Does Democracy Belong to the People — or Only to Men in Power?

Nigeria’s democratic experiment has long been lauded as a triumph over decades of military rule, yet beneath the surface of elections and inaugurations lies a deep and unsettling question: who really holds power in our system — the voters, or the political heavyweights who move the levers behind the scenes? Stephanie Shaakaa’s incisive reflection in Vanguard News argues that this tension isn’t theoretical — it’s unfolding right now in the political dynamics of Rivers State, and by extension, across the nation. 

At the heart of this dilemma is one of Nigeria’s most powerful political players: Nyesom Wike. On paper, he remains a registered member of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). In practice, his influence defies party boundaries, alliances, and constitutional constraints. Shaakaa suggests Wike’s political architecture — built on personal loyalty, patronage and obedience — has outgrown its formal roots and reshaped governance itself. 

Consider Rivers State’s own political landscape. The state legislature, ostensibly independent, is described not as an expression of democratic party strength, but as a machine conditioned by historical allegiance to one man’s influence. Its posture toward Governor Siminalayi Fubara, she argues, reveals a structure less loyal to ideology or constituent mandate and more beholden to the legacy of a former governor whose clout persists long after his tenure. 

This speaks to a deeper pattern in Nigerian politics: when personal authority becomes more potent than institutions, democracy shrinks from “government of the people” to “power brokered among elites.” The governor’s formal title means little if his influence is continually contested by a political force operating outside constitutional limits. This, Shaakaa argues, leaves citizens with elections that are procedural but hollowed out in practice. 

Such dynamics are not unique to Rivers State. Across Nigeria, debates about defections, dominant party control, loyalty fluidity, and the role of political godfathers reflect a broader struggle over where real power lies. Critics contend that politicians often prioritise personal leverage and patronage over ideological commitment or policy discourse, diminishing the electorate to spectators rather than stakeholders. 

The danger, as Shaakaa points out, is that loyalty rooted in individuals rather than institutions corrodes democratic norms. Elections, in theory a mechanism for citizen choice, become mere rituals when the post-election power landscape is shaped by entrenched networks that operate independent of voter intent. 

This tension is not confined to Nigeria. Across Africa and beyond, scholars and commentators debate the meaning of democracy — whether it is strictly Western in origin or can be reinterpreted through local political realities. Regardless of perspective, the central tenet remains consistent: a healthy democracy requires strong institutions that reflect and respond to the will of the people, not the whims of individuals, however influential. 

Ultimately, the question Shaakaa poses — Does democracy truly belong to the people, or to men in power? — forces Nigeria to confront not just political theatrics, but the foundational mechanics of governance and authority. True democratic evolution won’t come from changing party labels alone but from strengthening the norms, checks, and accountability structures that allow citizens’ voices to shape policy and leadership in lasting ways.