“I’M YORUBA, not Nigerian. I have nothing in common with people from the north of Nigeria.”
Those were among the reported words of the Leader of the Opposition, Kemi Badenoch (above), in one of several recent comments about her Nigerian heritage which have caused deep concern across diaspora communities. For many Nigerian British Christians — me included — her remarks have not inspired pride, but, rather, pain, disappointment, and a renewed reflection on what faithful leadership ought to look like in the public arena.
Ms Badenoch’s political rise is undoubtedly historic. A Black British woman of Nigerian descent now leads one of the main political parties in the UK. That is no small achievement. And yet one cannot help but wonder: what is the cost of such achievement when it appears to come at the expense of one’s own story, culture, heritage, or people?
In another instance, she claimed that Nigerian women could not pass citizenship to their children — a statement that was widely disputed by constitutional and legal experts. While Nigeria is no stranger to criticism — perhaps deservedly so at times — there is a difference between prophetic truth-telling and what sounds to many ears like utter disdain.
Like most Nigerians in the diaspora, I have had my fair share of frustration with Nigeria’s governance, institutions, and bureaucracy, whether navigating the public sector while visiting home or during a long and disheartening visit to the Nigerian High Commission in London to renew my passport. But criticism, especially public criticism, must come from a place of love, laced with grace and hope. That, I believe, is a mark of Christian witness.
The scriptures are clear about the weight of speech: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18.21); “Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers” (Ephesians 4.29). What leaders say — especially about their own heritage — has far-reaching implications. Words can dignify or diminish; they can heal or harm.
Ms Badenoch’s remarks, however politically strategic they may appear, risk reinforcing harmful stereotypes of Africa and African people, particularly in a climate in which misunderstanding and misrepresentation of migrants and ethnic minorities persist.
IN AN interview with the BBC this month, Ms Badenoch spoke about her religious background, describing how she grew up attending church in Nigeria, but later moved away from aspects of organised religion (News, 15 August). While she did not reject faith outright, her comments suggested that religion now plays a more cultural than formative part in her public life. She also reflected on her moral framework, linking it more to personal values and upbringing than to explicit Christian conviction.
For me, these reflections are revealing. They help to explain, at least in part, the way in which she approaches questions of identity and heritage. A faith that is cultural rather than deeply rooted in scripture may lack the framework for seeing criticism as an act of love, or for holding together truth and grace in public speech.
Christian leadership — in the Church, politics, or community life — draws on something deeper than inherited tradition. It calls us to live and speak in ways that reflect Christ’s own pattern: “grace and truth” (John 1.14). Public service, from a Christian perspective, is not simply about personal conviction, but about representing the values of the Kingdom of God: humility, justice, and a commitment to building up rather than tearing down. This is why faith matters — not only as a private belief, but as a living source of guidance about how to speak.
CHRISTIANS are also commanded to honour their fathers and mothers (Exodus 20.12). While that commandment is about family, the principle can be extended to cultural and ancestral heritage. We do not honour anyone or anything by pretending that they or it have no flaws — but we also do not honour them by erasing the good or amplifying the worst in the service of personal advancement.
I recall a recent conversation with a young Nigerian professional who had just returned from Nigeria after more than a decade. Despite the country’s struggles, his perspective was grace-filled: “It’s still our country. If we all disparage it, who will help fix it?” That question echoes in my mind as I consider this present moment.
Diaspora Christians — particularly those involved in politics or public service — must take care with the way in which they speak. Our words should serve not only the electorate, but also the values of God’s Kingdom. Public life offers many platforms, but with those come great responsibility: to elevate, to build, and to reflect the character of Christ, even when we criticise.
There is still time for Kemi Badenoch to reconsider her tone, to revisit her roots with honour and grace, and to understand that leadership is not just about making history: it is about shaping a legacy. If she is to be remembered not only as the first Nigerian-Yoruba woman to lead the Conservative Party, but as a principled and visionary leader, that memory must be rooted in wisdom, grace, and a commitment to truth.
Victor Oladele is a pastor, community advocate, and practical theologian. He leads RCCG Majesty Connections, Basildon, and is completing doctoral research in practical theology at the University of Roehampton. He is actively engaged in faith-based civic work, diaspora ministry, and theological reflection on leadership and social responsibility.
