In Nigeria’s ever-evolving democratic space, few issues stir as much passion at the grassroots as the question of who truly belongs. In Lokoja I State Constituency, that question has once again taken centre stage—this time framed around representation, identity, and what many locals describe as a struggle to protect their political inheritance.
At the heart of the matter is a firm declaration by indigenes of Lokoja: the State House of Assembly seat, they argue, is not merely a political office open to all residents, but a trust that should be reserved for bona fide sons and daughters of the soil. Their message, delivered through the Lokoja True Sons and Daughters Forum (LTSDF), is both pointed and emotive—“We can’t be denied our rights in our own land.”
This position reflects a deeper tension embedded in Nigeria’s federal arrangement, where the lines between citizenship and indigeneship often blur in practice. While the constitution guarantees freedom of movement and residence, political realities at the local level frequently draw boundaries that are shaped more by history and identity than by law.
Speaking on behalf of the forum, its chairman, Mallam Musa Adamu Egila, articulated a view widely shared in many communities: that those with ancestral roots in a place possess a more intimate understanding of its needs. For them, representation is not just about competence or popularity—it is about connection, continuity, and cultural belonging.
Yet, this stance raises complex questions. In a cosmopolitan town like Lokoja—a historic confluence that has welcomed Nigerians from across the country—can political participation be strictly defined by indigene status? And if so, what becomes of long-term residents who have contributed to the town’s economy and social life but trace their origins elsewhere?
The forum attempts to draw a line. Non-indigenes, they say, remain free to live, work, and prosper in Lokoja. However, positions such as councillor, local government chairman, and state assembly member—roles they describe as deeply rooted in grassroots realities—should, in their view, be occupied by indigenes.
While this argument carries emotional and cultural weight, it sits uneasily within the broader ideals of a modern democracy, which often emphasises inclusion, merit, and equal opportunity.
Adding another layer to the unfolding discourse are claims of political endorsement and counterclaims of misinformation. The forum’s rejection of alleged “anointed candidates” and its warning against the use of Governor Ahmed Usman Ododo’s name highlight a growing concern about the integrity of the pre-primary process.
This concern has been echoed by party officials. The Lokoja Local Government APC leadership has repeatedly clarified that no aspirant has been endorsed by the governor, insisting that the eventual candidate will emerge through direct primaries. Such assurances are crucial in a political environment where perceived backing from influential figures can significantly sway outcomes.
Beyond the immediate political contest, however, lies a more enduring challenge: how to balance the legitimate aspirations of indigenes with the need for inclusivity in a diverse society. The Lokoja debate mirrors similar tensions across Nigeria, where communities continue to grapple with the intersection of identity, rights, and democratic participation.
Lokoja’s symbolic status as the meeting point of Nigeria’s great rivers underscores the irony of the moment. A city that historically represents unity is now navigating the delicate boundaries of belonging in politics.
To be sure, the demand for representation by indigenes is understandable. Communities everywhere seek leaders who understand their peculiar challenges and can effectively advocate for their interests. But in asserting this, there is a need for restraint—to ensure that the pursuit of justice for some does not result in the marginalisation of others.
As the political process unfolds, stakeholders must prioritise fairness, transparency, and dialogue. Political parties must uphold credible processes, while community leaders must ensure that their advocacy strengthens, rather than divides, the social fabric.
In the end, the unfolding situation in Lokoja I will not only determine who represents the constituency—it will also reflect the kind of democracy being nurtured: one defined by narrow definitions of belonging, or one that embraces a broader, more inclusive vision.
For the indigenes who insist, “We can’t be denied our rights,” the task ahead is to pursue those rights in a manner that upholds both justice and unity in an increasingly diverse political landscape.
– Musa Ahmad writes from Lokoja.
