Reform Without Relief: Who Is Really Paying the Price in Nigeria?

By Frank Ofili

The essence of any economic reform is simple: to make life better. Not theoretically better. Not statistically better. But tangibly better for the people. By that standard, Nigeria’s current reform experiment under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu raises a troubling question: who exactly are these reforms for?

There is no dispute that the policies themselves (fuel subsidy removal, exchange rate unification, and tax reforms) are grounded in orthodox economic thinking. For years, economists warned that Nigeria’s fuel subsidy regime was fiscally unsustainable, riddled with corruption, and disproportionately beneficial to the elite. Likewise, a fragmented exchange rate system encouraged arbitrage and discouraged investment. On paper, these reforms were not only necessary—they were overdue.

But good economics does not automatically translate into good governance.

What Nigeria is experiencing today is not just reform—it is shock therapy. Overnight, fuel prices surged. The naira depreciated sharply. Inflation accelerated to punishing levels, eroding incomes and pushing millions closer to poverty. Food, transport, and basic living costs have spiraled beyond the reach of ordinary citizens. This is not reform as a pathway to prosperity; it feels, for many, like a direct descent into hardship.

The real failure lies not in the intent of the reforms, but in their execution and sequencing.

In countries where similar reforms succeeded, governments did three critical things: they prepared the ground, they protected the vulnerable, and they led by example. Nigeria, unfortunately, appears to have done the opposite. The most painful measures were implemented first, while the promised relief mechanisms remain either inadequate, delayed, or invisible.

Even more concerning is the glaring contradiction at the heart of this reform agenda: a government asking its citizens to tighten their belts while it loosens its own.

Nigeria’s public sector remains bloated and expensive. Recurrent expenditure continues to consume a disproportionate share of national resources. The cost of governance—maintaining layers of bureaucracy, political offices, and administrative overhead—remains stubbornly high. There has been no commensurate signal that the state itself is willing to share in the sacrifice it demands from its people.

This is where the legitimacy of the reforms begins to erode.

Economic hardship is not inherently unjust if it is temporary, shared, and clearly directed toward a better future. But when sacrifice appears one-sided—when citizens bear the burden while the machinery of government remains largely untouched—it breeds resentment, distrust, and ultimately resistance.

To be clear, reversing these reforms is not the answer. That would only return Nigeria to a cycle of fiscal irresponsibility and structural weakness. The real task is to complete the reform process—and to do so in a way that restores balance, fairness, and credibility.

This means:

• Aggressively reducing the cost of governance
• Demonstrating transparency in how savings from subsidy removal are utilized
• Expanding and effectively delivering social safety nets
• Investing visibly in public goods that improve daily life

Reforms must not only be economically sound; they must also be socially just and politically credible.

At present, Nigeria’s reforms feel like major surgery performed without anesthesia—and without clear evidence that recovery is underway. That is not a sustainable path.

If these policies are to be judged as worth it, the government must answer a simple but powerful question:

When will Nigerians begin to feel the benefits of the sacrifices they are making today?

Until that question has a convincing answer, the debate over these reforms will remain unresolved—and the patience of the people, understandably, will continue to wear thin.