In the corridors of power, where policies are crafted and budgets signed, the real story often unfolds in hushed, heartbroken conversations far from the spotlight. I recently concluded a television analysis examining the recent sack of key officials in the Ministries of Finance and Housing. Hours later, my phone rang. A senior director in a federal ministry was on the line—one of the most sobering and emotional discussions I have had in recent memory. This technocrat painted a grim picture: scores of capable professionals and entire projects crippled not by incompetence, but by the federal government’s apparent refusal to release funds for approved initiatives. Contractors and service providers, he said, go hungry as bills remain unpaid. The reason? Budgeted resources appear to be siphoned into political patronage networks. Recent interpretations of a World Bank Nigeria Development Update have intensified these concerns, highlighting over N34.53 trillion in pre-distribution deductions from federation revenue between 2023 and 2025—roughly 41% of total earnings that never reached the Federation Account for sharing among federal, state, and local governments.
The Federal Government has pushed back, insisting these are legitimate first-line charges for statutory transfers, debt obligations, security, and other interventions, not “hidden spending” or diversion. Yet the perception of opacity persists, fueling accusations of systemic leakage. The director spoke with quiet despair about an unprecedented level of state capture—where public institutions seem bent to serve narrow interests rather than the national good. He anticipated the downgrading of Dr. Doris Uzoka-Anite (then Minister of State for Finance) the moment she reportedly pushed back against official narratives on fund releases. Shortly after, Taiwo Oyedele—a respected tax reform expert but one the caller described unflatteringly as lacking candor—stepped into a more prominent role in the finance architecture. His voice cracked as he prayed for divine intervention to save Nigeria from the current trajectory. His sole consolation? Imminent retirement, sparing him further dealings with desperate contractors whose livelihoods hang in limbo because capital releases have stalled amid competing fiscal pressures.
I emerged from that call sobered. It forces a difficult question. Who genuinely believes this administration is delivering meaningful progress for ordinary Nigerians? From my vantage, only a narrow set of voices express unqualified support: Social media influencers sustained by paid gigs and algorithmic monetization of government narratives. State governors benefiting from increased revenue windfalls (partly from subsidy removal and exchange rate unification) and building their own parallel patronage structures. Ethnic and regional loyalists who frame governance as “our turn to eat,” prioritizing primordial claims over performance. A tiny segment of connected business interests whose enterprises thrive within the current economic architecture—sometimes described by critics as platforms for high-stakes fiscal maneuvers and selective largesse.Outside these circles, encounters with everyday Nigerians—civil servants, entrepreneurs, professionals, and citizens grappling with inflation, unemployment, and eroded purchasing power—reveal widespread disillusionment. Projects languish. Infrastructure deficits persist despite record nominal budgets.
The 2026 Appropriation Act, recently signed at N68.32 trillion, promises significant capital outlay, yet implementation challenges from prior years (naira volatility, revenue shortfalls, and high debt servicing) breed scepticism. This is not mere partisan griping. It reflects a deeper tragedy, the erosion of trust in institutions and the human toll on technocrats who entered public service with competence and integrity, only to watch systems they once believed in captured by short-term political calculus.
Nigeria’s Renewed Hope agenda was meant to signal renewal. Instead, for many, it feels like a renewal of old tragedies—budget padding, patronage politics, and elite capture dressed in reformist language.The director’s impending retirement offers him personal escape. The rest of Nigeria has no such luxury. Stakeholders—policymakers, legislators, civil society, and the business community—must confront this reality with unflinching honesty. Sustainable development demands more than revenue generation or headline fiscal figures. It requires transparent execution, accountability for releases, and a deliberate decoupling of public resources from political survival machines.
Without genuine course correction, the emotional wail of that federal director may soon echo across more boardrooms, more households, and more abandoned project sites. Nigeria deserves better than a governance model where technocratic destruction becomes collateral damage in the pursuit of power retention.The tragedy is renewed. The question is whether we will allow it to become permanent.
Sam Amadi is the Director of the Abuja School of Social and Political Thoughts and a former Chairman of the Nigerian Electricity Regulatory Commission (NERC). He writes from Abuja.
