Nigeria is in dire straits. Those who claim to love her often only wish to dominate and exploit her for their own gain. Many others have rejected her outright, concluding that the country is beyond redemption. For some, Nigeria is desirable in theory but irredeemable in practice.
One of my beloved brothers, a respected pastor, once said it borders on blasphemy to associate God with the formation of Nigeria. That statement, though provocative, forces an uncomfortable honesty. The British colonialists did not assemble Nigeria out of concern for peace, justice, or the welfare of its many peoples. They fused vastly different nations, cultures, and interests together for administrative convenience, with little regard for the long-term consequences.
That historical reality matters. We cannot pretend otherwise.
Yet, even with this flawed foundation, a troubling thought continues to nag at me: those of us who genuinely desire peace, justice, and progress may not have fought hard enough to reclaim this country from those who abuse it.
If we examine the situation carefully, it becomes clear that Nigeria itself is not the problem. The problem is the small group of individuals who have captured the state and turned it into a tool of oppression and personal enrichment. Our frustration is often misdirected at the idea of Nigeria, when it should be firmly focused on those who have hijacked it.
In response to this abuse, many have concluded that the only solution is escape—dissolving the country, breaking away from it, or abandoning it entirely. These impulses are understandable. Abuse naturally breeds the desire to flee. But have we ever paused to consider another option?
Why must over 200 million people surrender their future to a tiny minority? Why should less than one percent of the population hold an entire nation hostage?
Have we truly fought back?
Not merely through complaints, social media outrage, or private despair, but through sustained, collective resistance—rooted in unity of purpose and unwavering commitment to justice. History teaches us that nations are not transformed by numbers alone, but by organized, determined citizens who refuse to be divided.
If Nigerians who believe in peace and progress can unite around shared values rather than ethnic, religious, or regional identities, the balance of power will inevitably shift. Abusers thrive on division; they fear unity.
Running away from Nigeria may feel like relief, but it does not guarantee freedom. The same culture of exploitation and impunity we flee from has a way of resurfacing wherever unchallenged power exists. If we do not confront it here, we may simply encounter it again in another form, another place.
Nigeria can still change. But that change will not come from escape. It will come from resolve.
If we make up our minds to confront these criminals, to reclaim our institutions, and to insist on accountability, the course of this country will change. It will not be easy. But it is possible.
Let us fight—not to destroy Nigeria, but to rescue her.
Published by Chuks Nwachuku
