At a time when Northern Nigeria is searching for direction, the contrast between Professor Isah Ali Pantami and Dauda Kahutu Rarara has become more than a personal disagreement it is a mirror of the values we intend to hand to the next generation. On one side stands a scholar and public servant whose knowledge, reforms, and dignity have put the North on the global map of digital progress. On the other stands a musician whose voice, once used to mobilize, now echoes mostly in controversy and personal attacks. The question before us is simple and urgent: will we choose to celebrate institutions, knowledge, and respect, or will we normalize noise, insult, and the erosion of the very character that made the North respected?
The North I was born into and taught to love was built on one central pillar: respect. We called it “Mutumci”. It meant that you honored age before strength, you honored knowledge before noise, and you honored office even when you disagreed with the person occupying it. A young person did not raise his voice at an elder in public. A citizen did not take to the market square to drag a scholar, an emir, or a public office holder through the mud. We argued, yes. We criticized, yes. But we did it with decorum, because we understood that once you erode respect for authority, you erode the glue that holds society together.
Music in that North was never just for dancing. It was our newspaper, our classroom, and our conscience. The great musicians were not only entertainers. They were historians, moral instructors, and sometimes, the only people bold enough to tell power the truth. But they did it within a code. Their words lived beyond them because they carried weight, wisdom, and restraint. Even today, when BBC Hausa or international media speak about Hausa music, they return to the same names, not because those men were loud, but because they were deep.
The late Dr. Mamman Shata Katsina is the perfect example. For over six decades he sang to farmers, to emirs, to presidents, and to the poor. He never needed to insult anyone to be heard. His songs taught hard work, patience, honesty, and community. When he criticized government, he did it by telling stories that made you think. That is why his records are still studied, why his voice is still played on national radio, and why scholars outside Nigeria wrote about him. He proved that you can be popular without being reckless.
Then there was Dan Maraya Jos and his garaya. Blind, but with vision. He used satire to correct society. He sang about corruption, poverty, and failed leadership, yet he never descended into personal abuse. People listened because he respected them, and so they respected him back. Even those he criticized invited him to their homes, because they knew the criticism was about the system, not about destroying a person’s name. That was the standard.
Shata, Dan Maraya, and the generation before them left us a template: music should build, not burn. They showed us that you can be bold and still be cultured. You can speak truth and still protect the dignity of the office you are addressing. Their songs are still reference points in schools, in sermons, and in political discussions because they were rooted in values.
As a Northerner and a young person myself, it is therefore painful and surprising to witness what is happening now. The very character we were raised to protect is diminishing before our eyes. The tools that were used to educate are now being used to attack. The platform that was meant to unite is being used to divide. And it is happening loudly, on social media, where young people are watching and learning.
This brings me to the ongoing conversation around *Dauda Kahutu Rarara*. I must state clearly that talent is not in doubt. I have written about Rarara before to acknowledge his gift and his ability to mobilize. But gift without guidance becomes a problem. In recent years, his name has become synonymous with controversy more than with music.
We have seen this pattern play out repeatedly. There was the public exchange with international artist Davido. There was the back and forth with Senator Barau Jibrin Maliya, the Deputy President of the Senate. Before that, he was in confrontation with Dr. Ibrahim Shekarau, a man known for his quiet scholarship and decades of public service. He has also traded harsh words with Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, one of the most influential political figures in Northern Nigeria. The common thread is not policy disagreement. It is personal attacks, set to music, and amplified for public consumption.
The latest and perhaps the most troubling is the case involving Professor Sheikh Isah Ali Pantami. Professor Pantami is not just a politician. He is a renowned Islamic scholar, a former Minister of the Federal Republic, and an academic who has taught and mentored thousands. His reputation was built over decades of teaching, writing, and service. To many of us, he represents the institution of knowledge that the North has always held sacred especially the Hausa/Fulani.
What makes this particular episode different is the target. Shekarau, Kwankwaso, and Barau are politicians. Politics is rough, and people expect some heat. But when you turn that same energy toward a scholar of Pantami’s standing, you cross a line. In the North, we stand up when a scholar enters a room. We lower our tone. We do not compose songs to ridicule titles earned through years of study. That is why this has touched a nerve far beyond politics.
