Ethnic tension surrounding Nnamdi Kanu’s sentence

BY ARIWOOLA SAMUEL AKINWALE

How prescient was the prediction that the north can now rest and watch the south fight each other shortly after the last election? How prophetic those words have turned out to be. Today, the southern ethnic groups have rarely been this quarrelsome, especially on social media.

The confrontations around the 2023 Lagos governorship election, 2022 and 2025 JAMB glitches, the recent renaming of streets in Lagos, and the controversies over demolitions in Oworonshoki and Ikota in Lagos, all point to the fragile peace binding the nation—echoing the Yoruba-Igbo ethnic politics, especially in the media.

But the trial of Nnamdi Kanu opened another vista of unceasing frenzy, leaving a sour taste in the mouths of many. Last week, the Court of Appeal slammed a life sentence on him, and he has since been moved to the Sokoto Correctional Centre. His rhetoric, reactions, and missteps did not help matters, yet his rise to prominence continues to raise unsettling questions about nationhood and the incomplete project of post-Biafra reconciliation.

Meanwhile, Justice Omotosho’s verdict opened another layer of ethnic politics, dissenting voices, and polarised reactions. The responses have been varied—at times faux, furious, and confusing.

Even among his kinsmen, reactions differ widely. From Orji Uzor Kalu and Joe Igbokwe, who validate the verdict, to Ugo Ugbajo and Peter Obi, who challenge it, and the swathes of silent or indifferent people in between—what emerges is a spectacle of confusion. The complexity of ethnic sentiment, political calculation, and tribal irredentism reeks through the discussions.

For many, Kanu’s conviction is a relief, much like the diminishing influence of Simon Ekpa in Finland—a semblance of calm for a region troubled by the violent attacks of IPOB and the ESN. To those who lost loved ones or property, the verdict signifies peace and a chance to move on. Yet the Igbo question—the tension surrounding the place of the Igbo in our post-Biafran history—remains unresolved.

That question will continue to haunt the federation, with or without Kanu, in or out of prison. Nothing illustrates the fragility of our inter-ethnic relations more starkly. These tensions taint, taunt, and trail every major national decision in recent times.

The mutation of MASSOB into IPOB—two secessionist movements within the same ethnic enclave at different times—remains a pointer to this reality. How an initially nonviolent agitation in MASSOB became violent in IPOB is a story for another day. “Kanu’s incarceration” is not yet an end; that idealism (real or imagined) is very much alive even in many minds right now.

Following Kanu’s incarceration, some have asked why Sheikh Gumi, despite his open fraternisation with bandits, moves freely. Also, why Sunday Igboho—a Yoruba secessionist with unresolved violent cases—can go about freely.

Frankly, the so-called ethnic agitation was always elite politics—an elite fraud harping on our structural fault lines. The agitation for the Yoruba nation went comatose since the last election, similar to how the Niger Delta clamour for secession died shortly after the ascendency of President Jonathan. Some of us called this elite hypocrisy; the ‘pragmatic’ among us said it is politicking. This is Nigeria!

Following the above, one tempting conclusion is that IPOB would witness a natural death once political power swings to the south-east. But when and how such a transition will emerge is our dilemma. Yet, it seems inevitable in our journey to nationhood.

Often, our leaders contribute to the prevailing ethnic cleavages through tribalistic appointments and favouritism. Sadly, they fan bigotry by their undoing against their kinsmen. For instance, the much-discussed “Fulanisation agenda”—whatever that meant—suddenly disappeared from national conversation. Under Buhari, it loomed large in our collective consciousness due to his nepotistic leadership.

Many Nigerians sang the farcical music of “Fulanisation”. Some Yoruba and Igbo worked together against the RUGA project of President Buhari, staged the ENDSARS protest; at the time, the Fulani were the big elephant in the room. Today, the two former allies throw stones at each other in the media, even the intellectuals who ought to know better.

Meanwhile, our history is replete with lessons of how we made heroes out of secessionists. Often, we only crucify them to birth another generation of agitators.

For instance, Isaac Adaka Boro established the Niger Delta Volunteer Force and proclaimed the Niger Delta Republic on 23 February 1966. Conflict ensued between his group and federal forces, lasting twelve days before their apprehension by Ojukwu’s battalion and charged with treason. Ironically, Ojukwu later led a similar course.

But Boro got amnesty from General Gowon shortly before the Nigerian Civil War. (I perceive a similar fate awaits Kanu, drawing from our experience). Is it not a paradox that Boro later joined the Nigerian Army and fought alongside the Federal troops during the Civil War? He lost his life in 1968 in the war, fighting against a cause he initially lived for.

Activists from the Niger Delta, such as Saro-Wiwa, Ebikabowei, Victor-Ben, Dokubo-Asari, and others, acknowledged being inspired by Isaac Boro. How sadly we birth future agitators by repeated mistakes in addressing the need for inclusivity in governance.

Ironically, our secessionists are mostly political opportunists who, at a certain point, either renounced their former position or worked against it, as the examples above have shown. Hence, divisionists have no place in our collective history.

Now, Kanu may be behind bars, but one thing remains alive: the unresolved questions of what unites and divides us, and how we manage our ethnic and religious tensions. Inclusive governance holds promises for the way forward for us.

Ariwoola Samuel Akinwale wrote this piece from Lagos. He can be contacted via [email protected]