By IKHIDE IKHELOA

A Literary Prize for Whom? My Challenge to NLNG’s Elitist Model of Cultural Patronage

“For us Africans, literature must serve a purpose: to expose, embarrass, and fight corruption and authoritarianism. It is understandable why the African artist is utilitarian.” — Ama Ata Aidoo

I keep returning to Ama Ata Aidoo’s words because they capture what I believe is at stake in the debate over the Nigerian LNG Limited (NLNG) Prize for Literature. Literature, particularly in a society wrestling with inequality, poor leadership and the daily struggle for survival, cannot be reduced to prestige, ceremony and the celebration of a handful of successful writers. It must also confront the conditions under which people write, publish, read and sustain a literary culture.

That is why I am asking NLNG and the Nigerian government to rethink the prize in its present form. My argument is not that Nigerian writers should receive less support. They need more. Rather, I question whether an annual award that directs a large share of its resources towards administration and one winning writer represents the best way to strengthen the literary ecosystem.

I estimate that NLNG may have spent more than $20 million administering and awarding the prize since its inception in 2004. That figure is my estimate, not an independently verified total drawn from a complete set of audited accounts. I have also argued that the annual allocation may approach or exceed $1 million, with $100,000 awarded to the winner and a much larger amount devoted to administration. These figures require confirmation through published financial records.

Nevertheless, my broader concern remains: why should a country with so many underfunded writers, struggling publishers, expensive books and fragile literary communities continue to treat one major annual prize as the centrepiece of its support for literature?

I believe we should suspend the existing arrangement, examine its costs and outcomes, and redirect resources towards a model that reflects the realities of Nigerian writing today. We need a literary policy that supports excellence without confusing excellence with exclusivity, and that recognises a writer’s success as part of a much wider cultural ecosystem.

We Have a Literary Ecosystem in Distress

Let me begin with the condition of Nigerian literature itself. I see a community filled with energy and possibility, yet constrained by a persistent shortage of funding, limited publishing opportunities and a readership increasingly priced out of the traditional book market.

The problem is not that Nigerians have stopped writing. On the contrary, people continue to produce fiction, essays, criticism, poetry, creative nonfiction and other forms of literary expression. What troubles me is the gap between that creative energy and the institutional support available to develop it.

Many writers must struggle to earn a living before they can find the time, money and mental space to produce sustained work. Emerging authors may have talent but lack access to editors, mentors, publishers, reading communities and the resources needed to circulate their writing. Independent literary organisers often build platforms on shoestring budgets, while small publishers must contend with production costs and limited purchasing power among potential readers.

The consequences extend beyond individual careers. Without stable support, promising projects may disappear, literary magazines may struggle to survive, workshops may become occasional events and promising writers may abandon their work because they cannot afford to continue.

I am concerned, too, about the pressure that economic insecurity places on literary judgment. When writers must constantly hustle to survive, they may have less time to experiment, revise, read widely or develop difficult ideas. A difficult economic environment does not automatically produce poor writing, just as financial comfort does not guarantee excellence. However, the absence of sustained support can make it harder for writers to do the patient work that serious literature requires.

If we want a vibrant literary culture, we must invest in the conditions that make sustained creative work possible. An annual prize can contribute to that objective, but it cannot substitute for the wider infrastructure.

Why Must One Writer Receive So Much While Others Struggle?

The NLNG Prize offers its winner $100,000, a significant sum that can transform a writer’s circumstances. I do not begrudge a deserving author that recognition or financial reward. Writers deserve to be paid for their work, and literary excellence deserves serious support.

My objection concerns the structure of the investment. If my estimate of an annual budget approaching or exceeding $1 million is broadly correct, then the resources devoted to administering the prize may be many times greater than the amount awarded to the winner. That imbalance demands an explanation.

What would happen if some of the resources were distributed differently? Could the prize retain a substantial award while supporting several shortlisted writers? Could it create grants for emerging authors, subsidise the publication of promising manuscripts or provide small but reliable grants to literary organisations? Might some funding help independent publishers produce affordable editions and bring more Nigerian books into circulation?

