The recent enactment of the Electoral Act 2026 by the National Assembly, followed by presidential assent, has sparked an incredibly robust and, at times, fractious national debate. Across the length and breadth of the federation—from the bustling, historic markets of Kano and Onitsha to the soaring financial hubs of Lagos—stakeholders are meticulously analysing what these legislative shifts portend for our sovereign will.
By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
The Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Nigeria (CBCN) and many citizens have voiced significant concerns regarding the amended Electoral Act, calling upon the National Assembly to reconsider its position on electoral reforms. They are advocating mandatory real-time transmission of election results to reinstate public confidence in the nation’s democracy. They stressed that such a measure is vital to prevent human interference with the expressed will of the electorate.
Whilst acknowledging previous efforts to refine the electoral system, they emphasised the necessity of further reforms to guarantee the credibility of future polls.
The recent enactment of the Electoral Act 2026 by the National Assembly, followed by presidential assent, has sparked an incredibly robust and, at times, fractious national debate. Across the length and breadth of the federation—from the bustling, historic markets of Kano and Onitsha to the soaring financial hubs of Lagos—stakeholders are meticulously analysing what these legislative shifts portend for our sovereign will.
However, I find it increasingly imperative to step back from the heat of partisan rhetoric. We must offer a more measured, constructive reflection on what this development truly signifies for the maturation of our democratic experiment, particularly as we navigate the delicate, often precarious intersection of technological ambition and the stubborn, pragmatic realities of our national infrastructure.
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The cornerstone of this comprehensive legislative overhaul is the formal—and now ostensibly mandatory—provision for the electronic transmission of results to operate in tandem with traditional manual procedures. This represents, without a shadow of a doubt, a monumental leap forward in the sophistication of our electoral framework. For many decades, the Nigerian electorate has expressed a profound, often weary, yearning for a system that actively dissipates the clouds of suspicion that habitually hang over our polling centres like a persistent fog.
By enshrining the IReV portal and the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) as non-negotiable legal standards, the legislature has responded directly to a collective national aspiration for enhanced credibility. We are seeking to dismantle the analogue vulnerabilities—those “dark zones” in the collation process—that have historically invited manipulation, ballot-snatching, and the subsequent civil unrest that inevitably follows a perceived lack of transparency.
Furthermore, this legislative shift signals a burgeoning recognition among our lawmakers that modern technology is no longer an optional luxury but a vital instrument for fortifying democratic integrity. It is a clear admission that the sanctity of the vote is best protected when human interference is minimised through the application of transparent, automated checkpoints that provide an immutable digital audit trail for every ballot cast.
Nevertheless, whilst the 2026 Act strengthens these digital mandates, it also acknowledges the necessity of what I would term administrative prudence. There has been considerable anxiety among civil society actors and digital rights advocates regarding the retention of physical EC8A result sheets as a complementary safeguard. However, in the interest of intellectual honesty and objective analysis, we must acknowledge that Nigeria’s current socio-technical landscape requires such buffers.
It is an undeniable, if uncomfortable, reality that telecommunications network coverage remains frustratingly uneven, particularly within our more remote rural communities where digital signals are often sporadic, weak, or entirely non-existent. When one couples this with the persistent, systemic challenges of a stable power supply and the ever-looming global threat of sophisticated cyber-attacks, the decision to retain manual transmission as a backup begins to look less like a regressive step and more like a necessary pragmatic safeguard.
It acts as a “fail-safe” against total systemic collapse in the event of a technical failure or a malicious digital breach. The objective here is not to stifle progress, but to ensure that the transition to a fully digital democracy is grounded in reality rather than wishful thinking. The credibility of an election cannot be sacrificed on the altar of technological idealism if the underlying hardware of the nation is not yet ready to support it universally.
The heavy mantle of responsibility now rests squarely upon the shoulders of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC). The commission must execute this new legal mandate with the highest levels of transparency and operational brilliance. It is paramount that electronic transmission does not merely exist as a symbolic gesture or a hollow promise to appease international observers; it must function with unwavering reliability across all thirty-six states and the Federal Capital Territory.
INEC must brace itself immediately. As the 2027 General Elections approach, all eyes will be fixed on the commission to deliver a seamless, acceptable, and transparent process. The Nigerian public has grown weary of logistical failures and “technical hitches.” For the 2027 polls, the threshold for patience has been reached; no excuses—be they technical, logistical, or administrative—will suffice. The commission must prove it is capable of guarding the sanctity of the ballot.
If the technology is to be trusted by a skeptical public, it must be demonstrably secure, rigorously stress-tested under various adverse conditions, and managed by a corps of personnel who have been adequately trained to handle the complexities of digital data management without the shadow of administrative bias or technical incompetence.
As members of the Fourth Estate, we in the media understand better than most that public trust is an incredibly fragile commodity. It is not something that can be commanded by legislative decree; it must be built through a sustained culture of openness and radical accountability. Consequently, journalists must commit to monitoring the implementation of these reforms with a rigorous and impartial eye.
Beyond our watchdog role, we have a fundamental duty to educate the Nigerian public on the intricacies of this revised system. Reform is seldom an instantaneous event; democratic institutions mature through a process of incremental improvement, and our role is to ensure that each step forward is consolidated, scrutinised, and held to the highest possible standard.
As the countdown to the 2027 General Elections begins in earnest—with the Presidential and National Assembly polls now formally scheduled for 20 February 2027—we find ourselves at a critical juncture. The new law is not merely a dry document for legal scholars to debate in ivory towers; it is a live instrument of our collective sovereign will.
However, for this framework to succeed, the “prudence” of our lawmakers must be matched by an equal measure of patriotism and vigilance from the political class. Political parties must move away from the destructive “win-at-all-costs” mentality that has historically subverted even the most robust legal frameworks. They must respect the stricter guidelines for direct primaries and ensure that the candidates they present are the genuine choices of their constituents.
Ultimately, the burden of success lies with all of us. The citizenry must reject the cynicism that leads to voter apathy. A legal framework is only as strong as the people who demand its enforcement; therefore, Nigerians must engage with the registration process, verify their details, and turn out in record numbers. If we are to achieve a truly representative government, we must move beyond the rhetoric of reform and embrace the hard work of democratic participation. The 2026 Act provides the map, but it is the people who must walk the path to a more transparent and accountable future.
History is rarely dramatic in the moment it unfolds. Yet years from now, we will look back on this period and ask whether we chose expediency or endurance. The Electoral Act 2026 places the instrument in our hands; whether it becomes a shield for democracy or another chapter of regret will depend entirely on our resolve.
