The Oxford Handbook of Nigerian Politics 9780198804307, 019880430X

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T h e Ox f o r d H a n d b o o k o f

N IG E R IA N P OL I T IC S

The Oxford Handbook of

NIGERIAN POLITICS Edited by

A. CARL LEVAN and

PATRICK UKATA

1

3 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, ox2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Oxford University Press 2018 The moral rights of the authors‌have been asserted First Edition published in 2018 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2018949672 ISBN 978–​0–​19–​880430–​7 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

I dedicate this book to Thoreau—​that he may possess the curiousity to witness the world’s wrongs, the compassion to understand them, and the courage to right them. A. Carl LeVan I dedicate this book to my lovely wife, Anne-​Kathrin—​my rock and my everything. Patrick Ukata

Acknowledgments

We gratefully acknowledge the support of American University’s School of International Service Africa Resarch Cluster for hosting a workshop in November 2016 that enabled many authors to receive feedback on their research. We thank Adrienne LeBas, Rachel Sullivan Robinson, Steve Dalzell, Oladeji Olaore, Jennifer Joel-​Obado, Yoonbin Ha, and Ifeoluwa Olawole for their insightful comments. Erin Kelly and Sarah El-​Hoss diligently assisted with fact-​checking and other preparation details. Megan Snow from the American University Library generously helped with the maps. Carl also wishes to thank Monica, Emerson, and Thoreau for their inspiration. We also wish to thank three anonymous reviewers for valuable input into the initial design of the book, which helped us identify important gaps that might have been overlooked. Finally, we appreciate the support and guidance of Dominic Byatt and the team at Oxford University Press for their excellent work. The poem “Silences” by Christopher Okigbo is reprinted in the chapter by Obi Nwakanma with permission from Obiageli Okigbo. Popular music texts and song lyrics in the chapter by Garhie Osiebe are reprinted with permission from the Copyright Society of Nigeria for research and learning purposes.

Contents

List of Figures List of Tables About the Contributors Introduction A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata

xv xvii xix 1

PA RT I :   L O C AT I N G N IG E R IA I N A F R IC A N H I S TORY 1. From Borno to Sokoto: Meaning and Muslim Identities in Northern Nigeria Murray Last

19

2. State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria Nonso Obikili

33

3. Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies Shobana Shankar

47

4. The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact Wasiq N. Khan

60

5. Colonial Rule Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola

75

6. The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria Rotimi Ajayi

89

7. Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence Chiedo Nwankwor

103

8. The Nigerian Novel and the Anticolonial Imagination Cajetan Iheka

121

x   Contents

9. Ecologies of Rule: Politics, Political Economy, and Governing the Environment in Nigeria Michael J. Watts

133

PA RT I I :   P OL I T IC A L I N S T I T U T ION S 10. The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs, 1966–​79 and 1983–​99 171 Eghosa E. Osaghae 11. Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation in Contemporary Nigeria Olufunmbi M. Elemo 12. The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics Joseph Olayinka Fashagba

189 207

13. Legislative Development and Decadence in the Fourth Republic National Assembly Rotimi T. Suberu

221

14. Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise of the Fourth Republic Olufemi Vaughan

239

15. Executive Dominance and Hyper-​Presidentialism in Nigeria Yahaya T. Baba 16. Civil Military Affairs and Military Culture in Post-​Transition Nigeria Max Siollun

257

273

17. Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts Daniel Jordan Smith

288

18. The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999 Patrick Ukata

302

19. Elections and Electoral Performance Nkwachukwu Orji

319

20. Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–​2015 A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola

336

Contents   xi

21. The People’s Democratic Party: From the 1999 Transition to the 2015 Turnover Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo

351

PA RT I I I :   C I V I L S O C I E T Y 22. Civil Society in Nigeria Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja

369

23. The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor Jon Kraus

387

24. In the Trenches with Fela: Reassessing Protest Political Music Culture before the Fourth Republic Garhe Osiebe

406

25. Nigeria’s Non-​Western Democracy: A Postcolonial Aspiration and Struggle with Opportunity, Conflict, and Transformation Rita Kiki Edozie

425

26. Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation Cheryl O’Brien

441

27. Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming Idayat Hassan

457

28. Revenue and Representation: The Political Economy of Public Participation Oliver Owen

473

PA RT I V:   E C ON OM IC A N D S O C IA L SE C TOR S :  P OL IC I E S A N D P E OP L E S 29. Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili

491

30. Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms: A Changing Political Economy Peter M. Lewis

502

31. The “Resource Curse” and the Constraints on Reforming Nigeria’s Oil Sector Zainab Usman

520

xii   Contents

32. Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki

545

PA RT V:   I DE N T I T Y A N D I N SE C U R I T Y 33. Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest in Nigerian History Abimbola O. Adesoji

567

34. The Origins of Boko Haram Kyari Mohammed

583

35. Boko Haram: Indigeneity, Internationalism, and Insurgency Virginia Comolli

605

36. The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival Obi Nwakanma

620

37. The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion Omolade Adunbi

636

38. Crime, Cults, and Informal Security ‘Kemi Okenyodo

652

39. Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement Victor Adefemi Isumonah

664

40. Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution in the Middle Belt Laura Thaut Vinson

679

PA RT V I :   N IG E R IA I N T H E WOR L D 41. Nigeria and the World: War, Nationalism, and Politics, 1914–​60 Oliver Coates

699

42. Nigeria and the Commonwealth: Influence by Accident or Design Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville

714

43. Faith, Fame, and Fortune: Varieties of Nigerian Worship in Global Christianity Asonzeh Ukah

728

Contents   xiii

44. The Pathology of Dependency: Sino-​Nigerian Relations as a Case Study Ian Taylor

743

Index

761

List of Figures

9.1 Nigeria’s Broad Vegetative Zones

134

9.2 Agroecological Zones

134

9.3 The Model of Neo-​Malthusian Environmentalism

143

9.4 Lake Chad in 2015

159

28.1 Graphic Realities: Nigeria’s Oil and Non-​oil Revenue Profile Over Time

479

28.2 Internally Generated Revenue by State, as of 2011

481

31.1 Average Daily Oil Production (Millions of Barrels) 2004–​15

522

31.2 Oil and Gas, and GDP Growth Rates (1999–​2015)

523

31.3 Oil and Gas, and Services’ share of GDP (1999–​2015)

524

31.4 Oil and Gas Share of Exports and Government Revenue (1999–​2015)

526

31.5 State Governments’ Revenue (%) in descending order of internal revenue, 2013

527

31.6 Sources of Institutional Constraints

532

31.7 Stakeholder Map of Key Oil-​Sector Actors

533

32.1 HIV Prevalence by State in Nigeria, 2012

548

32.2 Costs of ART Provision in the Public and Private Sectors

551

32.3 Overall HIV Infection Rate

552

32.4 Aggregate spending on HIV/​AIDS in Nigeria, 2010–​14

554

List of Tables

11.1 Sources of Federal Government Oil Revenue (%)

198

11.2 Vertical Allocation of Federation Account, 1981–​present (%)

198

11.3 Horizontal Allocation of Federation Account, 1980–​present (%)

199

11.4 Current Income Tax Rates

201

19.1 Nigerian Elections, 1923–​2015

321

21.1 Composition of the House of Representatives, by party, 1999–​2015

353

21.2 Composition of Senate, by political party, 1999–​2015

353

21.3 Composition of governorship seats, by political party, 1999–​2015

354

22.1 Four Generations of Nigerian Civil Society

371

23.1 National General Strikes, Strike Threats, and Fuel Subsidy

389

23.2 Strikes, Strikers, and Days Lost, Select Years

392

23.3 Estimated Nigerian Trade Unions and Membership

399

28.1 Share of Resource Revenues Allocated to States on Derivation Principle

478

38.1 Informal Security Actors and their Locations

654

44.1 Composition of Nigerian Exports to China, 2000–​15

751

44.2 Product Types of Medium-​or High-​skills Manufactured Nigerian Exports to China, 2015

752

44.3 Top Twenty Destinations for Nigerian Exports, 2014 (in U.S.$ billions)

753

44.4 Nigeria’s Trade with China (in U.S.$ millions)

754

About the Contributors

A. Carl LeVan is Associate Professor in the School of International Service at American University in Washington, DC. He is the author of Nigerian Party Competition in a Time of Transition and Terror (forthcoming) as well as Dictators and Democracy in Africa Development: the Political Economy of Good Governance in Nigeria (2015). Patrick Ukata is the former Director of the American University and American University of Nigeria’s Washington office. He is currently a professorial lecturer at the Elliott School of International Affairs at the George Washington University, Washington, DC. Abimbola O. Adesoji is Associate Professor in the Department of History at Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-​Ife, Osun State, Nigeria. His research interest is the sociopolitical history of Nigeria. Olusoji Adeyi is Director of the Health, Nutrition, and Population Global Practice at the World Bank Group. Omolade Adunbi is Associate Professor, Department of Afroamerican and African Studies, Distinguished Faculty Fellow in Sustainability, and Associate Chair for African Studies at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. His book, Oil Wealth and Insurgency in Nigeria (2015) was awarded the prestigious Amaury Talbot Prize by the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland. Adigun Agbaje is Professor in the Department of Political Science, University of Ibadan, Nigeria. He is author of The Nigerian Press, Hegemony and the Social Construction of Legitimacy (1992) and the co-​editor of Federalism and Political Restructuring in Nigeria (1998), Nigeria: Politics of Transition and Governance (1999), Money Struggles and City Life (2002, 2003), and Nigeria’s Struggle for Democracy and Good Governance (2004), among others. Rotimi Ajayi is Professor of Political Science at Federal University, Lokoja. He is co-​ author of Understanding Government and Politics in Nigeria (2014). Abiodun Ajijola is the director of Election Monitor in Nigeria. Adeolu Akande is Professor in the Department of Political Science and Public Administration, Igbinedion University, Okada, Edo State, Nigeria. Yahaya T. Baba is Senior Lecturer and Head of the Political Science Department at the Usmanu Danfodiyo University, Sokoto, Nigeria.

xx   About the Contributors Oliver Coates is a college supervisor in History at the University of Cambridge, and is a Fellow of the Institut français de recherche en Afrique. His research focuses on West African colonial history, and has recently been published in Research in African Literatures and History in Africa. Virginia Comolli is the Senior Fellow for Security and Development at the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), London. She is the author of Boko Haram: Nigeria’s Islamist Insurgency (2015). Elizabeth Donnelly is the Deputy Head and Research Fellow of the Africa Programme at Chatham House, London. Rita Kiki Edozie is Professor and Associate Dean at the McCormack Graduate School of Policy and Global Studies at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. Olufunmbi M. Elemo is Assistant Professor at Michigan State University. Her research interests focus on comparative politics and public policy, including federalism, political management of natural resource revenue, tax reform, and representative and accountable governance in Africa. Toyin Falola is the Jacob and Frances Mossiker Chair in the Humanities, University of Texas at Austin. Joseph Olayinka Fashagba is Senior Lecturer in the Political Science Faculty at the Federal University of Lokoja, Nigeria, and a co-​ editor of African State Governance: Subnational Politics and National Power (2015). Idayat Hassan is Executive Director of the Centre for Democracy and Development West Africa (CDD). She helps develop and implement projects promoting empowerment and democratization in West Africa. Matthew M. Heaton is Associate Professor in the Department of History at Virginia Tech. He is the co-​author of A History of Nigeria (2008) and author of Black Skin, White Coats: Nigerian Psychiatrists, Decolonization, and the Globalization of Psychiatry (2013). John Idoko trained in Internal Medicine, Infectious Diseases, and Immunology of infections and has been an HIV physician since 1995. He is currently Professor of Medicine at the University of Jos and an Adjunct professor of Global Health at Northwestern University in Chicago. Professor Idoko was Principal Investigator of the Harvard University/​AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria (APIN) and  of the Presidential Emergency Program for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) at the Jos University Teaching Hospital in North Central Nigeria. He was formerly Director General of the Nigerian National Agency for the Control of AIDS (NACA) and currently the President of the Society for AIDS in Africa (SAA). Cajetan Iheka is Assistant Professor at the University of Alabama. His research focus is on African and Caribbean literature and film, postcolonial studies, ecocriticism, and

About the Contributors    xxi world literature. He is also the author of Naturalizing Africa: Ecological Violence, Agency, and Postcolonial Resistance in African Literature (2018). Victor Adefemi Isumonah is Professor and Head of the Department of Political Science, Faculty of Social Science at the University of Ibadan, Nigeria and former board member of the International Society for Third-​Sector Research. Phyllis Kanki is Professor of Immunology and Infectious Diseases at Harvard University. She created and directed the AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria (APIN). Darren Kew is Executive Director of the Center for Peace, Democracy, and Development. He is also Associate Professor at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. He is the author of Democracy, Conflict Resolution, and Civil Society in Nigeria. Wasiq N. Khan is Assistant Professor of Economics at the American University of Nigeria. Jon Kraus is editor/​co-​author of Transformed by Crisis: The Presidency of George W. Bush (2004) and author/​editor of Trade Unions and the Coming of Democracy in Africa (2007). Chris M.  A. Kwaja is Senior Lecturer and Researcher in the Centre for Peace and Security Studies at Modibbo Adama University of Technology, Yola, Adamawa State. Murray Last is Professor Emeritus in the Department of Anthropology at University College London. He is the author of the Sokoto Caliphate. Peter M. Lewis is Vice Dean for Academic and Faculty Affairs and Professor of African Studies at John Hopkins University. Kingsley Moghalu is Professor of International Business and Public Policy at Tufts University, Massachusetts. He previously worked with the United Nations and served as Deputy General of the Central Bank of Nigeria. He is the founder of the non-​profit organ­ization, the Isaac Moghalu foundation. Kyari Mohammed is Professor of History and Vice Chancellor of Modibbo Adama University of Technology, Yola, Nigeria. Daragh Neville is the Projects Officer of the Africa Programme at Chatham House, London. Obi Nwakanma is Associate Professor at the University of Central Florida. He is also a poet, journalist, biographer, and literary critic. Chiedo Nwankwor is Visiting Research Associate and Adjunct Lecturer at John Hopkins University. Her area of expertise is in comparative politics with a focus on African politics, and women and gender studies. Cheryl O’Brien is Assistant Professor at San Diego State University, California. She teaches in the Department of Political Science and the International Security and Conflict Resolution program.

xxii   About the Contributors Nonso Obikili is an economist from Nigeria, and is currently a Research Associate at Stellenbosch University and a Policy Associate at Economic Research Southern Africa. Oluwole Odutolu is Senior Health Specialist in the Africa Region at the World Bank. He contributed and edited the first edition of AIDS in Nigeria: A Nation on a Threshold and The Africa Multi-​Country HIV/​AIDS Program (MAP) 2000–​2006: Results of the World Bank's Response to a Development Crisis. Jide Ojo is Executive Director, OJA Development Consult, Abuja and Chief Executive Officer, Forward in Action for Education, Poverty and Malnutrition in Bauchi. He is also a public affairs analyst and columnist with The Punch newspaper and the author of A Nation in Tow: Essays on Governance and Leadership in Nigeria (2016). ‘Kemi Okenyodo is an expert in the security governance sector. She is the Executive Director of the Rule of Law and Empowerment Initiative (also known as Partners West Africa—​Nigeria). She is the Team Leader of the Nigeria Policing Program, which is being supported by the Conflict Security and Stabilisation Fund. Nkwachukwu Orji is Senior Research Fellow at the Institute for Development Studies, University of Nigeria. He is currently serving in the Independent National Electoral Commission as the Resident Electoral Commissioner for Anambra State. Eghosa E. Osaghae is Vice Chancellor at Igbinedion University, Okada and the author of Crippled Giant: Nigeria Since Independence (1998). Garhe Osiebe is a cultural anthropologist. His research on political music cultures through Nigeria’s post-​independence years was based at the Centre of West African Studies, University of Birmingham. Oliver Owen is  an Economic and Social Research Council Research Fellow at the University of Oxford and the co-​editor (with Jan Beek, Mirco Göpfert, and‎ Johnny Steinberg) of Police in Africa: The Street Level View (2017). Shobana Shankar is an Associate Professor at Stony Brook University, New York and the author of Who Shall Enter Paradise? Christian Origins in Muslim Northern Nigeria, c.1890–​1975 (2014). Max Siollun is an author and historian who focuses on Nigeria’s military and political history. He is the author of Soldiers of Fortune: a History of Nigeria (1983–​1993). Daniel Jordan Smith is Professor and Chair of the Department of Anthropology at Brown University. He won the 2008 Margaret Mead Award for his book A Culture of Corruption:  Everyday Deception and Popular Discontent in Nigeria (2007). His most recent book is To Be a Man Is Not a One-​Day Job: Masculinity, Monet, and Intimacy in Nigeria (2017). Rotimi T. Suberu is Professor of Political Science at Bennington College and an expert on federalism. He has consulted for the Nigerian government, the World Bank, the National Endowment for Democracy, Freedom House, and the Forum of Federations.

About the Contributors    xxiii Ian Taylor is Professor in International Relations and African Political Economy at the University of St Andrews, Scotland. He has written eleven academic books and over seventy scholarly articles. His work was translated into twelve languages. Asonzeh Ukah is Associate Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Cape Town and the author of A New Paradigm of Pentecostal Power: The Redeemed Christian Church of God in Nigeria. He is Director of the Research Institute for Christianity and Society in Africa (RICSA) at the University of Cape Town. Zainab Usman works in the Energy and Extractives Global Practice of the World Bank. She works on governance, institutional reform, and private-sector development. Olufemi Vaughan is the Alfred Sargent Lee & Mary Ames Lee Professor of Black Studies at Amherst College. He is the author of many books, including Religion and the Making of Nigeria (2016), which won a 2017 Nigerian Studies Association Book Prize. Laura Thaut Vinson is Assistant Professor of International Affairs at Lewis and Clark College, and the author of Religion, Violence, and Local Power-​Sharing in Nigeria (2017). Michael J. Watts is Professor Emeritus of Geography and Development Studies at the University of California, Berkeley, and the author of Silent Violence: Food, Famine, and Peasantry in Northern Nigeria (2013).

I n t rodu ction A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata

The idea of Nigeria sprang from the imperial imagination. The name “is only an English expression which has been made to comprehend a number of natives covering about 500,000 square miles of territory of the world,” wrote the wife of its most famous British administrator (Lugard 1906, p. 7). But construction of the Nigerian nation, its resilience in the face of historical and geographical adversity, and its progress following the unexpected traumas of the post-​independent era, are enduring testaments to its people and proof of its promise. The Oxford Handbook of Nigerian Politics introduces readers to the country’s complex culture, rich history, and ever-​changing politics. It highlights the tragedies and triumphs than animate national narratives, from the implications of not calling oneself “Nigerian” at all in the restless eastern states to the soaring economic optimism that punctuated the decade after the last military regime’s exit in 1999. By identifying many of the classic debates in Nigerian politics, the chapters serve as an authoritative introduction to Africa’s most populous country. By placing many of the most established scholars alongside a new generation of voices, the chapters also show the most pressing contemporary research questions in a new light, often demonstrating new techniques and data for addressing them. The purpose of this volume is therefore to offer, in broad strokes and across academic disciplines, a comprehensive analysis of the complexities, diversities, and paradoxes of Nigeria’s sociopolitical evolution to readers who are either intimately familiar with the country or entirely new to it. The introduction that follows outlines the intellectual rationales for the volume’s five sections, situating a succinct summary of each chapter within a shared thematic organization.

