“Politics, effing hell”, my friend’s dad would often say while likening it to football rivalry. But politics is neither hell nor heaven; neither Jesus, Mohammed, Sango nor Buddha. Politics, in its rawest form is about interests, influence and power.
A common mistake voters make is assuming that politicians act out of deep faith or piety. In reality, it’s almost always about strategy. Whether it’s speaking to the electorate in Kaduna or rousing the audience in California, the modus operandi of politicians, all world over, is consistent: do whatever it takes to win.
And how more honest can it get? In a recent Channels TV interview, prominent Nigerian politician, Mallam Nasir El-Rufai spoke of his 2023 endorsement of the Tinubu-Shettima Muslim-Muslim ticket in the Nigeria Presidential election, stating that it was “purely political, not religious,” and explaining that “when you are contesting an election, you look at every variable that will help you win.”
It is hard to argue against him, considering instances of similar practices across the world. In the United States, for example, it is on record that President Donald Trump has continued to employ overtly Christian rhetoric to mobilise support among evangelical voters. Only days ago, Trump called for Americans to engage in weekly public prayer gatherings ahead of the nation’s 250th anniversary and pledged federal guidance to protect prayer in public schools.
While presenting as a defender of the faith of sorts, these seemingly pious actions clash with repeated allegations regarding the President’s personal morality. From time to time, the several accusations of his sexual misconduct and claims of dishonesty and corruption come to the fore, none more so threatening than when Trump’s ally, Elon Musk, made innuendos about the President’s involvement in the infamous Epstein files.
The contrast between Donald Trump’s religious posturing and his actual mixed reputation illustrates a central truth: political figures can champion faith-based ideals publicly while privately flouting them. Today, it has become even more obvious that religious messaging has become a common and rather convenient tool for populism and winning rather than a reflection of genuine spiritual conviction.
Again, Nigeria provides an interesting example. Since the country’s most recent return to democracy in 1999, the electorate has been neck deep in the concepts of zoning and alternating presidencies between the predominantly Christian South and Muslim North, and in some regions, candidates have been marketed and sold primarily on their perceived piety. The Buhari-Osinbajo 2015 ticket in Nigeria comes to mind. Yet decades of this practice show little evidence that this arrangement translates into any meaningful progress, development, or good governance.
It gets worse when you consider that that unwritten rule – where adherents of either religion even feel hard done by when there’s consecutive rules of candidates of the same faith – leaves no room or more aptly, no thoughts, for those who do not profess a religion. While, technically, atheists or secular-minded citizens and politicians can vote and be voted for, the reality is their voices have been diminished in a political arena dominated by religious optics rather than competence or results, and so, are effectively sidelined.
Politics as it is practiced today and even in history rarely aligns neatly with religion. Saudi Arabia suppresses the public practice of any religion other than Islam, yet underground Christian and Hindu communities persist. In the U.S., the motto “In God We Trust” symbolises religious alignment, but the First Amendment protects freedom of worship. It therefore goes without saying that no country will ever really achieve complete religious uniformity.
Religious nationalism is utopian at best, delusional at worst. Legal or symbolic endorsements cannot erase pluralism. Uniformity may be aspirational, but it is impossible, and will remain so.
At its core, politics is about managing interests; moral values, religious sentiments, financial incentives, and even vanity metrics of tribal affiliations — all wielded strategically. Liberalism champions personal freedom, equality, and the right to self-determination, including reproductive choice, gender identity, and immigration. Conservatism, on the other hand, resists these, opposing abortion rights, gender fluidity, immigration, and DEI initiatives.
While some conservative religious adherents agree with certain positions, for example, anti-abortion or anti-LGBTQ, what many don’t realise is fully embracing ideological extremes often compromises other values intrinsic to faith. In the end, these street-level crusaders become little more than pawns, their zeal harnessed to advance interests far removed from genuine faith.
Since 2016, far-right narratives have surged globally, fuelled by big tech and wealthy influencers. Elon Musk reportedly altered Twitter algorithms to amplify his posts, reinstated Trump and far-right accounts, and created an ecosystem where extremist speech flourishes under the guise of “free speech.” Nigel Farage’s GB News and Donald Trump’s Truth Social amplify similar narratives. Even in Nigeria, Tinubu’s ownership of TVC shows that controlling media narratives is a universal political strategy and aspiration of many power brokers.
