As Nigeria inches closer to the 2027 election season, whispers have turned into growing unease across Northern Nigeria. The same region that carried the weight of a controversial but victorious Muslim–Muslim ticket in 2023 — delivering key states and legitimacy to the presidency of Bola Ahmed Tinubu — now finds itself asking a painful question: Has that pact been quietly broken?
This is not an indictment. It is an attempt to lay out recent developments — appointments, funding allocations, security postures, and political silence — so Nigerians can draw their own conclusions.
From Power Brokers to Political Bystanders: The Northern Exodus from Influence
One of the most visible shifts under the Tinubu administration is the change in personnel at the apex of power — especially in roles historically occupied by influential Northern Muslims.
A telling example is the resignation of Abdullahi Umar Ganduje as National Chairman of All Progressives Congress (APC). Ganduje, a former Kano governor and a major figure in the Northern alliance, stepped down in 2025. Official statements cited “urgent personal matters.” Opposition commentators, however, see the move as part of a broader “power reset.” His departure cleared the way for new leadership far less tied to the old Northern power base.
More recently, on December 3, 2025, President Tinubu nominated retired Christopher Musa (rtd) as Minister of Defence, following the resignation of the previous minister, Badaru Abubakar. Musa is a former Chief of Defence Staff (CDS), and his swift confirmation signals a deliberate shift in the security architecture of the country.
Meanwhile, the legislature has undergone its own restructuring. Earlier in 2025, the upper chamber, under the direction of Godswill Akpabio, reorganised several key committees — including those covering security and national planning. Chairmanships and oversight sensitive to national security have been shuffled, sometimes replacing long-standing Northern figures with others across regional and religious lines.
Seen in isolation, each move could be justified — health, merit, or political balancing. Taken together, they map a clear trajectory: a gradual but unmistakable loosening of the Muslim North’s grip on strategic power positions.
Infrastructure & Budgets: Marginalisation or Balanced Distribution?
Parallel to political reshuffles, there is widespread concern over how federal infrastructure funding is being distributed. Critics argue the allocations signal a dangerous tilt.
The Northern Elders Forum (NEF) has publicly decried what it calls “systematic exclusion” of Northern Nigeria from major road and rail infrastructure investments. According to its June 2025 statement, while Southern projects such as the Lagos–Calabar Coastal Highway (₦1.344 trillion) and the completion of the Second Niger Bridge (₦148 billion) get massive funding, key Northern infrastructure — including neglected roads, railways, and the Eastern Rail Line linking Maiduguri — receive only “token” allocations.
NEF’s concerns reflect those of the broader Northern political class. Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF) chairman Bashir M. Dalhatu has warned of growing marginalisation across sectors — from transport and agriculture to education and security — despite the region’s overwhelming electoral support for the president in 2023.
In response, the Federal Government — through the Office of the Budget Director-General — claims that more than 50 per cent of the 2024 and 2025 capital budget has been allocated to projects in the North. Projects cited include dualisation of the Abuja–Kano Expressway, expansion of road networks in Sokoto, Gusau, Zaria and Kano, inland dry ports, power-transmission lines, and river-basin and irrigation projects.
Yet the gap between numbers and lived reality remains wide. For many Northerners, the outcomes — improved roads, active railways, stable power supply, functioning markets — are yet to materialise. And the narrative of balanced growth fails to quell growing feelings of neglect, if not exclusion.
Security, Insecurity — and Whose Priority?
Security remains the gravest concern for Northern Nigerians. In 2025 alone, violence, banditry, and insurgency have reached their fiercest levels since 2023. One recent high-level development underscores this — the new Defence Minister, Christopher Musa, upon his confirmation, pledged to eschew ransom-based negotiations with criminal groups, promising instead a “technology-driven” security overhaul.
On the surface, this appears decisive. But many Northerners remain unconvinced. As humanitarian, agricultural, and economic activities collapse under persistent violence, the federal response is increasingly viewed as reactive — external troop deployments, foreign-led assistance, international partnerships — rather than comprehensive investment in community resilience.
Indeed, according to a recent report by World Food Programme (WFP), nearly 35 million Nigerians could face severe hunger by 2026, with farming communities in states like Borno, Adamawa, and Yobe — the traditional heartland of Northern agriculture — among the worst hit.
The contrast is stark. As vast sums are channelled into flagship infrastructure projects — many in the South — Northern victims of conflict see food insecurity, displacement, abandoned farms, and silent neglect as the new reality.
The Fate of the Muslim–Muslim Ticket: Is the Coalition Already Dead?
