The irony is not just thick; it is crippling. In a country where the vast majority struggle with erratic power, soaring costs, and the daily humiliation of underdevelopment, we have come to accept and even, in some cynical quarters, applaud the deliberate interruption of critical national services as a standard tool of industrial negotiation. The ongoing strike by the Petroleum and Natural Gas Senior Staff Association of Nigeria (PENGASSAN), which cut gas supply and contributed to a significant drop in power generation across the country, is the latest and most egregious example of this culture of institutionalised cruelty. It proves the central tragedy of modern Nigeria: we have built a society so devoid of collective compassion that holding 230 million people hostage is considered a ‘flex’ rather than a colossal act of economic and social sabotage.
‘The Manufacturers Association of Nigeria condemned the union’s action as ‘unconscionable’ and a grave threat to investor confidence, asking how any investor would commit billions of dollars only to see their project decimated by industrial disputes.’
The core argument of the unions, that they are fighting for justice against an unscrupulous employer like the Dangote Refinery, is, on the face of it, entirely legitimate. Allegations of unlawful dismissals and anti-labour practices for unionisation are serious infractions that must be swiftly and forcefully addressed. However, the strategic weapon deployed, i.e., the paralysis of the national energy grid and the threat of fuel scarcity, is a deeply flawed and morally bankrupt choice. It is a classic case of wielding a ‘double-edged sword’ with such reckless abandon that the champion inflicts the most debilitating wounds on the very society it claims to represent.
When PENGASSAN halts gas supply, the consequence is not merely a loss of profit for the refinery; it is a direct blow to thermal power plants, which generate over 70 percent of Nigeria’s electricity. As the Nigerian Independent System Operator (NISO) confirmed, the action led to widespread generation shortfalls and required emergency measures to avert a nationwide blackout. For the small business owner whose refrigerated stock spoils, the student who cannot read at night, or the patient in a hospital relying on an unstable public supply, the strike is not a fight for workers’ rights; it is an act of calculated oppression.
This disproportionate use of power is not a new phenomenon; it is a structural problem. The oil and gas unions, along with those in electricity and public administration, represent a tiny, highly concentrated fraction of the workforce, just 7 percent of Nigeria’s entire labour force. Yet, because they are strategically located in the ‘critical, interconnected sectors of the economy’, their actions create a ‘domino effect’ that grinds the country to a halt. The paradox is clear: an elite, protected minority uses its strategic chokehold to demand redress for its members while inadvertently reinforcing the hardship on the vast 85 percent of the population operating in the unprotected informal sector.
The reaction from the broader economic community is telling. The Manufacturers Association of Nigeria condemned the union’s action as ‘unconscionable’ and a grave threat to investor confidence, asking how any investor would commit billions of dollars only to see their project decimated by industrial disputes. I agree with them. I also agree with the economists and consumer groups who warned against ‘holding over 230 million Nigerians to ransom’ and urged the unions to seek redress in the National Industrial Court, rather than deploying ‘terror tactics’ against a strategic national asset.
For Nigerian trade unionism to remain a relevant and positive force, it must move away from the ‘strike-as-a-primary-tool model’. This is not an argument against the right to strike but against the right to deliberately inflict maximum, widespread suffering as a first resort. It is a call for a strategic evolution towards ‘research-driven policy alternatives, technical advocacy, and strategic litigation’.
The unions’ true fight for justice should involve expanding their focus to the unrepresented 85 percent of the informal sector. Until then, when PENGASSAN throws the switch on the national grid, it is not merely disrupting the market; it is exposing a profound, self-inflicted flaw in the country’s character: a willingness to sacrifice the common good for sectional demands. It is the arrogance of power that mistakes the ability to inflict pain for true national relevance. Nigerians deserve, and must demand, a more compassionate and constructive model of advocacy.