Dilemma of the Nigerian voter
By
SOCIETY is defined by the extent to which a people can determine their own destiny on the basis of a negotiated consensus and/or the establishment of a hierarchy of normative values to which every citizen is bound by a stated covenant. The right to vote, to elect one's leaders, to reject existing ones, to make a choice is at the very core of this democratic process. It is the most reassuring illustration of the people's power in society: a clear-cut evidence of the sovereignty that resides in the majority. Since independence in 1960, Nigerians have had several chances to determine their own future, and the character of their nation. But what is the quality of choice that we have made? When we had the opportunities to exercise "the right to vote", how well did we do our duty as citizens? I propose to argue that the abuse of the voting power by the Nigerian electorate is largely responsible for the Nigerian tragedy.
This is another way of saying that by a long shot the people, the so-called followers are the problem with Nigeria: we have failed to choose the right people to lead us; when they fail in positions of authority, we have often failed to show them the way out. By August 10, we would all be challenged again to exercise this basic constitutional right. Is there any guarantee that the electorate would vote wisely? Would the average voter have the confidence to make the appropriate statement that needs to be made? Would he/she be bold enough to use his voting card as a true instrument of choice and sanction?
The failure of the Nigerian voter is worth investigating as a direct consequence of the skewed values of these modern times. Traditional African societies in comparison would seem to have placed greater emphasis on duty and performance in public positions. Each society had a framework of rewards and sanctions by which persons were constantly reminded of their obligations as members of a community. Every act or omission was taken seriously as input into the collective pool. The health of society depended on individual contributions. Each family had a role to play, life was both functional and result-oriented, every infraction from the whole in form of crime or other misdemeanours, was taken as an assault on the well-being of the land and the offender was immediately punished. It is easy to argue that the experiences of colonialism and military rule have both combined to destroy this traditional basis of our communities. A transitional, ad-hoc mode of living may also have damaged much that is dear to us. Caught at the cross-roads of mutational values, the African is consigned to an experimental mode of politics. Is it something in our stars, however that we have been unable to make the leap? Is colonialism responsible for the dirt in our lives? Is military rule the only explanation for the culture-shock we experience when we encounter the efficiency and beauty of Asian countries? I doubt. Each nation has its own travails. Life itself is a sentence with a series of exclamation marks. If we have lost touch with traditional values, how about contemporary history?
The turning point in our country's history- there have been many turning points but the key point would seem to be the moment when Nigerians collectively resolved that they wanted a change in their lives in terms of a change in the leadership of the country, and an opportunity to reassess the Nigerian union and the basis for its existence in its present form. We arrived at this moment in 1993, after over three decades of suffering, waste and abuse of the people's goodwill. The Nigerian people eventually lost the emergent battle that crystallised around June 12, 1993, Bashorun M.K.O. Abiola and the ideals of democracy in the sense that the military and their collaborators managed to negotiate away the people's mandate. But an idea had been born, a new value had been created, and in the process of the concatenation of events that followed, we arrived at May 29, 1999: the day of our second liberation. And as if by the force of magic, this return to civil rule on May 29 1999, resulted in measurable, immediate changes in our lives. Nigerians who had gone on exile began to return; the county's external image improved; soldiers returned to the barracks... the rule of law began to creep back from wherever the military had hidden it. But all this, only at the level of symbolism and given dividends.
By August 10, this year, the Nigeria people would be faced with a critical challenge as the country faces yet another political transition, with the local council polls signaling the movement towards the expected Fifth Republic. August 10 and beyond would be significant for two reasons: first, as a critical test of the sustainability of the achievement of democratic rule; and second, as a verdict on the performance of politicians and political parties in the last three years and a half. Political transition from one civilian government to another in Nigeria has always resulted in an abortion of the people's dreams. The First and Second Republics collapsed because the politicians were bad losers. But even if the politicians are bad people, can we depend on the people, to defend Nigerian democracy?
