Anietie Udobit, Abuja
Before tribe, there was humanity. Before religion, there was compassion. Before identity became a wall, it was simply a description.
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There was a time when the worth of a human being was not first measured by where they came from, what language they spoke, or how they prayed. There was a time when survival itself depended on cooperation — not division.
A traveler arriving in a strange community was first seen as a fellow human being before anything else. A hungry stranger was offered water before questions. A visitor was welcomed before being categorized. Humanity came first.
Somewhere along the way, we reversed the order. Today, too often, we ask, “Where are you from?” “Which tribe?” “Which religion?”
Before we decide how to speak, how to trust, or even how to help. And slowly, identity — something that should enrich society — became something weaponized against it.
Nigeria is one of the most culturally diverse nations in the world. Hundreds of ethnic groups. Multiple languages. Different traditions. Different faiths. This diversity should have been our greatest strength. Instead, it has too often been manipulated into suspicion.
Political conversations become tribal battles. Competence is sometimes ignored for ethnic loyalty. Social media turns disagreement into hatred. Citizens who have never met each other become enemies because of inherited stereotypes.
And in the middle of all this, something important gets lost: Our shared humanity.
When people stop seeing each other as human beings first, division becomes easier. It becomes easier to insult. Easier to discriminate. Easier to justify unfairness. Easier to remain silent when others suffer.
History has shown repeatedly that societies do not collapse overnight. They weaken slowly — when empathy disappears and identity becomes more important than humanity itself.
A nation cannot truly progress when citizens see each other primarily through suspicion. Because no matter how advanced a country becomes economically or politically, division eventually weakens its foundation.
And still, despite the noise of division, humanity continues to survive quietly across Nigeria every single day.
A Muslim doctor treats Christian patients without hesitation. A Christian teacher mentors students from every background. An Igbo businessman employs workers from across the country. A Hausa trader feeds strangers during hardship. A Yoruba landlord shelters neighbors during crisis. An Efik woman raises children to respect people, not stereotypes.
These moments rarely make headlines. But they are the invisible threads still holding the country together.
The greatest danger of division is not only what it does to the present — but what it teaches the future. There is a child somewhere in Nigeria listening carefully. Listening to how adults describe other tribes. Listening to conversations filled with suspicion. Watching online insults normalized daily. And quietly, that child is learning what it means to belong in this country.
But there is also another child learning something else. A child watching friendship across difference. A child seeing respect despite disagreement. A child growing up understanding that tribe should never cancel humanity.
The Nigeria we build tomorrow depends heavily on which lesson becomes stronger today.
This conversation is not about erasing identity. Tribe matters. Culture matters. Religion matters. These things shape our stories and enrich our communities. But they should never become excuses to diminish the dignity of another person.
A healthy society does not destroy differences. It learns how to live above them. The problem is not diversity. The problem is what we do with it.
The Nigeria we must build is one where: Character matters more than ethnicity. Competence matters more than connection. Human dignity matters more than inherited bias. A country where young Nigerians are taught that patriotism is not tribal loyalty, but collective responsibility. A country where disagreement does not become hatred. Where faith does not become fear.
Where identity does not become exclusion.
At the end of the day, every Nigerian — regardless of tribe or religion — desires similar things: safety. Opportunity. Respect. A future for their children. A country that works. These shared desires should remind us of something simple but powerful: We are more connected than divided. Before tribe, there was humanity. And if Nigeria is to truly move forward, humanity must come first again.
Not because our differences do not matter — but because our shared future matters more.
This is not merely about tolerance. It is about responsibility. The responsibility to see one another first as human beings. The responsibility to build a nation where dignity is not selective. The responsibility to leave behind something better than inherited division.
Because nations are not held together by borders alone. They are held together by people willing to choose humanity over hatred.
This is Our Shared Nation. Many Voices. One Future.
Anietie Udobit writes “Our Shared Nation,” a reflective column on identity, belonging, and the stories that bind Nigerians across differences.