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OPINION: OF DEMOCRACY, INTRIGUESAND THE OFFICE OF VICE-PRESIDENT: THE CASE OF KASHIM SHETTIMA.
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BY: A G ABUBAKAR.
Democracy, as a system of government, is both a beautiful and a funny concept. Its beauty is often skin-deep and, more importantly, dependent on the people who operate it. Democracy provides institutions, procedures and restraints, but it does not automatically produce good governance. The same democratic framework can produce a statesman in one country, a strongman in another and, under different circumstances, an outright despot. The difference is often not the architecture of the system but the character, interests, competence and intentions of those entrusted with its operation.
Perhaps nowhere is this paradox more evident than in the office of the Vice-President of Nigeria. It is a distinct feature of the presidential system of governance adopted by the country after jettisoning the parliamentary system it operated between 1960 and 1966. Both the 1979 and 1999 (as amended) Constitutions provided for this presidential model of governance, which has been in place since 29 May 1999.
Under this arrangement, the President and Vice-President are elected on the same ticket. The Vice-President is therefore not merely another political appointee. He or she is part of the electoral mandate that produces the President.
Since the return to democratic rule in 1999, six people have occupied the office: Atiku Abubakar (1999–2007), Goodluck Jonathan (2007–2010), Namadi Sambo (2010–2015), Yemi Osinbajo (2015–2023), and Kashim Shettima (from 2023)—with Jonathan serving first as Vice-President to Umaru Musa Yar’Adua before succeeding him as President in May 2010. More precisely, Atiku Abubakar served under President Olusegun Obasanjo; Goodluck Jonathan under President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua; Namadi Sambo under Jonathan; Yemi Osinbajo under Muhammadu Buhari; and Kashim Shettima under Bola Ahmed Tinubu.
That history reveals something important: Nigeria has had Vice-Presidents of very different personalities, political weights and relationships with their principals. Consequently, the office has never operated according to one fixed template. Some Nigerians have famously described the Vice-President as a “spare tyre.” Others have reduced the office to that of an “errand boy.” Both descriptions are politically colourful but constitutionally inadequate. The Vice-President is a constitutionally established office with important responsibilities, including succession in circumstances provided for by the Constitution.
The 1999 Constitution, as amended, establishes the office of the Vice-President in Section 141, which provides that there shall be a Vice-President of the Federation. Section 142 deals with the nomination and election of the Vice-President, while Section 146 provides for the discharge of the functions of the President in circumstances such as death, resignation, removal or permanent incapacity.
There is, however, an important constitutional nuance. The Constitution does not prescribe a long, detailed list of executive functions that the Vice-President must independently perform every day. Section 148 provides that the President may, in his discretion, assign responsibility for any business of government to the Vice-President or a minister. This is where the funny side of the Nigerian presidential system begins.
The Vice-President is constitutionally important, electorally important and potentially politically consequential, yet much of the office’s day-to-day executive relevance depends on what the President chooses to delegate. In other words, the Vice-President possesses constitutional stature without necessarily possessing an autonomous executive portfolio. That distinction matters. A Vice-President can be extraordinarily influential without controlling a major ministry. Conversely, a Vice-President can occupy one of the highest offices in the land and still appear politically peripheral, which many insinuate has been the case with Shettima.
Under the Constitution, the President and Vice-President campaign together. They present themselves to the electorate as a political partnership. Their election is based on a common mandate, based on the perceived need for loyalty and regional and ethno-religious balance. That’s what made the Muslim-Muslim ticket of Tinubu and Shettima generate so much debate in 2023.
Whatever one’s interpretation, the episode demonstrated a fundamental truth about Nigerian democracy: political tickets are rarely constructed merely around constitutional requirements. They are also instruments for managing interests.
The same logic applies to ministers, commissioners, special advisers, party officials and other political appointments. Representation is often expected to perform several functions simultaneously: reward loyalty, accommodate constituencies, maintain political equilibrium, broaden legitimacy and strengthen the governing coalition. But once the election is over, another reality emerges. There cannot be two captains commanding the same ship.
The first structural problem confronting every Nigerian Vice-President is therefore simple: how does one exercise influence without appearing to compete with the President?
