By Mohammed Bello Doka

We have been hearing funny questions in recent months, asked with a mix of sarcasm and denial: How exactly did Bola Tinubu betray the Muslim North? This article is a response to that question. Not emotion. Not sentiment. Not hatred. This is politics, reduced to its bare essentials: numbers, choices, consequences, and survival. If accusations are anything to go by, they are not inventions; they are reactions to observable facts. And facts, once assembled honestly, do not care about comfort.

The 2023 presidential election marked a deliberate rupture with Nigeria’s post-1999 conventions. Bola Tinubu chose a Muslim–Muslim ticket, fully aware of its implications. This was not accidental, nor was it imposed on him. It was defended vigorously across the North as a necessary sacrifice in the national interest. Muslim voters in the North were told, directly and indirectly, that competence mattered more than sentiment, that religion should not divide them, and that the ticket was a strategic gamble that would pay off in influence, inclusion, and protection. The Muslim North accepted this argument and delivered.

The numbers are not disputed. According to INEC’s final, state-by-state results, the North-West and North-East—Nigeria’s core Muslim-majority zones—produced close to ten million valid votes in the 2023 election. In Kano alone, a Muslim-majority stronghold, Tinubu secured over 517,000 votes, while Peter Obi managed barely 28,000. In Jigawa, Tinubu polled more than 421,000 votes; Obi did not reach 2,000. Katsina gave Tinubu about 482,000 votes to Obi’s roughly 6,000. Kebbi delivered nearly 250,000 votes for Tinubu; Zamfara close to 300,000. In Yobe and Borno, Tinubu again outpolled Obi by margins so wide they require no embellishment. When votes from Muslim-leaning North-Central states such as Niger, Nasarawa, Kwara, and Kogi are added, Tinubu’s support base in Muslim northern communities rises to between 3.8 and 4.9 million votes. That bloc alone formed a decisive pillar of his national victory.

Now compare this with what happened in Northern Christian-majority areas. In Plateau State, Peter Obi polled about 466,000 votes, while Tinubu secured roughly 307,000. In Benue, Obi’s 308,000 votes nearly matched Tinubu’s 310,000, despite Benue never having been a Labour Party stronghold. In the Federal Capital Territory, a demographically mixed but largely Christian-leaning territory, Obi recorded 281,717 votes against Tinubu’s 90,902—more than a three-to-one margin. In southern Taraba, voting patterns followed the same logic. These are not anecdotes; they are consistent results pointing to a clear pattern: Muslim northern communities voted overwhelmingly for Tinubu, while Christian northern communities aligned electorally with Christian-majority southern zones.

This pattern did not emerge by accident. For decades, Northern politics subsumed religious differences under a broader regional consensus. Christians and Muslims in the North often voted together, driven by shared interests in federal power, security, and economic leverage. In 2023, that consensus fractured. Christian-majority areas of the North no longer voted as part of a Northern bloc; they voted as part of a national Christian alignment. That fracture did not begin at the grassroots. It followed elite political decisions that elevated religious identity from a background factor into a central organising principle of national power.

Having delivered the votes, the Muslim North expected returns. In politics, expectations are not moral demands; they are transactional realities. What followed instead was a growing sense of exclusion. Vice-President Kashim Shettima, presented as proof of northern inclusion, has exercised no visible institutional power commensurate with the region’s contribution. Unlike Atiku Abubakar, who as vice-president chaired the National Economic Council and drove privatisation policy, or Yemi Osinbajo, who chaired key reform committees and acted as president multiple times, Shettima has no defining portfolio. He does not control economic policy. He does not lead the national security architecture. He does not arbitrate party power. His presence is symbolic, not structural.

Appointments have reinforced this perception. Power in Abuja is not measured by the number of northerners in government; it is measured by where decision-making authority sits. Since May 2023, strategic economic and fiscal power has been perceived—rightly or wrongly, but persistently—to be concentrated within a narrow circle outside the Muslim North’s political reach. In Nigerian politics, sustained perception becomes reality. Regions do not rebel because they are ignored once; they react because they feel ignored consistently.

Insecurity has deepened this sense of betrayal. According to data from ACLED and corroborated by local security analysts, the North-West remains the epicentre of banditry and mass kidnapping. Thousands have been killed or displaced since Tinubu assumed office. Farmlands across Zamfara, Katsina, Kaduna, and Niger states remain unsafe, directly threatening food security. Yet there has been no decisive break from past security failures. No doctrine shift. No overwhelming show of force that signals a new era. Instead, communities are left to negotiate survival, often informally, while the federal response remains incremental and cautious.

