Nigeria’s independence (1960) ushered in a parliamentary federation with three self-governing regions (Northern, Western, Eastern) plus the Federal Territory (Lagos).
The 1960 Constitution kept the Queen as head of state (via a Governor-General). It split powers into exclusive, concurrent, and residual lists. This arrangement gave regions broad autonomy.
In 1963 Nigeria became a republic with Nnamdi Azikiwe as ceremonial President. The new Republic of Nigeria constitution retained federal structures. It added a fourth region (Mid-West) and severed legal ties to Britain.
At this stage, regional governments had their own constitutions. They had “agents‐general” abroad and controlled local resources. These features are often cited as “regional autonomy.”
In 1979, after a long military interlude, Nigeria adopted an American-style presidential federation. A new constitution dissolved the old regions and created 19 states, each subordinate to a strong federal centre.
Executive power shifted to a President (with Vice-President) and a bicameral legislature. One study notes that these changes “similarly eroded the autonomy of the component states.” This was not the case under the [1960/63] Constitutions, under which Regional autonomy flourished.
The 1999 Constitution (marking the return to democracy) largely restored 1979’s framework. It expanded to 36 states plus the Federal Capital Territory.
In practice, Abuja retained 68 exclusive powers (police, land, resources, etc.) while states became heavily dependent on federal allocations. The result is a “monolithic and overbearing Federal Government” – some analysts call it “unitary in everything but name” .
1960 (Independence): It was a federal parliamentary system. The Queen served as head of state via the Governor-General. There were three regions: North, West, East, plus Lagos. The regions had their own constitutions and sizable powers.
1963 (Republic): Nigeria became a federal republic. The Nigerian President replaced the Queen as the ceremonial head. The Mid-Western Region was added. Nigeria’s Supreme Court became the final appellate court.
1979 (Second Republic): The military government’s constitution introduced an Executive Presidency. This was similar to the US model and included a Vice-President. There were 19 federating States, replacing the old regions. Federal and state powers were shared by exclusive, concurrent, and residual lists.
1999 (Fourth Republic): Retained 1979’s presidential federalism and state structure (now 36 states). It reiterated that the 1999 Constitution is “supreme” (Art.1) and granted massive exclusive powers to Abuja (e.g. on land, police, minerals), embedding the military-era balance.
Each constitutional change carried major political implications. The 1960 and 1963 charters were built on a delicate regional balance – North vs South, Hausa-Fulani vs Yoruba vs Igbo – enabling local development (e.g. radio and television stations in Western Region).
But they also institutionalised parity among groups. By contrast, the 1979 and 1999 constitutions, shaped under military auspices, skewed power to the centre.
For example, the 1963 constitution gave Regions control over local resources and budgets, spurring investments in education and agriculture.
Under 1999, however, states lack fiscal autonomy and rely almost entirely on federal grants. Critics say this “lopsided” federalism leaves states “beggarly” and enforces a dependency culture.
These shifts from regional federalism to centralised governance have deeply affected Nigeria’s ethnic and religious landscape.
In the 1960s, Nigeria’s fragile unity was maintained by negotiated power-sharing. Major offices rotated. Southern and Northern governors held sway in their homelands. But when the first military coup (January 1966) smashed this bargain, the system nearly imploded.
General Ironsi’s “Unification Decree” (May 1966) abruptly abolished the federation, rebranding regions as military provinces. This triggered the 1967–70 Civil War (Biafra).
Later, Gen. Yakubu Gowon created 12 states in 1967. He also created 19 states in 1976. This was meant to dilute ethnic blocs. However, it could not fully erase fears of domination.
Over time, scholars note that adding more states did not quash tensions: “the more the states, the more the agitations”. Minority groups in old regions continued agitating for even more divisions and resource control. Meanwhile, majority groups bristled at any dilution of federal power.
Many analysts argue that centralisation has exacerbated inter-group mistrust. Today, the north–south cleavage often aligns with a Muslim–Christian divide, and regional elites compete fiercely in Abuja for patronage.
The current constitution’s tilt toward Abuja has “fueled feelings of marginalisation” among southern and Middle Belt communities. In short, each constitutional swing (parliamentary→unitary→presidential) has rebalanced the ethnic “equilibrium,” often provoking backlash.
As one observer put it, Nigeria’s federalism has long been “tangled.” Virtually every post-independence constitution has swung between decentralisation and centralisation. This has resulted in grave consequences like coup cycles and communal violence.
Military coups and elite bargains have repeatedly shaped constitutional transitions. Independence-era leaders (Balewa, Ahmadu Bello, Azikiwe) negotiated the 1960 and 1963 drafts partly as a compromise among colonial elites.