A Vice-President who becomes too assertive may be perceived as ambitious.
One who is too passive may be perceived as irrelevant.
One who develops an independent political network may be considered a threat.
One who refuses to develop one may become politically dependent.
One who publicly disagrees with the President risks undermining the administration.
This is the paradox of the office. Several factors can determine how much space a Vice-President like Shettima occupies.
First is the President’s personality and governing philosophy. Some Presidents delegate extensively; others centralise authority.
Second is the relationship of trust between the President and Vice-President. Presidential systems are intensely personal. Constitutional provisions matter, but political trust often determines how those provisions operate in practice.
Third is the influence of the President’s inner circle. The “kitchen cabinet”—whether formal or informal—can become a powerful filter through which information, access and influence flow. It is also where people could easily knock heads for their self-serving interests while dressing them up as protection for the President. It has been alleged that the VP has been angling to succeed his boss in the event that he failed to complete his tenure on account of being incapacitated or gone. Such a story got spun, according to the VP, to the extent that an ordinary gift to his boss was seen with suspicion.
Fourth is the Vice-President’s own personality and political ambition. Every Vice-President knows that the office is constitutionally positioned immediately below the presidency. The possibility of succession is therefore built into the architecture of the office.
Fifth is the politics of succession. The closer a government moves towards the end of its constitutional tenure, the more complicated the relationship can become, particularly in the North, where political actors begin positioning themselves for what comes next: a post-Tinubu era in either 2027 or 2031.
This brings us to Kashim Shettima, who did not enter the Vice-Presidency as an unknown political quantity. He had served as Governor of Borno State from 2011 to 2019, during one of the most difficult periods in the state’s modern history. He subsequently served as a senator representing Borno Central. His political experience, particularly his years as governor during the Boko Haram insurgency, gave him a profile different from that of several previous Vice-Presidents.
From the beginning of the administration, Shettima appeared eager to project himself as an active participant in government. He spoke frequently about economic issues, national development and the direction of the administration. His public interventions sometimes gave the impression of a Vice-President prepared to occupy considerable political space. Remember his famous appropriation of managing the national security and economy himself and the principal at the inception of his tenure.
Yet the subsequent question has been: how much of that space has actually translated into institutional influence and measurable policy ownership? This is where the assessment becomes more complicated. Shettima’s defenders can reasonably argue that the Nigerian Constitution does not make the Vice-President an independently empowered executive. Without presidential delegation, a Vice-President cannot simply appropriate ministries, agencies or policy portfolios to himself. His critics, however, can equally argue that constitutional limitation does not necessarily prevent political leadership.
A Vice-President can build initiatives.
A Vice-President can convene stakeholders.
A Vice-President can become the administration’s principal advocate on particular issues.
A Vice-President can use his office to elevate neglected national problems.
And a Vice-President can become the political bridge between the presidency and a particular constituency.
The question, therefore, is not simply whether Shettima possesses independent constitutional executive powers. He does not. The more important question is how effectively he has used the political space available to him to impact the people who see him as one of the powerful moderators of government policy and policy directions.
This question becomes particularly significant because Shettima is not merely Vice-President in the abstract. He is a Northerner, a Muslim and a former governor of Borno State operating in a government whose political coalition is national but whose leadership arrangement has generated considerable discussion about regional and religious representation, with all its challenges.
The Vice-President occupies a unique position from which he can continually place these problems at the centre of national policy. This does not mean he should be partial in favour of the North, but rather that he shouldn’t stand by aloof or be a party to making the region’s plight worse. This is where the question of political visibility and impact becomes legitimate.
One useful way of assessing any Vice-President is to ask a simple question: What major national initiative will history associate with each of the five Vice-Presidents to date? The comparison is not necessarily about who was “better” or “worse.” It demonstrates that the office can be made politically visible when circumstances, presidential delegation, personality and institutional opportunity converge.
Shettima’s challenge is therefore not merely constitutional. It is one of political ownership.
What major policy initiative can Nigerians unmistakably associate with his office?
What major national problem has he persistently championed?
What institutional mechanism has he built?
What enduring programme will remain associated with the Vice-Presidency?