The handling of negotiations with armed groups has compounded the anger. Several northern states continue to engage bandits through intermediaries, amnesty offers, or ransom-mediated releases. These practices predate Tinubu, but the absence of a clear federal prohibition or framework under his administration has consequences. In security studies, this creates moral hazard. Violence becomes a bargaining tool. The blunt question many northerners ask is unavoidable: what incentive does a young man have to farm or trade when picking up a gun attracts dialogue, attention, and concessions?

Supporters of the president often dismiss northern grievances as religious intolerance. That argument collapses under scrutiny. The same logic used to explain Obi’s landslide in the South-East and his strong showing in Lagos—identity mobilisation—explains voting behaviour in Northern Christian zones. Lagos itself exposes the hypocrisy. Tinubu lost Lagos, his political base, where he polled 572,606 votes against Obi’s 582,454. Ethnicity did not save him there. Identity politics did. If identity voting is a valid explanation in Lagos, it cannot be dismissed as hatred when the North responds politically to perceived exclusion.

Underlying these grievances is history. Nigeria’s constitution speaks of democratic choice, but Nigeria’s politics practises managed succession. Obasanjo’s role in installing Yar’Adua in 2007 is undisputed. The consolidation of APC power ahead of 2023 advantaged Tinubu decisively. Against this backdrop, fears in the North that incumbency could again be used to shape future political outcomes are not paranoia; they are historical inference.

This is why rumours of fragmentation or political marginalisation resonate so deeply in the North. The region is landlocked, security-fragile, and economically interconnected. Any national rupture—formal or informal—would hurt the North first and hardest. When trust erodes between a region and the centre, fear fills the vacuum. Silence from power does not reassure; it amplifies suspicion.

Beyond Islam and Christianity lies a more fundamental issue: survival as a political force. Divide the North internally, weaken its bargaining unity, and its influence diminishes without a single dramatic announcement. History shows that fragmented regions lose leverage quietly and permanently. Once cohesion is gone, recovery is generational.

This is not an emotional argument. It is a political diagnosis. Betrayal, in politics, describes unmet expectations after commitments are honoured. The Muslim North delivered votes in unprecedented numbers. It absorbed political risk. It defended an unconventional ticket. What it sees in return is limited influence, persistent insecurity, and a fracture in its internal cohesion.

The question, therefore, is no longer whether the accusation exists. It clearly does. The real question is whether it will be confronted honestly while there is still time to repair trust—or whether denial will harden grievance into something far more dangerous. Politics rewards foresight. It punishes complacency. The Muslim North is not asking for sympathy; it is demanding recognition of facts that are already on record.

Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via bellodoka82@gmail.com

By: Muhammad Garba

In every political season, there emerges a figure whose actions rise above personal pride and partisan noise, a figure who understands that power is not merely about holding office but about healing fractures. In Kano today, that figure is Abba Kabir Yusuf. His return to the All Progressives Congress is not a retreat, nor is it a surrender. It is an act of political wisdom. In the language of the streets and the conscience of the people, it is the Game Changer, the unifier of divided paths.

Politics in Kano has never been a gentle affair. It is deeply emotional, fiercely ideological, and rooted in history. Over the years, loyalties hardened, camps solidified, and disagreements took on a life of their own. In such an atmosphere, it takes uncommon courage to choose reunion over resentment. Abba Kabir Yusuf has chosen the harder path. He has chosen the path that prioritizes Kano over camps, the people over pride, and the future over old wounds.

His rejoining of the APC must therefore be understood beyond the narrow lens of party movement. It is a statement that Kano can no longer afford endless political hostility. It is a recognition that governance thrives not in isolation but in cooperation. It is a belief that leadership is at its finest when it brings people together, even those who once stood on opposite sides.

For Kano and its people, this reunion is a blessing in clear and practical terms. Kano is a state of enormous human capital, commercial energy, and cultural influence. Yet, its full potential has often been limited by political divisions that weakened its bargaining power at the national level. A united Kano speaks louder. A reconciled leadership attracts attention, projects confidence, and commands respect. By returning to the APC, Abba Kabir Yusuf places Kano closer to the center of national decision making, where policies are shaped, resources are allocated, and futures are negotiated.

There is also a deeper moral lesson in this move. Leadership is not stubbornness. Strength is not the refusal to change course. True strength lies in knowing when to let go of bitterness for the sake of progress. In choosing reunion, Abba Kabir Yusuf reminds us that politics should be a means to improve lives, not a battlefield for endless grudges. He embodies the ancient wisdom that peace is not weakness, and compromise is not defeat.

As a unifier, his value lies not only in where he stands but in what he represents. He speaks to the ordinary Kano citizen who is tired of political tension and hungry for development. He speaks to traders who want stable policies, youths who seek opportunity, and elders who long for harmony. His return reassures them that leadership can still be guided by conscience and collective interest.

