By Oladoja M.O
More often than not, in my commentaries and advocacy, I have argued, sometimes gently, often forcefully, that Nigeria’s development dilemma is not merely a question of resources but of structure. And by structure, I mean governance structure. Specifically, the chronic underdevelopment of the local government system, a tier that should be the nerve centre of citizen reality, but has instead been reduced to a ceremonial appendage.
Local government, in its truest form, should not be an administrative afterthought but the frontline of governance, the first point of contact between policy and people, where statistics acquire faces, and where development either becomes tangible or remains theoretical. Health outcomes, food systems, primary security, sanitation, grassroots education, these are not abstractions.
They are all local. Deeply, stubbornly local.
Yet, in Nigeria, the local government has long operated like what I once described as “an employed man with no office”, burdened with responsibilities, stripped of authority, and perpetually dependent. A facility structurally present but functionally absent.
This is why the agitation for local government autonomy has not just been valid, but urgent. However, we must be careful not to mistake noise for nuance. The autonomy worth pursuing is not the shallow, politically convenient version, one that merely shifts financial pipelines or creates the illusion of independence while leaving structural weaknesses intact. No!
What Nigeria requires is a deeply constitutional, deliberately engineered autonomy, one that recognises local government as a true tier of governance, not a subordinate convenience.
Anything less is cosmetic.
But here lies the uncomfortable pivot, the part we are not speaking loudly enough about.
What happens after autonomy?
Because autonomy, by itself, is not redemption. It is merely an opportunity.
And opportunities, in the wrong hands, are dangerous.
There is a growing unease, one I cannot ignore. Having observed, listened, and engaged within spaces where prospective local government leadership is being shaped, I would be dishonest if I claimed confidence. The dominant political culture that has hollowed out higher levels of governance is not magically absent at the grassroots. But present, alive and waiting.
And that is the real threat.
If autonomy is handed over to the same cadre of actors, those driven not by systems thinking but by transactional politics, not by development logic but by opportunistic instincts, then what we are building is not a solution. We are constructing a more efficient failure.
A freshly liberated arena, quickly captured.
A new playground, governed by old habits.
A structure with potential, turned once again into a cemetery of governance.
This is why the conversation must evolve. We cannot afford to celebrate autonomy as an end. It must be treated as a beginning, a fragile, high-stakes transition that demands vigilance, design intelligence, and, most importantly, a redefinition of who gets to lead at that level.
Local government leadership cannot remain the fallback position for political recycling. It is too important for that. In fact, if anything, it should attract the most competent administrators, the most systems-oriented thinkers, the most innovation-driven leaders. Individuals who understand that governance at that level is not about occupying office, but about engineering outcomes.
Because if properly structured and competently led, local government has the capacity to recalibrate Nigeria’s development trajectory faster than any centralised intervention ever could. It is the closest lever to the people, and therefore the most powerful.
But power without accountability is a familiar Nigerian tragedy.
So, beyond autonomy, what should we focus?
First, a non-negotiable radical transparency. Financial flows, project allocations, and procurement processes must not exist in bureaucratic shadows. They must be visible, traceable, and open to public scrutiny in real time. Autonomy cannot become a shield for opacity.
Second, citizen participation must move from rhetoric to architecture. Governance at the local level must be deliberately designed to include the people, not as passive recipients, but as active stakeholders in decision-making. Budgeting, planning, and monitoring must have structured entry points for citizen engagement. Not symbolic inclusion, but functional involvement.
Third, accountability frameworks must be ruthless in their clarity. No immunity structures that protect incompetence. No procedural loopholes that enable mismanagement. Consequences must be immediate, visible, and enforceable.
And finally, there must be a cultural shift in how we perceive local governance. It is not inferior governance. It is foundational governance. Until we treat it with the seriousness it deserves, we will continue to recycle failure at scale.
Nigeria stands at a delicate threshold. The body language of decentralisation is becoming more pronounced, and within it lies a rare window of opportunity. But history has taught us that structural reforms, when poorly executed, can entrench the very problems they were meant to solve.
So yes, we should pursue autonomy.
But we must do so with our eyes wide open.
Because beyond autonomy lies a more difficult question, one that demands honesty, courage, and intentional design:
Are we truly ready to govern differently?
If the answer is no, then autonomy will not save us.
It will simply expose us.
Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at: mayokunmark@gmail.com.
