ASUU Strikes: The Endless Loop Nigeria Must Break
By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman
If there is any rhythm that has refused to change in Nigeria’s academic calendar, it is the drumbeat of strikes by the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU). Each cycle begins with a warning, swells into protests, and collapses into months of classroom paralysis. It makes students stranded, parents helpless, and the nation’s tertiary education trapped in recurring stagnation.
For decades, ASUU strikes have become a permanent punctuation in Nigeria’s educational story, making occurrences a tragedy that has outlived governments, policy directions, and even generations of undergraduates. The irony is that every new strike looks like the last: same demands, same government responses, same media debates, and the same outcome — suspension, not resolution.
How did Nigeria get here? And why does this crisis appear so cyclical, almost generational?
The Academic Staff Union of Universities was founded in 1978, emerging from the ashes of the Nigerian Association of University Teachers (NAUT). From inception, ASUU was not just a trade union; it was a conscience of the academia, a body that saw itself as guardian of intellectual autonomy, national development, and academic integrity.
But its relationship with the government has always been uneasy. The first major showdown came in 1988 during General Ibrahim Babangida’s regime, when ASUU embarked on a strike to demand fair wages, university autonomy, and funding. The government’s response was swift and draconian. ASUU was banned, its leaders detained, and salaries withheld. Yet, the union’s resilience prevailed, and by 1990, it was reinstated.
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Since then, ASUU has gone on strike over twenty times, spanning military and democratic dispensations alike. The issues have remained stubbornly familiar: poor funding, unpaid allowances, inadequate infrastructure, decaying research capacity, and government’s failure to honour previous agreements.
The landmark agreement of 2009 between ASUU and the Federal Government was supposed to be a turning point. It captured key demands that included better welfare for lecturers, revitalisation of infrastructure, and university autonomy. But, as with many government pacts in Nigeria, the implementation was half-hearted and short-lived. The Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) in 2013, 2017, and 2020 merely recycled promises, each one becoming a prelude to the next crisis.
Every ASUU strike has two layers — the visible and the political. On the surface, it’s about funding and welfare. Beneath that lies distrust, ego, and inconsistent leadership.
Government negotiators often approach agreements as temporary pacifications rather than binding contracts. Ministries change, priorities shift, and promises fade. ASUU, on its part, wields strikes as its strongest bargaining tool. Sometimes effective but increasingly self-defeating.
Both sides share blame for the cyclical failure. Government often defaults, while ASUU, in its moral fervour, sometimes resists pragmatic reform, especially in accountability and diversification of funding. The result is a predictable dance: delay, protest, strike, negotiation, suspension and then repeat.
The consequences are devastating. Millions of students lose valuable academic time, universities fall behind global peers, and research collapses. Parents endure emotional and financial stress; employers distrust local degrees; and private universities quietly benefit from public dysfunction.
During the eight-month strike in 2022, Nigeria lost an estimated ₦1.5 trillion in productivity. Many lecturers relocated abroad, deepening brain drain. The crisis is no longer a union-government quarrel but a national emergency that undermines development.
Nigeria isn’t alone in facing academic labour disputes but other countries learned, adapted, and reformed.
In India, repeated strikes in the 1990s led to creation of the University Grants Commission Reforms, which institutionalised regular wage reviews and infrastructure funding insulated from political manipulation.
In South Africa, the “Fees Must Fall” crisis of 2015 forced government and universities to form oversight committees of academics and students to monitor education spending. Transparency replaced tension, restoring confidence.
Kenya went further. It enacted a Collective Bargaining Framework that legally binds both government and unions for four-year terms. No administration can unilaterally breach it without parliamentary approval. Predictability replaced confrontation.
Nigeria can learn from these examples. The problem is not absence of ideas but absence of political will and institutional discipline.
The heart of the problem is philosophical: Nigeria treats education as expenditure and not investment. That mindset must change.
While Ghana invests about 6.5% of GDP in education, Nigeria spends less than 2%. South Korea channels more into research than oil. Their progress is no mystery. They fund their future.
Every strike pushes Nigeria’s future further behind. Education is not just another sector; it is the soil on which every other grows. Without it, national development becomes guesswork.
Although ASUU’s struggle is noble but must evolve. Activism must give way to innovation. The union should complement resistance with reform, proposing alternative funding models, driving research-commercial partnerships, and mentoring new lecturers for modern academic challenges.
The government, on the other hand, must understand that signing agreements without intention to implement is governance without honour. Each broken promise erodes trust and provokes another strike.
A serious government should measure progress not by the number of schools built but by the quality of minds produced. When airports function better than universities, the country builds departures, not destinies.
If Nigeria truly wishes to end the ASUU strikes, both sides must shift from rhetoric to reform.
Every ASUU–Federal Government agreement should be backed by legislation. Once domesticated by the National Assembly, any breach becomes actionable, not negotiable. Education cannot thrive on verbal promises.
Beyond TETFund, Nigeria needs an Education Stabilisation Fund co-managed by government, ASUU, private sector, and alumni networks. Funding can come from education levies, grants, and endowments. This would provide consistent support regardless of annual budget politics.
ASUU must demonstrate stewardship. Universities should publish audited reports on how revitalisation or research funds are spent. Accountability strengthens credibility.
Set a four-year salary review cycle tied to inflation, GDP, and minimum wage benchmarks. Once automatic, it removes salary from recurring contention.
A permanent University Industrial Mediation Council (UIMC), composed of respected scholars, jurists, and labour experts, can serve as an early-warning system — intervening before crises escalate.
A public online dashboard showing government disbursements and ASUU obligations would foster accountability. When citizens can see the truth, both sides act more responsibly.
The future lies in structure, not sentiment. A binding framework, transparent governance, and joint accountability can end the strike culture permanently.
ASUU must rise beyond protest politics, and the government must govern with integrity. Both must see education as a shared project and not a battlefield.
If Nigeria’s leaders can build political peace accords and implement oil-sharing formulas, they can certainly fund and protect the education sector.
Until then, the next strike will not surprise anyone. It will simply mark another sequel in a story that should have ended years ago.
Alabidun is an Abuja-based media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com
