A year into power, the President Bola Tinubu-led administration reinstated the old anthem, “Nigeria, we hail thee”. As the announcement was made, many stood up and sang, but when the power flickered and the WiFi went off, there was silence.
How I wish changing a song alone could heal the cracks in our nation’s soul and reduce the price of bread. Sixty-five years after that first raising of the green-white-green, we must ask, what does independence really mean? Is our freedom only in the anthem, the pledge and the flag, or in the electricity that a child needs to do their homework, the farm that a man needs to feed his family, or the data that a country needs to drive its future?
This year, Nigeria sings a different anthem, but lives the same reality, perhaps even a worse one. Now, it’s clear to see that it takes more than merely bringing an old anthem back to provide a meal, create a job, or keep the lights on. We cannot continue to mistake ceremony for substance. True independence is not measured by how loudly we sing, but by how much food we grow on the farm, how much energy we generate from the grid, and how many youths will still serve Nigeria with all their strength and choose to stay and build her, rather than leave and vow never to return.
Independence must be measurable, not just memorable. Political power without economic stability is an empty shell. Cultural pride without technological innovation is a misplaced priority. National holidays without national progress are rituals of nostalgia.
Fellow Nigerians, I ask you, what are the yardsticks of true independence in 2025? What would prove that Nigeria is free from need and free indeed?
Any nation that aspires to prosperity must pay close attention to five key areas: energy, food, education, technology, and healthcare. They are the daily tests of whether a nation is genuinely independent. If we cannot power our homes, feed our families, educate our youth, protect our data, and care for our sick without relying on others, then our independence is a mirage.
No nation is independent if its citizens sit in darkness. Nigeria still generates less than 5,000 MW for a population of over 200 million, less than what some small cities in Asia enjoy. Businesses bleed, households spend more on fuel and generators than on food, and renewable solutions struggle to keep pace where they should be sprinting ahead. True independence will mean powering our homes, industries, and dreams without relying on fuel processed abroad or fasting and prayers to heal the ever-collapsing grid.
A country that cannot feed itself is not free. Nigeria spends billions of dollars importing wheat, rice, and fish. These are crops and resources that could be successfully grown here in abundance. Farmers face insecurity, poor storage, and weak markets, while young people often leave agriculture rather than embracing it. True independence will mean turning our soil into a source of strength, feeding ourselves before feeding the world.
Independence is hollow if the next generation is unprepared for it. Persistent strikes, dilapidated schools, outdated curricula, and brain drain have left millions without access to quality education. Parents who can afford to, often export their children abroad for education, and usually lose them to foreign economies.
True independence will mean that education equips the youth to compete globally while staying here to develop the country, and they receive adequate remuneration for it.
Independence in the 21st century is about bandwidth and bytes. We still rely heavily on foreign-owned platforms for communication, our data resides on external servers, and our tech talents work for companies abroad. We need to invest in indigenous digital infrastructure, protect our data as a national asset, deliberately encourage local platforms and empower their people to innovate within their borders.
A nation that flies its leaders abroad for medical care cannot claim health independence. Every year, billions of naira leak out through medical tourism, while our hospitals struggle with equipment shortages and mass staff exodus. When we can treat our sick successfully right here at home, that’s true independence.
For older Nigerians, independence was a political milestone, the lowering of a colonial flag and the raising of our own. However, for today’s generation, independence is a practical goal. It is the ability to find work without relying on connections, to afford buying a car and a house without corruption, and to build a life without having to flee. Where their parents spoke of freedom from Britain, they want to experience freedom from hunger, joblessness, and hopelessness.
Nigeria’s youth are both restless and resourceful. They lead global music charts, dominate tech hubs, and shape culture in ways that capture the world’s attention. Yet, they are also the ones packing departure lounges, carrying degrees and dreams into foreign airports. To “japa” is, for many, the only way to avoid a country that seems unwilling to provide opportunity.
The diaspora, too, carries this tension. They send billions in remittances each year, a lifeline to families and communities, but also wonder why they must heal Nigeria from afar. For them, independence is a longing: to belong to a country they can return to with pride.
If Nigeria is to be truly independent, it must answer the silent question of its youth: Is this a nation worth staying to build, or merely one to survive until escape is possible?
Nigeria’s economic journey sits at a decisive crossroads. We cannot deny the raw talent of our youth, the ingenuity of our entrepreneurs, and the untapped wealth of our natural and cultural resources. Yet, there is a significant gap between potential and performance, consistently widened by policy inconsistencies, inadequate infrastructure, and the exodus of talent seeking opportunities abroad. Bridging this gap requires a collective commitment from the government, the private sector, academia, and the citizens.
The blueprint is clear. We need to create an enabling environment where ideas and innovation can flourish, one that is not stifled by bureaucracy and where creativity is rewarded with capital, mentorship, and access to global markets. Education must shift from rote learning to problem-solving, and rural communities must be connected to the digital economy, while women and youth move from the margins to the mainstream of enterprise and leadership.
By addressing youth unemployment with purposeful job creation, we reduce the pressure driving rural-urban migration. We must unlock the opportunities yet untapped in agriculture, manufacturing, and the digital economy, so that staying home becomes more attractive to our youth rather than seeking uncertain futures abroad. Closing the gaps in access to quality education, healthcare, and financial resources will dismantle the inequality that has long undermined our social fabric.
Vision 2040 should not be another lofty document gathering dust on a shelf. It must become a lived reality, a Nigeria where startups scale globally, where technology drives agriculture and manufacturing, where inequality is narrowed by opportunity, and where the pride of being Nigerian is matched by the prosperity of living in Nigeria.
This is a generational project. Every policy, every investment, every innovation should be measured by its ability to leave Nigeria better than it was found. The choice before us is stark but inspiring: to remain a nation of unrealised potential or to rise as Africa’s innovation powerhouse.
The future is not waiting. The gap must be bridged. If we act with courage, vision, and unity, Nigeria’s story will not be one of what could have been but of what was boldly achieved.
To truly bridge the gap and claim Vision 2040, we must go beyond reciting the anthem to embodying it. If we build with courage, govern with integrity, and dream with innovation, then we can say without hesitation: “Nigeria, we hail thee indeed”.