The danger here is normalization. If we clap for songs that insult a professor today, tomorrow it will be an emir. Next week it will be a governor. Next year no elder, no teacher, no office holder will be safe from being dragged in a chorus. We will raise a generation that believes leadership deserves mockery and that knowledge deserves no honor. That is not the North of Shata. That is not the North of Dan Maraya. That is a North that has misplaced its compass.
Music is powerful. It can mobilize millions overnight. Shata used that power to teach morality. Dan Maraya used it to demand accountability. Rarara also has that same power to inspire, to unite, and to push for good governance. But power without restraint is destruction. When songs become weapons for personal vendettas, the whole community pays the price.
What we need now is a return to the code. Disagree with Professor Pantami on politics if you must. Disagree with Senator Barau on policy. Disagree with Kwankwaso or Shekarau on ideology. That is democracy, and it is healthy. But do it without stripping people of dignity. Do it the Northern way: firm, factual, and respectful. Our fathers taught us to correct in private and praise in public. That is how we kept our society stable.
There is need for caution. To Rarara and to every young person with a microphone and a following: your voice is a trust. The North gave you that platform because we believed you could carry our message. Please do not use it to erode the values that made you. Use it to remind us of who we are. Use it to praise hard work, to condemn injustice, to promote education. The North will not sleep into this culture of highly disrespectful songs. We are watching, and we are remembering.
Let us go back to the drawing board. Musicians, scholars, traditional rulers, and political leaders must sit and remind ourselves of the boundaries. We can celebrate talent and still demand responsibility. We can have robust political debate and still protect the institutions of scholarship and leadership. The North gave the world Shata and Dan Maraya. We can still produce voices that will be quoted 50 years from now, not for scandal, but for wisdom.
That is the North I believe in. That is the North I, as a young Northerner, am calling us back to. A North where you can criticize without cursing, where you can oppose without insulting, and where respect for constituted authority is not weakness, but strength. If we protect that, then our music, our politics, and our future will be safe.
Professor Isa Ali Pantami is one of the few global intellectuals that Northern Nigeria can rightly be proud of. Born in Gombe State, he memorized the Qur’an at an early age and went on to combine Islamic scholarship with Western education in a way that is rare anywhere in the world. He holds a PhD in Computer Science from Robert Gordon University in the United Kingdom, and before joining government he was a Professor of Cybersecurity at the International University of Africa and had taught for years at Abubakar Tafawa Balewa University, Bauchi. He rose through the ranks to become Director General of NITDA, and later served as the Honourable Minister of Communications and Digital Economy. That blend of deep religious knowledge, academic rigor, and technical expertise is why his name commands respect far beyond Nigeria.
As Minister, Professor Pantami’s impact was not just local, it was systemic and world-noticed. He led the digital identity reforms that moved Nigeria from less than 40 million NIN registrations to over 100 million within a few years, creating the backbone for financial inclusion, security, and planning. He drove the policy that reclassified telecommunications as critical national infrastructure, pushed for the expansion of broadband to unserved communities, and positioned Nigeria as a voice in global conversations on cybersecurity, 5G, and the digital economy. International bodies including the ITU, World Bank, and World Economic Forum invited him to speak because his reforms were producing data, jobs, and measurable GDP contributions. For a region that is often talked about in terms of deficits, he showed what a Northern brain can do when given the opportunity to serve with principle.
Knowledge of that magnitude is not measured in money. It is measured in institutions built, in policies that outlive a tenure, and in the thousands of students and professionals who now work in tech, academia, and government because of the path he opened. That is why the comparison must be made carefully. A billion in campaign songs or in short-term noise has no place next to one Pantami where the principles of respect for knowledge, for office, and for public service still exist. The North did not survive for centuries by celebrating volume over value. We survived because we placed scholars, teachers, and people of character at the center of our society.
This is not about politics. It is about preservation. If we allow disrespect for people like Professor Pantami to become normal, we are telling the next young Northerner that studying, teaching, and serving will earn you insults instead of honor. The North must decide what it wants to bequeath: a culture where a scholar is dragged for clout, or a culture where a scholar is protected because his work lifts the entire region. Shata and Dan Maraya used their voices to build that culture. We should not use new voices to destroy it.
Danaudi, Writes From Bauchi Via danaudicomrade@gmail.com
