Nigeria stands today at the edge of a demographic cliff, staring into a future shaped by longer life expectancy, shrinking institutional memory, and a workforce bleeding expertise at the exact moment the nation needs its sharpest minds. The argument for raising the retirement age to 75 is no longer a whisper from policy circles; it is a loud knock on the national conscience, a call to rethink longevity in a country where experience is treated like old wine poured away before its aroma is complete. As the late Lee Kuan Yew once warned, “The moment you stop learning, you start dying.” Nigeria cannot afford the premature intellectual death of its most seasoned professionals.
The data speaks with the bluntness of truth. The World Health Organization notes that Africans now live longer than at any point in modern history, with life expectancy rising steadily across the continent . In Nigeria, many retirees remain physically energetic, intellectually capable, and professionally relevant long after age 60. Yet the system discards them at the height of their wisdom, sending judges, professors, medical experts, and top administrators away when their global peers are just entering their prime. As former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan once remarked, “Knowledge is power. Information is liberating.” Nigeria’s retirement laws continue to extinguish both.
This is not merely a human-resource question; it is a national-security and economic survival issue. Vital institutions like hospitals, universities, research agencies, aviation, judiciary—bleed experience every year like a pot leaking from its strongest side. Younger professionals are willing, vibrant, and essential, but every great nation blends youthfire with oldwisdom. Japan, the United States, and the United Kingdom all elevate seniors into advisory and active roles well beyond 70 because institutions, like aircraft, need not just speed but stability. Nigeria chooses speed alone, and crashes often.
Raising the retirement age to 75 – 80 would be Nigeria’s boldest attempt to stitch its torn labour fabric. It would retain scarce professionals whose replacements are not yet ready. It would safeguard institutional memory the invisible engine of governance that no textbook can teach. It would expand the tax base, reduce pension pressure, and allow the nation to benefit from decades of investment in human capital. Overall, it will help reduce corruption as age reduction is a norm in the civil and public service. Imagine a 50 years old man claiming 30 years in order to remain active in service.
As Nelson Mandela reminded the world, “A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens, but its lowest.” Forcing out capable elders hurts the very society that needs their mentorship the most.
Opponents argue that extending retirement blocks opportunities for young people. But global labour studies show that countries with extended retirement ages do not diminish youth employment; instead, they strengthen mentorship pipelines, deepen skill transfer, and create stronger sectors that absorb more young workers over time. The master does not compete with the apprentice; he elevates him. Nigeria’s real youth-employment crisis springs not from older workers but from corruption, mismanagement, and weak economic expansion.
The real danger lies in a nation repeatedly cutting down the iroko tree because it wants its saplings to grow faster. No forest survives that logic. Nigeria’s most experienced judges are retiring when justice is most fragile. Its most brilliant professors leave when research is most urgent. Its most tested doctors exit when healthcare is battling its deepest crisis. Extending retirement to 75 is not about sentiment; it is a structural necessity. I mean a way to align national capacity with national need.
If Nigeria must rise, it must embrace the wisdom of its elders while igniting the creativity of its youth. This is the two-winged bird that truly flies. Increasing the retirement age to 75 is not a radical proposition; it is an overdue reform shaped by global realities, domestic necessity, and the simple truth that longevity should not be a burden but a national asset. A country that buries its wisdom early digs its own grave slowly. Now is the time to rethink longevity and rewrite the future.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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