Anyone who has studied Nigerian politics would tell you the significance of identity politics in shaping conversations around our national consciousness.
As Nigeria returned to the democratic experiment in 1999, two factors emerged as the ultimate prerequisites for fielding presidential flagbearers among the leading political parties: only politicians of southern extraction, plus those who professed Christianity as their faith, were expected to slug it out for party tickets. This was why Olusegun Mathew Obasanjo and Oluyemisi Falae emerged as the candidates of both the PDP and the defunct AD in 1998.
Of course, the prerequisites were neither laws written in the constitution nor agreements signed by all parties; they were simply an elite consensus intended to reset national politics, address calls for power rotation, and fix the damages of the military junta.
The years of military interregnum, from end of the 2nd Republic in 1979, to the abrupt end of the 3rd Republic in 1993 to finally to 1998, for example, saw the rise of northern Muslim military brass at the helm of the nation’s affairs. Late Muhammadu Buhari, the Daura-born military head of state, was toppled in a palace coup by the Minna-born Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, who had to relinquish power after annulling the June 12, 1993, presidential election, only for the three-month interim government of Chief Ernest Shonekan to be overthrown by General Sani Abacha, the most brutal of them all. General Abdulsalami Abubakar, another Minna-born military ruler, took over from Abacha and was only in power for eighteen months.
Apart from their Islamic faith, one other common denominator among the military heads of state was their geographic background: they all hailed from northern Nigeria. By 1999, when calls for Nigeria to return to civilian rule reached their peak, part of the agitation by pro-democracy advocates was that this time around, no region or religion should feel sidelined in the national discourse.
That elite consensus did work for many states as well. In Oyo State, previous civilian governors, starting from late Uncle Bola Ige (1979–1983) to late Victor Omololu Olunloyo (1983–1983), to late Chief Kolapo Ishola (1992–1993), all proclaimed Christianity as their religion. That, and many other factors, eventually paved the way for the emergence of late Lamidi Adesina (1999–2003), a retired school principal whose Islamic background was never in doubt. The Olusegun Obasanjo clandestine assault on all the defunct Alliance for Democracy (AD) governors in the Southwest eventually cut short the administration of the Great LAM.
By the 2003 general elections, Senator Rashidi Ladoja, another Muslim from Ibadan, emerged as the new state governor. In a way, the intense political dogfight between Senator Ladoja and his estranged godfather, late Lamidi Adedibu, paved the way for the emergence of late Otunba Adebayo Alao-Akala, a Christian from the heart of Ogbomoso. Not surprisingly, another intense political spat equally upended the ‘Oyato’ government, as Akala’s administration ultimately cleared the way for the electoral victory of the late Isiaka Abiola Ajimobi in 2011.
That same unwritten law of power rotation worked effectively when Governor Seyi Makinde threw his hat in the ring in 2019. In the buildup to the 2019 elections, most of Makinde’s supporters—Muslims, Christians, and traditionalists alike—were fierce in their support for him. They argued not because of the strength of his character or the quality of leadership he was going to provide once in power. “For Abiola Ajimobi, a devoted Muslim, to have served eight years in office,” they all argued with passion, “another person, preferably a Christian, is by common sense expected to take over the seat of power.” That logic spread like wildfire and led to, among other factors, the defeat of the APC in that poll.
That simple understanding equally influenced Makinde’s tacit support for the presidential ambition of Asiwaju Bola Tinubu in the 2023 elections. After eight years of Muhammadu Buhari’s second coming as a democratically elected president, it was only proper and logical to have power return to the South to preserve national cohesion and stability.
On a day he was supposed to speak to the 2026 intending pilgrims to Saudi Arabia about faith, devotion, and sacrifice, Governor Seyi Makinde instead chose to expose his deep-seated religious bigotry. For a man who won the 2019 election on the platter of identity politics, Mr. Makinde’s snide statement against those demanding a Muslim governor in 2027, after eight years of rule by a Christian governor, landed on the wrong side of the public. Makinde might have been nursing the ambition of fielding a Christian as his flag bearer, but by coming out to openly argue against the legitimate agitation of more than half of the state population, he has sparked a conversation that would define the next gubernatorial contest.
One day, many years ago, Governor Seyi Makinde, still learning the ropes as the elected leader, asked one question that would ultimately define the rest of his time in power: how come all the foremost traditional rulers in the state—from the late Alaafin of Oyo, Soun of Ogbomoso, Aseyin of Iseyin, and Olubadan of Ibadan—proclaim Islam as their religion? The governor queried this in a meeting that eventually leaked to the public, according to Alhaji Kunle Sani, the chairman of the Oyo State Muslim Community.
By the time the last of the prominent monarchs in the state joined his forebears, it became evident that the governor would not hesitate to use his office to fix what he considered marginalization of some sort in the composition of traditional rulers in the state.
In succession, the demise of the late Soun of Ogbomoso, Oba Jimoh Olawumi; Olubadan Saliu Adetunji; Alaafin Lamidi Olayiwola; and Aseyin Abdulganiy Salawudeen offered Governor Makinde the opportunity to flex his executive muscles, collude with his acolytes to influence the selection process, threaten aggrieved contestants with fire and brimstone, and destroy age-long traditions for selfish and whimsical interests. In Iseyin emerged a king who was neither here nor there in terms of religious inclination. In Ogbomoso, a former RCCG pastor has been caught in the web of internal religious fisticuffs. In Oyo, the new king has demonstrated capacity for inclusivity and seems to have good advisers on the internal dynamics of the throne and its occupant.
By trying to justify his plan to field a Christian candidate in 2027, Makinde’s misleading and sensational allusion to the way Muslims have represented the three senatorial districts since 2015 speaks of a man with limited political understanding. Of course, only a mischievous character would reduce elections to religious colouration. More than anyone else, Governor Makinde knows that all senators in the state emerged through hotly contested races, and that if the public prefers his imposed candidate in 2027, it will be because of the character, competence, and capacity of his handpicked flag bearer, and not the other way round. For a governor who has won the admiration of the public, isn’t it better for him to field a credible candidate who will be accepted by his party members than to meddle in the political affairs of his adversaries simply because of the faith they proclaim?
Funny enough, the same Mr. Makinde fielded Solomon Akinwole and Joseph Tegbe, both Christians, as senatorial candidates in the last election. Guess what: they were beaten to an embarassing stupor. The argument that, since only Muslims have been representing the state in the Senate, is therefore a defeated one—one that is capable of setting the whole state ablaze. A great leader, in other words doesn’t create separation. A true leader, in the words of Dana Boyce “brings people together”.
Wale Oladigbolu writes about power, politics, policy, governance and everything in between exclusively about Oyo State.