Locating Nigeria in African History The opening section entitled “Locating Nigeria in African History” situates Nigeria temporally, spatially, and thematically in the study of Africa. Authors from history,

2    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata economics, geography, and literature help place Africa’s most populous country on the continent, in a globalized world at different points of time, and within their respective fields as they relate to African studies broadly construed. In “From Borno to Sokoto: Meaning and Muslim Identities in northern Nigeria,” one of the deans of Nigerian history, Murray Last, reflects on the process of Islamization in northern Nigeria and the resistance to it. We meet the ancient political societies of the region, including the social, economic, and political lives of their peoples. Empires such as Kanem-​Bornu meet at the intellectual crossroads of the Igbo who developed “radical” ideas of belonging and acephalous governing. Through Nonso Obikili’s chapter on “State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria,” different perspectives on state building thus emerge: as an indigenous process as well as one subject to ongoing environmental, demographic, and migratory shifts. Next, readers are introduced to a globalized Nigeria through expansion and migration on the one hand, and through the slave trade, missionary contact, and colonialism on the other. In “Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies,” Shobana Shankar untangles the complexities of religious expansion in a globalizing world, arguing that Christianity expanded in part to challenge authority, and thus not simply in response to proselytization by foreigners. More than merely “handmaidens of colonialism,” Christian Nigerians shaped the way missions approached their very mission. The legacy of these transformational traditions manifests itself in novel ways today through millions of Nigerians in the diaspora. Religion shaped Nigeria, and through religion, Nigeria shapes the world in ways that often go unnoticed. In his chapter on “The Atlantic Trade and its Lasting Impact,” Wasiq Khan reviews research on the causes, effects, and character of the transatlantic slave trade. At least 15 percent of all transatlantic slave exports originated in what is today southern Nigeria. This had a “profound, though imperfectly understood, impact on Nigeria’s political and economic evolution.” Despite decades of research and new materials unearthed after the Second World War, many basic questions about the transatlantic trade and its long-​term effects on Africa’s development remain subject to debate. For example, recent research offers evidence that the slave trade undermined long-​term economic development (Nunn 2008). But at a subnational level, this quickly breaks down in Nigeria, where the regions that suffered from slave extraction today include many of the better off ethnic groups. Other questions similarly continue to animate economic historical analysis. How large was the transatlantic trade? How efficient and productive was slave labor relative to free labor? What impact did the trade have on the Industrial Revolution in England? Why did Africa, as opposed to many other potential source regions, become the New World’s primary provider of slave labor? One type of crime against humanity was soon replaced by another with colonialism’s onset. The operational modalities of colonialism are explained and bluntly critiqued in a chapter by Toyin Falola and Matthew Heaton. They situate the strategy of “indirect rule,” whereby British colonial officers ruled clumsily and—more often than is typically acknowledged—​violently. Nigeria has a central place in the broader project of European imperialism, and in the gruesome transatlantic trade that preceded the era

Introduction   3 of “high colonialism.” Three chapters then explore different but complementary aspects of European imperialism’s great undoing: (1) nationalists from Nnamadi Azikiwe in the east, Ahmadu Bello in the north, and Obafemi Awolowo in the west, articulated an alternative political and social vision of the future; (2) these great men of the era, often stood on the shoulders of women’s mass mobilization but then marginalized women once this future was realized with independence; and (3) an emergent literary tradition decolonized the canon and provided the ingredients for the cultural consciousness of nation building while grappling with the pain of memory and the hardships of transition. Rotimi Ajayi takes on the first task, describing how anticolonialists not only had to push Britain out, they had to generate new attachments to a nation divided by religion, language, and difficult geography. His chapter also analyzes the continental influences of pan-​Africanism from Kwame Nkrumah and other great voices of the postcolonial project. Chichi Nwankwor in her chapter argues that women’s voices were drowned out in the transition to independence. This contributed to a historical neglect of the role of women’s associations and social movements in anticolonial resistance. Such rebellions went beyond well-​known outbursts such as the Aba Tax Revolt, and provided a broader mobilizational basis for advancing the nationalist agenda. After achieving political independence from Britain, women were confronted with a difficult new struggle, involving a new ruling class that instrumentalized their oppression in order to maintain power. Women’s frustrations as well as the new-found possibilities for the postcolonial generation’s future, found expression through fictional constructions. Chinua Achebe and a new generation of creative forces reshaped how the world understood the meaning and legacies of colonialism, and their imaginaries left indelible imprints on the national construction of Nigeria’s self-​image in the post-​independence era. Cajetan Iheka in “The Nigerian Novel in the Anti-​Colonial Imagination” argues that Achebe’s Arrow of God “foregrounds the epistemic violence of the colonial edifice and the patriarchy of the indigenous communities.” But it was Flora Nwapa’s Efuru that rewrote the anticolonial text by linking women’s condition to the infrastructure and the scripts of the colonial enterprise. Finally, Michael Watts, the leading scholar on the political geography of Nigeria, explores the country as a physical place where the environment has shaped its past and is challenging its future. In “Environmental Change in Nigeria: Ecological Stress and Political Structure,” he explores the relations among ecology, environmental governance, and political economy. Deforestation offers one compelling example of the political economy of Nigeria’s ecological challenges. The chapter then historicizes such environmental problems, showing how an appreciation of the intersectionalities of nature, culture, and politics can help identify critical junctures in a “narrative of secular environmental decline.” Setting the stage for the two chapters later in the volume that focus on oil, Watts also explores the heterogeneity of state capability in Nigeria; the rise of the petro-​state has impacted governance disastrously but also unevenly. The Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) in the oil-​producing Niger Delta and Boko Haram in the drought-​prone northeast dramatize the complex and calamitous political ecology of contemporary Nigeria. These insurgencies highlight how

4    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata access to resources and control over the environment are at the crux of violent politics and governance failures.

Political Institutions The second section of the book, on political institutions, begins with the First Republic, the government inaugurated at independence. The chapters situate modern Nigeria’s political regimes within a broader understanding of postcolonial Africa, explaining the rationales for popular democratic disappointments, causes of the country’s numerous coups, the political economy of authoritarianism, and the promise of lasting institutional reform. The successful 1998/​9 transition ended a long string of dictators who grappled with structural adjustment, clamped down on political freedom, and seemed to destroy hope for accountable governance and sustainable development. With the historic defeat of an incumbent political party in 2015, has Nigeria finally buried its authoritarian atavisms? Why have the institutions of the Fourth Republic proved resilient, and what have been the popular and elite levers for promoting reforms? How have social transformation and structural shifts in the economy shaped institutional performance? The contributors offer probing answers to these questions from historical, constitutional, and comparative perspectives, placing Nigeria at the center of a new narrative of African political institutions. Nigeria was a paradigmatic case of military rule that was a defining element of politics in the developing countries between the 1960s and early 1990s, and Eghosa Osaghae’s chapter opening the section on political institutions explains how the long arm of dictatorship soon replaced (or exposed) the long shadow of colonialism. Institutional questions were at the heart of these setbacks. “Politically,” wrote one of the planners of the 1966 coup that toppled the First Republic, “we believed that our immediate step would be to correct the worst anomaly of the 1957 constitution, by breaking down the country into smaller units or states” (Ademoyega 1981, p. 33). Yet rather than deepening federalism and enhancing state capacity, military rule centralized power and increased state fragility, which provided ostensible grounds for more coups and self-​appointed corrective agendas of successive military governments. The partisan character of coups and governments, as well as the narrow political ambitions of military rulers, inhibited any potential developmental or nation-​building benefits of dictatorship. As detailed by Olufunbi Elemo’s chapter, lasting effects of Nigeria’s two long stretches of authoritarianism—​from 1966 to 1979 and from 1983 to 1999—​include an impulse to create new subnational units in response to demands for representation, and an infrastructure for patronage facilitated by the fiscal federalism of oil rents. Olufemi Vaughn’s chapter analyzes the stubborn question of Islam in Nigeria’s numerous constitutional reform exercises since independence. The Fourth Republic has faced an especially stark challenge to constitutional compromises for secular political authority after twelve northern state legislatures passed sharia law only months after the 1999 transition. “Northern Muslim political leaders effectively mobilized the masses of

Introduction   5 local people under the political-​religious platform of expanded sharia that defined the essence of the Northern Ummah,” referring to the community of believers. In effect, support for sharia helped fill the vacuum left by neoliberalism in the 1980s and 1990s. “A new generation of Northern Muslim elite thus provided an alternative vision for the governance of emirate society.” Joseph Olayinka Fashagba’s chapter dissects legislative politics in the First (1960–​6) and Second (1979–​83) Republics, the two attempts at democracy that preceded each of these long stretches of dictatorship. The “euphoria” that accompanied independ­ ence gave way to elite rivalry and interethnic tensions that a weak party system was unable to manage or moderate. A constitutional reform process from 1976 and 1979 placed hopes in a switch from a parliamentary system with a figurehead president to a model emulating American presidentialism and federalism. “The main argument of the Constitution Drafting Committee against ceremonial presidency and in favour of executive presidency was that the former involved division between real authority and formal authority,” writes Ojo, “while the latter concentrated all the powers in one person thereby making for effective government” (Ojo 1987, p. 153). Barely four years later, that institutional experiment also collapsed. Since both models of executive selection failed, Fashagba hints at the limits of institutional analysis for understanding the contentious politics that led to Nigeria’s deep democratic failures. Rotimi Suberu’s chapter also focuses on legislative politics, and in shifting our attention to the National Assembly since the 1999 transition, he highlights an ongoing paradox of institutional performance: in contrast to the assemblies analyzed by Fashagba, the National Assembly in the Fourth Republic has amended the constitution, passed significant electoral reforms, reined in the executive, and mediated interethnic tensions. However, the Assembly has also been a hothouse for corruption and waste, with its members neglecting oversight, representation, and constituency engagement. Drawing upon the “prebendal” model of politics popularized by Richard Joseph (1987), Suberu concludes that “the pervasive and entrenched nature of prebendal structures are likely to make legislative ambivalence a long-​term feature of Nigerian governance and politics.” In “Executive Dominance and Hyper-​Presidentialism,” Yahaya Baba considers the nature of executive power across Nigeria’s three democratic regimes, pinpointing the roots of modern presidential excesses in the “command system” of military governments. Such models seemed helpful for promoting national integration and economic development, but the “subordination” of the legislature and the judiciary, often through informal mechanisms, has profoundly undermined democracy. Next, Max Siollun specifies how civil–​military relations continue to suffer in post-​transition Nigeria, with grave consequences for human rights, rule of law, and effective military action in the face of threats such as Boko Haram and corruption prosecutions. Daniel Jordan Smith, author of the classic work, A Culture of Corruption (Smith 2007), assesses the record of such prosecutions. In particular, he analyzes the causes of “progress and setbacks in anticorruption efforts,” focusing on the period since 1999. President Olusegun Obasanjo, who served two terms until 2007, seemed to break from historical patterns of ineffective or even “disingenuous” efforts by the government to fight

6    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata corruption. Nuhu Ribadu, the chairman of the newly formed Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) came to symbolize these renewed hopes, but a detailed analysis of institutional performance then exposes the deep disappointments. Patrick Ukata’s chapter entitled “The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999” similarly examines how the Nigerian judiciary has increasingly been called upon to play a more critical role in interpreting the constitution, ensuring the enforcement of the rule of law, and the protection of civil liberties since 1999. Ukata contends that, even while confronting “serious problems of its own, including corruption amongst some of its judges,” the judiciary has remarkably been able to play an important role in resolving a number of significant disputes having to do with federalism in Nigeria’s unfolding democratic experience. Three remaining chapters in the section explore the origins and assess the performance of elections and parties as core democratic institutions. Many British colonies had less experience with elections compared to French colonies (Widner 1994), and Nwachukwu Orji traces Nigeria’s flawed electoral record to its colonial history. His analysis of elections leads him to the conclusion that most electoral processes in Nigeria have been unstable, a problem he attributes as being largely due to “the nature of the issues involved, the amount of power at stake, links between electoral struggle and communal tensions, lack of trust in election management bodies, and failure of law enforcement and impunity for electoral offences.” He also outlines various electoral reform efforts over time. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola also examine electoral reform, but concentrate their attention on the Electoral Act passed in 2010. If the 2011 presidential contest set a new standard for electoral integrity (relative to previous experiences and certainly in comparison to the disaster of 2007), it also set the stage for the 2015 defeat of the ruling party. LeVan and Ajijola ask why important reforms pertaining to party primaries, transparency of results, and autonomy of electoral administration passed. They point to a coalition for democratic reform that emerged during presidential leadership crises in 2006 and 2010, which linked liberals in the National Assembly with emergent civil society voices for electoral accountability. These reforms set the stage for the defeat of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) in 2015. Furthermore, a chapter on the history of the PDP concludes the section on political institutions. Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo trace the PDP from its origins at the dawn of the transition in 1998 to its unprecedented status as opposition party in 2015. They argue that when the decline in the party’s vision, structure, coherence, performance, and reputation aligned with the consolidation of opposition parties under the banner of the All Progressives Congress (APC), the PDP met its match. Rigging democratic institutions for undemocratic rule means planting the seeds of your own electoral destruction.

Civil Society The third set of chapters in the volume on civil society are premised on empirical particularities and theoretical richness. For example, Nigerians exercise some of the

Introduction   7 highest rates of religious participation on the continent, alongside intense attachment to ethnicities. What is the best way to understand these varied sources of community? Nigeria’s voluntary associations have alternately driven democratic reform or collaborated in authoritarian penetrations of civic life. Civil society organizations have slipped into militancy, just as “hometown associations” have militantly avoided political life and devoted themselves to local development (LeVan 2011). Market associations generate powerful repertoires of belonging and, according to a classic study of the First Republic, contributed to social mobilization ever since at least the decades of decolonization. And just as the volume’s early chapters include literature in Nigeria’s historical and intellectual place, music as a cultural force for politicization, passion, and protest cannot be denied. Darren Kew, the author of a massive new study of civil society (Kew 2016), and Chris Kwaja, provide us with a framework for grappling with this expansive view of civil society by organizing a modern history around several themes. First, grassroots associations experienced an awakening, politicization, and the expansion of transnational linkages during the years of dictatorship and structural adjustment. Many pro-​ democracy groups had to “retool” after the transition to democracy, and some of the leading human rights organizations disappeared entirely even though state violence continued unabated. A second theme considers new forms of participation, such as social media, and revitalized interest in issues such as women’s rights and electoral reform. Cultural bonds transcending urban/​rural, formal/​informal, and state/​society constitute a third theme. “These varieties of associational life generate intricate practices of belonging and participation that often defy conventional conceptual understandings of a civil society autonomous from the state,” conclude Kew and Kwaja. More importantly, civil society remains susceptible to “predatory political elites” without improvements on internal democracy and more independent funding. In his chapter analyzing Nigeria’s “labor regimes,” Jon Kraus captures how unions faced this dilemma between political autonomy and economic self-​sufficiency. The government and the private sector alike faced nearly continuous challenges from trade unions starting in the late 1970s, as he documents with new data on general strikes and strike threats. Meanwhile, the military regimes faced their own set of dilemmas. For example the labor regime implemented by the Obasanjo government in 1978 unintentionally expanded union membership and capabilities. Union agitation typically enjoys popular support, as evidenced by widespread participation in strikes against the removal of fuel subsidies during the Fourth Republic. Kraus concludes that despite market liberalization and the repeal of statist laws supporting labor, “unions retain significant leverage.” Music has generated powerful and uncompromising cultural tropes for workers, students, and human rights activists in Nigeria’s civil society struggles. Fela Anikulapo Kuti referred to soldiers as “zombies,” sang about foreign corporate corruption in “I.T.T.,” and refused the cease and desist even after the military raided his home and threw his mother out a window. But Garhe Osiebe in his chapter shows how Fela’s legend obscures equally important musical outlets for protest between independ­ ence and the inauguration of the Fourth Republic. In addition to Fela’s well-​known

8    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata Afrobeat, reggae and Highlife should be included on Nigeria’s playlist of political resistance. Musicians took dilemmas of political participation by the horns, disregarding any expectations of compromise or concession to state power. Rita Kiki Edozie pivots from her earlier work on the role of civil society agitation in Nigeria’s democratization (Edozie 2002)  to challenge and provoke Western notions of democracy in the comparative politics of democratization. In particular, she identifies three distinct “non-​Western” democratic features which she argues have helped Nigeria to deal with some of its sociopolitical and sociocultural challenges. These mechanisms are, namely, the rotation of eligibility for the presidency, quotas implemented through the “federal character” principle, and electoral law requiring the winner of the presidential election to obtain a geographical distribution of support. She concedes that even these democratic mechanisms have not prevented Nigeria from having to deal with “sustained conflict, violence, and division.” We also would probe her on the extent to which Nigeria’s democratic model (or any other country’s) is truly non-​Western, given the robust experimentation around the world in the institutional features she studies. Cheryl O’Brien, in her chapter entitled “Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation,” suggests that, contrary to the popular expectation “that democratic transitions lead to improvements in women’s rights based on citizens’ access to democratic policy processes, meaningful policy changes to improve Nigerian women’s daily lives and representation have not been forthcoming or adequate.” She attributes this lack of significant improvement in women’s rights to an unfavorable interpretation of Nigeria’s “federal principle” which has enabled ethno-​religious claims to trump gender and women’s rights claims “despite a new constitution that prohibits discrimination based on sex.” After several decades of excessive human rights abuses by successive military regimes, the transition to democracy in 1999 brought with it a renewed optimism and expectation that Nigerians were going to witness a restoration and protection of human rights. However, in “Human Rights in Nigeria since Obasanjo’s Second Coming,” Idayat Hassan argues that, regrettably, human rights violations remain very prevalent, particularly among the security agencies. According to Hassan, what is even more worrisome is the fact that “the justice sector has not effectively addressed the issue largely due to disregard of lawful processes and orders by the Nigerian state and its machinery.”

Economic and Social Sectors: Policies and Peoples Few countries characterize the pitfalls of plenty as well as Nigeria. From the oil boom in the 1970s that ushered in a currency collapse and exploded its infrastructure of corruption, to the mountains of debt accumulated in the 1980s and again in the 2010s, Nigeria

Introduction   9 seems to exemplify economic challenges such as “Dutch disease” and the “resource curse.” Its attempts to avoid the hazards of a monocultural economy through planning commissions, currency controls, and import substitution are also typical of postcolonial models of state-​led development. At a conference in 2017, former President Obasanjo commented that independence-​era leaders often prioritized development over the politics of unity (Shehu Musa Yar’Adua Foundation 2017). This had grave consequences for political stability and inclusive, sustainable development. The chapters in this section introduce readers to broad economic and social trends, with a view of the policymaking process as well as grassroots efforts that compensate for governance failures or, increasingly, attempt to shape government strategies. This includes an integrated study of oil’s role in macroeconomic and fiscal performance alongside its complex relationship with human capital investment. Oliver Owen’s closing chapter on “Revenue and Representation,” argues that taxes and revenue are important not only for identifying incentives for predation or opportunities for economic development, they also inform the way ordinary people understand governance. He traces revenue and representation from colonialism, through agricultural boom and bust, and to the modern petrostate that prefaced the emergence of the Fourth Republic. As federal, state, and local governments search for new sources of revenue to insure against oil price shocks, they end up “provoking new negotiations of the social contracts between government and citizens.” The chapter offers an implicit transition from the previous section, because he effectively provides an analysis of the structural conditions influencing the call to collective organizing. Next, in “Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust,” Kingsley Moghalu, former Deputy Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria, and his co-​author Nonso Obikili, examine fiscal policy since independence. They document the rise of oil as a revenue source, the consequences of price fluctuations, and the limited success of fiscal strategies designed to mitigate the risks of such shocks. To avoid future fiscal crises, they recommend a price rule that limits the effects of volatility, and more systematic efforts to diversify the sources of government revenue in order to increase resilience against economic downturns. Oil helped grow the Nigerian economy to the largest in Africa in 2014. The Economist magazine noted that a statistical recalibration added 89 percent to its GDP, exceeding South Africa’s net worth. The editorial added that “the GDP revision is not mere trickery” though since key economic growth sectors had been undervalued (“Africa’s New Number One” 2014). To be sure, a new generation of entrepreneurs now command indigenous capital and market to a large middle class. But reinforcing the hazards of cyclical growth that Moghalu and Obikili caution against, Nigeria had already lost its standing as the biggest economy by 2016. Two chapters focus on oil specifically. Turning from fiscal policy to political economy, Peter Lewis explains how oil has distorted policy, reinforcing faith in elaborate government planning commissions, and amplifying unreasonable popular expectations. Top-​down investment often enables spectacular corruption in a country rife with poverty. For example, a widely circulated government study found that poverty actually increased during the peak years of the oil boom under Presidents Umaru Yar’Adua and

10    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata Goodluck Jonathan (National Bureau of Statistics 2012). Other obstacles include high business start-​up costs due to irregular power supply, poor infrastructure, and stiff competition from foreign imports. Recent government bans on imports have stimulated a flourishing black market for certain popular commodities; textile industries once thriving in the north’s commercial hub of Kano lie dormant today. Zainab Usman’s chapter then examines the “resource curse” thesis with a critical eye, suggesting that it leads to “commodity determinism.” The task for the oil sector since 1999, she claims, is viewing it with a holistic political economy approach that identifies underlying bottlenecks to sectoral reform. According to her, a “political settlements” framework shows how horizontal-​elite, vertical-​societal, and external constraints on ruling elites generate suboptimal policy choices for the oil industry in Nigeria. The intersection of domestic innovation and constructive donor engagement has helped make possible progress in key sectors, including health, education, and telecommunications. Olusoji Adeyi, Ayodeji Odutolu, and Phyllis Kanki show how donors, policymakers, civil society, and health professionals worked together to arrest the rate of HIV/​AIDS infection in Nigeria and to intercept Ebola before it spread. According to them, further “progress in Nigeria’s response to HIV/​AIDS requires improvements in the effective coverage of services along the spectrum of prevention, treatment, care, and support for those infected.”

