Babayola M. Toungo
The proposal by Senate Leader Opeyemi Bamidele to amend Nigeria’s Constitution and introduce a single six-year term for the President and state governors is being presented as a bold reform designed to strengthen governance, reduce the distractions of perpetual campaigning, and promote political stability. Yet beneath the polished language and constitutional jargon lies a far more troubling reality. What Nigerians are being asked to consider is not merely an amendment of the Constitution; it is a fundamental alteration of the democratic contract between the electorate and those entrusted with political power. More importantly, it bears all the hallmarks of a familiar political tradition in Nigeria: the relentless search by incumbents for ways to avoid the uncertainties of electoral accountability.
At first glance, the argument may sound appealing. After all, who would not want leaders to focus on governance rather than elections? Who would object to reducing the enormous costs associated with repeated election cycles? But democracies are not sustained by convenience. They are sustained by accountability. Elections are not a nuisance to be endured; they are the very essence of democratic governance. They are the mechanism through which citizens periodically remind leaders that power belongs not to governments, political parties, or office holders, but to the people themselves.
It is therefore impossible to separate this proposal from the political circumstances in which it is emerging. Nigeria is facing one of the most difficult periods in its democratic history. Millions of citizens are struggling under the weight of economic hardship. Inflation has eroded incomes. Food prices continue to rise beyond the reach of ordinary families. Unemployment remains stubbornly high. Insecurity persists across large parts of the country. Public confidence in government institutions is steadily declining. Across the nation, there is a growing sense of frustration with the political class and increasing scepticism about the capacity of those in power to address the country’s mounting challenges.
It is against this backdrop that influential voices within the ruling establishment have suddenly discovered the need to alter the constitutional framework governing executive tenure. The timing is impossible to ignore. If constitutional reform were truly the priority, there are countless issues demanding urgent attention. Nigerians are still waiting for meaningful constitutional conversations around true federalism, devolution of powers, state policing, judicial independence, local government autonomy, electoral reforms, and institutional accountability. Yet rather than confronting these pressing questions, the political establishment appears preoccupied with redesigning the tenure structure of executive offices. The obvious question is why.
The answer may be uncomfortable, but it is one that Nigerians must confront honestly. What we are witnessing is not constitutional reform. It is another manifestation of a recurring disease within Nigeria’s political elite: the fear of elections.
In mature democracies, politicians seek elections because elections are the source of their legitimacy. They welcome the opportunity to defend their records before the electorate and seek a renewed mandate. In Nigeria, however, a significant segment of the political class often treats elections as obstacles to be circumvented rather than democratic tests to be embraced. Whenever electoral prospects become uncertain, whenever public dissatisfaction rises, whenever incumbents begin to worry about their popularity, the temptation to seek shortcuts becomes irresistible. The six-year term proposal belongs squarely within this tradition.
Throughout Nigeria’s democratic history, attempts to alter tenure arrangements have rarely been driven by lofty constitutional principles. More often than not, they have been motivated by the desire of those in power to extend their political relevance, consolidate their advantage, and insulate themselves from the verdict of the electorate. The language changes from one era to another, but the underlying objective remains remarkably consistent. It is the politics of self-preservation masquerading as reform.
Nigerians have seen this script before. The most famous example remains the failed Third Term Agenda during the administration of President Olusegun Obasanjo. Then, as now, proponents argued that continuity was necessary for stability and development. Then, as now, Nigerians were told that constitutional adjustments were required to advance national progress. Then, as now, powerful political actors sought to persuade the public that altering the rules governing executive tenure was in the country’s best interest. But Nigerians saw through the deception.
More importantly, Nigeria had a National Assembly that ultimately understood the gravity of the moment. Whatever its shortcomings, that legislature recognised that its allegiance was first and foremost to the Constitution and the Nigerian people, not to the ambitions of an incumbent president. Legislators resisted enormous pressure and rejected an agenda that would have fundamentally altered the balance of democratic power. History has vindicated that decision. Had the Third Term Agenda succeeded, it would have established a dangerous precedent capable of undermining the very foundations of constitutional democracy.
