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They said we were independent. Sixty-six years later, are we?
On October 1, 1960, the British colonial Union Jack came down; Nigeria’s green-white-green went up, and a young country stepped into history with the confidence that it could take charge of its destiny.
Sixty-six years later, what have we done with that destiny?
Nigeria is a toddling old contraption: chronologically advanced, institutionally stunted, politically confused and perpetually struggling to get its many moving parts to work together. It has grown old without growing up, accumulated decades without accumulating commensurate wisdom, and mastered the art of celebrating anniversaries while postponing the arrival of the nation those anniversaries are supposed to commemorate.
We are independent, supposedly. But independent from whom, and independent for what? What is the meaning of sovereignty when millions of citizens cannot confidently depend on their country for security, electricity, decent healthcare, quality education, productive employment and the basic necessities of dignified living?
We have spent much of our postcolonial history demonstrating that inheriting a country and knowing how to run one are two entirely different accomplishments.
The colonial system itself was unequal and designed primarily to serve British imperial interests, not to guarantee Nigerians freedom, equality or prosperity. Nevertheless, the challenge after independence was to correct those injustices, strengthen useful institutions and build a country that served its own people. How far have we travelled along that road?
However, we have only changed governments, rewritten policies, renamed programmes, launched ambitious agendas and unveiled grand visions. Yet ordinary citizens continue to navigate deteriorating infrastructure, unreliable electricity, rising living costs and public services that frequently fall short of expectations.
We announce policies with ceremonial enthusiasm but struggle with implementation. We commission projects while existing infrastructure decays. We celebrate political appointments more enthusiastically than measurable public service. We change the occupants of public offices without always changing the systems that permit failure to flourish.
Our politics has too frequently become a contest for power, patronage and personal survival rather than a disciplined competition of ideas. Godfatherism competes with merit, electoral malpractice undermines public confidence, and political defections are marketed as strategic wisdom. Public office, which ought to be a solemn trust, is too often treated as a prize to be captured and a privilege to be exploited.
Meanwhile, citizens are instructed to be patient.
How much patience can a hungry child eat? How many speeches can power a factory? How many patriotic songs can secure a threatened community? How many independence anniversaries can educate a child whose school lacks adequate teachers, books and facilities?
Security remains a fundamental test of the Nigerian state. Communities have endured killings, kidnappings, displacement and fear. Farmers struggle to cultivate their land under insecure conditions, while families worry about the safety of their loved ones. Protecting citizens is not a ceremonial responsibility; it is one of the primary obligations of government.
The economy presents another painful contradiction. We possess enormous natural resources and a gifted population, yet many households struggle with hunger, businesses face high operating costs, and young people search for opportunities that remain frustratingly scarce. We have struggled to translate oil wealth into broadly shared prosperity, while talented Nigerians seek more predictable opportunities abroad.
Electricity remains an emblem of our unfinished development. Businesses spend scarce resources generating their own power, manufacturers contend with high production costs, and households make costly arrangements for an essential service that should support modern economic life.
Education, healthcare, housing and transportation tell variations of the same story: a country of immense possibilities that has too often failed to convert potential into dependable public services.
Perhaps, our deepest failure, however, is the unfinished business of nationhood.
Ethnic suspicion, religious divisions, regional rivalries and struggles over the distribution of power continue to undermine our collective identity. We proclaim unity at national ceremonies but retreat into narrower loyalties when opportunities and resources are distributed.
A nation cannot survive indefinitely on geography alone. It must be sustained by justice, equal citizenship, mutual respect, credible institutions and the conviction that every community has a meaningful stake in the national project.
Nigeria is still working hard, retreating from nation.
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At sixty-six, one might be tempted to ask, with biting sarcasm: if self-government has produced so much disappointment, should we invite the colonial masters back to take over the country?
It is an outrageous question, but the condition of the country explains why it can arise in public conversation. When citizens repeatedly encounter insecurity, institutional failure, economic hardship and political irresponsibility, some begin to romanticise the colonial past or imagine that foreign administrators might govern Nigeria more effectively.
Yet this temptation must be resisted.
Colonial rule was not established to fulfil the aspirations of Nigerians. It served the strategic and economic interests of the British Empire. Whatever infrastructure or administrative systems colonial authorities created, these cannot erase the denial of political self-determination, unequal treatment and the extraction of resources under colonial rule. Inviting the British back would amount to surrendering the very right Nigerians fought to exercise: the right to determine their own future.
Besides, there is no guarantee that foreign rule would solve Nigeria’s problems. Competent governance depends on accountable institutions, transparent public finance, effective laws and the participation of citizens. A foreign administrator would not automatically eliminate corruption, ethnic mistrust, insecurity or the struggle over resources. Nor would an unelected colonial authority necessarily be answerable to the people bearing the consequences of its decisions.
Even if foreign administrators delivered improvements in some public services, fundamental questions would remain: Who would determine Nigeria’s priorities? Whose interests would be protected? To whom would those exercising power be accountable? And what would become of the democratic right of Nigerians to choose their leaders and shape their institutions?
A country cannot build lasting dignity by surrendering its political agency whenever its own leaders disappoint it.
We do not need colonial masters. We need responsible leaders and institutions that work. We must neither romanticise colonialism nor use its historical injustices to excuse our present failures.
Nigeria must move beyond anniversary speeches and undertake a serious national reckoning. We need elections that command public confidence, institutions capable of holding powerful individuals accountable, courts that deliver justice, security agencies that protect citizens, schools that educate and hospitals that heal.
We need a productive economy that creates jobs, reliable electricity that supports industry, infrastructure that connects communities, and public spending that produces visible benefits. We must confront corruption and impunity, strengthen local accountability and ensure that public appointments and contracts serve the national interest rather than private networks.
We must also address unresolved questions of federalism, resource allocation, citizenship and political inclusion through legitimate democratic processes. A federation is strengthened not by compelling everyone to remain silent, but by creating arrangements in which diverse communities can participate fairly and pursue common prosperity.
Citizens, too, have responsibilities. We cannot demand integrity from leaders while defending misconduct whenever it benefits our preferred party, ethnic group or political patron. Democracy requires more than voting; it demands vigilance, informed participation and the courage to hold our own political allies to the same standards we demand of their opponents.
Above all, we must stop confusing Nigeria’s survival with its success. A country can remain on the map while failing millions of its citizens. Its flag can fly and its anthem can sound while the substance of citizenship steadily diminishes.
Independence was never supposed to be the destination. It was the beginning of a journey towards freedom, dignity, prosperity and self-determination. Sixty-six years should be enough to demand measurable progress rather than perpetual explanations.
The question is no longer whether Nigerians can govern themselves. It is whether we will build the institutions, leadership culture and national consensus required to govern ourselves well.
So, as the green-white-green flies on another Independence Day, let the question ring louder than the drums of celebration: They said we were independent. Are we independent in the lives we live, the institutions we operate, the opportunities we enjoy and the dignity we command?
Nigeria cannot continue to grow older while its people wait for it to grow up. It cannot keep repeating the same mistakes and expect a different destiny.
The responsibility for Nigeria’s future belongs to Nigerians.
At sixty-six, the time has come for Nigeria to stop rehearsing nationhood and start practising it.
