Trust and the Nigerian State (Part II)
Fairness, Power, and the Legitimacy Question
By Sola Adebawo
If trust is the invisible infrastructure of the state, then fairness is the foundation on which that infrastructure rests.
Citizens may not always agree with government decisions. They may endure difficult policies and even accept temporary hardship. But what they rarely tolerate for long is the perception that the system is biased, uneven, or selectively applied. At that point, the question shifts from “Is this policy necessary?” to something more fundamental: “Is this system fair?”
And once that question takes hold, legitimacy begins to erode.
This is where the conversation on trust moves beyond economics into a more complex terrain; identity, territory, and belonging. It is in this terrain that the Nigerian state is often most tested.
Consider the recurring tensions around boundary delineation and resource ownership across parts of the country. These are not merely technical disagreements about lines on a map. They are contests over history, identity, economic rights, and political recognition.
A current example is the dispute around Eba Island within the Atijere axis of Ilaje Local Government Area in Ondo State, where overlapping claims have emerged between Ondo and neighbouring Ogun State. At the centre of this tension is not just geography, but access to oil-bearing territory and the economic implications tied to resource derivation.
For the affected communities, the issue is far more than administrative classification. It is about ancestral ownership, cultural affiliation, and the right to benefit from resources located within what they consider their historical domain.
In such situations, the role of the state is not merely administrative. It is adjudicative.
The state becomes the referee.
And like every referee, its credibility depends not on the authority it wields, but on the fairness it is perceived to uphold.
In the case of Eba Island and the broader Ilaje–Ogun boundary question, communities are not simply awaiting an outcome. They are closely observing the process.
They are asking:
- Was due process followed?
- Were historical and ethnographic realities adequately considered?
- Were all affected communities meaningfully engaged?
- Was the process impartial, or does it appear influenced?
The answers to these questions shape perception far more than official pronouncements.
This is where legality and legitimacy begin to diverge.
A decision may be legally defensible, supported by statutes, commissions, or historical instruments. But if the affected communities perceive it as imposed, selective, or dismissive of their realities, legal correctness alone does little to secure acceptance.
Legitimacy, in this sense, is not conferred by process alone. It is earned through perceived fairness.
And fairness, importantly, is experienced – not declared.
In Nigeria’s context, fairness is rarely uncontested. Competing histories, identities, and economic interests mean that what appears just to one group may feel exclusionary to another. The challenge for the state, therefore, is not to eliminate disagreement, but to build confidence in the integrity of its processes.
In such contexts, legitimacy depends less on universal agreement and more on whether citizens believe the system is fair in how it arrives at decisions.
This distinction matters in a diverse federation where identity and resource questions are deeply intertwined. The management of such complexity requires more than administrative competence. It requires sensitivity, transparency, and a demonstrable commitment to impartiality.
When citizens believe this to be true, even unfavourable outcomes can be accepted with restraint. But when fairness is in doubt, even neutral decisions are met with suspicion.
This dynamic explains why disputes that might otherwise be resolved through technical mechanisms often escalate into broader tensions. What begins as a boundary issue can quickly evolve into a narrative of marginalisation or exclusion.
At that point, the state is no longer just resolving a dispute. It is defending its own legitimacy.
The implications are far-reaching.
In low-trust environments, every decision is interpreted through a lens of doubt. Institutions are not taken at face value; they are interrogated for hidden motives. Communication loses effectiveness because the credibility of the messenger is already weakened.
This is why fairness must be visible.
It is not enough for institutions to act fairly. They must be seen to act fairly.
This requires:
- Transparent processes that can withstand scrutiny
- Inclusive engagement that ensures all stakeholders are heard
- Clarity of reasoning, not just clarity of decision
- Consistency in application, regardless of political or economic interests
These are not abstract ideals. They are operational requirements for building legitimacy.
There is also a deeper lesson here about power.
In many governance contexts, there is an implicit belief that authority can resolve disputes—that once a decision is made at the centre, it will be accepted at the periphery.
But authority has limits.
It can enforce compliance. It cannot compel trust.
Authority can settle disputes temporarily. Only perceived fairness resolves them sustainably.
Trust, in this sense, is not imposed. It is negotiated over time, through a pattern of decisions that reinforce the belief that the system works for all—not just for some.
This is particularly critical in resource-linked disputes, where economic stakes are high and historical grievances often run deep. The perception that one group is being advantaged at the expense of another can quickly undermine social cohesion and fuel long-term instability.
The cost of getting fairness wrong is therefore not just reputational. It is structural.
It shapes how citizens relate to the state, how communities relate to each other, and how future policies are received.
The lesson is clear: in matters of identity and resource allocation, fairness is not a soft consideration. It is a strategic necessity.
As Nigeria continues to navigate complex governance challenges, the ability of the state to act—and be seen to act—fairly will increasingly determine its legitimacy.
Because in the end, citizens may comply with authority for a time. But they commit to systems they trust.
And where fairness is doubted, the state may retain authority—but it begins to lose allegiance.
In the next part of this series, we examine how trust, once weakened, can be deliberately rebuilt through institutional design, strategic communication, and leadership choices that align power with accountability.
Sola Adebawo is an accomplished energy executive and public affairs leader with extensive experience in the oil and gas industry. He has led Government, Joint Venture, and External Relations strategy, shaping policy engagement and strengthening stakeholder alignment across public, regulatory, and commercial institutions. An author, scholar, and ordained minister, he writes on social, economic, and cultural issues, strategic communication, and principled leadership.