Has Shettima’s impact been felt so far, even within his immediate constituency, the North? Or is he simply content with being Vice-President—a feeling of power for its own sake? How else does one explain the deterioration of insecurity in Borno and across the North-East? The continued captivity of the Mussa and Lassa children in the hands of Boko Haram/ISWAP remains troubling. His response to the carnage in the North-West and North-Central zones could also be more forceful. His contribution to efforts to stem the rising number of out-of-school children in the North is hardly visible.
It is also troubling that Maiduguri, the VP’s home-state capital, can now be accessed through only one—western—corridor out of four. The Maiduguri-Damaturu-Biu highways, which once provided vital links through Biu and Damaturu, remain either closed or too dangerous to ply. Job opportunities are equally scarce, leaving large numbers of unemployed young people vulnerable to recruitment by insurgents and terrorists. It is also unclear whether the rehabilitation of the Alau Dam has been completed.
The North’s deeper crisis is also a larger issue. The region’s insecurity has disrupted agriculture, displaced communities, destroyed businesses and weakened local economies. The education crisis is equally alarming. That is why the North needs more than political representation in Abuja. It needs a development strategy built around security, education, energy, agriculture, industrialisation, healthcare, infrastructure and employment. And this is precisely where a Vice-President with Shettima’s background could potentially make a difference—if sufficient political space is created and if he chooses to occupy it. For now, it would seem he is little more than a presidential representative who attends ceremonies, delivers speeches and occasionally speaks on behalf of the President, as he just did at UNGA 81. The office is too important for that.
The Vice-President is constitutionally the second-highest elected executive official in the country. He is elected by the same electorate, on the same ticket, under the same national mandate. He should not be confused with a minister, special adviser, or presidential spokesman. At the same time, the Vice-President cannot be expected to behave like a second President.
That is the delicate balance.
The Vice-President must be sufficiently influential to contribute meaningfully to governance but sufficiently disciplined to respect the authority of the President. The President, in turn, must be sufficiently confident to allow his deputy meaningful space without interpreting every expression of initiative as competition. This is not merely a matter of personality. It is an institutional question.
The same Constitution can accommodate an activist Vice-President and a ceremonial one. It can produce a President who delegates and another who centralises. It can create space for vigorous debate and space for political conformity. The system provides the framework. Human beings determine what happens inside it.
That is why democracy can be both beautiful and funny. It gives people power and then trusts them to decide what to do with it. It creates institutions but depends on institutional culture. It distributes authority but leaves enormous room for political interpretation. It provides succession arrangements but simultaneously creates incentives for political ambition. It puts a President and Vice-President on the same ticket and then expects them to navigate the inevitable tension between cooperation and succession.
Perhaps the most important lesson from Nigeria’s experience is therefore that the strength of an office cannot always be measured by the number of powers expressly written into the Constitution. Rather, it’s about personality, confidence, instinct and political networks. Whether Kashim Shettima, as a Vice-President, is viewed through the optics of these sociopolitical values is a matter of debate, made very complicated by the very democracy that threw him up.
The Constitution creates the office. The President creates much of its operating space. The Vice-President determines how much of that space he is prepared to occupy. And history ultimately decides whether he merely occupied the office—or actually used it.
A.G. Abubakar
agbarewa@gmail.com
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2027: CSOs Back INEC, Seeks Oriaran Anthony’s Reappointment As Secretary
The Coalition of Civil Society Organisations Against Corruption (COCSOAC) and 33 partner civil society organisations have expressed confidence in the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), urging Nigerians to treat recent reports concerning the commission with caution and rely only on verified facts.
The coalition, in a statement signed and issued in Abuja on Tuesday by its President, Bola Ademola, and National Secretary, Comrade Abdulfatah Aliyu, the group said while INEC must be held accountable where necessary, criticisms of the electoral body should be based on credible evidence, due process and an opportunity for affected parties to respond.
COCSOAC was reacting to an online publication alleging questionable staff redeployments within INEC, including the reported reassignment of a Northern director and the deployment of South-West officials to key departments.
The coalition said it had not independently verified the alleged redeployments or the motives behind them, warning that claims of political interference or ethnic favouritism should therefore not be treated as established facts.
