Alternative to drug trafficking: Tinubu Trump’s card, By Emmanuel Onwubiko

“Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide.”
– Napoleon Bonaparte

“When making a decision of minor importance, I have always found it advantageous to consider all the pros and cons.”
– Sigmund Freud

“Sometimes you make the right decision, sometimes you make the decision right.”
– Phil McGraw”

This is not mere rhetoric. It is bold action—Nigeria’s first truly innovative alternative-to-trafficking strategy. When the Minister of Agriculture and Food Security, Abubakar Kyari, sat across from the Chairman and Chief Executive of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency, Brigadier General Mohamed Buba Marwa (rtd), in Abuja few days ago, few would have imagined that the outcome of their conversation would mark a turning point in Nigeria’s decades-long fight against drug trafficking. The handshake between the two men was not simply the polite closure of a meeting; it was the sealing of an ambitious pact that could redefine the country’s approach to drug control, security, and rural development. For the first time in Nigeria’s history, a government has chosen to confront drug trafficking not only through the lens of criminal justice but also through the avenue of livelihood alternatives and economic transformation. This agreement is no ordinary deal; it is President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s trump card against an industry that has trapped millions in the cycle of poverty, crime, and addiction.

For decades, Nigeria’s response to drug trafficking has largely followed a familiar pattern: clampdowns, seizures, arrests, and long prison terms. Yet the cannabis fields of Edo, Ondo, and other states continued to thrive in secret. Behind every hectare of Indian hemp stands a farmer who often sees no better alternative. For every young man arrested with wraps of cocaine or heroin, there is usually a deeper story of desperation, unemployment, and the absence of hope. Enforcement alone has been a stopgap, never the cure. What the NDLEA under Marwa has now proposed, and what the Ministry of Agriculture has endorsed, is to break that vicious cycle by offering genuine options to those who produce, traffic, and even abuse illicit substances. This initiative is not about turning a blind eye to crime; it is about recognizing that beneath the crime lies human vulnerability that can either be weaponized by drug cartels or redeemed by the state.

The statistics are alarming and make the urgency of this new approach undeniable. Of Nigeria’s 14.3 million drug users, about 10.6 million abuse cannabis, making it the most widely consumed psychoactive substance in the country. To simply outlaw cultivation without addressing its economic underpinnings is to play a game of whack-a-mole: fields eradicated in one area sprout in another. What the NDLEA calls “Alternative Development” is an attempt to stop playing that endless game. Instead of telling cannabis farmers to walk away empty-handed, the government is now offering them a chance to grow something else—something licit, sustainable, and profitable. One such option is Artemisia annua, the sweet wormwood used in malaria treatment, which global studies, including those of the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture, suggest could be worth vast sums if properly cultivated and processed in Nigeria. This is not just substitution; it is the reimagining of rural economies.

General Marwa was blunt in his reasoning. If cannabis farmers are to be persuaded, incentives must exist. Inputs such as tractors, seedlings, fertilisers, chemicals, and water systems must accompany the call to switch. Farmers who previously earned from a shadow economy must see tangible benefits in the legal one. It is here that the Ministry of Agriculture has pledged its commitment. Kyari promised that the federal government would support farmers who agree to switch crops and that those undergoing rehabilitation for drug addiction would be reintegrated into agricultural programs. Such an approach acknowledges the obvious but often neglected fact: without jobs and livelihoods, drug control efforts remain fragile. Throwing rehabilitated young men back into the same streets without opportunities is a recipe for relapse. Embedding them in agriculture offers dignity, income, and a community.

This new thinking is not Nigeria’s invention. Around the world, countries that have struggled with narcotics cultivation and trafficking have at different times attempted alternative development models. There are credible success stories. Thailand’s internationally recognised Doi Tung programme in the Golden Triangle paired law enforcement with long-term, community-owned economic transformation. Over three decades, opium cultivation in the project area was eliminated and household incomes multiplied many times over, while the region’s licit businesses—coffee, macadamia, craft enterprises, horticulture and tourism—made the model financially self-sustaining. The Mae Fah Luang Foundation reports that household incomes in the flagship area rose roughly twentyfold between the late 1980s and the mid-2010s, with the project turning fully self-sustaining by 2000; UN and academic case studies consistently cite Doi Tung as proof that patient, market-linked alternatives can dismantle local illicit crop economies rather than chase them around the hills.

