By Moshood Oshunfurewa
The machinery of Nigeria’s democracy is grinding towards 2027, yet the omens are anything but auspicious. What we are witnessing is not the meticulous preparation for a credible election, but the slow, deliberate construction of a political powder keg. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), an institution whose credibility was already left in tatters after the 2023 general elections, is now at the centre of a confluence of dangers: predatory governors, a fundamentally opaque budget, and damning technological revelations that suggest the last election was a dress rehearsal for a more sophisticated heist. The question is no longer whether the 2027 election will be free and fair, but whether the nation can survive its outcome.
The revelations from the election data platform Mundx Analytics regarding the 2023 presidential election should have triggered a national emergency. Its analysis of 103,399 result sheets with readable device metadata found that a staggering 48.8 per cent, approximately 50,432 result sheets, were uploaded to INEC’s IReV portal from non-BVAS devices, including personal phones. INEC had repeatedly promised that results would be uploaded directly from the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) machines, a pledge that was the cornerstone of the Electoral Act 2022’s transparency provisions. The presence of over 50,000 result sheets from private devices, with brands like Infinix, Tecno, and Samsung identified, raises profound questions about the chain of custody. Who uploaded these results, under whose authority, and what happened to the data in the intervening period? While Mundx Analytics is careful to note that its findings do not establish that votes were altered, they expose a catastrophic breach in the digital accountability of the electoral process. This was not a minor logistical hiccup; it was a systemic failure that opened the door to manipulation on an industrial scale. It was a clear signal that the technology designed to protect the people’s mandate could be effortlessly bypassed.
This technological vulnerability is exacerbated by the increasingly brazen interference of state governors. The 2027 election cycle is already being defined by the audacious attempts of governors to predetermine outcomes and deliver entire geopolitical zones to favoured candidates. The Human Rights Writers Association of Nigeria (HURIWA) rightly condemned the declaration by the Chairman of the South-East Governors’ Forum that the zone’s governors had collectively resolved to work for the re-election of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, describing it as an affront to constitutional democracy. This is not an isolated incident. The International Society for Civil Liberties and the Rule of Law (InterSociety) has accused six governors—Soludo, Alia, Okpebholo, Nwifuru, Mbah, and Uzodimma—of promoting political intolerance and suppressing opposition activities, with allegations ranging from attacks on opposition supporters to the abuse of state power. When governors, who are the chief executives of their states, begin to speak as though they own the votes of millions of citizens, they undermine the very foundation of democratic sovereignty. Their actions create a climate of fear and intimidation that makes a mockery of the notion of a free and fair contest.
But if governors are the foot soldiers of electoral subversion, the opaque and frankly outrageous budget of INEC provides the ammunition. The commission’s proposed N873.78 billion budget for the 2027 elections, combined with a separate N171 billion request for 2026, has sparked national outrage for good reason. This is a staggering sum in a country where 62.9 per cent of citizens are multidimensionally poor, and it is being requested by an institution that cannot account for over N126.46 billion in electoral funds from the previous cycle. The Auditor-General’s report identified over N112.15 billion allegedly paid for ballot boxes and other materials without competitive bidding or a Certificate of No Objection from the Bureau of Public Procurement. This is not merely a question of fiscal prudence; it is a matter of national security. A budget of this magnitude, shrouded in secrecy and lacking in accountability, is a treasure chest for corruption. It fuels the suspicion that elections are no longer a civic exercise but a colossal business venture for political elites and their cronies, further eroding public trust in the entire democratic project.
Nyesom Wike, the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory and the erstwhile leader of the G5 governors’ bloc, has openly detailed a strategy that amounted to the coordinated manipulation of electoral outcomes across multiple states during the 2023 presidential election. In a televised interview, Wike revealed that the G5 deliberately “allowed” Peter Obi to win in Edo and Cross River States, while intentionally “stopping” him from winning Rivers State because it would “send the wrong message”. This is not a denial of rigging; it is a confession of it, dressed up in the language of political strategy. The Resource Centre for Human Rights and Civic Education (CHRICED) rightly raised the alarm, noting that such claims suggest “possible abuse of state power during the electoral process” and “subversion of democratic norms by individuals entrusted with public authority”. The credibility of Wike’s claim is further bolstered by independent evidence: a BBC investigation found that the collation officer for Oyigbo Local Government Area in Rivers State, who presented himself as a lecturer, submitted falsified figures that multiplied Tinubu’s votes by six and halved Obi’s. If a serving minister can openly boast about determining who “wins” and “loses” in sovereign states, then the sovereignty of the people is not merely threatened—it has already been surrendered to a cabal of self-appointed kingmakers.
The logical endpoint of this malfeasance is a crisis of legitimacy, one that will almost certainly be resolved not at the ballot box but in the courts. The 2023 elections have already established a dangerous precedent in which the judiciary, rightly or wrongly, became the final arbiter of who holds power. As Cardinal John Onaiyekan lamented, Nigeria’s recent experience has shifted the determination of election outcomes from polling stations to courtrooms. This trend is set to worsen in 2027. With INEC’s chairman already acknowledging a litany of pending court cases over party primaries, and with the Supreme Court issuing judgments that reshape the electoral landscape just months before the election, the stage is set for a legal quagmire. The risk is not just that the courts will determine the next president, but that, in doing so, they will destroy the last vestiges of their own credibility.
When a winner is declared by a judge rather than by the people, the state loses its moral authority, and the seeds of prolonged unrest are sown.
It is within this combustible context that we must heed the warnings that the ghost of the 2020 #EndSARS protests continues to haunt the nation. The violent suppression of that movement, which led to widespread anarchy and an estimated $305 million in damage in Lagos alone, demonstrated how quickly legitimate grievances can spiral into chaos. The current disillusionment among young Nigerians, facing unemployment, insecurity, and a political class that seems entirely disconnected from their suffering, is arguably more profound than it was in 2020. The opposition, as I have argued before, is fragmented and self-sabotaging, offering no credible alternative. In the absence of a trusted political outlet, and with INEC’s credibility shattered and the judiciary’s neutrality questioned, the potential for a revolt that surpasses the scale and intensity of #EndSARS is a genuine and frightening possibility. Another stolen election, another court-sanctioned presidency, could very well be the spark that ignites a conflagration of civil unrest and anarchy that no institution can contain.
The path to 2027 is fraught with peril. Nigeria stands at a crossroads. The confluence of an untrustworthy electoral commission, the overbearing ambition of governors, a secretive and bloated budget, the technological loopholes that render the ballot insecure, and the growing reliance on judicial pronouncements instead of popular will is creating a perfect storm. The killing of #EndSARS protesters was a scar on the nation’s conscience, a warning of the state’s capacity for violence and the people’s capacity for rage. If the 2027 election is perceived as another grand deception, the resulting upheaval will not be a protest; it will be a reckoning. The time for genuine electoral reform and the restoration of institutional integrity is now, before the final embers of hope are extinguished and the nation is consumed by the anarchy that looms on the horizon.
•Oshunfurewa writes from Lagos
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