Revisiting the North-South Dichotomy

By edentu OROSO

Illustration of Nigeria's Ethnic Groups (Credit: Peoples Daily)

A cursory examination of Nigeria’s ethnic configurations and the complex web of relationships—fraught with suspicion at every turn—reveals a stark testament to the nation’s deep-seated divisions and contradictions. These fractures, etched into the very fabric of the country, raise profound questions about the paradox of a land so richly endowed yet so persistently polarised.

Long before the forced amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates by Lord Frederick Lugard in 1914, the strains of ethnic and religious discord had begun their insidious infiltration into the political consciousness of both the Muslim North and the Christian South. However, the struggle for ethnic and religious dominance, which simmered beneath the surface for decades, only erupted into its most virulent and grotesque form in the post-independence era.

The Hausa-Fulani North, bound by centuries of trans-border trade, the unifying force of Islam, and the common thread of the Hausa language, had always exhibited a semblance of cohesion. The Christian South, by contrast, was a mosaic of diverse ethnic groups, each with distinct linguistic, cultural, and political identities. The Yoruba, predominantly in the Southwest, maintained a rich tradition of political organisation, commerce, and scholarship, blending indigenous beliefs with Christianity and Islam.

The Igbo of the Southeast, fiercely republican in their socio-political structure, thrived on entrepreneurial ingenuity and a deep-seated belief in meritocracy. The Niger Delta and the South-South Region, home to minority ethnic groups, navigated a different reality—one shaped by a long history of resource wealth, environmental exploitation, and struggles for self-determination.

Despite this diversity, colonial rule imposed an artificial unity, stringing together these disparate entities under a single administrative framework. Yet, rather than fostering integration, colonial policies entrenched divisions, fuelling mutual distrust and competition for political and economic power. The post-independence period only exacerbated these fault-lines, as regional interests clashed in a relentless contest for dominance, culminating in political instability, coups, and a brutal civil war.

Today, the echoes of these historical tensions continue to reverberate across Nigeria’s socio-political landscape, shaping national discourse and governance. The unresolved questions of identity, resource control, and power distribution remain potent triggers of conflict, reinforcing the fragile nature of a nation still grappling with the ghosts of its colonial past.

Since the First Republic, the pendulum of political power in Nigeria has largely swung between the North and the South—particularly the Yoruba-dominated Southwest—leaving minority groups systematically marginalised by the sheer weight of numerical strength. This entrenched power dynamic, shaped by historical precedent and demographic politics, has effectively sidelined other regions from the highest office of the land.

An exception to this pattern came in 2010—an anomaly in Nigeria’s political history—when the untimely death of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua propelled his vice president, Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, from the Niger Delta, to the presidency. His six-year tenure, though significant, was widely regarded as an accident of history rather than a deliberate shift in Nigeria’s power calculus.

For the Igbo of the South-East, the road to the presidency has remained elusive since the First Republic. Though Nnamdi Azikiwe served as Nigeria’s first indigenous President at independence in 1960, his role was largely ceremonial under a parliamentary system. The brief leadership of Aguiyi-Ironsi following the 1966 coup—marked by turbulence and swiftly truncated by counter-coup—remains the closest the Southeast has come to executive power.

Decades later, despite their formidable contributions to Nigeria’s political and economic landscape, the Igbos continue to be conspicuously absent from the presidency, reinforcing long- standing grievances over political exclusion and marginalisation. The enduring myth of the North-South dichotomy in Nigeria’s political landscape is not merely a relic of historical narratives; it persists because of two undeniable realities.

The Yoruba of the South-West, despite internal political disagreements, often present a formidable united front when issues of cultural identity or geopolitical interests arise. This cohesion grants them significant leverage in power negotiations, particularly in their engagements with the Muslim North. While external observers may perceive them as fragmented in state affairs, their unity resembles the symbiotic relationship between the tongue and the teeth—despite occasional friction, the tongue never abandons the teeth, and no matter how often the teeth bite the tongue in the act of chewing, the food is never spilled. This intrinsic solidarity, though sometimes
understated, remains a defining factor in their political calculations.

