The textbook definition of a chief executive’s role is simple: maximise profit, grow market share, and deliver dividends. That model may still work in New York, London, or Frankfurt. But in Nigeria, it is woefully inadequate. Here, to lead a corporation is not merely to run a business; it is to govern a fragment of the Nigerian condition. A CEO who thinks he can retreat into spreadsheets while the country around him falters is indulging in a dangerous fantasy. In this fragile state, corporate leaders are called to something larger: the role of statesmen.
“The Nigerian CEO must navigate an unruly ecosystem of regulators, politicians, communities, activists, and foreign investors.”
The truth is that Nigeria’s government cannot, on its own, provide the scaffolding of modern life. Power supply is erratic; roads collapse faster than they are built, and trust in public institutions is at historic lows. Every executive knows this, not from theory but from daily operational headaches. Nigerian firms generate their own electricity, build their own roads and secure their own facilities because the state is either absent or ineffective. What begins as a necessity for survival morphs into a kind of governance by accident.
Dangote Group, for instance, does not just build factories; it builds ports and roads that alter the country’s logistics map. Banks are not just custodians of deposits; they are funders of private security networks that rival state capacity. Telecoms don’t just sell airtime; they bankroll educational programmes to fill the human capital void. These are not acts of charity but acts of sovereignty by other means. In stepping into these voids, Nigerian corporations become quasi-states. And if the corporation becomes quasi-sovereign, then its chief executive must become a statesman.
That demands a different calibre of leadership than the one celebrated in glossy annual reports. The Nigerian CEO cannot afford the luxury of tunnel vision on quarterly earnings. Profitability remains essential, but it cannot be the summit of ambition. In a country where social collapse would drag every balance sheet down with it, enlightened self-interest requires investing in the broader public good. The CEO who ignores the crumbling school system today will be forced to import expensive foreign labour tomorrow. The executive who refuses to engage in infrastructure development will pay tenfold in logistics bottlenecks.
Statesmanship also demands diplomacy. The Nigerian CEO must navigate an unruly ecosystem of regulators, politicians, communities, activists, and foreign investors. This is not the boardroom poker of Wall Street but something closer to geopolitics. Coalitions must be built, conflicts managed, and legitimacy constantly negotiated. The authority of a CEO in this context flows not only from financial success but also from moral credibility. Nigerians may distrust their government, but they often extend surprising faith to companies that show consistency and vision. A trusted brand, over time, becomes a surrogate for the absent state—a beacon of order in a sea of disillusion.
Read also: How Nigerian CEOs turned economic volatility into opportunities
Of course, this creeping privatisation of state functions is fraught with risks. Should corporate titans be expected to replace the government? Does this not deepen inequality, where one community benefits from a company’s largesse while another languishes? Might it not corrode democracy itself, replacing elected accountability with corporate discretion? These concerns are not trivial. There is real danger in allowing private power to redraw the social contract unchecked. A country ruled by corporate fiefdoms is no healthier than one ruled by a failing state. The lessons from Congolese minefields are quite instructive.
But the fact is this: Nigeria does not have the luxury of ideological purity. To insist that the state alone must deliver development is to condemn millions to stagnation while waiting for an overstretched system to find the competence it has rarely displayed. Business leaders are already acting as de facto governors of their operating environments. The challenge is not whether they should, but that they do so responsibly, transparently, and inclusively.
This requires a new compact. Public-private collaboration must move beyond ceremonial partnerships into hard, systemic arrangements: concessions that genuinely expand infrastructure, educational programmes embedded into national curricula, and healthcare investments aligned with public priorities. Corporate interventions must be reported with the same rigour as financial disclosures—clear, transparent, and measurable. And above all, they must resist the temptation to create islands of prosperity surrounded by oceans of neglect. A company that builds schools only for its host community while ignoring the broader collapse of the system is merely buying short-term peace, not building a future.
What is most urgently needed is vision. Nigerian CEOs must learn to speak in generational terms. They must invest in institutions, schools, think tanks, and civic platforms that outlast their tenure and secure legitimacy beyond their balance sheets. They must craft narratives that position their corporations not as benevolent overlords but as co-citizens of the republic, equally invested in its survival. To lead in this environment is to wield not just capital but moral imagination.
Nigeria is too large to be written off, too volatile to be governed conventionally, and too endowed to remain perpetually fragile. The state alone cannot manage this paradox. Which means that the fate of this country will be shaped as much in Lagos boardrooms as in Abuja council chambers. This is not hyperbole; it is reality. CEOs who cling to a narrow definition of corporate leadership risk irrelevance. Those who embrace the role of statesman may not only secure their companies’ future but also help salvage the nation’s.
To lead a corporation in Nigeria today is to sit at the intersection of commerce and statehood. It is to recognise that the line between private power and public duty has already blurred and that ignoring this reality is both naive and perilous. The question is not whether Nigerian CEOs will act as statesmen, but whether they will do so willingly or by default.
The balance sheet will always matter. But in this moment, it is vision, courage, and a willingness to invest in the public good that will define the true legacy of Nigeria’s corporate leaders. The future of Nigerian business, and perhaps Nigeria itself, depends on it.
Dr Hani Okoroafor is a global Informatics expert who advises Corporate Boards in the public and private sectors. His multidisciplinary consulting practice operates in Europe, Africa, North America and the Middle East. He is a member of the Editorial Advisory Board of BusinessDay. He welcomes reactions on doctorhaniel@gmail.com
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