An election can be procedurally free and still be politically coercive. That is the uncomfortable question emerging from a series of incidents across Nigeria in the run-up to the 2027 elections. From inflammatory statements by political officeholders to threats against residents and elected officials, and from politically charged restrictions on movement to the continuing anxiety over electoral violence, a troubling pattern is beginning to emerge: the attempt to turn political choice into a test of loyalty, backed, explicitly or implicitly, by the power of the state.
The issue is therefore larger than any individual politician or party. It is about whether Nigerians can exercise political choice without fear.
In Borno State, Commissioner for Youth and Sports Development Sainna Buba was reported to have threatened those who refused to support the All Progressives Congress (APC), including remarks interpreted as threats to physically punish or harm political opponents. The comments generated condemnation and calls for investigation.
The context makes the remarks even more troubling. At roughly the same time, families in Borno were still waiting for the return of schoolchildren abducted from Mussa, with some children having remained in captivity for more than 100 days. Reports indicated that dozens remained missing.
The juxtaposition is difficult to ignore. Citizens should reasonably expect the coercive capacity of the state to be directed first and foremost towards protecting them—not towards intimidating them over their political preferences.
This is not to suggest that one incident proves a coordinated policy of political intimidation. It does not. Nor should every reckless political statement automatically be treated as a criminal offence. Whether particular words constitute a prosecutable threat depends on the exact language used, context, intent, applicable law and available evidence.
But there is a broader institutional question that cannot be dismissed so easily.
A public official is not speaking merely as a private citizen. The office carries authority, access to public institutions and, in many circumstances, influence over the distribution of public resources and opportunities. Consequently, language that might be dismissed as political bravado when uttered by an ordinary partisan can acquire a very different meaning when spoken by someone exercising public authority.
The Nigerian Constitution is clear about the character of government. Section 14(2)(c) provides that the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government. The Constitution also protects freedom of expression, association, movement and political participation. The governing party is not the state.
That distinction is fundamental to constitutional democracy. A citizen’s access to government services, public opportunities, physical security or lawful residence cannot depend on whether that citizen supports the party controlling the government. Yet similar language has appeared elsewhere.
In Kuje Area Council, Abuja, Chairman Samuel Shekwolo was reported to have told residents to support the APC or leave the area. The National Human Rights Commission subsequently called for his arrest and prosecution, describing the reported conduct as intimidation and an assault on democratic principles. Civil society organisations also condemned the statement.
The reported statement is particularly disturbing because the local government is supposed to be the tier of government closest to the citizen. Its legitimacy should derive from serving residents irrespective of their political affiliation—not from determining which residents are politically acceptable.
The same concern arises from Ebonyi State, where Governor Francis Nwifuru was reported to have threatened to remove local government chairmen if the APC lost in their respective areas in 2027, reportedly saying that councillors could be used to remove them.
Here again, the important issue is not simply the political calculation behind the statement. It is the institutional message it sends.
It is also why the constitutional and political implications of such statements should not be reduced to questions of whether they were intended literally. Political speech matters because it communicates expectations. It tells political actors what is permissible and citizens what they should expect.
There are also incidents that require more caution in interpretation.
The reported obstruction of Peter Obi’s convoy on the Makurdi-Gboko road while he was travelling towards Yelwata in Benue State for a humanitarian visit raised similar concerns about political freedom and freedom of movement. The Benue State Government denied involvement. The police said they had been informed of the visit, deployed officers, managed the situation and subsequently arrested suspects while investigating who organised the disruption.
That distinction matters. It would be irresponsible to attribute the obstruction to the Benue Government without evidence.
But the incident remains significant. In a democracy, citizens should not have to calculate whether travelling to a particular community, attending a political event or expressing solidarity with citizens affected by a crisis could expose them to politically motivated obstruction. The police’s subsequent assertion that every Nigerian has the right to freedom of movement regardless of political affiliation is therefore the appropriate institutional principle.
The common thread across these incidents is not that they are identical. They are not. It is that they illustrate a political grammar that should concern any democracy: support us, or there will be consequences.
Sometimes the consequence is physical intimidation. Sometimes it is a threat to political office. Sometimes it is an attempt to exclude people from a community or public space. Sometimes it is the use, or threatened use, of institutional authority for partisan purposes.
