Nigeria at 66: Symptoms, Diagnosis and Prescriptions for Renewed Hope

Monday Column By Bagudu Mohammed

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When Nigeria gained independence 66 years ago, on the bright morning of 1 October 1960, there was catharsis. The relief ushered in new hopes, wild expectations and celebrations. The prevailing, almost naive, belief was that self-rule would birth service to fatherland, sacrifice, patriotism, integrity, freedom, dignity, equality, equity, growth, peace, progress and happiness.

Sixty-six years later, what stares back at us is not the virile nation we imagined but an ailing patient on a sickbed.The symptoms are unmistakable: public discontent, declining faith and haemorrhaging hope, most glaring in the Japa syndrome and the frantic exodus of talent. There is chronic dependence on foreign goods and services, growing medical and educational tourism, insecurity, hate-motivated crimes, ethno-religious tensions, regional rivalry, decrepit infrastructure, poverty, unemployment, drug abuse, weak industrialisation and widespread frustration.

Yet Nigerians disagree sharply about the diagnosis. The illness persists partly because our prescriptions often treat symptoms rather than the underlying pathology.

One diagnosis locates the disease in the amalgamation of 1914. Lord Lugard, for British administrative convenience, joined the Northern and Southern Protectorates into Nigeria. Others go deeper, blaming colonisation itself.The historical grievance is legitimate. As scholars such as Professor Toyin Falola have noted, the peoples inhabiting Nigeria had sophisticated systems of governance before British rule: the Sokoto Caliphate, Oyo and Benin Empires, the Igbo republican system and Kanem-Bornu, among others.

Colonialism dismantled many of these systems and established an extractive economy designed largely to export raw materials and import manufactured goods. Through indirect rule, regional divisions and missionary education, it also produced institutional and educational disparities. The colonial state encouraged accountability upwards to the British District Officer rather than downwards to citizens, a culture that arguably survives.Frantz Fanon’s post-colonial analysis and the theory of path dependency help explain how such inherited institutions can shape later outcomes.

Yet amalgamation and colonialism were not entirely negative. They created a larger economic and political space, facilitated a common lingua franca and ended some internecine conflicts. The counterfactual is what the pre-colonial states might have become without amalgamation? This is unknowable.

Another diagnosis blames Nigeria’s political structure. The First Republic produced productive regional governments, a vibrant parliamentary culture and major achievements such as Western Region’s free education, but regional rivalry, electoral violence and the misuse of state power destroyed trust and contributed to the 1966 coup. The Second Republic again demonstrated that civilian governments could be predatory, while the Third Republic was aborted. The Fourth Republic, our longest democratic experiment, still carries many of these inherited defects.

Military rule is another compelling diagnosis. The coup culture centralised power, weakened federalism and normalised impunity, coercion and corruption. Chinua Achebe warned about the consequences of making loyalty more important than competence. Yet the military also kept the country together after the civil war, created states and built infrastructure. Its legacy, therefore, is also double-edged.

The civil war of 1967-1970 remains another unresolved wound. Born from the coups, fears of domination and extermination, and disputes surrounding the East and oil, it left grievances that still influence perceptions of marginalisation, abandoned property and secession.Conflict scholars such as John Burton remind us that unresolved identity needs can persist across generations.

Then there is oil. Before petroleum became dominant, agriculture was the economic mainstay. Oil financed the civil war and major infrastructure, but it also weakened agriculture, encouraged rent-seeking and deepened dependence on imports. Richard Auty and Jeffrey Sachs’ resource-curse thesis helps explain this paradox. Yet oil itself is not necessarily the curse. It funded universities and Abuja, among other developments. The deeper problem may be how Nigeria used the wealth: prioritising immediate consumption over productive investment and risk management.

The debate over the constitution and system of government also persists. Nigeria has experienced both parliamentary and presidential systems, as well as military rule. Presidentialism provides a clearer separation between the executive and legislature, potentially strengthening checks and balances. The 1999 Constitution, although military-made, has also been amended repeatedly. The larger problem may therefore be less the absence of laws than poor implementation and weak enforcement. Gary Becker’s deterrence theory illustrates this: certainty of punishment often matters more than severity. Increasing penalties for banditry, terrorism or rape means little without effective enforcement.

Diversity, religion and population are also frequently blamed. Ethnic and regional loyalties have undeniably contributed to rivalry over appointments, resources and projects. But homogeneous countries are not automatically peaceful, while diverse countries can prosper when diversity is harnessed. Likewise, Paul Romer’s endogenous growth theory suggests that population becomes an asset when human capital is developed. Nigeria’s problem is therefore not simply its population but its failure to plan and invest adequately in it.

Religion is equally double-edged. When everything is judged through a religious lens, it can reinforce division, favouritism and intolerance. But religion also provides resilience, social cohesion and hope. Emile Durkheim’s analysis of religion as a source of social solidarity helps explain why faith remains a powerful source of strength for Nigerians during hardship. The problem is not religion itself but how its values are practised.

The most common diagnosis remains failure of leadership and corruption, famously advanced by Achebe. Leadership clearly matters, but no leader emerges from a vacuum. Leaders are products of society and operate within its values, expectations and incentives. Albert Bandura’s social learning theory reminds us that environments shape behaviour. Nigerians therefore have civic responsibilities too.

Our contradictions are evident in everyday life: indiscipline, poor maintenance culture, cheating, intolerance, domestic violence, materialism and double standards.

We condemn nepotism when excluded but may celebrate it when our own people benefit. We condemn misuse of public resources until it benefits our community. Wealth is often treated as evidence of wisdom, blessings and entitlement. Robert Putnam’s civic culture thesis reminds us that democracy requires norms of trust, public responsibility and civic participation.Thus, corruption, weak institutions, bad leadership and ethno-religious conflict are not isolated diseases. They are symptoms of conflicting values and incentives.

The prescription, therefore, is neither to discard religion nor endlessly blame colonialism, military rulers, oil or politicians. Religion remains a source of comfort when the economy and circumstances fail us. But religiosity must be measured not by rituals alone, but by justice, equity, humanity, civility, moderation, kindness and tolerance.Nigeria’s healing requires a change in both institutions and character: stronger enforcement, accountable leadership, productive investment, human-capital development and, above all, a civic culture that values collective good over narrow identity and immediate gain.

We inherited faulty genes, acquired harmful habits and transferred some of them across generations. But history cannot remain an excuse. The real cure begins when Nigerians demand better leadership while simultaneously becoming better citizens. Selflessness, discipline, justice and responsibility must become the standard, not merely when they benefit us, but when they apply equally to everyone.