Sometimes the highest act of responsibility is to seek greener pastures, not out of selfishness, but out of a refusal to endorse mediocrity by your continued presence in it. The question then is not whether to stay or go, but whether staying still serves a purpose. And if it does not, then you must ask yourself, what exactly are you remaining for? There is dignity in labour, but there is no dignity in wilful stagnation, and we should be wise enough to know the difference.
I recently watched the viral interview with a professor from Ahmadu Bello University (ABU), in which he painted a sombre picture of what it means to be an academic in Nigeria’s public university system today. It was raw and honest, and I respect that. But I must say, I found parts of his argument deeply troubling, not because his complaints were baseless, but because his conclusion was too forgiving of a broken system. He cited cultural and religious considerations, including the need to observe Friday prayers, as reasons he would not take up an academic position in a country like South Korea. If one is suffering in his own country, invoking culture and religion as reasons to remain in that suffering should not go unchallenged. If the reality at home is one of degradation, if the system you serve is not structured to reward merit or dignity, then choosing to stay is no longer a noble act, as it becomes complicity. The very system our professor laments is also the one he defends by refusing to explore better alternatives. There is no honour in remaining within a failing structure out of fear of adjustment elsewhere.
Nigeria’s public university system was not built to survive the realities of the 21st century. It is operating on fumes, driven by sentiment rather than sustainability. There is no coherent model underpinning it today, as there is no meaningful competition, no deliberate investment in excellence, no infrastructure to support world-class research or teaching. And the result is a cycle of strikes, underpayment and mass disillusionment. But what concerns me more than the system’s failure is the resignation with which many accept it. If you are educated and equipped with marketable skills, it is not a virtue to stay where you are consistently disrespected and undervalued. It is not a badge of honour to endure perpetual frustration in the name of loyalty to a place that offers you no dignity in return. We must learn to differentiate between perseverance and stagnation.
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There are moments when the only dignified protest is departure. And yes, I do mean literal departure. In a country where those who hold power over your income do not see you as a priority, where negotiations begin and end with the assumption that you have no better option, the only way to command respect is to create absence. Complaints do not shake a government, but consequences do. If the government sees no visible loss in academics leaving, why would it take them seriously? The strikes are not working. Every time ASUU down tools, the government simply waits them out. It has learnt, over time, that after months of protest, the same lecturers who initiated the strike will quietly return, often weakened by financial strain. Worse still, some beg for work to resume, not because their demands have been met, but because their situation has become desperate. This sends a dangerous message, that no matter how long the strike lasts, the lecturers will come back eventually and nothing significant will change.
It is a retrospective fallacy that suggests that because your lecturers remained in the system long enough to teach you, which presumably led to a positive outcome, their continued presence must always be right or justified. This ignores the fact that we are no longer talking about the past, but we are confronting a present-day reality that these same lecturers have acknowledged as harmful and unsustainable.
But imagine, for a moment, a different kind of consequence. Imagine if the very people leading these strikes, such as departmental heads, union leaders and senior lecturers, suddenly began to exit en masse, not with noise but with quiet resolve. Imagine if top academics began to accept positions in global institutions, because they could no longer justify being part of a theatre of perpetual failure. Such exits would send a powerful message to both government and society that the system has failed, and we are no longer lending it our credibility.
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And I find it intellectually lazy when people argue that you should not advise your former lecturers to consider alternative paths, even when they themselves have expressed dissatisfaction with their current situation, simply because they once taught you. This line of reasoning shifts the discussion away from exploring meaningful solutions, whether good or bad, and instead reduces it to a personal matter. Beyond its intellectual weakness, the argument rests on a clear philosophical fallacy, one that ought to be recognised before anyone enters a serious discussion. It is a retrospective fallacy that suggests that because your lecturers remained in the system long enough to teach you, which presumably led to a positive outcome, their continued presence must always be right or justified. This ignores the fact that we are no longer talking about the past, but we are confronting a present-day reality that these same lecturers have acknowledged as harmful and unsustainable.
The flaw in the argument also extends to a false cause fallacy, that implies that one’s success is solely due to the lecturers who stayed in the system, as if no alternative paths or educators could have provided a comparable or even better outcome all over the world. It presumes a single, linear cause-effect relationship, without any evidence that the presence of those particular lecturers was either the only or necessary condition for success. The reasoning also contains a moralistic fallacy, which is the assumption that because something ought to be the case (that lecturers should stay and educate ideally), then it must always remain so, regardless of changing conditions or harsh realities. Such a position is detached from the complex and often difficult choices people must make in the face of a broken or unrewarding system.
The gap between merit and outcome is vast and cruel. Professor Farooq Kperogi also once noted that many Nigerian elites cannot intimidate him despite their wealth because he is living a life they themselves can only dream of. Thus, it is not about riches but about freedom, and too many in Nigeria are trapped not only by poverty, but also by the persistent illusion that they must stay and endure no matter the cost.
Professor Moses Ochonu once remarked that beyond the obvious economic advantages of moving abroad, there are also intangible benefits that are rarely discussed. In societies that function, a decent home, quality education for your children, a reliable healthcare system, occasional family holidays and peace of mind are attainable for those who work hard. But in Nigeria, these things are luxuries that depend as much on fortune as on effort. Even the most disciplined professionals often need a touch of luck to achieve a modestly fulfilling life.
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The gap between merit and outcome is vast and cruel. Professor Farooq Kperogi also once noted that many Nigerian elites cannot intimidate him despite their wealth because he is living a life they themselves can only dream of. Thus, it is not about riches but about freedom, and too many in Nigeria are trapped not only by poverty, but also by the persistent illusion that they must stay and endure no matter the cost.
My own belief is that we must be equipped for eventualities. In life, we should hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. And part of that preparation means cultivating the skills and exposure needed to move if things do not improve. No scripture, constitution or cultural edict says you must suffer endlessly in the place where you were born. Sometimes the highest act of responsibility is to seek greener pastures, not out of selfishness, but out of a refusal to endorse mediocrity by your continued presence in it. The question then is not whether to stay or go, but whether staying still serves a purpose. And if it does not, then you must ask yourself, what exactly are you remaining for? There is dignity in labour, but there is no dignity in wilful stagnation, and we should be wise enough to know the difference.
Mohammed Dahiru Aminu ([email protected]) wrote from Abuja, Nigeria.
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