The furore behind the e-tranmission of electoral results may be loud but apparently, if one reads between the lines, hasn’t achieved much. Sigh.
In the architecture of democracy, the transfer of power is not merely a procedure, it is a sacrament of public trust. Its sanctity is guarded by the precision of its process. This week, under the immense weight of public fury, Nigeria’s Senate performed a reluctant about-face on a critical electoral amendment. They conceded to electronic transmission of results, a demand shouted from the streets to the hallowed chambers. But in the fine print of their concession lies a ghost, a single, devastating proviso: “where technology fails.” This is not a triumph of the people’s will. It is a masterclass in legislative sleight-of-hand, preserving a backdoor to the very darkness of manipulation the people rose to expel. The real story is not the climbdown; it is the trapdoor they built on the way down.
After days of nationwide protests, led by a coalition of opposition figures, civil society, and a galvanized youth, the Senate chamber convulsed. The air was thick with tension as 106 senators, cornered by an unprecedented wave of outrage, voted to “rescind” their earlier position. They now decree that presiding officers shall electronically transmit results to the INEC Result Viewing Portal (IReV). The headlines screamed “Public Pressure Wins!” and for a moment, it felt like a victory snatched from the jaws of democratic retreat.
But listen closely to the language of the victors. The crucial, non-negotiable demand of the protesters, real-time transmission was explicitly rejected. The motion’s architect, Senator Tahir Monguno, even swapped “transmission” for the weaker “transfer.” The explosive debates on the floor, the shouts of “Point of Order!” from senators like Enyinnaya Abaribe, were not about the principle, but about closing this lethal loophole. They failed.
They have since moved on to ratify what’s left.
The Poison Pill: “Where Technology Fails”
Herein lies the poison pill in the otherwise celebratory amendment. The new clause states: “Provided that if the electronic transmission of the results fails as a result of communication failure… the Form EC8A shall in such a case be the primary source.”
This single proviso unravels everything. It transforms technology from the indisputable arbiter of truth into a convenient scapegoat. It legalizes doubt. In a country where network “failure” can be strategically induced or claimed, this clause doesn’t protect voters in remote areas, it imperils every voter’s mandate. It resurrects the very manual collation system, shrouded in midnight movements and “typing errors,” that the IReV was designed to bury.
As former Governor Nasir El-Rufai starkly put it, the resistance to real-time transmission is “politically motivated and designed to preserve electoral advantages.” Rotimi Amaechi, standing with protesters, framed it in blood: real-time transmission “could save lives” by reducing the volatile, violence-prone periods of manual tallying.
Are There Still Guardians?
Why this stubborn refusal to adopt the House of Representatives’ cleaner, mandatory transmission version? The Senate’s “balanced approach,” as defended by Senator Orji Uzor Kalu, is not balance, it is calculated ambiguity. It creates a system with two competing truths: the digital snapshot sent to the public and the physical paper that can be “adjusted” in transit. In a close election, which “truth” will prevail? The one that suits the powerful.
Civil society leaders see the gambit clearly. Auwal Musa (Rafsanjani) of CISLAC called it “giving with one hand and taking back with the other.” The opposition PDP labelled it a “backdoor move.” They understand that in law, as in coding, a bug is not always an accident; sometimes, it is a feature.
What Really Matters?
The Senate, in its wisdom, has appointed a 12-member conference committee to harmonize its version with the House’s. This is where the true battle for Nigeria’s 2027 election and its democratic soul will now be fought.
The House version insists on mandatory, real-time transmission. The Senate version carries its fatal exception. The committee must choose:
1. The People’s Mandate: A clear, immutable digital chain of custody for every vote, making the will of the people as verifiable as a bank transaction.
2. The Old Ghost’s Haven: A system where trust is again placed in the fragile virtue of men over the impartial certainty of machines, where “network failure” becomes the most potent tool in the rigger’s arsenal.
3. A Stand for Certainty
This is no longer just about an amendment. It is a litmus test of intent. As activist Omoyele Sowore told the crowds at the National Assembly, “Prepare to see the end of this political class.” That end begins not with violence, but with the unbreakable integrity of the vote.
The Senate’s reversal under pressure proves that citizen action matters. But the fine print proves that vigilance must be perpetual. Nigerians must now focus their laser intensity on that conference committee and on President Bola Tinubu, who will wield the final pen.
The ghost of rigging past has been offered a new home in the phrase “where technology fails.” The nation must exorcise it, not with protests, but with an unwavering demand for a law that leaves no room for ghosts at all.
