Demonstration Of Craze: Reflection On The True State Of Democracy In Nigeria

He was the man who granted newspaper interviews in nothing more than his underpants. The man who married his twenty-seven “queens” in a single ceremony. He clearly believed that neither convention nor public opinion had any authority over his life. That same defiance shaped his politics. When Fela Anikulapo Kuti looked at Nigeria’s experiment with democracy, he dismissed it with a single, unforgettable word: “Democrazy.”

A satirical play on the word “democracy,” it encapsulated what he saw as the demonstration of craze in Nigeria’s political arena. In typical Fela fashion, he compressed an entire political philosophy into a single provocative expression.

Whether one agrees with his assessment or not, “democrazy” raises an enduring question: when does democracy cease to be about the people and become little more than a performance of power? For many citizens, the answer might seem painfully familiar. The campaign ends, the grand speeches fade, and the promised transformation rarely extends beyond those who won office and those close to them.

Well over a century ago, at Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln offered what remains perhaps the most enduring definition of democracy: “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” At its heart lies a simple but profound principle: political authority derives from the people; leaders are chosen by and govern on their behalf, and government exists to serve the people’s interests and welfare. Judged against this ideal, one is tempted to ask whether Nigeria’s democratic experiment has veered toward something altogether different: “government of the elected, by the people, for the elected.”

Before delving deeper into a critical evaluation of the state of democracy in Nigeria, it is worth considering a more fundamental question: how important is democracy to a nation’s development? In other words, does a nation really need democracy to thrive?

Some would answer with an unequivocal no. They would argue that the absence of a democratically elected government does not necessarily preclude economic growth or national development. To support this position, this school of thought may draw on the example of modern Singapore’s economic development under Lee Kuan Yew, arguing that it demonstrates how rapid development can occur without a fully liberal-democratic system. Critics, however, would point out that although Lee Kuan Yew came to power through elections, Singapore under his leadership lacked several defining features of a liberal democracy. Opposition parties faced considerable disadvantages during elections; the media operated under substantial government influence, and laws regulating public assembly and political activity were significantly restrictive.

That said, if Lee Kuan Yew is largely credited with transforming Singapore from a poor trading port into the wealthy, efficient state it became after thirty-one years in office, does this not lend weight to the argument that a nation can achieve remarkable economic growth and development without conforming to the conventional model of a liberal democracy?

At first glance, the argument has considerable merit. On closer examination, however, it begins to unravel. Democracy serves purposes that transcend economic prosperity. It encompasses accountability, freedom of expression, fundamental human rights, security of lives and property, and the rule of law, among other things.

But does any of that really matter? If a nation is thriving economically, why should the people care that once their elected officials attain power, they assume an almost deity-like status, so elevated and so far removed from those who entrusted them with power that they no longer feel answerable to them? Why should they care that journalists and social media influencers with large followings and prominent voices can be dragged from their homes in the dead of night and hauled off to prison for daring to ask uncomfortable questions? Why should it matter that armed bandits can repeatedly abduct schoolchildren, some as young as five, march them into the bush, and hold them for days or weeks, maybe much longer, in appalling conditions, while those entrusted with protecting them continue campaigning as though the tragedy scarcely concerns them? Why should it matter if respect for fundamental human rights is deemed an irritating inconvenience? Or if the rule of law becomes little more than an attractive slogan, invoked when politically expedient and quietly discarded when it is not?

The answer, surely, is that these concerns are not incidental to democracy; they are among the principal reasons democracy exists. Economic prosperity may improve material conditions. Indeed, many Nigerians would question whether the country’s democracy has even delivered that much, given persistent unemployment, inflation, and the rising cost of living. Yet, democracy aspires to something broader than economic performance alone.

It seeks to ensure that those who wield power remain accountable to those who conferred it; that citizens can question authority without fear of persecution; that rights are protected even when inconvenient to government; and that the law restrains power rather than serves it. Prosperity without liberty may produce an efficient state, but it cannot by itself produce a genuinely democratic society.

Taking a more focused glance at present-day Nigeria and the true state of her democracy, Fela’s rather unconventional lifestyle when he was alive had always made it somewhat convenient for those in power, who felt threatened by his relentless scrutiny, his emphatic demands for good governance, and his voluble calls for true democracy, to dismiss his views as mere rants. And while the central purpose of this essay is not to idolise the musician, it is, however, to draw attention to a dilemma that has clearly existed since the 1980s when Fela first brought the word “democrazy” into national consciousness, and the craze he spoke of appears to linger after more than four decades of democratic experimentation. This then raises another important question.

If national polls were conducted fairly among Nigerians today, what might the outcome be if opinions were sought on their permanent voters card (PVC)? Would the majority confidently believe that it places power in their hands to reward good leaders by returning them to office, or rebuke poor performance by removing them from it? Would the majority of Nigerians assuredly describe the process of placing leaders into office as an election, or a mere “selection,” whereby favoured candidates are predetermined for office, regardless of the collective feelings of the people they are meant to represent? Would the majority of Nigerians agree that democracy, in its present form, breeds leaders who serve them rather than rule them?

These questions go to the heart of this essay. If the answer to any of them is negative, then the question must be asked: does Fela’s coinage still capture a truth about Nigerian democracy in 2026, or does Nigeria possess the capacity to redeem democracy from democrazy?

• David Kunle Agunbiade is a creative writer, essayist and PhD candidate in Creative and Critical Writing.