It was bound to happen. What happened across the 12 states that had by-elections off-season last weekend was nothing but the usual ballot box burlesque. Nigerians have always endured it, anyway. But the long-overdue punchline in the tragic democratic joke came all the way from Ottawa in the week just gone by. A Canadian court dropped the bombshell – and blurted about what many Nigerians have whispered for years: that the two political behemoths which have ruled Nigeria since the military’s ceremonial retreat in 1999 – the People’s Democratic Party and the All Progressives Congress – bear the hallmarks of terrorist organisations. Not metaphorically. Not rhetorically. But legally, under Canada’s Immigration and Refugee Protection Act, that is.
The ruling, handed down by Justice Phuong Ngo in Ottawa, was part of a judicial review of a refugee case involving one Douglas Egharevba, a Nigerian who had the misfortune of admitting that he was once a member of both parties. The court, citing decades of political violence, ballot box snatching, intimidation, and murder, concluded that mere membership in either party was sufficient grounds for inadmissibility. The PDP, it said, had engaged in acts of subversion against democratic institutions. The APC, by implication, was no better.
Cue the outrage. The Nigerian government, in a fit of diplomatic indignation, declared the ruling “reckless”, “baseless”, and “an unacceptable interference”. The APC, ever allergic to a kick below the belt, insisted it was not named in the judgment – a curious defence, given that the applicant himself claimed to have been a member of the party from 2007, six years before it was even registered. The PDP, meanwhile, called the verdict “misguided”, which is rich coming from a party that once described electoral violence as “robust mobilisation”.
But let us not pretend this is a misunderstanding. The Canadian court did not invent the violence. It merely read the footnotes of our democracy. It did not fabricate the bloodshed. It merely acknowledged the stains on our ballot papers. What it did, in essence, was hold up a mirror – and Nigeria, as usual, recoiled at its own reflection.
Since 1999, the PDP and APC have taken turns administering what can only be described as a slow-motion mugging of the Nigerian state. Their policies, actions, and inactions have left the country bruised, bewildered, and perpetually on the brink. They have weaponised poverty, industrialised corruption, and outsourced governance to godfathers and gunmen. They have turned elections into war games, polling units into battlegrounds, and democracy into a blood sport.
The PDP, in its imperial years, perfected the art of electoral banditry. Ballot boxes disappeared like magic tricks. Opposition candidates vanished like ghosts. Entire constituencies voted before breakfast. The party’s slogan might as well have been “Win First, Explain Later”. “And “Go to court” is their usual retort – or mantra, if you like. From the 2003 state elections to the 2007 presidential charade, the PDP treated the ballot like a buffet – take what you want, leave nothing behind.
The APC, born of merger and ambition, promised change. What it delivered was continuity with a new logo. Under its watch, elections became even more militarised, dissent criminalised, and incompetence institutionalised. The party’s greatest achievement has been to convince Nigerians that suffering is patriotic and that silence is a civic virtue.
Together, these parties have presided over a republic where bandits roam freely, insurgents dictate geography, and secessionists hold press conferences. The war on terror, we are told, has been “technically won” – a phrase so devoid of meaning it could only have been coined by a government that mistakes press releases for policy. Meanwhile, schools are still being raided, highways hijacked, and villages erased. If this is victory, one shudders to imagine defeat.
And now, a foreign court has dared to say what we dare not: that the architects of our chaos may not be mere politicians, but purveyors of terror. Not in the conventional sense of bombs and bullets, but in the more insidious sense of systemic violence – the kind that kills slowly, through hunger, hopelessness, and the casual erosion of dignity.
Of course, the Canadian court is not without fault. Its ruling, while grounded in evidence, is sweeping in its generalisation. To label entire political parties as terrorist organisations is to paint with a brush so broad it obscures nuance. There are, undoubtedly, members of both parties who have never snatched a ballot box or ordered a thug. But in the theatre of Nigerian politics, innocence is often incidental.
Still, the court’s error pales in comparison to the sins of the parties it condemned. For over two decades, the PDP and APC have treated Nigeria like a personal ATM – withdrawing legitimacy, depositing dysfunction, and overdrawing on the patience of the populace. Their manifestos are written in invisible ink. Their ideologies are whatever the godfather says they are. Their loyalty is to power, not to principle.
And what of the people? What of the millions who queue under the sun to vote, only to be rewarded with fuel scarcity, currency confusion, and televised apologies? What of the youth, told to “go and get their PVCs”, only to discover that their votes are mere props in a pre-written play? What of the civil servants, the pensioners, the farmers, the students – all conscripted into a democracy that demands everything and delivers nothing?
They are the collateral damage in a war they did not start. They are the hostages in a republic held ransom by two parties that differ only in logo and slogan. They are the reason why a Canadian court, thousands of miles away, could look at Nigeria’s political landscape and see not democracy, but dysfunction.
And yet, the ruling may be the wake-up call we need. Not because Canada has moral authority – it doesn’t – but because sometimes, it takes an outsider to say what insiders cannot. Sometimes, it takes a foreign bench to remind us that our democracy is bleeding, and that the bandages we keep applying are made of propaganda.
The PDP and APC will, of course, survive this scandal. They always do. They will issue statements, summon press conferences, and accuse Canada of neocolonial arrogance. They will remind us of their “contributions to democracy”, as if democracy were a buffet and they brought the jollof. They will continue to field candidates, win elections, and govern with the same blend of bravado and bewilderment.
But the rest of us must not forget. We must not forget that a court in a country known for maple syrup and politeness looked at our political parties and saw terror. We must not forget that our elections are so violent, chaotic and devoid of credibility that they triggered a legal definition reserved for extremists. We must not forget that the world is watching – and that what it sees is not a beacon of democracy, but a bonfire of vanities.
The diplomat may protest. The government may fume. The parties may deny. But the truth, like a stubborn stain, remains. Nigeria’s democracy is under siege – not from foreign courts, but from domestic actors who mistake power for purpose and governance for conquest.
And until we confront that truth, until we demand better, until we reject the politics of terror – whether by ballot or by bullet – we will continue to be ruled by the very people a Canadian court had the temerity to call what they are. Terrorists in agbadas.
Credit:Punch