Can democracy work in Nigeria?, By Toyin Falola

….the collapse of democratic functions casts a pall on the feasibility of democracy in Nigeria. The lack of foundational structural elements for driving the sustainability of freedoms paints the country in a disingenuous light. Still, if we ask whether democracy can function in Nigeria, the appropriate response must be: What other alternative do we have? In considering this, we must pay due regard to the diversity of colours in the Nigerian fabric.

It is an honour to have been invited to give the 2024 Convocation Lecture at Kola Daisi University, Ibadan, on Thursday, 7 December. I chose to speak to the project of advancing Nigeria’s future. I do not address the two practical platforms: Can federalism work? Can democracy work? In this piece, I will anchor the Convocation Lecture on the larger issue of democracy.

We all remember this: the definition we learnt by rote in my early academic years is that democracy is the government of the people, by the people, and for the people. Beyond the musical flow of the memorisation process, the words may have meant quite little depending on the level of idealism nursed by the student at the time. But it was nevertheless easy to understand. It meant a leadership of the people expressed through power at the ballot; it symbolised the centrality of popular opinion in the decision-making process of the ruling class; and finally, it also meant that all the policies and actions taken by elected leaders must be for the sole purpose of advancing the betterment of the governed population. According to the United Nations Development Programme, around 3.7 billion people in the world, in 72 countries, will be able to fulfil the democratic requirement of electing their leaders in 2024.

The headline of the relevant article reads, “A ‘super year’ for elections.” For Nigerians who participated in the 2023 general elections, the moments must have indeed felt ‘super.’ After all, according to the Independent National Electoral Commission, seventy-six per cent of newly registered voters were young people, with the overall demographic distribution of the voters’ registers favouring youths who numbered approximately forty per cent, compared to thirty-six for the next age group of middle-aged people. Analysed by occupational distribution, registrants identifying as students dominated the 93.4 million register at 27.8 per cent, nearly double the number of farmers, the next occupational class, at 15 per cent. With these glossy statistics and a shiny new candidate, Peter Obi, what could go wrong? The newspapers had fired off streams of analyses, predictive data was aplenty, and you only needed to make your pick. Candidates had resorted to novel strategies to capture the fresh crop of voters who, from all indications, desired an agile, non-disabled president, open to listening to their grievances.

To silence the debates concerning his health and fitness, the Tinubu camp published a seconds-long workout video of the president-to-be on a stationary bicycle. Obi’s speeches were widely circulated in the media, running diagnoses of national problems and strategies for resolving them. Both candidates were notably the objects of entertaining memes across social media. Yet, myriad as the antics were, they could never equate to the aversion that defined the elections. At a turnout of just 25 million voters, the 2023 elections represented the lowest ever in Nigeria’s history. The implication was that far less than a third of eligible voters had shown up to partake in steering the country’s vessel. Even worse, the candidate who emerged as the winner did so by only a fractional margin at a three and two million difference between his votes and the second and third-place candidates.

Even more astounding was the fact that the year’s elections trumped the previous record low of 35 per cent documented in 2019, deepening uncertainty about the future of elections in Nigeria. Another connected issue is the fact that these polling units are not empty without cause. The prevalence of electoral violence, often sponsored by political interests, mar the desire of people to participate. There is equally a general sentiment that votes absolutely do not count. Rather than improve the confidence of people in the validity of their choices, the 2023 presidential elections may have turned out to be a sorely missed opportunity. Across social media, rumours of irregularities at polling units kept flying. It was complicated by the downtimes suffered by INEC’s much-vaunted Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS), which was supposedly designed to counteract the same issues that ended up besmearing trust in the elections.

The reports of interferences, delays in results uploads, and questionable electoral officers were far more potent than any mechanism the billion-dollar-equipped commission could have contrived to foster confidence in its work. Most recently, the local government elections in Rivers State have not been free of intrigues as stories of violence have been constant. In all, the wheel appears bent on reinventing itself. The definition of democracy no longer befits our country, as there is neither a government “by the people” if their will is doubtfully expressed through elections, nor is there one for the people if the ruling class fails to consider the yearnings of a beleaguered populace. There is most certainly no government of the people if only a tiny fraction, far less than a third, of the voting population reach decisions on behalf of a teeming crop of over two hundred million citizens. Consequently, if elections are no longer a reliable metric for assessing the quality of our democracy, what is in place in our country? Before answering this, it is pertinent to reflect on the state of governance in Nigeria before the current age.

