Revenue Or Hypocrisy? Nigeria’s Tax Plan For ‘Runs Girls’ Exposes A Moral & Legal Minefield

By STELLA JOHNSON OGBOVOVEH

WHEN the Chairman of the Presidential Committee on Fiscal Policy and Tax Reforms, Taiwo Oyedele, announced that commercial sex workers — popularly called “runs girls” — would be taxed under Nigeria’s new fiscal regime taking effect in January 2026, it sounded like satire. But it wasn’t.

“If somebody is doing runs girls (sex work)… that’s a service. They will pay tax on it,” Oyedele said. The logic seemed simple: if you earn an income, you owe the government a share — regardless of how it’s made.

Yet, beyond the fiscal jargon lies a deeper national question: how can a government tax an activity it still criminalises?

A Policy Lost in Contradiction

Nigeria’s prostitution laws are clear — or at least, have been. Under the Criminal Code, prostitution itself is not explicitly outlawed, but related acts such as brothel-keeping, pimping, or “living on the earnings of prostitution” are punishable offences. Under Sharia and Penal Codes in the North, sex work is outrightly criminalised.

So, what happens when the same state that arrests sex workers suddenly asks them to register and pay tax?

“Taxing what you won’t legalise is hypocrisy in fine print,” wrote X user @ProductivityVA, echoing a sentiment that has dominated public discourse.

From Abuja to Lagos, many Nigerians have called the government’s move a moral contradiction and a legal absurdity.

Lawyer Ralph Agama said that “until Nigeria establishes clear legislation, any attempt to tax sex work would be both exploitative and unconstitutional.”

“Our law forbids contracts that tend to corrupt morality — contra bonos mores,” he explained. “So, if prostitution is illegal, on what legal basis are you taxing it? You can’t criminalise a person by day and collect their tax by night.”

The Double Standard: Profit Without Protection

The irony runs deep.

Commercial sex workers remain among Nigeria’s most vulnerable groups — frequently harassed, extorted, or arrested by police. In 2019, over 100 women were paraded in Abuja as “suspected prostitutes.” Two years earlier, the Kano State Joint Task Force arrested 840 women in one sweep.

Yet now, these same women are being eyed as a new revenue source.

“How do you tax someone whose work you criminalise? It’s double jeopardy,” said a human rights advocate in Abuja. “They’ll pay taxes but still face raids, violence, and shame. That’s not reform — that’s exploitation.”

For many observers, the government’s move looks less like progressive fiscal policy and more like a cash grab dressed in bureaucratic language.

Global Lessons: Legal Recognition First, Taxation Second

Nigeria is hardly the first country to wrestle with the sex-work dilemma. Over 30 nations have already legalised or regulated prostitution, recognising both the economic and public health realities of the trade.

In the Netherlands, Germany, New Zealand, and Australia, sex work is treated as legitimate labour — with taxation, registration, and access to health and safety protections. Even Bangladesh, a Muslim-majority country, legally recognises sex work under state supervision.

These nations share one common approach: legalisation precedes taxation.

In contrast, Nigeria’s plan attempts to reverse the sequence — seeking revenue from workers who have no legal standing.

As social commentator Chubie Ujah (@XtremelifeM) observed, “If you tax sex work without first granting legal recognition, it becomes exploitation. You can’t legitimise income and criminalise the earner.”

Morality, Religion, and the Politics of Pretence

Of course, in Nigeria, no debate escapes the grip of religion and morality. For many, the idea of legalising prostitution strikes at the heart of national values. A Federal High Court in March 2025 reaffirmed that view, ruling that prostitution remains “immoral and incompatible with Nigeria’s cultural values.”

Justice James Omotosho, in dismissing a suit by Abuja sex workers seeking protection from arrest, declared that “sex work cannot attract legal rights under the Constitution.”

That judgment underscored Nigeria’s long-standing moral framework — but it also cemented the contradiction: a state that refuses to recognise sex work yet intends to profit from it.

Legal scholar Agama warned that this contradiction not only erodes the rule of law but also “reduces governance to hypocrisy — where the same hand that punishes, profits.”

Between Fiscal Desperation and Social Reality

With a dwindling tax base and oil revenues in decline, Nigeria’s fiscal authorities are scouring every corner of the economy for revenue — including informal and “illicit” sectors.

However, critics say this desperation risks crossing ethical boundaries.

“Where do you draw the line?” asked a civil society advocate. “If the logic is that all income must be taxed, do we then tax cybercrime, drug deals, or kidnapping ransoms?”

It’s a fair question — and one that reveals the deeper incoherence of Nigeria’s fiscal moral compass.

The Human Question

Beyond legality and revenue lies a human reality. Sex work thrives — not because it is glamorous, but because poverty, inequality, and unemployment make it an economic lifeline for thousands.

Ignoring that reality doesn’t erase it; it only drives it underground.

If the government truly wants to regulate or tax the industry, it must start with protection, not punishment. That means public debate, legislative clarity, and social safety nets — not half-measures disguised as reform.

Editorial Verdict: Policy or Pretense?

Nigeria now stands at a crossroads between honest governance and moral hypocrisy.

If the government believes sex work should remain illegal, it must stop pretending otherwise and focus on rehabilitation, social welfare, and job creation.

But if it acknowledges that the trade exists — and contributes to the underground economy — then it must confront that reality with consistent laws that prioritise human dignity and protection.

Taxation without legalisation isn’t reform. It’s extortion.

Bottom Line:

The question is not whether sex workers should pay tax — it’s whether the government has earned the moral or legal right to collect it.