ASUU Strike: The Real Victims No One Talks About

In Nigeria, strikes in universities have become a distressingly common occurrence, an ongoing issue that seems unable to mend. Each time the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) declares an industrial action, classes cease, campuses fall quiet, and aspirations are put on hold. Politicians proceed with their agendas, lecturers turn to side jobs, but the students—the very core of the educational system—are left abandoned. They forfeit time, drive, and chances that they can never entirely recuperate. Yet, as this cycle continues, one must wonder: who truly shoulders the burden of these strikes, and who ought to be held accountable for the repercussions they create?

For many years, ASUU has defended its strikes as a method to compel the government to honor agreements regarding improved funding, fair salaries, and upgraded facilities. These concerns are legitimate. Anyone who has navigated the hallways of a public university in Nigeria would concur that inadequate amenities, crowded lecture rooms, and unpaid wages signify a significant disregard for education by succeeding administrations.

However, while the union’s complaints are justifiable, the strategies they employ have become contentious. The government frequently labels ASUU as holding the system hostage. It claims that the union’s reliance on strikes as the sole lever for negotiation stifles advancement and punishes innocent students who are not involved in the disagreement. Ultimately, both sides exchange accusations while the students, the least powerful group in this dynamic, bear the brunt of the consequences.

A four-year program can easily extend to six or seven years because of disruptions from strikes. Many students see their enthusiasm wane over time. Some completely lose focus and drop out. For those who remain committed, the delays disrupt their plans. By the time they graduate, they are often nearing 28, 29, or even 30, not accounting for the one-year NYSC service.

The true tragedy surfaces when they begin their job hunt. Most government and private organizations in Nigeria set an age ceiling of 26 to 30 for entry-level roles. By the time many graduates conclude their university education and service, they have surpassed this limit. Their only fault is being ensnared in a system that prioritizes bureaucracy over merit and penalizes them for circumstances beyond their control.

Consequently, this is not merely an academic issue; it is also an economic one. Each extended strike exacerbates youth unemployment and intensifies poverty. Parents who struggled to finance tuition witness their investments stagnate, and the nation forfeits years of potential productivity from its youth. How can a nation progress when its brightest minds remain ensnared in uncertainty?

Whenever negotiations fall apart, discussions center on who concedes first, ASUU or the government, rather than who suffers most as a result. It seems that the wellbeing of students is not as important as the politics of authority and financial matters. This is the crux of the issue.

Let’s be candid. Both sides share the blame. The government’s lack of sensitivity and its failure to prioritize education are unacceptable. Budget allocations for education consistently fall short of UNESCO’s recommended 26 percent. Lecturers, too, need to consider whether indefinite strikes are truly the most effective means of advocating for change. It is one thing to fight for entitlements; it is another to dismantle the pathway that links those entitlements to future opportunities.

If universities received improved funding, research grants, and timely salaries, ASUU would have little reason to strike. Yet, if the union continues to depend solely on strikes without seeking alternative forms of advocacy, such as strategic legal actions, community engagement, or performance-based protests, then students will remain collateral damage in every industrial dispute.