I believe these possibilities deserve serious consideration. The aim would not be to divide money mechanically among as many recipients as possible. A prize needs sufficient resources to maintain rigorous judging, protect its independence and communicate its work. Instead, the question is whether the current balance between administration, award money and wider literary development is defensible.

A single major award can create a powerful moment of recognition. Yet a healthy literary ecosystem requires many forms of support operating throughout the year. Writers need opportunities before they become prize finalists, while readers need access to books long after the ceremony has ended.

The real measure of a cultural investment should therefore be more than the size of the cheque presented to one individual. We should also ask how the investment strengthens the community from which future writers, readers and publishers will emerge.

The Elitism Problem: Who Gets to Shape Literary Priorities?

I worry that the present model reinforces an overly narrow understanding of literary success. When a prestigious prize dominates public attention, it can encourage writers, publishers and readers to organise their expectations around one annual competition. Books that attract attention from the prize may gain visibility, while other forms of writing and literary activity struggle to find comparable recognition.

This is not an argument that shortlisted books are undeserving or that judges should abandon demanding standards. Nor am I claiming that every decision made by the prize is motivated by elitism. My concern is structural: a system that concentrates prestige and resources around a single award can make the award appear more central to literary life than it ought to be.

I am also uneasy about the influence that established literary figures can exercise when a relatively small professional community depends on a limited number of prestigious institutions. The people who have built careers within the existing system may have valuable experience, but they should not be the only voices shaping its future. Emerging writers, independent publishers, literary organisers, digital creators and readers must have a meaningful place in the conversation.

A healthy cultural institution should be open to criticism and willing to renew itself. It should not depend on the assumption that its history makes its present arrangements immune from scrutiny.

For this reason, I want NLNG to commission an independent review that examines the governance of the prize, the composition and tenure of its judges, the role of its directors and the way stakeholders participate in decision-making. Transparent rules and regular review would help protect the prize from both actual conflicts of interest and public suspicion.

Literary excellence requires independence. But independence should not mean a lack of accountability.

Social Media Has Changed the Literary Landscape

The world in which the NLNG Prize was established is not the world in which Nigerian writers now work. Digital platforms have changed how people write, publish, discover new voices and build audiences. For many Nigerians who cannot afford books or paywalled content, social media offers a daily point of entry into creative expression.

I regard this development as one of the most important changes in our literary culture. Writers can now share essays, fiction, poetry and personal narratives without first securing the approval of a conventional publisher. Readers can encounter unfamiliar voices, participate in discussions and circulate writing beyond the boundaries of established literary institutions.

This does not mean that social media has replaced publishers or that every online text deserves the same editorial treatment as a carefully produced book. Digital platforms can encourage hurried writing, misinformation, plagiarism and the circulation of weak material. Their algorithms may reward controversy and instant reaction rather than depth, originality or sustained thought.

Nevertheless, dismissing these platforms would be a mistake. Social media has opened routes to publication and readership that did not previously exist at the same scale. It has also created opportunities for writers whose experiences, languages, locations or styles may not fit comfortably within established publishing networks.

The challenge is to cultivate the strongest possibilities of this new environment. NLNG could support digital literary magazines, online reading programmes, editorial mentorship, audio literature, translation initiatives and platforms that connect emerging writers with established editors. It could help develop ways to preserve and archive significant digital writing, while supporting critical discussion that distinguishes enduring literary work from the endless flow of online content.

Rather than treating digital culture as an afterthought, the prize should ask what kind of literary infrastructure Nigerian writers need now. The answer should reflect the actual reading habits, economic circumstances and technological opportunities of the people it hopes to serve.

The Book Is Becoming Less Accessible to Ordinary Readers

I am equally troubled by the affordability of books. A literary prize may celebrate a book, generate headlines and create demand among collectors or specialist readers. Yet its wider cultural impact becomes questionable if ordinary Nigerians cannot readily find or afford the winning titles.

A book that is unavailable in local bookstores cannot easily reach the readers who might benefit from it. When it is available but too expensive, the audience remains restricted. In either case, recognition at a major ceremony does not automatically translate into a broader reading culture.

