Timeframe: September 5, 2015
Location: Los Angeles, California, USA
Key Actors: Nnamdi Kanu, Attendees of the World Igbo Congress (WIC), Nigerian Intelligence Operatives (alleged presence)
Epigraph:
“We need guns and we need bullets… It is either Biafra or death.”
— Nnamdi Kanu, Address to the World Igbo Congress, Los Angeles (September 2015) [1].
The Camera Lens
Los Angeles is a city of illusions, but on September 5, 2015, the scene inside the convention hall was starkly real. The air conditioning hummed against the California heat that pressed against the windows of the downtown hotel. The room was filled with the diaspora elite—doctors, engineers, and academics who had built successful lives in America but left their hearts in the East. Name tags clipped to lapels identified attendees from Houston, Atlanta, New York, and London. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faint aroma of coffee from the refreshment table.
The World Igbo Congress had convened its annual plenary session, and this year, the agenda was different. Previous years had focused on cultural preservation, scholarship funds, and networking events. But 2015 was different. The news from home had been brutal: the Nkpor Massacre in August, where unarmed protesters were gunned down by soldiers. The relentless jamming of Radio Biafra signals. The arrest of Kanu in Lagos just weeks earlier, followed by his release on bail that had shocked the government.
Nnamdi Kanu stood at the podium, dressed in a dark suit that contrasted sharply with the casual California atmosphere outside. He did not look like a warlord; he looked like a visiting dignitary, a man who had flown across continents to address his people. But the atmosphere was not one of diplomatic niceties. The room’s lighting cast shadows across faces that had aged with worry. Video cameras mounted on tripods captured every word, their red recording lights blinking like warning signals.
The Camera Lens focuses on the faces in the crowd. They are not militants in the bush; they are grandfathers in suits, grandmothers in elegant dresses, professionals who had escaped the chaos of Nigeria only to find themselves drawn back into its orbit. Yet, as Kanu speaks, nodding heads replace skeptical glances. He is not selling them a dream of development anymore; he is selling them the necessity of self-defense. The transformation is visible: from a room of cautious diaspora leaders to a congregation of potential financiers of a cause that had just crossed a line.
It was here, thousands of miles from the creeks of the Niger Delta, that the “Argument” died and the “War” was effectively declared. The speech would be recorded, uploaded to YouTube, downloaded by Nigerian intelligence, and entered into evidence in a courtroom in Abuja. But in that moment, in that air-conditioned hall in Los Angeles, none of that mattered. What mattered was the shift that was happening in real-time: from peaceful agitation to armed resistance, from civil disobedience to military preparation.
The Disinterested Observer must pinpoint this specific speech as the legal and strategic turning point for the Nigerian State’s classification of IPOB. The World Igbo Congress, founded in 1993, had long served as a platform for cultural preservation and diaspora engagement. Its annual conventions typically featured panel discussions on economic development, educational initiatives, and cultural celebrations. The 2015 convention, held at the Los Angeles Airport Marriott, was different. The agenda had been quietly modified to include a session titled “Security Challenges in the Homeland,” and the room reserved for this session was larger than usual.
Prior to this date, IPOB’s activities were largely characterized by protests, radio broadcasts, and civil disobedience. The Los Angeles speech fundamentally altered the risk profile. Forensic analysis of the video recordings shows Kanu explicitly requesting kinetic support. The speech lasted approximately twelve minutes, but it was the final three minutes that would change everything. Multiple cameras captured the moment from different angles: one positioned at the front of the hall, another from the side, and a third operated by an attendee who would later upload the footage to YouTube.
The Request unfolded with chilling clarity. Kanu did not begin with the call for arms. He started by recounting the events of August 2015: the Nkpor Massacre, where soldiers opened fire on unarmed protesters. He described the bodies left in the streets, the families who could not retrieve their dead, the silence of the international community. Then came the pivot. He did not ask for funds to build schools or pay legal fees. He asked the diaspora to fund the purchase of arms. His logic was simple and brutal: The Nigerian security forces were killing unarmed protesters (as seen in Chapter 8), and therefore, the protesters needed to shoot back.
The room fell silent. Then came the words that would echo through courtrooms for years: “We need guns and we need bullets. It is either Biafra or death. If we don’t get Biafra, nobody will survive.” The statement was not a metaphor. It was not rhetorical flourish. It was a direct solicitation for weapons funding, delivered on American soil, recorded by multiple cameras, and witnessed by hundreds of people.
This speech provided the Nigerian Department of State Services (DSS) with the “Actus Reus” (guilty act) needed to elevate the charge from “Sedition” (speech) to “Terrorism” (violent intent) and “Treasonable Felony” [2]. It was no longer a matter of free speech; it was a matter of solicited arms trafficking. The video would be downloaded by Nigerian intelligence within hours, transcribed, translated, and entered into the prosecution file. The legal consequences were immediate and irreversible.
Why did the Reformer (Chapter 1) become the Warlord? The question haunts every analysis of this moment. The man who had once written respectful letters to the Nigerian Senate, who had campaigned for “True Federalism” and “Resource Control” within the framework of a united Nigeria, was now standing in a Los Angeles hotel asking for guns. The transformation was not sudden, but it was decisive.
The “Los Angeles Pivot” was a reaction to the failure of the international community to intervene after the killings in 2015 and early 2016. Kanu’s calculation was cold: The world does not care about dead peaceful protesters. It only cares about conflict zones. The timeline leading to this moment reveals a pattern of escalating frustration. In January 2015, he had still been calling for a referendum, a peaceful democratic process. By March, after the first wave of arrests and the jamming of Radio Biafra, the tone had hardened. In August, the Nkpor Massacre had crossed a line. By September, in Los Angeles, the line had been erased entirely.
