I have said it before, and I will repeat it again: Sani Yahaya Jingir has done more harm to us Muslims in Plateau State than anyone else.
Now, it appears his rhetoric is extending beyond Plateau, taking the language of political division, religious grievance and perceived marginalisation to the national stage.
In a sermon released on Friday, September 25, Jingir reportedly made a series of claims about state police, political representation, religion and the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN). Given Plateau State’s history of communal violence and the fresh wave of killings currently affecting several communities, the timing and tone of such statements deserve serious scrutiny.
His first major argument was opposition to the establishment of state police in Plateau State. According to the position attributed to him, his concern was not principally whether state police could improve security, but whether Muslims would have sufficient political strength to compete under such an arrangement.
That argument deserves public examination because Plateau is currently facing precisely the kind of insecurity that proponents of state policing say requires stronger local security capacity. On September 21, the Plateau State Government imposed a dusk-to-dawn curfew in Barkin Ladi, Bokkos and Mangu following renewed attacks.
By September 23, reports indicated that a police officer and civilians had been killed in separate attacks in Barkin Ladi and Mangu. On Friday, September 25, the Plateau State House of Assembly began considering legislation connected to the proposed establishment of state police while simultaneously demanding urgent security intervention in Barkin Ladi.
Jingir was also reported to have argued that Muslims constitute the majority in Plateau State and therefore deserve important political positions. That claim, however, should be treated as a claim rather than an established demographic fact. Nigeria has not conducted a census measuring religious affiliation since 1963, making precise contemporary religious population figures difficult to verify.
There is also an important constitutional distinction. Federal character is designed to promote equitable representation and recognise diversity; it does not simply establish an automatic religious entitlement to particular offices. Section 14(4), for example, requires state governments to recognise the diversity of their populations and promote a sense of belonging.
More troubling was Jingir's alleged attack on CAN, including accusations that the organisation rigs votes for Christian candidates and influences people against Muslims. Such allegations require evidence, not insinuation, especially in a state where careless religious rhetoric can deepen existing mistrust.
The irony becomes even more striking when one considers the reported chants from people around him, including phrases such as “Arna ne,” “Allahu Akbar,” and “Basu isa ba.” If accurately represented, such language raises legitimate questions about whether the sermon was promoting reconciliation or reinforcing religious hostility.
And while all this was happening, the bigger question remained: where was the emphasis on the people currently being killed?
Fresh attacks have continued across Plateau. On September 26, Punch reported that three vigilantes were killed during a night patrol in Kassa, Barkin Ladi, triggering protests and renewed demands for better security.
This is why the silence surrounding the victims is so difficult to ignore.
There is also an apparent contradiction in championing a Muslim-Muslim ticket at the national level while simultaneously presenting Muslims as politically marginalised at the state level. Similarly, accusing CAN of religious bias while allegedly using language that divides Muslims from Christians creates an uncomfortable double standard.
Perhaps the most revealing part of the sermon, however, came toward the end, when Jingir reportedly repeatedly referred to information he had allegedly received from others — phrases such as “wai,” “ance mun,” “masu bani labari,” and “rahoto daga sama.” He reportedly even cautioned his informants against giving him false information.
That does not prove that anyone is directing him or operating him as a political “remote control.” That remains an allegation requiring evidence. But it does raise a legitimate question: who supplies the information behind such politically charged religious pronouncements, and what interests are being served?
For me, this is the fundamental issue.
Religious leaders have enormous influence, particularly in fragile communities. That influence can either help calm tensions or deepen them. Plateau does not need more religious suspicion, political competition framed as religious warfare, or sermons that encourage communities to see one another as permanent enemies.
It needs responsible leadership, credible security, justice for victims, and political participation based on citizenship rather than religious entitlement.
The pulpit should be a place where people are reminded of their shared humanity—not a platform from which political divisions are amplified.
If Plateau is ever going to achieve lasting peace, citizens must learn to distinguish between genuine religious leadership and political advocacy delivered through the language of piety.
At a time when people are still being buried, the most important question is not who controls the political narrative. It is who is committed to stopping the bloodshed.
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