By Ademola Adekusibe
September 22, 2025
This is not another ordinary bill. This is not another “public hearing.” This is an ambush. The Constitution alteration bill on indigeneship is nothing short of a legislative coup against ancestral peoples. If it passes, it will not just change words on paper. It will change who owns tomorrow. Yoruba, shine your eyes. This is the most dangerous political experiment since 1914.
- Indigeneity is Blood, Not Paperwork
Indigeneity is not “residency.” It is not “marriage.” It is not a 10-year address. It is ancestry, unbroken lines of people who farmed, fought, died, and are buried in that soil. When you call yourself “Omo Ibadan,” it is not because you rented a shop in Dugbe for 15 years. It is because your lineage ties you to the Alaafin’s wars, the Olubadan’s crowns, and the Ogun festival drums that your ancestors kept alive.
To legislate it away is to tell your grandchildren that their blood, sweat, and history are negotiable. Strip that away, and tomorrow a stranger who has stayed 10 years can claim he is Ibadan indigene. He will line up at Mapo Hall to contest councillorship. He will lay claim to land rights. He will tell your children that their great-grandfather’s masquerade is now “community property.” It will spark tension in neighborhoods, disrupt governance, and embolden opportunists to challenge Yoruba land ownership quietly but legally. This is not theory; this is tomorrow if we remain asleep.
This is not a minor reform. It is a direct challenge to the social contract of Yoruba communities, an attempt to erase the boundaries that define collective identity and security. When indigeneship is reduced to paperwork, the meaning of belonging dies. A nation that does not respect ancestry cannot respect governance, cannot respect law, and cannot protect its people.
- Yoruba Examples: What Tomorrow Looks Like if This Bill Passes
In Ile-Ife, a settler community that has lived there for decades could wake up and claim representation in the Ooni’s council, undermining centuries of tradition and authority. The sacred processes that define leadership, succession, and respect for ancestral lines would suddenly become negotiable. Local palace structures, long guarded by family lineages, would face unprecedented legal challenges, simply because someone meets an arbitrary residency requirement. The very heart of Yoruba governance, anchored in history and bloodlines, risks being replaced by paperwork and temporary occupancy.
In Ijebu-Ode, businessmen who have invested in towns for years could suddenly qualify as “indigenes,” granting them access to political representation, chieftaincy titles, and community benefits. Real heirs to the land could find themselves sidelined in critical local decisions. Markets, communal resources, and development initiatives would be tied up in endless legal wrangles. Courts would become battlegrounds for identity while communities fracture under competing claims that have nothing to do with ancestry.
In Ekiti, settlers who have bought land or built institutions for decades could compete for Obaship stools, overturning traditional guardianship of ancestral leadership. Seats that have been the pride and responsibility of families for generations could be handed to outsiders by law, diluting the legitimacy of traditional institutions. The fragile balance of governance and community cohesion would be disrupted, opening doors for opportunists to exploit legal loopholes and political favoritism.
In Ondo oil communities, outsiders could demand shares in oil royalties and allocations of land, displacing indigenous families who have hosted generations of ancestral inhabitants. Communities built over decades, sustained by indigenous knowledge and participation, would now face external claims based purely on residency. Lawsuits, tensions, and political manipulation would be inevitable. This is not a hypothetical; it is the direct, foreseeable consequence if this bill passes. Communities will be divided, trust in local governance eroded, and Yoruba heritage effectively diluted.
- History Has Warned Us—Azikiwe Showed the Template
Let us stop deceiving ourselves. Hunger for territory, influence, and political leverage has deep historical roots, and history provides a warning we cannot ignore. Nnamdi Azikiwe, master strategist and politician, demonstrated the pattern we are now seeing replayed.
He worked against the creation of Middle Belt states because he wanted to control numbers and maintain political leverage for his group. By limiting state creation, he kept political power concentrated, ensuring that ancestral lands and populations could be manipulated for electoral advantage. The lesson is clear: those who control territory and define “belonging” can shape power structures for decades.
He opposed the merger of Ilorin and Kabba, severing Yoruba-speaking territories from their cultural and political alignment. Entire communities were left under political administrations that were not reflective of their heritage. The consequences of that move are still evident today, as Yoruba communities in North Central navigate governance structures imposed without regard for ancestry.
He even attempted to detach Ekiti and Ondo from the Western Region, fracturing Yoruba political unity and handing strategically vital lands to Northern control. Had he succeeded, Yoruba influence in the Southwest would have been diminished, ancestral claims diluted, and generations of governance disrupted.
Enough of blaming Fulani in Ilorin. The truth is, without Azikiwe’s hunger and quest for dominance, many Yoruba-speaking regions would never have ended up in North Central. This historical precedent is not just a story, it is a blueprint. Today’s bill mirrors that same approach: using legal instruments to redistribute land rights, weaken ancestral claims, and quietly shift power away from those who actually belong to the land. It is an attempt to engineer identity, reshape inheritance, and rewrite ownership through law rather than blood.
We at TYT are watching. Yoruba communities must see this for what it is. This is not merely a legislative proposal; it is a continuation of a century-old pattern of legal manipulation and territorial ambition. Allowing it to pass would be an acceptance of historical lessons unlearned and ancestral rights ignored.
- The Scam of “Unity”
They call it inclusion. They call it “national integration.” But what is integration that erases identity? What is unity that rewrites heritage?
