Until the killing of Sheikh Yahaya Ibrahim Masussuka in Katsina State, I had never heard his name. I had never listened to his sermons, watched his videos or familiarised myself with his religious teachings. I therefore have no opinion on his beliefs, his theological positions or what he represented. I may take time to understand his teachings, but that is not the subject of this article. His death is relevant here only because it triggered an unusually heated exchange across social media, bringing me face to face with something that has troubled me deeply over the past few days.
What I have witnessed is an increasingly disturbing exchange among young Nigerian Muslims, many seemingly in their twenties and thirties, debating the differences between Islamic religious movements and traditions. Videos of clerics are being circulated, shared and defended by their followers. Some are being used to attack opposing interpretations of Islam, while others contain statements that are difficult to reconcile with the values of compassion, restraint and respect for human life that should underpin religious teaching. The exchanges involve adherents of Izala and other Salafi-oriented currents, as well as followers of Sufi traditions, including the Tijaniyya and other tariqas. These are not uniform communities, and their theological differences should not be confused with support for violence. However, the hostility and some of the utterances being circulated are deeply concerning.
For four days, it has been difficult to open my X timeline without encountering another video or argument arising from this controversy. What is particularly troubling is not simply that people disagree about religious doctrine. Disagreement is neither new nor inherently dangerous. Muslims have different schools of thought, traditions and interpretations, and there is room for robust theological debate. What should concern us is the growing willingness of some voices to justify hatred, dehumanisation and violence in the name of defending religious positions. When young people begin to consume, defend and reproduce such messages as ordinary religious discourse, we must ask ourselves what kind of society we are preparing them to inherit.
I have seen a video in which a cleric reportedly claimed that parents should kill a ten-year-old child who refuses to observe Salah, presenting this as an Islamic instruction. That is an extremely dangerous misrepresentation. The commonly cited Hadith in Sunan Abi Dawud about teaching children to pray at seven and disciplining them at ten does not instruct parents to kill their children. The Quran expressly prohibits killing children. Yet statements of this nature can circulate widely, acquire credibility because of the religious authority of the speaker and reach young people who may not have the knowledge to challenge them.
Other videos have been even more disturbing. One showed a group of young people in uniforms resembling those of a religious organisation chanting threats to obtain weapons and attack people attending churches in Enugu and Plateau. The organisation publicly disowned the statements and called for an investigation. That response should be acknowledged. However, the recording itself raises serious questions about how young people are being influenced, what they are being taught to regard as acceptable and how easily violent rhetoric can become a collective performance.
I want to emphasise that this is not an argument about Muslims against Christians. It is not even primarily an argument about the relationship between Muslims and people of other faiths. What I have been observing is a problem emerging within Muslim communities themselves. It is about Muslims being encouraged to regard other Muslims as enemies because they follow a different school of thought, belong to another religious movement or interpret certain texts differently. If we cannot tolerate differences among ourselves, what hope do we have of building a society in which people of different faiths can coexist peacefully?
The implications go far beyond the arguments currently playing out online. Arewa has spent years confronting organised violent extremism. Boko Haram, ISWAP and other armed groups have inflicted enormous damage on communities, institutions, education, livelihoods and the bonds that hold the region. Governments have invested heavily in military operations, intelligence gathering and other security interventions to contain these threats. Yet I fear we are paying insufficient attention to another dimension of the problem: the possibility that we are creating the conditions for a generation of individualised extremists.
A young person may never join Boko Haram, ISWAP, Ansaru or any other organised group. They may never enter a terrorist camp, receive weapons training or have direct contact with an insurgent commander. But if they spend years consuming messages that teach them to hate people who disagree with them, that portray other Muslims as legitimate targets, or that present violence as a religious obligation, they may eventually develop an extremist worldview of their own. They may act independently, without belonging to any recognised organisation. This is not to suggest that every young person who encounters such content will become violent. It is to recognise that the normalisation of violent ideology creates a risk that we cannot afford to ignore.
