By Remi Aiyede | For fifty years, Nigeria has wrestled with local government reforms. Some ideas held promise, others fizzled, and many never got past the drawing board. But a year ago, a glimmer of hope arrived: the Supreme Court ruled in favour of financial autonomy for Local Government Areas (LGAs). It’s a landmark decision—at least on paper. The big question now is, has anything actually change? Or have powerful state governors, long accustomed to pulling the strings, simply found new ways to keep their grip?
To understand where we are, we need to look back.
Local governance in Nigeria didn’t emerge from democratic ideals. It was born under colonial rule, where British administrators relied on traditional rulers to manage communities. After independence, regions tried elected councils, but the results were uneven. The North clung to its traditional structures, while the South began experimenting with local democracy.
Now picture Nigeria in 1976—a country just emerging from the trauma of civil war, under the firm grip of military rule, and struggling with a chaotic patchwork of local administrations. Governance at the grassroots was a mess—fragmented, inconsistent, and largely ineffective. Then came a bold intervention: the 1976 Local Government Reform, the first serious attempt to bring order to the system and create a standardised model of local governance across the country.
This reform was groundbreaking. For the first time, Nigeria clearly defined its governance architecture as a three-tier system: Federal, State, and Local governments. Local councils were no longer informal appendages; they were recognised as part of the national framework. And to empower them—at least symbolically—they were allocated 5% of federation revenue. It wasn’t much, but it signaled a move toward financial inclusion and grassroots development.
However, this ambitious reform came at a cost. In the drive for uniformity, Nigeria’s local landscape was redrawn, often with a ruler and red pen rather than with community insight. Villages were merged into awkward clusters, while some cities were arbitrarily split into multiple LGAs. The result was a patchwork of artificial boundaries—many of which lacked historical, cultural, or even logistical logic. Nearly five decades later, some of these LGAs still wrestle with fractured identities and administrative dysfunction.
Worse still, the reform imposed a one-size-fits-all model. Rural and urban areas—despite having radically different needs and realities—were treated exactly the same. A quiet fishing village and a teeming urban center were expected to operate under identical rules. It was a recipe for long-term inefficiency.
Then came 1979. Nigeria returned to democratic rule, and with it, the new constitution formally recognised LGAs as the third tier of government. Section 7 was clear: local councils were to be democratically elected and enjoy constitutional backing. On paper, it was a big win for grassroots democracy.
But in practice? Not so much.
State governments held on to real power. They dictated how LGAs were structured—how many wards, what boundaries, and who got what. And although LGAs were entitled to federation allocations, the money still passed through the state governments first. That 5% often got lost in bureaucratic bottlenecks—or political games.
So, while the constitution promised autonomy, LGAs remained tethered to state governments. They were still political tools, not truly independent institutions. The Dasuki Committee was set up in 1984 to address the shortcomings of the 1976 reforms, and it focused on autonomy, direct allocation and minimum criteria like population size.
By 1987, Nigeria was once again reimagining grassroots governance. The Political Bureau Report introduced an ambitious, three-tiered model designed to reflect the complexity of local life. At the foundation were village and neighborhood committees, intended to give everyday citizens a voice in their communities. Above them sat development areas, coordinating services across clusters of communities. At the top were the elected LGAs, tasked with making policy and driving development. It was a bold attempt to bring governance closer to the people. But it never got off the ground.
Then came the 1988 Civil Service Reform, led by the Phillips Committee, which set out to professionalise local administration. Recruitment, promotion, and discipline of local government staff were moved to state-level Local Government Service Commissions (LGSCs). A clearer divide was drawn between elected leaders (chairmen and councillors) and career civil servants, aiming to protect the system from political interference.
But military governments kept undermining progress. One minute, elected councils were dissolved and replaced by sole administrators; the next, the number of LGAs ballooned, with 282 new LGAs created under Babangida alone. This constant political flip-flopping eroded the very democratic norms these reforms aimed to build. Rather than stability, grassroots governance became a revolving door of inconsistency, making it difficult for local institutions to earn trust, deliver services, or evolve beyond political patronage.
