by Mohammed Bello Doka
6 May, 2026
Nigeria stands today at a delicate crossroads—one that demands vigilance, not complacency. Beneath the routine language of electoral preparedness and institutional assurances, a more unsettling question is quietly taking shape: is the growing narrative around insecurity merely a warning—or a pretext?
The leadership of the Independent National Electoral Commission has undergone a significant transition at a critical time. With the exit of Mahmood Yakubu in October 2025 after a decade in office, a new era began under Joash Ojo Amupitan, who was appointed and sworn in by Bola Ahmed Tinubu amid high expectations for reform and renewed public trust. The Senate's confirmation was swift and devoid of dissenting voices, with Senate President Godswill Akpabio hailing Amupitan as "eminently qualified".
Yet the appointment itself was not without controversy. Civil society organisations reacted sharply. The Human Rights Writers Association of Nigeria (HURIWA) accused the Senate of a "short-cut" confirmation that bypassed the Senate Committee on Electoral Matters, calling the chamber a "rubber stamp". The Odua Peoples Assembly warned that the appointment could "undermine Nigeria's democratic stability". HURIWA went further, alleging that Amupitan's selection "is not about competence but control", chosen for loyalty to the President rather than credibility, warning of a politically motivated move aimed at influencing the 2027 elections.
Distrust deepened in November 2025 when it emerged that Amupitan had authored an 80-page legal brief in 2020, titled 'Legal Brief: Genocide in Nigeria: The Implications for the International Community', in which he argued that attacks by Boko Haram and Fulani herders were not merely localised conflicts but a "coordinated anti-Christian campaign" constituting genocide under international law. The brief called on the United Nations Security Council to sue Nigeria before the International Court of Justice for failing to prevent and punish genocide, and even to consider military intervention by the UN, AU or ECOWAS forces as a last resort. The Supreme Council for Shari'ah in Nigeria described the brief as "toxic", "highly provocative, distorted and bigoted", warning that someone who "promoted such divisive and sectarian views cannot be entrusted with the nation's electoral process". The Muslim Rights Concern (MURIC) declared Amupitan persona non grata, accusing him of "pathological hatred for Muslims" and demanding his sack, insisting that "anyone who invites imperialists into the internal affairs of his country deserves treason-related scrutiny". While some northern groups dismissed MURIC's demands as "ill-advised" attempts to weaponise religion for political ends, the federal government remained silent, with the Senate spokesman admitting the upper chamber was unaware of the brief when confirming Amupitan.
If the genocide brief raised questions about Amupitan's impartiality toward the Muslim community, subsequent events have only deepened the crisis of trust. By April 2026, Amupitan was already facing multiple accusations of partisanship from the opposition. The African Democratic Congress (ADC) formally called for his resignation over his handling of internal party disputes. The Turaki-led faction of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) accused him of "unpretentious partisanship" and demanded he step down. Opposition Watch Nigeria alleged "improper interference" in the internal affairs of both the PDP and SDP. In the PDP's leadership crisis, INEC under Amupitan was seen as siding with the Nyesom Wike faction aligned with the ruling APC while ignoring court judgements that favoured the faction led by Seyi Makinde. Kenneth Okonkwo, a chieftain of the ADC, publicly described Amupitan as "a transparent liar". The Movement for Credible Elections (MCE), led by Prof. Pat Utomi, Femi Falana and Oby Ezekwesili, demanded Amupitan step aside, declaring "it is evident that the hands presiding over INEC are, at best, under grave distrust and, at worst, compromised to elicit the credibility required for the conduct of the 2027 elections".
Even as the new leadership settles in, a troubling refrain continues to echo across official and unofficial channels: insecurity is rising, and it threatens the feasibility of credible elections. That warning, on the surface, is valid. Nigeria is grappling with layered security crises—insurgency in the North-East, banditry in the North-West, communal violence in the Middle Belt, and secessionist tensions in parts of the South-East. Barely weeks ago, Senator Abdul Ningi raised a motion in the Senate warning that the scale of insecurity demands urgent and unconventional solutions, including the possible suspension of political activities in eight frontline states: Borno, Plateau, Bauchi, Benue, Niger, Sokoto, Kebbi and parts of Kano. "We cannot continue to think that because we are in Abuja, therefore this thing (insecurity) does not affect us," Senator Ningi told the chamber. Atiku Abubakar, the former Vice President, swiftly rejected the proposal, describing it as a plot to suppress and disenfranchise voters. "Let it be clearly stated: the right to vote and participate in the electoral process is fundamental and cannot be abridged under any guise," Atiku said.
