wish it were true.
Who would not welcome the idea of reducing burial ceremonies to a single day? Are you aware that times were when burial took place for one full month? In fact, some of us would even prefer a simpler ritual – where, immediately after lowering the mortal remains into the earth and offering a brief prayer at the graveside, everyone quietly returns home, and the matter ends there. But on reflection, one must also admit that some of these practices carry deep ontological and cultural significance.
Though the report has been dismissed as fake news, permit me, for the sake of argument, and as a contribution to possible future reform, to treat it as though it were true.
The reform of burial practices in Anambra, particularly the regulation of extravagant funerals, cow contributions, and excessive social display, would represent an important act of cultural self-examination. While critics may interpret such legislation as an intrusion into private grief or even a disruption of tradition, a closer look suggests something more fundamental: that culture, though sacred, is not static. It is a human construction, meant to serve life, not burden it. Customs are deep-seated habits of the collective mind, inherited from ancestors because they have proven effective at maintaining group cohesion. What happens when their functions are lost or abused?
When the issue of the Agaba masquerade was debated, I was among those who argued that Agaba was behaving in accordance with its nature. If Agaba has served its purpose, society can rightly retire it, just as manufacturers retire certain models of their products in favour of newer, improved versions. In that case, the argument of those of us who love Agaba would be rendered nugatory.
Traditionally, communal feasting and gifts at burials were expressions of solidarity – ways of affirming communal bonds and supporting bereaved families. Over time, however, these practices have gradually transformed into arenas of social competition, economic pressure, and emotional coercion. What was once a gesture of compassion has, in many cases, become an occasion for financial strain, forcing families into debt or the sale of property merely to meet communal expectations.
At that point, one must ask: when a tradition begins to defeat the very dignity it was meant to uphold, does it not demand reconsideration or recalibration? It is properly the fiction of traditional institution, but the fact is that government has the power of life and death and can also legislate for those traditional institutions. For the person that asked the possibility of legislation against Abakiliki street, let him be informed that government is infinitely capable of doing so.
Opponents of reform often argue that mourning is a deeply personal and cultural right, and that the state has no business regulating how families honour their dead. Yet this argument often overlooks the silent coercion already embedded within social expectations – where “choice” is frequently overshadowed by fear of ridicule or communal judgment.
Others contend that such practices are sacred obligations tied to titles, lineage, and ancestral customs. But even sacred customs are transmitted through human history and human interpretation. They arose within specific economic and social contexts, many of which no longer exist in their original form. To question their present expression is not necessarily to reject their essence.
Have you heard of cases where burials are delayed because slaughtering a cow for the deceased would imply a similar obligation to those previously buried without one being slaughtered? It does not matter that those concerned did not even eat fowls when alive.
Skeptics also point to the practical limitations of enforcement or the symbolic inadequacy of penalties such as fines. My school of taught want something stricter, no option of fine in other to give complete teeth to the law. While such concerns are valid, they should not obscure the underlying intent of reform. Sometimes, law serves not merely to punish, but to guide society toward a healthier moral equilibrium, especially where informal norms have become oppressive.
Culture, after all, is not a museum artifact preserved in its most excessive form. It is a living reality – capable of growth, pruning, and renewal. A society that cannot critically examine its customs risks becoming enslaved by them.
At the heart of Igbo identity lies a profound moral principle: “Onye aghana nwanne ya” – let no one abandon his brother. Yet this principle is contradicted when families are pushed into hardship in the name of honouring the dead. If anything, genuine cultural fidelity requires that we protect the living, even as we honour the departed.
To simplify burial rites, to reduce extravagance, and to ease financial pressure on grieving families is not an attack on tradition. It may, in fact, be its preservation in a more humane and sustainable form.
And so, even if the law as reported is not real, the conversation it has sparked is both real and necessary.
F.O
Tags: Anambra Burial law