Identity and Insecurity The next series of chapters, focusing on “identity and insecurity,” explore the polity’s major fault lines as well as the institutional and social sources of conflict resolution. These are issues of pressing importance and likely to challenge Nigeria well in to the future. The southeast gave rise to one of Africa’s bloodiest wars of secession in 1967, and today the northeast is home to one of the most violent terrorist groups in the world: Boko Haram. The nationalist Obafemi Awolowo famously described Nigeria as a “mere geographical expression” (Awolowo 1966). So what makes such a fragile colonial construction continue to cohere, especially in the face of such violent and persistent agitation? The authors historicize this question, placing contemporary unrest and extremism in its historical, social, and global contexts. Chapters examine the origins of armed rebellion in the oil-​producing Niger Delta, the violent extremism of Boko Haram, recurring tensions in the “Middle Belt” states linked to migration and discriminatory land laws, and farmer–​pastoralist tensions, which are traced to environmental stress and struggling agrarian lifestyles. Migration today includes both ongoing urban–​rural shifts alongside significant displacement from communal conflict, natural disasters, and terrorism. By mid-​2017, the northeastern states of Borno, Adamawa, and Yobe had at least 1.6 million Internally Displaced Persons, according to the International Organization for Migration while 8.5 million people there urgently required humanitarian assistance, according to the United Nations (U.S. Agency for International Development 2017). The

Introduction   11 analyses highlight the complex causes of conflict alongside avenues to potentially enduring resolutions. Abimbola Adesoji kicks off three chapters focusing on northern Nigeria with his analysis of the origin, ideas, and impacts of different Islamic movements. Drawing upon the social movements literature, he contrasts those with local roots and those with deep global connections. Doctrinal teachings, cross-​border movement, and desire for external religious affiliations have all influenced the growth and impact of these Islamic movements. He argues that the social and political space available to earlier movements shapes the likelihood of latter movements drifting toward extremism. The legacies of unrest and fundamentalism are inescapable. Boko Haram could easily fit this description, but Kyari Mohammed cautions against oversimplifying its origins and its path to terrorism. In his chapter, he states there is no question that it has “metamorphosed from a local insurgency to a highly sophisticated fighting force capable of challenging the Nigerian military.” Boko Haram was responsible for at least 16,488 lives lost between May 2011 and September 2017 (at least another 7,151 deaths during the same period can be attributed to government security forces) attracting the world’s attention (Council on Foreign Relations 2017). Despite this attention though, Mohammed explains how Boko Haram’s local dynamics, unorthodox beliefs, and resilience are not well understood. Starting from its beginnings in 2002, he shows how Boko Haram has adapted its tactics and strategies in the face of a hostile local community, a brutal Nigerian military, and regional allies determined to defeat terrorism. Virginia Comolli, author of one of the first book-​length studies of Boko Haram (Comolli 2015), elaborates on this intersection of indigeneity and internationalism. As the insurgency escalated under the Yar’Adua and Jonathan administrations, the government often sought to portray Boko Haram as the product of global jihadism or driven by unholy alliance with al Qaeda in the Maghreb (AQIM). However, Comolli shows that “opportunism and the pursuit of its domestic agenda had been at the core of Boko Haram’s interaction with AQIM first and the pledge of allegiance to ISIS later.” In “The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival,” Obi Nwakanma writes that the way in which the civil war was fought, and the “manner by which it was concluded merely papered over the profound fissures of the nation, and left unresolved the issues that led to war in the first place, which continue to haunt Nigeria as a postcolonial nation.” He further argues that the origins of the new Biafran revivalist movement can be traced back to many of these unresolved issues. Whereas Zainab Usman’s earlier chapter describes the political economy of oil, the next chapter by Omolade Adunbi gives us a highly original ethnography of rebellion in the Niger Delta, the oil-​producing region that generates up to 95 percent of the country’s export earnings. Adunbi argues that multinational corporations collaborate with the state to centralize control over oil resources, generating claims that clash with local community histories and mythologies. In response to marginalization and environmental devastation in the oil-​producing communities, Niger Deltans adapt and assert communal control of land and resources. The first defining moment of political claim-​making came with an uprising led by Isaac Jasper Adaka Boro in the 1960s, shortly after oil exports took off. The political organizing

12    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata by Ken Saro-​Wiwa on behalf of the Ogoni people, whose hanging by Sani Abacha’s junta in 1995 horrified the world, marked a second moment. The third moment is under way, with armed insurgency and community invocation of an iconic past. These political moments arose in practices that privilege the state and multinational corporations over local communities. Building on his earlier research on insurgency (Adunbi 2015), Adunbi says this privileging aids a form of political claim-​making that is embedded in notions of ownership centered on communal landholding and ancestral promise of wealth. The rise of newer rebel groups such as the Niger Delta Avengers highlights the weaknesses of a government amnesty program and various other top-​down efforts that ignore these deeply embedded communal narratives. ‘Kemi Okenyodo’s chapter looks at the evolution of informal security actors, their scope of operations, and how they are changing the face of security architecture. With the rise of Boko Haram, criminal organizations hybridizing with some Niger Delta rebels, and other security challenges, she points to an expanding space of operations, largely in response to the ineffectiveness of—​and deep mistrust in—​the police and the military. Donors and state actors often underestimate the subtle cultural roots that legitimate “vigilantes” and collective community responses to insecurity. Yet the formal and informal security actors often develop a syncretic relationship. Security sector reform, the creation of state police, and several other possibilities are explored as potential avenues for reform and harmonization. Victor Adefemi Isumonah’s chapter, “Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement,” explores how the concept of indigeneity amplifies the status of culture in citizenship determination. As a result, cultural nationalism retains independ­ ence and supremacy over political economy in determining citizenship. Citizenship is, on the one hand, cast as ethnic justice based on the equation of individual rights with group rights, and as a social justice claim in a distributive system in which the individual is the principal unit. The power of culture in citizenship determination finds expression in partial and inclusive concepts of indigeneity: the partial concept disenfranchises on a small scale in local and smaller constituencies, while the inclusive concept disenfranchises on a bigger scale by denying several groups access to presidential office, effectively watering down Nigeria’s constitutional status as a republic. Perhaps in no region of the country has indigeneity caused as many problems as in the Middle Belt, the subject of Laura Thaut Vinson’s chapter. She explores how clashes between pastoralists and farmers, ethnic violence that sometimes overlaps with religious affiliations, and communal tensions create a complex cocktail of intergroup relations in these pluralistic states bordering the north. As explained in her groundbreaking book on local power-​sharing in the region (Vinson 2017), the federal government, states, and local governments and communities have experimented with innovative conflict resolution strategies. However, each tier of government faces barriers to addressing the root causes of conflict. In practice, this means that numerous actors politically benefit from the conflict, or face few incentives for constructive conflict resolution and peace-​ building. She concludes that creating a more peaceful Middle Belt requires careful

Introduction   13 attention to patterns of inclusion and exclusion as well as the allocation of rights and resources at both the state and local government levels.

Nigeria in the World The volume’s concluding chapters argue across disciplines for Nigeria’s indispensable influence in Africa and its expanding interactions with the wider world. Religious linkages, foreign policy leadership, diasporic nationalism, economic growth, and philosophical adaptation all constitute its global character. Authors examine the complexities of its status in global traditions of Islam and Christianity, as well as its developmental partnership of convenience with Chinese capital. The opening chapter, by Oliver Coates, analyzes the decades following the amalgamation of the north and south in 1914, which entailed the rapid expansion of contacts between Nigerians and a globalizing world. This includes the impact of the global depression of the 1930s on Nigeria, the domestic slump during the two World Wars, and drivers of anticolonial nationalism after 1945. This chapter demonstrates the broader social and political effects of the connections that Nigerians established through overseas travel in Asia, the Middle East, Europe, North America, and elsewhere in Africa. These international links provided a vital conduit for new ideas, languages, and relationships that shaped nationalism, economic entrepreneurship, and religious scholarship. Coates shows how a new generation was influenced by African-​American intellectuals in the United States, politicized diaspora communities in the United Kingdom, the experience of the hajj, and new-found labor power. Nationalist elites, for example, carefully cultivated alliances with a growing trade union movement, galvanized by a general strike in 1945. A focus on international organizations highlights Nigeria’s critical leadership in peacekeeping and with the African Union, historical leadership against apartheid, as well as its ongoing significance in the British Commonwealth. In their chapter on the subject, Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville examine the trajectory of Nigeria’s engagement with the Commonwealth since independence. They trace how domestic politics, foreign policy priorities, and shifting international politics have shaped Nigeria’s influence through the Commonwealth, and how the Commonwealth in turn has influenced Nigeria. Some of the domestic trials had little-noticed, unintentional effects. For example, the Civil War deepened Nigeria’s Commonwealth ties. “The huge increase in the size and capabilities of its armed forces, its newly battle-​hardened troops and the country’s new-found oil wealth meant that the emboldened federal government was well placed to cement its status as agitator-​in-​chief at the Commonwealth for the political emancipation in southern Africa.” Subsequent dictatorships and other challenges at home have prevented it from playing a consistently influential role in the Commonwealth, and it faces increasing competition from other African regional powers. Nevertheless, Nigeria is unquestionably important in the Commonwealth,

14    A. Carl LeVan and Patrick Ukata especially since its return to civilian rule in 1999, which aligned it with Commonwealth principles. In his chapter entitled “Faith, Fame, and Fortune: Varieties of Nigerian Worship in Global Christianity,” Asonzeh Ukah chronicles the journey of Christianity in Nigeria, including the variety of worship styles and communities, and he concludes that the most socially visible of all the Christian faiths in Nigeria are unarguably the Pentecostal–​ Charismatic formations. According to Ukah, some of the distinguishing characteristics of the Pentecostal–​Charismatic movements include an emphasis “on the power of the Holy Spirit to produce a new, empowered person mandated to live victoriously, vibrant and emotionally charged worship style, new desire to dominate, and the appropriation of scriptural texts to produce miracles and material well-​being.” He goes on to say that some of these unique features have enabled the Pentecostal churches to “preach prosperity doctrines, exhibit wealth, and also engage in commercial practices that blur the boundary between worship organizations and commercial corporations.” Next, in “The Pathology of Dependency: Sino–Nigeria Relations as a Case Study,” Ian Taylor explains Nigeria’s relationship with China, arguing that the relationship has been progressively accelerating since 2000, and that this coincides with China’s emergence as a global power. According to Taylor, the “structural nature of Nigeria’s dependent relations with China is becoming ever more apparent; Nigeria’s trade profile with China is characterized by a lopsided dependence on the export of raw materials, and the import of manufactured goods.” In conclusion, the attempt to foster a much deeper understanding of Nigeria’s sociopolitical evolution and experience is at the heart of this undertaking. And in this regard, we hope that readers will find the chapters that follow illuminating, stimulating, and provocative in ways that deepen the reader’s understanding of Africa’s most important country. While we were unable to cover the evolution of donor engagement over the last two decades, industrial innovation in the north, and the transformation of Nigerian media with the explosion of social media, we hope the reader will forgive us for our sins of omission. That said, we do sincerely hope that readers will enjoy the entire gamut of issues that we have covered in this volume.

References Ademoyega, A. (1981). Why We Struck: The Story of the First Nigerian Coup. Ibadan: Evans. Adunbi, O. (2015). Oil Wealth and Insurgency in Nigeria. Bloomington, IN:  Indiana University Press. “Africa’s New Number One.” (2014, April 12). The Economist. Awolowo, O. (1966). Path to Nigerian Freedom (1st edn). London: Faber. Comolli, V. (2015). Boko Haram: Nigeria’s Islamist Insurgency. London: C. Hurst & Co. Council on Foreign Relations. (2017). Nigeria Security Tracker. Edozie, R. K. (2002). People Power and Democracy: The Popular Movement Against Military Despotism in Nigeria, 1989–​1999. Trenton, NJ/​Eritrea: Africa World Press.

Introduction   15 Joseph, R. A. (1987). Democracy and Prebendal Politics in Nigeria:  The Rise and Fall of the Second Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kew, D. (ed.) (2016). Civil Society, Conflict Resolution, and Democracy in Nigeria (1st edn). Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. LeVan, A. C. (2011). “Questioning Tocqueville in Africa: Continuity and Change in Nigeria’s Civil Society During Democratization,” Democratization 18 (1): 135–​59. Lugard, F. L. S. (1906). A Tropical Dependency: An Outline of the Ancient History of the Western Sudan with an Account of the Modern Settlement of Northern Nigeria. New York: Barnes and Noble. National Bureau of Statistics. (2012). Nigeria Poverty Profile 2011. Abuja. accessed May 25, 2018. Nunn, N. (2008). “The Long Term Effects of Africa’s Slave Trade.” Quarterly Journal of Economics 123 (1): 139–​176. Ojo, A. (1987). Constitutional Law and Military Rule in Nigeria. Ibadan: Evans Brothers. Shehu Musa Yar’Adua Foundation. (2017). Memory and Nation Building:  Biafra 50 Years After. Paper presented at the Memory and Nation Building: Biafra 50 Years After, May 25, 2017, Abuja. Smith, D. J. (ed.) (2007). A Culture of Corruption: Everyday Deception and Popular Discontent in Nigeria. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. U.S. Agency for International Development. (2017). Lake Chad Basin –​Complex Emergency. https://​www.usaid.gov/​sites/​default/​files/​documents/​1866/​lake_​chad_​ce_​fs25_​09-​21-​2017. pdf. accessed May 25, 2018. Vinson, L. (2017). Religion, Violence, and Local Power-​Sharing in Nigeria. New York: Cambridge University Press. Widner, J. (1994). “Political Reform in Anglophone and Francophone African Countries,” in J. Widner (ed.), Economic Change and Political Liberalization in Sub-​Saharan Africa (pp. 49–​ 79). Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.

PA RT   I

L O C AT I N G N IG E R IA I N A F R IC A N H I STORY

Chapter 1

F rom B orno to   S okoto Meaning and Muslim Identities in Northern Nigeria Murray Last

Introduction For over two millennia northern Nigeria has been politically, commercially, and intellectually on the outer fringes of the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Routes through the Sahara linked Coptic-​speaking Egypt, Phoenician Carthage, and the Roman Empire to peoples around Lake Chad and on the great plains to the west and the east of the lake. Once the dromedary (single-​humped) camel became available, transport across the desert became easier, with more goods to sell and more provisions to enable travel from oasis to oasis. By the eleventh century the language of trade and literature had become Arabic, replacing Coptic; the Arabic script used was that from Qairouan, and by c.1392 the elegant epistolary style used in a letter from Borno merited inclusion in an Egyptian textbook on fine letter-​writing. Muslims were Sunni (though possibly some Shi’a refugees came from Egypt to Kanem) and the Islamic law used came from the Maliki school. There may have been other external links into Borno—​from the Judeo–​ Himyaritic regime in Yemen perhaps—​and other new styles in matters such as water taxation or brick-​making, which suggest routes in from the Nile Valley. Ibadi influence from central/​southern Algeria affected both trade and, it seems, the architecture of the new minarets being built in the course of Islamization.

Trading Links It was not until the mid-​sixteenth century that the first few Europeans came to northern Nigeria, as merchants and missionaries, mainly to Kano from such cities as Ragusa (then under Venetian/​Ottoman rule). But the occasional English coin got through, as had a

20   Murray Last few Roman coins much earlier (one assumes). By the 1560s newly Protestant England was turning to Morocco and the Ottomans for allies in its conflict with Catholic Spain, so rare news of sub-​Saharan events is referenced in contemporary plays by Shakespeare and Marlowe, for example. And European traders in Benin City far to the south of northern Nigeria heard news of a ruler near Lake Chad (Mandara), which suggests that northern Nigerian polities had some commercial links toward the Atlantic coast. Whether any Nigerian travelers went, in very early times, north to Tripoli and Cairo or beyond, let alone returned to Nigeria after time abroad, we do not know. We do know that Muslim students had their own special quarters in Cairo (set up by the Mai of Borno; some northern Nigerian scholars stayed to teach in Cairo), but other northern Nigerians will have traveled north across the desert as caravan men, as traders on their own account, or as slaves (and some as eunuchs). Over the centuries, the numbers of slaves who set off northwards were huge, but how many of these died en route we do not know. Many captives were also sent south to the Atlantic coast, but Muslim rulers tended to prefer to send their prisoners to other Muslims and not southwards for eventual sale to Christians. Politically, the dominant suzerain for the period 1500 to 1800 was the Mai (ruler) of Borno, with his capital at Birni Ngazargamu. Having moved from Kanem east of Lake Chad in c.1392, he and his successors had to overcome the existing So (or Sa’o, Sago) trading and political network which had already developed outposts in Zaria and beyond toward the Benue Valley. The Mai’s sixteenth-​century wars were recorded in Arabic prose, celebrating his campaigns in some detail. The Mai was given the title of caliph by the Ottoman authorities c.1500, so we need to speak of the “Borno Caliphate” rather than the Borno Empire (or, even worse, “Kanem–​Borno,” a neologism used mainly by modern foreign analysts). What lured so many merchants to Borno were the ample supplies of gold (brought in from areas such as Kwangoma), but other high-​ value goods were available, including mercury (for gold processing) and excellent skins tough enough and light enough to make prized shields. And there were people to export—​Borno was skilled in castrating young boys and ensuring they recovered. Later on, Borno scholars and their students specialized in calligraphy, exporting fine copies of the Holy Koran to North Africa and beyond: the copies were not only beautiful but notably accurate—​and inexpensive to buy. The Hausa-​speaking trading cities of the Sahel plains west of Borno were effectively “ports” for the caravan trade across the Saharan sand “sea” (“Sahel” in Arabic means “shore”): they recognized the caliph in Borno as the senior authority in the land, sending annual payments as a courtesy, thus recognizing his suzerainty. But as political regimes they were autonomous, selecting their own kings or emirs, and liable to fight each other over territory. The leading polities were Kano, Daura, and Katsina, Gobir, Zamfara, and Kebbi; each had fortified cities with long 30-​foot high walls made of clay and fortified gates and, within, a fortified palace, defended by a large staff of loyal slaves who served (and still serve today) as the ruler’s personal bodyguard. Armies were raised ad hoc, with senior officials and territorial lords bringing in their men when summoned to the common encampment outside the city. Campaigns might not last long, as every man

From Borno to Sokoto    21 carried his own food supplies for the campaign. The elite were on horseback, with both men and horses armored against poisoned arrows; the rank-​and-​file walked, often starting very early in the cool of the morning. Horses were in short supply: the fastest ones came from Borno but horses could not be used in woodland or on rocky ground (where ponies were the mount of choice); and camels were problematic as mounts in mixed armies. Rarely were any guns used: lances and spears, bows, sticks, and axes were the weapons of choice. Autumn and spring were the best seasons for campaigning, disrupting the enemy’s farms and food supplies. Flooding or deep rivers inhibited rainy season campaigns—​there were no bridges. Trading to and from these Hausa cities was a trade network that rivaled that of Borno and was based in the great Mali and Songhai states to the west. This network, the Wangara (or Wangarawa, elsewhere known as Dyula), was partly river-​borne, using the River Niger as the great highway as far south as the Yoruba-​speaking lands of southern Nigeria. In Hausaland it was based initially in Katsina, from where it spread its influence over most of northern Nigeria, not least with its control over the luxury kola trade from Gonja and Ashanti. Though merchants, they were also Islamic scholars in the classical Islamic tradition, so were both deeply involved in education and engaged as advisors by the Muslim rulers of the Hausa states, thus rivaling the political influence of Borno (its scholars nonetheless still monopolized advanced Koranic studies). The peak period for the political role of Muslim scholar-​merchants seems to have been the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. By the seventeenth century, coups took place with military men taking power in several Hausa states (and in Timbuktu a Moroccan force seized power). The shift in the eighteenth century to military values over scholarly ones saw a rise in campaigns and interstate warfare, with captives being taken for export to the Atlantic and to the Mediterranean. Sufism, possibly aided by the newly introduced availability of tobacco, became widely popular amongst young and old, with a major brotherhood such as the Qadiriiya being introduced to bring order (and to train shaikhs) to the experience of Sufism. A certain radicalism developed among young Muslims, while conversion to Islam (and wearing a turban) in itself offered a degree of security from enslavement.

The Sokoto Caliphate In this late eighteenth-​century somewhat radical milieu, one rural Qadiri shaikh in particular was able to attract followers. ‘Uthman dan Fodio came from a very learned Fulani clan of Islamic shaikhs—​over thirty of his kinsmen were scholars—​with access to a wide range of classical Arabic texts and teachers with a range of expertise. He was primarily a populist preacher, though he was invited to tutor the sons of Gobir’s Muslim ruler, but he was not initially interested in jihad. Nonetheless his success alarmed the Gobiri authorities, who sought to negotiate with him. Eventually the Emir of Gobir sent an army against him but it was defeated; after four years of war (1804–​8), the

22   Murray Last capital of Gobir was captured. Other great Hausa cities were also taken over (their emirs evacuating before a siege started). Even the capital of Borno was captured and its Mai forced to escape eastwards and re-​establish a capital closer to Lake Chad. The new radically Muslim polity, which we now call the Sokoto Caliphate, was not an empire but a set of some fifteen to twenty emirates of varying size and wealth under the ultimate leadership of the Caliph at Sokoto. The caliphate as a whole was much the largest polity in precolonial Africa, extending four months’ journey west to east and two months’ journey north to south. Its territory was far larger than today’s northern Nigeria; in the west it extended as far as Dori and Liptako (in Burkina) and in the east far into what is now Cameroon (Rei Buba, Tibati). The Sokoto Caliphate from the outset was run from two capitals, the western and southern segments were ruled from Gwandu where the emir (al-​Amir) was in charge, and the eastern and northern segments from Sokoto (where the caliph or Amir al-​mu’minin was in charge) The eastern segment was the largest and richest, and became the core of northern Nigeria when the British conquered it in 1903 and they ran it with the collaboration of some of the existing caliphal personnel. Before the conquest, the Sokoto Caliphate was administered by a secretariat under the vizier (Waziri) and by a group of senior councilors who supervised those few emirates who were not under the vizier. The vizier spent much of his year traveling, visiting the emirates for whom he was responsible, and investing new emirs with the turban and cloak of office. Justice was mainly done by the emirs, their subordinate officials, and village heads; formally appointed judges advised these emirs and officials on the proper sharia law. Only the caliph could sanction the execution of a Muslim. Some Nigerian historians, as did colonial British writers, regard the caliphate as an “empire” run by “Fulani”:  the term “Fulani empire” was commonly used before “Sokoto Caliphate” was accepted (c.1964) as the correct nomenclature. The assumption was that an “empire” was a political system in which one “race,” “nationality,” or “tribe” ruled over all others, and excluded all other groups from dominant positions in government. Though in the Sokoto Caliphate all but one of the new emirs were indeed Fulfulde speakers (i.e. “Fulani,” but of different clans), they were chosen not on the basis of speaking Fulfulde but on their quality and piety as Muslim scholars: as such, they might be expected to provide good Islamic government. They were not military leaders; scholars traditionally do not fight in battle, though they may lead an army into battle and pray for its victory. The charisma of the shaikh and then of his appointees and successors was such that the opponents of the jihad found it hard to resist the commitment of the Muslim jihadists arrayed, in smaller numbers, against them. For many, the world’s end was nigh—​even the jihad’s leaders thought their rule would last just a century, at the end of which the Mahdi would come. Thus when some British Nasara (“Christians”) came leading a Hausa army in 1903, for many northern Nigerians it did seem that the process leading to the end of the world had indeed started. Therefore, many thousands headed off east towards Mecca; others stayed behind to look after the elderly and disabled, as well as those kin who simply couldn’t travel that far on foot: it was well into the dry season and water en route would be very scarce.

