When Senate President Godswill Akpabio recently declared that Nigeria’s elections have “improved tremendously” since the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) left power, his words struck a familiar chord — the triumphant rhetoric of a ruling class convinced that progress is best measured by propaganda, not performance. To the average Nigerian, however, this assertion feels detached from reality — a sweeping political statement that wilts under the heat of facts.
Let’s start with what Akpabio didn’t say. He didn’t mention that the 2023 general elections recorded the lowest voter turnout in Nigeria’s democratic history — barely 27%, down from 34% in 2019 and 43% in 2015. That means roughly 73% of registered voters stayed home, disillusioned by a process they increasingly perceive as rigged or irrelevant. He also omitted that, according to the European Union Election Observation Mission (EU EOM), the polls were marred by “significant operational failures,” “lack of transparency,” and “widespread mistrust” in the result transmission process.
For many Nigerians, the 2023 elections — the first fully managed under the APC-led government’s new Electoral Act — were supposed to mark a turning point. The introduction of the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) and INEC Result Viewing Portal (IReV) was hailed as the dawn of a new era in electoral credibility. Yet, when it mattered most — during the collation and transmission of presidential results — the system faltered. Real-time uploads of results from polling units failed across the country, creating a vacuum that fueled allegations of manipulation and disenfranchisement.
The EU, NDI/IRI, and the Centre for Democracy and Development (CDD) all reported similar findings: logistical breakdowns, intimidation, violence, and poor communication from INEC. In Lagos, Rivers, and parts of Kano, voters were openly profiled and attacked based on ethnicity. In Kogi and Imo, armed men disrupted voting in several wards. In over a dozen states, INEC officials arrived late or without materials.
If this is what “improvement” looks like, Nigerians could be forgiven for wondering what failure might be.
To understand Akpabio’s comment, you have to see it as part of a broader political culture that confuses continuity with progress. The APC, which took power in 2015 promising change, has now presided over three election cycles — each one more controversial than the last. The 2019 elections were marked by postponements and post-election violence that claimed over 600 lives, according to the Nigerian Civil Society Situation Room. The 2023 polls, though less bloody, were arguably more disappointing because expectations had been higher.
Even the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) quietly admitted that “technical hitches” marred the credibility of the process. Yet, months later, the institution received a hefty N300 billion budget for the 2027 elections — without any visible reforms or accountability for past failures.
Akpabio’s optimism might have carried more weight if Nigeria’s elections showed measurable improvements in transparency, voter participation, or institutional independence. But by all indicators, the reverse is true. In 2023, Nigeria ranked 109th on the Economist Intelligence Unit’s Democracy Index, sliding down from 108th in 2019. Freedom House continues to rate the country as “Partly Free,” citing electoral malpractice, corruption, and intimidation of political opponents.
Meanwhile, countries with similar challenges — Kenya, Ghana, Senegal — continue to refine their democratic processes, leveraging technology and civic engagement to deepen trust. Nigeria, Africa’s most populous democracy, continues to crawl under the weight of its political elite’s self-congratulation.
So when Akpabio says elections are now “better,” one must ask: better for whom? Better for the political class who benefit from the chaos? Better for those whose votes no longer count, or for the institutions that have been politicized beyond recognition?
Nigeria’s electoral problem isn’t just about logistics or law. It’s about political will. Until the ruling class — whether APC or PDP — learns that democracy is not a performance but a promise, no amount of electoral rebranding will convince Nigerians that progress has been made.
As 2027 draws near, the nation faces a crucial question: will we continue to celebrate mediocrity dressed as reform, or demand a truly transparent, accountable, and inclusive process? Because if this is what “improvement” looks like, then Nigeria’s democracy is not evolving — it’s regressing, only more efficiently.