Peru offers another instructive case. In San Martín—once a stronghold of coca—the so-called “Miracle of San Martín” strategy combined eradication, state presence, and robust market development for coffee, cacao, rice and palm oil. Independent analyses note that by 2008 the regional economy’s dependence on coca had collapsed from nearly half of total production value in the early 1990s to a fraction of a percent, with coca area reportedly dropping to a few hundred hectares. While critics caution that the model relied on specific local conditions and heavy coordination unlikely to be perfectly replicable everywhere, it demonstrates that when farmers can reliably sell legal crops through functioning value chains, the illicit economy’s grip can be prised open. UNODC summaries also track substantial declines in illicit cultivation in several Peruvian departments over multi-year periods when alternative development was coupled with real market access.

But there are also hard warnings. Colombia’s post-conflict National Illicit Crop Substitution Programme (PNIS) sought to pay and support coca growers to switch to legal livelihoods. Years of underfunding, bureaucratic delays, weak rural infrastructure and insecurity undermined farmer trust. UN monitoring shows coca cultivation reaching historic highs in the late 2010s and remaining elevated thereafter; on-the-ground reporting chronicles participants earning below minimum wage and drifting back to coca when promised assistance failed to materialise. The lesson is stark: announcing substitution is not the same as delivering it; without timely support, markets and roads, farmers will default to the crop that actually pays.

Afghanistan’s experience reveals another facet. Following the Taliban’s 2022 narcotics ban, UN analysis reported a precipitous—around 95 percent—drop in opium cultivation by 2023, and European agencies warned this could reshape heroin markets if sustained. Yet experts also cautioned that such suppression, if not paired with viable alternatives, can deepen rural poverty and trigger substitution into synthetic opioids along trafficking routes—hardly a victory over drug barons, merely a reshuffling of their portfolios. Subsequent assessments have noted partial rebounds and geographic shifts the following year, underlining how quickly bans without development can be circumvented. For policymakers, the take-home is that supply collapse by fiat does not by itself dismantle trafficking networks; it may even push them into more clandestine or more lethal commodities.

Myanmar underscores the same fragility from the opposite angle. Where the state’s reach is uneven and conflict persists, opium cultivation has surged, complicating any gains made elsewhere. UN surveys show increases in cultivation and output in recent years, especially where alternative livelihoods are thin and insecurity is high. A regional patchwork of enforcement without credible economic substitutes simply displaces illicit agriculture rather than shrinking it.

Mexico adds a market-driven twist. As fentanyl upended heroin demand in the United States, the price of raw opium gum in Mexico crashed after 2017–2018, making poppy far less profitable for smallholders. Field research documents communities abandoning poppy as cultivation no longer covered basic inputs. Analysts argue that in such windows, even modest legal-crop support can become competitive with illicit returns—yet rural poverty persists where subsidies and market access are inadequate. In short: price shocks can open a door, but without a real livelihood waiting on the other side, the door swings back.

What do these global examples say about actually reducing the number and power of drug trafficking barons? First, the only jurisdictions that sustainably weakened local criminal intermediation did more than swap seeds; they rewired rural economies and stitched farmers into dependable markets. In Thailand’s Doi Tung, eliminating poppy in the project area coincided with community firms capturing value along legal supply chains; this dulled the cartel incentive because there was no longer a captive base of illicit raw material to tax or procure. In Peru’s San Martín, shrinking coca’s share of the regional economy to near-irrelevance eroded the local financial oxygen sustaining mid-level traffickers. These are not instant, nationwide takedowns of top-tier kingpins, but they substantially reduce the feeder systems that barons exploit, which is precisely the layer Nigeria must target.

By contrast, Colombia shows that when promised support is late, thin or unsafe, local intermediaries regain their footing quickly. Farmers who cannot get produce to market over broken roads will sell coca paste to the broker who arrives on a motorcycle with cash. The effect is to re-empower the same networks alternative development seeks to displace. Afghanistan shows that if you sever supply with a ban while offering little in return, you may cut hectares fast but you do not kneecap trafficking capital; networks pivot to stockpiles, cross-border sourcing, or synthetics. Neither scenario reduces barons in the medium term; it temporarily rearranges their spreadsheets.