From Borno to Sokoto    23 The Sokoto Caliphate had been prosperous, not least because it cut down internal warfare and the wider market in foodstuffs meant famines became rare, at least for its first fifty years. The much-increased labor force—​the result of raids capturing people and relocating them as farm labourers on estates—​and a bigger market for luxury goods such as cloth, both at home and abroad, expanded the economy. The cowrie currency was supplemented by coins from Europe (especially Maria Theresa thalers), and credit was possible: merchants wrote their names and addresses on the brown paper that wrapped their export goods, so the goods could be returned if found to be imperfect on delivery. A few British and German visitors wrote accounts of what they saw and whom they met in the Sokoto Caliphate; some died there but their journals were preserved. Local historians wrote detailed accounts of the jihad and other events, but the bulk of the writing is on religious themes useful for scholars and students; over 300 manuscript books in Arabic are preserved with a mass of poetry in Fulfulde and Hausa as well as Arabic and the most prolific authors were the Shaikh ‘Uthman, his younger brother ‘Abdullahi, and ‘Uthman’s son Muhammad Bello. Consequently it is their perspective on the jihad and the establishment of the Sokoto Caliphate that is best known. But Muhammad Bello did preserve in one of his books the letters of complaint from the ruler of Borno and his successor, in which they argued that the jihad against Borno was unIslamic. Though with the loss of its capital at Birni Ngazargamu (c.1807) the Borno state re-​established itself, in the course of the nineteenth century its political system gradually changed from a caliphate to a state heavily dependent on slave officials, even in the countryside. The old aristocracy suffered a further blow when Rabih, a professional slave trader from the Sudan, captured Borno and in 1894 slaughtered its ruler, known as the Shehu, and many others. Soon after, a French force killed Rabih and Borno was divided between the French and the British. Although a new Shehu was installed in the British part of Borno, it was no longer the center of trade and power it once was. Its scholarship remained excellent and its reputation for Koranic studies drew students from across northern Nigeria, but some of its politicians preferred to stride the wider Nigerian stage as development largely bypassed the region. A new railway line (opened in 1964) and an international airport, however, and recent agrarian development around Lake Chad, were a boost. Above all, Kanuri remained the lingua franca both for Borno and for the wider area, but increasingly Hausa was becoming the everyday language of commerce and upward mobility.

The Colonial Period Throughout Borno and the Sokoto Caliphate, the British invaders in 1903 were met with some military resistance but intellectual resistance persisted throughout the sixty years of colonial rule. The vast majority of northern Nigerians, especially those in the countryside rarely saw a British official—​sometimes not for ten or more years (in one place

24   Murray Last near Zaria, not for twenty-​four years). The key institution that kept order, raised taxes, and ran services was the “Native Authority,” a bureaucracy in each emirate headed by the emir and his court, and supervised by a British “resident” and a “senior district officer.” The judicial system was in two parts: modified sharia law was upheld in sharia courts presided over by local qadis (alkalai) in cities and smaller towns, with colonial magistrates’ courts in cities hearing cases along the lines of British law, presided over by colonial judges. A Native Authority police force (and intelligence branch) ran alongside the colonial police force: in most major cities there was an army barracks with British officers and Hausa-​speaking rank-​and-​file. In an emergency, troops could be moved at relative speed, by a railway line that linked a few key cities (Makurdi, Kaduna, Jos, Kano, Gusau; later Maiduguri). Narrow roads served vehicle transport, but with many unsurfaced roads, transport in the rainy season could be impossible even as late as the 1950s and 1960s. Industries were limited to Kano (textiles, oil mills), Kaduna (textiles), and Jos (tin mines), with major export crops being groundnuts (peanuts) and cotton. By and large, the country in this colonial period was self-​sufficient in food, though famines could hit specific areas. In northern Nigeria, Christian missions were only allowed into areas that had traditionally been “pagan”; mission churches, schools, and hospitals attracted converts and developed a new non-​Muslim elite. The notion of a “Middle Belt” then developed in which those living in the non-​emirate areas to the south of Hausaland and Borno saw themselves as a distinct political and cultural unit, despite a variety of languages and practices. Many spoke Hausa as a lingua franca, but often resented the dominance of Hausa as a language of administration and of trade: the colonial bureaucrats often appointed Hausa staff to govern on their behalf in the Middle Belt even where local memories of caliphal raids and exploitation remained vivid. Politically, then, the Middle Belt was part of the Northern Region but its very Christianity gave it links to southern Nigeria, with English the lingua franca of the educated. At times, the distrust of the alien northern elite evolved into armed conflict, as with the Tiv in 1960 and 1964 as they fought for autonomy from the Northern Regional Government in Kaduna (but were put down). Much of the Nigerian army had always been recruited from the Middle Belt and Borno, thus ordinary Hausa parents usually disapproved of military careers for their sons, physical violence being seen as deeply crude.

Self-​G overnment The arrival first of self-​government (1956) and then of national independence in 1960 initiated a period of development and investment for the entire Northern Region, with improved roads and new access roads, with wider education at all levels (including universities and medical schools) and health facilities (both as local dispensaries and hospitals). The enthusiasm and self-​confidence—​as well as pride—​among ordinary people was very marked in my experience. The term “Sokoto Caliphate” replaced

From Borno to Sokoto    25 colonial notions of a “Fulani Empire,” and was seen as the basis for a new state identity that embraced both Muslims and Christians. There was increased conversion from traditional identities and religions, and a sharper sense of a modern, national identity as Nigerians alongside a broader commonality in using Hausa as a language for all. The coup on January 15, 1966 threw all this into confusion: one reaction among northern Nigerians was to become stricter Muslims (as their parents and grandparents had done after 1903); another reaction, especially among students, was relief that politicians had gone. This relief was to be replaced by growing anger over the next three months that it was Igbos in the north who were benefiting from the coup, in markets, in transport vehicle parks, in the potential allocation of jobs and farmland. Tasteless jokes were being made about the murdered premier, some of which were published and widely read. The new military regime was insecure. With much of the army unhappy at what had happened in January, rioting and murdering of Igbos (civilians and military officers) broke out over almost all of northern Nigeria. A desperate exodus of Igbos took place, to be followed by the declaration of Biafran independence on May 30, 1967 and three years of ensuing civil war. The effect of the civil war was to transform the structures of the Nigerian state (by multiplying states), and in northern Nigeria to bring about the eventual end of the Native Administrations and Alkali courts. Local taxation ceased. Traditional rulers were subordinated to bureaucrats as military regimes held onto power both at the center and in their majestic state houses, each with a governor and his motorcade. In effect, the “Sokoto Caliphate” that the colonial British had partially preserved was no more. Modernity and globalization were slowly creating a new world, in which cities grew into huge conurbations, attracting the young from the countryside, where cheap motorbikes replaced the bicycle, tin roofs replaced thatch, round rooms became rectangular, with cement floors. The cities offered better jobs, more entertainment—​and freedom from parental control.

Identities Though the name “Nigeria” dates only to January 8, 1897 (in a letter by Flora Shaw to The Times, London), it would be a mistake to assume (as many do) that the nation we know as Nigeria was arbitrarily carved out by colonial Britain. The peoples of the Niger–​ Benue basin, as Professor Bawuro Barkindo has recently reminded us, have formed an interactive whole for millennia, with exchanges in trade, raids, marriage, vocabularies, and much else in matters of culture. Both individuals and communities over the last two millennia have been mobile, splitting off and changing locations, yet often retaining names and memories of their original site. However, some groups have retained both their site and their names—​the oldest I know of are the Ngizim, whose king is mentioned by the Roman Julius Maternus ad c.70; people of that name are still there. Given this complexity, many Nigerians speak more than one language—​their own “domestic” tongue and at least one lingua franca, a language they share with neighbors

26   Murray Last and visitors. Today, English (with regional variations known as Pidgin) is one such lingua franca but in northern Nigeria the main widely shared languages are Hausa, Kanuri, and Fulfulde. These are the languages that people of smaller groups also speak, for use, say, in markets or with visitors or when away from home. These widely shared languages have regional variations in vocabulary and pronunciation—​and “native” speakers, of course, speak them with greater fluency, subtlety, and range of vocabulary than do those using them as a second language. Thus the ethnic labels or identities used in Nigeria often refer to the native or domestic language that a person and his family speak when together; these broad ethnic labels, however, ignore the regional variants that may matter much to locals. It would be wrong, however, to equate language use with identity: it is but one of several identities an individual may use or be given. Within a very broad label such as “Hausa” are innumerable relatively small identities such as “Agalawa,” “Maguzawa,” “Katukawa,” and “Jalutawa,” which refer to historic origins and/​or religious practice or even occupational specialty; other identities include Muslim sectarian practice, such as “Salihawa,” “Digawa.” Even the very label “Hausa,” it has been suggested, derives from about the eleventh century and the needs of Islamic trading practice to denote those people (in the specific parts of the West African sahel) whom North African caravan men could legitimately (under Maliki law) buy goods from for sale on the North African market. The term “Hausa” became more generalized and then associated with a specific area by the early seventeenth century with Muslims who should not be enslaved. But the neighbors to the east of these “Hausa” referred to them as Afnu. What exactly the peoples labeled “Hausa” or “Afnu” called themselves is not known, but it is probable they identified themselves by names that referred to their immediate locales such as Kanawa or Katsinawa (from the areas known as Kano or Katsina). These two names do not refer to the current cities of Kano and Katsina but to zones; both cities had earlier names—​Dalla for Kano, Zaye for Katsina. But modern usage now speaks of “Hausa–​Fulani” as an ethnic label—first used, I think, by American political scientists in the 1950s to denote in effect a political class within northern Nigeria, it is not regularly used by ordinary northern Nigerians who recognize subtler differences; for them, one is either Hausa or Fulani, usually by parentage (asali; iri) or other affiliation. In short, identities can often be invented by others, to serve their analyses, to reflect their (mis-​)understandings.

Changes in Identity Identities can also, of course, be changed, for political reasons especially. The most notable change in the twentieth century was to relabel some English-​speaking Europeans who entered northern Nigeria as soldiers armed with the intention of becoming its rulers. These Europeans were initially identified by their religion—​as Nasara, or Christians. When these Europeans failed to leave (as some expected) but instead

From Borno to Sokoto    27 claimed command of the region, it meant that the existing Muslim caliphate was now under Christian overrule, and that was unacceptable to the Muslim elite—​an elite who were now expected to collaborate with these Christians in establishing a British polity to be known as “Nigeria.” To make the presence of Christian “rulers” more palatable to pious Muslims, the identity of—​and the name for—​these newcomers was changed to Turawa, a Hausa term normally used for traders from the Middle East. The name Nasara was dropped from everyday speech; only in the neighboring French-​ruled state of Niger did Nasara remain the ordinary (and apparently unobjectionable) term for the intrusive Europeans. Quite who decided on the linguistic switch in identity and how the new usage was enforced within northern Nigeria—​let  alone whether there were penalties for mis-​speaking—​we do not know (yet). My assumption is that it was quietly agreed between the new Sarkin Musulmi or Sultan at Sokoto c.1906 and the senior British occupiers (known as Residents in the Indian imperial manner), and enforced throughout the new “Native Administrations.” Only very occasionally have I  been addressed as Nasara—​and it was meant hostilely. Some labels of identity are indeed hostile or derogatory, yet are used by academics (usually from abroad) who ought to know better. An example is the term Habe (sing. Kado) for the rulers of the pre-​jihadi states of Hausaland. It is a Fulfulde term used by the Fulfulde-​speaking leaders of the Sokoto jihad (1804–​8); it helped them justify among themselves their waging war on fellow (but Hausa-​speaking) Muslims whom they were criticizing for being unjust rulers ignorant of a proper Islam. In Fulfulde it is used for “pagans” (kuffar) and for “blacks” (al-​Sudan, in Arabic; Fulbe did not classify themselves as Sudan). Though the term is largely out of current use in Fulfulde, foreign academics writing the histories of the Hausa-​speaking states adopted the victors’ term of abuse for the pre-​jihad rulers. There are other derogatory terms used occasionally in northern Nigeria—​for example, the one for Igbos is more like an abusive nickname, Inyamerei—​ while other labels have become generic. For example, ba-​Gwari, (plural:  Gwarawa) refers generally to a non-​Hausa, non-​Muslim south of Hausaland, and is only tangentially referring to a people today called the Gbagyi whom the British colonial literature tended to call Gwari. Non-​Muslim Hausa-​speakers may be called Maguzawa rather than arna, which is derogatory whereas Maguzawa has connotations of pre-​Muslim indigeneity. The changes in identity, therefore, can be hard to specify historically. A major set of new ethnic labels, often with ancient historical allusions, were introduced around the fourteenth century to denote different non-​Muslim groups among whom the Muslim traders from Mali and Songhai traded. These labels, of which Maguzawa (from Majus, a Persian) is the most widely used today, pick up identities from the Middle East such as Byzantine (Rumawa), Palestinian (Jalutawa), Khazars (Gazarawa), Copts (Kibdawa), and ancient peoples from what is now southern Saudi (Adawa; Samodawa). Different local groups were identified by these names, and some are still used elsewhere in northern Nigeria: for example, Rumawa are now in north-​eastern Kaduna State. At the same time, many myths of origin for local rulers spelled out the rulers’ descent from a famous Middle Eastern ruler—​the most popular being Chosroes (Kisra), another is

28   Murray Last Nimrod (Lamarudu). This ennobling of royal lineages by giving them a smart origin abroad is widespread across West Africa. It seems to be part of an Islamization of historical thinking that made contemporary rulers conveniently quite distinct from “pagan” heroes, magicians, or tyrants. It underlined the huge superiority of the royals over their subjects or citizens—​whose only claim to fame was their indigeneity, unless, of course, they too had been reformatted with Middle Eastern names (the meaning of which, in my experience of Maguzawa, they did not fathom).

Group Identities Indeed it seems that many of the smaller linguistic communities in northern Nigeria, especially those on the Jos Plateau but also perhaps those around Biu Plateau and the Mandara Mountains in Adamawa, are relatively new, that is, dating to the period when slavery was commonplace within northern Nigeria. It seems that runaway slaves set up “maroon”-​type settlements and developed over time their own new lingua franca and a new amalgamated culture. These new independent identities had to fight to retain their autonomy as well as their separate identity, with carefully maintained internal differences within the new grouping. By contrast, some once relatively small groups have grown and grown—​a notable example being the Tiv, who during the twentieth century have welcomed and absorbed large numbers of immigrants within ever-​expanding ways of life. More generally, the popularity, or simply the monetary value, of an ethnic identity can fluctuate quite markedly over time. For example, the number of people identifying themselves as “Hausa” grew hugely in the early 1960s, only to decline in recent decades as “certificates of indigeneity” became the key to accessing local services. It became a disadvantage in some locales to continue to be “Hausa,” whereas in the early 1960s an inclusive sense of belonging to the semi-​autonomous Northern Region’s new society was shown by being “Hausa”. Even Christians shed their previous differences by dressing, naming themselves, and speaking like a Hausa. “Hausa-​ness” occluded even religious difference. It is not biological but social “reproduction” that enabled the growth of a particular “tribe,” which stands in contrast to the many other groups who have seen their numbers dwindle, some to zero, so that their separate identity has now died out. We sometimes know the names of these “dead” identities, or simply identify them with some of the unusual place names that still survive. Names of hills and rivers are the obvious markers of a distinct identity now long gone from an area. Much of the area we now know as Hausaland has old place names that reflect the languages of the earlier inhabitants. Often their biological descendants may still be in place, but they have changed their social identity: they became Muslims, for example, and over time used the lingua franca at home instead of their grandparents’ language. Their kinsmen moved away southwards and kept their culture and their tongue, and remembered their origins. Thus many of the groups now identified with Kaduna State claim an origin much further north.

From Borno to Sokoto    29 It is important to recognize that there is a widespread habit of willingly moving home. Once a generation of old men and women has died, the young can jointly decide to build a new house, a new farmstead, a new village. It may be an epidemic or some disaster that prompted the initial decision to start again elsewhere, but often not far away. Historically, even emirs and kings have rebuilt their cities on new, “better” sites: some we know abandoned a huge, well-​established city under threat of attack and evacuated, with the sense that the “old world” was over, with all their people to found a new emirate. Famous examples are the Emir of Zazzau in December 1808 who abandoned Birnin Zazzau (Zaria) to set up a new state at Abuja; or the Emir of Kano Alwali who decided to start again in the south (but was killed). But abandoned farmsteads (kufai), abandoned villages, and even old town sites can be located, with the new identities known. Places can confer an identity, but not for ever. Perhaps the biggest emigration occurred at the start of the twentieth century when thousands decided, with Nasara now seemingly in control, that it was time to start again, in Mecca preferably, or somewhere else closer to Mecca than northern Nigeria.

Personal Identities In the immediately preceding precolonial period, the most traumatic changes of identity came about when communities and/​or individuals were taken prisoner, in war or a raid, or merely through kidnapping. In such conflicts, there was no value in killing your prisoner, so “genocide” was rare: prisoners could be easily monetized as slaves. Thus a prisoner—​woman or man or child—​if not ransomed first, could be quickly sold off to a slave trader who would then sell the prisoner in a slave market. For anyone who was once a slave, however briefly, that identity of having been once a slave remains, even if for decades that person has been free. Many a senior politician or rich merchant had once been a slave but quickly ransomed or set free. For those slaves who were settled in their own hamlets (rumada; sing. rinji) on large farm estates, there was a new identity: marriage and childrearing happened within the slave community—​even today a rinji is recognizable and its residents remembered as former slaves (and so not readily married by a free person). But I have known of ex-​slaves who preferred to stay where they were rather than return home to their free kin. Certain notably “unclean” tasks such as butchery are done only by men of slave “caste”—​thus such men can be very rich, but their slave status remains, if only in gossip or when joking. It seems to have been the everyday risk of capture that made it wise for parents to have a barber engrave on their young children’s faces marks that would identify the groupings from which they came. The identity indicated may be a sub-​branch of this or that larger group; or it may be associated with a zone or even an occupation. A kidnapped child might be very hard to track down, and the child could forget exactly where he came from. And such face marks add to the beauty of a face (unless a keloid scar develops). Other body parts can be marked, such as the stomach (especially among Tiv) or the

30   Murray Last upper chest (on girls), and these add elegance, but also serve as an indelible identifier for those who love her. Personal names, of course, can identify an individual, but unlike a face mark they can be changed at will; indeed many young people acquire a set of names, from nicknames to school names to formal Islamic names parents give their children at the naming ceremony. Usually a father’s identity is more often cited than the mother’s, but hers is usually known, especially if her kinsmen are politically or socially important. Which exact name an individual is known by on certificates or other official records may often originate in the first school he or she entered, in which case a child’s last name is often that of the pupil’s village or town. But changing one’s name is commonplace. Many non-​Muslims who converted to Islam had to take up a formal Muslim name but often it is their old, traditional name that persists—​those traditional names often reflect the circumstances of the individual’s birth: which day he or she was born on, or whether other siblings before him died, or simply his/​her nickname among other children in the neighborhood (such as Sarki (“king”) or Riski (“risk-​taker”). Sometimes size or skin color is at issue—​ Dogo (“tall,” but I have known it given to an exceptionally short man), or Jatau (“red”); jokes are common. In colonial times, the various European officials were also given nicknames, not all of them respectful: so too, various vehicles and trucks were similarly labeled because of some special peculiarity (or failing—​such as poor brakes, insufficient power) each make had. Most notable things and landmarks had identities—​names as well as nicknames—​ and these latter may be in the language of the people who “first” occupied the site (that is, very early residents who were non-​Hausa speakers). Significant too can be the rationale for a name—​for example, the part of the wall where someone was entombed—​or a graveyard associated with a notable Muslim scholar. Sometimes such places are sites of great fear, to be avoided even today: the landscape is “social” and not just natural, so that key trees or ponds have their own special identity (and troublesome spirit residents). Crossroads have a danger of their own associated with them—​they are good for rubbish that has in it a certain potency and danger; so too the west side of a slaughter-​slab or a meat market. Here the underlying idea is that spirits (iskoki; aljannu) move daily from east to west across the landscape and they can bring trouble to anyone who lingers in their path. A wise person does not have a window or a door facing east in case spirits come in, and a careful farmer avoids owning fields that might lie on the routes spirits take each day. Obviously one can protect oneself (with Islamic prayers) against such harm, but it is better simply to avoid all such hazards. Knowing all these “hotspots” is part of one’s identity as an indigene, a local who is streetwise. Now with so many migrants coming into the big cities there is developing almost a hierarchy of indigeneity, of alien-​ness: for example, were you born within the city? Were you born in one of the suburbs? Though a resident of the town, do you holiday back “home” or send money home? Many areas of a big city are now occupied by professionals who have come from elsewhere—​they are not “indigenes” though they are Hausa. The identity markers of indigeneity within a metropolis change over time; behavior matters, but local gangs pick on the cars or other symbols of those they see as

From Borno to Sokoto    31 usurpers, especially the wealthy. Much of this is, in my experience, new: more common post-​2000 than ever it was in, say, the 1960s. Today, it matters which Friday mosque you choose to attend—​there are so many today—​and which preacher you go to hear, and which crowd of worshippers you will go on chatting to once the evening prayer is done. In this way you slowly build up your local identity: some worshippers are especially generous (even milling the grain they give out to the poor), other houses put out a line of evening bowls of food for anyone to eat. And some are known for not having a good cook at home and giving out only soiled leftovers. A merchant may have built a mosque as part of his compound, only for cynical neighbors to label it as “Allah, here’s your share” (Allah, ga naka). Similarly a wife can show she has been to Mecca by having two gold teeth—​so she smiles now as never before, in order to show them off (women normally do not show their teeth in public). But it is men who can show off their style—​ by choosing the right gown (riga) and the right cap (hula): an elegant man can own dozens of gowns and fifty different caps, and he can choose the right oil-​based perfume for his gown (male perfumes are not for the body. Nor are women meant to wear perfume, it is traditionally a man’s luxury for ensuring he is well regarded in a social setting, a public place). In short, the Hausa public looks out for all the little details that shape a man’s identity. An elder must fulfill his role as a dattijo, a gentleman—​and not talk too loudly, too long, or too often. He must not argue or shout, let alone lose his temper: that’s what young men do (and politicians on the make: politicians remain “youths,” no matter how old they are). Nor should he roam about, go to market: he should be in his room at home, ready to listen, advise, mediate. It is interesting to watch how a young man becomes a proper elder, how a distinguished active man becomes a proper emir: those around him comment and criticize, they shape him into the role, the identity he has been allocated by the community. One’s character is not necessarily one’s own: it is acquired, like one’s identity, in the way the community requires. Historically, of course, there have been evil emirs and wicked heads of houses: they have breached the norm and are remembered in histories with evident distaste.

