Dangote versus NUPENG

By Rekpene Bassey

Nigeria’s political landscape was defined by the iron grip of military rulers who brooked no opposition in the 1980s and 1990s.

When General Sani Abacha’s regime clamped down, NUPENG strikes brought the economy to its knees, cutting off fuel supplies and rallying civil society against dictatorship. To many Nigerians, the union symbolised resistance, courage, and the hope of democracy.

Fast-forward to 2025, and that image appears tarnished. NUPENG, once the vanguard of freedom, now finds itself at the centre of a bitter confrontation with Africa’s wealthiest man, Aliko Dangote. The battle is not about democracy or human rights; it is about control.

Specifically, over who gets to organise and represent the thousands of drivers Dangote plans to deploy for his $19 billion refinery’s fuel distribution network.

The union’s threats to shut down the country over this dispute rekindled old fears of fuel scarcity, skyrocketing pump prices, and economic paralysis.

At the heart of the standoff is Dangote’s plan to roll out 4,000 new Compressed Natural Gas (CNG) trucks, designed to distribute refined products directly and efficiently.

For Dangote, the strategy aligns with Nigeria’s broader energy transition agenda, which aims to reduce dependence on imported petroleum products and shift gradually toward cleaner fuel options.

For NUPENG, however, this development bypasses its traditional chokehold on the fuel supply chain, threatening both its influence and revenue streams.

NUPENG’s demand is straightforward: unionisation rights for the new drivers. Yet the implications are anything but simple. In a nation where unions still command some political leverage, the dispute reflects a broader struggle between entrenched labour institutions and emerging models of corporate efficiency. While NUPENG insists it is defending workers’ rights, critics argue it is clinging to outdated privileges that serve the union more than the public.

This is not the first time Nigerian unions have flexed their muscles over fuel. In 2012, nationwide strikes led by NUPENG and the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) over the removal of fuel subsidies crippled the economy for nearly two weeks. The protests cost the country an estimated $1.3 billion, according to World Bank data, while ordinary citizens bore the brunt of food shortages, transportation hikes, and inflation. The familiar pattern is once again unfolding: a standoff at the elite level that threatens to push millions of ordinary Nigerians further into hardship.

Nigeria’s reliance on fuel is profound. The Nigerian National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reports that over 60 per cent of household expenditure is tied to energy and transport. When fuel prices spike, so do the costs of food, housing, and virtually every other necessity.

In January 2024, following the removal of subsidies, inflation reached 29.9 per cent, its highest level in three decades, primarily driven by increases in transportation and fuel costs. Against this backdrop, NUPENG’s threat to “shut down” operations has sparked public anxiety that a fragile economy could tip further into crisis.

The irony is stark. The same union that once put its weight behind democracy now risks being viewed as a defender of entrenched privilege. NUPENG’s transformation from a freedom-fighting movement into a gatekeeper of economic interests underscores how power, once gained, rarely surrenders itself willingly. The narratives of the 1990s are colliding with the realities of 2025: Nigerians want stability, lower fuel costs, and reliable energy supplies, not a replay of old battles over control.

For Dangote, the stakes are equally high. His refinery, touted as Africa’s largest, was commissioned in 2023 with the promise of ending Nigeria’s costly dependence on imported refined products. With a capacity of 650,000 barrels per day, it has the potential to meet both domestic demand and export surplus. Any disruption to its operations, analysts warn, could dampen investor confidence and delay the refinery’s promise of easing Nigeria’s foreign exchange crisis.

Some economists argue that NUPENG’s push is less about labour rights than survival. As Nigeria’s downstream oil sector undergoes restructuring, traditional unions risk losing their relevance.

“What you’re seeing is an institution fighting to protect its turf,” says Lagos-based energy analyst Chika Okoro. “But the question is whether this protection aligns with the public interest or just with NUPENG’s internal survival.”

The Nigerian government, caught in the middle, faces a delicate balancing act. On one hand, it cannot afford fuel disruptions in a country where even minor shortages quickly spiral into nationwide crises.

On the other hand, it cannot be seen as stifling labour rights, especially in a democracy where unions remain politically influential. President Bola Tinubu’s administration has so far urged dialogue but has refrained from taking a firm stance, perhaps wary of inflaming either side.

The broader Nigerian labour movement is also watching closely. If NUPENG succeeds in forcing Dangote’s hand, it could embolden other unions to demand similar leverage in sectors undergoing reform. If it fails, it may signal a decline in the unions’ traditional dominance over the economy. In either case, the outcome could reshape Nigeria’s industrial relations sphere for decades.

Ordinary Nigerians remain sceptical. Memories of prolonged strikes and fuel queues run deep. “They say they fight for the people, but the people are the ones who suffer,” said Abuja taxi driver who prefers anonymity, recalling the 2012 protests. For individuals like him, what matters is whether fuel will be available and affordable, not who controls the distribution trucks.

Statistically, Nigeria’s labour strikes have exacted a steep toll. The International Labour Organisation (ILO) notes that between 1990 and 2010, Nigeria lost an estimated 20 million person-days to strikes, many of which were linked to NUPENG. In a nation already grappling with 33 per cent unemployment and 44 per cent youth unemployment as of 2024, further disruptions could worsen joblessness and poverty.

There is also a generational shift at play. Younger Nigerians, who make up more than 60 per cent of the population, are less enamoured with union nostalgia. Having grown up in a digital economy, they often view unions as outdated relics that block innovation and efficiency.

Social media debates over the NUPENG-Dangote clash reflect this generational divide: older voices recall NUPENG’s heroic past, while younger ones accuse it of holding the country hostage.

If Dangote manages to bypass NUPENG and run his fleet without union interference, it would mark a watershed moment in Nigeria’s labour history. It could demonstrate that large-scale operations can thrive without being tethered to union dominance. But it would also raise complex questions about how to safeguard workers’ rights in a corporate-dominated future.

Conversely, if NUPENG forces Dangote to concede, it will reaffirm the union’s relevance but risk reinforcing perceptions of self-interest at the expense of the broader economy.

Either way, the ripple effects will extend beyond one refinery or one billionaire; they will shape Nigeria’s trajectory in balancing labour power with economic reform.

In the circumstances, the paradox of NUPENG looms large. Once a hero of democracy, it now risks being cast as an obstacle to progress. The test is not just whether the union can secure concessions from Dangote, but whether it can redefine itself in a way that resonates with a new generation of Nigerians who demand both justice and efficiency.

What remains clear is that history has a long memory. The same organisation that once fought tyranny must now answer a different question: is it defending the people, or simply defending its privilege?