When Religion Becomes Statecraft: The Rise & Reach Of Hegemonic Islam In Northern Nigeria
LET’S take a close, careful look at what I call hegemonic Islam in Northern Nigeria — not Islam as private faith, but Islam as a political architecture used to secure power, shape social norms, and control resources. Hegemony, by definition, is domination through consent as much as coercion: it works when a set of values becomes the unchallenged default, when institutions, laws and elites all bend to a single worldview. That is precisely what we see in parts of the North today.
A historical trajectory, not an accident
The political use of Islam in what is now Northern Nigeria did not begin yesterday. Its modern form traces back to the early 1800s with Usman dan Fodio’s jihads, which dismantled older polities and reconstituted authority around new emirates. Those emirates—religious-political institutions—pre-dated formal British colonial rule. When the British consolidated control in the early 20th century, they co-opted and codified the emirate system rather than replacing it wholesale. The result was a hybrid order: colonial administration exercising metropolitan power, while local Islamic authorities retained everyday moral and social influence.
This layered structure mattered. Colonial governors and later regional leaders found it expedient to allow Islamic institutions to regulate family and personal matters—and even to influence criminal codes. By the 1950s and through the 1958 Penal Code for Northern Nigeria, elements of Muslim moral precepts found limited expression in law. After independence, the formal doctrine of secularism entered Nigeria’s constitution, but the practical dynamics on the ground were more fractured: federal secularism coexisted uneasily with strong subnational religious institutions.
The 1999 turning point and the politics of Shari’a
The watershed came after the return to democracy in 1999. Zamfara State’s governor, Ahmad Sani Yerima, announced an explicit program to adopt Shari’a as state criminal law. What followed was a rapid domino effect: within a few years, several northern states rushed to enact Shari’a criminal codes. The speed and political calculation behind these enactments must be emphasised. Many of the laws were drafted hurriedly, with obvious gaps and inconsistencies; in some instances, commentators and human-rights observers argued that legislation was crafted more to consolidate votes and moral legitimacy than to craft sound legal frameworks.
Why did elites push Shari’a? Three political benefits are clear:
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Mobilisation of religious sentiment: Promising stricter religious law generates popular political capital. It converts piety into votes and legitimacy.
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Distraction from governance failures: Moralizing social policy makes poverty, unemployment and poor service delivery appear as moral rather than structural problems — conveniently shifting blame away from state elites.
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Reinforcement of traditional hierarchies: The reintroduction of Shari’a buttresses emirate authority and aristocratic privilege. Where legitimacy is traced to conquest and lineage, legal theology helps preserve those hierarchies.
The social and economic costs
The consequences of entrenching hegemonic Islam in political institutions are tangible. Northern states, on several development indicators—education, health, infrastructure—continue to lag behind many parts of the South. Political leaders who prioritise moral policing over economic reform reduce complex governance problems to matters of private conduct. This approach masks structural deprivation and limits policy debate about employment, investment, and inclusive growth.
When legal reform becomes a vehicle for elite legitimation, the ordinary citizen suffers twofold: first, because public policy attention is diverted from essential services; second, because the law itself can be instrumentalised to exclude, control or marginalise vulnerable groups. The deposition of outspoken figures—take, for example, the removal of former Emir Sanusi Lamido Sanusi in 2020—illustrates how aristocratic and religious interests can act to protect institutional privilege when it is perceived to be threatened.
Not a people problem — an elite problem
A crucial moral and political distinction must be made: the critique is not of Islam or of the people of Northern Nigeria. It is of a political project that weaponises religion to sustain elite power. Ordinary citizens—farmers, traders, teachers, artisans—do not benefit from systems that concentrate access to land, contracts, and state patronage in the hands of a few. They are the ones who pay the price when governance becomes theatre and capture becomes the norm.
Pathways out: legal clarity, decentralisation, civic education
If hegemonic Islam functions as a system of political control, dismantling it requires systemic remedies rather than mere personality politics. Key steps include:
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Legal clarity and constitutionalism: Reassert the rule that criminal law is a legislative and constitutional matter. Where personal law applies, it should be carefully delimited and subject to rights-based safeguards.
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Decentralisation of power and resources: When communities exercise genuine control over local development and resources, the incentive for elite capture via religious legitimation shrinks. Fiscal and political decentralisation can give local citizens leverage over priorities.
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Strengthening civic education and plural institutions: Public debate, independent media, and inclusive civil society organisations create counterweights to monolithic moral narratives. Education that emphasises critical thinking and rights will inoculate communities against simplistic moral panics.
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Economic reforms that expand real opportunities: No amount of moral legislation will replace jobs, markets, and meaningful public services. Economic policy must prioritise inclusive growth and dismantle monopolistic access to land and contracts.
Conclusion: reclaiming public life from monopoly narratives
Hegemonic Islam in Northern Nigeria is not merely a religious phenomenon; it is a political construct that has been cultivated, instrumentally, by elites over centuries. It is resilient because it sits atop historical legitimacy, institutional continuity, and contemporary political incentives. To challenge it is not to attack faith, but to insist that religion not be the only instrument of public power.
If we are serious about equity, about the rights of women and minorities, and about economic development for all Nigerians, we must insist on political arrangements that distribute power, resources and legal protections more fairly. That means confronting elite capture wherever it appears—whether cloaked in a robe or a suit—and building democratic institutions that respond to citizens rather than to dynasties.
My quarrel is not with the faith of millions; it is with a system that twists faith into a tool for domination. Until we recognise and challenge that system, the promise of a just, prosperous Nigeria will remain deferred.
— Ayo Sogunro