Opinion
The Folly Of Petrol Subsidy Protests
Nigeria was in the last three weeks gripped by the power of the street. In response to a government announcement ending the subsidy of petrol, there was a tidal wave of protest and disruption, forcing the government to negotiate with the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) and Trade Union Congress (TUC), the leading workers’ unions in the country. The new-found power of the Nigerian street is an instance of a global pattern, but the street can dance to many tunes.
In North Africa, it has faced down autocracy. In America, its anti-government agenda was entirely different: a tax mutiny. Were the demonstrations on Nigeria’s streets a variant on the Arab spring or a variant on the Tea Party?
Nigeria is not a repetition of North Africa. Far from an unelected autocracy, the present Nigerian government emerged last April from the fairest elections in the country’s history. But the legacy of past gross abuses of power is that citizens are profoundly suspicious of government. And so a needed reform has ignited protests that resemble the sad folly of the Tea Party in the United States.
If ordinary people are sufficiently disbelieving of government, it is entirely possible for populist rhetoric to seduce people into fighting against their own true interest. In the US, despite an extraordinarily low tax burden, dramatically rising inequality and an unsustainable fiscal deficit, poor people demonstrated for tax cuts for the rich.
But in Nigeria, despite decades of elite plunder of oil revenues by means of scams such as the petrol subsidy, the poor and the young have turned out to demand its restoration. Wittingly or unwittingly convinced that government is theft, they clung to the pitiful benefits of a petrol subsidy. Should the poor have been on the streets?
The petrol subsidy was costing government some $8billion a year; in other words, the average Nigerian household was forfeiting more than N750 ($4.70) a week of public money. Much of this expenditure was captured wholesale and shipped out of the country by a privileged few. Even the petrol that was sold locally at its subsidised price disproportionately benefited the better off.
There are a myriad of ways in which public money could benefit poor people more than the petrol scam – for example, children could be given bursaries for attending school. That is what poor people should have been urging on their government, and it should now be the focus of political compromise. Should the young have been on the streets?
The petrol subsidy was a classic instance of squandering the oil revenues on current consumption. As oil wealth is depleted, the government has a responsibility of custody to the next generation. Enough of the revenues from oil must be invested in infrastructure and other assets.
This is a responsibility that previous Nigerian governments failed to meet. But at last, the President Goodluck Jonathan government decided to take its responsibility to the next generation seriously by cutting off the huge chunk of money given to petrol importers (whether fictitious or real), and redirecting same directly to the Nigerian people through investments in infrastructures and other people-oriented projects and programmes. Now instead of Nigeria’s youths taking to the streets to celebrate this change of policy, they did the contrary, vehemently lobbied for a return to the status quo.
In attempting to harness the present oil bonanza for development, reformers in the new Nigerian government were trying to avoid a repeat of the history of plunder. But they met a stiff opposition: powerful interests in favour of plunder, including some prominent government officials. They have arrived at a point where repeating history is the default option. But societies can also learn from their history.
Germany is the best-managed economy in Europe. It used to be the worst: from hyperinflation, Germans learnt “never again”. Germans are locked into sound decision-making by a combination of legal rules, dedicated institutions and a critical mass of ordinary citizens who understood why the rules and institutions mattered and so defended them.
Nigeria is fighting a more complex dragon than hyperinflation, and so the rules and institutions will need to be different. But the current experience has demonstrated that Nigeria, like the US, has yet to build that critical mass of economic literacy among its citizens. The necessary foundation, a burning sense of “never again”, is most surely there. But if popular anger gets derailed into populism, whether about petrol subsidies or tax cuts, that potentially valuable social energy, is wasted.
Yet, while it is evidently possible to fool many people for some of the time, there does appear to be a ray of hope. In the US, the Tea Party has fizzled: more recently, streets have been claimed by protesters from the other side of the political divide demanding tax increases for the rich, not tax cuts. ‘We are the 99 per cent’ would make as good a slogan in Nigeria as in America, for a protest demanding that oil revenues be spent wisely and transparently. However, with the peoples’ protests against petrol subsidy removal and government’s reversal to N97 per litre from N141 per litre full deregulation price, Nigerians may have to wait for more years to begin to reap the full dividends of democracy.
Collier, Professor of Economics and Director, Centre for the Study of African Economies, University of Oxford, London, contributed this piece for the Financial Times.
Paul Collier
The events that unfolded in Abuja on Tuesday November 11, 2025 between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike and a detachment of soldiers guarding a disputed property, led by Adams Yerima, a commissioned Naval Officer, may go down as one of the defining images of Nigeria’s democratic contradictions. It was not merely a quarrel over land. It was a confrontation between civil authority and the military legacy that still hovers over our national life.
Nyesom Wike, fiery and fearless as always, was seen on video exchanging words with a uniformed officer who refused to grant him passage to inspect a parcel of land alleged to have been illegally acquired. The minister’s voice rose, his temper flared, and the soldier, too, stood his ground, insisting on his own authority. Around them, aides, security men, and bystanders watched, stunned, as two embodiments of the Nigerian state clashed in the open.
