THE MISSING LINK IN NIGERIA’S ECONOMIC DEBATE

 K BOLANLE ATI-JOHN argues that economic blueprints must integrate security as a measure of competitiveness

Every year, the nation’s brightest economic minds gather under the umbrella of the Nigerian Economic Summit Group. Policymakers, business leaders, and experts debate, issue reports, and draft communiqués that echo the same central themes: diversification, productivity, and competitiveness. The recommendations are almost always sound on their own terms, addressing crucial needs like monetary policy, infrastructure, and education. The energy is palpable. And yet, when the year closes, very little of the promised transformation is visible on the ground.

There is a reason for this repeated disappointment. In the graphs, models, and policy prescriptions that dominate our discourse, one foundational truth is consistently overlooked. Security is the bedrock of competitiveness.

In advanced countries, security is invisible precisely because it is reliable. Ships dock without fear of piracy. Farmers harvest without fear of banditry. Investors trust digital platforms without fear of fraud. It is this foundation of stability that allows businesses in those nations to innovate, expand, and compete globally. Competitiveness there is not pursued in spite of insecurity; it grows upon the bedrock of security.

Nigeria, by contrast, often attempts the reverse. We chase productivity, reforms, and growth while leaving security fragile. We imagine we can prosper first and secure later. That sequence has never produced greatness for any nation, and it will not for us. This is not simply a gap in policy, it is a blind spot that explains why well-crafted recommendations repeatedly fail in implementation.

The international community often frames this conversation in the language of the security and development nexus. It is a phrase that has become a cliché in donor reports and aid circles. While the idea has value, it casts security as a humanitarian requirement for survival, stabilizing refugees, reducing poverty, preventing collapse. That framing belongs to the language of aid. But Nigeria is not merely surviving, nor should it aspire to be defined by aid logic. Nigeria is a sovereign nation that seeks to compete, to attract investment, to anchor Africa’s economy, and to be respected in the world.

This is why the conversation must shift from a security and development nexus to a security and competitiveness nexus. Development is about catching up. Competitiveness is about leading. Development speaks the language of survival. Competitiveness speaks the language of greatness.

Once viewed through this lens, the Nigerian reality becomes painfully clear. In agriculture, insecurity translates directly into higher costs and lower yields. Farmers in Zamfara, Benue, and Borno abandon fertile land not because they lack skills or markets but because they fear for their lives. Nigeria imports billions of dollars of food that could have been grown locally. Food inflation is not merely a statistical challenge; it is the economic consequence of insecurity in the fields.

Maritime trade tells the same story. For years, the Gulf of Guinea was the global capital of piracy. Nigerian-bound cargoes attracted higher insurance premiums, while traders factored the cost of insecurity into every contract. Port reforms may simplify bureaucracy, but if extortion and physical risk remain, competitiveness cannot be achieved.

Even in our celebrated fintech sector, the absence of security shows. Nigeria’s innovators are rightly praised for building apps and platforms used across the continent. But every naira of growth is shadowed by another naira lost to SIM-swap fraud, phishing, and cybercrime. Without secure systems, investors hesitate and users retreat.

Energy and industry suffer the same fate. Oil theft in the Niger Delta bleeds billions from the treasury every year. Attacks on pipelines and power infrastructure keep industrial zones perpetually unstable. A country cannot claim competitiveness in manufacturing when the very energy that drives factories is perpetually under siege.

And at the heart of it all lies human capital. Insecurity displaces schools, closes clinics, and drives whole communities into despair. The loss is not only human, it is economic. Every uneducated child, every untreated patient, is a future productivity gap.

All these examples, agriculture, trade, digital finance, energy, human capital, are usually presented as development challenges. But they are more than that. They are competitiveness deficits. They explain why Nigerian goods are more expensive, Nigerian services less reliable, and Nigerian markets less attractive.

History reinforces this truth. Rome did not dominate Mediterranean commerce until it secured the seas. Britain’s industrial revolution was not just about steam and coal, it was sustained by the Royal Navy’s control of global trade routes. America’s competitiveness today is built not only on Silicon Valley and Wall Street but also on a vast security architecture that underwrites investor confidence. In each case, security was the non-negotiable platform that allowed other innovations, economic, technological, and institutional, to flourish.

What would it mean to build Nigeria’s competitiveness on security? It means recognizing that security itself is multi-dimensional. It begins with food security and rural stability, because a nation that cannot feed itself will forever be vulnerable. It extends to maritime security and trade flows, because without safe shipping lanes and efficient ports, AfCFTA remains a paper promise. It requires cybersecurity and secure financial systems, because a digital economy cannot grow in an environment of fraud and distrust. It demands energy security and the protection of pipelines, grids, and industrial clusters, because factories cannot run on insecurity. And above all, it means strategic autonomy, securing Nigeria’s sovereignty in an age of debt traps, climate shocks, and great-power competition. Building this foundation requires more than increased budgetary allocation; it demands integrated planning, where security metrics are key performance indicators in economic ministries, and economic outcomes are a core measure of success for security agencies. Only then will Nigeria escape the trap of parallel silos, where economics is planned in one room and security in another.

For policymakers, this requires a mental shift. Economic blueprints must integrate security not as an external cost but as a measure of competitiveness. A national plan that projects GDP growth without accounting for security risks is not a strategy, it is an illusion.

For the private sector, it means abandoning the idea that security is simply government’s problem. This is not a call for vigilantism, but for sophisticated corporate risk management that views security expenditure not as a tax, but as a strategic investment in supply chain resilience and market confidence. A company that invests in secure logistics, cyber safeguards, and protected infrastructure is not wasting money, it is buying competitiveness. The real cost is not the money spent on security. The real cost is the market share lost when insecurity drives away customers and investors.

And for institutions like NESG, it means widening the agenda. Nigeria’s most respected platform for economic dialogue has achieved much by advancing reform ideas. But it must also confront the blind spot. There can be no sustained competitiveness without security. This is why NESG must consider creating a Security and Statecraft Commission, an institutional platform where business and government leaders can face the hard questions of sovereignty, stability, and competitiveness together.

The implications reach beyond Nigeria. In a world where capital is mobile, investors have options. They will not choose the nation with the cheapest labor or the biggest market if insecurity undermines returns. They will choose the nation where security guarantees competitiveness. This is why the debate is not abstract. It is urgent, strategic, and existential.

Nigeria has a choice. It can continue recycling familiar prescriptions in isolation, hoping that competitiveness will somehow emerge while insecurity festers. Or it can acknowledge the deeper truth: security is not a cost to development; it is the root of competitiveness.

Competitiveness is the fruit. Security is the root. If we ignore this nexus, we will remain fragile. If we embrace it, we will chart a path to greatness.

Rear Admiral Ati-John (rtd) writes from Lagos