MAN, YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW
By Abdulyassar Abdulhamid
The political vendetta between the immediate past governor of Kano state, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso and his successor, Abdullahi Umar Ganduje has reached a dramatic climax. Both political analysts and common-men-of-the-street are working round the clock, for some time now, to give this intense political atmosphere an appropriate picture, with some, headlong, even accusing the incumbent governor of being Balaam’s donkey, a donkey that refuses its rider – just a complete ingrate. To them Ganduje has not only tried to outshine his master; but he is also, hell-bent, on a mission to bring him upon his knees. A very small percentage of those analysts has taken a contrary stand. They think the governor is just trying to give Kwankwaso Roland for his Oliver: measure for measure, an urgent move to save the face of his political career.
Whatever, sometimes we need to take even a hasty look at the happenings before now for us to pass judgment or blame it one of these characters, especially in this slippery arena called politics.
Kwankwaso I know is a product of both Musa Gwadabe and Alhaji Abubakar Rimi’s political schools of thought. What happened to these giant politicians of great memory? We seem not to pay attention to their fates. At the very moment Kwankwaso’s political flight started to warm up, he trod upon these legendary politicians and fought them with the last ounce of his power to keep his political flag waving; and to keep them at bay too. All praise is due to the Almighty God that gives power to whom He wishes. Perhaps, this may not qualify as a political sin.
I don’t doubt Kwankwaso’s scholarship in politics. He is one of the compelling scene stealer I have ever seen or heard of. His political calculation is superb that he will never let himself get lost in the crowd. His steps are harbingers of actions (consider his visit to Kano state students at Sudan and what was the aftereffect). These are some of the things that make him larger and colourful to the teeming bland and timid masses that crowd around him; and are left, only, with red caps and incantations as consolations for their political misadventure.
With Kwankwaso’s diversion from pure politics to a creed-like movement skillfully packaged in The Kwankwasiya brand, many of his supporters and lost politicians blindly subscribe to it as if they are bewitched or tame to inertia. This, towards the end of 2011, awarded him a shipmaster’s feeling at the wake of a danger. He trained media warriors and equipped them with all they wanted to attack; one of them is a leading media practitioner today. He paid private radio stations to air those attacks against Malam Ibrahim Shekarau and his allies. One of them is a pioneer radio station in Kano. His supporters glorified him, and still they do, for his cruel and angry criticisms against the then governor of the state. They would record those abusive words and hate speeches and listen to them at their leisure. The radio stations would play them at intervals. They would brandish weapons of all sizes to celebrate even lower whispers of “Dan ujule”, ‘Mahaha” or “Jan Baki”. Youth would sing them at the top of their voices. When one spoke to them they would say: let moon turn into blood; let rain become fire. I did never see such a blind following or such unreasonable adherence. I still remember when this political hero nearly dealt with one outspoken cleric who strongly opposed his sacrilegious outflows. Are we not condemning what we should have condemned long ago? Are we not paying for our previous deeds? Why is this selective condemnation?
In 2013 Kwankwaso, together with four other governors and a speaker, decamped from Peoples Democratic Party, the ruling party then, to All Progressive Congress. Although Malam Ibrahim Shekarau was among the founding fathers of the party, Kwankwaso, taking advantage of the party’s ordinance (constitution), or better conspiring with some lords of the party, suffocated Shekarau and towards 2015 general elections he forcefully smoked him out of the party. Perhaps this may amount to virtue not demerit. Many considered his deeds heroic, a finest deployment of tough muscle power or authority can bestow on a governor. I so much believe, in this regard, in such an authority that I consider whosoever attempts to frustrate or disagree with official opinion a political terror.
Shekarau’s offence might be borne out of the White Paper his administration issued against Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso after accusing him of embezzlement of public fund sometime in 2003. Whatever, Kwankwaso exploited Malam Ibrahim Shekarau’s soft-heartedness to feast on his political career, as would a vulture to a dead animal. Was Malam Ibrahim Shekarau bereft of power to deal ruthlessly with this impolitic that terrorized his administration? Maybe Shekarau had no knowledge of political thuggery to silence Kwankwaso’s loud mouthpiece (a radio station I refused to name for diplomatic reasons), as Kwankwaso did when a radio station aired Ibrahim Al-Ameen Little’s campaign.
One of those sins was committed on April 15, 2014, when Kwankwaso, a governor then, led scores of his cabinet all dressed in white flowing robes and red caps to the popular Kano Polo Club. They swept off President Jonathan’s footmarks a moment after the president had left Kano, to the delight of bees of youth, who, for days thereafter, kept on replicating the event to celebrate this victor.
The “mahadi” or political hero, as they say - in comparison with Aminu Kano, Tafawa Balewa, Joseph Chamberlain, Nnamdi Azikiwe, or Awolowo - according to Kwankwasiya mental dictionary of political terms - is a reduced Victor Frankenstein of another extraction, in allusion to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in which a character is haunted by a monster, he breathes life into, to the end of his life. The whole saga may be difficult, if not impossible, to unravel, with disgruntled heads crying out at the top of their voices to put an end to hate speech and political thuggery, citing Kwankwaso’s misfortune as an example; but a close look at the whole incidence will inform one that Ganduje is just putting his age-long experiences into use. I do not think there is an absolute monopoly in hate speech or political thuggery. My fear now is, if pushed to the wall, Ganduje may decide to let loose both “Mahaha” and “Dan Ujule” concurrently on his political opponents; but my prayers are: let peace shower like waters upon the ancient city of Kano. Let votes not weapons decide the destiny of my state.
