“Anambra’s ‘Stranger’ Policy: A Wake-Up Call for Nigeria to Confront its Double Standards on Citizenship”

Anambra State has reportedly mandated that all non-indigenes and non-residents in Nnokwa must either obtain non-indigene and tenancy agreement forms or leave the community. While this move may be presented as a measure of local governance and community order, it highlights a more profound issue in Nigeria’s social and political landscape—one that exposes our shared hypocrisy, regional instability, and selective moral values.

This action, originating in a southeastern state mostly inhabited by the Igbo ethnic group, starkly illustrates the double standards that influence inter-ethnic relations across Nigeria. It compels us to face an uncomfortable reality: many who advocate for liberalism and national unity in areas populated by others often revert to conservatism and exclusion when they return to their home.

It is not unusual to hear Igbo advocates passionately championing the rights to own property, establish businesses, and engage in local governance in cities like Lagos, Kano, or Kaduna. This advocacy is valid—every Nigerian should have the freedom to settle and prosper anywhere in the country, free from discrimination. The Constitution upholds this principle, and common sense demands it in such a diverse and interconnected nation.

However, those liberal principles can quickly vanish when the situation is reversed.

Just consider the scenario where a local government in Lagos or Oyo State implemented a similar directive requiring non-Yoruba residents to register as non-indigenes or leave. The backlash would be immediate and intense if Igbo traders in Ibadan were told to formalize their status as “strangers” or face eviction. Social media would explode, and influential figures would rail against such actions as ethnic discrimination and economic sabotage. The headlines would condemn it as a violation of fundamental rights, and the reaction would be rapid, possibly even chaotic.

Yet, when a community in the East takes similar measures, there is a disconcerting quiet—or even worse, justifications arise: “We need to safeguard our territory.” “We are not barring anyone from living here; we just require documentation.” “They do it to us in the North and West—why shouldn’t we do it here?”

This reciprocal mentality is both perilous and deeply hypocritical. You cannot advocate for open borders for yourself while closing yours to others. You cannot expect to receive full citizenship rights in Lagos while reducing others to mere tenants in Anambra. Nigeria cannot thrive as a nation of equal rights in some regions and entrenched parochialism in others.

Let’s be clear: this issue extends beyond the Igbo. It’s a national dilemma affecting Yoruba, Hausa, Ijaw, Tiv, and many other ethnic groups, all of whom exhibit this duplicity. Each region espouses inclusion when its constituents are migrants while practicing exclusion when they are hosts.

This behavior reveals a persistent mistrust lying beneath the facade of our supposed unity. We don’t just fear outsiders but harbor resentment towards their successes. We mask this bitterness under terms like “indigene rights” and “community interest,” but what we are actually doing is embedding discrimination within our systems.

Some might contend that requiring non-indigenes to register or obtain tenancy forms is merely a matter of maintaining order and security. However, we must tread carefully. When administrative processes are used to highlight ethnic distinctions, they become instruments of division. It conveys to those labeled “non-indigenes” that they are always outsiders, regardless of how long they have lived there, how much they contribute to the economy, or how well they have integrated into the community.

What message does this send to young Nigerians residing in such environments? That their place of birth holds no value if they have a “foreign” surname? That even after decades of living there, their families remain merely “tenants”? That their loyalty, contributions, and sacrifices will never lead to genuine belonging?

Normalizing such exclusion undermines the very essence of Nigeria. We risk transforming a republic of citizens into a fragmented collection of ethnic enclaves, where rights are granted not by law but dictated by ancestry.