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My dear brothers and sisters, I write to you, not from a place of superiority, but from a place of shared pain, shared betrayal and a shared awakening that is long overdue. I write to you as one who has watched, like you, as our streets turn into battlegrounds, not for justice, not for truth, but for the ambitions of men who would never dare step into the fires they light.
We have been used. Used as shields. Used as weapons. Used as statistics.
We have been made to fight battles that are not ours, defend ideologies that do not feed us, and die for causes that evaporate the moment our blood dries on the soil.
And yet, they call us loyal.
But loyalty to what? To whom?
To politicians who knock heads together just to climb a little higher? To power brokers who sit in air-conditioned rooms, calculating which tribe should clash with which, which religion should rise against the other, which community should burn so that their political future may glow brighter?
My people, we must ask ourselves the hardest question of all: At what point did we become expendable?
When the smoke clears and the chaos settles, when the stones have been thrown and the bodies have been buried, what do we receive?
A recycled statement. A tired promise. “Never again,” they say, until the next time. No wreaths laid at your doorstep. No tears shed for your mother, your wife, your children. No scholarships for the orphan you leave behind. No hand held in the quiet darkness of your family’s grief.
Nothing. Just silence. And then life goes on, for them.
Their children remain abroad, tucked safely in countries where leaders lead and systems protect. Their wives do not queue in fear. Their homes are not surrounded by uncertainty. They do not know the sound of panic at midnight, or the tension of stepping out not knowing if they will return.
But you, yes, you, are expected to pick up stones, machetes, slogans, and rage.
You are expected to hate. You are expected to kill. Or worse still, to die.
My brothers and sisters, forgive the bluntness, but anyone who kills or dies fighting for politicians is not a hero. He is a casualty of manipulation. He is a victim of a system that has mastered the art of turning the poor against the poor while the powerful remain untouched.
We must say this truth, no matter how uncomfortable: There is no glory in dying for the selfish ambition of another man. There is no honour in burning your neighbour’s shop because of a tribe you were taught to distrust. There is no pride in attacking someone who shares your poverty, your struggles, your daily hustle, just because someone somewhere whispered that he is your enemy.
He is not your enemy. He is your reflection. The man you fight in the street is not the one who denied you good roads. He is not the one who looted the treasury. He is not the one who turned your future into a bargaining chip.
He is a fellow victim of brigandage and foolery in high places. He is just like you, trying to survive.
Yet, we have been programmed to turn against one another, to see difference as danger, to treat diversity as division. Tribe becomes a weapon. Religion becomes a battlefield. Identity becomes a fault line, all deliberately crafted to feed their putrid ambitions.
And all the while, the real architects of our suffering watch from a distance, untouched, unbothered, and unfortunately, undefeated.
This must stop. Not tomorrow. Not after the next election. Now.
We must rise, not in violence, but in wisdom. Not in rage, but in restraint. Not in blind loyalty, but in conscious awareness. Why must I give my brother’s skull to our common oppressor to drink from?
Let us disappoint those who profit from our division. Let us refuse to be mobilised for destruction. Let us reject the cheap incentives of violence, those envelopes, those promises, those empty words that vanish as quickly as they came.
Because what is the price of your life? What amount is worth your future? What promise can replace your presence in your home?
Your children do not need a martyr. They need a father. Your parents do not need a hero’s tale. They need a living son. Your spouse does not need a legacy speech. They need your companionship.
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We must begin to value our lives beyond political seasons. We must begin to think.
Yes, think.
Before you pick up that stone, ask yourself: Who benefits from this? Before you join that mob, ask yourself: Will this change my life? Before you chant that slogan, ask yourself: Do I even believe in this cause, or have I been recruited into it?
The power we have is not in violence. It is in unity. It is in awareness. It is in refusing to be used.
Imagine a Nigeria where the ordinary citizen refuses to fight his fellow citizen for political gain. Imagine a Nigeria where politicians can no longer manipulate tribal sentiments because the people have outgrown such tactics. Imagine a Nigeria where people refuse to be used as election riggers and ballot box snatchers. Imagine a Nigeria where elections are not seasons of fear, but seasons of responsibility.
That Nigeria begins with you. With your decision. With your restraint. With your courage to stand down when others are charging forward blindly.
It takes more strength to walk away from violence than to run into it. It takes more wisdom to question than to conform. It takes more courage to choose peace when chaos is being sponsored.
My dear countrymen and women, we have lost too many already. Too many dreams buried. Too many families broken. Too many futures cut short.
And for what?
For men who will forget your name before the next sunrise?
No more.
Let this be the turning point. Let this be the moment we reclaim our dignity, not as tools, but as thinkers. Not as pawns, but as people. Not as victims, but as voices.
We are not weak for choosing peace. We are wise. We are not cowards for refusing to fight. We are conscious. And consciousness is the beginning of liberation.
The 2027 election cycle is here. We are free, fundamentally and unarguably free, to make our choices, to align with candidates, ideologies, and visions that resonate with our hopes for the future, and to campaign passionately for them. That freedom is the lifeblood of any true democracy. But in exercising it, we must learn from the simple, unifying spirit of sportsmanship without the interference of hooligans.
Just as fans fill stadiums, chant for their teams, argue over tactics, and passionately defend their favourites, they also understand a higher code: when the final whistle is blown, the bitterness must give way to respect. The winner is applauded, not stoned; the loser regroups, not reviled. And when the dust settles, the same fans who stood on opposing sides often walk away together, united by the shared experience rather than divided by the outcome.
Elections, like games, will always produce winners and losers. We cannot afford to let political preferences fracture our humanity or poison our relationships. Let us contest fiercely, but reconcile quickly; disagree strongly, but hate never. In the end, beyond the ballots and the banners, we remain one people, bound by a common destiny that demands unity far more than it tolerates division.
Yes, as the march to the 2027 election cycle commences, let the politicians compete among themselves. Let them debate, strategise, and campaign. But let them do so without turning us into ammunition.
We owe ourselves more than that. We owe our children a better example. We owe this country a better future.
And it starts with a simple, powerful decision: We will not hate. We will not kill. We will not die. Not for them.
Let love be stronger than propaganda. Let reason be louder than incitement. Let unity be deeper than division.
Because in the end, when all the speeches are over and all the banners are taken down, the only people we truly have… are one another.
Yours in hope, wisdom, and a shared future,
A Fellow Nigerian Who Refuses to Be Used