On the other hand, the Muslim North’s strength has always stemmed from two dominant forces: ethnicity and religion. Politically, they move as a monolithic bloc, often speaking with one voice when rallied by their religious and political leadership. Their steadfastness in political allegiance is rarely swayed by external influences, as they consistently align with their regional and religious affiliations. Beyond ideological commitments, they wield a numerical advantage in electoral contests, a factor that has historically bolstered their influence in national politics.

Moreover, their political dynamics are characterised by a deeply ingrained followership
structure—leaders command near-unquestioning loyalty, and followers rarely deviate from the
collective stance. This herd mentality, whether perceived as a strength or a weakness, remains a
defining characteristic of their political machinery.

The political landscape of Nigeria is akin to a delicate chessboard where each major ethnic bloc
manoeuvers with calculated precision, striving for dominance while contending with historical
grievances and entrenched suspicions. Yet, a third force exists—one that, if properly harnessed,
could either disrupt or completely upend this precarious balance of power: the predominantly
Igbo Southeast. Ironically, despite their immense intellectual and economic capital, the Igbos lack the political
cohesion that has long fortified the Hausa-Fulani hegemony in the Muslim North. Nor do they
exhibit the organic sense of fraternity that underpins the Yoruba Southwest’s political manoeuverings.

Instead, they remain their own greatest adversaries, ensnared in a web of self- conceit, internal rivalries, and insatiable political ambition. This fragmentation—manifested in a cacophony of conflicting voices and a relentless scramble for individual political patronage—has repeatedly been their Achilles’ heel, ensuring their prolonged exclusion from the presidency since the Aguiyi-Ironsi debacle.

A historic and mutual distrust between the Yorubas and the Igbos has further exacerbated this predicament. Rather than forging a unified front capable of dismantling the political stronghold of the North, both ethnic groups persist in their ideological dissonance and party fractionalisation. Their insistence on parallel paths has, time and again, played into the hands of the dominant northern oligarchy. Were the Yorubas and Igbos ever to set aside their deep-seated suspicions and coalesce under a singular vision, the North’s grip on power would loosen considerably—perhaps even irreversibly—regardless of its numerical advantage. If the Igbos, rather than prioritising individual gain, embraced collective strategy and aligned with the Yorubas in pursuit of a shared political objective, it would mark a turning point in Nigeria’s political history.

Yet, this remains a mirage—an elusive ideal that rarely translates into political reality. The North,
ever cognisant of this fundamental weakness, has mastered the art of divide and rule, ensuring that the Southeast remains in a perpetual state of internal discord. By deepening the fractures within Igbo leadership and exacerbating the mistrust between the Southeast and Southwest, the Northern elite continues to consolidate its hold on the levers of power. Until the day the Igbos recognise the imperative of strategic unity and forge alliances beyond the bounds of ethnic sentiment, the North’s dominance will remain unchallenged, and their political marginalisation will endure.

The Northcentral region—long regarded as a subservient extension of the North—is beginning to
rouse from its political slumber, recalibrating its allegiances in pursuit of liberty and a new consciousness of its marginalised status. In this awakening, it could serve as the critical buffer that the Yorubas and Igbos need to dismantle the entrenched myth of Northern dominance.

Naturally, the oil-rich Southsouth would find strategic advantage in aligning with such a consensus between the Southwest, Southeast, and Northcentral, leaving the core Muslim North isolated without its historical stronghold.
Yet, this remains an elusive ideal. The real impediment? The deep-seated greed and provincialism of the Igbos and Yorubas, who, despite the strategic necessity, will not permit such an alliance in the ruthless arena of power politics.

Meanwhile, the far-sighted Muslim North, ever adept at political manoeuvering, will continue to stay ahead of the game.