Conclusion In short, the world of personal identity in northern Nigeria is very complex and (up to a point) idiosyncratic today; so, too, are the immediate identities of everything and everyone around one. This world of identities may be personal yet is shaped by the community around each individual. In northern Nigeria the “common sense” of the community remains dominant; individuals are rarely free of it. It is this “common sense” that gives particular strength to identity on a political level. Whereas in other parts of Nigeria the individual has more intense responsibility for fulfilling his/​her destiny, in the north of Nigeria the historical dimension of identities has a persistent resonance that gives strength to communities as communities: conversion out of one’s community (of, say, Muslims, or as a Tijani) is deeply problematic for both the individual and his/​her kin.

32   Murray Last For most northern Nigerians, identities ultimately should not change; they are yours to develop, but not really yours to swap.

References Ajayi, J. and Crowder, M. (1972–​3). History of West Africa (2nd edn, vols 1 and 2). New York: Columbia Press. Crowder, M. (1966). The Story of Nigeria (2nd edn). London: Faber and Faber. Hogben, S. and Kirk-​Greene, A. (1966). The Emirates of Northern Nigeria: a Preliminary Survey of the Historical Traditions. London: Oxford University Press. Ikime, O. (1980). Groundwork of Nigerian History. Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books. Johnston, H. (1967). The Fulani Empire of Sokoto. London: Oxford University Press. Kwanashie, G. A. (2002). The Making of the North in Nigeria: 1900–​1965. Kaduna: Ahmadu Bello University. Last, M. (1977). The Sokoto Caliphate. London: Longman. Smith, M. G. (1997). Government in Kano 1350–​1950. Boulder, CO/​Oxford: Westview Press. Usman, Y. B. (1981). The Transformation of Katsina, 1400–​1883: the Emergence and Overthrow of the “Sarauta” System and the Establishment of the Emirate. Zaria:  Ahmadu Bello University Press. UNESCO (1981–​3). General History of Africa (vols 4, 5, 6). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

Chapter 2

State Form at i on in Prec ol onial Ni g e ria Nonso Obikili

Introduction Governance has been shown to be very important for development and the improvement in the quality of life of people. From the organization of security to the provision of public goods, the importance of governance cannot be understated. The question of governance is not one that has only recently become relevant, but one that has been relevant as far back as we know. The question of governance has often been linked to the idea of state formation and centralization, and historically, the development of empires. States and empires, whatever forms they take, have been instrumental in the story of development around the world. In this chapter I discuss the history of empire and state centralization in modern-​ day Nigeria, from here on referred to as Nigeria, prior to the onset of colonization by the British Empire. I discuss the varying ways in which states emerge and groups of people interact and organize themselves. The story of state formation in Nigeria has been shaped by a variety of factors from ecological factors to trade, and from access to water to the introduction of military technologies and ideologies. This chapter will explore the various factors that have influenced state formation, using examples from different states. The history of state formation in Africa is, of course, a difficult one to discuss. As with most discussions of history, the absence of detailed information proves a challenge to describing historic societies and the ways in which they were organized. The scarcity of information does not imply that there were no interesting societies or that there were no debates and challenges to state building. It is, however, important to understand the limitations this scarcity of information places on describing historical states. In this context, it is wise to discuss the topics with a certain nuance, accepting that parts of the story

34   Nonso Obikili are probably unknown. Fortunately, pieces of information allow us to build a plausible record or description of societies as they were and how they have evolved over time. This chapter is structured as follows: the first section, “The Transition to Agriculture and the Nok Culture” explores the history of agriculture in Nigeria and relates that to the earliest state for which we have evidence. The second section, “The Decentralized States,” discusses different ideas on what states are, specifically focusing on decentralized states and the state of the South East. The third section entitled “The Centralized State in Precolonial Nigeria” discusses the Hausa states as examples of the transition from decentralized states to city states. The fourth section, “Trade:  the Trans-​Saharan Trade Routes and the Kanem–​Bornu Empire,” discusses the role of trade, specifically the trans-​Saharan trade routes, and examples of trade-​based states. The fifth section, “Horses and Military Warfare: the Rise and Fall of the Oyo Yoruba Kingdom,” looks at the introduction of new military technology, specifically horses, and its influence on changing the political dynamics behind states at the time. The sixth section, “Jihad in the Sahel: the Transition from Hausa States to Fulani Empire,” explores the story of the Sokoto Caliphate and the confluence of factors which allowed it to expand. The seventh section, “The Kingdom of Benin: the Death of States and the Rise of the Colony,” uses the experience of Benin as an example of the end of precolonial states and the transition to a colonial territory of the Biritsh Empire. The eighth section concludes this chapter.

The Transition to Agriculture and the Nok Culture The history of states, not just in Nigeria but around the world, is often linked to the development of agriculture. In many parts of the world, formal states tended to have emerged where plants and animals were first domesticated and where agriculture had become prevalent. The typical examples are the states that emerged in Mesopotamia and the Indus River Valley. The logic is straightforward, agriculture implies that more surplus food can be produced. Surplus food means that some members of the community can engage in occupations other than agriculture. Places with agriculture and surplus food were therefore more likely to have militaries and artisans and the like, occupations which are associated with state formation. The development of agriculture is also frequently associated with sedentary lifestyles. The need to constantly work on and manage particular strips of land and the storage requirements for crops meant that agriculturalists were more likely to be sedentary. Being sedentary is also frequently associated with state formation. Explaining the history of agriculture in particular places is therefore key to explaining the evolution of states in those areas. The literature is generally in agreement that Africa was one of the last places to take up farming. However, why that is the case is the source of debate, with some authors arguing that food abundance implied there were fewer incentives to transition to

State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria    35 agriculture and more sedentary societies. There is, however, agreement that the first evidence for domesticated crops in the Sahel were pearl millet, estimated to have been domesticated at least before 1800 bc and sorghum which appears in the record in the first century ad. These crops are thought to have been domesticated in the Sahel region of West Africa. Archeological records are easier to uncover in the Sahel where artifacts and other evidence can be preserved for long periods of time. Preparation methods for grains also left many artifacts which usually contain traces of grains. Archeologists sometimes use these items, such as clay pots and grinding stones, to get a sense of when these grains were consumed. However, once one moves further south into the tropical region, things become a bit more difficult. In tropical regions, due to ecological conditions, grains are much less likely to have been grown and tubers and fruits are more likely candidates for agriculture. These tubers are more difficult to uncover in archeological records but it is likely that tropical crops, such as yams, were domesticated as well. The same dynamics can be seen in the domestication of animals. Expectedly, domestication patterns change once one moves south from the Sahel into the tropical regions. Regardless of the information problems, the earliest evidence for organized society in Nigeria is associated with a sedentary and agricultural lifestyle. These people are commonly referred to as the Nok culture. The Nok culture or Nok “civilization” is perhaps the oldest state on record in West Africa. The Nok culture, according to archeologists, appeared in what is today northern Nigeria from around 100 bc and vanished under unknown circumstances around ad 500, with the decline starting around ad 200. The Nok are signified as more than just a random set of hunters and gatherers but appear to have been sedentary. The Nok culture was identified based on various artifacts uncovered in different parts of modern-​ day Nigeria—​items such as clay figurines, iron tools, stone axes, and ornaments have been unearthed and dated back to that period. The discovery of these types of artifacts is important because they imply the Nok were sedentary. Clay pots with evidence of food processing, specifically of pearl millet, point to the sedentary nature of the people. The presence of these artifacts also suggests that the society was relatively sophisticated with wealth and food surpluses allowing for specialization in non-​agricultural activities, such as those that would produce the terracotta sculptures associated with the Nok. Although artifacts from the Nok culture have been discovered over large areas of modern-​day Nigeria, there appears to be little evidence that the Nok were ordered into a politically centralized state. Some of the artifacts show such similarity that some authors claim it could be the result of some central authority or some type of centralized production, though others suggest these similarities could also be simply due to common beliefs and practices. Although there may not be enough information to say one way or the other, it may not be far-fetched to categorize the Nok as a decentralized state, with a common language, common cultural practices, and similar technological advancements, but without a central authority. Indeed, such patterns feature regularly in early state formation in modern-​day Nigeria.

36   Nonso Obikili

The Decentralized States The Nok are perhaps the earliest example of a decentralized state in early Nigeria. They were a collection of people with common practices, norms, and interactions, but seemingly without a strict hierarchical political structure governing all. They are, however, not the only example of a decentralized state. At the beginning of the colonial conquest by the British, large swathes of Nigeria were still occupied by what can only be described as decentralized states. The states are typified by groups in the areas south and east of the rivers Benue and Niger respectively. The area southeast of the rivers Niger and Benue are partly populated by what could mostly be described as decentralized states. Although there were probably other decentralized states across early Nigeria, this area is well studied perhaps because the decentralized nature remained until the colonial era and still remains in some contexts today. The Igala, Igbo, and Ibibio typify these decentralized states. These were collections of people with similar language, culture, and a relatively high level of complexity, but without formal political centralization. These stateless societies do not appear to be small either. In some cases, they had populations large enough to rival other centralized societies. The stateless societies are also not to be confused with hunter-​gather societies who were also generally stateless. Just like the Nok discussed  earlier, these decentralized societies were agriculturally based and not nomadic. They also showed complexities similar to their more centralized neighbors. These societies also appear to have been around for a long time. There have been discoveries of artifacts dating back hundreds of years and demonstrating that the complex societies go far back. The most popular of these are the Igbo–​Ukwu artifacts which were initially accidentally discovered by Isiah Anozie in 1939 while digging a well in his compound, with sites excavated further in 1959 and 1964 by archeologist Thurston Shaw. Over 700 copper, bronze, and iron artifacts were excavated as well as many glass and stone beads. Some of these artifacts were dated back to the ninth century ad. Similar artifacts have been found not only in Igboland but also in the neighboring Ekoi–​Ibibio area in the Cross River Valley (Anozie 1993; Ibeanu 1989; Ogundiran 2005) The archeological findings also demonstrated that trading was probably taking place between various groups in the area and perhaps beyond. Archeometallurgical analysis of the artifacts revealed that the raw materials could have come from deposits near Abakaliki or as far as the Benue Trough. Decentralized states are not limited to southeastern Nigeria, but are present in other parts of the country, and in other parts of Africa (Osafo-​Kwaako and Robinson 2013). In general, it has been established that states in Africa are more likely to not be centralized compared to other continents. The decentralized nature of these states and their seeming long existence leads one to question why these states never became centralized. They also highlight an often-​ignored distinction between political centralization and

State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria    37 governance. Indeed, the evidence from these decentralized states shows that governance and cooperation amongst groups can exist without centralized political authority. It is perhaps important to distinguish between the two.

State Centralization in Precolonial Nigeria The distinction between governance and centralized states is important; however, there were many instances of more classic centralized states. Many authors have written on what seems to be a common feature, not just in early Nigeria, but in many parts of sub-​ Saharan Africa. In general, sub-​Saharan Africa appeared to develop centralized states later than most of the rest of the world. Although centralized states existed, with quite a few emerging in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, many parts were characterized as stateless societies for a long time, at least a lot longer than in most of the rest of the world (Bockstette, Chanda, and Putterman 2002). The question then is why state centralization was delayed in sub-​Saharan Africa in general, and in Nigeria in particular. To answer this puzzle, various authors have proposed different explanations. Some argue that the conditions which promoted state centralization in other parts of the world were absent in Africa. They argue that a set of geographical and ecological factors explains the differences observed in state formation across regions (Diamond 1998). Others argue that relatively low population density and land abundance implied that the cost of state formation were prohibitive (Herbst 2000). This ties into theories that center on the inability of groups to exercise a monopoly of violence, which leads to the relatively lower likelihood of state formation (Bates 2001). More recently, some authors have tested specific parts of these theories. One such part concerns the impact of the tsetse fly (Alsan 2014). Alsan showed that in Africa, areas with a higher incidence of tsetse flies were less likely to be centralized. The argument goes that tsetse flies increase the mortality of domesticated animals such as cattle and horses, animals which were very useful in different ways for state formation. Places with a larger incidence of tsetse flies were less likely to have cattle and horses and therefore less likely to develop centralized states. This argument is echoed by others who show that ecological diversity promoted states by increasing the potential for trade (Fenske 2014). Ecological diversity implies different areas producing different products, making trade more likely. The increased likelihood of trade increases the probability of building a centralized state. Finally conditions conducive to certain crop choices may have contributed to centralization. Areas with the capacity to grow grains might have been more likely to have centralized states as grains are typically more useful as a means of taxation, the foundation for most early centralized states. Grains have to be harvested when due, can be easily processed, and can be stored for a relatively long time. On the other hand, tubers,

38   Nonso Obikili such as yams, are not as useful as taxation crops. They do not have to be harvested when due and can be left in the soil for a reasonable period of time. Upon harvesting, they cannot be stored for very long and are relatively more difficult to process and transport. All things being equal, one would guess that centralized states are more likely in places with grains as a food source as opposed to tubers. The incentives for expropriation and accumulation of wealth—​in this case grains—​would have been more feasible where the food could actually be expropriated and accumulated. Increased potential for wealth accumulation is likely to increase the odds of states emerging. These theories of state formation are not universally accepted, with dissent coming from various viewpoints (McIntosh 2005). The major argument critique is that geographical and ecological factors do not imply the absence of state formation. Instead, it means that state formation looks very different from European and Asian experiences. In this context, the decentralized states can be seen, not as failures of state centralization, but as a different kind of social organization creating different patterns of complexity, a distinction that highlights the difference between governance and state centralization. Regardless, the various theories of state formation do explain some of the different trajectories in state formation and structure within modern-​day Nigeria. A good example is the Hausa states.

The Hausa States The Hausa states perhaps encapsulate the transition from decentralized societies towards centralized states. The Hausa states can be described as a collection of politically independent city states which, that depended on each other. It is not exactly clear when the Hausa states emerged. Some sources say that gradual formation started between the seventh and the nineth centuries ad, citing Arab geographer Ibn Said’s description of states between the Niger bend and the Kingdom of Kanem (Hopkins and Levtzion 2000). The Kano Chronicles, a list of the rulers of Kano, one of the Hausa states, dates the first Hausa king to ad 999. At their peak the Hausa states consisted of seven main city states—​Gobir, Rano, Biriam, Daura, Kano, Katsina, and Zaria—​although their influence likely extended further. Various sources cite minor states such as Zamfara, Kebbi, Yauri, Gwari, Kwararafa, Nupe, and Ilorin, which although  they cannot all be described as part of the Hausa states, were probably influenced by them in various ways. The relative importance of the city states were not cast in stone but likely varied over time. Gobir, for instance, is considered one of the first Hausa states to emerge, while Kano emerges as a dominant player in later centuries. The Hausa states were likely sustained by agriculture. Despite their description as city states, the expansion of Hausaland was seen as a largely rural process. The Hausa states and their rural territories were associated with the clearing of forests for the development of agricultural land. It is documented that as far back as ad 1194, kings in Kano demanded one-​eighth of crops as tribute, a practice which was sustained for centuries

State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria    39 (Sutton 1979). Trade and iron smelting were also important parts of industry in the Hausa states, and iron smelting is woven into the history of some of the states. Finally, certain states also became prominent as endpoints for the trans-​Saharan trade routes. The Hausa states were not static throughout their history but evolved as with other West African states. Gobir and Rano were the first states to emerge. In the fifteenth century, the eastern states of Kano and Katsina rose to prominence, along with neighboring states Songhai, Oyo, and Agades. The Hausa states were, however, unable to coalesce into a larger unified state under one central authority. The area would remain a collection of city states until the Fulani Jihad in 1804. The question of why these city states emerged in the Hausaland and not southeast of the rivers Benue and Niger can perhaps be attributed to crop choices, partly due to ecological reasons. Grains, such as millet and sorghum, could be grown in the Sahel whereas they could not be grown in the tropical areas, except withgreat difficulty. Agriculture and tribute were essential to the function of the states in Hausaland but that would have been less likely further south. Although various other factors probably influenced the emergence of states, all things being equal, centralized states were much more likely to emerge in the Sahel and not in the tropics. This remained the case as long as agriculture remained the major driver of state expansion.

Trade: The Trans-​Saharan Trade Routes and the Kanem–​B ornu Empire As discussed earlier, states take on different forms, with their emergence typically attributed to some specific factors. Most of the groups discussed so far have been based mostly on agriculture. The Kanem–​Bornu Empire is, however, unique in the sense that it relied largely on trade for its sustenance as a state. On the southern fringes of the Sahara Desert and northeast of the Niger–​Benue confluence lies Lake Chad, a relatively large, shallow freshwater lake which is fed mostly by the Chari River and partially by the Yobe River. Its position as a source of fresh water on the fringes of the rough and dry Sahara Desert positions it as an ideal destination for traders on the trans-​Saharan trade route, a trade route linking people in the Niger–​ Benue confluence and beyond, to the Sudan and Egypt. Given the importance of water, the relatively arid conditions north of the lake and the suitability as a trading point between West Africa and the Sudan and Egypt, it is perhaps not surprising that states emerged here. Some of the challenges to state formation, such as low population density, land abundance, and difficulty of collecting and enforcing tribute across distances, would be somewhat irrelevant. A state would not need to expand and conquer to survive, but would just need to control the water source and extract a toll from traders. As with most historical subjects, the exact nature of the emergence of the Kanem and Bornu states is subject to debate. The Kanem Empire, just north of Lake Chad, is said to

40   Nonso Obikili have arisen around ad 700. However, by ad 1068, Kanem had begun to be influenced by Islam and had begun appearing in Arab texts. One of the more notable references was to the king of Kanem sending a giraffe as a gift to the Hafsid Caliph al-​Mustansir in ad 1257 (Khaldūn and Casanova 1968). By the thirteenth century, Kanem’s sphere of influence had extended to the area west of Lake Chad, in the Bornu territory and further south. Due to a series of internal conflicts and attacks from neighboring groups, the empire moved its capital from Njimi, which was north of Lake Chad to the Bornu heartland, west of the lake (Smith 1971, p. 179; Lange 1984, p. 234; Barkindo 1985, p. 245–​6), merging into what is commonly referred to as the Kanem–​Bornu Empire. The empire peaked around the fifteenth century and was sustained by the trans-​Saharan trade route, where it effectively levied duties on trade through the route. The access to what was the most important trade route in the region at the time meant it had access to most technology and knowledge throughout the almost 1,000-​year period of its existence. It had access to horses and camels, guns and slaves, cloth and gold, and, most importantly, knowledge. Regardless of its advantages, the empire began a slow decline from the fifteenth century. Although it was still strong enough to withstand the advances of the Sokoto Caliphate to the west, largely thanks to the maneuvering of Muhammed al-​Amin al-​ Kanemi (r. 1809–​37). The traditional rule of the Mai, until then the longest-​running dynasty, was eventually destroyed in a civil war, with the Mai replaced by a new title of Shehu. The Kanem–​Bornu Empire fits the patterns of a state that emerged and expanded largely due to its ideal location as a bridge between peoples of the Niger–​Benue confluence to its west, and the Sudanic and Egyptian empires to the east. It is perhaps not unexpected that its decline roughly coincided with the transition of trade from the trans-​Saharan routes to the Atlantic Ocean.

