Patriotism Cannot Be Forced. It Must Be Earned Through People-Oriented Governance -By Isaac Asabor

Patriotism is not a slogan; it is a social contract. In my early years as a pupil in primary school, and later as a teenager in secondary school in the old Bendel State, love for Nigeria was carefully cultivated through daily routines and shared values. Respect for the flag, the anthem, the pledge, and other national symbols were not optional. Morning assemblies were civic classrooms where loyalty to country was nurtured, not negotiated. The state, through its schools, took responsibility for shaping citizens who believed they belonged to something larger than themselves.

Today, that deliberate cultivation of patriotism has faded, largely because governance itself has retreated from the basics. Many schools, especially the mushrooming private ones, either sideline or trivialize civic rituals. Civic education is treated as an afterthought because the state no longer sees nation-building as a priority. When government abandons the work of shaping citizens, it should not be surprised when citizens withdraw their emotional investment in the state.

In those earlier years, patriotism was reinforced by substance, not just ceremony. We were taught that Nigeria was genuinely endowed: fertile land, oil wealth, diverse geography, and a vibrant population. The country carried itself with confidence. Nigeria was called the “Giant of Africa” because it behaved like one. A former head of state famously said the nation’s problem was not money, but how to spend it. That statement captured a time when the state’s strength gave citizens something to believe in.

That strength translated into dignity and opportunity. Nigeria once attracted migrants from across Africa, particularly during Ghana’s economic crisis. Ghanaians came, found work, and built lives without hostility. Nigerians did not need to be coerced into patriotism then; it came naturally because the country worked, at least comparatively. A state that offers opportunity earns loyalty without begging for it.

Disappointingly, my youthful ambition to join the armed forces or a paramilitary agency was born out of that early conditioning. Service to country felt noble. But reality intervened. Recruitment was less about merit and more about quotas and connections. A system that claims to build inclusion ended up entrenching exclusion. When institutions reward who you know rather than what you can do, patriotism quickly gives way to cynicism.

The same pattern played out in education and employment. While working as a garment sorter in a dry-cleaning company, I considered resigning to pursue full-time education, but the numbers simply did not add up. Wages were pitiful, and government support was either inaccessible or downright insulting. Bursaries existed largely in name. Like many Nigerians, I was forced into part-time education, financed through punishing work as a security guard with a private firm in Victoria Island, enduring relentless day-and-night shifts. This was not character-building hardship; it was suffering engineered by policy failure. A state that compels its citizens to bear such needless strain has no moral standing to demand their loyalty.

My attempt to enter the civil service met the same wall of patronage. Merit was optional; connections were compulsory. This is not a personal lament but a national pattern. Millions of capable Nigerians are locked out of opportunity, not by laziness or incompetence, but by a governance culture that has abandoned fairness. Patriotism cannot survive in a system that treats citizens as expendable.

The private sector has largely absorbed the shock of this failure. It has become the refuge for ambition and survival. Without it, Nigeria’s youth crisis would be catastrophic. Yet governments, rather than nurture this sector, have chosen to harass it through multiple taxation, policy summersaults, poor infrastructure, and regulatory bullying. A state that punishes productivity while celebrating rent-seeking is actively sabotaging the very conditions that could inspire national pride and it is also encouraging unpatriotic act by its citizens. .

This is why the constant moralizing about patriotism rings hollow. Leaders routinely invoke John F. Kennedy’s line, “Ask not what your country can do for you…”, while ignoring the context that made it meaningful. In functional states, citizens are first invested in. Institutions work. Policies are predictable. Opportunity is not a privilege. That is why patriotism flourishes. People defend systems that defend them. Nigeria, by contrast, has flipped the logic: abandon the people, and then lecture them about patriotism.

The consequences are everywhere. Youth unemployment is staggering. Inflation is punishing. The currency is weak. Insecurity is widespread.  Given the foregoing, it is germane to opine that the “Japa” wave is not driven by hatred for Nigeria but by exhaustion. Doctors, nurses, engineers, academics, and artisans are leaving because the state has made staying an act of self-harm. You cannot shame people into patriotism when the system consistently fails them.

Patriotism also collapses when security disappears. Banditry, terrorism, kidnapping, and cult violence thrive where the state has withdrawn. A young person who feels cheated and unprotected is easily recruited into crime or political violence. When government abdicates its responsibility, alternative loyalties, often violent, fill the vacuum. This is not a moral failure of citizens; it is a governance failure.

Across the country, Nigerians now self-provide what government should guarantee. Landlords drill boreholes, communities fund security and fix roads, and tenants generate electricity, all while paying taxes. Small businesses fight regulators instead of receiving support. Entrepreneurs are strangled by arbitrary levies. Public services have become luxuries. Yet political officeholders remain insulated, riding in convoys, debating allowances, and offering slogans like “Renewed hope”; even when hope has never existed, to people running on empty stomachs. Under such conditions, appeals to patriotism are not just unrealistic; they are insulting.

Every day, millions of young Nigerians roam in search of non-existent jobs. Many sleep under bridges and in abandoned buildings, being victims of a state that has lost its moral compass. At the same time, some politicians perform concern for the cameras while presiding over decay. Patriotism cannot be staged. It grows from justice, opportunity, and shared sacrifice.

The truth is simple and uncomfortable: patriotism is reciprocal. It flourishes when citizens feel protected, valued, and treated fairly. It withers when governance becomes extraction without service. If Nigeria’s leaders genuinely care about unity, security, and development, the prescription is clear, creates jobs, support education, enforce fairness, stabilize policies, and invest in people. Earn trust.

Patriotism cannot be coerced. It must be earned through people-oriented governance. Until Nigeria repairs its broken covenant with its citizens, calls for national loyalty will remain hollow, and the country will continue to pay the price.