Nigeria celebrates its 66th Independence anniversary today with a question that deserves more attention than the usual celebration of flags, speeches and national achievements: what, beyond geography and history, gives Nigerians a shared stake in the country’s future? The question is particularly relevant as Nigeria again seeks a larger voice in the international system. At the 81st United Nations General Assembly, President Bola Tinubu, represented by Vice-President Kashim Shettima, renewed Nigeria’s demand for permanent African representation on the Security Council and called for reforms to international financing, debt sustainability and climate finance. Nigeria also pressed for greater international cooperation against terrorism and transnational crime.
These are legitimate diplomatic objectives, and Nigeria should continue to pursue them. But they also invite a more difficult domestic question: if Nigeria wants greater influence in institutions that shape the world, what is it doing to strengthen the institutions and sense of citizenship that hold Nigerians together at home? This is not an argument against Nigeria seeking a permanent seat on the Security Council or a fairer international financial system, nor should Nigeria’s domestic problems be used to deny it a legitimate place in global decision-making. The point is that international standing and domestic cohesion are not unrelated ambitions. A country’s influence is strengthened when its citizens have confidence in the institutions through which that country speaks.
The contrast with Israel is useful here, but only if treated carefully. Nigeria and Israel have profoundly different histories, political systems, security circumstances and national experiences, and no serious comparison should suggest otherwise. Yet Israeli leaders have repeatedly used the language of shared destiny when addressing their country’s internal divisions. In his September 2026 address to the UN General Assembly, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu spoke of Israel as ‘one nation fighting for one future’, acknowledging differences between left and right, young and old, religious and secular before arguing that, at critical moments, shared history, values and courage could provide a basis for collective action.
‘A more durable national compact would begin with a few straightforward expectations: security that does not depend on location, public services that are not determined by political connections, equal application of the law, credible institutions, education that expands opportunity and an economy in which citizenship is not a disadvantage.’
Israeli President Isaac Herzog has used similar language, describing Israelis as partners in one home and warning against allowing disagreement to become destructive internal division. His broader argument has been that a diverse society can retain profound differences while recognising mutual responsibility and a shared national future. The lesson for Nigeria is not that the country should imitate Israel, whose circumstances are entirely different, but that national cohesion has to be constructed around something more durable than a common territory. Countries do not become cohesive simply because their citizens happen to occupy the same geographical space.
Nigeria has no shortage of identities. Hausa, Yoruba, Igbo, Ijaw, Kanuri and hundreds of other ethnic identities remain important sources of history and belonging, while Christianity, Islam and traditional belief systems shape the lives of millions. Region, language, class and political affiliation also influence how citizens experience the country. None of this is inherently a problem. Diversity becomes a national weakness when citizens begin to believe that access to security, justice, public resources or opportunity depends primarily on which group they belong to rather than on the rights and responsibilities attached to citizenship.
That is where Nigeria’s independence project remains unfinished. A Nigerian should not have to calculate whether the state will protect him or her based on ethnicity or location, while a young person should not have to conclude that political connections matter more than competence before pursuing a career. Communities should not have to rely on access to political power before expecting basic infrastructure, and public institutions should not inspire greater confidence among those with influence than among citizens without it. These are not abstract questions of national identity; they determine whether people regard the Nigerian state as something they collectively own or as a structure in which different groups compete for advantage.
The Federal Government’s own framing of this year’s independence anniversary provides an opportunity for such reflection. The 66th anniversary programme has been presented as a moment to consider the sacrifices of the country’s founders and Nigeria’s journey since October 1, 1960, while also reflecting on the challenges confronting the country. That reflection should go beyond remembering the past and ask what Nigerians owe one another in the present. A national compact cannot be sustained by historical memory alone; it has to be renewed through institutions and public policies that make citizenship meaningful in everyday life.
A more durable national compact would begin with a few straightforward expectations: security that does not depend on location, public services that are not determined by political connections, equal application of the law, credible institutions, education that expands opportunity and an economy in which citizenship is not a disadvantage. These are the practical foundations of national unity. People are more likely to identify with a common national project when they can see evidence that the state treats them as equal citizens and when public institutions provide a reasonable expectation of fairness.
This is also where Nigeria’s international ambitions meet its domestic responsibilities. The case for a greater African voice at the UN is partly a case for fairness: the world has changed since 1945 and its institutions should reflect contemporary realities. Nigeria made that argument explicitly at the 2026 UNGA. The same principle has a domestic application, however. Nigeria’s citizens should not have to wait for a more powerful country to recognise their worth before their own institutions do so. The credibility of a country seeking greater influence abroad is ultimately strengthened by the quality of the institutions it builds at home.
At 66, therefore, the question is not whether Nigerians have enough differences to keep them apart; they plainly do. The more important question is whether the country can build institutions and a national purpose strong enough to make those differences compatible with a common future. Independence gave Nigeria sovereignty, but the next stage of the national project is to make citizenship feel meaningful through security, justice, opportunity and institutions that command public confidence.
That will not be achieved by anniversary speeches alone. It will be measured in whether Nigerians can trust the law, access opportunity, expect basic security and believe that the country belongs to them regardless of where they come from or what they believe. A nation is not held together indefinitely by the fact that its borders were drawn on a map; it is held together when enough of its citizens believe that their futures are connected. That is the harder Independence Day question Nigeria should be asking at 66: not simply what we have survived together, but what we are prepared to build together.