[MONDAY WEEKLY COLUMN] Democracy without the people: Nigeria’s quiet drift into “individual-cracy”, By Emmah Uhieneh

There is something deeply unsettling about a system that proclaims itself democratic, yet steadily distances itself from the very people it claims to serve. Democracy, in its purest and most enduring definition, is meant to be a living contract—government of the people, by the people, and for the people. It thrives on participation, on dialogue, on the messy but necessary processes of consultation, negotiation, and consensus-building. It is designed to evolve with the collective will of the citizens.

Yet, in practice, what unfolds in Nigeria often feels like a distortion of that ideal—a system that has quietly morphed into something else entirely. Not a democracy anchored in the people, but an “individual-cracy,” where influence, access, and authority are concentrated in the hands of a few strategically positioned actors.

Here, the democratic process does not organically emerge from the grassroots; it is curated, managed, and, in many cases, predetermined. One dominant figure—or a tight circle of power brokers—sets the tone, defines the direction, and dictates the outcomes. Others fall in line, not necessarily out of conviction, but out of political necessity. The system rewards alignment, not dissent; loyalty, not independent thought.

In this arrangement, the people—the supposed cornerstone of democracy—are relegated to the margins. They are visible during rallies, invoked in speeches, and counted during elections, but rarely included in the processes that truly shape political outcomes. Their role is often reduced to legitimizing decisions already made behind closed doors. Their participation becomes ceremonial rather than consequential.

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Candidates do not always emerge from the genuine will of the electorate but from carefully orchestrated structures where influence outweighs popularity. The average citizen finds themselves disconnected from the very system meant to represent them—unable to influence candidate selection, policy direction, or governance priorities in any meaningful way.

This raises a troubling question: are those who operate within this framework truly democrats, or have they become power consolidators—opportunists who wear the language of democracy while undermining its essence?

The consequences are not abstract; they are lived realities. A populace that feels unheard becomes disillusioned. Voices of dissent are often met with resistance, sometimes even suppression. State institutions, which should serve as neutral arbiters, are at times perceived as instruments used to protect entrenched interests rather than uphold justice and fairness. Those who dare to challenge the system risk harassment, intimidation, or isolation.

And yet, democracy, by its very nature, demands accountability. Those elected are meant to answer to the people—not just during election cycles, but throughout their time in office. When that accountability weakens, when leaders become insulated by power and wealth, the foundation of democracy begins to crack.

What exists, then, is a version of democracy that appears structurally intact—elections are held, offices are filled—but is substantively hollow. A system where “the people” are referenced often, but rarely empowered. Where participation is encouraged in form, but limited in substance.

This evolution into a “homegrown democracy” raises an important dilemma: what is the underlying fear that prevents a full embrace of participatory governance? Is it the unpredictability of true public engagement? The loss of control? Or the risk of being held genuinely accountable?

Whatever the reason, history offers a quiet but persistent reminder: no system that consistently sidelines its people can remain stable indefinitely. Awareness has a way of growing, slowly but surely. Discontent, when shared, becomes a force. And voices, even when suppressed, have a way of finding expression.

The idea of democracy is resilient. It does not disappear; it waits—sometimes quietly—until people begin to reclaim it. And when they do, it rarely happens all at once, but through gradual awakening: conversations, civic engagement, collective insistence on inclusion.

Perhaps, then, the story is not entirely one of loss, but of delay.

Because if democracy truly belongs to the people, then the people, in time, will rediscover their place within it. And when that happens, the meaning of “of the people, by the people, for the people” may once again shift from rhetoric to reality.