The Ministry With the Microphone: Big Speeches, Who Gets the Funding?

Nollywood doesn’t need promises. It needs pathways!!

FMACTCE

For years, Nigeria’s creative economy has been introduced with dazzling numbers, bold speeches, and promises of transformation. Nollywood is always the poster child, the “second-largest film industry in the world,” contributing jobs, cultural influence, and global recognition. But beneath that glitter is a truth industry insiders whisper daily: money is being announced, but money is not being felt. In 2024 and 2025, more creative funds were launched, unveiled, or promised than at any era in Nigeria’s history. Yet on the ground, filmmakers still scrape money from family, crowdfunding pages, and loan apps to shoot films. When announcements trend, Nollywood celebrates. When reality sets in, it quietly mourns because each new promise feels like a fresh coat of paint on a house with a leaking roof.

The relationship between Nigeria’s creative economy and Nollywood is unbalanced, frustrating, and, honestly, exhausting. Every year, we hear of fresh billions set aside for the creative industry.” But ask a random filmmaker in Surulere, Asaba, Enugu, Abeokuta, or Kaduna if they’ve ever accessed one naira of this money, the answer is almost always the same: “I don’t know anyone who has gotten it.” And that is the painful core of the issue. These funds circulate among a familiar circle: the elite producers, the politically connected, the already-famous, and people who have the minister’s direct phone number. The grassroots filmmakers, the ones who build Nollywood from sweat and stubborn passion, are left with congratulatory press releases and nothing more.

Hannatu Musawa

The Ministry of Creative Economy was supposed to be Nollywood’s lifeline. Instead, it has become Nollywood’s loudspeaker, always speaking, rarely delivering. Since the minister took office, Honourable has attended every major film event, festival, gala, and conference. Her speeches are always fiery, promising grants, partnerships, financing windows, distribution reforms, youth empowerment, and a transformed creative economy. But go back to those events months later and ask the attendees: “Has anything changed?” The uncomfortable answer is no. The ministry has not built any accessible, transparent pipeline for funding filmmakers who are not part of a select inner circle. It remains easier to get a visa to Canada than to get verified information on how to apply for these creative grants. No website dashboard. No transparent lists of beneficiaries. No published criteria. No public updates. Nothing but noise.

It raises uncomfortable questions: Who exactly receives these funds? How were they chosen? Where are the application portals? What oversight exists? Why does everything feel like a closed-door arrangement? Why is a ministry designed to democratize opportunity becoming a gatekeeping structure? In a creative economy that claims to champion innovation, it is ironic and heartbreaking that access is still determined by who you know, not what you create. Filmmakers who don’t have “connections” are essentially invisible, no matter how brilliant their scripts or how groundbreaking their ideas. And the saddest part is that young creators who once believed government support was finally coming are slowly returning to the old Nollywood survival mode: “Forget government. Hustle your own.”

What has the ministry actually improved in Nollywood in the last two years? Let’s be brutally honest, very little that filmmakers can feel. Cinemas are still struggling. Distribution networks outside major cities are still weak. Piracy is still thriving because enforcement remains a joke. Writers are still underpaid. Indie producers are still taking loans at 18–30% interest just to finish films that may never break even. Crew members are still working without insurance, safety structures, or welfare protections. And while Nigeria records billions in creative economy potential, the people who make the films, the gaffers, makeup artists, editors, location managers, sound recordists, still return home with exhaustion and inconsistent pay. Meanwhile, the ministry continues to enjoy visibility, applause, and attention without offering measurable change.

Nollywood does not need another speech. It does not need another press conference or another beautifully worded policy document. It does not need more hashtags or summit stages. What it needs is access. Transparency. Funding that actually reaches the trenches. A public database of beneficiaries. A digital portal with clear criteria. Regional funding hubs outside Lagos and Abuja. Actual data-backed investment that lifts the bottom, not just polishes the top. Nollywood needs a ministry that serves the industry, not one that uses the industry as a backdrop for political relevance.