Religion, Accountability, and the Changing Dynamics of Northern Nigeria

I have always advocated for religious freedom and opposed the manipulation of religion by elites to achieve political ends, a practice that has long been woven into the political culture of Northern Nigeria. The instrumentalisation of religion is not unique to less developed or traditionally structured societies; the difference between such societies and advanced liberal democracies lies in the degree of manipulation, its effectiveness, and the extent to which it undermines governance and accountability.

Northern Nigeria has, since independence in 1960, trailed behind other regions in all benchmarks of progress while leading in nearly every index of underdevelopment. The region records lower literacy levels, with adult literacy often below 50 percent in many states compared to above 80 percent in the South. Poverty remains pervasive, frequently exceeding 70 percent in the North East and North West, against less than 35 percent in several southern states. Child malnutrition is widespread, with stunting rates surpassing 50 percent in some areas. Maternal mortality is among the highest globally and almost double the rates found in southern states. The North also has the highest number of out-of-school children, accounting for over 60 percent of Nigeria’s estimated 20 million. Chronic unemployment and infrastructural deficits further compound the region’s challenges.

A paper presented by Prof Jibrin Ibrahim at the 25th anniversary of the Arewa Consultative Forum on 22 November 2025 captures this troubling trajectory. He warns that unless the decline is halted, the region risks entering a period of irreversible deterioration within the next twenty-five years.

To my mind, one of the persistent obstacles to progress in the North is the deliberate manipulation of religion to shield leadership from scrutiny. Religion ought to serve as a moral and ethical force to guide leaders toward better outcomes in governance. Instead, the region’s profound governance failures, despite an ostensible public attachment to religious symbols, lend weight to the Marxian observation that religion can function as an opiate for the masses. From this perspective, I offer my view on the attempt to suppress an Islamic preacher whose message centres on inter-religious harmony and peaceful coexistence among varying interpretations within Islam.

The campaign against Malam Ibrahim Yahaya Masussuka must be understood within the broader context of Northern Nigeria’s religious politics, where dissenting voices are routinely targeted by dominant clerical blocs. Yet what is unfolding today is more complex than earlier episodes, because both the political environment and the internal dynamics of the Qur’anist movement have changed significantly.

For decades, powerful Salafist circles have used a familiar script to silence alternative viewpoints: isolate the preacher, label him deviant, provoke public agitation by alleging heresy, and finally pressure the government into banning his teachings or initiating prosecution. This approach succeeded in several past cases, including the well-known suppression of Sheikh Abduljabbar in Kano. A similar pattern is visible in Katsina, where a group of Salafist clerics recently petitioned the government to act against Masussuka. Their tactics remain predictable—linking him with the Maitatsine movement, presenting him as a threat to public order, and proposing a one-sided “muqabala” before a committee composed almost entirely of his critics.

However, the situation today is more intricate because Masussuka is not the sole Qur’anist voice in the region, and the movement itself is internally diverse. A notable figure within this fold is Dangungu, a former leading Izala scholar of the 1980s whose transition from Salafi orthodoxy to a Qur’an-only doctrine did not soften his rigid style. He transferred the takfiri reflex of his Izala background into his new ideology. In his view, Izala, Sufi Tariqa adherents, Shiites, and even moderate Sunnis fall outside the fold of Islam. His method represents Qur’anism shaped by Izala psychology; the targets have changed, but the instinct to declare others as unbelievers remains.

Masussuka, on the other hand, follows a different trajectory. His method is premised on calm reasoning, Qur’anic argumentation, and dialogue rather than denunciation. He rejects the takfiri posture associated with Dangungu. Instead, he has built bridges across sectarian and inter-faith boundaries: engaging Tariqa scholars with courtesy, maintaining cordial relations with Shiite communities, and even reaching out to the Christian Association of Nigeria. In a region where religious identity is often constructed through exclusion, this inclusive posture is unusual. It also explains why his appeal extends beyond Qur’anists to young people, moderates, and others weary of decades of intra-Muslim hostility.

This internal diversity within the Qur’anist movement is central to the unfolding events. While Dangungu’s confrontational style offers Salafist critics an easy reference point for portraying Qur’anists as extremists, Masussuka’s conduct complicates such narratives. Their attempt to generalise the entire movement as subversive cannot stand when its most prominent figure is consistently advocating harmony and civility.

The broader political environment has also shifted. Immediately after the Katsina government’s letter circulated online, Amnesty International issued a public statement condemning the development as an unlawful attempt to silence a peaceful preacher. This came at a time when Nigeria had been designated a Country of Particular Concern by the United States, attracting renewed scrutiny of its record on religious freedom. State-level actions now carry greater diplomatic implications, and governments can no longer assume such interventions will escape international attention.

Masussuka’s alliances further constrain these efforts. By cultivating relationships with groups routinely disparaged by hardline Salafists—Shiites, Sufi orders, reform-minded scholars, and even Christian leaders—he has ensured that he cannot be easily isolated. Isolation has always been the first stage in the suppression of dissent. Once a preacher stands alone, governments, often nudged by clerical pressure, act with little hesitation. Masussuka has pre-empted this vulnerability by embedding himself within a broad network that transcends the divisions on which Salafists historically rely.

These factors suggest that silencing Masussuka will not follow the usual path. The Salafist bloc remains influential, but its methods no longer operate in a political vacuum. The internal complexity of the Qur’anist movement, the contrast between moderates like Masussuka and hardliners like Dangungu, the rise of inter-sect solidarity, international human-rights attention, and the shifting expectations of younger generations all combine to create a very different landscape.

The ultimate outcome remains uncertain. Powerful actors may still pursue punitive measures, but the process will be neither swift nor straightforward. What is emerging is not merely the defence of one individual; it is a broader challenge to the longstanding monopolisation of religious interpretation by a narrow clerical elite. The debates surrounding Masussuka, Dangungu, and the evolution of Qur’anist thought reflect deeper transitions within Northern Nigeria’s intellectual and religious sphere—transitions that are becoming more visible, more assertive, and far less susceptible to old methods of control.