This is where the relationship between awards, publishers and readers needs closer attention. Does the prize encourage publishers to keep shortlisted books in print? Are editions distributed beyond a narrow group of bookshops? Can students, libraries, reading clubs and community organisations obtain copies at reasonable prices? What happens to the books after the award cycle ends?

I would like NLNG to support practical initiatives that address these questions. Subsidised editions, library acquisition schemes, school reading programmes and partnerships with community libraries could help shortlisted works reach wider audiences. Digital editions and audiobooks may offer additional routes to readers, provided that pricing, access and distribution are properly considered.

Such programmes would not eliminate the need for literary prizes. They would connect the recognition of excellence to the development of a readership.

A literary culture cannot thrive on writers alone. It needs readers who can discover, purchase, borrow, discuss and challenge the books being produced. If the award helps one author financially but leaves the larger question of access untouched, then its contribution to the ecosystem remains incomplete.

Are We Rewarding Excellence or Writing to the Test?

I also question the incentives created when one major prize becomes an overwhelming focus of literary ambition. If writers and publishers begin to shape their choices primarily around what they believe judges will reward, the competition may exert too much influence over the direction of creative work.

The result need not be deliberate imitation. It can be more subtle: writers may favour certain themes, formats or approaches because they believe those choices improve their chances of recognition. Publishers may concentrate resources on books they think have prize potential. Meanwhile, work that does not fit the perceived expectations of the competition may struggle to receive attention.

I cannot claim that the NLNG Prize has caused a general decline in the quality of Nigerian writing. That would require evidence beyond my personal assessment. Nevertheless, I have concerns about the hurried production of books designed to compete for awards and about the limited availability and affordability of some of the books that receive attention.

The solution is not to lower literary standards or abandon rigorous judging. Instead, we should encourage a wider range of writing, support careful editing and give writers the time and resources to develop their work without making one prize the dominant measure of achievement.

I would also like the organisers to consider whether the award should continue to focus on one category each year, how nonfiction and essays should be treated, and whether previous winners should be eligible to compete again. These are legitimate questions about the prize’s purpose and design, not technical details that should be left permanently to insiders.

A strong literary culture allows different forms of excellence to flourish. It should reward exceptional books without making every writer feel compelled to produce work according to one institution’s perceived preferences.

A New Model Must Be Built Around Nigerian Realities

I do not want NLNG to abandon its support for literature. I want the company to use its resources more creatively and build a model that responds to Nigeria’s cultural and economic circumstances.

Simply copying the structure of a prestigious Western award does not guarantee that a prize will meet local needs. International models may offer useful lessons in judging, governance, publicity and financial management, but they cannot substitute for an honest assessment of the environment in which Nigerian writers operate.

Our publishing industry faces distinct challenges. Books can be expensive, distribution networks may be limited, independent literary organisations often lack reliable funding, and writers must navigate economic pressures that compete with their creative work. At the same time, digital platforms are opening new possibilities for publication, community-building and readership.

A suitable model must respond to these realities. It could retain a major annual prize while establishing a separate literary development fund. That fund might support emerging writers, independent publishers, literary festivals, reading programmes, digital platforms, translation, editorial mentorship and community-based initiatives.

Another possibility is to distribute awards across several finalists while maintaining rigorous standards and a substantial reward for the most outstanding work. NLNG could also provide multi-year grants to selected organisations, allowing them to plan beyond one-off events and develop sustainable programmes.

I do not pretend that any single proposal will solve every problem. The details require consultation, costing and careful evaluation. What matters is that the process begins with a clear understanding of the needs of writers and readers rather than an assumption that the current structure must remain unchanged.

Eight Questions NLNG Must Answer

I believe a serious review should begin with questions that the company and the literary community can answer publicly.

First, what is the appropriate level of funding? The budget should reflect the actual cost of administering a credible prize, not simply continue at a historical level without a published justification.

Second, how should the prize money be structured? The organisers should assess whether the present award, a shared award for finalists or a combination of major prizes and development grants would create greater cultural value.

