scholars

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.

By Abubakar Idris

For those whose businesses do not sell within and around the spectrum of the academia, most probably, the term “peer review” never ring a bell; and for that, we start with that. Often used within the scientific community, an article, or any piece of work is said to be peer reviewed when it is subjected to scrutiny of experts in the same field of study before getting published. Thus, experts in the field are the peer(s), while their scrutiny of the work is the review. 1 + 1 = 2. The purposes – as put simply by Kelly et al. (2014) in their ‘Peer Review in Scientific Publication: Benefits, Critiques, & A Survival Guide’ published by The Journal of the International Federation of Clinical Chemistry and Laboratory Medicine (JIFCC) and cited in more than 800 works – are to: check for relevance / importance / contribution in the area, validity of methodology, and novelty / originality of the work; and ensure improvement in the quality of manuscripts worthy of publication. In any case, in this context, the argument is this: anybody who passed through this celebrated academic writing process, if really conducted as should be done, [can] considers themselves as Odogwu of some sort. Uhm, you know… even as I claim to be a [forest] scientist, with a lot of my written works [mainly published under pseudonyms] appearing in both local and international dailies and magazines, to set the record straight, I must, here, confess that, to my credit, there exists NOT a single peer-reviewed publication! Except perhaps if the bar is to be lowered in respect of the few articles I was able to have got published by the International Society of Tropical Foresters (ISTF)– which I know say you no go gree do even as you know the editors are professional foresters.

Anyway, I know that’s unfortunate on my part. Really unfortunate even. And to borrow from the American-sounding accent speaking Ugandan MP, Mr. Atkins Katusabe, whose video recently circulated on social media, “Mr. Speaker, I think this is a disaster.” That said, why is Abubakar writing an article about ‘This Peer Review of a Thing’? Certainly not just to mock himself as having not published any scientific work. A curios mind is already pounding on this thought. Truth is, this write-up is a protest. The background: As is well known, recently, the POTUS, Mr. TACO, and his like-him arrogant ignorant drum beaters told the world a fat lie that paints Nigeria ugly – the accusation of Christian Genocide. Whatever the motive behind the unsubstantiated and impossible claim, while a clear fabrication on all fronts, the powerful man’s words (that include instructing the Pentagon to come with a plan for military intervention to save their created victims in the most populous black nation) threw the big house into a sensational chaos. Mr. K believes 131, Mrs. Ropines 629, Dr. M dreams 450, Miss N thinks 347, and all. As this fire rages, confusion at its fouls-play, as though in response by the insurgents, more organized more intensified attacks and kidnappings were unveiled – dealing some serious blows not just to the national security architecture, but also the country’s very sovereignty. And, no doubt, these troubles are much
more prevalent in the lower-literate, poorer, hotter climate… Northern region (Arewa).
It’s therefore seriously concerning that instead of guiding their younger ones on how to
consciously navigate the complex terrain, some “Arewa intellectuals” chose the path of
misguiding them. Namely, keeping them busy with cheap arguments that are squarely based on
their own personal glory – or lack of it – focused in toto on massaging their egos. Some pseudo
intellectuals, one is tempted to say.
I genuinely don’t understand why a conscious people whose very existence is threatened by all
kinds of terrorist groups and their families receiving a hell-style of beating by the harshest of
known economic realities allow themselves to be consumed by debates around what credential
qualifies one’s social media posts to be read and responded to, or whose comments are too raw,
shallow, extreme, disrespectful, gullible, and intolerant enough for them to “chop block”. I don’t
know what is, if this isn’t, a clear case of reckless joke.
In the seventh scene of Act II of William Shakespeare’s play ‘As You Like It’, a character Jaques
says, “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits
and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts” – then goes on to describe the
seven ages of a man’s life, comparing them to the roles an actor plays in a play. True to nature, in
man’s lifecycle, there is an age for play, there is another for recklessness. Truth is almost all the
Arewa intellectuals are supposed to be done with the said phases. Instead of play and
recklessness, we expect wisdom from them.
When the story of Mazi Kanu’s sentence surfaced and dominated the headlines, I wasn’t as
concerned when most of us were distracted – even if not majorly of Arewa, it is such a serious
[in]security issue itself. But the credentials of our “espat”, oh h*ll no, I don’t get it, and I don’t
want to get it. I thought our so called intellectuals know better, but, well, what do I know?!
Quickly, if you don’t mind my obsession with history, allow me to add this: Elsevier’s Publishing
Guideline notes that, as a method of evaluating written work, this practice, fear (sorry, peer)
review, has been in use since ancient Greece. And, it was first explained by a Syrian physician,
Is’haq Ibn Ali Al-Rahwi (854-931 CE), in his book titled The Ethics of Physician. You gerrit? I
don’t gerrit…
May this article be peer reviewed before it got published, amen!

Abubakar Idris, a scientist without any peer reviewed article, is a graduate of Forestry and
Wildlife from University of Maiduguri. He writes from Auchi, Edo State, and can be reached
via email at abubakaridrismisau@gmail.com or on phone through +2349030178211.