Yet, the consequences are very real. Anti-immigrant, bigoted and racist rhetoric targets minorities, creating environments of intimidation and systemic discrimination in a move that serves only group – the elite politicians and their allies who want power. Violent acts, like the rape of a Sikh woman in Oldbury in the UK are life examples of the unintended consequences of these dangerous narratives.
But this isn’t just a UK, US, or European problem. Nigeria in the global south also has its own flavour of this dangerous convergence. Recently, there’s been a rise of Yoruba conservatism – distinct from genuine identity pride – especially around Lagos politics, with ultras pushing extreme narratives against other ethnic groups. Some proponents justify it as a response to long-held stereotypes, but the cycle of mutual hostility is escalating.
The campaign against Uzo Art and her planned Lagos exhibition makes for a scary case study of the impacts of these extreme narratives in digital conversations. A situation where online debates on cultural appropriation and the usage of popular culture term ‘Owambe’ as against the pristine version ‘Owanbe’ have spiralled into actual offline petitions should wake everyone up! What should have been cultural cross-pollination has turned into tribal chauvinism, proof that extremist rhetoric won’t stop at the elections and the campaigns; they are gradually taking root in our everyday life, art, and identity.
In the U.S., prominent figures have weaponised similar rhetoric that paints immigration as a threat to “American culture”, just as Rupert Lowe is doing in the UK. Analysts warn this language feeds into the “great replacement” conspiracy theory, a dangerous messaging that suggests minorities are displacing white populations and has begun to radicalise street-level adherents into violence. Nigeria isn’t immune to this either. The internet has been awash with social media influencers and political commentators adopting similar tactics, branding fellow Nigerians as “foreigners” in their own country and telling them to “go back to their states.”
These exclusionary slurs may sound like everyday political banter, but the truth is they echo the same logic of erasure, otherness and delegitimisation. They scream, “You don’t belong, your voice doesn’t count, your citizenship is conditional”. And when amplified unchecked, this rhetoric trickles down into real-world hostility, intimidation, and violence at the street level.
Globally, far-right movements ally with conservative religious figures to consolidate their base and reach new prospects. Pastor W.F. Kumuyi – leader of one of the world’s biggest churches out of Africa – appears to have been a useful tool. In 2024, he once again urged young Nigerians to avoid fleeing abroad, warning that “even to pay house rent and to feed themselves and to school their children… is difficult” outside the country.
While framed as spiritual guidance, this message is unbalanced and ignores structural factors like unemployment, insecurity and governance failures that continue to drive migration. Presenting emigration as morally wrong discourages young people from seeking opportunities that could benefit themselves and their countries.
Few months before, Pastor Kumuyi and gospel singer, Nathaniel Bassey, had been invited to side events during Trump’s inauguration, lending a veneer of legitimacy to the far-right movement in America. Yet for minority communities, the reality is different. What is a mere umbrella for religious ideology can quickly turn into life-threatening risk.
In the UK, far-right actions, before, during and after protests demonstrate that extremists do not distinguish faith, nationality, or legal status. Anyone outside their ideal demographic is simply a target. It is, therefore, clear that while aligning religious identity with ideology may feel morally satisfying in the immediate, it actually never protects against the consequences of extremism. Understanding this is critical. Defending pluralism and countering fascist ideologies is not about theological allegiance, it is about urgently safeguarding society from hatred, and fatal violence that ultimately ends hate speech and narratives.
So, by all means, vote your conscience. Stay on the right or left all you want. However, be careful what you sanctify in the process. Be careful what you entrench in your pursuit of promoting religious values by platforming purveyors of vile narratives – whose ultimate goals are not necessarily your ultimate goal, even when there seems to be an intersection.
In the end, when politicians wrap themselves in the flag and the holy book, maybe the only question we need to ask is: who are they trying to save, and who are they willing to sacrifice? Perhaps we’re all just pawns in the Squid Game of a few rich men.
Beware, unintended consequences are still consequences.