Horses and Military Warfare: The Rise and Fall of the Oyo Yoruba Kingdom One of the popular theories of state formation stresses the importance of the military and warfare in state formation. The theory can be summarized in the words of Charles Tilly, “the state makes war and war makes the state” (Tilly 2002). As the theory goes, groups always have incentives to dominate other groups for tribute or other benefits. These incentives lead groups to use violence and warfare to achieve their goals. However, groups, knowing these threats of violence and warfare from other groups, also develop their own systems of violence and warfare. Over time, and given the right conditions, groups with superior systems of warfare dominate other groups, collecting tribute or taxes as the benefits of that conquest, and states are formed or expand. This theory does not apply in all cases, of course. For example, as discussed earlier, the Hausa states, despite centuries of warfare, were not able to coalesce into a single

State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria    41 centralized entity. The decentralized states, which probably had skirmishes of their own, didn’t evolve into centralized states until the colonial era. However, military, warfare, and military technology do play a part in some cases. One such case is the story of the Oyo Empire, whose use of horses as a technology contributed to its rise and fall. The founding of the Oyo Empire is one draped in mythology. As the story goes, the empire was founded by Oranyan or Oranmiyan, who went north from Ife on a punitive expedition against his northern neighbors who had allegedly insulted his father, sometime in the fourteenth century. Horses cannot be said to have been relevant to life in Ife, given that it was situated in the forests which were not suitable for horses. Excavations from Ife do not include any representations of horses (Flight 1973, p. 549). However, it should be noted that Oranmiyan is traditionally associated with horses. In the mythology of the founding of Oyo, Oranmiyan is given a horse, and Sango, one of the sons of Oranmiyan, is also frequently associated with horses. There are disputes regarding the role of horses in the foundation of the Oyo Empire, with some claiming that they were not that crucial. What is not debated, however, is that by the sixteenth century, horses and cavalry had become an important part of Oyo military interactions over its sphere of influence (Johnson 2010, p. ii). The Oyo Empire would eventually become known for the effectiveness of its cavalry. Snelgrave’s accounts of the wars between the Oyo and Dahomey in the 1720s, for instance, stress the importance of the Oyo cavalry (Snelgrave 1971). The history of horses in Nigeria is a complex one. As discussed earlier, large swathes of the country proved unsuitable for livestock in general, including horses, partly due to tsetse flies. However, horses were eventually domesticated in parts of the country. There were two distinct breeds of horses, the first, and earliest, was the small trypano-​tolerant pony. This horse was typically about 3 feet tall and not suitable for warfare, although there are records of mounted marsh-​dwelling Bedde raiders causing havoc in the Bornu area with these horses. It is not clear when the much larger horses, more suited to warfare, were introduced into Nigeria. Some authors record the use of horses in Kawkaw and in Kanem in the eleventh century, although those might have been the smaller breeds (Law 1976). Regardless of when they were introduced, between the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, new larger breeds and equestrian techniques were developed. Records have horses being imported into Kanem from the 1340s. It is likely that the introduction of horses and the development of equestrian techniques changed the political dynamics in areas where horses could survive. As horses were important tools for military warfare, the use of cavalry surely played a role in the consolidation of some states. Oyo was not self-​sufficient in horses and had to import most of its horses from the north. This was largely due to the tsetse flies which made horse breeding difficult. Keeping horses alive also proved a bit difficult, with horses rarely surviving for more than two years (Webster and Boahen 1992, p. 92). Still, horses and the cavalry played an important part in the expansion and conquest of the Oyo Empire, particularly in the raiding of slaves which was an important source of wealth for the empire. The maintenance of cavalry, however, placed a serious economic burden on the empire given that they could not adequately breed their own horses.

42   Nonso Obikili If the cavalry played an important role in the rise and expansion of the Oyo then it played a role in its eventual demise as well. The empire had been in decline since the 1790s according to some, with a series of internal conflicts creating political frictions within. By 1823 Ilorin, a major town in the northern parts of the empire, was seized by the Fulani and in 1836 the Oyo were effectively defeated by the Fulani and evacuated the capital. The decline of the empire was accompanied by a decline in the strength of its cavalry. Some say that the revolution in Sokoto, a major source of horses for the Oyo, made the purchase of horses much more difficult. There was even talk of an embargo on the sale of horses to Ilorin (Ajayi 1974) and hostility from other northern markets, which no doubt influenced the capacity of the Oyo to sustain the strength of their cavalry. Internal tensions driven by the large number of slaves from northern groups who previously served as groomsmen for the horses made things even more difficult. After the fall of the capital, the Oyo attempted to regroup further south. They were not able to regain their past glory, no doubt partly due to the inability to recreate the strength of their cavalry in the dense forest areas where horses typically did not thrive. Although many other factors played a role in the emergence, expansion, and decline of the Oyo Empire, it serves as an important example of how the dynamics of state formation are shaped by warfare and the introduction of new military technology, in this case, horses.

Jihad in the Sahel: The Transition from Hausa States to Fulani Empire Perhaps the most recent example of state formation in precolonial Nigeria is the formation of the Sokoto Caliphate, an Islamic state whose sphere of influence extended across large parts of northern Nigeria, and survived until colonization by the British. The Sokoto Caliphate has its beginnings in one of the Hausa states, Gobir. The conditions which led to the emergence of the Sokoto Caliphate had all the hallmarks of a revolution. Authors write that there was general dissatisfaction with the state of affairs in many of the Hausa city states. There was excessive taxation on farmers, herdsmen, and other artisans. There was a seemingly non-​stop series of dynastic disputes within many of the Hausa states. The Hausa states were particularly known for their oppressive and extortionist policies in order to maintain control, as one would expect in typical monarchical autocratic states. By the early 1800s an Islamic scholar and ethnic Fulani, Usman dan Fodio, built up a relatively large following, preaching about the problems of the times. However, a new sarkin (Hausa word for “king”), Yunfa, who happened to be a former student of dan Fodio, ascended the throne and proceeded to exile dan Fodio. Unfortunately, due to his popularity, a large number of dan Fodio’s followers opted to go into exile with him. This action apparently upset Yunfa and led him to declare war on dan Fodio and

State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria    43 his followers. In the ensuing wars, dan Fodio and his followers, although not without casualties, began to take over not just Gobir, but large swathes of Hausaland. Dan Fodio declared a caliphate in Gudu at the beginning of the wars and by 1808 had taken over the majority of Hausa states including Daura, Katsina, Kano, and Gobir (Maishanu and Maishanu 1999). The caliphate continued to expand through the mid-​1830s annexing areas to the east up to the fringes of the Kanem–​Bornu Empire to the south, including parts of Yoruba land such as Ilorin, north up to the fringes of the Sahara Desert, and west to modern-​day Burkina Faso. In terms of tools for state formation, the Sokoto Caliphate emerged at an ideal time. Horses, one of the most important tools for state formation, were available and were bred in the region. Not coincidentally, the vast majority of areas which the caliphate annexed were places where horses could survive. They had access to more modern firearms, weapons significantly more sophisticated than the traditional bows and arrows. They had access to a great many slaves during a period when the slave trade was relatively lucrative. Finally, in Islam, they had a unifying ideology which could rally disaffected groups in many of the communities. It is difficult to know if the caliphate would have been feasible, in terms of state centralization over such a large area, if these other factors had been available. However, the factors were available and the state emerged. The Sokoto Caliphate remained relatively vibrant until the start of the colonial conquest when, like all empires and states in the region, it was annexed by the British Empire.

The Kingdom of Benin: The Death of States and the Rise of the Colony As with most other old states in Nigeria, it is not certain when Benin emerged. Oral tradition puts its emergence around ad 1180. The kingdom, then known as Igodomigodo, witnessed many struggles for power and when faced with impending collapse reached out to nearby Ife for guidance. As the story goes, the king of Ife sent his son, Oranmiyan, to restore order and he installed his son, Eweka, as the first Oba of Benin. In the mid-​ 1440s a new Oba, Ewuare, built up a significant army and starting winning land, a pattern that would continue with other Obas until about 1600 when the kingdom reached its peak in terms of geographic spread. The economic conditions that allowed for the emergence of Benin are also not very certain. Unlike the Oyo Empire, Benin did not have the luxury of horses or other transport animals which could have aided its expansion. Benin is located far south of the Niger–​Benue confluence, deep in the rainforests where horses typically do not survive for very long. There is also no evidence that agricultural productivity in the region changed dramatically in the fifteenth century. The most likely economic drivers of the Benin expansion was new trade routes that opened up at the coast. In the 1480s Portuguese traders reached Benin opening up new trade routes between the area and

44   Nonso Obikili Europe. As was the case in the Kanem–​Bornu Empire, control of trade probably served as a source of taxation and wealth through which the empire could finance its expansion. The civil wars and the political developments help explain the importance of trade and the changes which occurred. In 1640 Benin was centrally governed by the Oba, with the assistance of royally appointed administrators. However, trade with Europeans, which increasingly became dominated by the trade in slaves, created opportunities for wealth accumulation outside the control of the Oba. As has been documented, the casual nature of the slave trade implied that any group with the means could organize raiding parties and capture slaves, creating wealth for themselves in the process (Obikili 2016). This distribution of power likely created the means by which various parties could contest the power of the Oba, especially during periods of succession. The distribution of power also pitted the Oba against his administrators who presumably wanted more control over the state. The civil wars weakened the position of the Obas and transformed Benin from a centrally governed state to a more collectively governed one (Girshick and Thornton 2001). The demise of Benin is perhaps symptomatic of the demise of states across modern Nigeria in the build-up to the colonial era. In the 1850s a stronger, more belligerent Britain sought to carve out trade routes all over the country and approached Benin. Numerous attempts were made to sign treaties with Benin and in 1892 the controversial Gallwey Treaty was signed. The treaty was controversial partly because the terms greatly disfavored the Benin hierarchy by opening up direct access to the British. There were also disagreements over whether the Oba actually signed the agreement due to it allegedly being signed during the Igue festival when foreigners were typically not allowed in the kingdom. In the ensuing drama, eight British emissaries were killed. This led to a punitive expedition by the British forces, destroying Benin and bringing a formal end to the long-​standing state. On the face of it the demise of the Kingdom of Benin might seem like a unique set of circumstances. However, the patterns repeated themselves across almost all of precolonial Nigeria. In a broad sense, it was a case of a new power with superior military technology and wealth overpowering and eventually dominating all other powers in that space, sometimes through the use of force, but sometimes through other means. From the independent coastal states of the Ijaw to the Sokoto Caliphate and Kanem–​Bornu Empire, by 1906 effectively all states in Nigeria were under British control and an era, commonly referred to as the precolonial era, had come to an end.

Conclusion The story of state formation and development in precolonial Nigeria is an interesting mosaic of different types of states rising and falling at different points in time, with different geographic and ecological influences, and characteristics. The diversity of states in Nigeria implies that many of the theories of state formation can in some way be applied

State Formation in Precolonial Nigeria    45 to the emergence or demise of some state or the another. No doubt many gaps still exist in the studies of the emergence and collapse of some of these states. Understanding the dynamics of these precolonial states can perhaps provide some guidance on improving the effectiveness of the current one.

References Ajayi, J. A. (1974). “The Aftermath of the Fall of Old Oyo,” History of West Africa 2: 129–​166. Alsan, M. (2014). “The Effect of the Tsetse Fly on African Development,” American Economic Review 105 (1): 382–​410. Anozie, F. N. 1993. Igbo Ukwu after Thurstan Shaw. Imprints of West Africa’s Past (pp. 40–​46). Ibadan: Wisdom Publishers Limited. Barkindo, B. (1985). “The Early States of the Central Sudan: Kanem, Borno and Some of Their Neighbours to c.1500 ad,” History of West Africa 1: 225–​254. Bates, R. H. (2001). Prosperity and Violence. New York: W.W. Norton and Co. Bockstette, V., Chanda, A., and Putterman, L. (2002). “States and Markets: The Advantage of an Early Start,” Journal of Economic Growth 7 (4): 347–​369. Diamond, J. M. (1998). Guns, Germs and Steel: A Short History of Everybody for the Last 13,000 Years. New York: Random House. Fenske, J. (2014). “Ecology, Trade, and States in Pre- Colonial Africa,” Journal of the European Economic Association 12 (3): 612–​640. Flight, C. (1973). “A Survey of Recent Results in the Radiocarbon Chronology of Northern and Western Africa,” Journal of African History 14 (4): 531–​554. Girshick, P. B. A. and Thornton, J. (2001). “Civil War in the Kingdom of Benin, 1689–​1721: Continuity or Political Change?” Journal of African History 42 (3): 353–​376. Herbst, J. (2000). States and Power in Africa: Comparative Lessons in Authority and Control. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hopkins, J. F. and Levtzion, N. (eds) (2000). Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History. Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener Publishers. Ibeanu, A. M. (1989). “Inyi:  A Probable Centre for the Igbo-Ukwu Pottery,” West African Journal of Archaeology 19: 137–​159. Johnson, S. (2010). The History of the Yorubas: From the Earliest Times to the Beginning of the British Protectorate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Khaldūn, I., Slane, W. M., and Casanova, P. (1968). Histoire des Berbères et des dynasties musulmanes de l’Afrique septentrionale. Traduite de l’arabe par le baron de Slane (vol. 1). Paris: P. Geuthner. Lange, D. (1984). “The Kingdoms and Peoples of Chad,” General History of Africa 9: 238–​265. Law, R. (1976). “Horses, Firearms, and Political Power in Pre-Colonial West Africa,” Past & Present 72: 112–​132. Maishanu, H. M. and Maishanu, I. M. (1999). “The Jihãd and the Formation of the Sokoto Caliphate,” Islamic Studies 38 (1): 119–​131. McIntosh, S. K. (ed.) (2005). Beyond Chiefdoms: Pathways to Complexity in Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Obikili, N. (2016). “The Trans‐atlantic Slave Trade and Local Political Fragmentation in Africa,” Economic History Review 69 (4): 1157–​1177.

46   Nonso Obikili Ogundiran, A. (2005). “Four Millennia of Cultural History in Nigeria (ca. 2000 BC – AD 1900): Archaeological Perspectives,” Journal of World Prehistory 19 (2): 133–​168. Osafo-​Kwaako, P. and Robinson, J. A. (2013). “Political Centralization in Pre-Colonial Africa,” Journal of Comparative Economics 41 (1): 6–​21. Smith, A. (1971). “The Early States of the Central Sudan,” History of West Africa 1: 158–​201. Snelgrave, W. (1971). 1734. A  New Account of Some Parts of Guinea and the Slave Trade. London: JJ and P. Knapton. Sutton, J. E. G. (1979). “Towards a Less Orthodox History of Hausaland,” Journal of African History 20 (2): 179–​201. Tilly, C. (2002). “War-Making and State-Making as Organized Crime,” in C. Besteman (ed.), Violence: A Reader (pp. 35–​60). New York: New York University Press. Webster, J. B. and Boahen, A. A. with Tidy, M. (1992). The Revolutionary Years: West Africa Since 1800. London: Longman.

Chapter 3

Prec ol onial Ch ri st ia ni t y and Missionary L e g ac i e s Shobana Shankar

Introduction The pioneering church historian Ogbu Uke Kalu likened Christian missions in Africa to raindrops:  “when the water of the rain falls on the earth life springs forth. What springs forth depends on the receiving soil and the seed in the womb of the earth” (Kalu, Wariboko, and Falola 2010). Focusing only on foreign missions, as his scholarship showed, yields an incomplete picture, and ignoring African Christianity is a glaring error. Missionary and post-​missionary Christianity reveals African independence of thought and practice—​not only in religion but also in academic scholarship such as Kalu’s—​that rejects Euro-​American power over the continent. Indeed, it is possible to argue that African churches have been hotbeds of rebellion and autonomy when government houses were not or could not be. Nigerian church history, and scholars writing about it, have transformed the way global missions and their legacies have been understood. This chapter relies on the approaches of Kalu, Ajayi, Ayandele, Peel, Tasie, and others who view missions as much more complex than handmaidens of colonialism and Nigerian Christianity as much more layered than a simple reaction to foreign influences. The focus here is on the history of Nigerian Christian initiatives, beginning roughly with the fifteenth-​ century missions that came as part of the Atlantic trade, through to the twentieth century and tracing the varieties of Nigerian Christianity as global and local politics. At its root, Nigerian Christianity grew as a challenge to, and reassertion of, authority of different sorts. Some initiatives countered foreign missionary and government control, while others were outcomes of power struggles amongst Nigerians, sometimes swirling around theological differences and at other times brewing in battles over political succession and regime change. Through the lenses of dissent, reform, and renewal, we see

48   Shobana Shankar the priorities and practices that have made Nigerian Christianity uniquely durable, vibrant, and politically relevant into the present age. Indeed, since 1960, when Nigeria became an independent nation (Africa’s wealthiest and most populous), religious dynamics have constituted an extremely important factor in Nigeria’s major social, cultural, and political transformations (Vaughan 2017). The growth of Pentecostal and charismatic churches has had a profound impact on relations between Christians of different denominations and with Muslims—​while Christian–​ Muslim interaction has been occurring for nearly two centuries in Nigeria, strong reformist blocs of both religions have created an intense focus on personal and communal behaviors and a burden, it may be said, on government authorities to mediate between different communities and ensure the rights of all. Since Nigeria’s democratic transition, the implementation of sharia (Islamic) law in the northern states has received wide international attention, as well as the rise of the terrorist group Boko Haram pitted against a government it sees as corrupt and anti-​Islamic, but other religious changes have presented challenges to the Nigerian government  too. For instance, religious media, including television stations and radio programs, have proliferated and provoked government efforts to curtail media power, spurring fears over freedom of speech (Ukah 2017; see also Hackett and Soares 2014). Nigeria is not alone in navigating questions of religion in the public sphere and Christian and Muslim reformism, as Western liberal democracies, contend with similar concerns. As millions of Nigerians make up the diaspora in Europe, North America, and elsewhere, they are, in fact, part of the tremendous religious changes occurring in host societies. As Afe Adogame contends, Christianity is cultural capital for Nigerian migrants (and other Africans on the move); the “reverse mission” to evangelize in countries that once sent missionaries to Africa can be considered an act of the marginalized to challenge their marginalization (Adogame and Shankar). As this chapter traces, from missions of earlier centuries to their reversal today, Christianity is a fundamental aspect of Nigeria’s global presence.

Atlantic Christian Movements, 1600–​1800s Perhaps the earliest Christian root in Nigeria was planted in the Kingdom of Benin in the fifteenth century. When the Oba Ozolua died, his sons became embroiled in a succession dispute. Seizing upon this weakness, the enemy forces of the Igala invaded. Esigie, one of Ozolua’s warring sons, brought Benin out of this chaos and into a period of ascendance. He converted to Christianity at the urging of Portuguese traders and missionaries, who promised access to arms that allowed Esigie to defeat his brother to end the Kingdom of Benin’s civil war and conquer the Igala. Yet Christianity, in Benin’s rich royal historical tradition, represents just one source of mystical power. The iyoba or queen mother, who Esigie enshrined in a court position created in honor of

Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies    49 his mother, and Oduduwa, the Yoruba deity and founder of Benin, are also venerated. Esigie himself is depicted as a spiritual authority in the ceremonial tusks and other art commissioned by his successors in later centuries. He appears dressed in European clothes with the iron hammer and cross, symbols of his multivalent powers that later kings sought to inherit; more than the riches Europeans brought to his reign, his literacy in Portuguese and other knowledge succored later obas. Like Esigie, the first converts became ancestors of ohensa, priests to the high god Osanobua and keepers of shrines built on the sites of old Portuguese churches. Benin’s Christianity did not find a permanent foothold, but its embedment in royal art, oral tradition, and gender concepts such as the royal mother suggests an impact on cultural authority that is complex and mutable. This shape-​shifting is precisely Christianity’s impact observable in many places and times in Nigeria. It would be a mistake to attribute this transformation to European influence or even just Nigerian machinations to exploit foreign elements. Rather, as Lamin Sanneh suggests, Christianity’s inherent translatability and the vernacularization processes of African societies have combined to make the continent the center, with Nigeria as a critical example, of modern Christian revitalization. In Atlantic Nigeria, particularly, the missionary as a symbol of new knowledge and the religion itself became quickly localized or indigenized. This location entailed reworking Christian and indigenous religious beliefs. Perhaps for this reason, the strength of indigenous concepts, Christian conversions in Benin were not lasting, but the Portuguese were able to establish a Christian mission in the fledgling Warri state by provision of firearms to allow them to compete with other Atlantic states. In the latter part of the sixteenth century, Augustinian Bishop Gaspar Çao sent monks to the capital of Warri, Ode Itsekiri, which was christened Santo Agostinho. The Portuguese renamed African cities in the Niger Delta and further down the western coast in Kongo with Christian names as a kind of mass baptism of the resident population. Urbanization and religious communion were tied to the strengthening of monarchical power, as in Benin. Augustinian Father Francisco a Mater Dei performed another mass ritual in Warri in the latter sixteenth century, though not a sacrament. He reportedly gathered a crowd of Itsekiri observers around a sacred tree where “charms” were often made and dispensed and destroyed it. When he met no harm from doing so, the story goes that he began to gain more converts. One of these new followers of Christ was the son of the olu or king, who did not himself accept Christianity. His son was christened Sebastian and became olu some time before 1597. The fledgling Christian community in Warri was left on its own; Sebastian, the convert-​king, could not keep resident clergy to perform sacraments for, and teach, the young Christian community. On the advice of the Augustinian bishop at Sao Tomé, King Philip II of Spain (1527–​98) ordered that trading ships seeking ivory in Warri had to carry on board a missionary who would remain until the ship’s cargo was complete, a process lasting about three months. Because the Warri king did not have the means to support a European churchman, the Spanish king also agreed to allow the visiting