True unity recognizes the rights of each community while respecting centuries of settlement, inheritance, and traditional authority. This bill does the opposite. It tells Yoruba families that their ancestral claims, their Obas and Baales, and their first-class stools no longer matter. Generations of stewardship over land, festivals, and local governance are suddenly subordinated to legal ambiguity.
Take Oyo, where the Alaafin’s authority over historic first-class stools could be challenged by outsiders claiming residency or economic contribution. In Abeokuta, settlers could attempt to gain political leverage in the Oba’s council, undermining the structures maintained by families for generations. In Ijero-Ekiti, royal lineages that have historically selected kings could face court challenges from non-indigenes asserting new rights under this bill.
This is not theory, it is a direct threat to Yoruba heritage. Communities that have nurtured their institutions for centuries could suddenly find their authority questioned, their festivals and rituals subjected to bureaucratic interpretation, and their ancestral lands vulnerable to legal claims from newcomers.
- Yoruba Lawmakers: Your Silence Will Be Your Shame
Where are the Yoruba senators? Where are the House members? Where are the South-West governors? This bill is creeping through while you feast and your silence is not just a failure it is treason against your own people.
You sit in Abuja in the comfort of offices financed by outsiders while someone else drafts laws to snatch what your ancestors bled for. You think allegiance to campaign sponsors outweighs loyalty to your heritage. You think traditional power lasts forever. Let us remind you it does not. Your inaction today will leave tomorrow’s Yoruba crying in courtrooms watching strangers claim palaces, chieftaincy titles, and lands that have been protected for generations.
First-class stools will be challenged. Palace councils will be invaded by outsiders armed with legislation. Local governance structures will crumble. Oil royalties, community resources, and sacred festivals everything your ancestors safeguarded will be up for grabs while you chew on peanuts. Your complacency will make you irrelevant. Elders will be ignored, youths will fight in courts instead of honoring the land, and centuries-old traditions will be handed over to bureaucrats and opportunists with no ancestral ties.
History will not be kind. It will call you traitors. Alaaru to n jẹ burẹdi carriers of burdens eating crumbs while the banquet of your heritage is stolen before your eyes.
We at TYT are watching. Your silence is betrayal. Your inaction is the weapon that will allow this bill to succeed. Heritage is non-negotiable. Indigeneship cannot be legislated away. If Yoruba lawmakers do not act now they will leave behind a legacy of cowardice, weakness, and the systematic dismantling of everything our ancestors fought to protect.
- The Hidden Reach of This Bill
This bill is not merely a legal tweak. It is a blueprint for social disruption, designed to touch every aspect of Yoruba life and quietly erode authority, identity, and opportunity.
In governance, it hands political leverage to newcomers who have no historical or ancestral claim to our communities. Local councils, traditional advisory committees, and grassroots political structures can be infiltrated by people who arrive today and claim indigene status tomorrow. The decisions of generations will be overridden by legal interpretations rather than communal consensus.
In commerce, businesses long run by Yoruba families could suddenly face competitors claiming rights to land leases, market spaces, and community contracts. Decades of economic stewardship will be challenged not by market forces but by legal entitlement to “indigene” status. This is how entire economic ecosystems can be destabilized without a single shot fired.
In culture and religion, festivals, rituals, and sacred sites, once overseen by indigenous custodians, could be opened to outsiders with claims backed by the law. Guardians of centuries-old traditions risk losing control of ceremonies that define the identity of towns and villages. What takes decades to preserve can be erased with a stroke of legislative power.
In civil service and public administration, positions allocated based on community quotas will suddenly be contested by new entrants claiming indigene rights. Families who have served in local governance for generations could see their influence and opportunities stripped away, replaced by legal fictions.
This bill is not reform. It is a quiet invasion of Yoruba structures, a Trojan horse that rewrites centuries of settlement, authority, and inheritance. If it passes, the repercussions will ripple through governance, economy, culture, and community cohesion.
- Yoruba, Wake Up!
Do not be deceived by hollow phrases like “inclusion” or “national unity.” This bill is not reform. It is a Trojan horse. It is an invasion of Yoruba land, culture, and authority under the guise of legislation. The public hearings are staged, superficial, and deliberately designed to avoid real scrutiny. Those behind this bill hope that confusion, indifference, and bureaucratic fatigue will silence resistance.
Yoruba, the moment to act is now. Speak. Organize. Engage. This is not a time for polite debate or delayed outrage. Every ancestral city, every chieftaincy stool, every sacred festival is under threat. From Abeokuta to Osogbo, from Oyo to Ifon, communities that have preserved Yoruba bloodlines and traditions for centuries could see their authority undermined overnight. Imagine decades of heritage erased because law favors occupancy over ancestry.
The implications go beyond identity. This is about power. Political representation, local decision-making, control of land, and even economic opportunities are at risk. Settlers who have lived here for a decade or two could claim influence in communities they have no ancestral claim to. The elders who safeguarded customs, the families who built and defended towns, will find their roles questioned, their rights diluted.
Indigeneity is sacred. It is ancestry, it is blood, it is history. It cannot be legislated away. This is not reform. This is an invasion, signed into law if we remain passive. TYT is watching. History will remember those who allowed outsiders to dictate the future of Yoruba land, and it will remember those who acted. The choice is ours. Silence is consent, and consent is betrayal.
