A painting depicting a brutal moment in history hangs within the British Deputy High Commission in Lagos, Nigeria: the 1851 Royal Navy bombardment of the city. James George Philp’s “Reduction of Lagos” vividly portrays the storming of the city, the dethroning of King Kosoko, and the installation of a puppet ruler, Akitoye. Its recent display has ignited a fierce debate, reopening old wounds and questioning Britain’s understanding of its colonial past.
The official British narrative historically framed the invasion as a necessary intervention to suppress the slave trade. King Kosoko, it was claimed, was a key participant, and his removal would pave the way for abolition. However, this explanation has been increasingly challenged by Nigerian historians who argue the true motive was economic and political control – a ruthless grab for power disguised as moral righteousness.
Award-winning historian Hakim Adi doesn’t mince words, calling the artwork’s display “ashamed” and a “celebration of invasion and regime change.” He believes it reveals a troubling continuity in attitude towards Nigeria, a nation still grappling with the legacy of colonial rule. The image, he argues, isn’t simply a historical depiction, but a statement about present-day power dynamics.
The outrage extends beyond academia. Critics describe the painting as “frankly disgusting” and “deeply distasteful,” highlighting a profound lack of sensitivity to the horrors of empire. The choice to prominently display this image, they contend, undermines efforts to build genuine, respectful relationships with African nations.
The Foreign Office’s attempt at damage control – hosting a descendant of King Kosoko and Nigerian historians to discuss the painting – feels inadequate to many. While acknowledging the complexity of the shared history, critics question whether a single conversation can erase the sting of a visual endorsement of colonial violence.
Interestingly, the installation of the Philp painting wasn’t done in isolation. Alongside it, the High Commission has showcased works by contemporary British-Nigerian artists like Yinka Shonibare and Joy Labinjo, artists whose work directly confronts themes of identity and colonialism. This juxtaposition, some argue, creates a necessary dialogue between past and present.
However, this attempt at balance is overshadowed by the removal of artworks by celebrated Nigerian artists Ben Enwonwu and Justus Akeredolu, pieces now held in prestigious institutions like the Tate Modern. This decision raises questions about whose narratives are prioritized and whose voices are silenced within the diplomatic space.
The controversy echoes recent incidents, such as criticism leveled at King Charles for posing beneath a portrait of George IV, a monarch who profited from slavery. These events underscore a growing awareness of the need to critically examine and acknowledge the uncomfortable truths of Britain’s imperial past. The painting in Lagos isn’t just a piece of art; it’s a potent symbol of a history that continues to shape the present.
While some argue the painting serves as a “provocative reminder” of the forces that shaped modern Lagos and the fight against the slave trade, the overwhelming sentiment is one of offense and a demand for greater sensitivity. The debate highlights the enduring power of art to provoke, to challenge, and to force a reckoning with the complexities of history.
