If Kemi Badenoch were Igbo, her fate in the Nigerian political landscape would have taken a dramatically different trajectory. She would not simply be a British politician of Nigerian descent; rather, she would be vilified as a secessionist and accused of working with foreign entities to dismember Nigeria. The government and media machinery would be in overdrive, branding her as an international ambassador of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), a chief fundraiser abroad, and a security threat that must be contained.
Government officials and influential figures would waste no time in petitioning King Charles, the UK Conservative Party, the British Parliament, the United Nations, and the U.S. Congress, seeking her arrest and designation as a terrorist. Every move she made would be scrutinized through the lens of alleged treason, with accusations that her advocacy was fueled by bitterness over the failure of an Igbo candidate to secure the presidency in 2023. She would be cast as a sponsor of the Eastern Security Network (ESN), the architect behind the so-called “unknown gunmen,” and the orchestrator of the insecurity plaguing the Southeast.
The fallout would extend beyond Kemi herself. Igbo communities across Nigeria would bear the brunt of collective punishment. Those living outside their homeland would face violent reprisals—evictions, destruction of their businesses, and targeted attacks on Igbo-dominated markets. The mere suspicion of association with her cause would be enough to subject them to harassment, discrimination, and economic strangulation, all while local authorities turn a blind eye.
If Kemi Badenoch were Igbo, the campaign to strip her of her Nigerian citizenship would be relentless, with the entire nation rallying behind a narrative that paints the Igbo as perpetual outsiders and threats to national unity. The media would fuel the fire, framing her actions as a calculated plot to destabilize the country with the backing of political figures like Peter Obi.
But Kemi Badenoch is not Igbo. She is Yoruba and British. And in today’s Nigeria, where power is concentrated in the hands of a Yoruba-led administration with a Muslim-Muslim ticket, responses to her criticisms have been muted. Instead of condemnation, the government’s reaction has been limited to a feeble plea for understanding, such as the recent statement by presidential aide Daniel Bwala—a response that offers little more than empty rhetoric.
The real question, however, is not about Kemi Badenoch’s ethnicity but about Nigeria’s ability to confront its challenges with fairness and integrity. Do those in power possess the competence, will, and courage to tackle the country’s mounting crises? Or will they continue to govern through the lens of ethnic bias and selective justice?
Ultimately, this thought experiment exposes Nigeria’s entrenched ethnic prejudices and the unequal treatment of dissenting voices. The reactions to criticism depend not on its merits but on the ethnicity of the critic, a reality that underscores the deep divisions undermining the country’s unity and progress.
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