There is something deeply troubling about a country that knows where the boundaries are but repeatedly appears reluctant to enforce them.
Nigeria has laws addressing incitement, threats to public order, hate speech, religious intolerance and violence. It also has institutions responsible for protecting citizens and preserving peaceful coexistence. Yet when individuals with significant religious influence appear to cross those boundaries, the response from the authorities can suddenly become cautious and uncertain.
That hesitation deserves attention.
The recent controversy involving Sheikh Sani Yahaya Jingir provides a telling example. The National Human Rights Commission reviewed a viral video involving the cleric and raised concerns that his comments could encourage religious hatred and violence. The commission subsequently called for his arrest and prosecution. The Nigeria Inter-Religious Council, jointly led by the Sultan of Sokoto and the President of the Christian Association of Nigeria, also intervened.
That ought to have reinforced a straightforward principle: religious authority should never translate into immunity from the law.
A turban does not place anyone above the law. Neither does a clerical collar. A mosque cannot become a refuge from accountability, just as a church cannot.
Religious influence may command respect, but it cannot provide exemption from responsibility.
And this issue goes beyond Sheikh Jingir.
The Gumi Question
Sheikh Ahmad Gumi presents another difficult aspect of Nigeria’s continuing struggle with religion, insecurity and political influence.
Gumi ventured into forests where armed bandits operated and established direct contact with them. He consistently advocated dialogue and negotiation as a possible approach to resolving the country’s banditry crisis. He also made public comments that framed aspects of the conflict through an ethnic lens, describing some Fulani actors involved as militants fighting for ethnic survival.
There is a legitimate argument to be made for dialogue.
Governments themselves have, at various times, explored negotiations and local mediation when confronting armed groups. Therefore, it would be unfair to conclude that every attempt to engage violent actors is automatically criminal.
But there is a crucial difference between an authorised government policy and the development of a separate influence network around armed individuals.
There is also a difference between advocating peace and repeatedly presenting criminal violence as an ethnic grievance. The latter can create a dangerous perception that victims and perpetrators belong to opposing communities.
That distinction cannot be ignored.
Gumi has rejected some statements attributed to him, maintaining that certain comments were doctored or manipulated. His explanations should be heard, just as his arguments for dialogue deserve consideration.
But explanations do not remove the state’s responsibility to examine conduct, statements and their consequences.
The same standard must apply to everyone.
When Religious Advocacy Becomes Political Mobilisation
The activities of the Muslim Rights Concern, MURIC, under Professor Ishaq Akintola raise another dimension of the debate.
There is nothing inherently wrong with Muslims demanding political representation. There is equally nothing inherently wrong with challenging a government over alleged discrimination.
The difficulty begins when political arguments are increasingly presented through religious identity.
MURIC has called for Muslim political candidates in parts of the South-West and has criticised the Oyo State Government, accusing Governor Seyi Makinde of pursuing what it described as the “Christianisation” of Oyo.
Such claims deserve scrutiny, not because they come from a Muslim organisation, but because religious entitlement becomes dangerous when it begins determining political allegiance.
And the principle must work both ways.
Christian leaders should not receive a free pass.
If a Christian cleric tells Christians that political power naturally belongs to them, that argument should be challenged. If a pastor uses religious identity to mobilise hostility against Muslims, he should be condemned. If a bishop turns an ordinary political disagreement into religious confrontation, the same standards should apply.
A Muslim should not be expected to defend the misconduct of a Muslim cleric.
A Christian should not be required to defend the misconduct of a Christian cleric.
The standard should be conduct, not creed.
Nigeria’s Problem With Selective Outrage
This is where Nigeria repeatedly gets the debate wrong.
We have become accustomed to selective outrage.
When an ordinary citizen makes a reckless statement, the machinery of the state can move with remarkable speed. But when a powerful religious figure makes potentially dangerous remarks, suddenly there is an abundance of calls for context, reconciliation and further explanation.
Context matters.
Nuance matters.
But justice cannot depend on the social standing of the person being investigated.
The Nigerian state must therefore learn to distinguish between religious freedom and religious impunity.
Religious freedom permits a cleric to preach his faith. It permits religious organisations to defend their interests. It allows citizens to criticise government policies and argue passionately for political representation.
What it does not permit is the treatment of fellow Nigerians as lesser citizens because of their religion.
It does not permit the encouragement of religious hostility.
It does not permit political competition to become a call for communal confrontation.
And it cannot permit private relationships with armed groups to evolve into an alternative security structure.
This Is Not About Silencing Religion
None of this is an argument for censorship.
It is an argument for consistency.
The state should not silence religious voices simply because their opinions are inconvenient or embarrassing to those in government.
At the same time, government should not ignore dangerous rhetoric simply because the person responsible commands a large following or enjoys access to political power.
There is an even greater danger when the government repeatedly hesitates to confront inflammatory religious speech.
Each time that happens, authority is gradually transferred from the Constitution to whoever happens to possess the loudest voice, the largest following or the strongest influence.
That is how a republic begins to lose its legitimate authority.
The solution is not to place religion under government control.
Rather, religious influence must operate within the same constitutional boundaries that govern every other form of influence.
Religion Can Also Be A Force For Peace
Fortunately, not every religious intervention deepens division.
There are responsible religious leaders who understand the importance of restraint, dialogue and peaceful coexistence.
The recent interfaith peace accord signed in Abuja by Muslim and Christian leaders demonstrates that religious authority can also be used to reduce tension rather than increase it.
Nigeria does not need fewer religious voices.
It needs more responsible voices.
It does not need a government that is afraid of religion.
It needs a government confident enough to ensure that religion is not transformed into an instrument of political exclusion, ethnic mobilisation or violence.
And Nigerians must be prepared to ask the difficult question whenever the boundary is crossed:
Who is bigger than Nigeria?
Not the imam.
Not the pastor.
Not the bishop.
Not the activist.
Not the politician.
Not the traditional ruler.
Not even the government.
Nobody.
The republic must remain bigger than all of them.
That is not hostility towards religion.
It is respect for a country in which people of different faiths, identities and backgrounds must coexist under one constitutional order.
