Solomon F. Domshak

At a roadside stall, a faded sign still hangs above stacked crates of soft drinks. “Home of Peace and Tourism,” it reads, the paint thinning at the edges. A woman wipes the counter with a cloth that has seen many mornings. A radio murmurs in the background. Two men discuss the price of tomatoes as if nothing has shifted. The sign remains because no one has taken it down. Not because it still fits. It used to be a simple phrase. It appeared on brochures, on school walls, on the backs of buses heading up the plateau. Visitors came for the weather, for the quiet hills, for the small order the city seemed to hold. The phrase was repeated until it settled into fact. The assumption beneath it was steady. That peace, once named, would stay. The contradiction came slowly. The name remained in place long after the conditions beneath it had begun to move. Incidents were first described as isolated. Then as unfortunate. Then as recurring. Each new event was treated as a break from the normal, not...

One of the most thought provoking questions recently raised in the Philosophers of Education Association of Nigeria (PEAN) concerns the possibility of identifying PEAN members, living or late, who deserve a place among the greatest philosophers in Africa.  The question appears simple, but it immediately raises a deeper philosophical concern: How do we determine greatness in philosophy? Unlike athletics, where medals and records provide measurable standards, philosophy deals with ideas, influence, originality, and intellectual transformation. Consequently, any attempt to identify the greatest African philosophers must begin with a clear set of criteria. The Problem of Philosophical Greatness The German philosopher Immanuel Kant argued that enlightenment consists in humanity's ability to think for itself. Similarly, philosophical greatness should not be measured merely by the number of publications produced, but by the capacity to generate ideas that reshape how people understand...

At the end of the semester, the corridor outside the faculty office is quiet. Doors are half closed. Inside, a lecturer sits before a screen, scrolling through a document with tracked changes. On the desk are three thin journals, a file of forms, and a printed sheet listing required publications for the next promotion round. The language on the sheet is calm. Minimum number. Acceptable outlets. Impact factor. Deadline. No one raises their voice about it. The work continues. Another paper is revised. Another abstract is sent out. The rhythm is steady. It has the feel of routine, not crisis. The assumption beneath this routine is that measurement is neutral. Count the papers. Rank the journals. Add the scores. The result will reflect merit. The contradiction is harder to see. Once counting becomes the centre, what counts begins to change. The phrase “publish or perish” once sounded dramatic. Now it feels procedural. It has been absorbed into forms and checklists. It no longer threaten...

You wake up each morning and immediately begin exchanging your life force for currency, approval, or progress toward goals that someone else has defined as valuable. By evening, you feel depleted yet somehow guilty for not accomplishing more.  You collapse into bed knowing that tomorrow will demand the same energy exchange, the same direct conversion of your vitality into outcomes that benefit systems larger than yourself.  This pattern feels so natural, so inevitable, that questioning it seems almost absurd. Yet somewhere beneath this accepted routine, you sense that something fundamental is missing. You work harder but don't seem to get ahead in any lasting way.  You optimize your productivity but still feel like you're running on a treadmill.  You achieve goals but find yourself immediately setting new ones, never quite reaching a place where your energy compounds rather than simply gets consumed.  This restlessness isn't personal inadequacy, it's the natural...

You open your phone in the morning and immediately see three articles about productivity, two videos about morning routines, and five posts from people documenting their successful habits.  By the time you've scrolled through your feeds, you feel both inspired and inadequate - inspired by others' achievements, inadequate about your own progress.  What you don't realize is that this emotional sequence wasn't accidental. It was carefully orchestrated by invisible systems designed to keep you engaged, consuming, and subtly influenced toward specific patterns of thinking and behavior. This daily experience has become so normalized that we rarely pause to examine the sophisticated machinery operating beneath the surface of our digital interactions.  We assume our feeds reflect random selections from our connections' activities, that our search results represent objective information, and that our recommended content emerges from neutral algorithms.  But what if these sys...