Of  Network Bars and Ballot Boxes

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

On a cursory reading, the conditional clause attached to Section 60 of the amended Electoral Act on electronic transmission of results sounds reasonable. Nigeria, after all, is not Estonia. We still argue with electricity, negotiate with bandwidth, and occasionally consult the heavens before making a phone call from certain “remote” locations. To insist that results must be transmitted electronically in all circumstances, without qualification, may appear idealistic in a country where network bars can be as shy as public accountability.

Yet those opposing that conditionality are not being hysterical. They are speaking from lived experience.

The argument is simple: Nigerian political actors cannot be trusted to behave transparently when the stakes are high. Therefore, the law must compel what character has failed to guarantee. If immediate electronic transmission of polling unit results is not mandatory, the window for manipulation between polling unit and collation centre remains ajar – and in Nigerian politics, an ajar window is an invitation.

Senate President Godswill Akpabio has assured Nigerians that the Electoral Act 2026 (Amendment), recently signed by President Bola Tinubu, will ensure that “every vote will now count”. He argues that the perennial problem of result tampering after leaving polling units has been eliminated. The law recognises electronic transmission of results to the INEC Result Viewing Portal (iREV), a long-standing demand of civil society and opposition parties.

But there is a caveat. In areas with poor telecommunications infrastructure, the primary source of collation remains the EC8A forms signed at polling units. The explanation is that where there is no network, results will be uploaded once officials move to areas with coverage. That is the conditionality.

On paper, it is pragmatic. In practice, Nigerians are wary. They have seen how procedural grey areas morph into tactical opportunities. They remember the controversies of 2023, when the iREV platform did not function as expected during the presidential election, fuelling allegations of manipulation and eroding public confidence. Trust, once cracked, does not mend with legislative poetry.

Telecommunications companies have reportedly claimed that they can cover the entire country, creeks and all. Critics have pushed back, questioning the realism of such assurances. Even if coverage exists, is it reliable, secure and resilient on election day, when traffic spikes and incentives for sabotage multiply?

President Tinubu, while signing the bill, emphasised the need to avoid glitches and unnecessary hacking. A sensible caution. But it inadvertently reinforces public anxiety: if hacking and glitches are credible risks, what independent safeguards exist? Who audits the digital infrastructure? Who certifies its integrity before and after elections? 

At the heart of this debate is not technology; it is trust. There is a cavernous trust deficit between the governed and those who govern – across party lines, across institutions, across election cycles. Nigerians do not mistrust only the ruling party; they mistrust the political class, full stop. Both incumbents and opposition figures have, at various times, benefitted from opaque processes. The catalogue of broken promises and electoral brigandage stretches from the aborted Third Republic through the often turbulent elections of this Fourth Republic.

We have seen ballot box snatching, collation centre theatrics, judicial somersaults and post-election litigations that sometimes feel like alternative electoral seasons. Against that history, citizens demanding compulsory, immediate electronic transmission are not being unreasonable. They are asking for the law to do what morality has not reliably done.

The National Assembly insists the amendment reflects broad consultations and sacrifices, including shortened holidays to conclude deliberations. It also introduces direct primaries for political parties and mandates fresh elections where a declared winner is disqualified, rather than handing victory to a distant runner-up. These provisions, on their own, may deepen participatory democracy and avoid certain absurdities of the past.

But the optics trouble many Nigerians. A legislature dominated by the ruling party passes a consequential electoral amendment with notable speed. The President signs it promptly. The 2027 election timetable has already been released. INEC is reportedly seeking a budget far north of ₦800 billion for the exercise – a staggering sum in a country where hospitals wheeze and universities beg. For that money, Nigerians will expect not merely an election, but an unimpeachable one.

Comparatively, established democracies treat the chain between voting and collation as sacred. In the United Kingdom, paper ballots remain primary, but counting is transparent, local and open to observers, with clear audit trails. In the United States, despite decentralised administration and partisan tensions, layers of verification, bipartisan oversight and judicial review exist to check malfeasance. In India, electronic voting machines are backed by voter-verifiable paper audit trails, allowing physical cross-checks. The lesson is consistent: transparency is not an afterthought; it is engineered into the process.

Nigeria’s challenge is more complex. We are large, diverse, infrastructurally uneven and politically combustible. But complexity cannot become a perpetual alibi. If electronic transmission is recognised as the gold standard for preventing post-polling manipulation, then the state must invest in making it universally feasible – not selectively optional.

Otherwise, we risk a familiar post-election script. Parties that lose will cite network failures and manual collation irregularities. Parties that win will praise the system’s integrity. INEC will defend its procedures. The courts will be inundated. Citizens will retreat further into cynicism. And cynicism is democracy’s silent assassin.

The argument that EC8A forms signed by presiding officers and party agents are sufficient as primary documents is legally sound. But law without confidence is brittle. The moment citizens suspect that manual processes can be exploited in network-poor areas, the legitimacy of outcomes in those areas becomes contestable.

This is not merely about technology; it is about psychological assurance. Voters must feel that once they thumbprint a ballot, their choice is locked in, traceable and immune from midnight metamorphosis.

What, then, should Nigerians expect as the electoral cycle rolls in?

First, clarity. INEC must publish detailed operational guidelines explaining precisely when and how electronic transmission will occur, what constitutes “lack of network”, and how such claims will be independently verified.

 Second, transparency audits. Independent cybersecurity experts – local and international – should test the system publicly. Simulation exercises should be conducted well before election day.

Third, accountability. Clear sanctions must be attached to officials who fail to transmit results where network exists or who manipulate manual collation processes.

Fourth, political maturity. Parties must commit in writing to abide by transparent processes and refrain from inflammatory rhetoric that undermines institutions before ballots are cast.

 Ultimately, no electoral law can compensate for a deficit of character. As the President himself observed, systems are managed by people. But precisely because people are fallible – and sometimes ambitious beyond propriety – systems must be designed to minimise discretion where discretion invites abuse.

Nigeria stands at a delicate junction. The promise that “every vote will count” is powerful. It must not become another slogan filed under “aspirations unmet”.

If the amended Act succeeds, it could mark a turning point in restoring faith in the ballot. If it falters – through loopholes, glitches or selective enforcement – the erosion of trust may accelerate beyond repair.

Democracy is not sustained by laws alone; it is sustained by belief. The 2027 elections will test not just electronic devices and network strength, but the sincerity of a political class long viewed with suspicion.

  In the end, Nigerians are not asking for perfection. They are asking for certainty – that their vote leaves the polling unit exactly as they cast it, and arrives at the collation centre untouched by invisible hands. That is not a technological fantasy. It is the minimum requirement of a republic that expects to be taken seriously.