Pastor Yinka Yusuf’s one million crusade, self-inflicted crisis

Tom FredFish

A sermon by Pastor Yinka Yusuf has been circulating widely on social media, provoking outrage in some quarters and deep reflection in others. In the sermon, the cleric spoke about Akwa Ibom children who ought to be in school but are instead trapped in menial domestic work. He also highlighted a culture of infighting, pull-him-down tendencies, excessive pride, and a mindset that celebrates proximity to power rather than productivity. Pastor Yusuf attributed these setbacks to ancestral influences that, in his view, require spiritual intervention, which he said informed the controversial crusade planned for Uyo, the Akwa Ibom State capital. While many were quick to attack the messenger, a few paused to interrogate the message itself.

Did the pastor lie?

For those willing to be honest, the sermon struck a nerve because it described patterns that are visible every day. Across major Nigerian cities, young people from Akwa Ibom State are disproportionately represented in domestic work—as house helps, drivers, and errand aides—despite the state’s long-standing access to education and significant public investment. While there is dignity in all honest labour, persistent underperformance in the face of opportunity calls for introspection rather than outrage.

Pastor Yusuf also described Akwa Ibom people as proud, a characterisation many find uncomfortable but one that finds painful confirmation in reality. This pride is often expressed not through concrete achievements, but through hollow self-celebration. A recent example is the speaker of the Akwa Ibom State House of Assembly, Udeme Otong, who reportedly gathered supporters to praise himself for allegedly orchestrating the defection of himself and his colleagues to the APC, with claims of “return tickets” already secured for all 26 lawmakers ahead of 2027. Instead of sober reflection on ideology, mandate and service, the episode appeared to many as political theatre, self-glorification and transactional politics dressed up as leadership. This, critics argue, mirrors the very pride without substance that Yusuf warned against.

The pastor further described the situation as “mental slavery”, a phrase some consider offensive but one that arguably deserves explanation rather than outright condemnation. How else does one explain jobless youths roaming the streets during work hours to attend rallies, hail politicians, defend the looting of public funds, or attack fellow citizens online for questioning authority? Where is freedom when poverty is weaponised and conscience is traded for handouts? This is not civic engagement, but psychological captivity.

Then there is the issue of destructive infighting and the pull-him-down syndrome. Here too, the evidence appears overwhelming. What became of Umana Umana, a former Secretary to the State Government and widely regarded as one of the state’s finest administrators, whose political ambition reportedly triggered internal battles rather than healthy competition? What of Senator Effiong Bob, acknowledged for his performance in the Senate, yet denied a third term amid intra-party hostility? Or Senator Ita Enang, who served meritoriously in both the House of Representatives and the Senate, but faced sustained resistance when he sought to advance politically?

Similar patterns are now alleged around Mr Unyime Idem. Despite broad recognition of his legislative effectiveness, including from entrenched political interests, there are still voices insisting that he must not continue, not because he failed, but because his success unsettles the system. In Akwa Ibom, critics argue, competence often attracts hostility rather than encouragement. These, they say, are not isolated incidents but symptoms of a deeper malaise.

Long before Yusuf’s sermon, the late Prof Emmanuel Ayandele, former Vice-Chancellor of the University of Calabar, once described the old Cross River State—then comprising present-day Cross River and Akwa Ibom states, as “an atomistic society perpetually at war with itself.” That statement was not intended as an insult, but as a diagnosis. Truth does not disappear because it is uncomfortable.

Similarly, Joe Iniodu, writing in The Mall newspaper on 14 July 2020, described the sustained attacks on former Niger Delta Affairs Minister, Chief Godswill Akpabio, by fellow Akwa Ibom indigenes as “witchcraft”. In another article published on 29 September 2023, titled “OkuIbom Ibibio and the Truth About Akwa Ibom People”, Thomas Thomas highlighted the infighting that followed the passage of a law elevating the Oku Ibom Ibibio to first-class traditional ruler status, alleging that influential politicians from Annang and Oron zones sponsored protests against the law.

Pastor Yusuf did not invent these issues; he articulated what many whisper privately but are afraid to confront publicly.

Supporting his sermon, therefore, is not an endorsement of hatred against Akwa Ibom people. Rather, it is a rejection of denial. It is a call for young people to move from blind loyalty to strategic thinking; from street praise-singing to skill acquisition; from internal rivalry to collective progress. No society advances by celebrating opportunism or destroying its most competent hands.

If Akwa Ibom is to move forward, it must stop attacking mirrors and start correcting its reflections. The truth may be bitter, but it remains necessary medicine. And sometimes, genuine love for a people sounds exactly like a rebuke.

Rather than directing anger at a pastor who spoke uncomfortable truths, Akwa Ibom people may need to look inward and embrace attitudinal change. Pastor Yinka Yusuf may have moved his crusade out of Uyo, but the core message of his sermon is likely to endure.

Dr Tom FredFish is a journalist and political commentator.