New Constitution or New Operators?
Beneath the Surface By Dakuku Peterside
IIn every generation of Nigeria’s post-independence journey, the question has lingered like a stubborn echo in the nation’s democratic soul: Is our problem the rulebook or the people who enforce it? Is the solution a brand-new, people-owned constitution, or is it the emergence of a new generation of honest, competent, and selfless political actors who can make the existing laws work? It is a question that refuses to go away because, despite numerous attempts at reform, Nigeria remains trapped in a seemingly cyclical dance of dysfunction, disappointment, and disillusionment. In truth, the dilemma is neither binary nor straightforward: it is both a question of what is written and who wields the pen.
From colonial ordinances to the rapid-fire reforms of the early 2000s, successive attempts to remake Nigeria’s governing charter have stumbled at a familiar hurdle: politics. General Babangida’s 1989 draft never saw the light of day, not for lack of ideas but for lack of will. The 1999 Constitution, hastily compiled by the Niki Tobi committee, emerged as a compromise text that was neither entirely military nor fully civilian in spirit. The 1999 Constitution, born in the twilight days of military rule, continues to draw fierce criticism. Critics argue that it was not the product of a democratic process but rather a hasty compromise, crafted by a military government anxious to hand over power without relinquishing too much control. As a result, it is often described as overly centralised, bureaucratically cumbersome, and fundamentally disconnected from the complex, multi-ethnic reality of the Nigerian state. Yet, a growing school of thought—championed by voices like former President Olusegun Obasanjo—insists that Nigeria’s problems do not stem from the letter of the law but from the character and conduct of those entrusted to implement it.
This tension between “structure” and “stewardship” is not unique to Nigeria, but its consequences here are more acute. For over two decades, Nigeria has endured cycles of election-related violence, widespread corruption, poor public service delivery, judicial compromise, and institutional paralysis—symptoms that have prompted many to call for a total constitutional overhaul. And yet, each effort at constitutional reform, from Obasanjo’s 2005 National Political Reform Conference to Jonathan’s 2014 National Conference, has ended the same way: sidelined, shelved, or stymied by political resistance and elite apathy.
The latest initiative, spearheaded by a coalition of respected elder statesmen and civic leaders under the Patriots group, led by Chief Emeka Anyaoku, has rekindled national attention. Their 2025 National Summit on Constitutional Democracy didn’t just revisit old frustrations; it produced a detailed 22-point proposal aimed at addressing the constitutional contradictions and governance failures that have hobbled Nigeria’s progress for decades. The recommendations reflect a deepening yearning for structural realignment: a six-year single presidential term to curb the corrupting influence of second-term politics, a cost-effective unicameral legislature, a truly autonomous judiciary, and caps on bloated ministries and appointments. Perhaps most boldly, it proposes automatic loss of office for lawmakers who defect from their party mid-term, aimed squarely at Nigeria’s culture of opportunistic cross-carpeting, and a judiciary with full financial autonomy. These proposals resonate in households burdened by rising insecurity—over 40,000 lives lost to banditry and terrorism in the last five years—and by the exodus of two million Nigerians to greener pastures in Canada, the U.K., and beyond.
However, bold ideas alone cannot escape Nigeria’s familiar snare: the gulf between the conference hall and the council chamber, between the draft report and the statute book. Amending any section of the current Constitution requires the concurrence of two-thirds of both legislative houses and 24 of the 36 state assemblies—a tall order when so many incumbents benefit from the status quo. Meanwhile, mounting public debt (approaching 40 per cent of GDP) and dwindling revenues mean that cost-saving measures—such as trimming ministries from today’s 44 to a leaner 15—must compete with urgent budgetary demands for health, education, and debt service.
Yet while legal and fiscal hurdles loom large, deeper challenges lie in transforming political culture. In countries like South Africa and Kenya, the success of referenda in 1996 and 2010 owed not just to the righteousness of the proposals, but also to the breadth of coalitions—from labour unions to traditional leaders—that mobilised citizens. In Ghana, incremental constitutional amendments over the last two decades have strengthened checks and balances precisely because they were accompanied by civil society monitoring and judicial backing. These experiences suggest that Nigeria’s quest for reform must align with the temperament of its people.
