by Mohammed Bello Doka
Who exactly decided that the North must be redesigned from outside, and by whom? Who gave the Oodua Youths Parliament (OYP) the audacity to debate, propose, and effectively prescribe the vice-presidential choice for Northern Nigeria ahead of 2027? Who authorised a pressure group that could not prevent Lagos—the political base of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu—from falling to the Obidient movement on 25 February 2023, to now redraw the most sensitive fault line in Nigeria’s power equation?
And why now?
Is it a coincidence that this demand surfaced amid rising Northern discontent over economic hardship, policy shocks, and protest crackdowns? Or is it part of a familiar pattern—one Nigerians have seen repeatedly since May 29, 2023—where controversial ideas are floated through proxies, youth groups, and social media to test public reaction before policy hardens into action?
When the Tinubu administration pushed major tax reform proposals in 2024, were Nigerians not first exposed to leaks, drafts, and online trial balloons before official clarification followed? During the End Bad Governance protests of August 2024, were not Northern streets—from Kano to Kaduna, Zaria to Minna—the epicentres of anger? And when reports emerged that underage protesters from the North were charged with treason-related offences, did that episode not deepen a sense of alienation, regardless of later explanations?
Against this backdrop, is the call to replace Vice President Kashim Shettima, a Northern Muslim, with a Northern Christian, merely an innocent suggestion—or a calculated signal?
Who is being reassured, and who is being tested?
Is it lost on anyone that Christians are a minority in the North, just as Muslims are a minority in the South? If Nigeria’s fragile political stability since 1999 has rested—however imperfectly—on balancing these realities, why is a minority–minority configuration being casually proposed as a remedy rather than a risk? Did the Muslim–Muslim ticket of 2023 not already strain national cohesion, provoke intense debate, and alienate critical blocs of voters? Why repeat demographic experimentation when trust is already thin?
And who exactly is speaking for the North here?
Is the North a ward of Southern pressure groups? Is it a political orphan without voices of its own—Muslim and Christian, elite and grassroots—capable of articulating what it wants or rejects? When OYP speaks, is it amplifying Northern consensus or substituting it?
What is especially troubling is the silence—or selective amnesia—of Northern Muslim political and business elites. Do they not remember that the bulk of the votes that secured Tinubu’s victory in 2023 came from the Muslim North, particularly the North-West and North-East? Do they forget that states like Kano, Katsina, Jigawa, Kebbi, Sokoto, Zamfara, Yobe, and Borno delivered decisive margins at a moment when Tinubu lost Lagos, his home turf, to Peter Obi?
If those votes were expendable, why were they courted so aggressively in 2023? If they were indispensable then, why do they now appear negotiable?
Are Northern Muslim elites assuming immunity—that history’s darker lessons do not apply to them?
Have they studied how political complacency among elites elsewhere paved the way for marginalisation, scapegoating, and eventual displacement? In Iraq after 2003, did segments of the Sunni elite not assume their historical centrality would protect them, only to watch institutions reengineered against them? In Sri Lanka, did Tamil political and business elites underestimate how identity politics, once unleashed, could hollow out their community’s bargaining power? In Lebanon, did sectarian elites not repeatedly miscalculate, trading short-term access for long-term erosion?
Why do Nigerian elites believe they are different?
When signals accumulate—policy shocks that disproportionately hurt the North, protest responses that feel punitive, and now elite conversations about reconfiguring Northern representation at the very top—should these not trigger alarm rather than applause? Is it wise to dismiss everything as coincidence when politics, by its nature, is cumulative?
And what of Lagos—the starting point of this paradox? If the 2023 election taught anything, did it not show that ethnic entitlement politics has limits, especially among urban youths? If OYP and similar groups could not read the mood of Lagos voters—young, online, economically anxious—what special insight qualifies them to engineer a formula for the North?
Is this advice grounded in electoral arithmetic or elite convenience? Which bloc does a Northern Christian vice-presidential pick consolidate that is currently drifting away? Which grievance does it heal? Which wound does it reopen?
Are we expected to believe that identity no longer matters, only to see identity selectively invoked when power-sharing is discussed?
And for the Northern Muslim elite who remain silent: do you believe that loyalty once demonstrated guarantees protection forever? Do you think political capital, once spent, automatically replenishes itself? Or do you assume that because you are close to power today, you will be spared tomorrow if narratives shift?
History offers no such guarantees.
From Turkey’s secular–religious oscillations, to Pakistan’s centre–periphery tensions, to Nigeria’s own pre-1966 elite miscalculations, one lesson repeats itself: when elites ignore early warning signs, communities pay the price.
So the questions multiply, and they demand answers—not comfort.
Why is the North being discussed as an object rather than a participant?
Why are demographic realities treated as inconveniences rather than guardrails?
Why is a region that delivered decisive electoral support now the subject of political experimentation?
Why are those who failed their own constituencies being elevated as national arbiters?
And why are Northern Muslim leaders so quiet when the ground beneath them is clearly shifting?
Is this truly about national unity—or about reshuffling symbols while deeper grievances fester? Is it strategy—or overreach? Inclusion—or imposition?
Most importantly, when the dust settles, who will bear the cost if this gamble backfires—the architects of the idea, or the millions whose votes, trust, and patience made 2023 possible?
These are not accusations. They are questions. And in politics, unanswered questions have a habit of returning—louder, angrier, and far more costly than when they were first asked.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
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Opinion