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There is an instructive anecdote about two Hausa gentlemen shopping in a popular mall in London. They noticed a group of three young Hausa men and engaged them in an animated conversation. The moment the young men mentioned that they were from Kano, one of the gentlemen—who later turned out to be the former Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero—fell silent and did not speak again. Therefore, when I read the recent news that the Emir of Kano, His Highness Muhammadu Sanusi II, has accepted admission into Northwest University, Kano, to study Law, attending lectures and sitting among students, it sparked mixed feelings of cautious admiration and hope for desirable outcomes. It is clear to many that the images of a student‑emir symbolise humility, intellectual curiosity, and a refreshing rejection of elitism. In a society starved of role models who value learning, the gesture is undeniably powerful. According to UNICEF, Kano State has about one million out‑of‑school children; therefore, the Emir’s noble intention is timely.
Yet, power does not operate on intention alone. It operates on perception. In northern Nigeria, traditional authority exists not merely in what a leader is, but in what the public reads into his posture, distance, and symbolism. This is where Emir Sanusi’s campus presence becomes delicate. What is morally admirable may, in power terms, be strategically costly.
As a student of power dynamics, I could not resist viewing Emir Sanusi’s action within the framework of Robert Greene’s The 48 Laws of Power. These are not immutable laws like Newton’s law of gravity or Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The book is not a moral text; it is a psychological one. It explains how authority is interpreted by human beings across cultures and history. Viewed through this lens, the concern is not whether the Emir’s actions are noble, but whether they unintentionally erode the mystique and psychological distance upon which authority rests.
One of Greene’s most fundamental principles is Law 6: Court attention at all costs. But attention must be carefully curated. When a ruler becomes overly accessible, attention shifts from reverence to familiarity. Familiarity, over time, breeds casualness, and casualness weakens authority. Traditional institutions thrive on managed visibility. The throne is powerful not because it is close, but because it is elevated. This is where Law 1 – Never outshine the master – also becomes relevant, albeit in reverse. When lecturers bow, students whisper, and institutional hierarchies pause in deference, the Emir unintentionally disrupts the natural order of the academic space. I am a classroom lecturer, and I know that when a classroom ceases to be a neutral environment, it becomes a stage. Teaching, learning, assessment, examination, and evaluation may be distorted to accommodate a celebrity student. Over time, this blurs boundaries and invites quiet resentment. This is another danger Greene repeatedly warns against.
There is also the risk of appearing “too common.” Greene’s Law 3 – Conceal your intentions – reminds leaders that excessive transparency weakens leverage. When a ruler’s daily movements, habits, and routines are fully visible, he loses the protective ambiguity that authority requires. Mystery is not arrogance; it is insulation. Similarly, Law 16 – Use absence to increase respect and honour – suggests that authority grows when presence is rare and meaningful. When an Emir is frequently seen walking in corridors, sitting in class, or engaging in ordinary routines, the symbolic weight of his appearance diminishes. What was once an event becomes ordinary. This does not mean a ruler must be aloof or indifferent; it means access must be ritualised, not casual.
This reflection brings me back to Alhaji Ado Bayero, who was crowned Emir of Kano on October 22, 1963 and became the longest‑serving emir in Kano’s history. For a long time, he will remain a benchmark against which others are measured. As the anecdote above illustrates, he displayed a majestic discipline of distance. The late Emir remains a powerful counterexample. This is not because he was more intelligent or moral, but because he understood the grammar of authority. Ado Bayero was widely regarded as humble, gentle, and accessible, yet he was never common. His simplicity was carefully choreographed. He mingled through emissaries, communicated through institutions, and appeared sparingly. When he spoke, Kano listened. Not because he shouted, but because he was rare. I recall his annual announcements of the sighting of the Ramadan crescent: always brief and concise. This aligns directly with Law 34 – Act like a king to be treated like one. Ado Bayero understood that dignity is not declared; it is performed consistently. His restraint created space for reverence, even among critics.
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Perhaps the most dangerous confusion in leadership is mistaking popularity for authority. Greene warns in Law 43 – Work on the hearts and minds of others – not by becoming one of them, but by remaining their symbolic anchor. A leader who becomes “one of us” may win affection but lose awe. And when crisis comes; political, religious, or social, it is awe, not affection, that compels obedience. As one historian observed, societies rarely overthrow distant rulers first; they challenge familiar ones. Alhaji Mamman Shata captured this insight in his beautiful song titled “Kululu Mai Tuwo Matar Lado”, where he advised his subject to remain cool, aloof, and distant to avoid contempt. Traders who become too familiar with customers often lose respect.
Beyond the Emir himself, the deeper issue is institutional precedent. When a throne normalises excessive informality, future occupants may lack the discipline or wisdom to manage it responsibly. What Sanusi does with brilliance, another may do with recklessness. Imagine a future student‑emir who fails to meet the minimum expectations of his teachers. What happens if his name appears on a list of failed students in a course titled “Moral Philosophy”? What happens if another emir decides to loiter casually in Kurmi Market? Power systems must be designed for average leaders, not exceptional ones. This is the real danger in the symbolic precedent being set.
This is therefore a call for balance, not withdrawal. It is not an argument against education, humility, or reform‑minded leadership; rather, it is a plea for calibrated symbolism. The Emir can pursue knowledge without dissolving distance. Structured learning, webinar, private tutorials, or ceremonial academic participation could preserve both scholarship and authority. In Robert Greene’s terms, the task is not to abandon humility, but to stage it.
Leadership, in the end, is judged not by intention but by how human psychology interprets symbols. There is a case of a former governor of Kano State whose behavior in office was widely interpreted as weakness; infractions by commissioners were reportedly addressed only with the phrase “Allah Ya isa”. He continues to struggle to remediate that perception. As the saying goes, power, once diluted, is painfully difficult to reclaim.
