By: Kunle Somorin
Dear Prof. Amupitan,
This is not a congratulatory note. It is a summons to conscience. Last week, my concern was about who would inherit the institutional wreckage at the Independent National Electoral Commission. Now, the waiting is over. You have been named. And so, let us speak plainly – not to flatter, but to forewarn.
You are stepping into an office that has become both a symbol of democratic aspiration and a graveyard of public trust. You are a scholar of law, a Senior Advocate of Nigeria, and a professor whose intellectual contributions span constitutionalism, corporate governance, and the philosophy of evidence. But the terrain you now enter is not academic – it is existential. INEC is not a classroom. It is a crucible. And the test before you is not doctrinal – it is moral.
The electoral process, as Aristotle conceived it, is the lifeblood of the “politeia” – the constitutional order that binds citizens to the state. When that process is corrupted, the state itself becomes a hollow shell, a simulacrum of sovereignty. In Nigeria, the electoral commission has long been the site of contested legitimacy. From “Wetie” of the 1960s to the landslide of 1983; from the annulment of June 12, 1993, and to the heartbreak of 2023, INEC, by whatever name called, has oscillated between promise and betrayal. INEC is not just a commission – it is the crucible in which Nigeria’s legitimacy is tested. And right now, that legitimacy is hanging by a thread. We need to recalibrate.
The Nigerian electorate is weary. We have watched elections become rituals of disappointment. We have seen technology deployed without integrity, laws twisted without shame, and violence used without consequence. We have seen the ballot reduced to cinema – where the actors are armed, the script is rigged, and the audience is silenced.
It is trite to say that as a man of letters, this moment demands more than scholarship. It demands moral courage. It demands that you become not just a manager of elections but a steward of democracy. Elections in Nigeria are not merely contests of ideas – they are battlegrounds of survival. The stakes are existential, and the process is often brutal. INEC, as the referee, has struggled to maintain credibility. The 2023 general elections, despite the deployment of technological innovations like BVAS and IReV, were marred by server failures, delayed uploads, and allegations of selective transparency. The promise of digital integrity collapsed under the weight of analogue manipulation. Voters watched in real time as their faith in the system was eroded.
Logistical chaos remains endemic. Ballot materials arrive late, ad-hoc staff are poorly trained, and security coordination is haphazard. In many polling units, elections begin hours behind schedule, disenfranchising thousands. In others, violence erupts – sometimes orchestrated, often ignored. Post-election litigation has become a parallel electoral process. The courts, meant to be arbiters of justice, are increasingly perceived as extensions of political machinery. The Electoral Act, while improved, still leaves room for interpretive abuse and procedural loopholes. And then there is the spectre of voter apathy. In 2023, turnout hovered around 27 per cent – a damning indictment of public cynicism. The youth, who should be the vanguard of democratic renewal, are retreating into silence, even with the “Not-too-young-to-run” sophistry. The ballot, once a symbol of hope, has become a relic of futility.
You inherit this architecture of ambiguity. You will not be praised for your neutrality, but suspected for your proximity to power. You will be called “referee”, but treated as a partisan. You will be expected to deliver free and fair elections, but handed a playbook of old tricks. The servers may sleep again. The results may wander again. And the people – those weary custodians of hope – will watch again, not with surprise, but with resignation.
INEC occupies a paradoxical space in Nigeria’s democracy. It is both the guardian of electoral integrity and, at times, the gravedigger of public trust. This duality is not accidental – it is structural. The commission’s independence is often compromised by political interference, budgetary delays, and opaque appointments. Its internal governance lacks robust accountability mechanisms, leading to inconsistent enforcement of electoral laws. The result is an institution that oscillates between competence and complicity.
Your predecessors, Prof. Humphrey Nwosu, who oversaw the historic but annulled 1993 elections; Prof. Maurice Iwu, whose tenure was dogged by controversy; and Prof. Mahmood Yakubu, who introduced technological reforms but faced credibility crises – each grappled with the tension between reform and resistance. You must now navigate this terrain with both legal precision and philosophical depth. Your background in evidence law is particularly relevant. Elections, after all, are exercises in proof of identity, of intent, of legitimacy. The burden of proof lies not just in courtrooms but in the streets, where citizens demand transparency, accountability, and justice. So, align yourself more with Attahiru Jega, who still has a modicum of credibility among your living predecessors.
Political theorist John Locke argued that the legitimacy of government rests on the consent of the governed. But consent, in Nigeria, is often manufactured. Elections are rigged, votes are suppressed, and outcomes are predetermined. The social contract is not negotiated – it is imposed. You must reimagine INEC as a facilitator of genuine consent. This requires more than procedural efficiency – it demands moral clarity. Philosopher Hannah Arendt warned against the “banality of evil” – the idea that tyranny often arises not from grand ideologies but from ordinary people following orders. INEC, under your watch, must resist this banality. It must become an institution of conscience.
This means rejecting the culture of “business as usual”. It means confronting political actors who seek to weaponise the ballot. It means empowering staff to act with integrity, even under pressure. It means engaging citizens not as passive voters but as active participants in democratic design.
In Osun State, a local youth leader once recounted how his polling unit was invaded by thugs during the 2023 elections. “They came with guns,” he said. “We ran. The ballot boxes were taken. INEC officials just watched.” In Rivers, a woman described how she waited for hours, only to be told that materials had been diverted. “I felt invisible,” she said. “Like my vote didn’t matter.” Kid-voters were paraded on the internet from most parts of the North and without recourse to their sponsors or consequences of any sort. These stories are not isolated – they are emblematic. They reveal a system that prioritises procedure over people, legality over legitimacy. You must listen to these voices. You must make INEC not just a commission but a community.
