The ghost of apathy

There is a ghost that haunts Nigeria’s democracy. It does not scream on the streets or march with placards. It sits quietly at home on election day, convinced that nothing will change. It hovers in our political discussions, in our disbelief in institutions, in our silence at injustice. This ghost has a name, and it is called apathy.

Apathy is not born out of laziness or ignorance alone. It is the logical response of a people who have watched a system that appears designed to ignore them. To understand why so many Nigerians choose not to vote, or why those who vote often do so without conviction, we must first accept that our laws have taught them this behaviour. Our legal architecture, while appearing democratic, has created a predictable pattern of disengagement. The ghost of apathy is not accidental. It is constitutional.

Let us begin with facts. In the 2019 general election, 84 million Nigerians registered to vote, but only about 28.6 million eventually turned out. That was a participation rate of roughly 35 percent, one of the lowest in Africa. In 2023, despite the excitement of a so-called youth awakening, turnout dropped even further to about 27 percent. Compare this with Ghana, where turnout averaged 68 percent in the same decade, or South Africa, which struggles with voter fatigue but still hovers around 45 percent. Nigeria’s democracy, by contrast, is defined by absence, the quiet majority that has given up on civic engagement.

The question is why. The answer is both historical and legal. Our Electoral Act, while improved over the years, still focuses on procedure rather than purpose. It guarantees voting mechanisms but not democratic inclusion. Internal party democracy remains largely a myth. The selection of candidates is controlled by a few who hold the delegate lists, and when democracy begins with imposition, it ends with indifference. When citizens see that the people on the ballot are not products of their will, voting becomes an act of ceremony, not conviction.

This cycle of alienation is reinforced by poverty and political illiteracy. The average Nigerian voter has seen promises broken so often that political participation now feels like betrayal of self-interest. The law does little to protect the moral space of politics. Campaign finance remains unchecked, party primaries are opaque, and judicial interpretation often favours technicalities over justice. The message to the electorate is clear: the law protects the powerful. The ghost of apathy grows stronger in that silence.

Consider also the design of our federation. The 1999 Constitution, while democratic in appearance, centralises power in ways that make local governance almost irrelevant. A citizen voting for a councillor in a local government election knows that the governor can dissolve that council at will, despite the constitution’s guarantee of its existence. The same constitution that empowers citizens to vote also disempowers the institutions they vote for. It is little wonder then that people see no reason to participate. The law promises representation but delivers subordination.

Apathy also survives because civic education is almost non-existent. The National Orientation Agency, created to enlighten citizens, is now more ceremonial than functional. Schools teach government as a subject, but not governance as a practice. Citizens grow up knowing how to recite the rights they cannot exercise. The law expects participation from people it has never prepared for democracy. Political literacy is left to the streets, and misinformation becomes the teacher.

Even where the law seeks reform, it often stops at convenience. The Electoral Act 2022 introduced technology, but technology cannot cure trust. The 2023 elections showed that Nigerians were not merely voting for candidates but testing whether the process itself could be believed. When results transmission failed in some polling units, hope collapsed faster than ballots were counted. The legal framework had not built emotional equity. It had built suspicion.

Apathy is thus not just the absence of voting; it is the absence of belief. It is the quiet conclusion that nothing within the law truly defends the ordinary person. Citizens respond logically to signals from the system. When the law rewards the manipulative, the electorate becomes transactional. When governance celebrates the loud, the thoughtful retreat. When politics is defined by exclusion, silence becomes the safest form of protest.

To bury this ghost, we must exorcise the laws that feed it. Internal party democracy must become enforceable, not aspirational. The power of delegates must give way to open primaries where every party member has a voice. Campaign finance rules must be implemented, not just written. The independence of electoral bodies must be constitutional, not declarative. Local government autonomy must be protected beyond rhetoric, so that citizens can feel governance where they live. And civic education must be institutionalised, not outsourced to NGOs that survive on donor fatigue.

Beyond reform, there must be accountability for political education. A nation that spends billions on elections but nothing on voter enlightenment will always vote in darkness. The legal framework must tie the legitimacy of leaders not just to votes counted but to the quality of participation. Laws should protect the informed voter as fiercely as they protect the political elite.

Data tells us what the ghost looks like. Seventy percent of registered voters are under thirty-five, yet youth representation in elective offices remains below six percent. Women constitute nearly half of the electorate, but less than five percent of lawmakers. These are not statistics of democracy; they are evidence of exclusion. And exclusion is the oxygen of apathy.

The ghost of apathy thrives where hope dies and laws look the other way. But it can be exorcised through truth, reform, and education. Nigerians are not naturally disinterested in governance. They are simply reacting to a system that has taught them their participation changes nothing. If the law begins to reward conscience, if politics becomes transparent and parties truly democratic, the ghost will fade.

Until then, apathy will continue to haunt every polling unit, every civic conversation, every attempt at reform. The ballot will remain a mirror, reflecting not the will of the people, but the failure of the laws meant to serve them.

Democracy cannot breathe without citizens. And citizens cannot live in faith without fairness. The ghost of apathy is the shadow of our own creation and only a reformed legal order can bring it to rest.

Kunle Lawal is the executive director, Electoral College Nigeria