The Strategic Logic unfolded with the precision of a military briefing. By calling for arms, Kanu was signaling that the “Ghandi Option” was closed. He was pivoting the movement from a “Civil Rights Struggle” (like Martin Luther King Jr.) to a “Liberation Struggle” (like the ANC’s Umkhonto we Sizwe). The historical parallel was deliberate. The African National Congress had initially pursued non-violent resistance, but after the Sharpeville Massacre in 1960, it formed Umkhonto we Sizwe, its armed wing. Kanu was following the same playbook, and he made the reference explicit in his speech.
This pivot was dangerous. It alienated the moderate Igbo intelligentsia who supported restructuring but feared another civil war. Prominent Igbo leaders in Nigeria, including governors and senators, would later distance themselves from the Los Angeles speech. The Ohanaeze Ndigbo, the apex Igbo socio-cultural organization, issued a statement condemning the call for arms. However, it electrified the “Street”—the youth in Aba and Onitsha who felt like sitting ducks for the Army. To them, Los Angeles was not a call to violence; it was a call to survival. The video spread through WhatsApp groups, Facebook pages, and YouTube channels. Within days, it had been viewed hundreds of thousands of times. The message was clear: the time for talking was over.
Source: Video Recording of Plenary Session, World Igbo Congress.
Date: September 5, 2015.
Duration: 12 Minutes.
Location: Los Angeles Airport Marriott, California, USA.
The Key Excerpt:
The full transcript reveals a carefully structured argument that builds to the explosive conclusion. Kanu begins by establishing the context: “Our people are being killed every day. The Army is shooting unarmed protesters. The international community is silent.” He then moves to the justification: “We have tried peaceful protests. We have tried petitions. We have tried everything except violence.” Finally, the request: “We need guns and we need bullets. It is either Biafra or death… If we don’t get Biafra, nobody will survive.” [3]
The Legal Consequence:
This specific clip became the centerpiece of the Federal Government’s prosecution file. It was played in court to justify the refusal of bail and the eventual proscription of IPOB as a terrorist organization in 2017. The video was authenticated by forensic experts, who confirmed its date, location, and the identity of the speaker. The prosecution would argue that this speech constituted “incitement to violence” and “solicitation of arms trafficking,” both criminal offenses under Nigerian law. The defense would counter that the speech was protected political expression, delivered on foreign soil, and that the call for “self-defense” was a response to state violence. The court would side with the prosecution.
Within 48 hours of the speech, Nigerian intelligence agencies had obtained copies of the video. The Department of State Services (DSS) created a detailed transcript and circulated it to relevant security agencies. The video was also shared with international partners, including the FBI and MI5, as evidence of Kanu’s alleged terrorist activities. The timing was significant: Kanu was still on bail from his October 2015 arrest, and the Los Angeles speech provided the justification for revoking that bail and re-arresting him.
The speech divided the Igbo diaspora. Some attendees at the World Igbo Congress immediately distanced themselves from Kanu’s call for arms. Others, however, began organizing fundraising efforts, though the extent to which these funds were used for weapons remains a subject of investigation. The FBI would later investigate several individuals for potential violations of U.S. arms trafficking laws, though no charges were filed. The speech also triggered a wave of social media activity, with supporters sharing the video and opponents condemning it as incitement to violence.
Verdict:
Nnamdi Kanu handed the Nigerian State the weapon they needed to hunt him down legally. But he also transformed the movement, shifting it from a civil rights struggle to a liberation movement. The Los Angeles pivot was both a strategic miscalculation and a tactical necessity, depending on one’s perspective. What is certain is that it marked a point of no return.
The Closing Argument
Chapter 9 is the point of no return. The Los Angeles speech was not an isolated incident; it was the culmination of a trajectory that began with the failure of peaceful reform and accelerated through the violence of 2015. The speech itself lasted only twelve minutes, but its consequences would span years, reshaping both the movement and the state’s response to it.
By asking for guns on American soil, Nnamdi Kanu crossed the Rubicon. He transformed himself from a “Prisoner of Conscience” (in the eyes of Amnesty International) into a “Security Threat” (in the eyes of the Nigerian State). The transformation was not merely semantic; it was legal, strategic, and existential. The speech provided the state with the evidence it needed to justify extraordinary measures: extraordinary rendition, prolonged detention, and eventually, a life sentence.
The Los Angeles speech stripped away the ambiguity. It signaled to Abuja that the “Prince” was no longer interested in a round table. He was building an army. The state’s response would be equally unambiguous. Within months, IPOB would be proscribed as a terrorist organization. Kanu would be re-arrested, this time with charges that carried the death penalty. The movement would splinter, with some factions embracing the call for arms and others rejecting it.
And if he was building an army, the State decided it would not wait for him to finish. The next chapter would reveal the state’s response: Operation Python Dance, a military operation that would target Kanu’s home, kill innocent people, cause his parents death, and drive him into exile. But that is a story for another chapter.
What happens when the State decides to strike first? The answer would be written in blood, in courtrooms, and in the streets of the South East. The Los Angeles pivot had set in motion a chain of events that would reshape Nigeria’s political landscape for years to come.
[1] Kanu, Nnamdi. (2015). Address to the World Igbo Congress (WIC). Los Angeles. [Video Archive: Widely circulated on YouTube and cited in Court Proceedings].
[2] Federal High Court, Abuja. (2015). Charge No: FHC/ABJ/CR/383/2015 - Federal Republic of Nigeria v. Nnamdi Kanu. (The amended charges citing solicitation of arms).
[3] The Cable. (2015). ‘We need guns and bullets’ – video of Nnamdi Kanu resurfaces. [URL: https://www.thecable.ng/we-need-guns-and-bullets-video-of-nnamdi-kanu-resurfaces]