The APC too stands to gain from this reunion. A party grows stronger not by exclusion but by accommodation. By welcoming Abba Kabir Yusuf back, the party signals maturity and readiness to move forward as a broad platform that reflects Kano in all its diversity. It becomes a house large enough to contain different histories but united by a shared responsibility to govern.

In the final analysis, Raba gardama is not merely a nickname. It is a role. It is the calling of leaders who step into the storm and calm it, who choose bridges over walls. Abba Kabir Yusuf has stepped into that role at a critical moment in Kano’s political journey. His return to the APC is a reminder that the greatest victories in politics are not won at rallies or polls alone, but in the hearts of a people yearning for unity, stability, and a future they can believe in.

Kano, once again, has been given a chance to walk together. And history will remember those who chose reunion when division was easier.

Muhammad Garba, writes from Kano

By Dr. Mukhtar Bello Maisudan

President Kano State Scholars’ Assembly
In the timeless words of Sir Winston Churchill, “Politics is not a game. It is an earnest business.” Yet, embedded in this earnestness is the fluidity of alliances, the pursuit of progress, and the unyielding quest for what benefits the people. Churchill, a wise statesman whose insights have endured through eras of turmoil, reminds us that politics transcends rigid ideologies or personal loyalties—it’s about delivering tangible results. This reflection rings particularly true in the dynamic landscape of Nigerian politics, where adaptability often spells the difference between stagnation and advancement. Today, as we turn our gaze to Kano State, Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s decision to rejoin the All Progressives Congress (APC) exemplifies this wisdom, marking a pragmatic step toward unity, stability, and accelerated development for the people of Kano.
Kano, the commercial heartbeat of Northern Nigeria, has long been a theater of intense political drama. From the era of colonial influences to the post-independence struggles, its politics have been shaped by charismatic leaders, shifting party loyalties, and the ever-present tension between state ambitions and federal realities. In recent years, the state has witnessed a whirlwind of changes: the 2023 gubernatorial election, fraught with legal battles and recounts, ultimately installed Yusuf under the banner of the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP), backed by his mentor, Rabiu Kwankwaso. Yet, governance in a federation like Nigeria demands more than electoral victories—it requires alignment with the center to unlock resources, foster collaboration, and drive socio-economic growth. Yusuf’s move to APC on January 26, 2026, is not a betrayal of principles but a calculated realignment that prioritizes Kano’s future over partisan rigidity.
Critics, including voices from the NNPP, have decried this as a “betrayal,” pointing to the Kwankwasiyya movement’s role in Yusuf’s rise and the electorate’s mandate against the previous APC administration under Abdullahi Ganduje. They argue it undermines the trust of those who voted for change after years of perceived misgovernance. But let’s apply Churchill’s lens here: Politics is earnest business, not a static allegiance. Yusuf’s defection comes amid internal NNPP crises and the practical challenges of governing an opposition state in a nation where the APC holds federal sway. By rejoining a party he was once part of in 2014—when he even conceded a senatorial ticket to Kwankwaso—Yusuf is signaling a return to a “familiar and structured platform for progressive governance.” This isn’t opportunism; it’s statesmanship. Aligning Kano with the ruling party opens doors to federal support, infrastructure projects, and economic initiatives that could transform the state’s fortunes.
Consider the potential dividends: Enhanced collaboration with President Bola Tinubu’s administration could mean more funding for Kano’s agricultural hubs, improved healthcare, and bolstered security in a region plagued by banditry. Yusuf himself has emphasized “national cohesion and development” as key drivers, echoing the need for unity in a divided political era.

With 21 state assembly members, and 44 local government chairmen following suit, this mass defection consolidates power, reduces legislative gridlock, and positions Yusuf as the APC’s frontrunner for 2027—ensuring continuity in his developmental agenda. In a state where poverty alleviation and youth empowerment are pressing, such stability is invaluable.
Of course, politics isn’t without its ironies. Yusuf’s move has drawn endorsements from former rivals like Ganduje and Deputy Senate President Barau Jibrin, who see it as a pathway to “stronger collaboration and accelerated socio-economic development.” This underscores another wise truism: In politics, there are no permanent enemies, only permanent interests. Kano’s interests—jobs, education, and prosperity—outweigh any lingering grudges. As the APC now controls 29 of Nigeria’s 36 states, Yusuf’s decision places Kano firmly in the national mainstream, avoiding the isolation that has hampered other opposition-led states.
In reflecting on what a wise man like Churchill would say, we’d do well to remember that effective leadership demands flexibility. Governor Yusuf’s return to APC is a bold, forward-thinking choice that deserves applause, not condemnation. It reflects the maturity of a leader who puts his people first, navigating the earnest business of politics with an eye on lasting progress. For Kano, this could herald a new chapter of unity and growth—proving once again that in the game of governance, wisdom prevails over dogma.