First, colonial legacies and military leadership. Nigeria’s journey towards democracy has been a complex and often tumultuous one, deeply influenced by its colonial past and subsequent military rule. The country’s colonial experience under British rule laid the foundation for many of the challenges it faces today. The colonial administration established a system of indirect rule, which divided the country into various ethnic and religious groups, fostering divisions that continue to shape Nigerian politics. Additionally, the colonial legacy of economic exploitation and a lack of investment in education and infrastructure created significant development disparities between different regions. The system of indirect rule machinated by the British colonialists saw to it that the ethnic divides that already existed in undercurrents in the country were emphasised upon independence. While the construct was inevitably necessary for accommodating the differences of unique communities, the interference that played out as the British prepared to leave created a gulf that continues to be maintained till date.

The colonial administration also established a centralised and authoritarian system of government, which limited the development of democratic institutions and practices. This legacy has continued to influence Nigerian politics, with a tendency towards strong executive power and a weak legislature. Present-day Nigeria is now hardwired to favour concentrating the bulk of the power and instruments of control at the centre, right in the heart of Abuja.

Political elites have often exploited this to mobilise support and maintain power, spiralling into humongous losses of lives and property through time. Additionally, the structure devised by colonial masters for the exportation of value to their shores entrenched voids in the hearts and minds of the different regions. There were discrepancies in access to education and infrastructure, inherently fashioning class systems with provincial, rather than national, identities. These disparities have contributed to political instability and resentment among marginalised groups, making it difficult to build a cohesive and inclusive democracy.

The colonial administration also established a centralised and authoritarian system of government, which limited the development of democratic institutions and practices. This legacy has continued to influence Nigerian politics, with a tendency towards strong executive power and a weak legislature. Present-day Nigeria is now hardwired to favour concentrating the bulk of the power and instruments of control at the centre, right in the heart of Abuja. This situation has severely restricted trust in the ability of the current so-called federal system to actualise the needs of the various interest groups across the country. Naturally, crises such as the unrest in Nigeria’s most productive, yet environmentally degraded region, the Niger Delta; secessionist movements by the Indigenous People of Biafra in the South-East, Sunday Igboho’s Odu’a Republic agenda were all fuelled by the distance of the administration from the people it was created to represent. The simplest of affairs, such as the payment of staff salaries, are delegated to the caprices of the federal treasury, as seen during the years of struggles with workers’ compensation in states. Even today, the problem persists as governors whose states are sorely incapable of raising sufficient internally generated revenue independently treat the payment of the new minimum wage as a favour to their employees. Some are notoriously arrogant, as they have flaunted these monies in workers’ faces in past and present elections. Still, all these are evidence of our broken democratic structure.  

In addition, the colonial experience left a deep distrust of foreign influence and a desire for self-determination. Nationalist politicians have sometimes exploited this sentiment to mobilise support, but it has also hindered the development of international cooperation and the adoption of best practices from other democracies. An instance of this is the incendiary comment of the former Kaduna State governor, Mallam Nasir El-rufai, who threatened international organisations monitoring the 2019 elections with a promise of departure in body bags. This signposted an attitude of disaffection towards criticism unless convenient. Another example is the frequent rejection of unfavourable data published by international agencies on trends within Nigeria. While the politicians at fault may find these damaging to their character, the tendency to couch these sentiments in packages of nationalism is quite amusing. The truth, when it comes to the country’s relationship with the outside world, particularly the influential corridors of the West, is that the standard by which foreign actors are held is one of near-worship.

Compared to anything that might be produced in-country, the validation from Westerners has always mattered to Nigerian leaders, the sitting president being no exception. I do not contest the role of diplomacy in ensuring the growth of a country; many times, in fact, one must deal cleverly, even with partners that do not entirely inspire trust. What I object to, however, is the oscillating, two-faced courtship of former or potentially neocolonial powers for political ends. During the elections, the ability of candidates to win hearts at Chatham House seemed like a strategy for bumping up individual profiles. It would definitely have mattered more to the average Nigerian if the same energy was committed to holding productive and interactive debates, where the true intellectual colours of incoming leaders would have been detected. The period of military rule, which spanned several decades, further worsened Nigeria’s political and economic problems. Military regimes often prioritised their provincial interests over those of the people, leading to widespread corruption, human rights abuses, and a decline in democratic institutions. The military also suppressed political dissent and limited civil liberties, stifling the development of a vibrant civil society.

