In any functioning democracy, the journey from idea to law is not supposed to be a stealth operation. A bill is introduced, it goes through readings, and—crucially—it arrives at the committee stage. That is the moment the doors are flung open (at least in theory), and citizens, experts, lobbyists, busybodies, and professional complainers are all invited to kick the tyres, lift the bonnet, and ask: “Are we sure this thing won’t explode on ignition?”
This is the stage where stakeholders are meant to earn their keep.
And yet, in our own peculiar ecosystem, that invitation is often met with the enthusiasm of a Monday morning gym session—universally acknowledged as important, but widely ignored. The public hearing comes and goes. The room is half-empty. Submissions are thin. The silence is almost dignified.
Then—like clockwork—the bill becomes law.
And suddenly, everybody finds their voice.
Outrage erupts. Statements are issued. Panels are convened. Op-eds are written in a frenzy. One would think the law had been smuggled in under cover of darkness, rather than paraded in broad daylight through a process that practically begged for attention.
The recent financial legislation offers a textbook example. By the time it emerged as law, it was less a finely tuned instrument and more what can only be described as a dog’s breakfast—contradictions here, ambiguities there, and enough “interpretational flexibility” to keep lawyers comfortably employed for years. Only after the ink had dried did a major tax consulting body step forward to point out the obvious flaws—flaws that were not exactly hiding under a rock during the drafting phase.
To add a touch of farce, the relevant minister has now acknowledged that the law contains “mischief” requiring correction. One is tempted to ask: was the mischief invisible during the public consultation phase, or did it simply not attract sufficient attention because everyone was otherwise engaged?
The electoral law is threatening to follow the same well-trodden path. Key stakeholders—political parties and the Nigerian Bar Association—were notably absent when it mattered most. Now, with the law in place, deficiencies are being highlighted with the urgency of a fire alarm. Concerns are raised, fingers are pointed, and the legislative process is once again recast as something that happened to us, rather than something we participated in.
This pattern is not accidental; it is systemic.
At its core lies a curious paradox: a democratic framework that provides for participation, and a political culture that repeatedly declines the invitation. The result is legislation that lacks not only technical robustness but also public ownership. And without ownership, enforcement becomes an exercise in persuasion rather than authority.
Part of the problem is what might be called underdeveloped democratic muscle. Since 1999, Nigeria has operated within a democratic structure, but the habits, reflexes, and expectations that sustain meaningful participation are still very much a work in progress. Engagement is sporadic. Advocacy is reactive. Institutional memory is short.
There is also a credibility deficit. Many stakeholders quietly suspect that their contributions will be filed away in the legislative equivalent of a dusty drawer—acknowledged, perhaps, but not seriously considered. Faced with that perception, the rational response is disengagement. Why spend time refining a bill when the outcome feels preordained?
And so, the cycle continues: limited participation, flawed legislation, post hoc outrage, and eventual amendments—until the next bill arrives and the same script is dutifully followed.
But democracy, inconveniently, is not a spectator sport. It demands early engagement, not retrospective indignation. The committee stage is not decorative; it is the arena where laws are stress-tested before they acquire the force of compulsion.
If stakeholders continue to treat that stage as optional, they forfeit the right to be surprised by the outcome.
In the end, the real mischief is not in the laws themselves, but in the collective habit of arriving late to the conversation—and expecting to rewrite the script after the curtain has fallen.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 