After each coup, the generals themselves crafted new rules. For example, Ironsi’s 1966 decree immediately scrapped the federal framework. Gowon’s regime then reintroduced federalism (12 states) to counter secession.
Under General Obasanjo, a Constituent Assembly produced the 1979 Constitution – although the Military President handpicked the drafters.
Subsequent juntas (Babangida, Abacha) alternately toyed with constitutionalizing ethnic quotas. They also considered multiparty systems in the 1989–95 era. However, nothing lasted beyond another coup.
The 1999 Constitution was a military-initiated text. It was drawn largely from the 1979 version. A civilian interim government then adopted it.
In short, Nigeria’s pattern has been that no civilian-made constitution has lasted. Generals have gutted each one. Every regime engineered the next charter to secure its vision of unity or control.
This checkered history offers lessons. Many national conferences and review committees have attempted to re-open the question of federalism. These include the 1977 Constituent Assembly, the aborted 1999 attempt, and the 2014–15 National Conference. Yet, few have produced lasting change.
The 2014 conference, for instance, submitted hundreds of recommendations. These included fiscal federalism and devolution. However, the government implemented only token reforms. Earlier constitutional amendment drives (2007–2011) ended in stalemate or veto.
A recurring lesson is that procedural legitimacy matters. Nigerians increasingly mistrust top-down changes to the 1999 charter. Many note bitterly that the phrase “we the people” in its preamble was essentially a lie. Any future reform must show genuine popular buy-in.
Another lesson is that simply creating more layers of government (e.g. adding even more states or LGAs) has never resolved identity crises. Instead, analysts stress the need to rebalance power and resources between regions and the centre.
Several hybrid solutions for Nigeria’s crisis are now on the table. These range from moderate devolution to radical redraws of the federation:
True Federalism: Broad devolution of powers is often called “true federalism” by advocates. This would boost state autonomy over finance, police, education, and natural resources. Some proposals envision states remitting a fixed share of revenue to Abuja but otherwise running their own affairs.
Supporters point out that under the 1963 arrangements, federalism did allow states to build wealth (e.g. Nigeria’s early television and cement industries in the West ).
Many southern governors and lawmakers back amendments that reinforce state powers (for example, full fiscal federalism and local policing). The push for “resource control” in the Niger Delta is essentially a true-federalism demand.
Regional Autonomy (Federating Zones): Another idea is to reorganise Nigeria into fewer, larger units (regions or “proto-states”) with constitutional autonomy. For example, one “United Regions” proposal suggests reducing the 36 states into five major regions. It also includes a neutral federal capital. Alternatively, there could be six major regions plus the federal capital.
Each region (e.g. Northern, Middle Belt, Western, Eastern, Niger-Delta) would have its own constitution and control of local police, schools and taxes.
A similar variant comes from Prof. Osuntokun: he urges merging states into six cultural zones (merging Yorubaland with parts of Kwara/Kogi, combining eastern states, etc.) and adopting a parliamentary system.
These models aim to align political boundaries with ethnic and economic blocs, reducing the North–South divide in governance.
Confederal Models: At the extreme end, some activists entertain a loose confederation. In this setup, each region is almost sovereign. The federal centre has only limited coordination roles. This echoes how the European Union or Swiss Confederation work.
There are even suggestions of a transitional confederation. For example, a post-election “Nigerian confederation council” could supervise a coming apart-and-together process. However, these ideas are mostly fringe.
In principle, a confederal approach treats Nigeria more as an alliance of semi-independent peoples than a unitary state.
Constitutional Plebiscites: Another proposal is to hold national and regional referenda on restructuring options. Advocates argue that only by letting citizens vote directly (region by region) can any new constitution claim legitimacy. Nigeria has precedents: in 1961 northern Cameroons held a plebiscite to join Nigeria, and Canada held referenda in Quebec.
Some reformers urge a nationwide plebiscite on any sweeping change (for example, a referendum on regional autonomy).
Parliamentary Governance: Many proposals also involve shifting from a presidential to a parliamentary system. For example, Osuntokun and others note that the 1960s parliamentary model inherently checked executive power.
A renewed parliamentary federation could tie the centre’s power to legislative coalitions, perhaps giving minority regions more leverage.
These options do not exist in isolation. In fact, NINAS (Tony Nnadi’s network) has sketched a five-point “union reconfiguration” roadmap, combining several ideas in stages. Summarising their outline:
Suspend Elections: Postpone or cancel upcoming elections under the existing Constitution (seen as “fraudulent” since it is so centralised).
Stage 1 – Regional Constitutions: Convene regional conventions. These conventions can be organized by the six geo-political zones, for example. Their purpose is to draft new constitutions tailored to local values like governance, culture, and religion. Each regional draft would then be ratified by referendum.
