By Clyde Collins
When the Federal Government of Nigeria announced the suspension of indigenous languages in schools, declaring English Language the only medium of instruction, the news landed like a quiet earthquake. It was framed as modernization, a step toward “global competitiveness.” But beneath that veneer of progress lies something deeply troubling: a cultural betrayal, a shameful retreat into neo-colonial thinking dressed up as reform, and a linguistic erasure.
Language is not just a tool for communication, it is identity, memory, and belonging. It carries the rhythm of our ancestors’ songs, the cadence of our prayers, and the logic of our worldviews. To strip children of their mother tongues is to sever them from the soil that roots their sense of self. To speak one’s mother tongue is to stand rooted in the soil of one’s ancestors. To lose it is to drift, unmoored and uncertain into someone else’s narrative. This policy does not only change how children learn. It tells them, implicitly and explicitly, that their native tongues are unworthy of preservation. That their grandparents’ voices are irrelevant. That their cultural identity is a liability in the modern world.
As Prete and Lange (2021) argue, indigenous languages are central to lifelong learning and a cultural continuity. Their exclusion from education systems not only leads to cognitive dissonance but also to cultural dislocation and identity loss.
This policy, then, is not simply about education, it is about power.
Neo-Colonialism in the Classroom
Kwame Nkrumah once warned that neo-colonialism represents the “last stage of imperialism” (Nkrumah, 1965). It is not imposed by soldiers or through physical occupation, but by ideas through economics, governance, and crucially, education. Nigeria’s English-only mandate exemplifies this. It suggests that progress can only be spoken in a foreign tongue, that the language of our colonizers is inherently superior to our own. This is not modernization, but neo-colonialism repackaged as progress. By privileging English, the Ministry of Education is reinforcing colonial hierarchies and alienating Nigerian children from their roots.
Rizvi, Lingard, and Lavia (2006) describe education in postcolonial societies as a contested terrain. Nigeria’s Ministry of Education, by choosing English-only instruction, has abandoned that terrain. It has chosen conformity over cultural resilience.
The Human Cost
The consequences of this policy will be felt most acutely by the children, especially those in rural and indigenous communities, where English is not the language of the home. These students will be forced to learn in a language they do not fully understand, widening the educational gap and reinforcing systemic inequality. But the damage goes deeper than test scores. It touches the psyche. As Malcolm (2021) notes in his work on Aboriginal education, the suppression of native languages leads to alienation, loss of self-worth, and intergenerational trauma. Nigeria risks repeating this tragic pattern.
A False Choice
The Federal government’s rationale that English is necessary for global relevance is a false dichotomy. Multilingualism is not a weakness. It is a strength. Countries like South Africa, India, and Switzerland have shown that it is possible to honour indigenous languages while also embracing global communication as the world continues to grow negatively and positively through globalisation. To frame English and indigenous languages as mutually exclusive is to misunderstand the very nature of language. Children can learn multiple languages. What they need is a system that values all of them equally. And when such a policy is accepted under the guise of modernization, it represents a failure of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (EDI). It undermines the very principles that global education systems claim to champion. Equity is denied when rural students are disadvantaged by linguistic exclusion. Diversity is erased when only one language is deemed “fit” for learning. Inclusion becomes impossible when millions of children are told their mother tongues have no place in the classroom.
Burkina Faso: A Model of Cultural Commitment
While Nigeria retreats, Burkina Faso is moving forward. In 2023, the country validated a three-year rolling action plan to promote national languages in education, aligned with its 2021–2030 linguistic policy. This plan, supported by the Ministry of National Education, aims to integrate indigenous languages into formal schooling, public administration, and civic life. Burkina Faso’s approach is rooted in the belief that language is central to development, inclusion, and national pride. UNICEF’s multilingual education study in the Sahel region highlights Burkina Faso’s efforts to build bi/plurilingual models that respect local identities while preparing students for global engagement.
This is what true nationalism looks like, a commitment to cultural dignity, not cultural denial.
Nigeria’s policy is not just a misstep; it is a moral failure. At its core, it reflects a misunderstanding of what nationalism truly means. True nationalism does not erase diversity; it celebrates it. It does not silence ancestral voices; it amplifies them. A nation that seeks to unify its people by erasing their linguistic and cultural differences is not building unity, it is enforcing conformity.
This is not the path to progress. It is the path to cultural amnesia.
As Baily (2024) warns, the rhetoric of decolonization can be dangerously hollow when it is not backed by genuine structural change. In her analysis of global education reform, she cautions that “decolonization must be more than symbolic, it must resist the slippery slope into nationalist erasure or global conformity.” Nigeria’s current language policy exemplifies this slope: it claims to modernize, yet it does so by abandoning the very voices that define its cultural landscape.
Moreover, Rizvi, Lingard, and Lavia (2006) argue that education in postcolonial societies is a contested terrain where identity and power are constantly negotiated. By choosing English as the sole medium of instruction, Nigeria’s Ministry of Education has ceded that terrain, opting for linguistic uniformity over cultural resilience. This decision not only undermines the rich tapestry of Nigeria’s ethnic heritage but also signals a retreat from the inclusive ideals that should define a postcolonial democracy. To reclaim the narrative, Nigeria must recognize that linguistic diversity is not a threat, but a strength. It must invest in multilingual education that honours indigenous languages alongside English, encouraging a generation of students who are both globally competent and culturally grounded.
This is not just about language. It is about dignity, identity, and the soul of a nation. Nigeria must rise to this challenge not with empty slogans, but with policies that reflect the true spirit of decolonization and the promise of inclusive nationalism.
To suspend indigenous languages in schools is to suspend the soul of the nation. It is to tell a child that their first words were a mistake. That their identity is expendable. That their future lies not in who they are, but in who they are told to become.
This is not acceptable. It is not modern. It is not Nigerian.
It is time to reverse course. To reclaim our voices. To teach our children that their language is not a burden but a birthright.
Author Bio: Clyde Collins is a Public Relations and Communication specialist based in Nigeria. He blends advocacy, research, and strategic communication to challenge dominant narratives and promote inclusive development, with a background in international relations and a passion for African governance and peacebuilding. He explores the intersections of language, identity, and postcolonial politics.
