The Crisis of Representation in Nigerian Politics

If the Nigerian electorate is mostly young, mostly poor, and with significant representation of women and people living with disabilities, why is it that our elected representatives are so different?

Written by Dafe Oputu

May 9, 2019

Young Nigerians march to protest against age barriers on political posts in Abuja, on July 25, 2017. AFP.

If you ask Nigerians, most would agree that they have little in common with their elected representatives. The first difference between elected representatives and the electorate that comes to mind is the significant wealth disparity. Earlier this year, the National Assembly passed a bill to raise the national minimum wage from N18,000 to N30,000 per month. For comparison, that’s how much one senator gets for an hour’s worth of allowances (salaries plus office expenses). Even excluding the generous allowances for office expenses, a senator’s salary of N750,000 ($2,000) per month is more than twice what a citizen would make in a year on the new minimum wage.

Although it is probably the most visible and talked about, money is hardly the most important factor separating the average Nigerians from their elected representatives. Demographically, Nigeria is a very young country. The median age is around 18, and youths below the age of 35 make up two-thirds of the population. Yet in the just-concluded presidential election, the two top contenders were well into their 70s. The current Minister for Youth and Sports Development is over 50 years old. In the outgoing National Assembly, the average senator is 59 years old and the average member of House of Representatives is 51. Half of the Nigerian population is made up of women, yet, women make up 7 of 109 senators and 22 of 360 representatives. It is estimated that around 12 per cent of Nigerians are living with disability, but persons with disability (PWDs) are invisible in Nigeria’s halls of power.

‘Representation’ is a word that gets thrown around a lot in our politics, but it is applied to a narrow set of criteria. It is hardly surprising then that the average voter has little in common with their lawmakers beyond religion, geography and perhaps ethnicity. Class, gender, disability and age differences are much more salient predictors of experience in Nigeria than religion or any of the criteria we typically focus on. A Muslim shoemaker in Kaduna has more in common with a Christian hairdresser in Calabar than either of them have with their elected officials.

The consequences of this lack of true representation are not merely symbolic. A legislature’s chief responsibilities are representation, lawmaking and oversight. None of these can be done effectively if the interests and identities of the country are not reflected in those who represent and make decisions on their behalf. Nigerian legislators cannot speak up on issues when they are unaware of the realities and problems faced by average Nigerians. At best, laws that are passed miss the priorities that need to be addressed and, at worst, cause unintended harm to most of the population. Because these elected officials lack any frame of reference as to how the average Nigerian spends or is being affected by taxes in their daily lives, these realities are not considered in the process of budget allocations and decisions.

Democracy is supposed to be government of the people, by the people and for the people. In Nigeria, the lack of representation in our politics begs the question ‘which people?’ Whose interests are being represented? If ‘people’ in this case refers only to a select group of ultra-wealthy elderly elites, then perhaps the lack of representation should not bother the average Nigerian. However, if ‘people’ is supposed to encompass all citizens in the country, the fact that majority of the population is excluded should make citizens concerned for the future of the country’s democracy.

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