Once the roaring lion of worker advocacy, Nigeria’s labour unions have grown alarmingly quiet and reduced to shadows of their former selves. Once feared and respected, they now struggle to be heard in the national discourse, even as workers across the country face some of the harshest economic and workplace conditions in recent memory.
This silence is not merely symbolic. It represents a collapse of representation and a tragic betrayal of the very people the labour movement was designed to protect.
In decades past, the names of labour leaders were etched into the fabric of national history. The Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) and the Trade Union Congress (TUC) were once titanic forces, halting policies, paralyzing corrupt systems, and demanding accountability. Workers looked to them as shields and swords, voices that could not be bought or broken.
Today, that voice has been muffled.
Despite skyrocketing inflation, stagnating wages, mass layoffs, contract staff exploitation, pension irregularities, and an increasing wave of workplace abuse, labour unions have become curiously absent. Their strikes are often symbolic, poorly coordinated, or hastily called off after opaque negotiations. The public, once sympathetic to union causes, now views them with skepticism, seeing them as politicized, compromised, or out of touch.
The erosion of trust is not unearned.
Union leadership in recent years has been marred by allegations of corruption, political entanglement, and elitism. Many labour leaders now appear closer to the corridors of power than to the factory floors or office cubicles they claim to defend. Instead of walking the picket lines, they sit at roundtables negotiating away the suffering of millions for unclear benefits.
But perhaps the most damaging factor is labour fragmentation. The once-united front has splintered into sectoral turf wars, internal wrangling, and institutional complacency. In the public sector, unions are often co-opted or silenced. In the private sector, particularly in multinational companies, unionism is subtly discouraged and sometimes outrightly banned.
As a result, the young Nigerian worker is largely ununionized, unprotected, and uninformed. For contract staff, casual workers, and digital gig employees, the idea of union representation is a distant illusion. Many do not even know they have a right to organize, and those who try are often met with intimidation or dismissal.
This vacuum has grave consequences.
Without a credible, coordinated labour movement, employers face little resistance in rolling back worker rights. Minimum wage becomes a political tool, not a living guarantee. Harassment, unpaid overtime, and arbitrary terminations go unchallenged. The idea of “decent work,” as defined by the International Labour Organization, becomes a theoretical dream, not a national goal.
So, what happened to the fire that once burned in Nigeria’s labour movement?
It did not die, it was slowly extinguished by political compromise, internal decay, and a failure to evolve with the times. In a digital age, where organizing must go beyond factory gates to social media platforms, WhatsApp groups, and online campaigns, Nigerian labour remains stuck in analog battles, fighting modern oppression with outdated weapons.
But all is not lost.
Revival is possible, if labour leadership is reclaimed by principled, courageous actors who understand that defending workers is not a favour, but a mandate. The unions must rebuild their credibility, embrace transparency, and connect with the realities of the 21st-century worker. They must become relevant again and not just in press releases, but in the daily lives of Nigerian workers.
Until then, workers will remain vulnerable. And the silence of the unions, once a rallying cry will echo as a national failure.
Samuel Jekeli writes from Centre for Social Justice, Abuja.