Still, those ideas didn’t die. They lingered—passed down from one reform attempt to the next. And they’ve shaped the ongoing battle for local government autonomy, right up to the landmark Supreme Court ruling in 2024.
The struggle has always been the same: not just to create local governments, but to make them truly govern.
In 1999, democracy returned, and the new constitution recognised local governments as the third tier of government. But there was a catch. State governors were given control over LGA finances. That’s where things started to unravel. Instead of serving citizens, many LGAs became piggy banks for state politicians. Governors installed loyalists, dissolved elected councils, and diverted funds—often with no consequences.
Fast forward to 2024. The Supreme Court has said, "No more." Local governments must receive funds directly. Governors can no longer sack elected councils. It sounds like progress. But in reality, some states—like Anambra—are already sidestepping the ruling with new laws that force LGAs to hand back the money.
After 50 years, we’re still asking: why can’t local government in Nigeria work? There are three roadblocks holding us back.
One, state governments are acting like overbearing parents. Picture this: a child receives an allowance, but the parent takes it and says, "I know what’s best." That’s how states treat LGAs. Governors dominate. Caretaker committees are appointed instead of elected councils. Dissenting LGA chairmen are punished. Autonomy is promised but rarely delivered. State electoral commissions (SIECs) are used to rig local elections; during 2024 and 2025 elections following the Suptemre Court’s pronoucement, ruling parties win 100% of the seats in many states.
The second roadblock is what can be called money without management. Even when LGAs get funds, things don’t always improve. Under President Olusegun Obasanjo, some chairmen used allocations to buy luxury SUVs instead of fixing schools or clinics. Today, many councils still owe months of unpaid teachers’ salaries despite receiving federation allocations. Financial mismanagement isn’t rare—it’s routine.
The third is that of democracy in name only. At the grassroots, elections are more performance than process. SIECs, under the thumb of governors, produce predictable results. Local officials serve those who appointed them, not the people. Voters are cut out of the loop, and the democratic spirit is crushed before it takes root.
What has the past taught us? Half a century of reforms has revealed a few hard truths. These include the following: Laws don’t enforce themselves—autonomy means nothing without real mechanisms to uphold it; Money doesn’t guarantee results—without skilled and accountable leadership, funds vanish into thin air; Citizens must get involved—change won’t come from above, it must be demanded from below.
How do we fix this? There are three areas of work. The first is that we must break the governors’ stranglehold on LGAs. We need to strengthen SIECs and make them independent, capable and effective. Then government must comply with the Supreme Court ruling. Prevent states that try to outsmart it by negotiation and dialogue. No more creative accounting or legal loopholes.
The second is to make LGAs work like they are supposed to. We need to invest in training council staff in budgeting, planning, and execution. Governance is a skill. Then it is important to make LGA budgets public and accessible. If your chairman buys an SUV instead of fixing your primary school, you should know—and be able to act.
The third area of intervention is to rebuild grassroots democracy. Local elections must be fair and open. No more 100% "wins" for ruling parties. It is also necessary to revisit ideas like the 1987 Political Bureau’s tiered representation system—where governance begins at the neighbourhoods, to village level and rises upward to the local government.
On the whole, what Nigeria truly needs isn’t just stronger local governments—it needs more responsive local governance. Governance that’s accountable to citizens, not to state governors or party godfathers or to the federal government. Governance that begins with community voices, not Abuja directives.
The Supreme Court ruling is a milestone, but it’s only a start. Real reform will only happen when Nigerians demand it—not just in courts, but in town halls, on social media, and at the ballot box. Because democracy—real democracy—isn’t something you watch. It’s something you do.
*Prof Aiyede is a professor of political science at the University of Ibadan. This is an adaptation of his presentation at the public conversation on local governance reforms in Nigeria, organised by Agora Policy and partners on 22 July 2025.
