Anioma, Identity & The Politics Of Belonging
THE debate over the proposed creation of Anioma State has once again exposed the emotional, historical, and political fault lines within the wider Igbo community. What began as a discussion about administrative restructuring has evolved into a deeper conversation about identity, belonging, and the legacies of old grievances.
The Asagba of Asaba’s position is clear: he supports an Anioma State strictly within the nine local governments of Delta North, without extending the new state into the Southeast. That preference, many argue, is his prerogative. But the controversy surrounding it has reopened long-standing questions about the relationship between Anioma people and their Igbo counterparts in the Southeast.
At the heart of the tension is the accusation that Anioma indigenes often distance themselves from their Igbo heritage, despite shared language, culture, names, and ancestry. For many in the Southeast, this distancing feels like rejection — or worse, betrayal — by a group they see as brothers historically carved out of the old Eastern Region. The Southeast’s repeated attempts to politically embrace Anioma communities are often interpreted as efforts to “rescue” kin who, they believe, remain numerical minorities in the Niger Delta.
But in response, some Anioma voices have pushed back strongly, insisting that Anioma is not an extension of the Southeast and that the region is not seeking absorption or validation. Accusations that the Southeast is only interested in Anioma because of oil wealth have further fueled resentment. Critics dismiss this narrative as absurd, pointing to decades of oil extraction in Delta North with little benefit to local communities.
Historical wounds also linger beneath the surface. Some in the Southeast continue to connect Anioma’s political leadership during the events leading up to the civil war to the suffering endured across the Eastern Region, even though Anioma people, like other Igbo groups, also bore the consequences of that conflict. Others argue that no such blame game should exist at all, since external forces—not internal divisions—ignited the war.
Despite shared ancestry, shared trauma, and shared cultural markers, the present discourse reveals sharper lines of distinction. Some Anioma indigenes invoke historical links to Edo and Kogi, while others insist their Igbo identity is unquestionable. Meanwhile, voices from the Southeast express growing disillusionment with the perceived ambiguity.
What remains clear is that the Anioma identity conversation is no longer just about geography or state creation. It has become a reflection of insecurity, historical memory, political mistrust, and the struggle to define one’s place within Nigeria’s complex mosaic.
In the end, both sides appear exhausted — one insisting on autonomy of identity, the other withdrawing its emotional investment. And as the rhetoric heats up, the call becomes simple, if not resigned:
“Stand where you choose to stand — and let each group chart its own future.”
