President Bola Tinubu’s newly unveiled “Nigeria First” industrialisation directive signals an ambitious intent to recalibrate Nigeria’s economic direction. At face value, the initiative seeks to reduce the country’s overdependence on imports by compelling government agencies to prioritise locally manufactured goods. It is framed as a bold assertion of economic self-determination, aimed at spurring domestic production, job creation, and national pride. But beneath the populist appeal of its nationalist packaging lies a deeper problem: Nigeria continues to govern by declaration rather than by design.
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What has been presented thus far is less an industrial policy than a presidential impulse. There is no public evidence of a detailed policy document, white paper, or legislative framework to support what is ostensibly a sweeping economic intervention. In the absence of such institutional scaffolding, Nigeria risks repeating a familiar cycle in which grand declarations falter due to weak planning, inadequate coordination, and insufficient stakeholder buy-in.
Nigeria’s manufacturing sector has long been constrained by endemic structural issues: erratic electricity supply, poor transport infrastructure, insecurity, and unreliable policy environments. These are not challenges that can be resolved through executive orders alone. Effective industrialisation requires long-term strategic thinking, grounded in research, coordinated across ministries, and implemented with accountability. In this regard, the current initiative appears prematurely announced and thinly conceptualised.
Governments around the world have pursued localisation policies in various forms. But successful models, from Ethiopia’s industrial parks to Rwanda’s participatory policy frameworks, share common traits: inclusive planning, multi-stakeholder dialogue, legal clarity, and institutional backing. Ethiopia’s state-led industrialisation, which has contributed to significant gains in job creation and export diversification, was preceded by years of technical preparation, investment in infrastructure, and alignment with long-term development plans. Likewise, Rwanda’s industrial policy, supported by the African Development Bank, was shaped through capacity-building among both public officials and private sector actors. Nigeria’s current path diverges sharply from these examples.
By contrast, Tinubu’s directive appears to have emerged from a brief executive council discussion and public statements from the Ministry of Information. There is no indication that the National Assembly has been engaged, nor that formal consultation with manufacturers, importers, or trade unions has occurred. This approach not only weakens the legitimacy of the policy but also undermines its implementation potential. Industrial development cannot thrive in a policy vacuum; it demands clarity of purpose, transparency of process, and continuity beyond electoral cycles.
“Effective industrialisation requires long-term strategic thinking, grounded in research, coordinated across ministries, and implemented with accountability.”
There is also a constitutional dimension that cannot be ignored. While the Nigerian president is empowered to issue executive orders, economic policies with broad legal and fiscal implications fall squarely within the oversight remit of the National Assembly. Sideling the legislature in matters of such national significance undermines democratic norms and sets a troubling precedent for executive overreach. Moreover, it introduces legal uncertainty for investors, both domestic and international, who may question the durability and enforceability of the directive.
There is a fundamental distinction between political will and institutional competence. The former may ignite a policy idea; the latter ensures its survival. Nigeria has never lacked political declarations of intent: Vision 2010, Vision 2020, and various industrial master-plans attest to this. What it has lacked is the political discipline to translate these aspirations into enduring frameworks. The challenge, therefore, is not ambition but architecture.
The “Nigeria First” policy could indeed mark a turning point if it is redesigned through formal channels. That process must begin with the publication of a comprehensive policy document, outlining key sectors targeted for support, timelines, fiscal measures, capacity-building initiatives, and monitoring mechanisms. Such a document should be subject to public scrutiny and legislative debate, ensuring both political accountability and technocratic soundness.
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Second, the administration must undertake serious engagement with affected stakeholders. Industrialists, SMEs, organised labour, consumer groups, and trade experts all have a role to play in shaping a localisation policy that is both fair and feasible. Without their involvement, the policy risks becoming another top-down intervention that fails to resonate at the ground level.
Finally, structural constraints must be addressed in parallel. No amount of import substitution will succeed if manufacturers remain plagued by power outages, unstable exchange rates, and logistical bottlenecks. Nationalism cannot substitute for infrastructure. Nor can executive proclamations mask the absence of institutions.
Nigeria deserves more than performative policy. It deserves governance rooted in process, not populism. By rebuilding confidence in its policymaking architecture, the Tinubu administration can convert a hasty decree into a credible roadmap for industrial renewal. But to do so, it must embrace the discipline of democratic governance and the humility to consult widely. Anything less would be another missed opportunity.
