From constitutional promise to daily reality: The crisis of citizenship and worth in modern Nigeria
Prof. Francis Egbokhare
Walking the streets of Nigeria, confronted by daily misery, one is compelled to ask: what is the value of a Nigerian life, or of Nigerian citizenship? The evidence is grim. People are lynched on suspicion, women are raped in their farms, and peace meetings are held to appease the perpetrators. Killings by herdsmen, deaths from communal clashes, political thuggery, and religious extremism have become routine, leaving a bitter taste in the collective mouth.
In the past, unsolved murders were rare and shrouded in mystery. Today, death stalks everyone. Human beings are traded like merchandise — each person now has a “kidnap value.” If a ransom cannot be secured, the victim is dismembered and their body parts sold. Corpses of the poor litter the roads, ignored by passersby. Accident scenes have become opportunities for content creation or theft, as victims are filmed or robbed while dying. Society has grown numb to grief. As Ecclesiastes 8:11 warns: “Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil”.
The highest responsibility of any state is moral: to uphold justice, protect rights, and enforce laws fairly. A nation’s constitution, anthem, and pledge are meant to embody its vision and values. But in reality, people follow the examples set by those in power, not just the words in official documents. The agents of the state — politicians, police, public servants — are its greatest assets or liabilities. When they fail to uphold standards, the entire society suffers.
Citizens look to the state for guidance and legitimacy. The state, in turn, must set clear standards and create an environment where citizens can fulfil their obligations. This relationship is a covenant, rooted in mutual respect and shared values.
What makes a good citizen?
Philosopher John Maccunn once argued that citizenship is not just about having rights, but about using them energetically. He offers four profound insights for state agents and citizens. First, “not the possession of rights but the energetic use of rights makes the citizen.” Second, citizenship’s name and legal status become “empty inheritance” unless they facilitate truly free life — protected by law and achieving genuine well-being and deliverance from bondage.
Third, beautiful human rights laws and liberal ideologies become “mockery in the face of grinding poverty.” Without decent livelihood, minds cannot engage in higher thinking nor perform good citizenship duties. Finally, “political rights are satire” for those whose lives consist merely of struggling for survival. Citizenship must be grounded in man’s moral and spiritual worth, forming the basis for fraternity between individuals and between citizens and state.
Citizenship is built on the moral and spiritual worth of every individual. This foundation supports fraternity — the sense of solidarity and empathy that binds people together. Fraternity is not about self-sacrifice, but about recognising the value of others and acting with respect and compassion. It is what separates humans from animals and curbs the instinct for selfishness, indifference, and violence.
Fraternity starts in the family and extends to communities, workplaces, associations, and the nation as a whole. It is the glue that holds society together, fostering trust and cooperation across diverse groups. At the heart of citizenship is equality — not the erasure of differences, but the recognition that every person deserves equal rights and protection under the law.
This principle is enshrined in Nigeria’s Constitution, which outlines the fundamental rights and duties of citizens. However, the government’s obligations are often not enforceable, undermining trust and accountability. When the state fails to deliver on its promises, it erodes the value of citizenship and weakens the bond between citizens and the state.
The reality of Nigerian citizenship
In practice, many Nigerians experience “differential citizenship.” Structural discrimination — based on age, gender, religion, disability, or place of origin — creates divisions and fosters loyalty to smaller groups rather than the nation. Policies like the quota system, indigene-settler distinctions, and unequal access to opportunities reinforce these divisions, devaluing citizenship and fuelling resentment.
This fractured system makes it difficult for citizens to feel a sense of belonging or obligation to the state. When people are treated unequally, they are less likely to participate in civic life or trust government institutions. The result is a cycle of alienation, corruption, and social unrest.
Rebuilding trust and value
Restoring the worth of Nigerian citizenship requires more than constitutional reforms or new laws. It demands a renewed commitment to justice, equality, and fraternity from both the state and its citizens. The government must lead by example, enforcing laws fairly and investing in the well-being of all people. Citizens, in turn, must reclaim their rights and responsibilities, holding leaders accountable and working together to build a more just and compassionate society.
The national anthem and pledge are not mere rituals — they are calls to action. They remind us that the value of citizenship lies in our collective commitment to dignity, justice, and the common good. Only by honouring these ideals can Nigeria become a nation where every life is valued, and every citizen can thrive.