Let me also remind you that your nomination has not been met with indifference – it has stirred voices of affirmation from those who know you intimately. One of the most compelling, for me, is Eniola Bello, the Managing Director of ThisDay newspapers. I know him not to be a frivolous man. His words carry weight, not just because of his position, but because of the history you share. You both grew up in Ayetoro-Gbede, a place that has shaped your values and your convictions. Bello, like many others, has attested to your integrity, empathy, and unwavering sense of justice.
These are not casual compliments. They are testimonials. They are declarations of trust from those who have watched you rise – not just professionally but morally. And that trust must not be betrayed. You are not just representing INEC. You are representing every person who has ever believed that character still matters in public life. I am one. You are carrying the hopes of those who still dare to believe that Nigeria can be governed by principle, not just power.
Let their faith in you be your compass. Let their trust be your shield. And let their expectations be the fire that keeps you honest. But INEC cannot stand alone. Its relationship with civil society, the legislature, and the judiciary must be reimagined as a triangle of democratic reinforcement. Civil society organisations are not adversaries – they are allies. They provide electoral education, monitor abuses, and amplify citizen voices. Yet, INEC has often treated them with suspicion, limiting access and dismissing feedback. You must reverse this trend. Institutionalise regular consultations, co-design voter outreach strategies, and create feedback loops that inform policy. Civil society must not be tolerated – it must be embraced.
The legislature, too, plays a critical role. It controls INEC’s purse, shapes its legal framework, and confirms its leadership. But the National Assembly has often acted as a partisan actor, using oversight as leverage rather than support. Budgetary delays, politicised amendments, and selective hearings have weakened INEC’s operational capacity. You must engage lawmakers not as supplicants but as partners. Advocate for statutory financial independence, push for reforms that streamline electoral timelines, and resist attempts to dilute INEC’s autonomy. The commission must be shielded from legislative capture. Ask them to legislate a mandate revocation law for electoral theft and get them to promulgate against other electoral offences, like ballot snatching, stuffing, vote-buying, voter harassment, and other crimes.
And then there is the judiciary – the final arbiter of electoral disputes. In theory, it is the guardian of justice. In practice, it is often a battlefield of influence. Conflicting judgments, delayed rulings, and opaque reasoning have eroded public trust. Work with the judiciary to establish clear protocols, expedite litigation, and ensure consistency. Advocate for specialised electoral courts, judicial training, and transparent case management. The goal is not to control the judiciary but to collaborate for credibility.
Yet, no reform agenda is complete without confronting the twin demons of electoral violence and media complicity. Violence is not just a symptom – it is a strategy. Political actors deploy thugs to intimidate voters, disrupt polling units, and create chaos. The goal is not merely to win but to dominate. INEC must treat violence not as a security issue alone but as a democratic emergency. Work with security agencies to develop preemptive protocols, map hotspots, and deploy rapid response teams. Prosecute offenders publicly and decisively. Impunity is the oxygen of violence.
The media, meanwhile, sits at the crossroads of truth and propaganda. In theory, it is the fourth estate – a watchdog of democracy. In practice, it is often a megaphone for power. During elections, misinformation spreads like wildfire. Fake results, doctored videos, and partisan commentary distort public perception. Engage the media not just as a source of coverage but as a partner in truth. Host regular briefings, provide real-time data, and train journalists in electoral reporting. Counter disinformation swiftly and transparently. Silence is not neutrality – it is complicity.
Your legal scholarship offers a foundation for reform. Your work on corporate governance can inform INEC’s internal restructuring. Your expertise in evidence law can guide the development of robust verification protocols. But theory must meet practice. Establish a legal audit unit within INEC to anticipate litigation risks and ensure compliance with the Electoral Act. Advocate for constitutional amendments that guarantee INEC’s financial and operational autonomy. Push for judicial reforms that streamline post-election adjudication.
Your legacy will not be measured by the number of elections conducted but by the quality of democracy preserved. You must choose between being a technocrat of procedure or a visionary of reform. The former maintains the status quo; the latter reshapes the future. Your immediate challenges and test of credibility start from November 8, when the Anambra governorship election holds, and then the area council polls in the FCT. These will test your will and credibility before the Ekiti and Osun off-season elections in 2026. But the real you will manifest and be fully defined in 2027.
You now stand at the helm of an institution that can either perpetuate Nigeria’s democratic fatigue or rekindle its civic faith. The choice is yours – and it will echo far beyond your tenure. Resist the temptation of institutional inertia. Confront the forces that seek to undermine electoral integrity. Build a commission that is not just efficient but ethical. One that does not merely conduct elections but cultivates legitimacy. One that does not merely count votes but protects the dignity of every voter.
This is not just a letter – it is a call. A call to courage, to integrity, and to innovation. The road ahead is fraught with resistance, but the destination is worth the struggle: a Nigeria where elections are not feared but trusted; not contested, but celebrated.
Let us return to Plato. In his ideal republic, the philosopher-king rules not because he desires power but because he understands justice. You may not be a king, Prof. Amupitan, but you are now a steward of Nigeria’s democratic soul. May you rule with wisdom, act with courage, and lead with justice. The ballot is in your hands. May you wield it not as a tool of power but as a promise of redemption. So, help you, God.
Yours in democratic solidarity,
KS
Kunle Somorin is a journalist and newspaper columnist
