By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
Kano State finds itself once again ensnared in the suffocating grip of political tension, yet this current malaise must not be misdiagnosed as a mere falling-out between a patron and his protégé. What we are observing is the inevitable and spectacular implosion of a political culture that has systematically substituted genuine ideological substance with the pursuit of personal dominance. It is the natural conclusion of a system that prioritises the permanence of individual control over the organic growth of democratic institutions.
Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso has remained the undisputed fulcrum of Kano politics for more than two decades, wielding an influence that transcends formal party structures, civil institutions, and even the natural ebb and flow of electoral cycles. His grip on power has been more than merely political; it has become existential. He has functioned as the ultimate arbiter of destiny within the state, unilaterally determining who ascends to the heights of office, who is cast into the political wilderness, and who is permitted to remain relevant within the public sphere.
However, such prolonged and concentrated dominance is not a hallmark of political vitality; rather, it is damning evidence of institutional decay. In a robust and healthy democracy, leadership should naturally regenerate, ideas must be allowed to evolve, and power ought to circulate freely amongst a new generation of thinkers. In Kano, however, the political waters have stagnated around a single individual, stifling the state’s democratic maturity and preventing the emergence of a pluralistic discourse that serves the many rather than the one.
The Kwankwasiyya movement is frequently lauded by its devoted adherents as a grassroots revolution, a populist awakening of the masses. Yet, when one strips away the thick layer of sentiment and the performative nature of its symbolism, it reveals itself as little more than a personality-driven network. It is a structure built upon the fragile pillars of absolute loyalty and transactional patronage—an exercise in sophisticated political mobilisation that lacks any discernible ideological depth or long-term vision for the commonwealth.
We must acknowledge that political symbolism—the ubiquitous red caps, the rehearsed slogans, and the carefully choreographed crowds—can never be a viable substitute for a coherent political philosophy. There was a time when Kano led the Nigerian federation in the art of ideological politics. In that era, intellectual convictions, rather than the whims of a “Big Man,” defined movements and dictated the trajectory of governance, providing a blueprint for the entire nation to follow.
The venerable Aminu Kano School of Thought was firmly anchored in a radical pursuit of social justice and the genuine empowerment of the talakawa (the commoners). It was a movement defined by its fierce resistance to entrenched privilege and feudal entitlement. It was not a politics of comfort or convenience; it was confrontational, principled, and deeply rooted in a moral conviction that sought to upend the status quo in favour of the downtrodden.
Abubakar Rimi further extended this proud legacy with a brand of fearless reformism, daring to challenge feudal structures and authoritarian tendencies even when it came at a significant personal and political cost. His brand of politics demanded sacrifice and lasting institutional change; it did not require a lifetime of subservience to a godfather, nor did it seek to build a cult of personality that would outlive the very reforms it championed.
In stark contrast, Kwankwasiyya bears almost no resemblance to these storied traditions. It lacks a coherent worldview, a defined policy doctrine, or a consistent agenda for structural reform. Its most defining characteristic has been a remarkable, chameleon-like ability to relocate across the political landscape, moving from one party to another without the slightest hint of ideological discomfort or cognitive dissonance.
From the PDP to the APC, and now to the NNPP, the movement has shifted its platform based entirely on political expediency rather than core belief. Throughout these migrations, the only constant has been the absolute concentration of authority in the hands of Kwankwaso himself. The party vehicles change, the colours are repainted, but the driver remains the same, steering the state toward his own personal horizon.
Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf is the quintessential product of this restrictive system. His ascension to the highest office in the state was not the result of an independent political journey or a unique governing philosophy; it was an inheritance facilitated through endorsement, the deployment of a formidable political machine, and the indispensable blessing of his patron. He did not win a mandate so much as he received a grant of authority.
It is, therefore, entirely predictable that this rigid arrangement has finally fractured. The institution of godfatherism, by its very nature, cannot tolerate genuine autonomy. History teaches us that protégés will eventually rebel when the weight of control becomes suffocating and the demands of the patron begin to conflict with the realities of governance and the instinct for self-preservation.
Kwankwaso’s recent assertion that “betrayal never leads to success” is a revealing window into the sense of entitlement embedded in this political culture. It betrays the underlying assumption that power conferred is a debt that can never be fully discharged—that the Governor of a sovereign state must remain eternally beholden to his benefactor, placing personal gratitude above the public interest.
Kano is not a personal estate, nor is it the private spoils of a successful political skirmish. From the bustling markets of Kano city to the rural stretches of the State, the state belongs inalienably to its people. It is not a fiefdom to be traded or managed by political patrons who view the electorate as mere pawns in a grander game of ego and influence.
Furthermore, Governor Yusuf’s reported inclination to defect to the APC should not be romanticised as an act of newfound courage or a declaration of independence. At its core, it is a calculated manoeuvre for political survival and the procurement of security for a second term. It is a move driven by the cold mathematics of power, not by a sudden realignment of ideological values or a desire to better serve the citizenry.
Even more distressing is the inevitable stampede of lawmakers, local government chairmen, and state officials who stand ready to defect alongside him. This mass migration reveals a political elite that is almost entirely devoid of conviction. It paints a portrait of a leadership class driven solely by their proximity to the levers of power, willing to discard their current banners as soon as a more advantageous wind begins to blow.
This prevailing culture of “convenience politics” stands in jarring contrast to Kano’s rich ideological heritage. It represents a profound betrayal of the sacrifices made by earlier generations—men and women who understood politics as a vehicle for service and a theatre of struggle for the soul of society, rather than a grubby scramble for individual survival and relevance.
The exhausting and protracted feud between Kwankwaso and his former deputy, Abdullahi Umar Ganduje, has further reduced the vibrant landscape of Kano politics to a tawdry theatre of personal vendettas. In this environment, effective governance becomes a secondary concern, and the state itself is treated as little more than collateral damage in a war of attrition between two rival power blocs.
While these factions trade bitter accusations, swap platforms, and forge hollow alliances, the ordinary citizens of Kano are left to contend with the harsh realities of a state in decline. They face decaying schools, a collapsing healthcare infrastructure, spiralling unemployment, and a chasm between the lofty promises made on the campaign trail and the dismal performance of those in office.
Kano does not require another political messiah draped in red symbolism. What the state desperately requires is institutional leadership, ideological clarity, and a genuine sense of accountability to the electorate. It needs leaders who are defined by their policies, not by their patrons.
Until the people of Kano decisively reject the yoke of godfatherism—regardless of how populist its rhetoric may sound or how colourful its branding may appear—the state will remain trapped in these soul-destroying cycles of betrayal, defection, and arrested development. History will eventually sit in judgement of this era, and unless a change of course is found, that judgement will be deservedly harsh.
Leman is a former National Secretary of Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ)
