Nigeria is once again standing at a dangerous historical crossroads. Beneath the surface of constitutional debates, religious rhetoric, and elite consensus politics lies a deeper struggle—one rooted in history, power, identity, and control. Across indigenous communities, particularly in Northern Nigeria, there is a growing anxiety that the renewed push for Sharia expansion is less about moral governance and more about political consolidation and long-term dominance.
This concern is not emerging in a vacuum. It is anchored in over two centuries of unresolved historical tensions following the 19th-century Sokoto Jihad, which fundamentally altered power relations in what is now Northern Nigeria. What many describe today as “religious governance” is, in the view of critics, a continuation of an old political order enforced through modern state instruments.
A Historical Power Shift That Never Ended
Before the Fulani-led jihad of the early 1800s, Hausa city-states such as Kano, Katsina, Zaria, Gobir, Daura, Rano, and Biram were independent political and cultural entities with their own systems of governance. The jihad dismantled these structures and replaced them with a new emirate system loyal to the Sokoto Caliphate.
While colonialism later altered administrative control, it did not dismantle the underlying hierarchy. Instead, indirect rule preserved emirate dominance, embedding it into post-colonial Nigeria. Critics argue that independence merely transferred authority from British administrators to a narrow indigenous elite, leaving historical grievances unresolved.
Over time, this structure has been defended not through open conquest, but through religious legitimacy, elite networks, and political alliances.
The Reintroduction of Sharia: Governance or Control?
In 1999, Zamfara State reintroduced Sharia criminal law, a move that quickly spread to eleven other northern states. Supporters framed it as moral reform. However, over two decades later, serious questions remain unanswered.
Why has Sharia enforcement appeared selective?
Why are the harshest penalties disproportionately applied to the poor and socially vulnerable?
Why are political elites and ruling families rarely subjected to the same scrutiny?
Documented cases show that punishments such as amputation for theft have overwhelmingly affected economically disadvantaged individuals, while allegations of corruption, land appropriation, and moral violations among elites are largely untouched. Hisbah enforcement units are active in certain communities yet conspicuously absent or restrained in others.
This pattern has fueled accusations that Sharia functions less as an equal moral code and more as a mechanism of social control, reinforcing hierarchy rather than justice.
Sokoto Paradox and the Question of Hypocrisy
One of the most frequently cited contradictions is Sokoto State itself—the symbolic heart of Islamic authority in Nigeria. Critics point to persistent social vices, political corruption, and moral contradictions that appear immune from religious policing.
The absence or limited visibility of Hisbah enforcement in areas closely associated with traditional power structures raises troubling questions. If Sharia is divine and universal, why is its enforcement uneven? Why does accountability seem to weaken the closer one gets to inherited authority?
To many observers, this undermines the moral credibility of the entire project.
Islam, Representation, and Political Engineering
Another source of concern is the increasing strategic positioning of non-Fulani figures in prominent Islamic institutions. While diversity in leadership is healthy, critics argue that such appointments are sometimes instrumental rather than organic—designed to project inclusivity while preserving entrenched control behind the scenes.
This perception has intensified distrust across ethnic and religious lines, particularly among indigenous communities who fear being mobilized against their own long-term interests through religious loyalty or elite persuasion.
Regional and Continental Parallels
Nigeria is not alone in confronting these tensions. Across parts of the Sahel—Mali, Niger, Burkina Faso—conflicts over land, identity, and political authority have escalated into violent instability. While these crises are complex and multi-causal, competition between pastoralist elites, indigenous farming communities, and weak state institutions is a recurring theme.
In Europe’s medieval history, Al-Andalus offers another lesson: when religious authority became inseparable from political dominance, social fragmentation and eventual revolt followed.
History suggests that when governance is framed as divine entitlement rather than civic responsibility, instability is inevitable.
The Hausa Question and Political Marginalisation
Within this broader debate lies a deeply sensitive issue: the political marginalisation of Hausa identity itself. Despite being one of the largest ethnolinguistic groups in Africa, Hausa political visibility outside religious institutions is often perceived as limited.
Critics argue that Hausa interests have frequently been subsumed under broader religious or emirate identities, weakening independent political agency and civic representation. This has contributed to a growing movement among Hausa intellectuals and activists advocating cultural reclamation, historical re-examination, and political self-definition beyond inherited hierarchies.
Constitutional Nigeria Versus Theocratic Ambitions
Nigeria’s constitution is unambiguous: it is a secular state, guaranteeing freedom of religion while prohibiting the adoption of any religion as state policy. The expansion of Sharia criminal law continues to test this balance.
Legal scholars warn that extending religious law beyond personal matters risks fragmenting national cohesion, undermining equal citizenship, and institutionalizing discrimination.
The fear, increasingly voiced across indigenous communities, is not Islam as faith—but religion as an instrument of permanent political control.
A Call for Vigilance, Not Violence
This moment demands vigilance, not hatred. It demands historical honesty, not ethnic scapegoating. Nigerians of all backgrounds must ask difficult questions:
Who benefits from religious expansion in governance?
Why does accountability stop at certain social thresholds?
Can Nigeria remain united if law is applied unequally?
Are we building a republic of citizens—or a hierarchy of inherited authority?
The future of Nigeria depends on confronting these questions openly, constitutionally, and peacefully.
Indigenous communities must assert their rights through civic engagement, historical education, and political participation—not silence, fear, or manipulation. Power thrives where scrutiny is absent.
Nigeria’s survival as a plural, democratic nation will not be decided by faith alone—but by whether justice, equality, and citizenship truly apply to all.
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