We may spend the next decade dismantling organised terrorist networks only to discover that the ideas sustaining violence have become more widely distributed among individuals who are difficult to identify through conventional security structures. In that situation, the challenge will be considerably more complex. How do we confront an extremist who has no organisational affiliation, whose radicalisation has taken place through years of online exposure, and who believes that violence is a legitimate expression of faith? Prevention must therefore begin long before an individual becomes a security threat.
This is why I believe the federal and state governments across Northern Nigeria must take a much firmer position on the regulation of public religious preaching. Not everyone should be able to wake up one morning, declare themselves a religious authority and use a public platform to issue inflammatory opinions or dangerous religious instructions without accountability. A sermon delivered in a mosque does not remain within that mosque. It can be recorded, uploaded and circulated to thousands, sometimes millions, of people. A speaker who addresses a relatively small congregation may end up influencing young people across the country.
Regulation, however, must be properly designed. Nigeria’s Constitution protects freedom of religion and expression. These rights must not be undermined by governments seeking to control legitimate theological debate or silence religious criticism. But freedom of religion cannot be a licence to incite murder, threaten communities or promote violence. The distinction must be clear, and the law must be applied fairly, transparently and consistently.
Some states already have legal and administrative arrangements for regulating public preaching and religious institutions. The question is whether these mechanisms are effective, whether they are being properly enforced and whether they adequately address sermons that are recorded and distributed online. Governments should review existing frameworks and work with recognised Islamic institutions, respected scholars from different traditions, legal experts, child protection professionals and security agencies to establish credible standards for public religious instruction. There should be clear qualifications and accountability requirements for those occupying public preaching platforms, effective complaints mechanisms and independent procedures for investigating credible allegations of incitement. Regulation must target dangerous conduct, not theological disagreement.
Saudi Arabia is not a model that should be copied wholesale, nor should any country be treated as an example in every aspect of religious governance. However, its system of formal requirements for the appointment of mosque imams demonstrates that public religious leadership can be subject to institutional standards. Nigeria must develop an approach suited to its own constitutional and religious context, rather than treating the regulation of public preaching as an impossible undertaking.
Religious leaders themselves must also recognise the responsibility that comes with influence. Scholars who understand the Quran, Hadith and Islamic jurisprudence have a duty to challenge dangerous distortions of religious teachings. They cannot leave the task of correcting misinformation entirely to government or security agencies. When a cleric makes a statement that encourages violence, other respected scholars should be prepared to challenge it publicly and explain why it is unacceptable. Silence can create the impression that such statements are legitimate or uncontested.
Parents, schools and communities must also pay attention to what young people are consuming online. Religious education should cultivate understanding, discipline, compassion and respect for human life. Children must be encouraged to ask questions, examine claims and seek guidance from knowledgeable and responsible adults. We cannot assume that everything delivered in the language of religion is necessarily sound or harmless.
The governors of Arewa and the federal government must understand the urgency of this challenge. One of the greatest acts of service they can render to Arewa is to confront the spread of religious extremism before it becomes even more deeply embedded in the communities. This is not a problem that can be postponed until the next security emergency. It is already demanding attention.
I am genuinely concerned about the environment in which our children are growing up. If we continue to allow hatred to be dressed up as religious instruction, if we allow young people to consume calls for violence as ordinary online content, and if public religious platforms remain beyond meaningful accountability, we should not be surprised by the consequences. I may be generous in giving us another ten years, but the danger could emerge much sooner.
Arewa cannot afford another generation raised to believe that religious disagreement is a justification for hatred or that violence is an acceptable defence of faith. We have already lost too much to organised extremism. We must not allow its ideology to become so normalised that the next threat comes from individuals who no longer need an organisation to tell them whom to hate or whom to kill. The time to act is now, before the ticking time bomb within our own communities becomes another tragedy we will claim we never saw coming.