All of this maps neatly onto Nigeria’s opportunity and responsibility. What makes Nigeria’s current move unique, and why it can truly be called Tinubu’s trump card, is the integration of drug control with agriculture and job creation. It is not a single-agency campaign. It is a fusion of law enforcement, food security, rural development, and public health. The mere fact that the NDLEA and the Ministry of Agriculture will establish a technical committee to finalise modalities shows an understanding of the complexity involved. But for this to work, several factors must be carefully addressed. First, there must be dedicated funding insulated from bureaucratic delays and corruption; the cautionary evidence from Colombia is unforgiving on this point. Second, there must be value chain development; Thailand’s Doi Tung demonstrates that processing, branding and market access are non-negotiable if you want farmers to stop being captive suppliers to the underworld. Third, infrastructure in rural areas must be upgraded; Peru’s gains were strongest where roads, storage and buyers existed. Fourth, community ownership is key; top-down blueprints crumble unless local actors co-design and co-police the transition so that the “baron’s tax” has nothing left to skim.

The potential benefits are immense if this policy is pursued with seriousness. Nigeria could significantly reduce the pool of small-time cannabis farmers who feed into the networks of larger traffickers. Young people recovering from drug abuse could find meaningful reintegration into society. The nation’s pharmaceutical industry could find new raw material bases, and rural communities could experience a rebirth through increased incomes and reduced stigma. National security would be improved because drug cartels thrive where poverty and lawlessness reign. By attacking the economic roots, Nigeria would be undermining the financial oxygen of the drug barons. It is also an opportunity for Nigeria to position itself globally as a model for Africa. The United Nations has for years framed “alternative development” as most successful when judged not only by hectares removed but by human development indicators and long-term livelihood resilience; if Nigeria demonstrates that kind of success, it could attract technical and financial support, making it not just a local policy but a continental export.

Critics may argue that Nigeria is prone to grand pronouncements that rarely translate into reality. They are right to be skeptical. The archives of policy failures are filled with brilliant ideas that floundered at the altar of poor implementation, corruption, and lack of political will. That is why the personal commitment of President Tinubu is critical. He must own this initiative as his signature intervention, drive it with political capital, and demand accountability from all involved. It must not become another paper tiger or a donor-funded fad. It must be rooted in Nigeria’s national development priorities. If pursued with seriousness, it would redefine the Tinubu administration in the eyes of Nigerians and the world, proving that the country can think beyond brute force and explore smart, humane, and innovative solutions.

The truth is that Nigeria stands at a crossroads. The drug problem is not going away. The human cost is staggering, the economic losses are immense, and the security implications are frightening. Yet within this problem lies an opportunity for transformation. By aligning the fight against drugs with agriculture and rural development, Nigeria has stumbled upon a strategy that is both humane and strategic, practical and visionary. If the agreement between NDLEA and the Ministry of Agriculture is faithfully implemented, it could mark the beginning of the end of Nigeria’s dependence on raids and seizures as the sole weapons against drug trafficking. Instead, the nation would wield a new weapon: hope, opportunity, and alternative livelihoods.

That is why this must be seen not just as another policy pronouncement but as a trump card. For a nation weary of crime statistics and tired of hollow rhetoric, this represents a chance to strike at the heart of the drug economy while healing the wounds it has inflicted. It is experimental, yes. It is fraught with challenges, certainly. But it is worth every effort. Because in the end, a farmer who chooses to grow Artemisia instead of cannabis, or a youth who chooses to work on a farm instead of relapsing into drugs, is a victory for Nigeria. And when multiplied across thousands, it is nothing less than national renewal. Tinubu’s trump card is on the table. The only question now is whether Nigeria will play it with courage, integrity, and commitment.

EMMANUEL NNADOZIE ONWUBIKO is the head of the HUMAN RIGHTS WRITERS ASSOCIATION OF NIGERIA and a former NATIONAL COMMISSIONER OF THE NATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS COMMISSION OF NIGERIA.