Third, who should govern the prize? The composition and tenure of judges and directors should be transparent, with clear rules for independence, conflicts of interest and accountability.

Fourth, should the prize focus on one category each year? Its organisers should consider whether the current arrangement adequately recognises the range of literary forms Nigerian writers produce.

Fifth, should previous winners remain eligible? This question requires a clear policy that balances fairness, excellence and opportunities for new writers.

Sixth, should nonfiction and essays receive greater attention? Literary culture extends beyond fiction, and the prize should explain how its categories reflect the forms of writing it intends to encourage.

Seventh, what is the long-term vision? NLNG must articulate how the prize contributes to a stronger publishing industry, a wider reading public and sustainable opportunities for writers.

Eighth, how will outreach work? The organisation needs an accessible, informative digital presence and a practical plan for connecting the award to readers, schools, libraries, publishers and literary communities.

These questions should not be answered behind closed doors by a narrow group. The review must invite broad participation and publish its recommendations, along with a clear timetable for implementation.

Suspend, Audit & Rebuild

For more than a decade, I have argued that the funders of the NLNG Prize need to be more creative and proactive in responding to changes in Nigerian literature. The digital revolution has altered the ways in which writing is produced, circulated and consumed. Yet I worry that the prize remains too attached to a model whose relevance and cost have not been adequately explained to the public.

That is why I favour suspending the prize in its present form while an independent audit and strategic review take place. Such a suspension should not become an excuse to withdraw support from writers. On the contrary, NLNG could use the review period to consult stakeholders, publish its accounts and develop interim initiatives that direct assistance to emerging writers and underserved literary communities.

The audit should examine financial records, administrative procedures, judging arrangements, outreach and the wider outcomes of the award. It should distinguish necessary expenditure from avoidable costs and assess whether the prize’s objectives match the needs of the literary ecosystem. The findings should be published, and the company should explain which recommendations it accepts and how it will implement them.

After that process, NLNG could decide whether to relaunch a redesigned prize, establish a broader literary development fund or combine both approaches. The goal should be a transparent institution that supports excellence while strengthening the conditions under which literature can flourish.

I recognise that the prize has supporters and that its prestige may have value for writers and the wider cultural sector. That is precisely why the review should be serious and evidence-based. If the current model is effective, independent findings should demonstrate its strengths. If it falls short, the evidence should help the organisers make the necessary changes.

The Future of Nigerian Literature Is Bigger Than One Prize

Ultimately, I want us to move beyond the assumption that a prestigious award is sufficient evidence of a healthy literary culture. It is not. A thriving ecosystem requires writers who can develop their craft, publishers who can produce and distribute books, readers who can afford and access those books, and institutions that support literary activity beyond a single annual event.

The NLNG Prize could play a meaningful role in that future. Its resources could help nurture emerging talent, strengthen independent publishing, support digital innovation and widen access to Nigerian writing. But that potential will remain underused if financial transparency and strategic vision take second place to maintaining the existing arrangement.

My argument is deliberately blunt because I believe the stakes justify it. The company should account for the money, invite the literary community into the process and reconsider how its investment can benefit more than one winner and a limited circle of stakeholders.

I am not asking for less literature, fewer ambitious writers or the abandonment of excellence. I am asking for a more generous and practical vision of what literary support should accomplish. We need a model that rewards outstanding work while helping other writers develop, that celebrates books while making them accessible, and that respects tradition without becoming captive to it.

After more than two decades, the prize deserves a searching examination. What is its purpose? Whom does it serve? How many readers does it reach? What does it contribute to the future of Nigerian writing? These questions should lead to evidence, public discussion and corrective action.

Nigerian literature is not the property of a prize committee, a handful of established writers or a single corporate sponsor. It belongs to the writers who create it, the readers who sustain it and the communities whose lives and experiences give it meaning.

That is why I want NLNG to hold the prize accountable—not to destroy a valuable idea, but to rescue its purpose from a model that may no longer serve us well. We have an opportunity to build something more inclusive, more transparent and more responsive to the times. I believe we should take it.