The heated debate around the government’s proposed restriction on raw cashew nut exports, coming on the heels of a similar action on shea butter, has ignited strong emotions across the agricultural sector. One of the loudest voices has been that of the President of the National Cashew Association of Nigeria, Dr Ojo Ajanaku, who warned that such a move could lead to “premature deaths” among millions of farmers. While this rhetoric stirs sympathy, it misses the real crisis undermining the sector and distracts from the urgent conversation Nigeria must have about agriculture, industrialisation, and economic growth. Nigeria’s cashew industry is not collapsing because of the threat of export restrictions. It is collapsing because of decades of policy neglect, a chaotic market that prioritises foreign traders over local processors, and the country’s failure to implement an industrialisation agenda that turns agriculture into real wealth creation. The choice is not between pity and punishment, but between a short-term, sentiment-driven narrative and a long-term, structural economic strategy. If Nigeria is serious about jobs, prosperity, and competitiveness, the truth is clear: cashew farmers do not need pity. They need a policy that works. Today, the local cashew processing industry is operating under extraordinary strain. Nigeria has over 150,000 metric tonnes of installed processing capacity across several factories, yet utilisation hovers between 10 and 13 per cent. Nearly 90 per cent of this capacity goes to waste every year. At the heart of the problem is the inability of processors to secure steady supplies of raw nuts. International buyers, backed by stronger capital and cheaper credit, sweep up nuts at the farm gate, paying cash instantly. Local processors, forced to borrow at punishing double-digit interest rates from Nigerian banks, cannot compete. The result is predictable: nuts are exported raw, factories stay idle, and thousands of jobs never materialise. Factories that were built to employ over 10,000 workers directly now run skeletal operations, retaining only a fraction of their workforce. Most of these lost jobs would have gone to women and young people in rural communities. When Julius Berger, a multinational with technical expertise, financial muscle, and advanced facilities, was forced to abandon cashew processing, it was not just a business decision. It was a loud signal that Nigeria’s cashew economy is broken. If a large, resourceful company could not survive, what chance do smaller Nigerian processors or entrepreneurs have? The economics are stark. Nigeria exports raw cashew nuts at about $1,500 per tonne. If processed into kernels, the global market pays between $3,500 and $8,000 per tonne, depending on grade. By exporting raw, Nigeria forfeits between 100 and 400 per cent of potential revenue. This loss is not abstract; it translates into fewer schools, hospitals, rural roads, and jobs. Worse still, cashew processing is labour-intensive: shelling, peeling, grading, and packaging involve thousands of hands. Every tonne exported raw is not just lost income but lost opportunities for local employment, skills, and industrial learning. Each container shipped to Vietnam or India represents a container of jobs that could have been created in Nigeria. And the opportunity goes beyond kernels. Cashew is a multipurpose crop with more than 20 commercially viable by-products. Cashew Nut Shell Liquid is a critical input for paints, varnishes, resins, and advanced polymers. Cashew apples can be processed into juice, ethanol, animal feed, and even biofuels. Yet Nigeria has barely scratched the surface. By clinging to raw exports, we lose not only kernel revenue but also entire industries that could diversify the economy, reduce imports, and create new sectors. Tanzania imposed export restrictions in 2018 and again in 2022. Controversial at first, the results were transformative: farmers received guaranteed fair prices, processors had reliable access to raw materials, and national output more than doubled—from 232,681 metric tonnes in 2022 to over 500,000 tonnes in 2025, with a target of 700,000 in 2026. India’s dominance in cashew is no accident either. For decades, it imposed tariffs, subsidised processors, and offered technical support. Today, it is the world’s largest consumer and among the top exporters of kernels. Ironically, India now imports raw nuts from Africa, processes them, and sells finished products back to the world at a premium. Vietnam’s rise is even more striking. In the 1990s, it was a minor player. Through targeted government intervention, technology investment, and private sector collaboration, it became the world’s leading cashew exporter. It achieved this not by allowing uncontrolled raw exports, but by creating a structured system where both farmers and processors thrived. Against this backdrop, NCAN’s claim that farmers will “die prematurely” if exports are restricted rings hollow. Farmers are not condemned by local processing. On the contrary, they stand to gain from stable farm-gate prices, guaranteed demand, and reduced dependence on volatile international buyers. The real premature death we should fear is that of Nigeria’s factories, industrial jobs, technology transfer, and ultimately, a viable future for the country’s youth. What Nigeria needs is not a reckless blanket ban, but a phased, structured, and inclusive policy that balances the interests of farmers, processors, and traders while putting the national economy first. A workable framework could involve a quota system where about 200,000 metric tonnes of raw nuts are reserved annually for certified local processors. The balance could then be sold to international buyers through a regulated auction system. Proceeds from levies and permits should be reinvested in farmer cooperatives, extension services, research, and rural infrastructure. Smallholder farmers, who make up over 90 per cent of producers, must be empowered with improved seedlings, access to credit, and fair pricing benchmarks. Local processors must be supported not only with guaranteed supply but also with tax incentives, affordable loans, and critical infrastructure such as stable electricity and efficient logistics. Nigeria must also position its cashew brand globally. This requires enforcing strict quality standards, certification, packaging, and aggressive marketing. It also requires innovation. The future of cashew lies not only in kernels but also in by-products like CNSL, juices, and cashew-based foods that can compete on international shelves. NCAN itself must evolve from a defensive lobby into a development-focused institution, leading afforestation drives, building seed centres, creating farmer databases, and partnering with processors to push output beyond one million tonnes annually. Cashew is not just another crop. It is a test of Nigeria’s seriousness about industrialisation. For decades, the country has repeated the same mistake: exporting cocoa, cotton, groundnuts, and crude oil raw, while importing finished goods at a premium. This cycle keeps Nigerians poor while enriching processors abroad. The cashew debate is therefore much bigger than one commodity. It is about whether Nigeria will remain a raw-material supplier or finally take control by processing, manufacturing, and creating wealth at home. The emotional warnings about premature deaths for farmers miss the deeper truth. Farmers do not die because their crops are processed locally. They die economically when their produce is undervalued, when it is sold raw at low prices, and when their children are denied opportunities because industries that should have grown around their farms were exported abroad. The choice before Nigeria is stark: remain stuck in a low-value, job-exporting past, or embrace a high-value, job-creating future. The proposed policy on raw cashew exports, if carefully designed, is not a death sentence. It is a lifeline, a chance to rescue a critical agro-industrial sector, create thousands of jobs, and align with a broader vision of prosperity.