Former Nigerian Head of State (1976–1979) and two-term civilian president (1999–2007), Chief Olusegun Obasanjo, has lately become a vocal proponent of a so-called “homegrown African democracy.” He has stood on countless podiums, wielded the microphone with the flair of an orator, and declared, with the conviction of a preacher, that democracy—at least in its Western-imported form—has failed the African continent. To him, democracy, as practiced in Nigeria and much of Africa, is an ill-fitting garment, borrowed from foreign tailors who neither understood our fabric nor our measurements.
But in all his pontifications, President Obasanjo conveniently sidesteps an inconvenient truth: he, too, was one of the master tailors who stitched Nigeria’s democratic attire—one that he now decries as a misfit. From his days as a young military head of state to his twilight years as a civilian president, he had the golden opportunity to shape a truly indigenous democratic system. Yet, instead of sowing the seeds of a homegrown democracy, he watered the roots of an imported one and left it to be strangled by the weeds of corruption and political maneuvering.
Obasanjo’s current advocacy, though seemingly noble, rings hollow when juxtaposed with his own record. Was it not under his watch that the 1999 Constitution—a document birthed without the consent of the Nigerian people—was drafted? If indeed he believed in an authentic African democracy, why did his administration adopt a system that was nothing more than a remodeled version of the American presidential system? Why did he not pioneer a model that reflected Nigeria’s unique cultural and political realities? The irony is as stark as the midday sun.
It is even more baffling when one recalls his 2005 National Political Reform Conference, a grand assembly that was meant to provide solutions to Nigeria’s democratic woes. Like a brilliant script abandoned on the cutting room floor, its resolutions never saw the light of day. The conference, which many believed was a charade to advance his ill-fated third-term agenda, ended up being a monument to futility.
For someone who today frowns at borrowed democracy, Obasanjo himself once attempted to twist its very principles to serve personal ambitions. His infamous third-term bid remains a scar on Nigeria’s democratic face. The whispers of the corridors of power at the time spoke of Ghana-Must-Go bags filled with inducements, the clinking of gold in exchange for constitutional amendments, and the betrayal of the very principles that democracy upholds. Though the bid eventually crumbled under the weight of national outrage, it was a stark reminder that power, when left unchecked, seeks to perpetuate itself.
How then does such a man turn around to berate the current actors in Africa’s democratic theater? It is akin to a man who, after felling an entire forest, suddenly remembers the importance of trees. The question must be asked: if Obasanjo had succeeded in extending his tenure beyond 2007, would he today be advocating for a new kind of democracy? Or would he have clung to the very system he now discredits?
Obasanjo’s position on the historic June 12, 1993, election—widely regarded as the most credible in Nigeria’s history—further exposes the contradictions in his newfound philosophy. The annulment of that election, which robbed Chief Moshood Abiola of his mandate, was a dagger thrust into the heart of Nigeria’s democratic aspirations. Yet, rather than standing on the right side of history, Obasanjo dismissed the election’s winner, suggesting that Abiola was not the “messiah” Nigeria needed.
Such a statement was not only an insult to the millions of Nigerians who braved the sun and the rain to cast their votes, but it also exposed a deep-seated disdain for the very democracy he now claims to champion. The truth remains that Obasanjo was a major beneficiary of democracy—first as a military ruler who voluntarily handed over power in 1979 and later as a civilian president who returned to the throne in 1999. But when the time came for him to strengthen the democratic foundations of Nigeria, he faltered.
There is no denying that democracy, as practiced in Africa, has many shortcomings. Corruption, electoral malpractices, and the disconnect between the leaders and the led have indeed cast a long shadow over its promise. However, the failure of democracy in Africa is not necessarily because it is “borrowed” but because the custodians of power have deliberately subverted its tenets.
Obasanjo’s sudden realization that democracy is not working is, therefore, a case of playing to the gallery. He had the privilege of wielding both the sword and the pen—first as a military leader and then as a democratically elected president. He had the chance to etch his name in gold by pioneering a truly people-oriented system. Instead, he chose to dance the familiar waltz of political convenience.
Today, as he mounts podiums and graces conferences with his gospel of homegrown democracy, one cannot help but see through the smokescreen. His words, though wrapped in wisdom, are like the echoes of an old song—sweet to the ears but hollow in meaning.
If Nigeria and Africa are to chart a new democratic course, it will not be through mere rhetoric. It will require visionary leadership, institutional reforms, and a commitment to building a system that works for the people, not just for those in power. Until then, Obasanjo’s sermons on democracy will remain what they are—eloquent speeches that do little to change the tides of governance.
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