“Assuming without conceding that the redeployments occurred as reported, staff reassignment is a recognised administrative practice that may serve legitimate purposes, including operational efficiency, professional development and improved management,” the group said.
It maintained that the geographical origin or family associations of an INEC official could not, on their own, establish bias or an intention to manipulate elections.
According to the coalition, the more important questions should be whether the decisions complied with applicable rules, received proper authorisation and were based on legitimate administrative considerations.
COCSOAC consequently urged INEC to clarify the circumstances surrounding the reported redeployments where necessary, while appealing to the media and civil society organisations to avoid drawing premature conclusions from unverified reports.
The group also congratulated INEC Secretary, Dr Rose Oriaran Anthony, on her turbaning, describing institutional experience, diligence and administrative continuity as important factors in the management of elections.
It appealed to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu to consider Oriaran Anthony for reappointment as INEC Secretary when her tenure expires, subject to applicable laws and established appointment procedures.
COCSOAC said its appeal was not a demand for an appointment outside the law but was based on the need to preserve institutional knowledge and strengthen coordination ahead of the 2027 general elections.
“Where an experienced incumbent has demonstrated the requisite commitment and competence, continuity may help preserve institutional knowledge, strengthen coordination and support preparations for peaceful, credible and well-organised elections,” the coalition said.
It, however, stressed that any decision on the matter must be guided by legality, INEC’s independence and the integrity of the electoral process.
The coalition called on political actors, civil society organisations, the media and other stakeholders to protect public confidence in Nigeria’s electoral institutions through evidence-based engagement, transparency and respect for due process.
It said its position was not that INEC should be shielded from scrutiny, but that allegations against the commission must be verified and affected institutions given a fair opportunity to respond.
“As the nation approaches another critical electoral cycle, accountability, institutional stability and the rule of law must remain central to the collective pursuit of credible elections,” COCSOAC said.
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2027: OPCI President Cautions Against Fake Prophesies
- Says Nigerians should not allow themselves to be hoodwinked
Stephen Olufemi Oni, Ilorin
The National President of the Oodua Progressive Care Initiative (OPCI),
Alhaji Chief Dr Maruff Olarewaju, has decried recurring engagements of some acclaimed Nigerian men of God in what he described as fake, baseless and politically-motivated prophecies ahead of the 2027 general elections, thereby demeaning and questioning their sacred callings.
In a statement issued on Monday in Ilorin, the Kwara State capital, the OPCI President wondered where these acclaimed men of God are getting their revelations from, going by the fake prophesies of majority of them ahead of the 2023 general elections that Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu would not win the presidential election, which he eventually won massively.
He said: “One cannot help but wonder where these self-acclaimed prophets get their revelations from. During the build-up to the 2023 General Election, over 90% of them came out at different times claiming that God told them that Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu would never win the presidential election. Some of them even went as far as saying that if Asiwaju won, then there is no God. Today, history has spoken — Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu is the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
“This raises critical questions begging for answers: Why are we in Nigeria mixing religion with politics?
Why have these individuals refused to learn from the past? Are they truly hearing from God at all?
“Now, as we approach another election cycle, they are out again, saying what God did not say and claiming messages God never sent them.”
In view of these ugly experiences, Olarewaju urged the Federal Government to consider placing a ban on election-related prophecies, as it’s done in some other countries, in order to prevent the dragging of religion into the mud and to stop the confusion of innocent citizens in the name of religion, saying freedom of speech, though guaranteed, has its own limitations and must be exercised with responsibility.
He added: “Only God Almighty knows what will happen tomorrow. The confidence of many Nigerians in these fake prophets has been completely eroded. They should look for something more meaningful to do.
“Today, Nigeria is facing serious security challenges. None of these prophets saw it coming. Many churches and mosques have been deserted, many worshippers have been kidnapped or killed — they never prophesied it, their God never revealed it to them. But when it comes to elections, their God suddenly becomes very active.
“Nigerians must be wise and not be deceived again.”
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THE SLOW DEATH OF DEMOCRACY
Democracy has been hailed as the best system of governance devised by mankind to date. It is a process driven by periodic elections, as has been the case in Nigeria since the beginning of the Fourth Republic in 1999. Similar electoral exercises took place during the First Republic (1960–1966) and the Second Republic (1979–1983). It should, however, be emphasised that elections by themselves do not necessarily imply democratic practice.
