For decades, successive Nigerian governments and their chorus of apologists have echoed one convenient mantra: “The government alone can no longer fund public universities.” Like most well-polished myths, this claim has taken root in public consciousness. But it is not only misleading, it is dangerous. It frames education as a burden rather than an investment, and casts students, lecturers, and the wider public as dependants rather than stakeholders.
The facts tell a different story. The government is not the sole financier of public universities in Nigeria. Parents pay various levies, alumni donate, and, most crucially, lecturers themselves subsidise university operations. From purchasing personal laptops for official work to enduring poor salaries, paying for internet access, and even covering departmental logistics, academics literally keep the system afloat. Yet, they are rarely acknowledged as contributors, only as agitators. The real conversation should not be about whether universities are expensive, but whether Nigeria has been honest about who truly funds them.
The crisis, therefore, is not one of insufficient money but of insufficient integrity. Corruption, waste, and ill-conceived policies drain far more from the system than any budget shortfall. Capital projects funded through intervention agencies are often inflated, riddled with kickbacks, and poorly executed. Oversight functions have degenerated into annual extortion rituals. Meanwhile, billions are spent on overseas “workshops” and training junkets that yield nothing of value. Imagine what could be achieved if those funds were invested in Nigerian laboratories, libraries, and learning spaces.
It is within this ecosystem of graft that ASUU is routinely demonised for demanding accountability. When the union insists that the government honour agreements, the response is not dialogue but propaganda – a campaign to paint lecturers as enemies of progress. Yet, if lecturers do not demand integrity in the system, who will?
The recent introduction of a student loan scheme by the Tinubu administration is commendable. It has, to some extent, reduced student destitution and the drift into antisocial behaviour. However, it must not become an excuse for the government to withdraw from its core responsibility of funding infrastructure and paying decent salaries. Loans may alleviate immediate hardship, but they do not replace the state’s duty to guarantee quality education.
This brings us to the myth of “economic fees.” Many universities already charge different forms of levies, yet funding gaps persist. Why? Because inflation erodes value; inefficiency consumes resources; ghost workers distort payrolls; infrastructure decays; and staff morale collapses under unsustainable conditions. More fees will not fix a broken system – reform will.
Another dangerous notion gaining traction is that university education should be reserved for the privileged few. “Universities are not for everyone,” some argue. But in a knowledge-driven global economy, such reasoning is not merely flawed; it is suicidal. Education is the foundation of innovation, productivity, and equity. To ration it to the highest bidder is to consign the nation to permanent underdevelopment.
ASUU has also been scapegoated for the unemployability of graduates. But graduate unemployment is a symptom, not the disease. When industries collapse, when electricity is erratic, when public policy shifts without logic or consistency, the result is predictable. To blame lecturers for this is like blaming the weatherman for the storm.
Critics often argue that ASUU should find alternatives to strikes. On this, they are not entirely wrong. Over the years, the Nigerian government has shown diminishing attention to education funding, leaving many universities dilapidated, facilities broken, and staff living far below the standard of their peers in similar institutions elsewhere. Dialogue has failed, negotiations have failed, and partnerships have yielded little progress. The only language the government seems to understand clearly is the language of strike. Dialogue, lobbying, and strategic partnerships are indeed viable paths. However, dialogue requires sincerity, not posturing; lobbying in a corrupt system too often means bribery disguised as negotiation. ASUU cannot be condemned for resorting to the only tool that commands attention in a country where silence attracts neglect.
Moving forward, Nigeria must confront the lies and half-truths that have crippled its education system. ASUU is not perfect, but it is not the enemy. The real danger lies in a state that sees education as a nuisance rather than a necessity, and in a political elite that sends its children abroad while dismantling the system at home. It also lies in a society that has normalised mediocrity and grown suspicious of those who challenge it.
To rebuild public universities, transparency must replace opacity, and partnership must replace antagonism. Government must view education as a shared enterprise, not a financial liability. Industry must reconnect with academia to drive innovation and job creation. Alumni must strengthen their universities through endowments and mentorship. And unions must balance advocacy with creativity, pushing not just for rights, but for reform.
University education is not a luxury; it is a right for those who desire it and possess the capacity for it. When a nation denies its citizens access to affordable and quality education, it denies itself the human capital to grow, compete, and survive. If Nigeria truly seeks progress, it must begin by restoring integrity, funding, and trust in its educational system. Until that happens, the myths will persist, and so will the strikes.
