By Kunle Oshobi
There is a moment in the life of every democracy when the mask slips, when those in power stop pretending to serve the people and openly design the system to serve themselves. Nigeria reached that moment on February 18, 2026, when President Bola Tinubu signed the Electoral Act 2026 into law. What was marketed as a reform is, in truth, a blueprint for manipulation.
The story begins with a straightforward demand from Nigerians: make the real-time electronic transmission of election results from polling units to INEC’s Result Viewing Portal (IReV) mandatory, without exception. It was not a radical demand. Kenya, Brazil, and India already transmit election results electronically. Nigeria’s own telecoms operators, through ALTON, confirmed that even 2G networks are capable of handling the small data packets required to upload results. The technology exists. The infrastructure exists. The only thing missing was political will, and that absence was deliberate.
The House of Representatives, to its initial credit, passed a bill in December 2025 mandating compulsory real-time electronic uploads, requiring presiding officers to upload results via the IReV portal after signing and stamping Form EC8A. It was a clear, unambiguous provision. Then the Senate gutted it. The new Senate version allows both manual and electronic transmission of results but removes explicit reference to “real-time” uploads from polling units. The Senate’s excuse? Poor network coverage and inadequate electricity in rural areas.
This is an insult to Nigerians’ intelligence. The country’s telecommunications operators have publicly stated that network coverage is sufficient. More tellingly, manipulation between polling units and collation centres before transmission is a recurring abuse in Nigerian elections, precisely the window that manual fallback options keep wide open. The “communication failure” caveat in the new law is not a concession to infrastructure reality; it is an engineered escape hatch for electoral thieves.
Faced with public rage and street protests, 55 senators nonetheless voted to retain manual transmission where the network fails, with only 15 opposing. Then, in a scene that exposed the depth of this conspiracy, the House of Representatives caved in and adopted the Senate version, despite a voice vote that appeared to favour the opposing side. The Speaker simply ruled in favour of the ruling APC’s position and moved on. Opposition lawmakers staged a walkout. Outside, police fired tear gas at peaceful protesters, including women and elderly citizens who had gathered to demand that their votes be protected.
Activist Omoyele Sowore described the police action as a declaration of war on Nigerians and on participatory democracy. He was right. When a government deploys security forces against citizens demanding electoral transparency, it reveals everything about its intentions.
The ruling APC controls both the executive and the legislature. The President who benefits most from a compromised electoral law is the same one who signed it into law hours after it was passed. This is not coincidence. It is coordination.
And for those who might counsel patience and faith in INEC or the judiciary, the evidence offers no comfort. In 2023, INEC promised during electioneering that results would be transmitted electronically in real-time via IReV. That promise was broken on election day. Results were not transmitted as pledged, and the irregularities that followed were glaring. The judiciary relied on Section 60 to approve the 2023 presidential polls after INEC failed to transmit the results to the IReV as promised. The courts, rather than holding INEC accountable for its own stated standards, ratified the breach. INEC failed the people. The courts covered for INEC. The full circle of institutional failure was complete.
There is no reason to believe 2027 will be different. INEC remains populated by appointees who serve at the pleasure of those in power. The courts have demonstrated, in election after election, a remarkable appetite for validating results that independent observers have questioned. The new Electoral Act, with its “dual transmission” framework and its built-in ambiguity around when manual collation can override electronic results, hands electoral manipulators exactly the legal fog they need to operate in.
The dual transmission system is confusing, contentious, and dangerously prone to fraud, manipulation, and endless litigation. It virtually guarantees that the 2027 elections will again end not at the ballot box, but in courtrooms, where, as history has shown, justice is a luxury Nigerians cannot afford.
The people are not fooled. The protests outside the National Assembly, the walkouts by opposition lawmakers, and the condemnations from civil society groups like Yiaga Africa and Enough is Enough Nigeria all reflect a citizenry that understands what is happening. The electoral law has not been reformed. It has been re-armed, loaded with loopholes, and aimed squarely at the Nigerian voter.
2027 is not just an election. It is a test of whether Nigeria’s democracy is retrievable. Right now, the evidence suggests that those in power are determined to answer that question with a resounding “no.” The people must prove them wrong, in the streets, at the ballot box, and in every space where power can still be contested.
Because if Nigerians do not fight for their votes now, there will be nothing left to fight for later.
Kunle Oshobi is the Head of Strategy and Planning of the Narrative Force.