50   Shobana Shankar missionaries to buy slaves in Warri slave markets to be sold in any Portuguese territory and pay small duties for the privilege. Thus, the slave trade provided the lifeblood of the Church. Sebastian’s son, Domingos, spent nearly a decade in Portugal, where he received a religious education, married a Portuguese noblewoman, and made petitions to the crown to continue to invest in trade relations with Warri. Yet, upon his return and assumption of the throne, Domingos (r. 1625–​43) became increasingly hostile toward the Portuguese. Was this in response to the escalating trade in humans and the Church’s involvement in this trade? There are few sources for this period, but they make clear the existence of tensions in Warri–​Portuguese relations and continuing problems with the growth of Christianity itself. The Bishop of Santo Agostinho complained that few Itsekiri were true Christians. According to him, most still carried on their “idolatrous” pre-​Christian practices. Many refused to bring their children for baptism out of fear the youngsters would die shortly thereafter, and very few married within the Church. The constant shortage of priests, despite support from the Sao Tomé and Portuguese churches, was surely a factor in the apparent “disinterest” in rites, but the Portuguese clergy took the Itsekiri focus on other rites such as circumcision as signs of their steadfast commitment to “superstition and sorcery.” Many gaps in evidence make a continuous history impossible, but Warri maintained its reputation as the sole Catholic outpost on the Guinea Coast running from Elmina to Kongo through the seventeenth century, due to the sheer will of its kings and subjects. In fact, Europeans’ own conflicts undermined the cause of Christianity; internecine conflicts between Catholic European powers and challenges to them from the Protestant Dutch and English left the Itsekiri on their own, but perhaps more able to shape their own practices. From 1634, when a visiting French priest requested support from Rome to Warri directly, the Sacred Congregation of the Propagation Fide provided more regular missions. The mission at Warri also then received invitations to evangelize from the rulers of Bonny and Calabar. Even with this growing interest in Catholicism, an anti-​ Christian king, as Warri had in the 1730s, led to the cessation of services and the destruction of Catholic idols. Yet support from Sao Tomé, Rome, and increasingly from Brazil revived the mission. Most importantly, “black Portuguese missionaries,” described by English sea captain John Adams (Ryder 1960, p. 22) writing at the end of the eighteenth century, carried on performing “mysteries” in a special building. Whether these black Church leaders were Brazilian, Itsekiri, or Sao Tomé transplants, sources do not say, but their role as early Nigerian Catholics is clear. The relationship of these missionaries to the Warri and other kings is unclear, but it is significant that their presence, more than royal patronage, signified Warri’s reputation globally as a Catholic center. Parallel to a black Atlantic Catholic consciousness, Protestant missions and indigenous churches in Nigeria were also linked to a wider regional and global context in which black missionaries from the Americas were also central. The founding of Freetown in Sierra Leone in 1792 by white Anglican abolitionists brought freed slaves from Nova Scotia and Jamaica, but once British patrols began to bring “liberated” Africans taken off slave ships, the presence in Freetown of Yoruba peoples taken as slaves from the Nigerian

Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies    51 hinterland and liberated increased in the 1820s. As Magbaily Fyle writes, many Yoruba were Muslims but, disallowed by the Freetown authorities from wearing Muslim dress or practicing Islam, they became “indoctrinated” by a fervent missionary Christianity. As they left from Sierra Leone to Nigerian cities such as Lagos and Badagry, which had already seen the opening of mission stations by the Anglican Church Missionary Society and the Methodist Mission, these black Christians put pressure on the Anglican Church Missionary Society to open a mission at Abeokuta. It has been argued that the desire of the sodeke of Abeokuta for arms was the main reason. Whichever rationale prevailed, the fact is that black Christians now had support from a powerful Yoruba ruler. One of the most famous among these liberated slaves was Samuel Ajayi Crowther (1801–​91), who was thirteen when a British navy boat brought him to Freetown. Among the first class of pupils at the Fourah Bay Institute founded by the Church Missionary Society (CMS) to train Africans for Christian service, he excelled in language studies, which was one of the reasons he accompanied Thomas Buxton’s exhibition to navigate the Niger River in 1841. Crowther attended the CMS college in London to become ordained in 1843 and worked with two white missionaries to establish the Abeokuta CMS mission. For the Anglicans, Crowther, who was an Egba from the region, represented a new direction in the planting of self-​governing, self-​supporting, and self-​propagating missions in Africa, a vision outlined by Henry Venn, CMS secretary, but impossible without African Christians such as the Sierra Leonians. Indeed, Crowther opened a new mission station on the Niger in 1857 with an entirely African staff. Crowther was appointed as Bishop of the Countries of Western Africa beyond Queen Victoria’s dominions in 1864. His contributions in this position were as much political as they were religious. He was engaged in diplomatic and preaching outreach to Muslims living on the upper Niger and missionaries under his watch negotiated for and established stations and congregations in Igboland. The work of these black Anglicans among the Igbo is noteworthy for Christianity’s rather halting entry into Igboland. The CMS found Igbo listeners but few converts; Felix Ekechi (1996) has argued that the disorder caused by the British Aro expedition in the early twentieth century created a mass movement towards Protestantism and Roman Catholicism. At root, he argues, was an institutional authority that could provide shelter from British colonial exactions. Moreover, the competition between different missions for converts, a veritable “scramble,” expanded educational and other social opportunities that attracted many young men and women. Elizabeth Isichei (1970), while acknowledging the intellectual dimension of the surprising mass conversion of Igbo after 1900, interprets the thought process of Igbo converts through the essential eclecticism of Igbo cosmology, which allowed a community in crisis to choose particular paths at the moment of crisis. Yet missionaries increasingly insisted that Igbo and other Nigerians dispense with their eclecticism and decide for Christ. This insistence had been presaged about two decades earlier, in the 1880s, when the highly skilled and educated black CMS missionaries came under attack. Bishop Crowther’s son Archdeacon Dandeson Crowther (1844–​1938), who had brought massive numbers of converts into the Church while also contending with attacks on

52   Shobana Shankar Christians, and other black Church leaders faced increasing criticism from white missionaries questioning their moral fitness and that of their flocks. Bishop Crowther was already quite elderly and he and his successors found themselves in a precarious position with growing numbers of white missionaries whose vision did not align with Venn’s. In this charged atmosphere, with European missionaries attempting to take over the Niger Mission, Dandeson Crowther launched the Niger Delta Pastorate as a revolt against white Church control. The revolt only lasted six years, although the Delta Pastorate continued. The replacement of Samuel Crowther and other black missionaries with European Anglicans coincided with the European scramble for Africa and Europeans thus seeking to bolster their imperial aims against one another. It is really in this era that missions had to contend with the shadow of empire, whether they supported it fully or occasionally for their own benefit, or rejected it to promote African independence. Where precolonial Christianity was present, it was not dominant. Just as the black Anglicans were poised to become autonomous, the white CMS backlash grew strong, emboldened by the impending British conquest. This convergence of missionary and secular European quest for domination in Nigeria empowered missionaries in a new way, with a kind of authority to negotiate with political figures in ways that Nigerian rulers had merely tolerated.

Colonial Power and Christian Politics, 1900–​60 In 1916, several international newspapers and journals wrote about a “native fanatic” who believed himself to be a prophet—more specifically, Elijah II. The Liverpool newspaper, African Mail, claimed that the Nigerian had chosen his moment carefully, when Britain was preoccupied with the war in Europe. The paper worried about “ignorant” minds being swayed to reject the “good government” of the British in Nigeria. The British District Commissioner in charge of the Niger Delta region, where this prophet movement had reportedly claimed a million followers, feared it would destabilize traditional culture, and, by extension, British indirect rule through the local authorities. He feared for the entire colonial system. The man in question was Garrick Sokari Braide (c.1882–​1918), who was a member of the Niger Delta Pastorate founded in 1892, but he left, taking his followers with him, when Assistant Bishop (an African) James Johnson refused to accept his prophecy. Johnson also rejected other practices that Braide embraced—​faith healing and mass baptism, in particular. Within a short time, the Braideists made clear their opposition to the established order, religious and secular. They mocked Johnson, the memory of Crowther, and the loyal Anglican congregants who were ostracized and prevented from trading in the market and using public latrines. Braideist bush schools were

Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies    53 established to encourage removal from government and mission schools; members of the movement were discouraged from working for the government in any capacity. The authorities were truly terrified as would-​be prophets cropped up all over, a phenomenon that Braide seemed to encourage by saying that impostors would be unmasked in God’s time. In 1916, a group of young men who wished to allow polygamy and require open confession split off from the Braide movement to form the Christ Army Church. Within two years, this new church had absorbed much of the older movement, seceded from the Church of England, and established its own structure of authority. Braide was imprisoned and released just before his death during the influenza pandemic of 1918. The importance of the Braide movement cannot be underestimated. The political authorities clearly understood it as a grave threat, and scholarly interpretations have focused on a range of factors: Braideism being a form of political dissent; a spiritual revival; a response to foreign domination not only by whites but also by Sierra Leonians; and a reaction to the economic crisis with the falling price of palm oil. The movement itself changed within a short time, Frieder Ludwig (1993) notes, as Braide’s very message shifted until 1917–​18, likely as a reflection of the volatile circumstances all around. Kalu sees it as a key turning point between Ethiopianism, begun in the nineteenth century, that was sensitive to the African experience of slavery and hardship and a sense of dignity which connected Africans on the continent and in the diaspora, and a new and very public African Christian spirituality (Kalu 2008, p. 33). “The returnees [to West Africa] and the black ideologues in the diaspora were the first to foster Ethiopianism.” The Braide movement showed continuities but also “the new charismatic spirituality” that came to characterize Pentecostalism. Indeed, many Christian revivals were occurring around this time throughout Nigeria. In Yorubaland, a prayer group named the Precious Stone Society, formed within the Anglican community to provide healing for victims of the 1918 pandemic, left the parent church four years later over a dispute over child baptism. The group joined Faith Tabernacle, which baptized adults by immersion and promoted faith healing. The Tabernacle, American in origin, had come to Nigeria through literature that transatlantic Lagosians brought to the city and through working literate men in southwestern, northern, and eastern Nigeria. In 1925, another offshoot of the Anglican Church emerged in the form of the Eternal Order of Cherubim and Seraphim. Its founder, Moses Orimolade Tunolashe (1879–​1933) was known as a prayer healer and called Baba Aladura (“father owner of prayer”), and this spawned the Aladura movement that took off in the 1930s. These movements were expressions of theological disagreements, which led to reforms that scholars agree were the beginnings of charismatic and Pentecostal Christianity as distinct departures from “mainline” or older forms of mission Christinity. Yet it is clear that within Nigeria, even in regions such as the predominantly Muslim north where Christian missions were relatively new and powerless, indigenous Christian initiative came quickly. For example, the British disallowed Christian missions from certain areas of northern Nigeria in the early 1900s, citing religious toleration and the need to maintain Islam as the basis of indirect rule. Yet, in 1916, the North American Sudan Interior

54   Shobana Shankar Mission station at Pategi on the Niger River documented the itinerant preaching of an indigenous evangelist named Inusa Samaila (d. 1972). The British authorities at Sokoto detained and imprisoned Inusa for preaching about Jesus’s second coming, a matter of great interest to Muslims known as Mahdists (Shankar 2014). As with Braide and other religious activists, the British colonialists perceived a grave threat with Inusa. The political authorities looked to white missionaries to control this sort of Christian independence that might disturb or even destabilize Muslim emirs. For their part, the missionaries working for Sudan Interior Mission tried in the meeting with the British official to minimize Inusa’s activism. In northeastern Nigeria, specifically Adamawa, the lack of missionary response to the request for assistance of the Mbula people in the 1920s actually led to the rise of a prophet who merged Muslim, Christian, and indigenous religious elements. In 1926, ten young men were struck ill and died in the village of Dilli. Unable to discover the cause of death, the villagers asked Protestant missionaries from a nearby mission to investigate and determine the cause. The missionaries could provide no answer nor did they settle amongst the Mbula residents of Dilli. The villagers turned next to a prophet named Kulibwui (born c.1901), a noted medicine man. He had also worked for Christian missionaries as a carrier and thus held a kind of ambiguous status. His stature rose when he suffered a seizure, perhaps epileptic, and died, but rose to life when he was about to be buried. After this, his prophecy seemed sealed. He also began to preach against traditional religion and even incorporated the Muslim Friday prayer, salat, into his prescriptions to his followers. He instructed them to give alms and in 1930 called himself Allah. The reportage of his changing message came from Christian missionaries and colonial authorities who launched an investigation into his activities. After 1930, Kulibwi and the Mbula became much more committed to Christianity, and missionaries and then political authorities seemed to lose interest in him. Niels Kastfelt (1976) has called the movement a transitional one for the Mbula people on their path towards Christianity. Though indigenous prophets and revivals appeared in different parts of Nigeria during the first part of the colonial period, a clear difference existed between southern and northern Christianity. The independent movements in the south often led to the establishment of new churches, with organizational structures that provided legitimacy and continued functioning. In the north, these popular uprisings were subsumed by Christian missionaries, who, under British colonial authority, had to tread carefully in order to defuse any problems that might have led to their ejection from Muslim northern Nigeria, which happened on occasion. The significance of these starkly different tendencies for the Christian Church generally in southern Nigeria was that new denominations and Christian leadership proliferated; worshipers had an enormous range of options. Christianity was a highly visible public force, one that regularly conveyed dissent often with the goal of Africanizing the leadership. In the north, however, white missionaries, intentionally and sometimes out of pure political expediency, silenced indigenous Christians. The tradition of dissent was lacking or quashed to some degree in northern Nigerian Christianity, a missing element that empowered

Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies    55 missionaries, British colonial authorities, and indigenous Muslim rulers alike. In the end, when the foreigners departed, organizing for self-​representation as a Christian minority came slowly to northern Nigerian Christians.

Legacies Based on this comparison of Christianity in colonial southern and northern Nigeria, it might be argued that the Church decolonized before government, at least in some areas. Yet Ogbu Kalu believed just the opposite happened. “Missionaries always perceived their mission as different from the colonial governments, and assumed that they were more successful than the latter and that the weight of moral rectitude planted them deeper in the interior of the colonized’s psyche” (Kalu 2000, p. 1). Missionaries talked about African independence, but rarely did they prepare for it, he argues. Indeed, it is a question how much they supported African nationalism. A recent study of Catholic missions in Nigeria and other African countries shows the expansion in the number of missionaries sent from the U.S. and other rich nations after 1955 (Wall 2015). The decolonization of the Church in Nigeria was no doubt complicated by the fact that it had been riven by divisions, mostly for the purpose of more effective rule. Politically, of course, the divisions were broadly regional—​north, southwest, and southeast (and later more broken down)—​which corresponded to Muslim majority, religiously mixed, and predominantly Christian (respectively). On top of this, the Protestants, for nearly a hundred years, had established spheres of influence in order to avoid working against each other or in competition. Only later did they band together, in 1934, to form the Christian Council of Nigeria to confront the growth of Catholicism. The independency of Christian churches in the south and southeast might have been understood as a positive move towards Nigerian Christian self-​actualization, but instead, starting from the 1940s, missions worried about African nationalism, the weakness of churches given the lack of trained leadership, and the resilience of African indigenous religions which were deemed a threat to Christianity, as seen in earlier times. Just as they were facing such insecurities, the missions actually began to receive some support from the British colonial development schemes in order to support education and medical work, which had been woefully lacking in many Nigerian locations. Thus, missions could control more tightly the content of their messages. Nicholas Omenka (1989) has argued that Catholic schools in Igboland primarily served as tools of evangelization, thus leaving serious gaps in learning at the moment when Africans were poised to take the reins of their own country. From the Anglican missions to the Catholics, Kalu (1996) traced the missionary hold on leadership tightening and the censorship on learning heightening. In the 1950s, a common theme in missionary discourse was the unpreparedness of Africans for independence. In Calabar, for example, Christian missionaries used public debates, drama, and lectures to warn Christians to seek the Kingdom of God before

56   Shobana Shankar politics. Northern Christians came together in 1949 to found the Non-​Muslim League, which then became the Middle Zone League. The group split over the decision to ally with Muslim elites or push for a separate administrative region. Missionaries warned Christians that politics was corrupting, while the British administration, through Sir Bryan Sharwood-​Smith (1899–​1983), made clear their view that peoples of the Middle Belt were inferior to other Nigerians and needed further “civilization” to be welcomed into the club negotiating independence (Barnes 2007). There seemed to be a collective agreement that certain characteristics befit a people ready for self-​rule. The Moral Rearmament Group which was active throughout Africa, tried to inculcated Christian morality for nation building. Kalu (2000) noted that the political context was fluid, as were missionary views. “Generally, institutional attitude was dominated by apprehension and anger at the ingratitude of African elite.” He also recognized the fighting spirit of home associations or ethnic improvement organizations that had formed throughout Nigeria—​north and south—​and had acted as a counterweight to a heavily censored Christian politics. Yet a question remains whether the missions’ ambivalence about Nigerian independence actually exacerbated ethnic rivalries, which became so violent, leading up to the civil war (1967–​70). The Nigerian Civil War (also known as the Biafran War) created a dilemma for missionaries that can be considered a wider analogy for humanitarian interventionists in Africa. Many missionaries had to leave Nigeria during the war, and after; many who remained were perceived to be either mercenaries or collaborators with the Biafrans. Kalu (2000) wrote of the story of Dr. E. H. Johnson, the Secretary of the Board of World Mission, Presbyterian Church of Canada, who was one of the founders of the Canair Relief Programme. After the war, he and other Canadian missionaries were denied visas, which required a petition directly to the president, General Yakubu Gowon, whose father was an Anglican lay reader, to overrule the denial of visas. By the 1960s, the global Protestant and Catholic communities had to recognize the independence of many African states, as well as the violence with which colonial regimes continued to hold in places such as Southern Africa. Yet once again, it was Africans themselves who forced this reckoning with the best. Kalu (2000) argued that, in the decade between 1965 and 1975, Africans doubted the “missionary version of indigenization” of Christianity, suggesting their rejection that Euro–​Americans should dictate how the African Church should develop. In 1966, the World Council of Churches affirmed support for human liberation and freedom, while opening the debate on scientific developments. Pope Paul VI (1897–​1978) called for a new society in Christ and issued Africae Terrarum in November 1967, which proffered respect for African heritage and recognition of the realization of Catholic faith in Africa. The pope’s acknowledgment of African civilizations was a kind of parallel to secular academic scholarship also burgeoning in the field of African studies, an admission of guilt of omission of African knowledge and religions for so many centuries. In Nigeria, missionaries worried less about the “truth” of African conversion. They increasingly took on the role of supervising development projects and training of African clergy was fast tracked. Yet problems remained with the Eurocentric

Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies    57 theology and other foreign elements within Christian education. The liturgical movement, which involved the translation of religious music and psalms into Nigerian vernaculars, was one response to the urge to revise the Christian curriculum. African cooperation, across new nations, was another strategy to achieve a more African-​ centric Christianity. Nigerian strategies to reform Christianity have not, however, been wholly political but instead fundamentally social and cultural. For one, Nigerian experiences of migration have critically shaped Christianity; many scholars such as Nwando Achebe, Afe Adogame, Ebenezer Obadare, and Wale Adebanwi have shown how religion is operationalized throughout the process of migration, from getting visas while still in Nigeria to finding networks in far-​flung outposts. Adogame (2013) shows how religion in the diaspora has changed. The earliest Nigerian missions to England started in the 1920s when Nigerians such as Daniels G. Ekarte from Calabar, influenced by Scottish missionary reformer Mary Slessor, founded the African Churches Mission in the slums of Liverpool to ease the suffering of the poor. Over the next several decades, Nigerian immigrants gravitated towards African-​instituted churches, mostly Pentecostal, as the lack of religiosity and racial segregation in mainline churches were off-​putting. Within decades, the zeal of Nigerian Christians attracted people of all races and religions to churches such as the Pentecostal and charismatic. Redeemed Church of God, Deeper Christian Life, and Living Faith, whose members number in the tens of thousands, are united by a strong belief that religious membership can bring prosperity. The “prosperity gospel” popularized by Nigerians at home and abroad has many attributes that are practical—​trust, volunteerism, and family and other networks—​that are the lived realities of church membership. By some Euro-​American standards, certain Nigerian-​Christian perspectives are too conservative to mesh with liberal democratic ideals. Gender and sexual norms, specifically, have been a critical bone of contention. The Christian south of Nigeria, from where most diasporic Nigerians hail, has decidedly more open hostility to homosexuality than the Muslim north, in part fueled by the public nature of cultural identities that Pentecostal Christians expect (Gaudio 2014). Conservative American Presbyterians sided with and deferred to Nigerian Episcopal Archbishop Peter Akinola. Yet, on another issue of gender, more specifically related to women’s roles in the Church, it remains to be seen if cross-​cultural alliances will solidify. It is estimated that nearly half of all Nigerian migrants are women, and many of them “exercise critical ritual functions” in new forms of Christianity (Adogame 2013; Kalu 2008). As Adogame (2013) argues, women: occupied significant religious roles within many indigenous religious worlds prior to the introduction of missionary Christianity. Missionary Christianity seems to have hijacked these roles and stripped women of most of their ritual functions by privileging the strand of Pauline injunctions that was disadvantageous to women. Thus, the leadership and ritual role reversal witnessed in some new forms of African Christianity needs to be historically and contextually understood.

58   Shobana Shankar Nigerian women have become popular preachers around the world, and, as Kalu noted, many transnational missionaries within Africa are women. Yet he went further to note the intriguing position of African women in scripture itself. Africans or black people are able to tap into the ancestry of the early Jewish patriarchs because Abraham and Moses married black women. Many Pentecostals watch videos and read books by John Hagee’s ministry that unabashedly support Israel and subscribe to a magazine produced by a Zionist group, Israel My Glory. It should be stressed that this ideology itself is not outsourced from America but, rather, is validated and reinforced by American sources. The Yoruba and Igbo claim that they are the lost tribes of Israel. Within this perspective, Pentecostals imagine the introduction of the sharia as a component of an insidious project to Islamize Nigeria and declare the Maghrib as being Arab instead of part of Africa. Pentecostals are reclaiming the force of “Ethiopianism” and African religious and cultural nationalism of the nineteenth century to weave a black theology of engagement. (Kalu 2008)

Women thus provide legitimacy for the story of Ethiopia that places Africa at the center of religious history. Nigerian ethno-​religious communities are said to be born from these ancestral women. Would such a scriptural interpretation hold in the U.S.? Adogame and Kalu agree that the role of women in Nigerian Christianity is unique and indigenous. To read this solely as Christian conservatism, through an American political or social lens, would make one miss the significance of Christianity’s gendered and historical dimensions in Nigeria. The politics of Christianity in Nigeria must be understood not from outside but from within the fertile ground of Nigeria itself, to conclude with Kalu’s words where we began.

