{OPINION} The hypocrisy of Shari’ah critics and the politics of misinformation in Nigeria

By NASRUDEEN ABBAS

Labeling all critics as hypocrites may be rhetorically satisfying, but it ultimately deepens divisions. At the same time, dismissing all proponents of Shari’ah as extremists is equally reductive. Nigeria’s strength lies in its diversity, and managing that diversity requires patience, mutual respect, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.

Public debate about religion in Nigeria rarely stays within the bounds of honest inquiry. Nowhere is this more evident than in the recurring backlash against calls for Shari’ah within Muslim communities, particularly in southwestern Nigeria. What should be an opportunity for dialogue is too often replaced by suspicion, exaggeration, and, at times, outright misinformation.

At its core, the argument presented by many Muslim advocates is straightforward: in a plural society like Nigeria, groups should be able to practice their faith within the framework of the law. When Muslims request the institutional strengthening or expansion of Shari’ah courts, they are not necessarily demanding a theocratic overhaul of the state; rather, they are asking for a system that governs personal and communal matters for those who willingly subscribe to it. In principle, this is not fundamentally different from how customary and civil laws already coexist within Nigeria’s legal system.

Yet, critics frequently interpret such demands as an existential threat. Instead of seeking clarification, some voices—especially across social media and segments of the press—frame Shari’ah as inherently oppressive or incompatible with modern governance. This framing often relies less on engagement with Islamic jurisprudence and more on deeply rooted anxieties about religion, identity, and power.

Nigeria’s constitutional recognition of both Islam and Christianity reflects its religious diversity. However, this dual recognition has not prevented tensions. On the contrary, it has sometimes fueled competition, with each side suspecting the other of seeking dominance. In this charged environment, narratives can quickly become weaponized.

A recurring theme in pro-Shari’ah arguments is the perception of double standards. Supporters point to what they see as selective outrage: violence in Muslim-majority contexts is frequently attributed to religion, while similar acts elsewhere are explained through political or socioeconomic lenses. This perception—whether fully accurate or not—feeds a broader sense of grievance among many Muslims, who feel their faith is being unfairly singled out.

Equally contentious are claims of foreign influence. Some commentators argue that international actors, particularly in the West, have shaped narratives about Nigeria’s religious dynamics in ways that oversimplify or distort realities on the ground. References to global politics—ranging from counterterrorism discourse to geopolitical alliances—are often invoked to suggest that local debates about Shari’ah are entangled with larger ideological battles.

However, these arguments also reveal a deeper issue: the tendency to personalize and politicize religious discourse. Figures such as the Sultan of Sokoto—often regarded as a spiritual leader for many Nigerian Muslims—are sometimes drawn into controversies that go beyond theology and into the realm of political rivalry. This, in turn, risks undermining institutions that traditionally serve as stabilizing forces.

Lost in much of this debate is a nuanced understanding of what Shari’ah actually entails. Contrary to popular perception, Islamic law is not limited to criminal punishments. It encompasses a wide range of ethical, social, and economic principles, including welfare, accountability in leadership, and conflict resolution. In many interpretations, its emphasis is as much on social justice as it is on legal order.

Still, acknowledging this complexity does not automatically resolve the concerns of critics. For many non-Muslims, fears about Shari’ah are tied to questions about equality, human rights, and the potential for coercion. These concerns cannot simply be dismissed as ignorance or hypocrisy; they require engagement, reassurance, and, where necessary, institutional safeguards.

The real challenge, then, is not whether Shari’ah should exist in Nigeria—it already does in various forms—but how it can operate within a pluralistic society without infringing on the rights of others. This requires more than rhetoric. It demands transparency, education, and a commitment to coexistence from all sides.

Labeling all critics as hypocrites may be rhetorically satisfying, but it ultimately deepens divisions. At the same time, dismissing all proponents of Shari’ah as extremists is equally reductive. Nigeria’s strength lies in its diversity, and managing that diversity requires patience, mutual respect, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.

In the end, the debate over Shari’ah is less about law and more about trust. Until Nigerians—Muslim and non-Muslim alike—can engage one another in good faith, the cycle of accusation and counter-accusation will continue, to the detriment of national unity.

*Abbas writes from Port Harcourt.