Nollywood belongs to all of us. No single individual or group of select people can claim ownership of it, no matter the false imagery they project. As long as you are a Nigerian participating in the film industry, you are Nollywood.
Agreed? Cool.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s get to it. It’s safe to assume we all know the issues plaguing our industry, but I want to point out some of the problems: We don’t have a united front. We also refuse to be openly vocal. We complain in private, and whisper among ourselves, but never challenge these issues where it matters.
Opportunities are hoarded by a few who treat access like it is some kind of secret society. Someone secures a streaming deal and suddenly goes silent when colleagues ask for insight. A distributor can hand you a contract and say, “This is what the streamer offered,” and you have no way to verify it. You dare not even ask questions, because apparently, they are doing you a favour by taking your film to the platform, right?
And you, already running into debt or just desperate and lacking true self-worth, but armed with a bag of ego you hope to use to pressure your peers, will just accept it. Then your clueless colleagues, motivated by your perceived success, will run behind you and make the same arrangements just to catch up or outdo you, and the cycle spreads faster than COVID.
Let me be clear. Our distributors are not the enemies here. They are running a business, and they are very good at it. The point is, if we do not stand together, and I am not talking about the official associations, we will always be at the mercy of whatever comes our way in this industry.
For example, when the government rolls out a funding program for the industry, before it ever reaches the average filmmaker, a privileged few have already cashed out and set up people in their own inner circles. We see this. We murmur as usual. But nobody wants to speak publicly.
Someone’s movie is being spread on Telegram. We do not raise hell. An actor cheats a producer simply because they are more popular. The producer talks about it, but no one stands with them. Instead, others advise them to let it go. Someone gets blacklisted for asking for their rights, and all we do is gossip about it.
A filmmaker complains that tax deductions from their theatrical release were not accounted for in the tax portal, and we all go, “Same thing happened to me,” then move on. Someone complains about unfair cinema scheduling, and we shrug it off with “na today?”
A crew member is owed for months, and no other crew will speak up because they are afraid it might ruin future opportunities. A director disrespects their team, and we excuse it. Contracts are breached, payments are shady, and silence becomes the norm.
We have normalised the rot and convinced ourselves that keeping our heads down will protect us. But progress will not come from playing it safe. It will come from telling the truth and naming the problems for what they are. The more we let these things slide, the deeper the dysfunction grows.
The few who try to speak up are labelled pessimists, negative, or just plain troublesome. But any sane person knows evil thrives in silence. Speak up, and you might just inspire someone of what’s possible. After all, problems are potential opportunities for transformative ideas. One step toward progress may feel small, but it builds up eventually, and it benefits us all.
Speaking up is part of the solution, and some of us can’t pretend all is well. We can’t be silenced, either. Dem no reach!
Anyone is welcome to develop solutions and ideas as long as they’re catered to the general good of the industry and are not tied to some personal ambition.
I know for a fact that if we start talking as a collective, the positive changes we so desperately long for in Nollywood can happen within our lifetime. It is time to fix what is broken.
Nollywood is broken.
And the solution must come when we start talking about it.
