Do We Really Need More States

Do We Really Need More States at This Time?

As Nigeria grapples with economic uncertainty and structural imbalance, the renewed push for more states raises an uncomfortable question: are we fixing the foundation or adding weight to a shaky roof?

A Country at the Crossroads

Just as the ink was about to dry on this reflection, the news broke like thunder across the nation’s airwaves: six new states have reportedly been approved by a two-day retreat jointly chaired by the Deputy Senate President, Senator Barau Jibrin, and the Deputy Speaker of the House of Representatives, Benjamin Kalu. It was the kind of headline that stops a writer mid-sentence, forcing the pen to tremble between disbelief and déjà vu. Once again, the call for state creation has found political oxygen in a country still gasping under the weight of misgovernance, economic strain, and administrative bloat.

The timing could not have been more ironic—or perhaps, more telling. While many Nigerians battle the harsh realities of inflation, insecurity, and decaying infrastructure, our lawmakers seem determined to redraw the map rather than repair the system. The development does not merely revive the old question—it amplifies it: Do we really need more states at this time?

Many of the 36 existing states were struggling to survive even before President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration began. Then came his bold reforms — the fuel subsidy removal and the floating of the naira — measures that jolted households across the country but injected fresh cash into government coffers.

While millions of families struggled to afford their next meal, state governments suddenly found themselves richer than ever. They cleared months of unpaid salaries and pensions, long neglected by past administrations. In a twist of irony, Tinubu’s economic medicine, though bitter for citizens, revived state finances.

Yet, amid this new liquidity, the call for more states feels misplaced. It begs a question we can no longer avoid: what have we done with the ones we already have?

A Federation in Name Only

Not long ago, public discourse was focused on merging some of Nigeria’s existing states rather than creating new ones. Only a few — like Lagos and Rivers — can stand independently without monthly allocations from Abuja.

This dependency mocks the spirit of federalism we claim to practice. State governors, instead of acting as autonomous leaders, often function as extensions of the federal government, travelling to Abuja “cap in hand” for funds.

Tinubu, long before his presidency, was a vocal advocate for true federalism — a system where each component controls its resources and contributes a fair share to the center. But what Nigeria operates today is a distorted model — a “sugar-coated” federalism masking a near-unitary structure.

The Lost Promise of Regional Autonomy

At independence, Nigeria adopted a parliamentary system that allowed each region to chart its own economic destiny. The Western Region under Chief Obafemi Awolowo was a model of innovation and prosperity, so successful that it even opened a consular office in Britain.

Then came the military — and with them, the collapse of regional autonomy. Their impatience and suspicion of civilian governance led to the dismantling of the regional structure that was fueling competition and progress.

In its place, the military imposed a centralized system and, later, a U.S.-style presidential constitution in 1979. The preamble began with the now-familiar phrase “We the people of Nigeria,” but in truth, the people had little or no input. The 1979 Constitution, and its 1999 reincarnation, were the products of military fiat — not democratic consensus.

The Structural Trap

By the time Nigeria returned to civilian rule in 1999, the same flawed framework was reinstated. Two decades later, the cracks are wider than ever.

Our 36 states — carved out by military decrees from the original four regions — function less as federating units and more as administrative dependencies. It is a system that stifles initiative, breeds waste, and rewards mediocrity.

The truth is uncomfortable: our governance crisis isn’t just about systems or constitutions — it’s about us, the people. Neither the British parliamentary model nor the American presidential system is inherently bad. What has failed, repeatedly, is our inability to adapt any system with sincerity and discipline.

We remain, in practice, a collection of nations forced under one flag — a reality our founding fathers acknowledged but the military tried to erase.

Rethinking the Structure

Perhaps it is time to return to a regional model — one that balances autonomy with unity. Nigeria could function effectively with six, or at most ten, regions, without erasing the existing states.

Under such a framework, we could have four tiers of government:

• The Federal Government,
• The Regional Governments,
• The State Governments, and
• The Local Governments.

Each region would control its resources, compete economically, and contribute a fixed percentage to the center. The federal government, in turn, would focus only on essential national responsibilities — the military, foreign affairs, and customs.

Such decentralization would make the center less attractive and reduce the incentive for corruption. Local governments, freed from the control of state governors, could finally serve their true purpose — delivering grassroots development.

Waiting for the Right Time

Many Nigerians expected President Tinubu, a long-time apostle of constitutional reform and devolution of power, to have launched this process by now. But there are reasons for his caution.

His economic reforms, though visionary, have drawn widespread public anger — even from his home base in the South-West, where protests echoed the cry, “Ebi npa wa” (We are hungry). Any attempt to introduce constitutional reform amid such discontent would likely meet fierce resistance.

Tinubu is a strategist. He understands timing as much as he understands politics. His priority, for now, is to stabilize the economy and win back public confidence. By the time the reforms begin to bear visible fruit — perhaps by 2026 — he will have the political capital to pursue the deeper constitutional changes he envisions.

A President Aware of History

Tinubu is keenly aware of history’s gaze. He knows that every great leader is defined not by how they start, but by what they leave behind. He wants to be remembered as the president who restructured Nigeria — the one who finally turned its patchwork of dependencies into a working federation.

The ongoing constitutional review in the National Assembly may seem like motion without direction, but history suggests that true reform will come only when a president with both vision and will drives it.

If Tinubu’s first act as president was to remove the most politically untouchable subsidy, perhaps his next act will be to confront the most politically entrenched structure — our broken federation.

About the Author

Jibola Jeremiah Oluti is a political analyst and public affairs commentator focused on governance, constitutional reform, and national development in Nigeria.

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J.J. Oluti
Creative Voice of Africa