Today, however, many Nigerians are understandably less confident that the same institutional resistance exists. The current National Assembly increasingly projects the image of a legislature that has become comfortable in the shadow of executive power. Rather than serving as a robust check on the executive branch, it is often perceived as a willing partner in its projects. Oversight has become timid. Critical scrutiny has become rare. Legislative independence appears weakened. Whether this perception is entirely accurate is almost beside the point. The fact that it exists at all represents a crisis of confidence in one of the pillars of democratic governance. That is why the proposal should concern every Nigerian, regardless of political affiliation.
The issue is bigger than the APC. It is bigger than President Tinubu. It is bigger than Senator Bamidele. At stake is the principle that those who seek public office should periodically return to the people and justify their continued occupation of power. Any attempt to dilute that principle deserves the highest level of scrutiny.
Supporters of the proposal insist that a single six-year term would reduce the distractions associated with re-election campaigns. Yet this argument fundamentally misunderstands the nature of democratic governance. Leaders are not accountable because elections are convenient. They are accountable because accountability is the price of power. The possibility of electoral defeat is one of the few mechanisms available to compel elected officials to remain responsive to public opinion. Remove that pressure, weaken that accountability cycle, or reduce the frequency with which leaders must seek popular approval, and the inevitable result is the strengthening of incumbency at the expense of democratic oversight.
Indeed, if elected officials are genuinely confident in their performance, why should they fear the verdict of the electorate? Why seek constitutional shortcuts when the democratic route remains open? Why redesign the rules of the game instead of preparing to compete under them? These questions go to the heart of the matter. The proposal is surfacing at a moment when public dissatisfaction is widespread and electoral outcomes are becoming increasingly unpredictable. Under such circumstances, any initiative that has the effect of altering the political lifespan of incumbents will inevitably be viewed through the lens of political self-interest.
The danger extends beyond the immediate proposal itself. Constitutional democracy survives not merely because of laws but because of conventions, restraints, and an abiding respect for the spirit of democratic competition. Once political elites begin to believe that tenure arrangements can be altered whenever circumstances become inconvenient, the door is opened to endless manipulation of constitutional processes. Today’s six-year term can become tomorrow’s seven-year term. What begins as reform can gradually evolve into a culture of constitutional opportunism.
Democracies rarely collapse overnight. More often, they are weakened incrementally. Institutions are hollowed out. Constitutional norms are eroded. Accountability mechanisms are weakened. Political elites steadily expand their advantages while citizens are encouraged to view each concession as insignificant. By the time the cumulative effect becomes obvious, the damage has already been done.
This is why Nigerians must approach the six-year term proposal with extreme caution. It may be marketed as innovation. It may be presented as modernization. It may be packaged as a solution to political instability. But stripped of its rhetoric, many citizens will recognise it for what it is: another attempt to reduce the frequency with which those in power must submit themselves to the judgment of the governed.
The Constitution does not belong to politicians. It does not belong to political parties. It belongs to the Nigerian people. No group of elected officials should be permitted to alter its most fundamental provisions in ways that directly benefit incumbents without the most rigorous public scrutiny and resistance.
The defeat of the Third Term Agenda remains one of the proudest moments in Nigeria’s democratic history because it demonstrated that there are limits beyond which a vigilant citizenry will not allow politicians to go. The lesson remains as relevant today as it was then. Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. Whenever political elites begin to rewrite the rules of democratic competition in their own favour, citizens must resist with every legitimate democratic tool at their disposal.
The six-year term proposal is therefore not merely a constitutional debate. It is a test of whether Nigerians still possess the collective will to defend the principle that political power must remain accountable to the people. It is a test of whether democracy will continue to be defined by the sovereign will of the electorate or by the convenience of those who temporarily occupy public office.
And on that question, every democrat should have only one answer.