A Philosophical Courtroom Anthology
By: Isaac Christopher Lubogo
Scene I: The Courtroom of History
The courtroom is not built of bricks. Its walls are memory, its roof is hope, its floor is Africa’s red soil. At the bench sits Justice Posterity, impartial and eternal. The jury is not of old men, but of the youth of Africa—for it is their future that is on trial.
At the bar stand giants of wealth: Aliko Dangote, king of cement, and Larry Ellison, oracle of code. Behind them wait others—Gates, Masiyiwa, Bezos, and the nameless African trader. But in the shadows, one final accused trembles: Africa itself.
Trial One: Dangote vs. Ellison — Factories vs. Algorithms
Dangote rises, hands rough with cement dust.
> “My wealth builds Africa’s bridges, roads, and homes. I feed stomachs with sugar, flour, and salt. My riches are grounded, born of necessity. What good is code if men sleep in ruins? What good is algorithms if the belly is empty?”
The jury nods, for they know hunger.
Ellison rises, eyes sharp as a server’s hum.
> “I do not build houses—I build the systems that design cities. One line of code feeds billions forever. Cement cracks, but intellectual property multiplies without end. I own not land, but ideas—and ideas outlive soil.”
The youth lean forward; they live in the age of Wi-Fi.
Verdict: Africa must eat cement but dream in code. The future belongs not to soil alone, nor to algorithms alone, but to the fusion of both—factories that feed, algorithms that free.
Trial Two: Gates vs. Masiyiwa — Software vs. Towers
The courtroom shifts. Screens glow, fiber-optic cables run across the floor.
Gates rises, carrying patents and licenses.
> “I sold not machines, but the code that runs them. My software became tollgates to the digital world. Wealth that multiplies without limit.”
Masiyiwa rises, clutching a model telecom tower.
> “Without towers, no African can even download Gates’ software. I built connectivity so Africa could talk, trade, and dream. My wealth is not in abstraction, but in frequencies and steel that carry voices.”
Justice Posterity intervenes:
> “Strive, if your towers only carry foreign software, are you not a bridge for other men’s empires? Gates, if Africa always rents your licenses, when will it ever own?”
Verdict: Connectivity without content is slavery; content without access is impotent. Africa must own both the towers and the code they carry.
Trial Three: Bezos vs. The Commodity Trader — Platforms vs. Commodities
The courtroom morphs again. Half warehouse, half data center. On one side: sacks of cocoa, copper, coffee. On the other: drones, servers, logistics maps.
Bezos rises, pointing to Amazon.
> “I own no mines, no farms. Yet I am richer than those who do. My empire is the platform. I tax every transaction, I capture data, I orchestrate the world’s trade.”
The African Trader rises, holding cocoa beans.
> “Without my soil, there is nothing to sell. Without my sweat, no goods to ship. Yet I remain poor, while you, who touch nothing, ascend.”
Justice Posterity asks:
> “Trader, why do you sell beans instead of chocolate? Crude instead of refined oil? Bezos, why does your platform swallow small sellers until only giants remain?”
Verdict: Africa must graduate from quarry to brand house, from plantation to platform. Otherwise, it will always sell beans while others sell chocolate.
Trial Four: Africa vs. Itself — Dependency vs. Destiny
The courtroom darkens. Mirrors line the walls. The accused is not Ellison, not Gates, not Bezos. It is Africa Itself.
Justice Posterity reads the indictment:
> “Africa, you are charged with betraying your own genius. You export diamonds but import glass. You export cocoa but import chocolate. You export minds but import dependency. You fund stadiums and neglect laboratories. How do you plead?”
Africa bows. “Guilty.”
The defense rises in trembling tones:
> “Do not forget, I was shackled. Colonized, carved, and looted. When chains fell, I inherited broken economies, borrowed constitutions, fractured identities. If I chase soil, it is because I was told my mind was worthless. Forgive me.”
But Justice Posterity leans forward:
> “And who, fifty years later, still underfunds universities? Who still despises its own brands? Who still sells beans and buys chocolate? Who still worships foreign gods while starving its own prophets?”
The silence is unbearable.
The youth—the jury—rise. They are no longer jurors; they are prophets.
> “Africa, we do not sentence you to shame. We sentence you to rebirth. Invest in laboratories, not just stadiums. Protect innovators, not only incumbents. Build patents, brands, and platforms. Value soil, but exalt ideas. For only then shall you be free.”
The Seal of the Quadrology
From Dangote vs. Ellison, Africa learned: Soil feeds the body, but IP feeds the future.
From Gates vs. Masiyiwa, Africa learned: Connectivity without ownership is servitude.
From Bezos vs. The Trader, Africa learned: Platforms capture more than plantations.
From Africa vs. Itself, Africa learned: The greatest enemy is not colonizer nor capitalist, but its own betrayal of genius.
The Courtroom of Destiny: Manifesto for Africa’s Youth
Every generation must stand before the bench of history. And here, the only jury that matters is the youth.
To them I say:
Do not inherit poverty as destiny.
Stop selling what the soil sweats; start protecting what the skull creates.
Demand that your nations guard intellectual property as fiercely as they guard borders.
Build brands, platforms, patents that outlive presidents and parliaments.
Understand that freedom is not won only at the ballot box, but in laboratories, code repositories, and creative studios.
For the richest men in the world are priests of intellectual property. And Africa will remain a quarry of the world until its youth become inventors, coders, dreamers, and protectors of their own genius.