Power is often imagined as something to be possessed, protected and passed down. Those who have it guard it carefully; those who do not have it struggle to gain access. In many societies, political and institutional power has become a fortress—accessible to a few, intimidating to many, and rarely designed around the needs of those outside its walls.
But what if power is not diminished when it is shared? What if, instead, sharing power is precisely what makes societies stronger?
This is the idea behind inclusive power: a model of leadership and governance in which people are not merely recipients of decisions but active participants in shaping them. It means giving women, young people, persons with disabilities, minorities and other often-marginalised groups meaningful opportunities to influence decisions that affect their lives.
Inclusive power is not about filling seats to create the appearance of representation. It is about ensuring that those seats have a voice—and that the voice can influence outcomes.
For nations struggling with inequality, distrust and institutional weakness, this may be the missing ingredient.
The consequences of exclusion are not difficult to see. When decisions are concentrated in the hands of a small elite, public resources can become disconnected from public needs. Policies are conceived from the top and imposed from above, while communities that must live with their consequences are rarely consulted.
The result is predictable: mistrust, frustration, inequality and, eventually, instability.
History repeatedly demonstrates the danger. Colonial rule across Africa was built largely around control and extraction rather than partnership. Local power structures were frequently co-opted to serve colonial interests. Independence changed the flag, but in many countries, the concentration of power did not disappear.
Nigeria has experienced the consequences in different forms—from political instability and military coups to ethnic tensions, resource conflicts and deep inequalities in access to opportunity.
The Niger Delta provides a particularly powerful illustration. For decades, communities living in areas responsible for much of Nigeria’s oil wealth complained of environmental degradation, poverty and exclusion from the benefits generated by their natural resources. The resulting grievances contributed to militancy that disrupted oil production and imposed enormous economic costs.
The lesson is clear: people who feel excluded from the benefits of a system eventually question their commitment to that system.
But exclusion is not only a governmental problem. It can begin much closer to home.
In many traditional African settings, including Nigeria, family structures historically placed significant authority in the hands of men. Sons were often prioritised for education, inheritance and family leadership, while daughters were sometimes regarded as belonging primarily to another household after marriage.
Such practices did more than disadvantage individual women and girls. They established an early understanding of power as something that belongs to one group and is exercised over another.
That mindset can follow people from the home into the workplace, public institutions and political life.
My own experience in Nigeria’s civil service taught me a different lesson.
In 1995, relatively early in my career, I was appointed to head the Aba Zone of the then Imo State Agricultural Development Project. I was younger than several members of my team, many of whom had two decades or more of experience. Understandably, there was resistance to my appointment.
I could have responded by asserting my authority. Instead, I chose collaboration.
I acknowledged the experience of my senior colleagues and deliberately sought their knowledge. Although I was the administrative head, I placed myself under their mentorship in areas where their experience was greater than mine. I did not see their expertise as a threat to my authority; I saw it as an asset to our collective success.
The result was remarkable. The Aba Zone consistently performed strongly during annual scientific visits, demonstrating effective technology transfer to farmers and showcasing Abia State’s achievements.
That experience reinforced a principle that has remained central to my understanding of leadership: leadership is not about knowing everything or controlling everyone. It is about coordinating people, recognising talent and creating the conditions in which people can contribute their best.
I encountered another powerful lesson years later while serving in the Ministry of Women Affairs and Youth Development as a Permanent Secretary.
Nkechi Colewell, a British missionary who had devoted much of her life to supporting people living with leprosy at Itumbauzo Lepers Colony, Abia State, was now on a wheelchair for partial paralysis. After previous budget presentations failed, she insisted on attending the budget session herself.
She came.
During the session, she reminded the committee that disability is not someone else’s problem. At some point in life, any of us may become dependent on others.
Her physical presence transformed an abstract budget item into a human reality. The committee listened.
That moment demonstrated something that statistics often cannot: representation humanises policy.
When people directly affected by decisions are present at the table, policymakers are more likely to understand the consequences of their choices. Inclusion turns beneficiaries into participants and statistics into human beings.
Around the world, similar lessons are emerging. Rwanda’s high level of women’s representation in parliament demonstrates how deliberate inclusion can reshape institutions. Citizens’ assemblies in places such as Montrose, Colorado, have shown how ordinary people can contribute meaningfully to solving complex public problems when given structured opportunities to deliberate. Corporate institutions are also discovering that diverse teams and inclusive cultures can strengthen oversight, innovation and resilience.
The corporate world offers its own warnings. The collapse of Enron demonstrated the danger of insular decision-making and weak oversight. When institutions become echo chambers, uncomfortable questions go unasked and ethical warnings can be ignored.
Inclusive power therefore requires more than representation. It requires a change in mindset.
Leaders must move from control to collaboration, from ego to empathy, and from scarcity to abundance. They must stop viewing another person’s influence as a reduction of their own. Power is not a pie that becomes smaller when shared. In fact, properly shared power multiplies.
Inclusive governance creates stronger institutions because people develop ownership of decisions. It builds trust because citizens can see and influence how choices are made. It strengthens resilience because diverse communities bring different experiences, knowledge and solutions to national problems.
For Nigeria, this is particularly urgent. A nation cannot build sustainable prosperity while large sections of its population remain spectators in decisions that determine their future. Women, young people, persons with disabilities, rural communities and other underrepresented groups must not merely be consulted after decisions have been made. They must be part of the process from the beginning.
The central point in governance is the people.
That principle should guide everything from budgeting and policymaking to leadership appointments and institutional reform.
Inclusive power does not promise a world without disagreement. Rather, it provides a healthier way of managing disagreement—through dialogue instead of domination, participation instead of exclusion, and collaboration instead of control.
The nations that will thrive in the decades ahead will not necessarily be those with the most resources or the loudest leaders. They will be those capable of mobilising the intelligence, creativity and energy of all their people.
The future, therefore, demands a new understanding of power. Not power over people, but power with people. Not leadership that closes the door, but leadership that opens it wider.
And not nations built by a privileged few, but nations strong enough to ensure that everyone has a stake in their future.
Inclusive power is not simply an ethical choice. It is a practical strategy for building equitable, peaceful and resilient nations.
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