In a country blessed with diverse ethnicities, languages, cultures, and an educated population, one would expect that we, especially the so-called elite would be the torchbearers of unity and national identity. But as the comment sections of social media posts increasingly reveal, tribalism still sits at the heart of our national discourse. It lurks beneath our suits, academic gowns, and LinkedIn profiles. Educated, yes; but divided still.

We recite the National Pledge; “to be faithful, loyal and honest… to uphold Nigeria’s honor and glory”, but where do these words go when promotions are based on origin, when hiring managers whisper, “na our person?” Where does the education go when social media influencers, public speakers, and civil servants subtly reduce entire ethnic groups to thieves, ritualists, or lazy dependents?

The tragedy is not just that the average person thinks this way, but that the elite; those who studied abroad, those in policy rooms, boardrooms, or wearing silk ties on TV, quietly feed the same biases.

Tribalism in the Age of the Internet:

Go to Twitter/X, Facebook, or Instagram. Pick any post on insecurity, politics, or corruption. You will likely find a tribal comment not far below. A Northerner blames Southerners for rebellion. A Southerner mocks the North as backward. Middle Belters feel forgotten. The East and West accuse each other of betrayal. Anonymous accounts amplify insults, using flags of tribes and languages as battlegrounds.

In this digital age, unity is being buried under meme wars and tribal hashtags.

It is one thing for an uneducated villager to think in tribes; it is a deeper tragedy when people with PhDs, international degrees, or elite titles still say things like, “Don’t trust those people,” or “What do you expect from an Igbo man?” or “They are all Almajiris.”

This is not a grassroots problem. It is a glass-ceiling problem. We have failed to convert our education into empathy. Our exposure has not birthed tolerance. Our suits are clean but our minds are stained.

We chant “Nigeria to the world,” wear green on Independence Day, celebrate Nigerian music and movies. But when it’s time to apply these ideals at elections, at hiring panels, at town hall meetings, we revert to ethnic loyalty. “My tribe first.” “My person.” “Our turn.”

Unity is no longer fashionable. Patriotism is mocked. Yet we wonder why corruption thrives, why violence simmers, why development stalls.

A Call to the ‘Exposed Ones’

This article is not for the unlettered; it is for you, the graduate. You, the one tweeting in grammar but posting tribal slurs in WhatsApp groups. You, who sits on panels but rejects CVs because of names. You, the pastor, the imam, the HR manager, the influencer, the academic.

We are hypocrites if we cannot rise above our tribal instincts.

We are part of the problem if we do not correct our uncles, colleagues, or friends when they speak hate.

We are lost if education no longer refines us.

It is time to go beyond the pledge we memorized in school. To be Nigerian must mean more than a passport or anthem. It must mean seeing each other first as human beings, as citizens, and as partners in progress.

Until then, our degrees are just decoration. Our speeches, empty. Our unity, a myth.

Educated, Yet Divided: Nigeria’s Tribal Rift in the Age of Exposure

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