In defence of Kwankwaso and the scholars who stand with him
By Muhammad Sani Ilyasu
I woke up to a video circulating on social media by a former Kano State anti-corruption czar, giving his opinion about scholarship beneficiaries on why they had no moral right to identify with Kwankwasiyya. It is important to clear the air. Much of what is being said comes from people who were never inside the scheme and never lived the consequences.
Let me state this clearly and upfront: I do not identify with Kwankwasiyya. I disengaged from the movement in 2020. What follows is not partisan advocacy. It is testimony.
Criticism of Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso and scholars associated either rightly or wrongly with his ideology has become fashionable. But much of that criticism is detached from the lived realities that shaped those associations, especially the horrible experience of Kano State scholarship beneficiaries. I write as one of them.
Yes, the scholarships were funded with Kano State resources. But at no point—none that I can recall—were beneficiaries compelled to support Kwankwaso politically. There was no loyalty test, no ideological oath, no expectation of political repayment. In fact, many scholars openly opposed him. I personally recall frequent debates with colleagues who were supporters of Ibrahim Shekarau, many of whom never gave Kwankwaso any credit for the scholarship. Most of us were indifferent, credit was never the issue.
The lesson however came in 2015. That was when Abdullahi Ganduje assumed office—and when all of us, including Kwankwaso’s fiercest critics among the scholars, learned the brutal difference between right and privilege. Tuition payments were halted. Upkeep allowances disappeared. Return-ticket funds were withheld. Scholars were stranded and pushed into destitution in foreign countries.
Some waited over eight years to receive their certificates after the scheme was abruptly terminated. In some cases, parents died without ever seeing the academic fruits of sacrifices they had made.
As if that were not enough, scholars were publicly discredited—labeled products of “substandard universities,” their academic legitimacy questioned to justify administrative neglect. Throughout this period, Kano State went silent.
Religious leaders. Business elites. Civil society organizations. The same voices that now moralize and gaslight scholars looked away. The only “crime” of the scholars was that Kwankwaso started the program.
If, as some critics claim, the scheme was merely a vehicle for siphoning public funds, a simple question remains unanswered: why was Kwankwaso never prosecuted—and why were scholars punished instead? Why were entitlements withheld if the beneficiaries were not the accused?
What makes the silence more damning is that this neglect extended beyond foreign scholars. Until the return of a Kwankwasiyya-led government, even undergraduate scholars sent to private universities within Nigeria—and to Egypt and Cyprus—were denied certificates. For postgraduate students, the delay was damaging. For undergraduates, it was life-shattering: no certificate meant no employment, no future.
In all those years, only one political current consistently raised the issue and demanded settlement: Kwankwasiyya. This is the context critics conveniently ignore.
What they now describe as “indoctrination” or “blind loyalty” was, in reality, a rational response to abandonment. You cannot withdraw education, dignity, and future—then later shame people for gravitating toward the only structure that acknowledged their suffering.
That is not principled criticism. It is double standard. Scholars were not pushed toward Kwankwaso by manipulation. They were pushed there by neglect and even for those of us who have long moved on, that historical truth remains intact—uncomfortable, inconvenient, and undeniable.
Gaslighting scholars for the choices they made under abandonment is not moral courage.
It is hypocrisy.
Muhammad writes from Baltimore Maryland and can be reached at msaniiliyasu@gmail.com.