Democracy and elections are closely related, but they are not synonymous. An election is a mechanism through which citizens exercise their political sovereignty and choose those who govern them. Democracy, however, is the broader system of government founded on popular sovereignty, political equality, participation, accountability, the rule of law, respect for human rights, and the protection of fundamental freedoms.
Without these accompanying elements, a country can hold elections without necessarily being genuinely democratic. Free, fair, credible, and competitive elections are essential to democracy, but they are only one component of it. Democracy must also exist between elections—in the institutions, laws, rights, freedoms, and accountability mechanisms that govern the exercise of political power. Thus, elections are the mechanism through which citizens choose their representatives, but democracy extends far beyond the periodic casting of ballots. Without political freedom, genuine competition, the rule of law, institutional accountability, civil liberties, and respect for the will of the electorate, elections can become little more than a ritual for legitimising authoritarian rule. In short, an election is an instrument of democracy; it is not democracy itself.
There is a strong correlation between a country’s population size, demographic structure, and electoral participation (voter turnout). Under normal circumstances, the larger the population, the larger the number of potential registered voters and, potentially, the higher the absolute turnout. The relationship among these variables—population size, registered voters, and voter turnout—can serve as a barometer of the health of democracy in a given environment. Nigerian electoral trends and history seem to defy this thesis. For some obvious reasons, voter participation in Nigerian elections has been on a dangerous decline since 1999, signifying a steady growth in citizens’ apathy. This development poses serious consequences for democratic growth and governance.
The declining appeal of democracy in Nigeria becomes more apparent when viewed against the falling voter participation rate from one electoral cycle to another. This is even more disturbing in light of the nation’s estimated population of 230 million, which could ordinarily provide a strong foundation for robust political participation and activities.
Unfortunately, this has not been the case. Records of Nigeria’s general elections from 1999 to 2023, in terms of registered voters, voter turnout, and approximate turnout percentages, are as follows:
1999: 57.9 million registered; 52% voted.
2003: 60.8 million registered; 69% voted.
2007: 61.6 million registered; 58% voted.
2011: 73.5 million registered; 54% voted.
2015: 68.8 million registered; 44% voted.
2019: 84.0 million registered; only 35% voted.
2023: 93.5 million registered; only 27% voted.
For the forthcoming 2027 elections, INEC has registered about 103 million eligible voters. It is hoped that the decline in voter turnout from 69% in 2003 to just 27% in 2023 will be stemmed—a task that may not be easy if the gubernatorial elections in states such as Ekiti, Osun, and Kogi are factored in.
During the last gubernatorial election in Ekiti, only 36% of the one million registered voters in the state turned out.
In Osun, about 43% of the 2.3 million registered voters turned out.
In Kogi, only 33% of the 1.6 million registered voters cast their ballots. The three states are among the eight that hold off-cycle elections, during which they enjoyed greater security and logistical support. In addition, the contestants live among the electorate.
Most strikingly, in Lagos, with a staggering seven million registered voters, fewer than 20% turned out to vote in the 2023 general elections. This was despite the fact that a son of the soil, Tinubu, was on the ballot. The dismal participation underscores the depth of voter apathy in Nigeria compared with other democracies in both developed and developing countries, as indicated below:
India: 2024 Lok Sabha election — 65.79%.
Brazil: 2026 general election — 78.92%.
United States: 2024 presidential election — 63.9%.
Kenya: 2022 general election — 64.77%.
The question is: What is wrong with the Nigerian system? Could it be that the population figures are inaccurate? Could it be INEC’s ineptitude? Or is it that Nigerians are no longer in love with democratic governance? The answers could lie in all or a combination of these factors.
There is every likelihood that the 2006 population census, from which the nation’s estimated population of 230 million is projected, remains suspect. This is because Nigerians tend to view population censuses and figures more as instruments of competition for political power and resources than as tools for national planning. Consequently, electoral data derived from such figures may distort the political process.
