In today’s Nigeria, a silent tragedy unfolds one not marked by visible conflict but by a slow erosion of intellect, reflection, and literacy. The death of reading culture is a crisis as grave as any socio-political catastrophe. We have built a nation that now prefers comedy skits over comprehension, gossip over growth, and virality over values. Where once intellectuals were revered, now they are ignored, mocked, or even ridiculed for daring to reason aloud.
It is no surprise that when someone shares a well-reasoned argument on social media, many responses are laced with insults, not logic. This is not due to deliberate malice, but rather the inability to comprehend nuance or engage in civil debate. A vast number of Nigerians no longer engage with content for knowledge but for amusement. People want to laugh, not think. They scroll endlessly through shallow feeds because their cognitive appetites have been starved by a society that no longer values depth.
Entertainers today possess more social capital than engineers, scientists, or educators. This imbalance is not merely a reflection of public preference, it is the reinforcement of a flawed national value system. It is commonplace to hear phrases like “school na scam,” or “I didn’t finish school, but I hire graduates,” as if education were an affliction to be avoided. This glorification of shortcuts and mediocrity stifles ambition among young people and diminishes the incentive for hard work and scholarship.
The most disheartening irony is that society rewards frivolity and condemns excellence. While Big Brother Naija contestants become overnight celebrities, complete with multi-million-naira endorsements and red carpet events, first-class graduates walk away with handshakes and N50,000 cheques barely enough to cover a month’s rent in major cities. This societal imbalance not only discourages academic pursuit but also signals to youths that intellect holds no currency in the real world.
This isn’t merely cultural decay, it is structural regression. The media space, especially social media, mirrors what its audience desires. Algorithms don’t generate content randomly; they are fed by user interest. When Nigerians log in to Instagram, X (Twitter), or TikTok, the content they see reflects their digital appetite. That’s why changing your location to Japan, Israel, or UAE alters the content feed: in those countries, algorithms push technology, debates, educational tools, and national pride, not nudity and comic skits.
I have conducted this experiment firsthand. During travels abroad, logging into the same platforms from different countries yielded entirely different content. Where Nigeria’s feed is awash with lewd dances and get-rich-quick schemes, other nations show school debates, manufacturing tutorials, scientific breakthroughs, and entrepreneurial advice. It isn’t a conspiracy. It’s our collective digital behavior on display. We click what we crave.
When you create educational content in Nigeria, it’s almost as if you’re punishing your page. Views drop. Engagement plummets. But the moment you post sensational content, even borderline immoral images your follower count skyrockets. It is not the fault of the algorithm; it is the reflection of a society that has misplaced its intellectual compass and elevated empty entertainment over enlightenment.
Perhaps even worse than the entertainment obsession is the tribal and religious lens through which many view issues. A valid argument on education, governance, or public policy quickly devolves into tribal slurs or religious bigotry. Instead of engaging on the merit of the ideas presented, people default to ethnic affiliations and historic grievances. We weaponize identity rather than investigate ideas.
This behavior isn’t confined to social media. It permeates our politics, education, and even religious institutions. When elections approach, conversations are rarely about policy or qualifications. Instead, they center on “our son” versus “their son,” and leaders are often selected based on sentiment rather than substance. This is how we repeatedly recycle mediocrity, then express shock at national stagnation.
The impact on the youth is particularly chilling. In mentoring teenagers for JAMB recently, I found myself battling the influence of TikTok and short-form video distractions. Convincing them to put their phones away and focus on revision felt like asking them to climb Mount Everest. One even exclaimed, “220 pages? That’s too much!” not because they were lazy, but because their brains had been conditioned for content that lasts 15 seconds, not 15 chapters.
Most secondary schools don’t even have functioning libraries anymore. Where they exist, they are often underfunded, outdated, or repurposed as staff rooms. This robs students of both the environment and encouragement to read. How can we expect children to value reading when even their institutions offer no access to books or quiet study spaces? The library, a sanctuary of knowledge, has become an endangered relic in many parts of Nigeria.
This decay did not happen overnight. It is the result of years of neglect by policy-makers and a society that gradually shifted its admiration from builders and thinkers to performers and jesters. We crowned clowns and asked why the country feels like a circus. We vilified scholars, praised fraudsters, mocked inventors, and made millionaires out of mischief-makers.
The consequences are visible in our development indices. Nigeria ranks poorly in education quality, literacy, and human capital development. According to UNESCO, Nigeria has over 20 million out-of-school children the highest in the world. Our universities are frequently shut down due to strikes, and research funding is abysmal. Meanwhile, celebrity endorsement deals and skit production are booming industries.
We have become a nation that fears thinking. A society that celebrates shallowness. But there is hope. A national reawakening is possible but only when we begin to value intellectualism as we do entertainment. We must elevate books over bodies, ideas over idolatry, and reasoning over rhetoric. The media can help, schools must help, and most importantly, parents and peers must help.
This moment calls for radical introspection. As the poet Chinua Achebe once said, “Until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” Nigeria must rediscover its thinkers. We need the philosophers, the researchers, the builders, and the dreamers to find their voices again. The alternative is not just ignorance it is national suicide.
If we continue on this path, the next generation may know everything about celebrity gossip but nothing about nation-building. It’s time to return to the books, to meaningful conversations, to discipline and discernment. Because no matter how far we run, no nation ever danced its way to greatness.
