Hate speech, amplified on social media, became a dominant theme of the last Nigerian election. It’s important to understand how and why to avoid a repeat next time, writes Matthew Alugbin.
In Nigeria’s 2023 presidential election, the loudest voices weren’t always the most visionary, they were often the most divisive. Social media feeds overflowed with ethnic jabs, religious slurs, and political threats. What could have been a contest of ideas descended to a point where hate speech not only shadowed the campaign but also shaped it.
The real weapon of political warfare in 2023 was language, and it was carefully coded, strategically targeted and viciously amplified online. Posts and speeches weren’t just opinionated; they were bigoted. They drew their power from Nigeria’s deepest wells of discontent: ethnicity, religion, and political mistrust. Candidates and their supporters employed ethnic labels and stereotypes to frame the election as a competition between ethnic groups, dividing the nation across ethnic lines.
The politics of ethnicity and religion
Tribalising tactics were employed to polarise the election situation, perpetuate ethnic stereotypes, and create divisions among Nigeria’s ethnic groups. One viral tweet alleged that an “Igbo man” had won the election but was robbed by a “Yoruba man” and the electoral commission. This was more than a grievance about fairness. It framed a narrative of ethnic betrayal. Another statement from a major party candidate went even further, declaring that Northerners had no need for Yoruba or Igbo candidates. That wasn’t campaign strategy; it was tribal gatekeeping, aired on national platforms. These were not fringe voices. They came from politicians, party supporters, and influencers, whose words fractured communities.
In one disturbing clip, a preacher warned Muslims against voting for “infidels” like presidential candidate Peter Obi, claiming that even a corrupt Muslim was preferable to a Christian candidate. These debates about the elections were not about politics but about piety. Another candidate drew a parallel line between Peter Obi and the Biblical Peter, who denied Jesus, casting Obi as untrustworthy through a faith-laced attack. The consequence was that religion became a sorting tool. Voters were urged to think not with their conscience but with their creed. Political choice was recast as a test of spiritual loyalty.
Some threats were not subtle. They stoked and ignited fears of voter suppression. In Lagos, an Igbo community leader vowed to “invite” IPOB members to rally support for the candidacy of Peter Obi and defend Igbo interests. This is despite IPOB being classified as a terrorist group by the federal government, a designation upheld by the Court of Appeal. With instigations like this, digital platforms became battlegrounds, with all sides trading threats disguised as tribal loyalty.
Hate speech wasn’t restricted to the current election. Former president Olusegun Obasanjo was accused of being the “worst election rigger in history”. Another viral tweet argued that only Muslim presidents had ever brought peace to Nigeria, painting other leaders as agents of chaos. These narratives sought to rewrite history to serve present agendas. They not only accused but also inflamed, using old grievances to justify new resentments.
A digital megaphone for hate
What made 2023 different was not just what was said, it was how quickly and widely it spread. Social media did not merely host hate speech; it amplified it. Political loyalists, influencers, and ordinary users all joined the fray. With a single tweet, a slur could reach millions. Unlike traditional media, there were no editors or regulators to intervene. Supporters of opposing candidates were criticised and demonised. When hate becomes a strategy, democracy becomes collateral damage. When candidates and supporters dehumanise opponents, compromise becomes impossible. In this case, violence does not just become more likely; it becomes justified in the minds of the enraged.
Regulating hate speech is not an easy task. Free speech remains a fundamental right. However, freedom does not translate to a licence to incite division or violence. Nigeria does not need new laws; it needs new conversations. Communities must recognise the real cost of turning elections into tribal or religious battlegrounds.
The 2023 election exposed and normalised hate. If Nigeria hopes to avoid worse in 2027, now is the time to reconsider what we allow in our public discourse. Hate speech isn’t just about the words used; it is about the contexts that make those words powerful. It thrives where legitimate grievances go unheard. In a house already divided, a misplaced word can become a spark that ignites widespread destruction.
Addressing the speech used in Nigeria’s electoral setting should not start with censorship. It begins with listening, educating, and reimagining political engagement. Instead of relying solely on blanket laws or censorship, stakeholders should adopt a context-sensitive approach. Tensions rooted in ethnicity, religion, and history need targeted responses. It is not enough to ban hate speech. It is crucial to understand it, dismantle it, and replace it with a politics of hope.
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