
“Under this Nigerian capitalism system, everything we feared about the military regime that we would lose our homes and savings and be forced to work forever for pitiful wages with no voice in the system has come true.” – Afolabi Banjoko
For many Nigerians today, this quote is not rhetoric; it is lived experience.
During the years of military rule, the greatest fear was not just the absence of democracy, but the loss of dignity. People feared arbitrary policies, sudden hardship, and a system where citizens worked endlessly while a powerful few decided their fate. Democracy was supposed to end that nightmare. Capitalism, we were told, would reward hard work, protect property, and create opportunity.
But look around Nigeria today.
Homes are being lost not through decrees, but through inflation, crushing rent, and unstable incomes. Savings are wiped out overnight, not by soldiers at the gate, but by currency devaluation and rising costs of living. Workers labour longer hours, often earning wages that cannot feed their families, while prices rise faster than hope. The majority work endlessly, yet remain one emergency away from poverty.
Most painful is the feeling of voicelessness. Elections come and go, policies are announced, but the ordinary Nigerian rarely feels heard. Decisions that affect millions are made without meaningful consultation, and accountability feels distant. In practice, many citizens feel as powerless as they did under military rule, only now the hardship wears a civilian and economic label.
This is not an argument against democracy, and it is not a rejection of capitalism in theory. It is a warning about a system where capitalism operates without compassion, regulation, or justice. When profit is protected more fiercely than people, when labour is cheapened, and survival becomes a full-time job, the difference between civilian rule and authoritarian hardship begins to blur.
Nigeria’s crisis is not just economic; it is moral and structural. A system that allows people to work hard yet live poorly is broken. A democracy that does not translate to dignity, security, and opportunity for the majority is incomplete.
The question Nigerians must ask is simple but urgent:
If democracy and capitalism do not improve the lives of the people, who are they really working for?
Until the system begins to serve the many, not the few, this quote will continue to feel less like a warning from the past and more like a painful description of the present.
Afolabi Banjoko writes from Lagos State Nigeria.
afolabi.banjoko@yahoo.com


