Nigerians with even the most modest awareness of history can recall the ostentatious tactics applied by the military to cement its political authority. From the deaths of the Ogoni Nine to the murder of Dele Giwa, the archives are replete with tons of violations by the state. Apart from uniforms, the approaches have not evolved much. People who were once cornered into reticence by the khaki-clad gunslingers now demand submission by force, too. Journalists are arrested and thrown behind bars under the auspices of vague legislative provisions; offenders are spared so long as they are lucky enough to have some senior officials within their debt; protests are silenced in courts and at the barrels of guns. The stampede on civil rights perpetually metastasises with zero indications of reform. The quest for actual democracy continues to remain distant.   

A further hindrance to democratic functions in Nigeria is the absence of institutional safeguards to deter corruption and mismanagement. According to the data compiled by Transparency International, Nigeria consistently ranks low, indicating a high perceived level of corruption in the executive branch. This perception is supported by countless allegations involving government officials, including embezzlement and bribery. While the president has the power to appoint ministers and heads of government agencies, the lack of strong checks and balances can contribute to a concentration of power and increased opportunities for corruption. References abound in recent memory of flagrant procedural violations by members of the executive arm, many of which the legislature cannot be exempted from culpability for. Consisting of the Senate and House of Representatives, the crucial role of lawmaking and oversight by these two houses cannot be overemphasised.

However, legislative effectiveness is questionable due, very importantly, to factors such as partisanship. Without doubt, an executive arm will majorly only be as successful as its legislative counterpart allows. Where there is discord between both arms, the resulting strain impacts the smoothness of passing new legislation and obtaining approval for heavily impactful policies. This was evident during the persistent battles between the Buhari-led executive and Bukola Saraki’s Senate. The opposite can be said to be the case in the Godswill Akpabio-led chamber. From ministerial vetting exercises that appeared more performative than deliberate to seamless passages of controversial laws – the new national anthem being a case in point – the Nigerian legislative chambers certainly punch far below their weight in streamlining the affairs of the executive branch. The World Bank’s Governance Indicators show that Nigeria possesses an underwhelming level of legislative impact, even when compared to other houses in the region. This is attributable to dismal levels of professional competence and non-partisanship amongst lawmakers. Often, it is conventionally pragmatic to regard the national houses as designed for circuses, given the disreputable conduct that frequently berths there.

…even as leadership remains a highly critical determinant for gauging democratic strength, equally nuanced socioeconomic elements play integral roles, too. Poverty, inequality, education, youth unemployment, and religious and ethnic tensions are among the vital challenges that impede the consolidation of democratic governance. Poverty and inequality are pervasive problems in Nigeria, with a significant portion of the population living below the poverty line.

How, then, can the sightless lead another? The judiciary is not excluded as, despite being an essential pillar of a democratic system, it comes up short in the face of significant challenges in Nigeria. The institution has been criticised for delays in cases, corruption, and political interference. According to the Rule of Law Index published by the World Justice Project, Nigeria’s judiciary ranks low in terms of its independence, accessibility, and efficiency. The same source ranked Nigeria 120th out of 142 countries in its global index in 2023 and 24th out of 34 countries in sub-Saharan Africa. Rwanda, the highest-ranked country in the region, placed 42nd out of 142 countries, showcasing just how desperately low-key Nigerian institutions fall in securing democratic mandates.

Still, even as leadership remains a highly critical determinant for gauging democratic strength, equally nuanced socioeconomic elements play integral roles, too. Poverty, inequality, education, youth unemployment, and religious and ethnic tensions are among the vital challenges that impede the consolidation of democratic governance. Poverty and inequality are pervasive problems in Nigeria, with a significant portion of the population living below the poverty line. These socioeconomic disparities naturally fuel episodes of political instability, seen across regions, as marginalised groups resort to violence to make their demands known. Grimmer versions of these forms of expression are discoverable in the ideological posture of bandit groups, who have previously emerged to cast their insurgency in a messianic light. And there is a great deal to wax messianic about. For one, youth unemployment offers a strong incentive to perpetrate crime. With a large proportion of young people unable to find jobs, social unrest, preceded by disillusionment with the political system, seems optional, whether wrapped in ideological monologues or not. Interestingly, where vulnerabilities of this nature exist, political elites have often found ways to harness them to their advantage. The strategy is as simple as doling out a few instrumentalist portions of rice – creatively termed ‘stomach infrastructure,’ motorbikes, sewing machines, school buses, or handfuls of renovated classroom blocks, to trigger communal biases in their favour, to be used when the time seems right.

