For more than two decades, one of the most dangerous weaknesses in Nigeria’s democracy has not been voter apathy, party defections, or even flawed electoral logistics. It has been the quiet normalization of leaders who seek power but avoid scrutiny.
Since 1999, Nigeria’s political class has mastered the art of campaigning without accountability. Many of those who seek the highest office in the land have shown little willingness to publicly defend their ideas, explain their records, or submit themselves to direct comparison with opponents before the electorate. The pattern is familiar: loud rallies, endless promises, choreographed endorsements — but silence when it is time for real questions.
That is why presidential debates remain one of the biggest missing links in Nigeria’s democratic evolution.
The real fear among many politicians is not the opposition. It is exposure.
A compulsory debate would force candidates to do what too many have carefully avoided: think on their feet, defend their policies, explain past failures, and reveal whether they truly understand the burden of governance. It would strip away the carefully managed optics and political theatre that often substitute for competence.
This is the albatross many in power have spent years running away from.
The uncomfortable truth is that too many politicians are prepared for the privileges of office, not the responsibilities of leadership. They want the convoy, the title, the access, and the influence — but not the difficult public interrogation that leadership demands.
That is why avoiding debates has become almost a political culture.
From the beginning of the Fourth Republic, this pattern has repeated itself. In the 1999 election, former President Olusegun Obasanjo was widely criticized for not engaging directly in a debate with his opponent, Olu Falae. Since then, presidential debates have largely remained optional spectacles rather than a serious democratic obligation.
The result is a political system where charisma often defeats clarity, propaganda overshadows policy, and voters are left to make life-altering decisions based on slogans, tribal sentiments, party loyalty, and carefully edited media appearances.
What makes this more troubling is that Nigeria had a real chance to fix it.
In 2020, the National Assembly took a significant step toward making debates compulsory. A bill sponsored by Senator Abdulfatai Buhari sought to amend the Electoral Act to require all presidential, vice-presidential, governorship, and deputy governorship candidates to participate in public debates.
The proposal was simple but transformative:
make debates mandatory,
place them under the supervision of Independent National Electoral Commission,
create a level field for candidates,
deepen transparency.
The Senate passed the bill at second reading in March 2020 and referred it to the committee on INEC for further legislative work.
Then, just like many promising reforms in Nigeria, it quietly died.
There was no final passage by both chambers. No presidential assent. No law.
And with that silence, the political establishment preserved one of its most useful escape routes.
This is where Nigerians must confront an uncomfortable reality: citizens have also failed to push hard enough on the right issues.
In recent years, public protests and advocacy around electoral reform rightly focused on electronic transmission of results and vote transparency. Those issues matter. But too little attention was paid to the front-end of democracy: the quality of candidates before the votes are cast.
A credible election is not only about counting votes properly. It is also about ensuring voters have enough information to make wise choices.
That is where debates become indispensable.
Compulsory debates would strengthen Nigeria’s democracy in practical ways.
First, they would help voters compare candidates directly. Nigerians deserve to hear plans on inflation, insecurity, education, healthcare, energy, and jobs — not just campaign chants.
Second, debates would improve accountability. Empty promises, contradictions, and weak records would face public challenge.
Third, they would shift politics away from ethnicity, religion, and personality cults toward policy and competence.
Fourth, they would give lesser-known candidates and smaller parties a fair opportunity to reach voters without needing billions in campaign spending.
Fifth, they would help rebuild public trust in elections by showing that those seeking power respect the people enough to answer questions.
Sixth, debates would test composure, temperament, clarity, and decision-making under pressure — all essential qualities for anyone who wants to lead over 200 million people.
Finally, compulsory debates could energize civic participation, especially among young voters who increasingly demand substance over symbolism.
Yes, debates are not perfect. Candidates may rehearse lines. Media bias can exist. A good speaker may outperform a quieter but capable rival.
But even with these flaws, debates are still better than the dangerous alternative Nigeria has normalized: blind trust.
Nigeria cannot continue rewarding political avoidance and then complain about leadership failure.
A democracy where candidates can seek the highest office without facing unscripted public scrutiny is not fully mature. It is vulnerable to manipulation, elite capture, and recycled incompetence.
If Nigeria truly wants to rescue its democracy, compulsory debates must return to the center of electoral reform.
No serious democracy should allow anyone to ask for power without first answering to the people.
The next great electoral reform in Nigeria should be clear and non-negotiable: No debate, no ballot.
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