By Abdulyassar Abdulhamid
The political vendetta between the immediate past governor of Kano state, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso and his successor, Abdullahi Umar Ganduje has reached a dramatic climax. Both political analysts and common-men-of-the-street are working round the clock, for some time now, to give this intense political atmosphere an appropriate picture, with some, headlong, even accusing the incumbent governor of being Balaam’s donkey, a donkey that refuses its rider – just a complete ingrate. To them Ganduje has not only tried to outshine his master; but he is also, hell-bent, on a mission to bring him upon his knees. A very small percentage of those analysts has taken a contrary stand. They think the governor is just trying to give Kwankwaso Roland for his Oliver: measure for measure, an urgent move to save the face of his political career.
Whatever, sometimes we need to take even a hasty look at the happenings before now for us to pass judgment or blame it one of these characters, especially in this slippery arena called politics.
Kwankwaso I know is a product of both Musa Gwadabe and Alhaji Abubakar Rimi’s political schools of thought. What happened to these giant politicians of great memory? We seem not to pay attention to their fates. At the very moment Kwankwaso’s political flight started to warm up, he trod upon these legendary politicians and fought them with the last ounce of his power to keep his political flag waving; and to keep them at bay too. All praise is due to the Almighty God that gives power to whom He wishes. Perhaps, this may not qualify as a political sin.
I don’t doubt Kwankwaso’s scholarship in politics. He is one of the compelling scene stealer I have ever seen or heard of. His political calculation is superb that he will never let himself get lost in the crowd. His steps are harbingers of actions (consider his visit to Kano state students at Sudan and what was the aftereffect). These are some of the things that make him larger and colourful to the teeming bland and timid masses that crowd around him; and are left, only, with red caps and incantations as consolations for their political misadventure.
With Kwankwaso’s diversion from pure politics to a creed-like movement skillfully packaged in The Kwankwasiya brand, many of his supporters and lost politicians blindly subscribe to it as if they are bewitched or tame to inertia. This, towards the end of 2011, awarded him a shipmaster’s feeling at the wake of a danger. He trained media warriors and equipped them with all they wanted to attack; one of them is a leading media practitioner today. He paid private radio stations to air those attacks against Malam Ibrahim Shekarau and his allies. One of them is a pioneer radio station in Kano. His supporters glorified him, and still they do, for his cruel and angry criticisms against the then governor of the state. They would record those abusive words and hate speeches and listen to them at their leisure. The radio stations would play them at intervals. They would brandish weapons of all sizes to celebrate even lower whispers of “Dan ujule”, ‘Mahaha” or “Jan Baki”. Youth would sing them at the top of their voices. When one spoke to them they would say: let moon turn into blood; let rain become fire. I did never see such a blind following or such unreasonable adherence. I still remember when this political hero nearly dealt with one outspoken cleric who strongly opposed his sacrilegious outflows. Are we not condemning what we should have condemned long ago? Are we not paying for our previous deeds? Why is this selective condemnation?
In 2013 Kwankwaso, together with four other governors and a speaker, decamped from Peoples Democratic Party, the ruling party then, to All Progressive Congress. Although Malam Ibrahim Shekarau was among the founding fathers of the party, Kwankwaso, taking advantage of the party’s ordinance (constitution), or better conspiring with some lords of the party, suffocated Shekarau and towards 2015 general elections he forcefully smoked him out of the party. Perhaps this may amount to virtue not demerit. Many considered his deeds heroic, a finest deployment of tough muscle power or authority can bestow on a governor. I so much believe, in this regard, in such an authority that I consider whosoever attempts to frustrate or disagree with official opinion a political terror.
Shekarau’s offence might be borne out of the White Paper his administration issued against Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso after accusing him of embezzlement of public fund sometime in 2003. Whatever, Kwankwaso exploited Malam Ibrahim Shekarau’s soft-heartedness to feast on his political career, as would a vulture to a dead animal. Was Malam Ibrahim Shekarau bereft of power to deal ruthlessly with this impolitic that terrorized his administration? Maybe Shekarau had no knowledge of political thuggery to silence Kwankwaso’s loud mouthpiece (a radio station I refused to name for diplomatic reasons), as Kwankwaso did when a radio station aired Ibrahim Al-Ameen Little’s campaign.
One of those sins was committed on April 15, 2014, when Kwankwaso, a governor then, led scores of his cabinet all dressed in white flowing robes and red caps to the popular Kano Polo Club. They swept off President Jonathan’s footmarks a moment after the president had left Kano, to the delight of bees of youth, who, for days thereafter, kept on replicating the event to celebrate this victor.
The “mahadi” or political hero, as they say - in comparison with Aminu Kano, Tafawa Balewa, Joseph Chamberlain, Nnamdi Azikiwe, or Awolowo - according to Kwankwasiya mental dictionary of political terms - is a reduced Victor Frankenstein of another extraction, in allusion to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in which a character is haunted by a monster, he breathes life into, to the end of his life. The whole saga may be difficult, if not impossible, to unravel, with disgruntled heads crying out at the top of their voices to put an end to hate speech and political thuggery, citing Kwankwaso’s misfortune as an example; but a close look at the whole incidence will inform one that Ganduje is just putting his age-long experiences into use. I do not think there is an absolute monopoly in hate speech or political thuggery. My fear now is, if pushed to the wall, Ganduje may decide to let loose both “Mahaha” and “Dan Ujule” concurrently on his political opponents; but my prayers are: let peace shower like waters upon the ancient city of Kano. Let votes not weapons decide the destiny of my state.
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