13 February, 2026
by Mohammed Bello Doka
Abuja is already humming with 2027 calculations. Zoning formulas are being sharpened, alliances quietly tested, and familiar threats of “restructure or divide” are echoing again across talk shows and timelines. From the federal capital, the paradox is hard to miss: the loudest calls for separation often rise at the very moment political actors are maneuvering most intensely to capture Aso Rock.
If departure is truly the destination, history offers a manual. Let us consult it. Adopt it or ignore it.
The truth is uncomfortable but clear: secession rhetoric in Nigeria today resembles political leverage more than a structured independence project. Nations that truly separate follow identifiable pathways. None of those pathways look like social media agitation paired with feverish participation in national elections.
Start with the law. The 1999 Constitution declares Nigeria indissoluble. There is no exit clause. No referendum framework. No constitutional door marked “break in case of dissatisfaction.” Any genuine attempt to divide the country must therefore pass through one of three routes history recognizes: central consent, armed control, or international intervention. At present, none of these conditions exist.
Then there is the security doctrine. The Nigerian state has consistently treated secessionist agitation as a threat to sovereignty. The memory of the 1967–1970 civil war is not abstract; it is institutional. Nations rarely permit fragmentation passively. Peaceful division, where it occurs, happens through elite agreement—not confrontation with the security apparatus. Not social media hype.
The most striking contradiction, however, lies in the ballot box. In 2023, the Southeast mobilized massively for a presidential candidate. The Southwest produced the sitting president. As 2027 approaches, southern political blocs are again positioning for federal dominance. But regions preparing to exit do not scramble to control the center they claim to reject. Successful secession movements historically build parallel institutions; they do not campaign to preside over the union they wish to dissolve.
Religious and insecurity narratives further complicate the debate. Allegations of persecution are real concerns for many citizens, and insecurity remains a national crisis. Yet international reports consistently show violence concentrated in regional hotspots across the country, not in a simple North-versus-South binary. Data is often deployed selectively, and when arguments stall, the rhetoric escalates to separation. But escalation is not strategy.
If separation is truly the objective, history presents a menu.
The peaceful route is rare but instructive. Norway parted ways with Sweden in 1905 through negotiation and mutual consent.
Czechoslovakia dissolved in 1993 after elite agreement.
Montenegro voted to leave its union with Serbia in 2006 under a supervised referendum.
These cases required political consensus, defined borders, and negotiated assets. Does Nigeria currently possess elite consensus for division? The evidence suggests otherwise.
The violent route is far more common but more dangerous. Bangladesh emerged from war in 1971. Eritrea fought for three decades before independence. The breakup of Yugoslavia produced years of bloodshed. Nigeria itself has walked this path before, with devastating human cost. That experience alone should sober any romanticization of rupture.
The third pathway involves international intervention. Timor-Leste and South Sudan became independent after UN-supervised processes that followed prolonged conflict. Kosovo declared independence after NATO intervention and years of administration. External mediation rarely precedes violence; it typically follows it.
If separation is serious, there is also a lawful path: amend the Constitution. Pressure your senators and members of the House of Representatives to introduce a dissolution clause. Create a referendum framework. Define asset division, debt sharing, border management. Under Nigeria’s amendment process, such a proposal would require two-thirds support in the National Assembly and approval by two-thirds of state assemblies. It would force national debate and test regional consensus. Yet there is no coordinated legislative push for such a clause. Serious independence movements begin in parliament, not on Twitter.
To be sure, southern frustrations are not imaginary. Insecurity is real. Centralization has stifled state autonomy. Fiscal federalism deserves genuine reconsideration. Calls for devolution, state policing, and resource control are legitimate topics in a maturing federation. But threatening divorce while contesting for federal power muddies the clarity of reform.
The more practical alternative is restructuring—negotiating a federation 2.0 within constitutional bounds ( A separate article will deal with this fully). Devolution of powers, recalibrated revenue formulas, regional cooperation frameworks, and serious constitutional review offer reform without rupture. They require discipline, compromise, and sustained engagement—not ultimatums.
Nations do not dissolve through hashtags. They dissolve through law, war, or foreign intervention. Each carries costs history has recorded in painful detail. If separation is truly the goal, its advocates should choose their path deliberately and pursue it through lawful architecture. If not, Nigeria deserves reform conversations grounded in sincerity rather than seasonal threats.
History is clear. The manual exists. The question is whether the rhetoric is ready to follow it.
So the next time anyone threatens you with a breakup, show them this article and ask them to choose their preferred poison.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
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