SENATE AND THE ‘TAKE A BOW’ CULTURE
SONNY IROCHE argues that the Senate has increasingly resembled a ceremonial appendage of the Executive
In every democracy, there are moments when history pauses, not because of a dramatic rupture, but because institutions quietly surrender their authority. Nigeria may be approaching such a moment. The growing subservience of the National Assembly, symbolised by the now-infamous “take a bow” culture of the Senate, combined with the accelerating cross-carpeting of governors and politicians into the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), is creating the unsettling silhouette of a one-party polity. The consequences of this drift are neither abstract nor theoretical. They point unmistakably toward weakened checks and balances, creeping authoritarianism, and the ever-present temptation of constitutional manipulation for tenure elongation.
The Nigerian Senate was designed to be a co-equal arm of government, a deliberative chamber meant to restrain executive excess, protect federalism, and represent the sovereign will of the people. Yet in recent years, its posture has increasingly resembled that of a ceremonial appendage of the Executive.
The phrase “take a bow,” once uttered by Senate leaders to wave through ministerial nominees without scrutiny, and the recent confirmation of President Tinubu’s ambassadorial nominees, has become emblematic of legislative abdication. It is not merely about skipping questions at confirmation hearings; it reflects a deeper erosion of constitutional responsibility. When nominees are spared rigorous examination of competence, conflicts of interest, or policy vision, the Senate effectively renounces its oversight role.
This is not a trivial matter. Democracies do not collapse overnight. They erode gradually, through the normalisation of shortcuts, the silencing of dissent, and the replacement of accountability with blind loyalty. A Senate that no longer interrogates power becomes an accomplice to its excesses.
Parallel to legislative docility is the growing wave of political defections to the ruling APC. Governors elected on opposition platforms, federal and state legislators, and influential political figures have been steadily crossing over, often without ideological justification, crises in their parties, or electoral mandate.
In theory, political realignment is part of democratic life. In practice, when defections occur en masse and almost exclusively toward the party in power, they signal something more troubling: the collapse of competitive politics. Opposition parties are hollowed out not through persuasion or superior ideas, but through inducement, coercion, and the promise of protection from past and impending corruption charges.
This phenomenon creates the illusion of national consensus, when in reality it reflects politicians convergence around power rather than popular consent. The electorate is effectively disenfranchised when the platform on which their representatives were elected is casually discarded after the polls.
Nigeria has walked this road before. The Vincent Ogbulafor-led Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) once boasted that it would rule for 60 years. That arrogance of permanence bred complacency, corruption, and ultimately, public backlash. The APC itself emerged as a corrective force to that dominance.
Ironically, today’s political trajectory risks reproducing the very pathology the APC once opposed. A dominant party that absorbs opposition figures, neutralises legislative resistance, and controls most state governments begins to resemble a de facto one-party state, even if elections still hold.
History is unkind to such systems. Without robust opposition, policy stagnates. Without fear of electoral loss, leaders lose the incentive to govern well. Without institutional resistance, power inevitably seeks expansion.
It is within this context that the probability of tenure elongation must be understood, not as paranoia, but as a rational concern grounded in African political history.
Nigeria has already experienced an attempted constitutional subversion. Former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s ill-fated third-term agenda failed not because the Executive lacked ambition, but because institutions, particularly the National Assembly, under the leadership of the courageous Senator Ken Nnamani, which retained enough independence pushed back and resisted it.
Today, the conditions, under the leadership of Senator Godswill Akpabio, are markedly different. A pliant Senate, a weakened opposition, and a political class increasingly dependent on the ruling party for survival collectively lower the barriers to constitutional revision. What once seemed politically impossible becomes merely procedurally inconvenient.
Across Africa, the pattern is familiar. In Uganda, Rwanda, Cameroon, Togo, and elsewhere, constitutional amendments, often framed as “stability,” “continuity,” or “national interest”, have enabled incumbents to extend their rule indefinitely. Each case began not with tanks on the streets, but with legislative compliance and political consensus.
Modern authoritarianism rarely announces itself. It advances incrementally, through legalism rather than illegality, through institutions rather than force.
First, the legislature weakens itself, or it allows itself to be weakened by the executive arm of government.
Next, opposition fragments.
Then, the ruling party becomes indistinguishable from the state.
Finally, constitutional norms are revised in the name of expediency.
At no point does democracy formally end; it simply stops functioning.
Nigeria’s danger is not an imminent dictatorship, but a slow conversion of democratic structures into hollow rituals, elections without choice, legislatures without power, and constitutions without constraint.
The implications extend far beyond politics. Investors, both local and foreign, are acutely sensitive to political concentration. One-party dominance and constitutional uncertainty raise red flags about policy reversals, rule of law, and contract sanctity.
Social cohesion also suffers. When political competition collapses at the political “elite” level, tensions are displaced downward, into ethnic, religious, and regional grievances. Citizens who feel excluded from formal political channels seek alternative, often destabilising, means of expression.
Ironically, the very stability that dominant parties claim to offer is undermined by the suppression of pluralism.
President Bola Ahmed Tinubu is a seasoned political actor with a long history in Nigeria’s democratic struggles. His legacy will be shaped not only by economic reforms or infrastructure projects, but by how he relates to institutions.
There is a profound difference between benefiting from political momentum and exploiting institutional weakness. A statesman strengthens checks on his own power; a ruler quietly welcomes their erosion.
Nigeria does not need a president made powerful by submissive institutions. It needs institutions made strong enough to restrain even the most powerful president.
If Nigeria’s democracy is to endure, the Senate must rediscover its constitutional spine and backbone. Oversight and interrogation must replace “take a bow” and ovation. Debate must replace deference. Senators must remember that they are not emissaries of the Executive, but trustees of the republic.
History remembers legislatures not for how loudly they applauded power, but for when they dared to restrain it.
The convergence of a docile Senate, mass defections to the ruling APC, and Africa’s cautionary examples of tenure elongation should provoke urgent national reflection. Democracies do not defend themselves. They rely on men and women within institutions to do so.
Nigeria stands at a crossroads. One path leads to renewed institutional balance, competitive politics, and democratic resilience. The other leads, slowly but surely, to authoritarian consolidation dressed in constitutional language.
The choice, while not yet made, is being shaped every day, by every “take a bow,” every opportunistic defection, and every silence where scrutiny should speak.
History is watching. And unlike politicians, history does not take a bow.
Iroche was a Senior Academic Fellow at the African Studies Center of the University of Oxford (2022-2023) and a public affairs commentator and publisher.
