By Rekpene Bassey
It is most disheartening to note here that few institutions in Nigeria have inspired as much public disappointment in recent years as the National Pension Commission (PenCom). What was envisioned as a bulwark against poverty in old age has, for many, become a source of indignity and despair.
Over the past several months, a growing chorus of discontent has risen, particularly from mid-level retired police officers, who now find themselves betrayed by a pension system they spent decades contributing to, only to be rewarded with delay, neglect, and, for some, a quiet death in penury.
The protests, both on the streets and in digital forums, have become increasingly vocal, spotlighting what many perceive as systemic rot within the Contributory Pension Scheme (CPS). Retired officers narrate harrowing tales of battling for their benefits for months or years, only to receive paltry sums that barely sustain them.
In a country where inflation has hovered around 28.9% as of July 2025, the erosion of the naira’s purchasing power has further diminished these already insufficient pensions. For many former officers, this is more than a matter of finance; it is a question of dignity.
At the heart of this crisis lies the failure of the CPS to fulfil its promise. Instituted initially by the Pension Reform Act of 2004 during President Olusegun Obasanjo’s administration, the CPS was heralded as a revolutionary shift from the moribund Defined Benefits Scheme (DBS) to a more sustainable, contributory model.
Yet, two decades later, the scheme appears to have faltered under the weight of poor returns on investment, opaque administration, and a growing sense of institutional betrayal.
For a retired inspector or assistant superintendent of police, a monthly pension of ₦30,000 to ₦70,000, often delayed, is not only demeaning but economically debilitating.
According to the National Bureau of Statistics, the average monthly household expenditure in urban Nigeria exceeds ₦150,000, a figure far above what most pensioners can dream of. This discrepancy amounts not merely to a policy failure but to a philosophical affront. It calls to mind Aristotle’s notion of dikaiosyne – justice or fairness. When society fails to reciprocate the sacrifice of its custodians of law and order, justice is not merely delayed; it is denied.
Another central grievance lies in the erosion of retirees’ Retirement Savings Accounts (RSA). With dwindling investment returns and rising inflation, the purchasing power of their lifetime contributions has been sharply diminished.
This contravenes Section 173(1-2) of the Nigerian Constitution (as amended), which unambiguously states that “subject to the provisions of this constitution, the right of a person in the public service of the Federation to receive pension or gratuity shall be regulated by law—
Any benefit to which a person is entitled by or under such law as is referred to in subsection (i) of this section shall not be withheld or altered to his disadvantage except to such extent as is permissible under any law, including the Code of Conduct.”If a constitutional safeguard can be so easily eroded by policy mismanagement, what hope remains for accountability?
The sense of injustice is compounded by a perceived double standard in the application of the pension regime. While military and intelligence personnel are exempted from the CPS and continue to enjoy the older DBS with gratuities and more predictable payouts, police officers, arguably just as exposed to existential risk, are subjected to a flawed system.
If we accept Cicero’s maxim that “salus populi suprema lex esto” – the welfare of the people is the supreme law – then it follows that the state has failed in its sacred obligation to ensure the security of its citizens, including its retired protectors.
Equally galling to many pensioners is the sharp contrast between their meagre benefits and the reportedly extravagant salaries of PenCom officials. While some retired officers struggle to afford blood pressure medication, PenCom executives reportedly earn upwards of ₦1 million monthly, complete with lavish allowances.
This disparity fuels a perception of an elite bureaucracy divorced from the realities of the masses. It evokes Plato’s warning in The Republic: when rulers pursue personal enrichment over justice, the city-state begins to decay from within.
Moreover, the backlog of unpaid gratuities to retired officers has become a source of widespread bitterness. Under the CPS, gratuities were effectively eliminated, with retirees expected to draw monthly pensions from their contributions.
Yet, without a buffer, many retirees are left financially stranded in the immediate aftermath of retirement. For individuals who served loyally for over 30 years, this institutional neglect feels like betrayal; one that compounds their physical and psychological vulnerability.
It must be acknowledged that the challenges facing PenCom are not entirely of its own making. The Nigerian economic environment has been fraught with volatility. Fluctuating oil revenues, rising debt servicing obligations, now consuming over 95% of government revenue, according to the Debt Management Office, and spiralling inflation have created structural pressures that strain pension fund investments. But even so, the opacity and inertia within the institution raise serious ethical and administrative concerns.
Nigeria’s total pension assets stood at approximately ₦19.8 trillion as of June 2025, managed by various Pension Fund Administrators (PFAs). Yet, despite this vast pool of funds, accessibility remains a nightmare for many.
Bureaucracy, inadequate verification protocols, and poor customer service often mar the process. The situation demands not just reform but a recalibration of the ethical foundation of public service: that those who serve the state must be cared for by it.
The call for a comprehensive forensic audit of PenCom is thus both urgent and necessary. Auditing the institution’s operations, fund allocations, investment strategies, and administrative practices is not just an exercise in compliance; it is a moral imperative. The public deserves to know whether the pain suffered by its pensioners is the result of negligence, incompetence, or something more sinister.
Following such an audit, serious consideration should be given to either restructuring PenCom or replacing it with a more responsive, decentralised model. This may include establishing sector-specific pension schemes that account for the unique nature of service, be it military, police, civil, or educational. International best practices, from Chile’s now-revised pension system to Ghana’s tiered structure, offer valuable lessons in ensuring inclusivity, flexibility, and responsiveness.
Furthermore, transparency must be enshrined at the heart of the system. Monthly publication of pension disbursements, fund performance reports, and executive remunerations would go a long way toward restoring public trust. In an era where digital technology can democratize access to information, secrecy and opacity are not only outdated, they are inexcusable.
As Seneca once observed, “A kingdom founded on injustice never lasts.” The pension system, though not a kingdom, must abide by the principles of equity and justice to survive and thrive. Retired officers, once society’s protectors, must not become its forgotten.
On this matter, Nigeria stands at a crossroads. It can continue to ignore the groans of its elderly defenders or seize this moment to reaffirm the social contract. The failure of PenCom is not merely a bureaucratic lapse; it is a profound crisis, a test of our collective conscience.
The time to act is now. The time to probe PenCom has come. For in the words of Marcus Aurelius, “What injures the hive, injures the bee.” If we allow institutional rot to fester within our pension system, we imperil not just our retirees, but the future of trust in the Nigerian state.
*Rekpene Bassey is the President of the African Council on Narcotics (ACON) and also a security and drug prevention expert.
