Our country, whose post-independence history was once a grim slideshow of coups, counter-coups, and military juntas, the mere fact that Nigeria has sustained an uninterrupted democracy for a quarter of a century is, statistically, a miracle. Since 1999, the baton of power has been passed, however imperfectly, through the ballot box rather than the barrel of a gun. The military has largely returned to the barracks, and the idea of a handover from one civilian administration to another has become normalised.
Yet, as Nigeria celebrates 27 years of continuous civilian rule, the question echoing through the bustling markets of Lagos, the creeks of the Niger Delta, and the dusty streets of Maiduguri is not whether democracy exists, but whether it is working. The greatest news of the last 25 years is that the system has survived. The greatest tragedy is that it has not yet translated into the greatness of life for the greatest number of its people.
On the surface, the statistics of Nigerian democracy suggest vibrancy. Elections are held regularly. There is a multiplication of political parties. The press, in theory, is one of the freest in Africa. Civil society organisations operate with relative liberty compared to the military era. However, peeling back the veneer of this procedural democracy reveals a system suffering from what political analysts call ‘democratic fatigue.’ The system is not broken in the sense of a coup, but it is brittle. It is a democracy of the elites, by the elites, and largely for the elites. While the political class has mastered the art of rotation North to South, Christian to Muslim, incumbent to opposition, the material conditions of the average citizen have remained stagnant or worsened.
The ultimate promise of democracy is that it is the best system for delivering public goods. In Nigeria, this link between governance and development seems severed. When Nigeria returned to democracy in 1999, the poverty rate was estimated at around 70 percent. By 2019, after two decades of democratic rule, the official poverty rate stood at 40 percent, representing almost 83 million Nigerians living below the national poverty line. Today, despite being one of Africa’s largest economies and a top oil producer, the World Bank estimates that the poverty rate has risen sharply to about 63 percent in 2026, meaning that roughly six out of every ten Nigerians now live below the national poverty line. The World Bank also estimates that an additional seven million Nigerians fell into poverty in 2025 alone, as the poverty rate increased from about 61 percent in 2024 to 63 percent. The total number of poor people has continued to rise due to population growth, persistent inflation, and declining household purchasing power. The May 2023 removal of fuel subsidies and the floating of the Naira policies have caused a cost-of-living crisis that has pushed millions more into food insecurity. The ‘greatness’ of Nigeria is currently measured by the fleet of private jets at the airport, not the quality of life in the slums that surround it.
This leadership disconnect is perhaps best exemplified by President Bola Tinubu’s shifting rhetoric on the economy. Before becoming Nigeria’s president, Tinubu used to say, ‘we will punish poverty.’ His favourite phrase then was ‘let the poor breathe.’ It was a rallying cry that inspired hope among millions who believed his tenure would mark a decisive war against deprivation. However, after being elected to lead one of Africa’s most populous and powerful countries, Nigerians are caged into poverty like never before. Instead of doubling his efforts to make history and fulfil that promise, Tinubu recently said there was poverty in Nigeria even before he was born. While historically true, that is not a good defence for a leader like him. It is the equivalent of a firefighter arriving at a burning house and shrugging that the fire started before he got there. Nigerians did not elect a historian; they elected a problem solver. A leader of a nation in crisis cannot hide behind the failures of his predecessors when he campaigned specifically on the platform of fixing them.
For 25 years, the national grid has collapsed repeatedly. The country generates a fraction of the electricity needed for its over 200 million people. While the government celebrates the construction of new highways, the primary mode of transportation for the elite is private aviation, and for the poor, it is survival. Health and education budgets consistently fall below the UNESCO and Abuja Declarations’ recommended benchmarks, leading to a ‘Japa’ syndrome-a mass exodus of doctors, nurses, and tech talent seeking greener pastures abroad. To be fair, hope is not lost on infrastructure. Tinubu is doing well in that regard, but more attention must be paid to the poor who need room to breathe and to fixing the security crisis that continues to threaten lives and livelihoods. A democracy that cannot protect its citizens from the state or from non-state actors is failing in its most basic duty.
Nigeria has a loud press. Radio stations crackle with political debate, and newspapers publish scathing editorials. However, a free press is only as free as its ability to survive and its safety. Journalists in Nigeria operate under a shadow. The use of the Cybercrime Act to arrest and detain journalists who ‘insult’ officials has become common practice in our country. While the current government has pledged to be more open, the structural hurdles remain. State governments routinely shut down broadcast stations for reporting on sensitive local issues.
In a healthy democracy, the opposition and objective criticism provides a credible alternative. In Nigeria, the opposition often behaves like a queue waiting for its turn at the trough. The 2015 election was historic because an opposition party defeated an incumbent president for the first time. However, the subsequent years have revealed that the ideological differences between the major parties are paper-thin. When the APC took power, many of the same politicians who had ruined the PDP simply switched parties. The term ‘cross-carpeting’ has become so normalised that the Nigerian political class is often described as a single party with two wings. The current opposition is vocal, but is it effective? The National Assembly often acts as a rubber stamp for the executive, not out of loyalty to the president, but out of shared interest in accessing the national treasury. The opposition is vibrant only in its quest for the next election, not in its defence of the masses between elections.
It is easy to write an obituary for Nigerian democracy. The gap between the rulers and the ruled is a chasm. The dreams of 1999, of a nation emerging from the darkness of tyranny into a land of milk and honey have soured for many. However, to dismiss the last 25 years would be an insult to the Nigerian spirit. The fact that citizens still protest, that they still sue the government, that they still demand transparency, and that the #EndSARS movement happened at all, proves that the democratic space is not entirely closed. The Nigerian people are not passive; they are resilient.
The verdict on Nigeria’s democracy is therefore mixed. It has survived, which is no small feat. But survival is not the same as success. For democracy to truly bring greatness to the greatest number, Nigeria must move beyond the mere ritual of elections and begin the hard work of governance. It must build institutions that are stronger than individuals. It must end the culture of impunity, whether it involves a soldier shooting a protester or a governor stealing a pension fund.
At 25, Nigerian democracy is an adult. It is time for it to stop acting like a troubled adolescent loud, rebellious, and destructive and start acting like a responsible guardian. Until the dividends of democracy are visible in the stomach of the common man and the safety of the common woman, the celebration will remain hollow. The system is unbroken, but it is currently held together by the patience of a people waiting, still waiting, for the greatness they were promised.