One major outcome of the last three years has been the realisation that our politicians have not changed; the expectation that public office is an arena for primitive accumulation and self-enrichment has been turned into an even more vicious exploitation of the Nigerian state and its resources. Nor is any part of this hidden. The mass media have done a good job of exposing some of the shenanigans of public officials. We have been told stories about local councillors and chairmen who have built mansions, and bought exotic cars far beyond the limits of their income. In Lagos state, the House of Assembly has conducted a probe of the local councils, and the revelations have been startling: in their statements of account, the council chairmen have all claimed that they constructed drainage, and built water fountains, and new roads across the city: if this were to be so, the city of Lagos would be the most beautiful city in the world! We have also read reports about corrupt Ministers and Governors. The National Assembly, of course, has behaved for the most part, like the Nigeria Police. It is a Stop-and-Search Assembly interested in the extortion of unreasonable allowances for its members. So, what am I trying to say? I am convinced that as we go into the next round of elections, the Nigerian electorate has a huge burden on its shoulders. The Nigerian people, if they were to vote correctly, would issue red cards to majority of the present set of elected representatives. Let the thieving politicians get off the train. Let the useless lawmakers go and find other things to do. Their place, let others take. The expectation is that some lessons would have been taught, and the democratic process would be strengthened. But I am afraid. My fear is that the same set of confirmed charlatans would find their ways back to power and office. I am afraid that the electorate would be helpless in the face of the desperation of public office seekers. I am worried that those who are presenting themselves as alternatives may just be as bad or worse. I suspect therefore, that from August 10, we would only have turned full circle, prepared to enact a simulated ritual. This dilemma can be easily defined.
First, is the son-of-the-soil factor. Nigerian politics is driven by an associational value that can be described in either ethnic or party terms. A favourite son-of-the-soil whose ethnic group wields a population advantage is sure of winning an election; he is even better positioned if he belongs to the same political party that has been adopted by his ethnic group. In the last Presidential elections, this scenario was played out in the performance of Falae/Obasanjo in Yorubaland. By 2002, Obasanjo, however has managed to re-connect with his roots; his chief campaigners can be found in the South-West. When the son-of-the-soil factor is operative, the voter does not think about merit or competence. It is an emotional, psychic thing. The only problem is that the assumption that a kinsman in office would defend the ethnic interest is fatally flawed.
Second, is the Godfather syndrome. The power of the Nigerian voter is severely limited by this. Political parties in the First and Second Republics were the personal property of charismatic leaders. This may have changed, but the Godfather syndrome is yet to disappear. Godfathers exercise veto powers. They instruct the people to adopt their personal choices as the popular choice. They impose candidates. They pose a threat to democracy because they simply personalise what ought to be an open process. As we move towards 2003, the Godfathers are digging deep into their trenches. They are unwilling to yield space. In the South-West, there is the stubborn Afenifere, consisting of a team of old men who handpick the people's representatives,. In Kwara state, Chief Olusola Saraki is said to be the kingmaker, and he has had cause to boast about his invincibility in an interview with the Sunday Vanguard. How presumptuous? In the South-East, the kingmakers are not apologetic either. In the North, Emirs and Imams insist that the people would only vote as instructed from the Mosque or the palace. In Edo state, Chief Tony Anenih, the leader, is till in charge; even in the face of threats from other would-be kingmakers who want a slice of Edo State, if not the whole cake. Where does this leave the Nigerian voter? What kind of democracy do we have, if an individual with cash and influence purports to think for the people?
Third, is the poverty trap: The Nigerian voter is so easily manipulable, because he is so poor. Before, on, and after election day, voters are bought by unscrupulous party agents. The Nigerian voter is induced to suspend his/her principles and/or conscience. This is easy because of the hunger in the land. It is easy also, because the ordinary voter has lost faith in the idea of politics and government. He is convinced that politicians are liars, and that government is an abstraction, so when he is offered an inducement to cast a vote, he really does not care, because the ballot is merely a piece of paper which may never affect his life one way or the other.
Fourth is fear. This arises mainly from the threat of violence and reprisals. Nigerian politicians and political parties have over the years, chosen to intimidate the electorate. On election day, thugs are sent to polling booths to terrorise voters, and to their homes to remind them of the dangers of not voting for particular candidates. In the South-West, where an ethnically-endorsed party is usually in charge, it may be suicidal to support the other party. Elected representatives have also been known to punish persons and communities that refused to vote for them with the denial of patronage.
The fifth problem, is the increasing lack of faith in the Nigerian system. The average voter is in a state of doubt and anxiety. He is so alienated from the Nigerian state, he would rather expend his energies in other directions. It is the reason why many of us do not bother to vote; it is the same reason why we abandon the initiative to those for whom politics is a business contract. It is the reason why we forget so easily.
What this means, in sum, is that nothing has been done in the last three and a half years of democracy to empower and re-orient the Nigerian voter. There are no structures to ensure that the power of choice is exercised in a transparent manner. Ignorance is part of the dilemma. We are faced with the prospect of an electoral process in which the Nigerian people may be cheated. What takes place at the voting centres is merely a ritual; the real voting is conducted at collation centres by corrupt officials and party agents, long after the people would have retired to their homes. It is shameful that this is the true nature of democracy in our land.
Oct 2002