By Lawan Bukar Maigana
In Nigeria, university strikes have become an all-too-familiar story, a recurring wound that never seems to heal. Each time ASUU announces an industrial action, lectures stop, campuses grow silent, and dreams are placed on hold. Politicians continue with their schedules, lecturers retreat to side jobs, but the students —the very heart of the education system —are left stranded. They lose time, motivation, and opportunities that they can never fully recover. Yet, as the cycle repeats, one cannot help but ask: who truly bears the weight of these strikes, and who should take responsibility for the damage they cause?
For decades, the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) has justified its strikes as a means of pressuring the government to honour agreements on better funding, fair wages, and improved infrastructure. These demands are valid. Anyone who has walked through the corridors of a public university in Nigeria would agree that poor facilities, overcrowded lecture halls, and unpaid salaries reflect a deep neglect of education by successive governments.
But while the union’s grievances are understandable, the methods have become controversial. The government, on the other hand, often accuses ASUU of holding the system hostage. It argues that the union’s insistence on strikes as the only bargaining tool cripples progress and punishes innocent students who have no hand in the dispute. In the end, both parties trade blame while the students, the most powerless group in the equation, pay the ultimate price.
A four-year course can easily stretch to six or seven years because of strike interruptions. Many students find their enthusiasm fading over time. Some lose focus entirely and drop out of school. For those who persevere, the delay spills into their plans. By the time they graduate, they are already approaching 28, 29, or even 30, before the one-year NYSC service.
The real tragedy becomes apparent when they start searching for jobs. Most government and private organisations in Nigeria set an age limit of 26 to 30 for entry-level positions. By the time many graduates are done with university and service, they have crossed the threshold. Their only crime is being caught in a system that values bureaucracy over merit and punishes them for something beyond their control.
This is why it is not just an academic crisis; it is an economic one. Each prolonged strike increases youth unemployment and deepens poverty. Parents who struggled to pay tuition watch their investments stagnate, and the nation loses years of productivity from its young minds. How can a country move forward when its brightest are trapped in uncertainty?
Yet, every time negotiations collapse, the conversation focuses on who blinked first, ASUU or the government, not on who bleeds most from the outcome. It is as though the welfare of students matters less than the politics of power and payment. That is the heart of the problem.
Let us be honest. Both parties are culpable. The government’s insensitivity and failure to prioritise education are unacceptable. Budgetary allocations to education consistently fall below UNESCO’s recommended 26 per cent. Lecturers, too, must reflect on whether indefinite strikes remain the most effective way to demand change. It is one thing to fight for rights; it is another to destroy the bridge that connects those rights to the future.
If universities had better funding, research grants, and prompt salaries, ASUU would have no reason to down tools. But if the union continues to rely solely on strikes without exploring alternative forms of advocacy, such as strategic legal action, citizen engagement, or performance-based protests, then students will remain collateral damage in every industrial action.
The solution lies in sincerity from both sides. Government officials must stop making empty promises and start implementing lasting reforms. ASUU must adopt modern negotiation strategies that prioritise students’ interests first. The students themselves must also rise, through constructive activism, to demand accountability from all sides.
Education is not a privilege; it is a right. Every time it is disrupted, a generation loses part of its potential. The government and ASUU must remember that time is not renewable. Every month lost to a strike is a wound that never fully heals for a student.
Some will argue that strikes have brought partial victories such as improved salaries, better agreements, and occasional funding. But these victories often come at too great a cost. Students spend longer years on campus, graduate later, and face tighter job markets. Many lose scholarships or opportunities abroad because their transcripts are delayed or their academic calendars are unpredictable.
A society that allows this cycle to persist undervalues its youth. The damage is not immediately visible, but it later manifests in the frustration of jobless graduates, the rise of social vices, and the erosion of hope. When young people start believing that hard work no longer pays, the nation begins to decay silently.
The truth is simple: when universities are on strike, everyone loses, but students lose the most. They lose time, morale, and faith. And no compensation can restore that lost time.
Until the day Nigeria treats education as a national emergency, not a political bargaining chip, these strikes will continue, and the nation will keep producing delayed graduates and disappointed dreams.
The next time a strike is declared, we should ask not just who is right or wrong, but who is hurting most. Because in the end, it is not the lecturers or the politicians who suffer, it is the students whose futures hang in the balance.
Lawan Bukar Maigana is a media consultant, humanitarian, storyteller, and inspiring diplomat. He can be reached via email at lawanbukarmaigana@gmail.com.
