19 February, 2026
by Mohammed Bello Doka
A president signs the rules of elections in less than a day, and a nation is told nothing is unusual. But nothing about the passage and assent of Nigeria’s latest Electoral Act amendment was normal. It was rushed through a divided parliament, forced past protesting lawmakers, condemned on the streets, and then signed into law by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu less than 24 hours after Senate approval. Nigerians are entitled — indeed compelled — to ask the question that now hangs over the country’s democratic future: did the President study the content overnight, or was he already in the know?
Electoral laws are not routine statutes. They define the architecture of power, the credibility of elections, and the legitimacy of governments. They are the rules by which incumbents can be removed. That is precisely why mature democracies treat changes to electoral frameworks with maximum caution, broad consultation, and transparent deliberation. Nigeria witnessed the opposite. The amendment emerged from controversy, conflict, and distrust — and yet it was accelerated into law at a speed more typical of emergency fiscal bills than of the legal foundation of democratic competition.
The legislative process itself should alarm anyone concerned about constitutional order. In the House of Representatives, proceedings descended into a rowdy session as members protested that debate was being curtailed. The Deputy Speaker presiding over the amendment reportedly refused to allow extended deliberation, ignored objections and points of order, called the vote, and banged the gavel amid audible dissent. Lawmakers shouted in protest. The chamber was visibly divided. This was not the image of a legislature calmly refining the nation’s electoral rules; it was the picture of a bill forced through under procedural strain.
Yet even that contested passage did not slow the executive. There was no cooling-off period, no public indication of legal review, no engagement with dissenting legislators or civil society concerns. Instead, the President appended his signature less than 24 hours later. The speed of assent, juxtaposed against the disorder of passage, creates a sequence that is impossible to ignore: a disputed law pushed through parliament and immediately ratified by the executive. If process signals intent, the signal here is unmistakable.
At the centre of the controversy lies the amendment’s most disputed provision: the decision to make electronic transmission of election results optional rather than mandatory. This clause was not obscure. It had triggered nationwide debate, protests outside the National Assembly, and fierce disagreement among lawmakers. Reform advocates warned it weakened safeguards introduced after the bitterly contested 2023 elections. Civil society groups framed it as a rollback. Opposition parties called it dangerous. In short, the controversy was loud, visible, and sustained. The President did not encounter it for the first time after passage; he endorsed it almost instantly.
What, then, are Nigerians to conclude? Two possibilities exist, and both are damning.
The first scenario is that the President was not fully aware of the final content and signed without meaningful scrutiny. That would mean Nigeria’s head of state approved one of the most consequential electoral amendments in its democratic history without adequate review of its legal, political, and institutional implications. Such a possibility would represent a failure of executive diligence at the highest level — a readiness to sign first and consider later when the subject is nothing less than the integrity of elections.
The second scenario is that the President was already aware of the content and intended outcome before the bill reached his desk. In this case, the less-than-24-hour assent was not haste but confirmation — the final step in a predetermined process in which the executive and legislative majority had aligned in advance on altering electoral safeguards. That possibility raises an even more troubling implication: that the rules of democratic competition were effectively settled before parliament’s final vote and public debate were complete.
Either scenario corrodes confidence. Either scenario feeds suspicion. Either scenario weakens democratic legitimacy.
Supporters of the amendment argue that infrastructure constraints justify flexibility in electronic transmission and that decisive leadership required swift assent. But even if one accepts those claims, they do not explain why a law that triggered protests, parliamentary division, and national debate had to be signed less than a day after passage. Efficiency is defensible in budgets; it is dangerous in election laws. Legitimacy cannot be fast-tracked.
History offers sobering warnings about governments that alter electoral or constitutional rules amid dissent. In Burkina Faso in 2014, an attempt to amend presidential tenure limits ignited mass protests that toppled a 27-year regime. In Egypt in 2012, a controversial constitutional decree sparked deadly clashes and political rupture. In Uzbekistan in 2022, proposed autonomy changes provoked unrest so severe authorities retreated. In Honduras in 2009, constitutional conflict spiralled into a coup. Even in New Caledonia in 2024, electoral reform perceived as marginalising indigenous voters triggered riots and troop deployment. The contexts differ, but the pattern is constant: when political rules appear engineered through contested or rushed processes, legitimacy fractures and instability follows.
Nigeria is not yet in such a crisis, but the structural warning is unmistakable. Here too, an electoral change arrived amid protests, legislative disorder, and public distrust — and was signed into law almost immediately. Democracies erode not only through blatant fraud but through subtler perceptions that the rules are written by those who benefit from them. When citizens believe the referees are chosen by the teams, faith in the game collapses.
The implications reach beyond one clause or one election cycle. Electoral legitimacy depends as much on how laws are made as on what they contain. A process seen as rushed or predetermined invites suspicion that incumbency is being shielded. It deepens polarisation. It encourages opposition rejection of outcomes. It turns future disputes into existential battles rather than procedural disagreements. The damage is cumulative and difficult to reverse.
Nigeria deserved better than a rowdy passage and overnight assent on a law shaping the 2027 elections. It deserved careful deliberation, visible scrutiny, and confidence that its leaders approached electoral reform with the gravity it demands. Instead, the country witnessed a controversial amendment forced through parliament and signed less than 24 hours later.
When the rules of democracy are rewritten in haste, citizens have every right to question the intent behind them. And when a disputed electoral law is forced through a divided legislature and ratified almost immediately by the executive, Nigerians are justified in asking the question that refuses to fade: was the Act examined overnight — or agreed long before the gavel fell?
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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