The air around the National Assembly complex is thick with tension and chants. A diverse crowd—young activists, seasoned civil society organisers, opposition figures, and ordinary citizens—has converged at the gates, their placards held high. “OUR VOTES MUST COUNT,” “NO TO MANUAL MANIPULATION,” “REAL-TIME TRANSMISSION NOW!”
Among them walks Peter Obi, former presidential candidate, his presence amplifying the protest’s significance. They are united by a singular, urgent demand: that the Nigerian Senate must explicitly mandate the real-time electronic transmission of election results in the amended Electoral Act.
This protest is not an isolated event. It is the boiling point of a week-long national outrage that began on February 4th, when the Senate, during the third reading of the Electoral Act (Amendment) Bill 2026, declined to adopt a crucial clause. The provision would have compelled presiding officers to upload polling unit results to the Independent National Electoral Commission’s (INEC) IReV portal in real-time. Instead, the upper chamber retained the existing, discretionary language from the 2022 Act: results are to be transferred “in a manner as prescribed by the Commission.”
This decision, framed by Senate President Godswill Akpabio as a mere removal of the phrase “real-time” to avoid legal pitfalls in cases of network failure, has been interpreted by a vast section of the public as a deliberate step backward. It has ignited a fiery debate that cuts to the core of Nigeria’s democratic journey: Is the nation moving towards greater electoral transparency, or are powerful forces entrenching a system riddled with manipulable loopholes?
The Ghost of 2023 and the Legal Lacuna
To understand the fury, one must revisit the controversies of the 2023 general elections. INEC had introduced the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) and the IReV portal, promising a technological leap. The expectation was clear: results would be transmitted from polling units instantly, allowing for unprecedented public oversight and curbing the infamous “collation centre magic.”
That promise famously faltered. Presidential election results trickled onto the IReV portal with delays and inconsistencies, fuelling allegations of manipulation and eroding public trust. The legal aftermath was even more instructive. When challenges reached the Supreme Court, the ruling was stark: the IReV was a viewing portal, not a collation system. More critically, the court stated that INEC’s guidelines for electronic transmission lacked explicit backing in the Electoral Act. The power to determine the mode of transmission, the court affirmed, resided with INEC as per the extant law.
This created a dangerous precedent. Technology deployed without ironclad legal backing became optional, its failure inconsequential to the legal validity of an election. “The Supreme Court’s judgment put us in this mess,” lamented former INEC Resident Electoral Commissioner, Dr. Emeka Ononamadu. “It created the legal uncertainty that politicians are now exploiting.”
Thus, the 2026 amendment was seen as the golden opportunity to close this gap—to move electronic transmission from a discretionary administrative procedure to a mandatory statutory requirement. The House of Representatives seemed to agree, having passed its version in December 2025 with a clear clause mandating real-time transmission.
A Senate Divided Against Public Expectation?
The Senate’s divergence from the House has sparked accusations of bad faith and elite conspiracy. Sources within the legislative complex, as reported by Vanguard, suggest the last-minute alteration was orchestrated by a small group of ranking senators from the southern part of the country, who persuaded the presiding officer to revert to the old provision.
Senator Abdul Ningi (PDP, Bauchi Central), in a televised interview, provided a glimpse into the chamber’s dynamics. He claimed that 98% of senators were in agreement with the House’s position but suggested the process was hijacked. “It depends on the presiding officer… the gavel was sealed on ‘transfer’,” he said, implying a procedural manoeuvre overrode the collective will. He even proposed a public, roll-call vote to expose each senator’s stance—a move highlighting the opacity of the process.
The Senate’s official defence, articulated by Akpabio, hinges on practicality and legal caution. They argue that mandating “real-time” transmission is unrealistic given Nigeria’s uneven network coverage, frequent power outages, and security challenges in rural areas. A rigid law, they contend, would invalidate votes from communities with poor infrastructure and open a floodgate of litigation. “If you say real-time, then there is a network… failure… When you go to court, somebody will say it ought to have been real-time. That was all we said,” Akpabio clarified.
