By Ekpa Stanley Ekpa
Whenever I hear of the demise of any Nigerian who fought or firmly believed in the future of a functional Nigeria that works for every Nigerian, I am often struck to shiver, particularly of how good intents and aspirations for the common good of our country die without been actualized. This was how I felt last week when I heard of the passing of Oluwadamilola Agbaje, a promising and active citizen who died serving Nigeria as a NYSC corps member. As I contemplated on her deeds and demise, it dawned on me of the stark and painful reality that we have lived with for decades: we live in one country, but we inhabit two different spheres.
One is a sphere of privilege, comfort, and access – reserved for the elite and their cronies, while the other is a domain of deprivation, indignity, and exclusion, which is the lived reality for the vast majority of Nigerians. This is not just a metaphor. It is a structural truth that defines our politics, economy, justice system, healthcare, education, and even our spirituality.
In this divided reality, more than 85% of Nigerians function in a broken, unreliable, and often predatory system that grinds them into daily survival mode. For this class, human dignity is a luxury. They fetch their own water, generate their own electricity, teach their children by dim lights, and beg for what should be basic human rights. Their institutions do not work for them; they are ignored in policymaking and abandoned in the implementation phase. When they cry out, they are met with indifference or repressed with force. Their Nigeria is unpaved, unlit, unprotected.
On the other side, a small, insular minority – politically connected, economically buoyant, and socially shielded, operate in a different Nigeria entirely. In their Nigeria, the power never goes out, the roads are smooth in exclusive estates, their children attend schools that offer international curricula, and their health is managed abroad or by top-tier doctors within private facilities. Even justice behaves differently in their realm; their offenses are excused or delayed into oblivion, while the poor are criminalized for being victims of circumstance. The same constitution, but two interpretations. The same national anthem, but two lived realities.
This duality is the breeding ground of our national dysfunction. When over 85% of the population is excluded from the benefits of citizenship, such as access to quality education, healthcare, justice, opportunity, and voice, the society begins to fracture. Social cohesion collapses and crime rises. Distrust becomes the norm. People stop believing in the common good because they no longer see themselves as stakeholders in the system. What emerges is a society where everyone by every means possible tries to escape to the other sphere, not by merit, but by manipulation, patronage, or crime.
This is the fuel for the character crisis among the youth. Many are not inherently dishonest or lazy; they are simply responding to the moral message the system sends: “you are on your own.” In this climate, dignity is not an inalienable right, it is a privilege for those who can pay or scheme their way into it. Thus, many no longer believe that integrity or hard work can lead them anywhere. They see that systems only reward proximity to power, not principle or perseverance. Why go through the gate when the wall is climbable, or better yet, when the gatekeeper responds only to names he she recognizes?
This two-sphere structure undermines any meaningful notion of national identity or collective future. How can we speak of patriotism when most citizens feel orphaned by the state? How can we preach hope when every sign of progress is fenced off from the reach of the masses? How can a child in a public school with no windows or quality teachers compete with a child flown abroad for summer coding camps? Is it even fair to say they are products of the same nation?
And so, we must again ask the question of “when” or will the average Nigerian ever experience a functional society that works for everyone in their lifetime? Will the majority ever know what it means to walk into a hospital and receive quality care without first praying for a miracle or bribing for basic attention? Will they ever see a police officer and feel protected rather than extorted? Will their children ever sit in a classroom where the teacher is not just present but inspired? Or is the dream of a dignified existence now an elite monopoly?
While these questions are heavy, they must not lead to despair. They must drive us to act, to rethink, and to rebuild. The current trajectory is only an invitation to a deepened state crisis. A society that caters only to its elite will eventually collapse under the weight of its exclusions. We must construct a new social compact, one that acknowledges our brokenness but insists on a shared future.
To begin with, we must democratize access to dignity by investing intentionally and heavily in public goods – education, healthcare, water, justice, and placing the best minds, not the most connected, in charge of these sectors. It means reorienting leadership recruitment and public service around competence and empathy, not patronage. Until we reverse the logic of exclusion and corruption in our institutions, reforms will remain cosmetic.
We must also strengthen local governance. Most Nigerians interact more frequently with their local governments than with Abuja, yet these local governments are often the most dysfunctional. If we make local governance work, through genuine autonomy, citizen participation, and transparency, we can begin to rebuild the social contract from the bottom up.Also, technology and innovation must be harnessed, not to enrich a few, but to leapfrog barriers to inclusion. But more than that, we need a moral renaissance, a new value system that rejects elite exceptionalism and reclaims the ideal that every Nigerian deserves a dignified life, not as a reward, but as a right.
Our current reality is not just a national crisis, it is a moral contradiction. Nigeria cannot survive, let alone thrive, as a nation where the majority live outside the margins of dignity while a few enjoy all the benefits of civilization. We must confront this duality not with charity or pity, but with justice. The task ahead is not to make the poor live like the rich, but to build a country where nobody has to be rich to live with dignity.
.Ekpa, a lawyer and leadership consultant, writes via [email protected]
Quote: “Our current reality is not just a national crisis, it is a moral contradiction. Nigeria cannot survive, let alone thrive, as a nation where the majority live outside the margins of dignity while a few enjoy all the benefits of civilization.”