Behind every appointment and every silent reprioritization lies perhaps the most consequential question: will the 2027 ticket remain Muslim–Muslim, or is the push now toward a new religious balance?
Over the past months, speculation has surged that President Tinubu may choose to drop Kashim Shettima — his Vice President and the Muslim Northerner on the 2023 ticket. During the APC’s 2025 National Summit, several analysts noted with concern that Shettima’s name was conspicuously absent throughout the endorsement proceedings.
Groups like the Northern Ethnic Nationality Forum (NENF) and forums within the North-Central and Middle Belt have urged Tinubu to reconsider the Muslim–Muslim formula for 2027, calling instead for a Northern Christian running mate to restore a sense of balance and prevent further electoral losses in states populated by Christian minorities.
Yet, some voices continue to defend retaining the current ticket. A former minister recently cautioned that dropping Shettima could alienate a significant portion of the Northern Muslim vote bank — a risk that might cost Tinubu dearly in critical northern states.
The debate is no longer theoretical. It is already shaping the political landscape, influencing how communities — and potential voters — view their place in Nigeria’s future.
Silence, Satisfaction, or Complicity? The Northern Elite’s Dilemma
Among the most troubling aspects of this evolving dynamic is the seeming absence of vocal pushback from many quarters of the Northern elite. Governors, ministers, lawmakers, and high-placed political figures — many with significant personal wealth and influence — appear muted.
Why? Some suggest a calculation: silence preserves access, proximity, and privilege. Others argue that fear of losing federal favour or reprisals has numbed resistance. There are whispers that addressing neglect — or raising uncomfortable truths — could cost political capital, foreign trips, or even material benefits.
For many ordinary Northerners, the result feels like betrayal. As insecurity deepens, agricultural livelihoods vanish, and investments thin out — they ask: whose interest is being protected? Their own — or that of a now-recalibrated central elite more focused on power retention than social cohesion?
Patterns, Not Accidents — Or So Many Coincidences?
No leaked memo states “Remove Muslim North from power gradually.” No document orders “Exclude Northern Christian votes from 2027 equations.” What exists is far more subtle — and perhaps dangerous: a pattern.
Strategic removals from key party and security positions.
Redistribution of power to individuals not tied to the old Northern Muslim power base.
Infrastructure funding skewed — whether real or perceived — toward high-visibility southern projects.
Security responses reactive, not preventive, even as rural North bleeds under attacks.
Growing calls within the political establishment to drop the Muslim–Muslim ticket.
Silent acceptance — or complicity — among influential Northern elite.
Each instance can be explained away — health reasons, merit, strategic recalibration. Taken together, they tell a different story: one of a quiet recalibration of power, influence, and political calculus.
Why It Matters — And What’s at Stake
If these patterns continue, the consequences for Nigeria could be profound.
Social cohesion. A perceived or real marginalisation of a major region — both economically and politically — risks deepening existing fractures along religious, ethnic, and regional lines.
Electoral legitimacy. If Northern voters feel betrayed, their turnout — long taken for granted — could dwindle in 2027. Alternatively, their votes could swing to more fragmented, sectarian, or extremist platforms.
Security and development. Neglect of infrastructure, delayed rehabilitation, and uneven security responses risk creating ungoverned spaces — fertile ground for banditry, insurgency, and humanitarian disaster.
National identity. A shift away from inclusive representation threatens Nigeria’s foundational promise: a diverse, plural, united federation.
The Alternative Narrative — And Why it Persists
It must be said: not everyone agrees with the “quiet war” thesis. The Federal Government insists that investments are equitable. The Director-General of the Budget Office recently claimed that over 50 per cent of the 2024 and 2025 capital budget is directed toward northern projects — including roads, rail, power, and water-basin development.
Proponents of this view argue that what looks like marginalisation is merely a phased redistribution of development — involving long-term projects that may not yet show immediate, visible benefits.
But for many Northerners, the wait is growing longer — and the costs are growing heavier.
Concluding Thoughts
There is no formal declaration of war. No documents designating any region “expendable.”
Yet, politics — especially at this level — is rarely conducted with signs, memos, or hot rhetoric. Instead, it is felt; in the choices of who gets promoted — or dropped. Who gets funded — or ignored. Who gets security support — or is asked to survive.
Across Nigeria, especially in the North, people are asking uncomfortably: is our disposability now part of the plan?
Whether this is strategic rebalancing or a calculated sidelining, the outcome is likely to define more than the 2027 elections. It may determine whether Nigeria remains a federation rooted in inclusive representation — or drifts toward regional disaffection and fragmentation.
It is time to ask — and demand — not only explanations, but accountability.
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