Violence has also been a major feature of Nigerian politics. According to the General Abdulsalami Abubakar-led National Peace Committee, between 2015 and 2025, about 870 people are believed to have been killed during various electoral episodes. Many more have been wounded or incapacitated in the course of an exercise intended to improve their well-being and guarantee the security of their lives and property.
Compounding the violence is a primitive level of political intolerance. In many states, ruling parties monopolise and abuse the political space, shamelessly denying their opponents the freedom to campaign, put up posters, and access state-owned facilities and media outlets. Such conduct reinforces the belief that society is incapable of practising democracy. What a shameful mentality and display of political backwardness!
Another serious challenge is the perceived electoral manipulation by two major democratic institutions—INEC and the judiciary—which has allowed successive ruling parties and power brokers to frustrate political opponents and parties with impunity. Classic cases include the confusing registration and deregistration of political associations; the factionalisation of some; the upholding and overturning of decisions involving political parties; and the numerous cheap and self-serving exercises (substitutions, sackings, awards, etc.) in the name of judicial prerogative. These developments have contributed to the emergence of the current off-cycle gubernatorial elections in states including Anambra, Bayelsa, Edo, Ekiti, Kogi, Ondo, Osun, and Imo.
The circumstances and judicial verdicts surrounding these developments are varied. While some of the political actors are culpable, some of the decisions lack consistency. At best, they are self-serving. The dizzying judicial abracadabra unfolded as follows:
i) In Imo State, there was the “Fourth to First” verdict. Following the March 2019 election, INEC declared Emeka Ihedioha (PDP) the winner. Hope Uzodinma (APC), who officially finished fourth in the initial tally, challenged the result. On January 14, 2020, the Supreme Court ruled that votes from 388 polling units had been unlawfully excluded from Uzodinma’s score. Once those votes were factored in, Uzodinma’s tally surpassed Ihedioha’s. The Court awarded the seat to Uzodinma.
ii) In Zamfara State, the APC won the 2019 gubernatorial election, and Muktar Idris was set to become governor. However, an internal party faction led by Senator Kabiru Marafa challenged the legality of the party’s primary elections. On May 24, 2019, just days before the inauguration, the Supreme Court ruled that the APC had failed to conduct valid primary elections in Zamfara. Consequently, the court declared all votes cast for the APC invalid and “wasted”. It awarded the seat to Bello Matawalle of the PDP.
iii) Earlier, in 2007, in Rivers State, Rotimi Amaechi won the PDP governorship primary, but the party substituted his name with Celestine Omehia. Omehia went on to win the general election. In October 2007, the Supreme Court ruled that Amaechi’s substitution was illegal. Crucially, the court established the legal principle that votes belong to the political party, not the candidate. Since the PDP won the election, Amaechi was declared the rightful governor despite not appearing on the ballot.
Still in Rivers State, in 2019, due to intractable internal leadership disputes and legal battles, the Supreme Court upheld a lower court ruling that barred the Rivers APC from fielding any candidates in the 2019 general elections. This cleared the path for Nyesom Wike (PDP) to secure an easy victory without major opposition.
iv) In the run-up to the 2015 governorship election in Kogi State, the APC candidate, Abubakar Audu, was leading comfortably in the polls but died suddenly before the results were fully collated and declared. Audu’s running mate, James Faleke, argued that he should automatically inherit the ticket and votes. The APC bypassed Faleke and substituted Audu with Yahaya Bello, who had finished second in the primaries. The case went to the Supreme Court, which upheld Bello’s election. Reaffirming the Rivers precedent, the court held that votes are cast for the political party, not the individual candidate, thereby authorising the APC to nominate Bello to conclude the election.
v) The 2019 Bayelsa gubernatorial election produced David Lyon of the APC as the winner. However, the PDP filed a lawsuit alleging that Lyon’s deputy governorship running mate, Biobarakuma Degi-Eremienyo, had submitted forged certificates and false information regarding his names and credentials to INEC.
