Why Electoral Reform Is Not Fixing Nigeria’s Democracy

When Nigeria undertook sweeping electoral reforms in 2022, expectations were high that a more credible, transparent, and competitive political process would emerge. That optimism has been renewed – at least on paper – with the repeal and re-enactment of the law through the Electoral Act 2026. Yet, only a short distance into its life cycle, a troubling pattern is already evident: the law has changed, but the game has not.

Across political parties, familiar practices persist. Governors continue to endorse preferred successors or impose them outright. Aspirants are persuaded – sometimes subtly, sometimes not – to step aside in the name of “consensus.” Party primaries, which are expected to produce competent and credible leaders, are increasingly hollowed out, losing any meaningful sense of competition. The processes that once gave a semblance of internal democracy are steadily diluted through endorsements and manufactured “consensus.”

If left unaddressed, this trend will deepen an already serious structural problem. The Electoral Act 2026, like its predecessor, was designed to strengthen internal party democracy, regulate candidate selection, and improve electoral integrity. It retains provisions for consensus candidacy, outlines procedures for primaries, and assigns oversight responsibilities to the Independent National Electoral Commission. On paper, these provisions are sound. In practice, however, they are being interpreted and applied in ways that comply with the letter of the law while subverting its spirit.

Take the issue of consensus candidates. The law permits parties to adopt consensus, provided all aspirants voluntarily agree. But what does “voluntary” mean in a political environment defined by stark power asymmetries? When party structures are controlled by incumbents, access to delegates is mediated by loyalty networks, and dissent carries significant political costs, agreement can be manufactured without ever being freely given. The result is a candidate who emerges legally, but not competitively. In states such as Yobe and Borno, and others where incumbents are completing their second terms, candidates have been selected through this process of “consensus” or endorsement.

What emerges, then, is a widening gap between what is lawful and what is democratic. This gap is the central challenge confronting Nigeria’s electoral system today.

The consequences are already visible. First is the erosion of public trust. Citizens are attentive observers of political behaviour. When candidates are effectively selected before primaries are held – and primaries concluded before campaigns even begin – confidence in the value of participation declines. Voting risks becoming a ritual rather than a meaningful exercise of choice.

Second is the impact on governance. Leaders who emerge from controlled processes are often products of internal bargaining rather than broad public endorsement. Their accountability is, by design, skewed toward those who facilitated their emergence. This weakens the link between citizens and their leaders, with predictable consequences for policy responsiveness and institutional performance.

Third is the distortion of the party system itself. When internal democracy is compromised, parties become vehicles for elite coordination rather than platforms for public engagement. This encourages defections, fuels intra-party conflict, and contributes to the growing tendency to settle political disputes in courtrooms rather than through political processes.

It would be mistaken, however, to conclude that reform is futile. Laws do matter. The improvements introduced in recent years—particularly in the use of technology and the standardisation of procedures—have had positive effects in certain areas. But the current moment makes one point unmistakably clear: legal reform, on its own, is insufficient.

It is our believe that what is required is a shift from rule-making to rule enforcement and institutional integrity. The Independent National Electoral Commission must be both empowered and willing to move beyond passive observation toward active regulation of party processes. Transparency in delegate selection must be strengthened. The conditions for consensus candidacy should be tightened, with verifiable safeguards against coercion. And the judiciary, while rightly bound by law, must increasingly reckon with the broader democratic implications of its decisions.

Above all, political actors must recognise that the credibility of the system ultimately serves their own long-term interests. A process that produces winners without broad legitimacy is inherently unstable. Today’s advantage can easily become tomorrow’s crisis.

As Nigeria looks toward 2027, the question is no longer whether the country has an electoral law. It does—and a recently updated one at that. The real question is whether that law can deliver elections that are not only procedurally correct but genuinely competitive and widely trusted.

If the answer remains uncertain, then the risk is clear: Nigeria may continue refining the mechanics of its democracy while steadily eroding its meaning—holding elections that satisfy legal requirements but fall short of democratic expectations.