In my continuing reflections on politics, religion, history and national development, I return to a central concern that runs through much of my published work: the unresolved question of Nigeria’s structure, identity and moral direction. This article builds on themes I have explored in The Future of Nigeria, The Unknown History of Nigeria: Evolution Reappraisal, Post-Cold War International Law and Relations, Examination of the Causes of the Human Failures and related writings. I invite readers not merely to consider one argument about Nigeria, but to enter a broader conversation about history, justice, governance and the spiritual foundations of public life.
I argue that Nigeria’s difficulty is not simply the product of colonial naming or administrative convenience. In my view, the greater injury has come from the inability of Nigerians themselves to understand the historical foundations on which the country was assembled and to build a just, workable and inclusive order upon them. The name “Nigeria” did not, by itself, destroy the peoples who came under it; rather, prejudice, suspicion, poor leadership and false assumptions weakened the possibility of shared development.
I develop this concern more fully in The Unknown History of Nigeria: Evolution Reappraisal, where I challenge what I see as inherited prejudices and unexamined assumptions about Nigeria’s past. I ask readers to look beyond blame culture and to reconsider the roots of Nigeria’s divisions, including the relationships among Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Fulani and other indigenous identities. A nation cannot be healed by denying its components; it can only be renewed by understanding them truthfully and organising them fairly.
I therefore revisit what I describe as the 1911 regional understanding, which I present as a missed opportunity for balanced administration and development. In my account, the Western, Eastern, Northern and Central or Middle Belt arrangements offered a possible basis for practical governance before the 1914 naming of Nigeria. Whether one accepts every detail of this interpretation or not, the central point remains significant: I believe that Nigeria’s later instability arose because its leaders failed to develop a structure that reflected the country’s real historical and cultural foundations.
In The Future of Nigeria, I call for a serious study of the four regional structures as a practical framework for planning, administration and development. I imagine a system in which every region is examined from the grassroots: its resources, capacities, needs and possibilities. Such an approach, I suggest, would allow energy, infrastructure, agriculture, education and social welfare to be planned with greater realism. The failure to do so, in my view, contributed to wasted institutions, poor infrastructure and a national culture of improvisation rather than design.
I further contend that Nigeria approached independence without sufficient preparation for the responsibilities of self-rule. The elites of the regions did not create a durable consensus, and the opportunity to consolidate a fair political foundation was lost. My concern is not merely historical. I write as one who believes that unfinished questions in the past continue to disturb the present: questions of unity, justice, religious freedom, resource management, regional identity and the moral purpose of government.
From this perspective, Nigeria’s political crises cannot be separated from its moral and spiritual crises. I repeatedly return to the principles of equity and justice, insisting that a nation built on prejudice, manipulation and imbalance cannot prosper. I contrast genuine unity, which creates understanding and development, with forced unity, which produces confusion, waste and resentment. This distinction is one of the recurring ideas readers will find across my work.
To me, the movement of the Federal Capital from Lagos to Abuja, the multiplication of states and the persistence of weak institutions are all symptoms of a deeper failure to confront the country’s foundational questions. I ask whether Nigeria has become trapped by decisions made without equity, accountability or a sincere commitment to the common good. In my writing, history is not treated as a distant subject; it is a living witness that judges the choices of nations.
My discussion of party politics follows the same line of thought. The old political formations—the Northern Peoples’ Congress, the Action Group and the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons—are presented as evidence that Nigeria’s political class did not create a truly justiciable and inclusive structure. I argue that the creation of numerous states did not resolve the essential problem, because administrative multiplication cannot substitute for a coherent national design. I compare Nigeria’s difficulties with other political formations and insist that names, identities and structures matter because they shape belonging, responsibility and development.
This concern extends to the value Nigeria placed on its independence. I suggest that because Nigeria did not experience independence through a fully unified struggle, it did not sufficiently prepare itself for the discipline and sacrifice required of nationhood. The result, I argue, has been a country that inherited political freedom without developing the moral and institutional capacity to use it well.
In drawing foreign lessons, I turn to themes explored in Post-Cold War International Law and Relations. I reflect on liberty, cooperation, colonial responsibility and the wider movement of history. My argument is that if global justice eventually compelled colonial powers to release their colonies, that same moral law must also judge the failures of the newly independent states. Freedom, in this reading, is not licence; it is responsibility under the gaze of equity.
This is why I speak so urgently about Nigeria’s condition. I see a country burdened by poor infrastructure, weak administration, religious polarisation, corruption and neglected citizens. I argue that Nigeria cannot be determined by religion alone, nor by domination, prejudice or fear. It must be judged by whether it can secure justice, dignity, opportunity and responsible participation for all its peoples.
At the heart of my proposal is what I describe as a social rationalisation scheme: a national order in which every citizen counts responsibly, and every community is recognised within a workable structure. A failed nation, in this sense, fails to organise its people for meaningful participation. I therefore ask Nigerians to move beyond suspicion and to consider whether remediation, rather than denial, is the only honest path forward.
I also refer to a national survey intended to examine the visions of Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba and Fulani communities for Nigeria. My larger point is that education, leadership and public morality have not provided the clarity the country needs. A society that tolerates unjust enrichment, corruption and disregard for the vulnerable loses the authority to guide itself. In my moral vocabulary, fairness is not decorative; it is the beauty and strength of public life.
The question that follows is unavoidable: after decades of independence, why has Nigeria failed to deliver reliable electricity, water, roads, healthcare and accountable governance to its citizens? I attribute this failure to prejudice, wrong structure and the exploitation of public wealth. I warn that a nation cannot continue to place its poor, widows, orphans and ordinary citizens in hardship while its elites enjoy comfort and impunity. Such a system, I argue, cannot endure under the law of equity.
My reference to President Woodrow Wilson’s warning about hidden and pervasive power reinforces this theme. I am concerned with the unseen systems - political, economic and spiritual - that shape public life. In my writings, the abuse of power is never merely administrative; it is a moral disorder that eventually exposes itself.
This explains the strong religious language in this article. I write as one who believes that the Almighty sees the condition of nations and that no injustice is permanently hidden. Nigeria’s years of self-rule, in my assessment, have revealed corruption, hostility, misunderstanding and waste. The country must therefore count not only its years of independence, but also the tangible benefits delivered to its people.
My treatment of Biafra, Oodua, Arewa and other identities should be read within this broader argument about justice and recognition. I do not present unity as an abstract virtue detached from fairness. I argue that where a structure becomes unworkable, oppressive or dishonest, citizens will inevitably question it. My examples from the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia are used to suggest that political forms are not eternal; they survive only when they serve the people with justice and truth.
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Bridget
bonokah@yahoo.co.uk
2026-07-10 09:17:56
This is a brilliant piece of writing with extremely accurate knowledge of the political shenanigans in Nigerian politics.