The political economy of Nigeria makes such threats particularly consequential. Government controls or influences access to contracts, appointments, licences, public expenditure, development programmes, regulatory decisions and, in many communities, important economic opportunities. The citizen therefore does not encounter political power as an abstract concept. Political power can affect livelihoods.
That is why electoral intimidation is not merely a problem of political manners. It is a problem of power. A citizen who believes that voting against the governing party could jeopardise access to employment, contracts, community projects, public protection or political office is not necessarily exercising the same freedom as a citizen who faces no such consequences.
This is also why the distinction between the party and the state must be continuously defended. The state belongs to citizens. Political parties compete to control the machinery of the state for a defined constitutional period. They do not own it.
This principle should apply equally to the ruling party and the opposition.
It is worth noting; therefore, that President Bola Tinubu has himself publicly articulated the correct standard. At the August 18, 2026 National Peace Accord for the 2027 elections, he said elections were not a “do-or-die affair” and stated that the APC rejected violence, hate speech, misinformation and incitement. He had also warned against “do-or-die politics” at the APC primaries earlier in the year.
That is the right position. The harder question is whether that principle is being consistently translated into conduct and consequences throughout the political system. Presidential declarations, peace accords and statements by party leaders are important. But democratic norms are ultimately tested at the point where words meet institutional action.
If a public official makes a threatening statement, what happens next? If a local government chairman threatens residents over their political preference, does the relevant institution investigate? If an elected official threatens another elected official’s tenure because of electoral performance, what constitutional and administrative safeguards are available?
If citizens are prevented from moving freely because of their political identity, does law enforcement act promptly and impartially? The answers to these questions will tell Nigerians far more about the health of the democratic system than another political speech.
This is where institutions matter.
The police, human rights institutions, political parties, electoral authorities, courts and other accountability institutions should not wait until election violence has become irreversible before drawing the line. Electoral violence rarely begins with the first bullet. It can begin much earlier, with exclusionary rhetoric, threats, the conflation of party and state, intimidation of opponents and the normalisation of impunity.
The objective should not be to criminalise political disagreement or suppress robust campaign rhetoric. Democracy requires vigorous competition. Politicians should be able to criticise one another, mobilise supporters and campaign aggressively. But persuasion has a boundary.
The moment political competition becomes a threat that citizens must support a party or face consequences, democratic choice is being compromised. And institutions must make that boundary clear.
The central question for Nigeria before 2027 is therefore not simply whether politicians will make provocative statements. Politicians always will. It is whether public institutions will consistently distinguish political competition from coercion.
The rule cannot be accountability for political opponents and tolerance for political allies. Nigeria’s democratic challenge before 2027 is consequently deeper than election-day logistics. It is about creating an environment in which political choice remains genuinely free long before voters arrive at the polling station.
An election is not genuinely free merely because a ballot paper is placed before the voter. Freedom is not exhausted at the polling booth. It begins much earlier, in the ability to express a political preference, attend a political gathering, support an opposition candidate, move freely through a community and ultimately cast a vote without fear of retaliation.
The voter must also be free from fear. That freedom is not a favour granted by politicians, governors, parties or public officials. It is a condition of constitutional government. The legitimacy of an electoral mandate depends not only on how votes are counted, but on whether citizens were able to make their choices freely and without coercion.
The question before Nigeria, therefore, is larger than who will win in 2027. It is whether the institutions of the Nigerian state can protect the political space in which citizens make that decision.
- business a.m. commits to publishing a diversity of views, opinions and comments. It, therefore, welcomes your reaction to this and any of our articles via email: comment@businessamlive.com
John Onyeukwu, is a lawyer and public policy analyst with interdisciplinary expertise in law, governance, and institutional reform. He holds an LL.B (Hons) from Obafemi Awolowo University, an LL.M from the University of Lagos, and dual master’s degrees in Public Policy from the University of York and Central European University. He also earned a Mini-MBA. John has managed development projects on governance, public finance, civic engagement, and service delivery. He can be reached on john@apexlegal.com.ng
Bankers’ confab echoes, laments Nigeria’s ‘growth without development’