The images spread fast, igniting debates across drawing rooms, beer parlours, and social media platforms. Some hailed Wike for standing up to military arrogance; others scolded him for perceived disrespect to the armed forces. Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question about what sort of society we are building and whether power in Nigeria truly understands the limits of its own reach.
It is tragic that, more than two decades into civil rule, the relationship between the civilian arm of government and the military remains fragile and poorly understood. The presence of soldiers in a land dispute between private individuals and the city administration is, by all civic standards, an aberration. It recalls a dark era when might was right, and uniforms conferred immunity against accountability.
Wike’s anger, even if fiery, was rooted in a legitimate concern: that no individual, however connected or retired, should deploy the military to protect personal interests. That sentiment echoes the fundamental democratic creed that the law is supreme, not personalities. If his passion overshot decorum, it was perhaps a reflection of a nation weary of impunity.
On the other hand, the soldier in question is a symbol of another truth: that discipline, respect for order, and duty to hierarchy are ingrained in our armed forces. He may have been caught between conflicting instructions one from his superiors, another from a civilian minister exercising his lawful authority. The confusion points not to personal failure but to institutional dysfunction.
It is, therefore, simplistic to turn the incident into a morality play of good versus evil.
*********”**** What happened was an institutional embarrassment. Both men represented facets of the same failing system a polity still learning how to reconcile authority with civility, law with loyalty, and service with restraint.
In fairness, Wike has shown himself as a man of uncommon courage. Whether in Rivers State or at the FCTA, he does not shy away from confrontation. Yet courage without composure often feeds misunderstanding. A public officer must always be the cooler head, even when provoked, because the power of example outweighs the satisfaction of winning an argument.
Conversely, soldiers, too, must be reminded that their uniforms do not place them above civilian oversight. The military exists to defend the nation, not to enforce property claims or intimidate lawful authorities. Their participation in purely civil matters corrodes the image of the institution and erodes public trust.
One cannot overlook the irony: in a country where kidnappers roam highways and bandits sack villages, armed men are posted to guard contested land in the capital. It reflects misplaced priorities and distorted values. The Nigerian soldier, trained to defend sovereignty, should not be drawn into private or bureaucratic tussles.
Sycophancy remains the greatest ailment of our political culture. Many of those who now cheer one side or the other do so not out of conviction but out of convenience. Tomorrow they will switch allegiance. True patriotism lies not in defending personalities but in defending principles. A people enslaved by flattery cannot nurture a culture of justice.
The Nigerian elite must learn to submit to the same laws that govern the poor. When big men fence off public land and use connections to shield their interests, they mock the very constitution they swore to uphold. The FCT, as the mirror of national order, must not become a jungle where only the powerful can build.
The lesson for Wike himself is also clear: power is best exercised with calmness. The weight of his office demands more than bravery; it demands statesmanship. To lead is not merely to command, but to persuade — even those who resist your authority.
Equally, the lesson for the armed forces is that professionalism shines brightest in restraint. Obedience to illegal orders is not loyalty; it is complicity. The soldier who stands on the side of justice protects both his honour and the dignity of his uniform.
The Presidency, too, must see this episode as a wake-up call to clarify institutional boundaries. If soldiers can be drawn into civil enforcement without authorization, then our democracy remains at risk of subtle militarization. The constitution must speak louder than confusion.
The Nigerian public deserves better than spectacles of ego. We crave leaders who rise above emotion and officers who respect civilian supremacy. Our children must not inherit a nation where authority means shouting matches and intimidation in public glare.
Every democracy matures through such tests. What matters is whether we learn the right lessons. The British once had generals who defied parliament; the Americans once fought over states’ rights; Nigeria, too, must pass through her own growing pains but with humility, not hubris.
If the confrontation has stirred discomfort, then perhaps it has done the nation some good. It forces a conversation long overdue: Who truly owns the state — the citizen or the powerful? Can we build a Nigeria where institutions, not individuals, define our destiny?
As the dust settles, both the FCTA and the military hierarchy must conduct impartial investigations. The truth must be established — not to shame anyone, but to restore order. Where laws were broken, consequences must follow. Where misunderstandings occurred, apologies must be offered.
Let the rule of law triumph over the rule of impulse. Let civility triumph over confrontation. Let governance return to the path of dialogue and procedure.
Nigeria cannot continue to oscillate between civilian bravado and military arrogance. Both impulses spring from the same insecurity — the fear of losing control. True leadership lies in the ability to trust institutions to do their work without coercion.
Those who witnessed the clash saw a drama of two gladiators. One in starched khaki, one in well-cut suit. Both proud, both unyielding. But a nation cannot be built on stubbornness; it must be built on understanding. Power, when it meets power, should produce order, not chaos.
We must resist the temptation to glorify temper. Governance is not warfare; it is stewardship. The citizen watches, the world observes, and history records. How we handle moments like this will define our collective maturity.
The confrontation may have ended without violence, but it left deep questions in the national conscience. When men of authority quarrel in the open, institutions tremble. The people, once again, become spectators in a theatre of misplaced pride.
It is time for all who hold office — civilian or military — to remember that they serve under the same flag. That flag is neither khaki nor political colour; it is green-white-green, and it demands humility.
No victor, no vanquish only a lesson for a nation still learning to govern itself with dignity.
By; King Onunwor
