A dangerous word is once again circulating in Nigeria’s political marketplace. “Infidel”, they call it. It is being used not simply as a description of religious difference, but increasingly as a political weapon—a convenient label for dividing Nigerians into those who supposedly belong and those who do not. That is dangerous.

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If faith has any moral meaning, the real question should not be who worships differently, but who betrays the ethical obligations that faith demands. By that standard, those who invoke religion to divide citizens, excuse poor governance, or mobilise political hatred ought first to look in the mirror.

The latest controversy followed remarks by Sheikh Sani Yahaya Jingir, National Chairman of the Council of Ulama of Jama’atu Izalatil Bid’ah Wa’iqamatis Sunnah, at a mass wedding in Kano in early August. Jingir advocated the continuation of a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket, urged Muslims to vote to demonstrate their numerical strength, described Nigeria as an Islamic state, and alleged that Christians were behind a mosque bombing in Kano. These are extraordinarily reckless claims in a country whose Constitution recognises no official state religion and whose social fabric is already under considerable strain.

The backlash was swift. Political figures, Christian leaders, civil society actors, and, importantly, fellow Muslims condemned the remarks. In a subsequent BBC Hausa interview, Jingir reportedly offered no apology, insisting he had no regrets while recalling past grievances.

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But one point must be made clearly: Jingir does not speak for all Nigerian Muslims. Millions of Nigerian Muslims reject religious hatred just as millions of Christians reject the use of Christianity as a political weapon. A pulpit does not confer a licence to set a country ablaze. The issue, therefore, is bigger than Jingir; it is the increasingly cynical use of religion to pursue selfish political objectives.

To challenge this rhetoric honestly, we must acknowledge the grievances beneath it. Northern Nigeria faces severe problems—much of which are self-inflicted—including insecurity, poverty, unemployment, educational deprivation, weak infrastructure, and a persistent sense that government has failed its citizens. These grievances are real. But the struggle for survival exists across the entire country.

Nevertheless, the appropriate response to failed governance is not the manufacture of a religious enemy. The “infidel” narrative offers a remarkably convenient diversion. It transforms failures of leadership into a supposed battle between believers and unbelievers. Questions about schools, hospitals, jobs, roads, security, and public accountability are replaced with questions about religious identity. That is how political failure acquires a religious disguise. Instead of asking who failed to provide security, citizens are encouraged to ask who is against their religion. Instead of demanding competent government, they are told to defend their religious bloc. It is an old political trick designed to turn victim against victim while those responsible escape scrutiny.

There is something profoundly troubling about a brand of religiosity that speaks passionately about the afterlife but becomes strangely quiet about earthly obligations. Justice is an earthly obligation. Honesty is an earthly obligation. Compassion is an earthly obligation. The protection of the vulnerable and the responsible management of public resources are earthly obligations.

A moral framework that speaks fluently about Paradise while remaining silent about corruption, insecurity, poverty, and human suffering risks becoming performance rather than principle. Religion should make leaders more accountable, not less. It should make citizens more compassionate, not more hostile. It should make society more just, not more divided.

The argument for religious voting blocs rests largely on the assumption that greater religious representation at the highest level of government will translate into better outcomes for the community. Nigeria’s history offers little evidence for that proposition. Muslim leaders have occupied the country’s highest political offices repeatedly since independence. Indeed, while the current administration’s Muslim-Muslim ticket is the first such arrangement since the return to democratic rule in 1999, religious representation at the centre of power has never been absent. The real scarcity has been something else: good governance.

📰 Source: Punch Nigeria