By ABDULLAHI D MOHAMMED

Praise-singing is inherently part of northern Nigeria's cultural entertainment ecosystem. Most prominent and legendary Hausa singers and icons like Mamman Shara, Dan Kwairo, Dan Anache, Dan Maraya, to name a few, had actually towed these paths. For them, it was pure entertainment, praise-singing and glorification of their various idols, bosses or heroes.

However, globalization, modernization and particularly the internet have altered the cultural trajectory of praise-singing over the years. The return to democracy and the rise of political praise-singing has become an integral part of politicking and political campaigns. A new set of these “interlopers,” pun intended, has cast a shadow on politics, praise-singing and morality.

Leading the pack of these influential political praise-singers is Dauda Kahutu, known as Rarara. Without doubt, he is as talented as he is controversial. He mocks. He taunts. He ridicules. Particularly those with whom he holds contrary political views.

His latest tirade targeted Ali Isa Pantami, former minister and PDP flag bearer for Gombe gubernatorial election. Titled “Malam Yayi Rawa,” the song carries with it heavy lyrics which touch on the personality of Pantami.

The song reintroduces the long debate over morality in politics. The backlash is intense. But interesting is the mixed reaction and those who overwhelmingly see nothing wrong. For this category, they hinged their argument around “political realism,” which views politics as all about power, survival, and winning. Local actors—party bosses, councilors, traditional rulers, godfathers—act to protect their interests, networks, and access to resources. Morality is secondary; what matters is what works: alliances, patronage, praise-singing, smear campaigns, and timing. From this angle, Rarara’s songs are tools in a power game, not moral sermons.

But here’s a caveat. Northern Nigeria is widely regarded, and rightly so, as a region heavily conservative. Religion. Culture. Respect. Trust. Fairness and equity remain the unwritten moral codes which shape our intergroup relationships.

All is fair in politics, just like in war, some might argue. Prof Pantami is, first, like everyone, a Nigerian. He has the constitutional right to engage in any political contestation. His clerical background, his past speeches, positions and utterances understandably put him in the line of the current fire he is receiving from the likes of Rarara.

But yet again, for morality’s sake, he need not be dragged into the mud using the Machiavellian theory of politics. All politics is, understandably, local. Which is why, if we adopt the moralist view of politics—where local governance touches daily life: roads, clinics, schools, policing—leaders and their enablers (including praise-singers) owe citizens honesty, fairness, and restraint. Character attacks, incitement, and cynical flattery erode public trust and normalize corruption and violence. Here, the “moral line” is about dignity, truth-telling, and the long-term health of the political community.

Like Rarara, Prof Pantami is a mere mortal, prone to endless errors. It would be unfair to judge and criticize him solely on the account of his past utterances (ostensibly the PDP “Al-Kafura”). It was a reaction to a past reality which must have, or had actually, been overtaken by events.

He should be judged on his manifestos, blueprint and development roadmap for Gombe State. If we continue to dwell on his past utterances, we risk the chances of progressive politics, which is missing. Amoral politics is needed to reshape our political journey. According to Prof Olusegun Oladipo, in his book *Amoral Politics and Democratic Instability in Nigeria* (2009), he argues that Nigerian politics since 1999 is “devoid of moral content,” diagnoses the symptoms and consequences of this amorality, and concludes that “the crisis of governance in Nigeria is a crisis of morality.”

If the likes of Rarara are allowed to continue to roughen our political journey for personal interest, then they must be called out. They remain part of the larger problem within the country’s democratic space.

And for those arguing against Prof Pantami’s involvement in partisan politics, citing his clerical background, there is a strong counter-argument: there is nothing inherently wrong with an Islamic clergy engaging in politics. Historically, northern Nigeria has seen respected scholars straddle both realms without compromising their moral standing. Sheikh Ahmad Gumi, for instance, while not a partisan politician, has long influenced policy and governance through moral suasion and direct engagement with state actors.

More pointedly, the Sokoto Caliphate itself was founded by Sheikh Usman dan Fodio, a scholar-cleric whose political leadership was seen not as a deviation from faith, but as an extension of it—a fusion of spiritual authority and temporal responsibility aimed at justice and reform.

In Kano, figures like Sheikh Ibrahim Niass and later Sheikh Abubakar Mahmud Gumi engaged in public affairs, offering counsel to rulers and, at times, challenging them when necessary. Their involvement was rooted in the Islamic principle of fairness —enjoining good and forbidding evil—which does not stop at the mosque door. To bar clerics from politics is to deny the very tradition that shaped northern Nigeria’s moral and political order.

The real question, then, is not whether a cleric can enter politics, but how they enter, and what they carry with them. If the entrance is marked by dignity, policy clarity, and a commitment to the common good, then the clerical robe becomes not a shield for impunity, but a reminder of higher accountability. Northern politics does not need more performers who trade in insult and insinuation. It needs more leaders—and enablers—who understand that power without principle is a shortcut to chaos.

In the end, Rarara’s voice will echo, as it always does. But the question that must outlast the echo is whether we, as a political community, will continue to reward the noise or demand the substance. If we choose the latter, then praise-singing may yet return to its cultural roots: entertainment with honor, not warfare with microphones. And if we choose the former, then we must be ready to live with the consequences—a politics stripped of morality, where the loudest voice wins, but the people lose.

•Abdullahi is a policy analyst and Director at Initiative for concerned Citizens Against Drug Abuse and Community Awareness.

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