Nigeria: A State in Search of a Nation—Why a deficit of nationalism threatens our survival, by Abubakar M. Kareto
If a nation is fundamentally an “imagined community,” we must ask ourselves why Nigerians have largely stopped imagining themselves as one. History teaches us a cold, immutable truth: you cannot have a nation without nationalism. While a state is a legal entity defined by borders and a flag, a nation is a psychological construct held together by the glue of shared affection, collective pride, and mutual solidarity. For Nigeria, the tragedy of the last sixty years has not merely been the failure of infrastructure or the volatility of the Naira. The foundational crisis is the absence of a “Nigerian” identity that supersedes the narrow walls of ethnicity, religion, and the allure of foreign shores. We are a collection of over 200 million people living within the same borders, yet we lack the genuine love and support solidarity that transforms a population into a powerhouse.
Nowhere is this lack of nationalist and continental fervor more evident than in our sporting culture. If you walk into any viewing center in Lagos, Kano, or Enugu during the CAF Champions League, the atmosphere is often tepid, if not entirely indifferent. Contrast this with the feverish, almost religious obsession Nigerians display for the English Premier League. When Al Ahly faces Mamelodi Sundowns, it is a clash of African titans, yet the average Nigerian youth is more concerned with the mid-table struggles of Chelsea or Manchester United. This is not merely a fan preference; it is a multi-billion Naira economic leak where local corporate sponsors often prefer to fund foreign leagues over the NPFL. We have outsourced our passion and our capital to Europe, acting as spectators of a Western story rather than protagonists of our own. While the 1994 “Golden Generation” and the 1996 Olympic win gave us glimpses of what national solidarity feels like, we have failed to institutionalize that spirit beyond ninety minutes of football.
This deficit becomes even more glaring when compared to the vibrant “football nationalism” thriving elsewhere on the continent. In North Africa, clubs like Al Ahly and Zamalek of Egypt, or Wydad and Raja Casablanca of Morocco, are more than just teams; they are national institutions. Their fans fill 80,000-seat stadiums with a deafening, unified pride that treats every continental match as a matter of national honor. In Tanzania, the “Kariakoo Derby” between Simba SC and Young Africans (Yanga) brings the entire nation to a standstill, commanding a level of local loyalty that rivals any European league. Even in South Africa and Senegal, the connection between the citizen and the local club is a foundational part of their social fabric. In these countries, fans don’t just watch football; they invest their identity in it. In Nigeria, however, our stadiums often sit quiet while our passion is exported to London or Madrid.
These sporting examples are symptoms of a wider continental contrast. In Ethiopia and Rwanda, a “nation-first” philosophy drives citizens to prioritize local airlines and industries, turning domestic brands into global players. Countries like Tanzania have used a unified national identity to supersede ethnic friction, whereas in Nigeria, regionalism frequently trumps the national interest. While Ghana and Cape Verde have successfully turned their diasporas into nationalist forces for heritage investment, the Nigerian “Japa” syndrome remains characterized by a desire for permanent detachment from the home project.
Current trends in migration highlight a frightening reality: the Nigerian dream for many is now the dream of leaving. While seeking better opportunities is a global phenomenon, the Nigerian variant is fueled by a total detachment from the national project. Unlike other nations that leverage their diaspora for nationalist investment, Nigeria’s lack of a cohesive bond results in a permanent “Brain Drain” where talent and wealth rarely return home. Nationalism requires a stakeholder mentality. It is the belief that if the ship is leaking, you stay to plug the holes. Instead, the prevailing sentiment across all strata is to find the nearest lifeboat. The elite send their children to schools abroad and seek healthcare in Asia, showing a lack of faith in the very systems they govern, while the middle class spends more energy discussing Washington’s politics than the developmental blueprints of their own local governments.
Without nationalism, there is no accountability. If we do not love the country, we do not feel pained when its resources are plundered. If there is no solidarity, we view the suffering of a compatriot in a different region as “their problem” rather than a national tragedy. This fragmentation is exactly why nation-building has remained an elusive ghost in the Nigerian corridors of power. We must move beyond being a “mere geographical expression”. The path forward requires a deliberate re-orientation of our national values where our leaders must lead by example, patronizing Nigerian hospitals, schools, and brands. You cannot demand nationalism from a hungry populace while you feast on foreign imports.
Furthermore, we must aggressively promote our own continental competitions and treat support for local institutions as a matter of national pride, not just entertainment. We need a curriculum that teaches the “Nigerian Story,” moving beyond just the dates of colonial arrival to focus on the shared struggles and ancestral partnerships that bind us. It is time to bring our hearts back home. If we do not learn to love Nigeria, no amount of foreign aid or policy adjustment will save us. A nation is built by those who believe in it.
Abubakar M. Kareto is a Nigerian public affairs analyst focused on national and continental stability. He provides strategic commentary on governance, regional security, and the social dynamics shaping the African continent.