The Senate's concern is not without foundation. Conflict data show some 4,518 people were killed in jihadist incidents across Nigeria in 2025, the highest toll since 2015, according to the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project (ACLED). Elections have historically been flashpoints for violence, and recent electoral cycles have witnessed attacks on polling units, electoral staff, and infrastructure.
And yet, even as insecurity deepens—with insurgents holding over 400 civilians captive in Borno State since late March—the most unsettling development came on May 6, 2026: INEC Chairman Prof. Joash Amupitan, during a visit to the Inspector-General of Police, warned that "the scale of insecurity across the various parts of Nigeria presents a threat to the conduct of fair election". He insisted that proactive security measures and "total security risk analysis" would be needed to identify flashpoints and safeguard voters, officials and the integrity of the process.
Here lies the uncomfortable question: when does a legitimate concern become a convenient justification?
Nigeria's Constitution does not casually accommodate the suspension of elections. Any such move would trigger a constitutional crisis of unprecedented proportions. And yet, the persistent emphasis on insecurity—without equal urgency on concrete, transparent mitigation strategies—raises eyebrows. Senator Ningi himself admitted earlier that "excessive politicking" by political leaders has worsened the insecurity, and Senator Ali Ndume warned that the government's emergency declaration may have triggered "revenge" attacks that are fueling the violence.
If insecurity is indeed worsening, what specific frameworks are being deployed beyond general assurances? Where is the publicly verifiable roadmap for safeguarding electoral integrity? Why do citizens hear more about threats than about solutions? Amupitan has repeatedly urged security agencies to step up intelligence gathering and inter-agency coordination and has described the 2027 elections as a "litmus test" for Nigeria's security architecture—but he has yet to release a detailed, public risk-mitigation strategy.
Even more concerning is the timing. The leadership transition at INEC, occurring just months after Yakubu's departure and barely 15 months before the election cycle intensifies, places enormous power in the hands of a relatively new administration still establishing institutional control.
Is the commission being set up for success—or for excuses?
One cannot ignore the broader political environment. Nigeria's democratic system does not operate in isolation; it is deeply influenced by the conduct of political actors. And here, the opposition bears a share of responsibility that cannot be overlooked.
Instead of presenting a unified, principled front to safeguard electoral integrity, opposition leaders remain fragmented, transactional, and often driven by narrow personal ambitions. Coalition talks collapse over ego. Strategic alliances dissolve over ticket-sharing disputes. Public rhetoric is loud, but institutional pressure is weak.
In effect, by failing to mount a credible, coordinated defense of democratic norms, segments of the opposition risk inadvertently strengthening the very forces they claim to challenge. A divided opposition does not check power—it consolidates it.
And history offers a sobering lesson: democracies are rarely dismantled overnight. They are weakened gradually—through apathy, division, and the normalization of exceptional measures.
Could insecurity become that "exceptional measure"?
Could the narrative shift from "we cannot guarantee safety" to "we must delay for stability"?
And if that line is crossed, who decides when conditions are "safe enough" again?
These are not alarmist questions—they are necessary ones.
It is also worth noting that electoral institutions worldwide operate in imperfect conditions. Nations facing security threats—from insurgencies to civil unrest—have still conducted elections, often under heavy but coordinated security frameworks. The real test is not the absence of risk, but the willingness to manage it transparently and decisively.
The burden, therefore, does not lie with INEC alone. It lies with the Nigerian state, security agencies, political parties, civil society, and ultimately, the citizens themselves.
Nigerians must resist any subtle drift toward democratic backsliding—whether it comes dressed in the language of security, reform, or necessity. The right to vote is not a privilege to be postponed; it is a constitutional guarantee earned through decades of struggle.
The warning signs may still be faint. The intentions may still be unclear. But history teaches that vigilance must begin long before certainty.
If the conversation today is about insecurity, then tomorrow must be about accountability.
If the concern today is feasibility, then the demand tomorrow must be transparency.
And if any attempt—overt or covert—is made to truncate Nigeria's democratic process, it must be met with unified, lawful, and resolute resistance.
Because democracies do not collapse only when elections are cancelled.
Sometimes, they begin to erode when citizens stop asking the hard questions.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
Tags
Opinion