The recent shutdown of entertainment centres in Kano State reveals how the enforcement of religious morality is testing Nigeria’s constitutional promises of freedom, equality, and lawful business.
On May 22, 2025, eight entertainment centres across Kano State were abruptly shut down by the Kano State Film and Video Censorship Board.
The closures, ordered on the grounds of protecting religious and moral values, were carried out without prior consultation with the affected business owners. The move reignited an enduring debate at the heart of Nigeria’s uneasy legal and cultural coexistence: Can a state governed by the Nigerian Constitution enforce religious morality in ways that contradict federal law?
A Nation of Laws, or Beliefs?
Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution declares the country a secular and democratic federation, promising equal rights and freedoms to all, irrespective of religion or ethnicity. It guarantees freedom of expression, religion, movement, and association. It also provides a legal framework for commerce through laws like the Companies and Allied Matters Act (CAMA), which ensures citizens’ rights to conduct business anywhere in the country.
But in practice, this constitutional ideal is increasingly challenged—especially in the 12 northern states where Sharia law operates alongside civil law. The recent ban on entertainment venues in Kano starkly illustrates this divergence, as religious norms appear to override national legal protections, effectively creating dual legal systems within one country.
The Case of Kano’s Entertainment Centres
The entertainment centres—Wazobiya Entertainment, Lady J Entertainment, Dan Hausa Entertainment, NI’ima Entertainment, Ariya Entertainment, Harsashi Entertainment, Hamdala Entertainment, and Babangida Entertainment—primarily showcased Hausa music and comedy. Performances typically featured upcoming artists miming to popular tracks while dancers accompanied them on stage. These shows were lively and economically sustaining, with gate fees ranging from ₦500 to ₦1,000, and performers often received patronage through cash sprays—a culturally accepted form of support.
Abba, a local observer, described the scene: “The artistes are usually contracted for one or two years, housed by the venue owners, and perform daily. It’s a source of livelihood not just for the owners but for the artists themselves.”
However, many of these venues, located in Sabon Gari—a diverse district with a large Christian population—were reportedly targeted for hosting late-night events, playing popular Hausa music, and featuring female dancers. According to El-Mustapha, Executive Secretary of the Kano State Film and Video Censorship Board, the closures were part of efforts to “cleanse” the entertainment industry and align it with Kano’s cultural and religious identity.
But the implications go far beyond local regulation. For many, this action represents the imposition of religious doctrine on a pluralistic society—affecting people who may not subscribe to the dominant faith. “Sabon Gari is not a Muslim area,” Abba points out. “It’s a place where many people of different faiths live. Using Islamic law to shut down places there feels unfair.”
Religious Morality vs. Civil Rights
Critics argue that the closures amount to state-enforced religious control that undermines the constitutional promise of secular governance. Though the government cited moral concerns, the absence of specific civil infractions raises serious questions about legal overreach.
Under Nigerian law, a person cannot be denied the right to conduct business based on religion—yet this appears to be the underlying rationale. These businesses were not closed for financial crimes, licensing issues, or public disturbances, but rather for failing to align with religious standards. That sets a dangerous precedent: when moral codes rooted in a particular faith become de facto law, non-adherents are effectively relegated to second-class status.
Cultural Tension and Economic Fallout
These venues weren’t just spaces of entertainment—they were economic engines, sustaining musicians, performers, vendors, and other small businesses. Their abrupt closure has already triggered financial loss, uncertainty, and reputational harm.
“There was no physical protest, but the backlash was online,” says Abba. “People are angry. For many artistes, those centres were stepping stones into the mainstream. Now, it’s all gone.”
Abba fears that “the closures will drive the industry underground, possibly leading to riskier, unregulated alternatives.” Meanwhile, lawful business owners are left to pick up the pieces.
“I passed by one of the centres—nothing is happening there. It’s eerie. People are shocked. No one thought the government would act so swiftly, without warning. Now, people are frustrated.”
A Divided Federation?
This isn’t just a Kano issue. The broader concern is the legal fragmentation of Nigeria into what feels like two nations under one flag—one governed by civil law, the other by religious morality. In the South, entertainment flourishes with minimal censorship. In the North, similar expressions are penalized—not through civil codes, but through faith-based regulations.
If one part of the country can criminalize actions that are legal elsewhere, is Nigeria truly governed by a single Constitution? Or have parallel systems of governance quietly taken root?
Importantly, these venues brought money into local communities. “People come from outside to spend money there,” Abba explains. “These closures hurt everyone.”
The Way Forward: Dialogue and Reform
To prevent deeper societal fractures, community leaders and experts are calling for a more inclusive and legally consistent approach. “What should have happened was dialogue,” says Abba. “The government could have warned the centres, invited owners to the table, and worked on reform. Not this.”
The Executive Secretary of the Board later claimed the intention wasn’t to stifle creativity, but to uphold societal values. Yet stakeholders say no avenue for engagement was offered. The result? Widespread discontent, economic disruption, and fading trust in the rule of law.
While the Board insists it welcomes collaboration with entertainers to promote “culturally appropriate content,” many disagree. “There was no dialogue. No prior engagement,” Abba insists. “It was a blind closure, plain and simple.”
Whose Values Count?
Religion undeniably shapes values. It influences culture, behavior, and even policy. But in a diverse constitutional democracy like Nigeria, no single religious or moral framework can override national law.
This is not a call to abandon values, but a call for inclusivity and lawful engagement. The state cannot afford to alienate entire communities, suppress industries, or sidestep constitutional protections in the name of culture or faith.
In the end, the real test of Nigeria’s unity isn’t in its anthem or coat of arms—it’s in whether a person in Kano enjoys the same rights as one in Lagos, and whether a Constitution written for all is enforced for all.