To many Nigerians, these proposals are not just theoretical fixes; they are a direct response to lived realities. The average Nigerian now associates the political system with elite impunity, the absence of consequences, and hollow campaign promises. The Patriots’ recommendations reflect a collective demand for a federation that is leaner, fairer, more accountable, and genuinely federal in spirit and operation.
Most daunting is the deficit of public trust. Nigerians have seen reform documents come and go, many of which have ended up as dusty volumes on government shelves. The 2014 Confab is a case in point—widely lauded at the time, it remains unimplemented almost a decade later. Understandably, the public is weary of another high-sounding initiative that fails to cross the bridge from rhetoric to reality.
And yet, the need for reform has never been more urgent. The rising insecurity, staggering unemployment, mass emigration of the middle class (the ‘Japa’ syndrome), and eroding public confidence in elections all point to a system under severe stress. A system that was never designed for 220 million people across 36 states, all governed from a centre that controls everything from policing to mineral rights to local government allocations.
Still, does this mean the solution lies solely in rewriting the Constitution? Or is the obsession with a new legal document a way of avoiding the more complex, more intangible work—cultivating a new political culture? Obasanjo’s argument is hard to dismiss: China’s Constitution is just 39 pages long, the U.S. Constitution is under 8,000 words, and the United Kingdom has no codified constitution at all. Yet, these nations enjoy relatively stable governance, not because their documents are perfect, but because institutions are respected and officeholders are held to account. This points to an uncomfortable truth: laws, no matter how well-drafted, cannot compensate for a lack of political ethics or civic responsibility.
But it’s also true that a flawed constitution can incentivise or even institutionalise bad behaviour. Nigeria’s current structure concentrates too much power at the centre, allowing for excessive executive discretion and offering little deterrent to corruption and electoral malpractice. It is no surprise that public office has become, in many cases, an investment portfolio rather than a call to service.
What then is the way forward?
First, a dual-track approach is essential. We must push for immediate “integrity fixes” to the existing Constitution—like completing the judiciary’s financial autonomy, enforcing BVAS and electronic result transmission, and tightening campaign finance laws. These are achievable within the current framework and can set the tone for deeper reforms. At the same time, we must begin the process of promoting a political culture based on ethics, service , accountability and backed by consequences for misconduct .
Second, we need to invest heavily in civic education. Nigerians must understand their rights, the structures that govern them, and the mechanics of power. The next generation of political leaders must not only be elected but also educated in the spirit of true federalism, constitutionalism, and public service.
Third, we must commit to performance-based leadership. Governments at all levels should be legally bound to publish annual scorecards detailing their performance on Chapter II of the Constitution—the Fundamental Objectives and Directive Principles of State Policy. Health, education, jobs, and security must become measurable, reportable, and enforceable mandates, not just campaign slogans.
Fourth, and most urgent, is the need to rig-proof our electoral process. Without credible elections, any new constitution is doomed to fail from the outset. Nigeria must prioritise airtight election logistics, biometric verification, real-time electronic transmission of results, and criminal penalties for manipulation or interference. If the people cannot freely choose their leaders, the entire democratic process becomes a farce.
Finally, the recommendations from the 2014 National Conference and the 2025 Patriots Summit must not be lost in the shuffle of political manoeuvring. They provide a rich starting point for conversation, negotiation, and eventual implementation. The risk of doing nothing is no longer abstract; it is a tangible reality. It is manifesting in daily insecurity, brain drain, economic volatility, and growing disaffection with the very idea of the Nigerian project.
The choice Nigeria faces—new Constitution or new operators—is ultimately a false dichotomy. A leaner, people owned constitution provides the skeletal framework for a healthy federation, but only a new breed of ethical, accountable leaders can animate it. If we insist on one without the other, we are doomed to repeat past mistakes. Yet if we press forward on both fronts—text and temperament—Nigeria stands at a rare inflexion point: the chance to transform decades of gridlock into a future defined by genuine federalism, responsive governance, and shared prosperity. Time is not on our side; the cost of delay is counted in lost lives, stunted growth, and a widening social divide. However, if we can summon the political will, harness civic energy, and learn from global exemplars, we may yet fulfil the promise that has eluded us since our independence: a truly more perfect union.