Stage 2 – New Federal Pact: Once regional constitutions are in place, negotiate a fresh federation agreement from scratch. This effectively dissolves the old 1999 union and rebuilds Nigeria as a union of autonomous units.
Time-Bound Council: All of the above would happen on a strict timeline (e.g. 18 months) under an interim multi-regional council (akin to South Africa’s transition conferences).
Decommission 1999 Constitution: Finally, formally revoke the 1999 Charter. The approved regional constitutions and the new federal constitution would replace it.
This kind of guided “reset” would hand authority to regions and address grievances via referenda-based legitimacy. Backers argue it would defuse ethnic militias and even allow regional police forces.
Critics worry it risks chaos, but proponents say continuing under the current system is far riskier. Indeed, as Yoruba leader Gani Adams has put it, Nigeria needs “70–80%” power in regional hands, similar to Germany’s model.
Who favours or opposes these reforms? The lines are now largely drawn along regional and ideological lines.
On one side are southern and Middle-Belt elites and activists. Umbrella groups like Afenifere (Yoruba), Ohanaeze Ndigbo, and the Middle Belt Forum have steadily pushed for restructuring. Many state governors in the South-West, South-East, and Delta support this effort.
They decry the “unitary masquerade” of the 1999 Constitution and demand fiscal federalism, resource control and security devolution. Countrywide organisations (like NINAS) and civil society (church bodies, academics) largely echo this, seeing federalism as the cure for marginalisation.
By contrast, many northern politicians and incumbents are cautious or opposed. Some fear that any loosening of central power could accelerate national breakup or simply shift corruption to regional rulers.
The federal government under President Tinubu has publicly rebuffed secessionist talk and insisted on fighting terror within the union. Even reform-minded legislators tend to propose only modest tweaks (e.g. local government autonomy, Lagos state sharing) rather than full devolution.
A typical stance is: “Nigeria’s unity is non-negotiable” – reflected in bills focusing on social cohesion rather than power-sharing.
Internationally, actors are also split. Some U.S. and Western policymakers (especially those concerned about religious violence) openly support deeper decentralisation as a remedy for persecution.
The U.S. Congress and watchdogs have even floated measures to condition aid on protecting groups. However, these measures have not been enacted. Some hawkish Americans have also proposed fracturing Nigeria to save Christians.
However, official U.S. and African Union policy publicly calls only for dialogue, not enforced partition. Britain, the EU and African governments generally avoid taking sides, urging Nigeria to solve its problems internally.
In sum: decentralisation proposals enjoy broad backing among sub-national and diaspora communities. Nonetheless, they face resistance from entrenched powers. These proposals also encounter caution from international actors.
Comparisons with other multiethnic federations are instructive. India gained independence from British rule in 1947. It established a strong, secular federal democracy. The states were often drawn on linguistic lines.
India’s constitution (unlike Nigeria’s) guarantees robust minority rights and splits powers broadly; it has no legal right to secede, and despite riots (e.g. in Kashmir or the 1984 anti-Sikh violence) its union has held together so far.
Ethiopia offers a contrasting case. Post-1994, Ethiopia reorganized into ethnic-based regions and even constitutionally granted them a right to secede.
Yet despite this very loose arrangement, deep grievances persisted. By 2020–21, a brutal war erupted in Tigray. This underscores how even formal secession clauses cannot resolve underlying mistrust.
Sudan split in 2011 only after decades of civil war between North and South. This occurred even though post-2005 autonomy was agreed. Sudan’s experience shows how a weak central charter and unmet promises can still lead to outright breakup.
More positively, South Africa, another diverse former colony, defused a racial crisis. They scrapped their old constitution and negotiated a new one between 1990 and 1994. This new constitution included full participation of former adversaries.
And Canada has managed its French-English divide mainly through federal accommodation and occasional referenda (Quebec’s) rather than armed conflict.
The lesson is clear: successful multiethnic federations tend to combine strong institutions (e.g. judiciaries, civil society) with meaningful power-sharing and avenues for dissent; failure to do so often leads to violence or secession.
Nigeria’s situation is sui generis in scale, but these parallels reinforce one point: the design of constitutional power-sharing is critical. Nigeria’s past experiments suggest regions will resist a top-down, centralised constitution. An imposed secession can also destroy a state.
What’s needed is a negotiated bargain that Nigerians themselves accept. India’s unity holds under a strong federal charter. In contrast, Ethiopia experiences fractures under a loose one. Nigeria must decide whether to strengthen its federation, as India did. Alternatively, it could loosen it, as Ethiopia symbolically did with mixed results.
The question now is whether Nigerians will author that choice internally. Will they have it imposed by unfolding crises or outside pressure?
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