State of origin vs state of residence

From when I campaigned in 2019, I have been behind the call for a State of Residence Bill. Not because it was politically convenient. Not because it sounded like the next buzzword to sprinkle into speeches. But because Nigeria has been running on an identity operating system that expired decades ago. We are a nation that moves every day. People relocate for survival, ambition, marriage, school, work and sometimes just the simple Nigerian dream of trying their luck somewhere else. Yet our politics still insists on freezing everyone in the geographical position of their ancestors, as though progress is illegal.

The tension between state of origin and state of residence is one of the most embarrassing contradictions in our federation. We run a modern economy but maintain a medieval identity framework. We want unity, but we distribute opportunities using labels that divide. We preach national cohesion but practice allocation by ancestry. It is the Nigerian paradox: one country, many passports to access it.

Let me address the most persistent fear that keeps resurfacing whenever the idea of state of residence comes up. Somehow, in our uniquely imaginative political space, people assume that recognising residents will magically give them access to ancestral thrones. I do not know whether to laugh or sigh. Traditional thrones are not like real estate. Culture is not AirBnB. Ancestral ascendancy cannot be acquired by tenancy. No one becomes a crown prince because they rented a flat in the palace neighbourhood. Heritage is inherited, not downloaded.

So let me say it directly, for the avoidance of doubt: ascendancy isn’t tenancy. The State of Residence Bill has nothing to do with cultural inheritance. It is about civic fairness. It is about recognising the Nigerians who actually build their communities, not just the ones whose names appear on historical scrolls. Protecting ancestry is important, but refusing political inclusion in the name of ancestry is simply fear pretending to be tradition.

The irony is even sharper when you look at the global Nigerian story. Nigerians have children born in countries their great-grandparents never imagined visiting. These children grow up as citizens of places with no ancestral ties to them. Many of them run for office, contest seats and even win elections. They sit in parliaments in the United Kingdom. They run cities in the United States. They help shape policy in Canada. They rise because those countries recognise contribution, not bloodline. Meanwhile, here at home, a Nigerian who has lived twenty years in a state, employs people, pays taxes and builds communities is told they cannot run for local office because their “village” is somewhere else. The world embraces our people, but our country hesitates to embrace its own citizens.

How can a nation that exports excellence be so reluctant to import fairness?

When we talk about national unity, the conversation often sounds like a sermon, but unity has a very practical ingredient: belonging. People protect what they own. People invest in where they feel recognised. People contribute more when they see themselves as stakeholders. If Nigeria wants true cohesion, we must start by recognising the Nigerians who already live in places they consider home. Residency is not a threat. It is an opportunity.

Imagine the Nigeria we keep postponing. A country where your identity is not a fixed ancestral tag but a living, breathing representation of where you contribute. A Nigeria where a young woman born in Jos but raised in Lagos can contest for office in Lagos without being viewed as a visitor. A Nigeria where a man who grew up in Kano, schooled in Enugu and works in Abuja does not spend his life justifying which part of himself the country should take seriously. Our current system forces people to fragment their identities. We train citizens to think of themselves as divided beings. National identity should not feel like a burden you carry with suspicion attached.

Let us look at our daily reality for a moment. In the market, nobody checks your ancestral hometown before selling you tomatoes. In the hospital, no nurse tells you to wait until they confirm your state of origin. During emergencies, nobody asks what village your grandfather came from. Nigerians collaborate effortlessly in real life. But when opportunity appears, we suddenly become gatekeepers. We remember tribe. We remember boundaries. We remember history that only comes alive when it is time to exclude.

This is not culture. This is insecurity wearing cultural attire.

If Nigeria embraces state of residence wholeheartedly, it will unlock the one thing that has eluded us for decades: a sense of collective investment. This single reform can strengthen citizenship, deepen democracy and unleash economic potential. It allows people to dream where they live, not where they are labelled. It reduces the tension that comes from feeling unwanted. And most importantly, it strengthens the moral legitimacy of our democracy. A government that excludes contributors is a government that weakens itself.

The most powerful nations in the world are not the ones with a single tribe. They are the ones that successfully turned diversity into a civic identity. Nigeria is uniquely positioned to become one of them. We have the population, the diversity, the talent and the global footprint. What is missing is the courage to implement systems that reflect who we truly are: a nation built by movement. A nation shaped by mobility. A nation that thrives when its people are free to belong.

If we get this right, we could become one of the strongest nations on earth, not because of overwhelming military power or economic muscle, but because of the unbreakable spirit of a people who finally feel seen. A nation where every Nigerian can say: I belong here because I contribute here. That is the foundation of greatness.

Traditional thrones will remain exactly where they are. Ancestry will remain preserved. Cultures will not dissolve because a resident becomes a councillor. We must stop inventing fears to justify exclusion. The only thing that will collapse if we continue the current path is the fragile trust holding this federation together.

It is time to grow up as a nation. It is time to choose fairness over fear. It is time to stop asking Nigerians to shrink themselves into ancestral boundaries when the world is expanding around them. The State of Residence Bill is not just a policy. It is a national maturity test. It is a chance to move from ancestral politics to modern citizenship. It is an invitation to finally catch up with ourselves.

For the love of country

Kunle Lawal is the executive director of Electoral College Nigeria