Rivers of Democratic Séance

Kunle Somorin writes that the local government election organised recently in Rivers state by the Sole Administrator, Vice Admiral Ibok-Ete Ibas (rtd) is not only illegal but needs to be reviewed as soon as the constitutionally elected government is restored in the oil-rich state.

In the theatre of Nigerian democracy, where the absurd is not a deviation but the default, Rivers State has just staged a performance so exquisitely paradoxical it deserves its own genre: tragicomedy in constitutional costume. The curtain has now fallen on the local government elections conducted under emergency rule, and the audience—bewildered, bemused, and betrayed—is left to interpret the plot.

Certificates of return have been issued. The Rivers State Independent Electoral Commission (RSIEC), with the solemnity of a priest at a coronation, has handed mandates to 23 chairmen-elect and 319 councillors-elect. The administrator, Vice Admiral Ibok-Ete Ibas (rtd), presiding over this democratic séance, declares that the process has restored democracy to the grassroots.

And in a twist worthy of a Shakespearean subplot, chairmen of opposition parties have issued a statement commending the outcome of the polls.

It is a moment that demands not mere commentary but philosophical exorcism. For what we are witnessing is not democracy reborn, but democracy taxidermied—stuffed, posed, and paraded for ceremonial effect.

Emergency rule, by its very nature, is a suspension of democratic order. It is the constitutional equivalent of a coma—an induced state to prevent further deterioration. The administrator, appointed not by the people but by the presidency, is a caretaker, not a sovereign. His mandate is to stabilise, not to sanctify. Yet, here he is, conducting elections, issuing certificates, and proclaiming the restoration of democracy.

This is not restoration. It is redecoration. Democracy, in its essence, is a covenant between the governed and their governors—a contract signed in the ink of consent. That consent cannot be manufactured under duress, nor simulated under emergency. To conduct elections in such a context is to mistake choreography for conviction, and ritual for reality.

Vice Admiral Ibas, no doubt a man of discipline and decorum, has now assumed the role of democratic midwife. But the child he presents is not born of popular will—it is cloned from administrative fiat. The ballot, under his watch, becomes not an instrument of choice but a tool of consolidation.

And yet, the opposition chairmen applaud. Their statement, delivered with the grace of political theatre, praises the peaceful conduct of the polls and the professionalism of RSIEC. One wonders: is this genuine commendation, or strategic compliance? Is it an endorsement of the process, or an acceptance of its inevitability?

In a polity where survival often masquerades as strategy, such gestures are not uncommon. The opposition, faced with the machinery of state and the choreography of control, may choose to dance rather than dissent. It is the politics of accommodation—where silence is safer than scrutiny, and applause more profitable than protest.

But let us not be distracted by the applause. The philosophical question remains: can legitimacy be conferred by a process born of suspension?

RSIEC Chairman, Michael Odey, in his address, described the ceremony as a proud moment for Nigeria’s democracy. He urged the winners to govern with humility and transparency, and reminded them that the certificate was not merely a symbol of victory but a mandate for service. It was a speech rich in aspiration, yet hollow in context.

For what is a mandate without a mandate-giver? What is service without sovereignty? The elected chairmen, led by Alwell Ihunda of Port Harcourt City Local Government Area, expressed gratitude to President Bola Tinubu and Vice Admiral Ibas for “restoring peace” and “returning democracy to the local government.” It was a declaration that would be poetic, were it not so paradoxical.

Democracy cannot be returned by decree. It must be reclaimed by the people. The election, conducted under the watchful eye of an unelected administrator, may have been peaceful. It may have been orderly. It may even have been technically sound. But it was not democratic. It was a performance of democracy, not its practice.

And therein lies the danger. When democracy becomes a performance, its principles are reduced to props. The ballot box becomes a stage prop. The certificate of return, a costume. The electorate, an audience. The actors, well-rehearsed. The script, pre-written.

It is a theatre of legitimacy, where the plot is control and the climax is compliance. To extrapolate this oxymoron is to confront the philosophical rot at the heart of our democratic culture. We have come to accept the simulation of democracy as its substance. We have allowed the rituals of choice to replace the reality of consent. We have mistaken the issuance of certificates for the conferral of legitimacy.

But legitimacy is not a certificate. It is a covenant. And that covenant cannot be signed under emergency rule. If Nigeria is to reclaim its democratic soul, it must draw a line between emergency administration and electoral authority. The following principles must be enshrined—not merely in law, but in culture.

Elections must be conducted by elected governments. Emergency administrators may maintain order, but they must not manufacture legitimacy. Electoral commissions must be independent—not just in structure, but in spirit. Their allegiance must be to the Constitution, not to the administrator.

Public consultation must precede any electoral exercise under emergency rule. The people must be informed, engaged, and empowered to decide. Transparency must be total. Every aspect of the process—from planning to execution—must be open to scrutiny.

Post-election audits must be mandatory. Once normalcy is restored, the elections must be reviewed. If irregularities are found, the results must be annulled and fresh elections conducted. But beyond these procedural reforms, we must cultivate a democratic ethos—one that values principle over performance, substance over spectacle, legitimacy over legality.

And so, as Rivers State settles into its new local government leadership, let us not be lulled by the pageantry. Let us not mistake certificates for consent, nor applause for authenticity. Let us remember that democracy is not a costume to be worn during emergencies—it is a covenant to be honoured in all seasons.

The administrator may declare democracy restored. The opposition may commend the process. The commission may issue certificates. But the people must ask: was this our choice, or merely our choreography?

For democracy is not a dish to be served during a fire drill. It is a feast that requires preparation, participation, and principle. And if the fireman insists on organising a banquet while the flames rage, we must ask: is he feeding the people—or feeding the illusion?

-Somorin writes from Abeokuta.