“Should Nigeria Scrap Its Culture Ministry? A Sector At War With Its Own Future”
By GODWIN OKONDO
WHEN artists, scholars and cultural workers gather, the conversation often tilts toward creativity, strain, and survival. But at the 2025 CORA Art Stampede—held at Freedom Park as the closing session of the Lagos Book and Art Festival—the discussion went far deeper, touching the very foundation of Nigeria’s cultural governance. What emerged was a fierce debate: Is the Ministry of Arts, Culture and Creative Economy still fit for purpose, or has it become an obstacle to the sector it is meant to support?
At the centre of the storm was the provocative argument by U.S.-based theatre scholar Prof. Segun Ojewuyi, who called for the complete abolition of the ministry. His suggestion was blunt: shut down the bureaucracy, pool its operational expenses—including salaries, festivals like NAFEST, vehicle fleets, administrative overheads—into a national endowment, and allow that fund to grow for five years before disbursing directly to artists.
His reasoning was equally stark. “These structures do not serve artists,” he argued. Grants that look like interventions, he said, often turn out to be loans designed to profit banks rather than strengthen cultural production. In his view, the ministry model has collapsed into a political patronage system—one that keeps culture stagnant rather than helping it grow.
A Broken Relationship Between Government and Creatives
Ojewuyi’s frustration reflects the long-standing disconnect between Nigeria’s creative sector and official policy. CORA Secretary-General Toyin Akinosho set the conversation in motion by listing government’s high-profile funding initiatives—iDICE, CEDF, the Providus Bank-managed Creative Fund, and others—programmes expected to generate billions but whose impact remains largely invisible to everyday creatives.
Many at the event echoed that frustration. Artists, writers and performers said the funds are either inaccessible, overly bureaucratic, or structured in ways that undermine rather than support creativity. Some described the government as an “absentee father during Christmas.”
Investigative journalist Ejiro Umukoro shared the story of a near-impossible loan application involving unrealistic requirements, including intellectual property as collateral. She insisted that creatives must embrace corporate governance, but stressed that poorly designed financing mechanisms push artists “into a circle of frustration.”
Culture journalist Anote Ajeluorou raised an additional concern: young creatives with no established IP would be locked out entirely under such exploitative loan conditions.
The Structural Fault Lines
A former Federal Director of Culture, Babajide Ajibola, challenged Ojewuyi’s proposal, insisting the ministry’s failures stem from political interference, not from the existence of the ministry itself. He argued that key cultural policies—including multiple UNESCO conventions and even Nigeria’s cultural policy—remain unimplemented due to bottlenecks at the top.
Ajibola also shifted part of the blame to artists, claiming they have not organized themselves into a powerful pressure bloc capable of forcing policy action, as medical unions or teachers often do. But this argument only inflamed Ojewuyi further: “It felt like an insult,” he said, insisting that artists already exert pressure through relentless cultural output. The real problem, he argued, is the culture of bureaucratic inertia that swallows every policy and idea.
Ajeluorou offered another example of policymaking gone astray: Nigeria’s abrupt cancellation of indigenous language instruction in schools—a decision that undermines literary development and jeopardises opportunities like the new EBRD translation prize meant to support African languages.
The Larger Crisis: Policy Without Implementation
Participants widely agreed that Nigeria’s problem is not a lack of cultural policies, but a chronic inability to implement them. From stalled endowment funds to ignored UNESCO conventions, years of institutional neglect have left the cultural sector floating without direction.
Umukoro underscored the absence of transparency: no public data, no accountability, no evaluation reports on past funding efforts. “Most of these funds are not designed to help artists thrive,” she said. “They’re exploitative.”
Others argued that once artists join the ministry, they become assimilated into its stagnant culture, further stalling reform. The tragedy, Ojewuyi insisted, is that bureaucratic survival—not cultural advancement—has become the ministry’s mission.
Beyond Scrapping the Ministry: The Search for a Working Model
Comparisons with the U.S. and U.K.—countries without ministries of culture—sparked spirited debate. Ojewuyi believes Nigeria should consider a rotating board-led endowment model similar to Western arts councils. Ajibola countered that Nigeria’s political structure differs fundamentally, making such comparisons flawed.
But participants agreed on one point: the current system has failed. Whether through dismantling or deep reform, a fundamental reset is necessary.
The Question Nigeria Must Now Confront
The Stampede ended with passionate interventions from various creatives and the unveiling of LABAF 2026’s theme—“The Make-Over Starts, Now.”
But the question lingers: What kind of makeover does Nigeria’s cultural sector truly need?
Scrapping the ministry may sound radical, but so is the level of dysfunction creatives endure. Whether the solution lies in abolition, reinvention, or a hybrid model, one truth remains: Nigeria cannot build a thriving creative economy on a foundation that its artists no longer trust.
The conversation has begun. The country now has to decide whether it is ready for the overhaul its culture sector desperately demands.