On account of this, on February 13, 2020—less than 24 hours before Lyon was scheduled to be sworn in—the Supreme Court nullified the APC ticket. Because a governorship ticket is legally a “joint ticket”, the disqualification of the deputy automatically disqualified the governor-elect. The court awarded victory to the candidate with the next-highest number of valid votes. Consequently, Douye Diri of the PDP was sworn in as governor.
vi) In Osun State, Oyinlola (PDP) was declared the winner and assumed office as governor in 2007. Rauf Aregbesola of the Action Congress (AC) challenged the results, alleging widespread rigging, violence, and non-compliance with the Electoral Act in several local government areas. The court subsequently sacked Oyinlola and awarded the seat to Aregbesola, ordering his immediate swearing-in.
vii) A similar development took place in Ondo State, where Olusegun Agagu (PDP) was declared the winner of the 2007 gubernatorial election. Olusegun Mimiko, contesting under the Labour Party (LP), filed a petition maintaining that he was the rightful winner based on the lawful votes cast. On February 23, 2009, the court agreed with Mimiko and removed Agagu. Mimiko was subsequently sworn in.
viii) Anambra provides a different variation of judicial intervention, focusing on the theft of mandates and the constitutional definition of tenure. Chris Ngige (PDP) was declared the winner in 2003. Peter Obi of APGA challenged the result. After nearly three years of litigation, the Court of Appeal, in March 2006, ruled that Ngige had not won the election and awarded the governorship to Obi.
In 2007, INEC conducted a fresh governorship election while Obi was still serving his term, and Andy Uba (PDP) was declared the winner and sworn in. Obi went to court, and Uba was sacked after just 17 days in office. The court ordered Obi to return and complete his constitutionally mandated term.
The active participants in this electoral mayhem are usually the contestants, INEC functionaries (including ad hoc staff and university dons serving as returning officers), security agents, and, later, the judiciary. Unfortunately, some university dons have actually been convicted of election-related corruption. The ordinary voter should be excused because voters are often used as pawns whose mindsets are shaped by their material conditions—an observation consistent with Karl Marx’s perspective.
The monetisation of politics has also remained a major challenge. It has made entry into politics prohibitive for ordinary people and has also fertilised the growth of the phenomenon of godfatherism. The godfathers usually fund campaign expenses, buy the loyalty of security agents, influence judicial officers, fund thugs, and facilitate the outright purchase of votes at polling stations. Their protégés, in return, are expected to pledge unalloyed loyalty and grant them unfettered access to public resources.
Unfortunately, the strategy often backfires. A few classic godfather-godson crises include Wike/Fubara, El-Rufai/Uba, Kwankwaso/Ganduje, Kwankwaso/Abba, Goje/Dankwambo, Goje/Yahaya, Bafarawa/Wamakko, Aliero/Nasamu, Tinubu/Aregbesola, etc. The phenomenon of godfatherism has not helped the parties involved. If anything, it has only succeeded in weakening democracy in the country.
Perhaps the most disturbing feature of Nigerian democracy is the growing disconnect between elected representatives and the people who elect them. The lifestyles, privileges, and access to public resources enjoyed by many politicians stand in stark contrast to the lives of socioeconomic deprivation experienced by their constituents. Ironically, some of the dramatis personae in the alleged democratic misfortunes of the nation since 1999 are the ones calling the shots today.
The overall effect of electoral rigmarole, violence, corruption, and godfatherism is the development of apathy among the electorate towards the very system intended to serve them. This erosion of interest may not be unconnected with the following feelings and perceptions:
Elections without meaningful choice.
Institutions without genuine independence.
Citizens without confidence or participation.
Political power without sufficient accountability.
Nigeria’s problem is no longer merely flawed elections; it is the slow erosion of democracy itself. Falling voter turnout is a warning that citizens are losing faith in a system where votes are bought, institutions are compromised, mandates are manipulated, and leaders often serve political patrons rather than the people. A democracy that cannot command the confidence of its citizens is already in serious danger.
Democracy rarely dies in a single dramatic event. It dies slowly—when elections become rituals, institutions become instruments of power, citizens become spectators, and accountability becomes an illusion. Nigeria may still hold elections, but the real question is whether it is preserving democracy or merely preserving the appearance of it.
The path forward should begin with education. More appropriate education. Then justice and a genuine war against systemic corruption. Democracy must be rescued
A. G. Abubakar
agbarewa@gmail.com
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