By Ike Abonyi
“Democracy doesn’t rule the world, You’d better get that in your head; This world is ruled by violence, But I guess that’s better left unsaid.” —Bob Dylan
The central question facing Nigeria is whether escalating insecurity is accelerating the decline of its democratic system. As Wole Soyinka eloquently stated, ‘You cannot feed a hungry man with a ballot paper, and you cannot protect a terrified family with a constitution. If democracy cannot deliver bread and safety, the people will eventually tear down the temple.’
Across Nigeria, a significant portion of the population, even those who outwardly profess democratic ideals, are privately concluding that if the current democratic experiment fails to guarantee citizen security—the most fundamental responsibility of governance—then its continuation is untenable. The Nigerian populace appears to be approaching the precipice of dismantling democratic structures, a scenario foreshadowed by Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka.
Ironically, ethnic considerations and age seem to have tempered the renowned literary figure’s usual incisive critique of national affairs, leading to his diminished public engagement on these issues. Should Nigeria’s democracy falter, as current trends strongly suggest, the primary beneficiary would undoubtedly be the military. One can speculate that if Nigeria’s former military dictator, General Sani Abacha, were alive today, his reputation for maintaining order would likely position him as a heroic figure, offering a potential solution to the relentless bloodshed plaguing the nation.
During his tenure, General Abacha demonstrated considerable prowess in security matters. Despite widespread corruption allegations, his administration was notably disciplined across all sectors. The country experienced a secure environment and economic stability, with the national currency enjoying a period of unprecedented steadiness. However, debate persists regarding whether these achievements were attributable to Abacha’s individual leadership or the nature of his authoritarian governance.
Before Muhammadu Buhari came to power, his campaign strategists frequently highlighted his decisive handling of the Maitatsine uprising in Yola in 1984 during his military rule, promising an end to the terrorism and banditry currently plaguing the nation. Yet, from 2015 to 2023, Nigeria witnessed a markedly different Buhari, whose administration inadvertently fostered the current security crisis. This raises a pertinent question: is democracy, as practised in Nigeria and many other practisedations, primarily serving as a mechanism for elite enrichment rather than delivering tangible benefits to the burgeoning impoverished population?
The recent successes of military interventions in Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger lend credence to this line of reasoning. After 27 years of uninterrupted democratic governance, Nigerians are reaching a point where they may openly declare that a secure nation under military rule is preferable to an insecure democratic one. If the United Nations were to conduct a referendum in Nigeria comparing the current democratic system since 1999 with past military regimes, the results could be surprising.
Ultimately, what is the value of any governmental system that cannot safeguard its citizens? Given that the primary mandate of any government is the protection of lives and property, and its failure to fulfil this core duty, why should it fulfil this at the expense of its populace? If Nigeria’s prevailing model of democracy has consistently failed to provide leadership capable of ensuring citizen security, is it not imperative to explore alternative forms of governance?
We stand at a critical juncture where we must acknowledge Karl Popper’s observation: ‘A democracy that cannot defend itself, that cannot protect its citizens from violence and disruption, will eventually be overthrown by those who promise order at the expense of freedom.’ Similarly, Timothy Snyder astutely noted, ‘People do not choose fascism or authoritarianism because they love dictatorship; they choose it because they are terrified of chaos. When democracy means instability, the strongman begins to look like a saviour.’
The democratic shortcomings of Burkina Faso paved the way for Captain Ibrahim Traoré, a 38-year-old leader now hailed as a hero, prompting questions about the efficacy of democracy. Democracy cannot thrive on mere pronouncements; it requires demonstrable action. For citizens to actively defend a democratic system, that system must possess the capacity, political will, and institutional strength to ensure national security.
The question of whether a struggling democracy can effectively secure a nation directly addresses the fundamental social contract. When a government fails to provide basic safety, abstract democratic principles like freedom of speech, voting rights, and the rule of law can quickly become perceived as hollow luxuries for individuals preoccupied with mere survival.
