In recent days, as our nation continues to navigate layers of political, economic, and security upheavals, I found myself reflecting deeply on the question of identity—both personal and national. In that contemplative moment, the idea of Make Nigeria Great Again (MNGA) crystallized in my mind, not as a slogan of empty rhetoric, but as a framework for imagining a more resilient, morally grounded, and future-facing Nigeria.
At its core, MNGA draws from a belief that Nigeria once possessed—and still possesses—the ingredients of greatness, but that these strengths have been eroded by structural decay, leadership failures, weakened institutions, and a loss of collective purpose. The ambition of MNGA is, therefore, not merely to romanticize yesterday but to pursue a deliberate reinvention anchored in nationalist values, evidence-based policies, and a renewed sense of civic responsibility.
However, any honest pursuit of national renewal must carefully interrogate the emotional currents that drive it—especially nostalgia, for a “lost” glory. Psychologists describe this form of nostalgia as a coping mechanism triggered by trauma, instability, or prolonged disappointment. It can provide comfort by allowing individuals or societies to recall better days. Yet, uncritically embraced, nostalgia can become dangerous: it may idealize the past, obscure historical truths, or create paralysis when forward-thinking is most needed.
My own recent experiences brought this tension home in a personal way. After a series of emotional setbacks over the past few weeks, I recognised how easy it is to retreat into memories of better seasons. The past becomes a refuge when the present feels overwhelming. But dwelling too long in yesterday can chain the soul—restricting our ability to see the opportunities and responsibilities of today.
Thankfully, Scripture provides a balanced perspective. While Ecclesiastes 7:10 cautions against declaring that “the former days were better than these,” the Bible repeatedly instructs us to remember God’s past faithfulness—not to idolize the past, but to draw strength for the journey ahead. Thus, memory becomes a tool for endurance, not escape; a compass, not a cage.
This interplay between memory and hope becomes even more relevant when examined against Nigeria’s current reality. In a nation where:
* a serving General can be murdered with no single arrest,
* kidnappings occur with alarming frequency,
* Families like that of the late Ven. Achi are left traumatised and unanswered,
* And victims rescued “magically” remain nameless while perpetrators remain faceless.
It is inevitable that citizens begin to long for a “Nigeria that was”—a Nigeria where safety, predictability, and community trust could be taken for granted.
But longing alone is not a strategy. MNGA must therefore go beyond emotional remembrance and become a structured call to action. It demands that we:
* (1) Rebuild state authority and security architecture.
* (2) Restore meritocracy, integrity, and national values.
* (3) Reinvest in social cohesion and a shared destiny.
* (4) Reframe governance as stewardship rather than entitlement.
* (5) Re-anchor our hope in God while taking responsibility for the work required.
Ultimately, MNGA must be a forward-looking vision shaped by lessons from the past, strength from the present, and faith in what is still possible. Nigeria’s greatness is not an archaeological relic to be dug up; it is a project requiring courage, accountability, and national rebirth.
Our nostalgia should not become an escape from reality but a contrast mirror that pushes us to insist on a better future.
Nigeria Must (indeed be) Great Again/MNGA
@richardODUSANYA
