“Once writing has become your major vice and great pleasure, only death can stop it.”— Ernest Hemingway
For some, writing is work. For the Archivist, it is vice. It is pleasure. It is compulsion.
I do not write because I have time. I write because conscience will not let me sleep without leaving a fragment for tomorrow.
After the heavy broadcast — Leadership Harvest, Examination That Wasn’t — today I pause. Not to stop, but to let you assimilate.
Why I write — through
Conscience — writes truth when silence is profitable. If I keep quiet when sand is sold as brown sugar, I become accomplice.
Competence — writes clearly when noise is fashionable. In an age of shouting, clarity is a civic duty.
Character — writes for fragments that survive 1000 years. Not for today’s likes, but for archaeologists who will find our ink and know we did not keep silent.
Writing is my vice, Sir — and like Hemingway said, only death can stop it. Until then, ink remains indelible.
Today, no new indictment. Just this mirror.
The Archivist writes not for applause, but because conscience cannot keep silent.
Conscience, Competence, Character.
Citizen Richard Odusanya — CIVICS ARCHIVES — WITNESS 2026