Research has traced the onset of violence to limitations in access to education and economic opportunities, which truncate the evolution of a skilled and engaged citizenry. Little surprise that some of the country’s poorest and disaffected regions are also nerve centres of insecurity and endless violence. Inextricable from this train of analysis is the important role of education in fostering democratic participation and civic engagement. However, with Nigeria’s education system confronting significant challenges, including inadequate funding, poor infrastructure, and a lack of qualified teachers, the maxim citing the impossibility of giving something out of nothing holds. Low literacy rates and limited access to education can hinder the development of critical thinking skills and limit the ability of citizens to participate meaningfully in the democratic process. Year in and year out, this manifests its ugly head in the electioneering process. Uninformed, uncritical minds are susceptible to bigoted rhetoric and are most certainly vulnerable to the allure of commercialised votes.

On top of these, restrictions on the activities of Civil Society Organisations (CSOs) contribute to undermining democracy and government accountability. CSOs are similar to the traditional town criers, except that their messages revolve around advocacy for human rights, good governance, social justice, participation in public discourse, and decision-making processes. They also aid in the mobilisation of citizens to participate in elections and other democratic activities. However, Nigeria’s relationship with these agents of democracy is fraught with challenges. CSOs have encountered government harassment and threats to the safety of their employees. Litigation is one strategy that has proved useful for hamstringing the mobilisation efforts of these organisations, as seen in the lawsuits against coalition movements behind the #Endbadgovernance protests.

Similarly, the Socio-economic Rights and Accountability Projects’ (SERAP) office was reportedly invaded by security forces. Individuals with activist characters have not been spared from the aggressive posturing of the state, as invitations for questioning are standard practice for discouraging criticism. In Oyo State, an ardent critic of the Seyi Makinde administration was invited for interrogation; at the University of Ibadan, protests against fee hike also saw students receive invitations or get arrested by security; members of the press are consistently one of the most exposed, as observed in the cases of FIJ journalists, Fisayo Soyombo and Daniel Ojukwu. The importance of the freedom of speech and assembly can not be understated in a democratic context. Surprisingly, the bearing of Nigeria’s supposed democratic leadership strikes a harrowing resemblance to patterns administered by the military. Just as journalists combated threats, intimidation, and censorship in the years before 1999, so do they even now. The consolidation of democracy in Nigeria depends on the ability of civil society organisations and the media to operate freely and effectively.

There must be an encouraging avenue for public debates and demands for accountability. By advocating for quality governance and social justice, these two sectors can help to build a more equitable and inclusive society.

As stated above, the collapse of democratic functions casts a pall on the feasibility of democracy in Nigeria. The lack of foundational structural elements for driving the sustainability of freedoms paints the country in a disingenuous light. Still, if we ask whether democracy can function in Nigeria, the appropriate response must be: What other alternative do we have? In considering this, we must pay due regard to the diversity of colours in the Nigerian fabric. And as of now, there is no genius equivalent to democracy that is capable of, at a minimum, constructing the semblance of inclusivity that democracy provides. And no template that is as effective at holding such an incongruent populace together. So, rather than commit time to ponder this question, I strongly believe that our core challenge is the labour of reforms. Already, conversations swirl as to what identity this might take. Restructuring along regional lines? True federalism? Constitution reform? The burden at present is the selection of the most workable device. Even then, we cannot be deluded into hopes of perfection. It is an iterative process.

Toyin Falola, a professor of History, University Distinguished Teaching Professor, and Jacob and Frances Sanger Mossiker Chair in the Humanities at The University of Texas at Austin, is the Bobapitan of Ibadanland.

P.S.: This is the third in a four-part series composed in Accra to mark the 4^th Convocation Ceremony of Koladaisi University, 1^st to 7^th December, 2024.