Olu Allen
The most dangerous word in Nigeria right now is “they.”
“They want to take over Lagos.”
“They should go back to their state.”
“They are only appointing Lagos boys.”
“They don’t like Christians.”
“They hate Muslims.”
In the past decade, this single pronoun has crept into our political speeches, campaign rallies, and social media conversations. It has become the invisible thread weaving distrust into our national fabric.
“They” has done more to divide Nigerians than inflation, unemployment, or even corruption.
Because “they” is never about facts, it is about fear. It is not about truth, it is about suspicion. “They” is shorthand for dehumanization.
Once a person becomes “they,” he is no longer your neighbor, your colleague, or your fellow citizen. He is a stranger, an enemy, a problem.
Who exactly is “they”?
When politicians in Lagos say “they,” it often means the Igbos. In Enugu, “they” could mean the Fulani. In Kano, “they” is a code for Southerners.
In Plateau, “they” is shorthand for Hausa herders. Every region has its scapegoat. Every tribe has its villain. Every group has its “they.”
And this is not abstract. We’ve seen the danger. During the 2023 elections, Lagos was consumed by the narrative of “they want to take over our land.”
Social media became a weapon of psychological warfare, with faceless influencers pushing fear and suspicion. Ordinary voters turned on their neighbors.
Some were prevented from voting simply because their names or faces suggested they were from the “wrong tribe.”
Symbols of unity have been sacrificed on the altar of identity. A simple landmark like the Charlie Boy bus stop in Lagos was renamed to Olamide Badoo bus stop, not by consensus, but as a reflection of how tribal dominance now dictates even street names.
Leaders feeding the fire
But let us be honest: our leaders are not innocent. For too long, Presidents, Governors, and Ministers have acted first as tribal champions and only second as national leaders.
Buhari’s infamous “97% vs. 5%” statement still hangs over his legacy. Tinubu has preached unity, but the geographic pattern of his key appointments and the rhetoric of his supporters often tell a more familiar story.
Instead of lowering the political temperature, those in power often pour petrol into the fire. They gain an advantage by dividing us into “they” and “us.” And once they succeed, they move on, leaving ordinary Nigerians to live with the bitterness and violence.
Social media: the new battlefield
If old politicians planted the seeds of “they,” social media has watered it into a poisonous forest.
Let’s call it what it is: social media is not just entertainment. It is psychological warfare. The algorithms on Facebook, WhatsApp, X, and TikTok don’t feed you facts; they feed you enemies.
If you are Yoruba, you are shown Igbo “arrogance.” If you are Igbo, you are shown Hausa “domination.” If you are Hausa-Fulani, you are shown Southern “hatred.”
Each scroll, each viral video, all carefully engineered to stoke anger and deepen division. And the truth is, most of us are not just scrolling; we are being programmed.
The conflict entrepreneurs
And who benefits from all this? A system that rewards conflict entrepreneurs.
They are the politicians, influencers, and even some activists who have built platforms on the economy of outrage.
Whether it’s Reno Omokri trading in conspiracy theories, Femi Fani-Kayode in tribal vitriol, or the separatist rhetoric of Nnamdi Kanu and Sunday Igboho, the model is the same: monetize division.
Even activists with noble causes are often trapped in this system, where attention flows not to bridge-builders but to those who spark the loudest anger.
Outrage is what trends. Division is what pays. And every time we click, like, or share inflammatory content, we make a deposit in this toxic economy.
The truth we don’t want to face
Here’s the bitter truth: the real enemy is not “they.” The real enemy is us.
When we accept the lie that an Igbo trader in Alaba is less Nigerian than a Yoruba mechanic in Ibadan… when we believe that a Fulani herder in Plateau is less human than a Tiv farmer in Benue… when we reduce entire tribes, religions, or regions into “they,” we destroy our own humanity.
Nigeria will not be saved by WhatsApp forwards, Facebook fights, or TikTok propaganda. It will not be saved by conflict entrepreneurs shouting on TV. It will be saved when ordinary Nigerians refuse the bait — when we remember that our neighbors are not “they” but “we.”
The way forward
The antidote to hate is not silence; it is dehumanization. This means consciously consuming media that builds bridges, not burns them.
It means challenging that bigoted WhatsApp forward before you hit share. It means refusing to vote for tribe over competence.
We must reject the easy language of “they” and embrace the harder work of “we.” Because there is no future for Yoruba without Igbo. No future for Hausa without Tiv. No future for Christians without Muslims. We either rise together or sink together.
So the next time you hear someone say “they,” pause and ask: Who exactly is they?
Chances are, they are just your fellow Nigerians, hustling, struggling, and surviving in the same broken system as you.
“They” didn’t destroy Nigeria. We did. And only we can rebuild it.
Allen is a writer and public affairs commentator based in Kano. He writes on governance, national unity, and social justice.