Civil society organisation Nigeria Integrity Watch (NIW) echoed this, warning of a “democratic emergency” where rural voters could be disenfranchised by a digital-only mandate.
The Counter-Argument: A Question of Political Will, Not Technology
The protesters and a formidable alliance of critics find this reasoning disingenuous. Their argument, powerfully summarised by activist and CISLAC head Auwal Rafsanjani, is that this is “not about technology… It is about control.”
They point out that Nigerians already live in a digital economy. From bank transfers in remote villages to cryptocurrency trades and social media engagement, citizens daily navigate the country’s digital landscape. INEC’s own nationwide deployment of BVAS for accreditation, they argue, proves that the infrastructure for data transmission from polling units exists. The problem, they insist, is not feasibility but intention.
“What Nigerians fear is a repeat of the IReV glitches,” acknowledged Lawrence Oyekanmi, former spokesman to INEC Chairman Mahmood Yakubu. But while he advised retaining the 2022 provisions, critics believe that approach sanctifies failure. For them, making transmission mandatory creates an imperative for the state and INEC to ensure the infrastructure works—by expanding network coverage, providing satellite backups, and securing polling units.
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Legal minds like Olisa Agbakoba (SAN) and Ebun-Olu Adegboruwa (SAN) warn that continued ambiguity is an open invitation for crisis. Agbakoba noted that without explicit statutory backing, electronic transmission remains “legally inconsequential,” placing an impossible burden on petitioners to prove manipulation across 176,000 polling units. “The pathway to transparency is to reduce human intervention,” Adegboruwa asserted.
The Stakes for 2027 and the Spectre of Legitimacy
The implications of this legislative tussle stretch far into Nigeria’s political future, directly shaping the contours of the 2027 general elections.
1. Credibility and Public Trust: The Nigerian Guild of Editors warned that the Senate’s stance “undermines ongoing efforts to deepen democratic governance.” When citizens believe the system is engineered against transparency, voter apathy rises. The Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) has threatened mass action and even a total election boycott if the clause is not reinstated, signalling a potential crisis of participation.
2. Post-Election Litigation and Stability: A discretionary transmission regime all but guarantees protracted legal battles. The 2023 election petitions, some of which lingered for months, would be a mere precursor. Courts would again be thrust into the role of arbiters of electoral truth based on incomplete or contested evidence, further judicialising politics and eroding the finality of electoral outcomes.
3. The International Gaze: As democracies worldwide embrace technology to bolster integrity, Nigeria’s retreat into legislative ambiguity sends a negative signal to the international community. It could affect foreign investment perceptions and the country’s democratic standing globally.
4. The Integrity of the Legislature: This episode has severely damaged the Senate’s public image. The perception that it acted against overwhelming public sentiment and the House’s position to serve opaque interests has fueled deep resentment. As protester Mmah Odi of the Situation Room threatened, continued intransigence could lead to calls for the resignation of the Senate President.
A Tense Harmonisation and a Nation Waiting
All eyes are now on the emergency plenary session summoned for February 10th and the subsequent Conference Committee, where Senators and Members of the House will reconcile their versions. This committee holds the power to heal the rift or deepen the wound.
Will the Senate heed the roar from the streets, the warnings from the bar, the pleas from the media, and the logic of technological progress? Or will it uphold its amended version, citing pragmatic concerns, and risk entering the 2027 election cycle under a cloud of profound mistrust?
The protest at the National Assembly gate is more than a demonstration; it is a metaphor. The people are literally and figuratively at the gates of power, demanding to be let into the process. Their message is clear: democracy cannot thrive in the shadows of collation centres. In the age of information, an election result that is not instantly visible is, to a skeptical public, inherently suspect.
The battle over Section 60(3) is not just a legal technicality. It is a battle for the soul of Nigerian democracy—a fight to determine whether the people’s vote will remain a mere suggestion, subject to alteration in transit, or a sovereign command, delivered and preserved in the full, real-time light of day. The Senate’s next move will write a decisive paragraph in that unfinished story.
