As the dust settles, one thing has remained constant in the reactions to the viral incident involving UBA Chairman, Tony Elumelu, publicly correcting a young female graduate trainee for casually greeting him with “Good morning, Tony”. It is the hypocrisy of the reactions.
In a bid to avoid accountability and appear socially enlightened, I have watched many people hide behind concerns about the young lady’s mental health and cyberbullying, using those legitimate concerns to divert attention from a culture they once promoted enthusiastically in their youth but can no longer convincingly defend in their old age.
It is the same culture of “Just call me Tony” that many encouraged as mid-level professionals but now quietly resist as business executives, consultants, and decision-makers. The same culture they openly endorse in company policies yet discreetly punish through informal workplace dynamics.
If you doubt this, ask some young professionals who proudly embraced first-name culture to explain why certain opportunities passed them by. Somewhere in the story, there is often a version of, “Someone doesn’t like me,” closely followed by, “They think I’m rude.”
While a UBA employee pointed to the company’s policy, which reportedly instructs staff to address colleagues by their first names, she raised a fascinating question: “While she was in that training school, did she call any of her facilitators by name without a Sir, Ma, Mr. or Ms.?”
It is a fair question because some policies are simply imposed upon cultures that are not naturally wired for them. The irony of this particular incident is difficult to ignore.
The fact that one of the most visible champions of first-name culture in corporate Nigeria has now publicly resisted it suggests that perhaps the culture was enforced more aggressively than necessary. Perhaps Mr. Elumelu now sees, with the benefit of hindsight, that first-name informality was never the secret ingredient behind decades of corporate success. But then again, every generation has its own certainties.
Back then, he was one of the young, energetic CEOs challenging established norms and perhaps questioning the counsel of older corporate veterans. It may have taken being addressed as “Tony” by someone roughly forty years younger for the implications to land differently.
I have also seen many Nigerians, particularly the “widely travelled,” condemn criticism of the young lady’s greeting as proof that Nigerians are determined to remain backward. According to this school of thought, using Mr., Mrs., Sir, or Ma to show respect is one of the cultural habits holding Africa back. After all, nobody cares abroad.
But if these things truly do not matter, why do many Westerners describe some African children as “respectful” among their peers?
What exactly are they responding to if not the small but meaningful gestures of courtesy, deference, and regard that still form part of how many of us raise our children?
I remember when Arsenal star Bukayo Saka emerged as one of the brightest young talents in the English Premier League. As stories about his upbringing circulated, one description appeared repeatedly. Teachers, coaches, and mentors consistently referred to him as humble and respectful.
What does that tell us?
It tells us that these oyinbos can recognise respect when they see it. They appreciate it. They enjoy the feeling it evokes. The human soul instinctively knows when it is being treated with regard.
For those who believe that because first-name culture is common in many American companies we should replicate it wholesale in Nigerian organisations, much like we imported foreign religions without pausing to consider cultural adaptation. I think we need to confront an uncomfortable reality:
No matter how thoroughly you suppress your own identity in pursuit of someone else’s, you remain only as acceptable as the value you bring to the table.
Curious about whether similar tensions existed elsewhere in the past, I looked beyond Nigeria to see how the world navigated questions of workplace hierarchy, familiarity, and respect. What I found was revealing.
While Silicon Valley famously championed first-name informality, with employees routinely calling founders and executives by their first names, traditional Wall Street institutions and old-school banking heads wanted formality, a preservation of ranks and titles as a way to maintain the chain of command and operational discipline.
What does this tell us again?
It tells us that even within Western societies, first-name culture was not as universal as many Nigerians imagine. In fact, addressing significantly older people or professional superiors by their first names was often something that must be earned through familiarity, invitation, or relationship.
Many of us learnt this long before social media debates existed.
American sitcoms such as The Cosby Show and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air taught us these nuances. As a friend recently pointed out, even in the recent Spider-Man films within the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Peter Parker never casually called Iron Man “Tony”. He addressed him as “Mr. Stark” throughout much of their relationship.
There is a reason sections of the West continue to preserve these ideas through film, literature, and the arts.
The assumption that anything foreign is automatically superior has always puzzled me.
These societies also lost parts of their originality at various points in history. The fact that those cultural transitions happened over decades and before our generation witnessed them does not make their present reality their original culture.
Even today, based on my modest international travel experience, I have observed that some of the countries from which we borrowed first-name culture do not always impose it indiscriminately. For a few, it is still guided by personal preference, hierarchy, policy or the nature of the relationship.
Ironically, understanding these restraints still comes with certain privileges.
And if we insist that our African culture of reverence is what has held us back politically, economically, and technologically, then I must ask:
Since UBA, GTBank, and other organisations introduced this culture into our professional environment, and since millennials enthusiastically embraced and overdid the practice of calling elders by their first names, have we built our own airplane yet?
At some point, eroding your culture ceases to be a sign of advancement and begins to look more like a willingness to become anonymous in a world where identity, culture, and originality increasingly matter.
Innovation, advancement, and sound corporate governance can comfortably coexist with respect. They are not rivals competing for space; they are complementary virtues that, when properly aligned, strengthen institutions, the people who lead them and those who will lead in future.
We can continue to hide behind the phrase, “It is normal abroad.” But I will always insist that every institution is ultimately a subset of its society and its culture. There is no need to distort the facts simply to justify being a lousy copycat.