In this part of the world, it is not enough for politicians or their supporters to campaign, mobilise votes and then go back into a deep sleep in the comfort of their homes. Such action may be tantamount to committing political suicide. Until final results are declared at collation centres, nobody sleeps. That concept could have been derived from the biblical passage, which talks about the enemy coming when men slept, planting tares among the wheat, and quietly going away.
After ballots have been cast, political destiny changers lurk around and use the cover of darkness to alter the people’s will to the advantage of their sponsors and backers.
That is why, in our clime, elections are rarely lost at the polling unit; they are often lost somewhere between counting and collation. That is also why some politicians instruct their followers not to leave the polling unit immediately after casting their votes. They are advised to stay back and “police their votes”.
That murky journey is what makes the current battle over electronic transmission of results more than a technical debate. It is a referendum on trust — trust in institutions, in lawmakers, and in the democratic promise that every vote should count exactly as cast. As the Senate debates whether, how, or when results should be transmitted electronically, Nigerians are left asking a familiar question: who is the system really designed to protect?
In this country, collation drama has come to characterise the election scene. There are cases of contradictory results — figures declared at collation centres that are completely different from those recorded at polling booths. Between polling units and collation centres, the miracle of multiplication often takes place. These miracles are usually substantial enough to transform an election loser into a winner.
Any Nigerian concerned about this embarrassing scenario, and who wants the figures declared at polling units to remain the same at collation centres, sees electronic transmission as the supposed cure. This is why anybody or any group perceived to be against the electronic transmission of results is viewed as an enemy of democracy. That is exactly what is playing out between the Senate — and by extension the National Assembly — and pro-democracy activists. The battleground has been declared, but the issue is not about technology versus tradition; it is about trust versus suspicion.
Electronic transmission simply means sending election results directly from the polling unit to a central system using digital devices, instead of relying solely on physical result sheets that must be taken from one collation centre to another. Once votes are counted and recorded at the polling unit, the result is uploaded immediately, creating a digital record that is difficult to alter without detection. In essence, it shortens the long and often controversial journey results take after voting ends, reducing the opportunities for interference along the way.
The benefits inherent in this process are clear for all to see. It promises speed, contrary to the usual long wait for results, and it prioritises transparency by reducing human contact and interference to the barest minimum. Many Nigerians see it as a safeguard against result manipulation. That is why anyone who opposes it may be tarred with the black brush of being an election manipulator.
The Senate did not give electronic transmission a blanket approval, as many expected. Certain conditions were attached, but many do not want to hear about those.
These conditions effectively place limits on when and where electronic transmission can be used, rather than making it the default option. That is the bone of contention.
The real issue here is about a trust deficit, not technology in the real sense. The imbroglio has only exposed a deeper problem: Nigerians do not trust institutions to act neutrally. The nation’s lawmakers ask citizens to trust manual systems, while citizens increasingly distrust those same lawmakers. Resistance to electronic transmission, therefore, reads as fear of transparency.
The truth is that concerns such as network coverage, cybersecurity and power supply could be genuine. However, as those in the opposing camp argue, Nigeria already relies heavily on technology for banking, Bank Verification Number enrolment, National Identification Number registration and passport issuance. If the country is technologically fit to collect sensitive data, why is it suddenly not ready to transmit election results?
The issues at stake in this matter are many. They include voter confidence, youth participation and post-election violence. Unclear rules often breed suspicion, and suspicion breeds instability. Democracy survives not just on laws, but on belief.
The pertinent questions then are: who benefits from ambiguity? Who gains when results travel slowly? Who benefits from discretionary power at collation centres? What should concern all Nigerians is the need for clear, unambiguous legal backing for electronic transmission. The Independent National Electoral Commission must enjoy unfettered autonomy in its operational decisions. There should also be public education and pilot testing on the electronic transmission of results. Any reform in the electoral process must be voter-centred, not politician-convenient.
Elections must be seen for what they truly are — a social contract. They are not just administrative exercises; they are a contract between the state and the people. When a country hesitates to trust its own electoral process, it is not technology that has failed — it is confidence.
At its core, the controversy over electronic transmission is not about internet coverage or software capacity; it is about confidence. Democracies do not collapse only through coups or constitutions torn apart — they also wither when citizens stop believing the process belongs to them. If electoral reform is to mean anything, it must prioritise clarity over convenience and trust over tactical ambiguity. Because when a nation hesitates to make its elections transparent, it is not technology that is on trial — it is the sincerity of its democracy.