Historically and globally, a democratic government’s failure to deliver security leads to a rapid erosion of public trust. Nigeria is currently experiencing this phenomenon. This pattern typically manifests through several critical realities: At its most basic function, the state’s purpose is to shield its citizens from both internal and external threats. Citizens cede a degree of their individual autonomy to the state in return for protection.
If a democratic government is incapable of securing its borders, transportation routes, or communities, it fundamentally defaults on its primary obligation. When even school children are vulnerable to banditry, terrorism, or pervasive lawlessness, the legitimacy of that democratic framework is severely undermined. Our pretence of democratic governance is an illusion of freedom devoid of actual safety.
This reintroduces the question: Can an individual truly exercise democratic rights when living under constant fear? Have President Bola Tinubu’s assertive stance and the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) actions leading up to the 2027 general election adequately addressed concerns about electoral integrity?
Security crises directly imperil democratic processes. It becomes exceedingly difficult to conduct fair, transparent, and high-turnout elections when voters, election officials, and candidates face physical threats, especially when there is perceived bias within electoral bodies like the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), as well as law enforcement and judicial institutions.
In a nation characterised by over two hundred ethnic groups, where tribalism significantly influences the political landscape, the concentration of key electoral officials from the same ethnic group as the President raises serious questions. History demonstrates that prolonged insecurity, as seen in Nigeria today, can create an environment ripe for the appeal of a strongman, making citizens highly susceptible to populist or authoritarian rhetoric. Individuals may willingly trade political pluralism, checks and balances, and civil liberties for a centralised, decisive authority, particularly if such an order has never truly existed.
While authoritarian measures or military interventions often prove to be a trap, offering a seductive promise of a quick resolution—frequently exchanging one form of insecurity for another and introducing state repression without addressing the root socio-economic causes of conflict—when faced with a choice between two undesirable options, the one that prioritises citizen security invariably prioritises recedence.
Daily survival becomes paramount; freedoms of movement, assembly, and economic activity hold little value if venturing outside one’s home poses a risk to life or livelihood. Security forms the bedrock upon which all other democratic freedoms are built. When democratic institutions appear weak or paralysed by security crises, public opinion often shifts towards desperation. This represents a gradual, agonising decay from within.
Reflecting on India’s democratic journey over the past two decades, one finds strong resonance with the assertion by Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt in their book, ‘How Democracies Die.’ They contend that democratic decline is rarely a sudden event like a military coup; instead, it is more frequently a gradual, debilitating internal decay. In such scenarios, democratic structures may persist formally, yet the populace loses all confidence in their capacity to offer protection.
In this context, one must question what remains democratic when citizens openly express profound disappointment with the current administration, advocating for its removal, yet feel powerless to effect change. This sentiment arises despite the concentration of power, with key positions held by allies, the support of all 36 state governors, the systematic dismantling of opposition parties, and substantial financial resources allegedly allocated for re-election. The question then becomes: who possesses the ability to counter such influence?
Nevertheless, it begs further inquiry as to why, despite these apparent advantages, the current leadership appears apprehensive about the 2027 elections. Could this apprehension stem from an acknowledgement, as suggested by Prof that the populace is poised for radical action?
While the future remains uncertain, it is undeniable that in a nation plagued by insecurity, where citizens, including school children, lack basic safety, the very concept of democracy holds little sway. Professor Chinua Achebe, in his seminal work ‘The Trouble With Nigeria,’ eloquently captured this sentiment, stating that when a democracy falters, it is not primarily the politicians who bear the brunt, but the ordinary citizen whose freedoms are sacrificed for security, and whose vote becomes inconsequential in the face of coercion. The escalating security challenges in Nigeria have undeniably shifted the public’s expectations, fostering a demand for a fundamentally different leadership paradigm. Consequently, the upcoming 2027 election is poised to be a pivotal moment. May providence guide us.