References Adogame, Afe (2013). The African Christian Diaspora: New Currents and Emerging Trends in World Christianity. New York: Bloomsbury. Adogame, Afe and Shobana Shankar (eds) (2012). Religions on the Move: New Dynamics of Religious Expansion in a Globalizing World. Leiden: Brill. Ajayi, J. F.  A. (1965). Christian Missions in Nigeria, 1841–​1891:  The Making of a New Elite. London: Longman. Anderson, Allan Heaton (2013). An Introduction to Pentecostalism:  Global Charismatic Christianity. New York: Cambridge University Press. Ayandele, E. A. (1966). The Missionary Impact on Modern Nigeria, 1842–​1914: A Political and Social Analysis. London: Longman. Barnes, Andrew E. (2007). “The Middle Belt Movement and the Formation of Christian Consciousness in Colonial Northern Nigeria,” Church History 76 (3) 2007: 591–​610. Blackmun, Barbara W. (1988). “From Trader to Priest in 200 Years: The Transformation of a Foreign Figure in Benin Ivories,” Art Journal 47 (2) 1988: 128–​138. Ekechi, Felix (1996). The Embattled Gods:  Christianization of Igboland, 1841–​1991. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press.

Precolonial Christianity and Missionary Legacies    59 Falola, Toyin and Childs, Matthew (1998). Violence in Nigeria: The Crisis of Religious Politics and Secular Ideologies. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Falola, Toyin and Childs, Matthew (2005). The Yoruba Diaspora in the Atlantic World. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Gaudio, Rudolf P. (2014). “Trans-​Saharan Trade: The Routes of ‘African Sexuality’,” Journal of African History 55 (3): 317–​330. Hackett, Rosalind I.  J. and Soares, Benjamin F. (eds) (2014). New Media and Religious Transformations in Africa. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Isichei, Elizabeth Allo (1970). “Seven Varieties of Ambiguity: Some Patterns of Igbo Responses to Christian Missions,” Journal of Religion in Africa 3 (2): 209–​227. Kalu, Ogbu (1996). The Embattled Gods: Christianization of Igboland, 1841–​1991. Lagos: Minaj Publishers. Kalu, Ogbu (2000). “Decolonization of Africa Churches: The Nigerian Experience, 1955–​1975,” in Missions, Modernization, Colonization and Decolonization. Oslo: International Congress of Historical Sciences. Kalu, Ogbu (2008). African Pentecostalism:  An Introduction. New  York:  Oxford University Press. Kalu, Ogbu (2010). The Collected Essays of Ogbu Uke Kalu, Vol. 2:  Christian Missions in Africa: Success, Ferment and Trauma, Wilhelmina J. Kalu, Nimi Wariboko, and Toyin Falola (eds). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Kastfelt, Niels (1976). “African Prophetism and Christian Missionaries in Northeast Nigeria,” Journal of Religion in Africa 8 (3): 175–​188. Ludwig, Frieder (1993). “Elijah II:  Radicalisation and Consolidation of the Garrick Braide Movement 1915–​1918,” Journal of Religion in Africa 23 (4): 296–​317. Mohr, Adam (2013). “Faith Tabernacle Congregation and the Emergence of Pentecostalism in Colonial Nigeria, 1910s–​1941,” Journal of Religion in Africa 43 (2): 196–​221. Omenka, Nicholas (1989). The School in the Service of Evangelization: The Catholic Educational Impact in Eastern Nigeria, 1886–​1950. Leiden: Brill. Ryder, A. F. C. (1960). “Missionary Activity in the Kingdom of Warri to the Early Nineteenth Century,” Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria 2 (1) December: 1–​26. Sanneh, Lamin (2009). Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture (2nd edn). Ossining, NY: Maryknoll/​Orbis. Shankar, Shobana (2014). Who Shall Enter Paradise? Christian Origins in Muslim Northern Nigeria, c.1890–​1975. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Tasie, G. O.  M. (1978). Christian Missionary Enterprise in the Niger Delta, 1864–​ 1918. Leiden: Brill. Ukah, Asonzeh (2017). “Banishing Miracles: Policies and Politics of Religious Broadcasting in Nigeria,” Religion and Politics Journal 5 (1): 39–​60. Wall, Barbara Mann (2015). Into Africa: A Transnational History of Catholic Medical Missions and Social Change. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Wariboko, Waibinte (2007). Ruined by “Race”: Afro-​Caribbean Missionaries and Evangelization of Southern Nigeria, 1895–​1925. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Vaughan, Olufemi (2017). Religion and the Making of Nigeria. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Chapter 4

The Atl antic Sl av e T ra de and its L asti ng   I mpac t Wasiq N. Khan

Introduction Approximately 12.5  million slaves were exported into the transatlantic slave trade from all regions of Africa and, of these, at least 1.4  million came from what is now Nigeria (Nunn 2008, p. 152). The trade was among the largest human migrations ever recorded and was propelled by factors that are not as yet fully understood. The slave trade altered the culture, the economies, and the destinies of Africa, the Americas, and Europe in ways that were both dramatic and subtle, with long-​term consequences that are widely contested today. This chapter begins by briefly introducing the regions, polities, and ethnic groups in Nigeria that were affected by the transatlantic slave trade. It then surveys the major debates and developments in the academic literature on the Atlantic trade.

Regions, Polities, and Ethnic Groups Affected The use of slaves was common in all regions of Nigeria until the late nineteenth century and continued in northern Nigeria until the eve of the Second World War (Lovejoy and Hogendorn 1993). Most captives taken from Nigeria during the transatlantic slave trade were from the Igbo and Yoruba ethnic groups. The Igbo inhabited areas inland from the Bight of Biafra while the Yoruba came from the region inland from the Bight of Benin or Slave Coast. The Bight of Benin extends west from southwestern Nigeria through the coast of Benin and Togo and ends at the modern border with Ghana. The Bight of

The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact    61 Biafra begins in southeastern Nigeria in the Niger River Delta and Cross River region and extends eastward down the coast of Cameroon and Gabon before ending at the modern border between Gabon and the Republic of Congo (Eltis and Richardson 2010, p. 14). Shipping records indicate that 1.7 million captives may have been loaded onto slave ships in the Bight of Biafra between the sixteenth and the late nineteenth centuries with the vast majority leaving in the late eighteenth century. Of the captives from the Bight of Biafra, some 70 percent may have been Igbos and the vast majority boarded ships bound for America at the ports of Calabar and Bonny. Of the ethnic groups and states that were well known as brokers of slave captives from the Bight of Biafra, Igbo, Ijaw, and Ibibio middlemen associated with the Aro Confederacy were especially prominent (Oriji 1982). In addition to the Bight of Biafra, ports such as Lagos, Badagry, and Porto Novo in the region known as the Bight of Benin or Slave Coast were an even more important source of slaves for the transatlantic trade (Ojo 2008). Though the majority of slaves shipped from the Bight of Benin were Yoruba, by the mid-​to late eighteenth century large numbers of captives were coming from ethnic groups, such as the Nupe and later the Hausa, who lived much further north and inland. A state that dominated the region west of the Niger Delta, known as the Oyo Empire, was the most prominent slave-​raiding power in this region. The profits from slave raiding quickly eclipsed state functions such as tax collecting and maintenance of Oyo’s famed cavalry. Oyo’s transformation from a polity focused on territorial expansion and state building to one specializing in slave raiding showed that the formation of large cohesive political systems was not possible if the state was enslaving its own subjects. States such as Oyo, which encountered this contradiction between state formation and slave raiding, could maximize their pool of potential captives only by minimizing the size of their own subject populations. As the Oyo Empire shifted more resources to slave raiding, it shrank and succumbed to Fulani raiders led by Shehu Alimi who wrested control of the Ilorin region from Oyo in 1813. The basic contradiction between building large centralized state systems populated with tax-​paying subjects and the preferences of slave raiders for a large pool of potential captives meant that regions that were catchment basins for slave-​raiding parties were likely to be lawless zones. This could explain why there was some dispute in the Benin Empire about whether or not it was acceptable to become engaged in the transatlantic slave trade. Though Benin did use and trade in slaves, the question of enslaving its own subjects appears to have been controversial and some have claimed that Benin, during certain periods, actively avoided involvement in the transatlantic slave trade. Though southern Nigerian peoples such as the Igbo and the Yoruba made up the majority of captives exported to the Americas, none of Nigeria’s ethnic groups, northern or southern, managed to entirely avoid entanglement in the transatlantic slave trade. Northern Nigeria, though long a source of slaves for the trans-​Saharan trade to North Africa and the Middle East, played a tangential role in the transatlantic slave trade (Lovejoy 2016). As noted, though some northern ethnic groups such as the Hausa began to appear as captives on shipping registers by the late eighteenth century, they remained a minority among the predominantly southern ethnicities who appear in shipping

62   Wasiq N. Khan records. Paul Lovejoy estimates that a million captives from Muslim regions of West Africa were sent across the Sahara to North Africa and the Middle East from the late fifteenth to the late nineteenth centuries. His research also describes northern Nigeria as one of the largest slave-​holding societies in the world—​a region where at least 40 percent of the population was enslaved and where tribute between political units largely consisted of transfers of slave labor. Lovejoy claims that the total slave population of Northern Nigeria in the nineteenth century rivaled the total population of enslaved Africans in the Americas during the same time period. Slavery also proved to be a key difficulty for early British colonial administrators who, though charged with eradicating slavery in northern Nigeria, were unable to do so due to opposition of local elites whose cooperation with and acquiescence to British rule was often conditioned on British acceptance of local institutions such as slavery.

Five Enduring Questions Since the Second World War when research on the transatlantic slave trade began to accelerate, there have been five great questions in slave-​trade studies with each dominated by a central thesis around which discussion has been arrayed. First among the great questions in slave studies was the old issue of whether slave labor was efficient compared to free labor—​modern discussion on this topic has been centered around the “Fogel–​ Engerman Thesis”—​named after two economists who deployed modern analytical tools to argue that slave plantation labor was, indeed, highly productive when compared to wage labor. The second great research agenda in studies of the transatlantic slave trade, one that originated in the abolitionist era, was to produce an accurate count for the total number of slaves who were shipped from Africa to the Americas (Buxton 1840). Modern research on this issue, here called the “Census Project,” was pioneered by Philip Curtin, an American historian whose census of slave exports from Africa was subsequently revised upwards by several other historians. The third research project in studies of the transatlantic slave trade has focused on examining the accuracy of the “Williams’ Thesis,” named after Eric Williams, a Trinidadian historian who in 1944 argued that the transatlantic slave trade provided the capital necessary to fund the Industrial Revolution in Britain. The fourth major question and controversy in both African studies as well as transatlantic slave trade studies can be termed the “Rodney Thesis” after Walter Rodney, the author of How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, which argued that the transatlantic slave trade severely retarded economic development and industrialization in Africa; research on the “Rodney Thesis” is currently in full bloom due to several breakthrough papers by Nathan Nunn (2008, 2009, 2011, and 2012). The fifth area that has stimulated research is termed the “why Africa” question, which has traditionally been explained by reference to superior labor productivity in the Americas versus Africa or by reference to a market failure stemming from the insecurity of property rights in captives in Africa which caused the “exploitability” of those captives to rise once they were transported to

The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact    63 the Americas. A more recent supply-​side answer to the “why Africa” question has been developed by Stefano Fenoaltea (1999)

Slave Labor versus Free Labor One of the oldest questions about slavery and one that has attracted research and commentary since the eighteenth century was whether slave labor was efficient in comparison to wage labor. Adam Smith, who is well known for being the first economist to fully articulate the advantages of limited government intervention in private markets, saw slavery as an inefficient form of procuring labor. In the Wealth of Nations, Smith (1776) argued “that the work done by freemen comes cheaper in the end than that performed by slaves. Whatever work he does beyond what is sufficient to purchase his own maintenance, can be squeezed out of him by violence only, and not by any interest of his own.” Phillips (1928) and Ramsdell (1910) were prominent exponents of the view that slavery not only prevented the economic development of the southern United States, but that by 1860 slave-​holding had become unprofitable even for slave holders. Antebellum American observers noted that slaves were more likely to steal food and sabotage the assets of their masters than were free workers and that this behavior substantially lowered the returns of slave labor when compared to free labor. Others made note of the fact that certain members of the slave household such as children and the elderly cost more to care for and feed than they returned in labor product and, since the maintenance of non-​productive family members was not necessary in the case of a wage labor force, using slave labor was less productive than paying wages to free laborers. Some scholars have argued that the American South’s plantation owners were a pre-​capitalist elite who viewed their slaves more as status symbols than as investments and because southern slave owners were uninterested in profit and economic gain, they likely did not maximize the productivity of their slaves (Genovese 1962). After the Second World War, American economists began to use advanced quantitative techniques and economic models to reassess old debates about American economic history. Pioneers in this tradition, which is now called cliometrics, included Conrad and Meyer (1958) who demonstrated that investments in slaves in the antebellum era provided greater returns than most investments with comparable risk such as investments in railroad bonds; while investments in slaves could return as much as 13 percent, railroad bonds would only offer the investor 6 to 8 percent. Writing more than a decade after Conrad and Meyer, Fogel and Engerman (1974) shattered the argument that plantation agriculture with slave labor was inefficient when they published their landmark study Time on the Cross: the Economics of American Negro Slavery. Fogel and Engerman used an economic model called a production function to measure the efficiency with which an economy was able to convert its resource inputs of land, labor, and capital into marketable output. Fogel and Engerman attempted to control for differences in the

64   Wasiq N. Khan quality of land and capital between the two regions as well as geographical and climatic differences that, for instance, prevented the American North from growing cotton, to arrive at a measure for output that would have been produced if each region had more or less identical inputs of land and capital in order to ascertain the effect, positive or negative, for the South of having a slave labor force. Fogel and Engerman concluded that the South used just 93 percent as much labor as the North, only 51 percent as much capital, and only 53 percent as much land, and yet was able to produce 3 percent more output. As a result, southern plantations that employed slaves would have produced 41 percent more output than northern farms that had the equivalent amount and quality of land and capital as southern plantations, but which differed from southern plantations in only one way—​their use of free wage labor rather than slave labor. While Fogel’s and Engerman’s thesis did raise a political firestorm, its methodology and the conclusion that slave labor was efficient and highly productive in a static sense are now widely, if not unanimously, accepted by economic historians. What remained in doubt, however, was the dynamic efficiency of slave-​based production—​whether the use of slaves had deleterious effects on the long-​term development of the American South. Cairnes (1862) argued that the use of slave labor quickened the exhaustion of southern soils because a slave labor force did not have an incentive to cultivate soil in a more sustainable manner by learning advanced farming techniques. Gallman and Anderson (1977) have argued that slave plantations impeded economic diversification and urbanization in the American South. They claimed that plantations tended to produce a wide variety of goods for their own use including most of their food needs and this inhibited the development of local trading networks, specialization, as well as the growth of towns and cities. In the last twenty years, research on the long-​term dynamic effects of slave-​based production systems, whether in mining or agriculture, has received a great deal of attention as scholars have noticed the divergence in development outcomes between former slave-​based economies such as in northeast Brazil, the Caribbean, and the American South in comparison to the long-​term development trajectory of regions less dependent on slave labor such as southern Brazil, the northeastern United States or Canada. In a seminal contribution Sokoloff and Engerman (2000) illustrated how the contrasting interests of European colonizers in regions where they constituted the majority of the population versus those areas in which they were a minority affected institutional design, which in turn affected long-​term development outcomes. They noted that colonies dependent on slave labor where European settlers were a minority of the population tended to generate highly stratified political systems whose effects persisted even after slavery was abolished. In slave-​based economies, a small white elite created political institutions designed to exclude the slave-​descended majority from meaningful political participation. The result of this exclusionary process was that legal codes and property rights emerged that were not conducive to the development of a competitive market economy with an urban middle class. The lack of market competition and the small size of the urban middle class in economies once dependent on slave labor stifled innovation, urbanization, and modern patterns of

The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact    65 growth that are centered in cities with an abundance of small innovative firms run by owner-​proprietors.

Slavery and the Industrial Revolution In sharp contrast to those who have argued that using slave labor was bad for the long-​ term development of slave-​based economies as compared to areas in which production depended on free labor, others have argued that slave trading nurtured the growth of financial markets because of the need for credit at all stages of the slave-​trading process. Credit markets also played a critical role in harnessing and redeploying the profits of slave trading and slave-​based commodity production to expanding sectors that were in need of capital such as the British textile industry. The earliest and most famous argument linking slave trading to growth in Britain was made by Trinidadian historian Eric Williams (1944) in Capitalism and Slavery and is often referred to as the “Williams Thesis.” Williams argued that profits from the slave trade, which Williams estimated to be 30 percent of costs, provided the capital that financed Britain’s Industrial Revolution. He also claimed that sugar production in the West Indies using slave labor was in decline when Britain abolished the transatlantic slave trade in 1807. The Williams Thesis was echoed by Sheridan (1973) who argued that the vast sums raised in the West Indies provided a critical stream of investment funds, which led to a large increase in the British savings rate as well as a fall in the cost of capital. Sheridan (1965) used Jamaica as his example of a sugar-​producing colony that absorbed British resources in the seventeenth century, but which became a net provider of capital to Britain throughout the eighteenth century. Using twenty-​four merchants’ accounts from the period between 1765 and 1806, Inikori (1981) claimed that slave trading was highly monopolistic and highly profitable—​offering an average return on capital of 27 percent. Over and above the static returns to investments in the slave trade, Inikori (2002) argued that the wealth of its West Indian colonies provided an indispensable boost to the demand for Britain’s manufactured goods which raised the returns to investments in British industry. Although the Williams Thesis has been one of the most fertile sources of debate and discussion among all topics connected to the transatlantic slave trade, it has been criticized by economists whose calculations and estimates do not support Williams’ contentions or the estimates of Inikori or Sheridan on the slave trade’s profitability. Williams’s critics argue that the slave trade was competitive and that rates of return on capital were comparable to those available in low-​risk British investments such as railroad bonds. Thomas and Bean (1974) claim that slave trading was so competitive, “organized like a high-​seas fishery,” that any profits above the opportunity cost of capital were eliminated. Anstey (1975a) criticized Inikori’s sample of slave voyages, arguing that the voyages which Inikori had analyzed was not large or representative of the

66   Wasiq N. Khan wider population of slaving voyages. Anstey (1975a) assembled what he considered to be a more representative sample of slaving voyages to avoid the sampling bias many had suspected in Inikori’s sample and estimated a rate of rate of return of 9.5 percent. Anderson and Richardson (1983) further noted that most profits from slaving voyages were reinvested in the slave trading and slave-​based production sector which reduced the capital the sector could release for investment in British industry. In addition to selecting biased and unrepresentative samples of slaving voyages from which they developed overestimates of the profitability of slaving voyages, Beckles (1984) noted that Eric Williams ignored the high costs of maintaining Britain’s West Indian colonies and argued that those costs must be deducted from any estimate for the private rate of return to capital invested in slave trading or slave-​based plantation agriculture in the Caribbean. Once the costs of providing security, infrastructure, and administration to its West Indian colonies is taken into account, the slave trade produced a return of just 2 percent which was lower than most low-​risk investment vehicles in Britain in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries; such a low rate of return, if accurate, would imply that Britain could have saved money and financed its Industrial Revolution without having any involvement in slave trading or sugar cultivation in the Caribbean. Eltis and Engerman (2000) calculated the contribution that profits from slave trading made to the British savings rate from 1688 to 1800 and, based on the possibility that slave trading raised Britain’s savings rate between 2.4 and 10.8  percent, concluded that, at best, slave trading provided a very minor boost of 0.5 percent to Britain’s output. A final note of weakness in Williams’s attempts to link profits from slave trading to capital formation and industrialization in Britain comes from what several economic historians of the Industrial Revolution have noted: much of the innovation that stimulated productivity advances in late eighteenth-​century British industry did not require a great deal of capital, so rapid capital accumulation may not have been a necessary condition for the Industrial Revolution (Mokyr 1990). Eric Williams argued that sugar production in Britain’s West Indian colonies was declining by the early nineteenth century due to the exhaustion of soils and overproduction of sugar and that Britain abolished the slave trade, not out of moral fervor, but from self-​interest because it was loathe to see its own plantation complex decline while those of its rivals—​Spain, France, and Holland—​continued to thrive using slave labor on more fertile land (Williams 1944, p. 162). Seymour Drescher (1977) has disputed Williams’ views on abolition and claimed that, far from declining, sugar production in the British West Indies was thriving and would have continued to remain profitable and highly remunerative were slave trading not abolished in 1807. Anstey (1975b) also criticized Williams for arguing that Britain abolished the transatlantic slave trade for economic reasons. Anstey (1975b) characterized Williams as an economic determinist who failed to notice the way social movements had converged in Britain in the early nineteenth century where there were strong links between social reform movements critical of the social and environmental effects of rapid industrialization and the abolitionist cause.

The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact    67

Evaluating the Numbers While there is much dispute about the links between the profits from slavery and the rapid industrialization of Britain in the late eighteenth century, there is a much greater consensus among scholars who have worked together to enumerate the volume of slave exports from Africa. The first systematic evaluation of the volume of the transatlantic slave trade was conducted by Philip Curtin (1969). His estimates indicate that between nine and ten million captives were delivered across the Atlantic with approximately eleven million boarding ships in Africa between the fifteenth and the nineteenth centuries. This figure was considered low by most scholars who, prior to Curtin’s analysis, had thought that the aggregate figure was between fifteen and twenty million. Since Curtin, researchers such as Lovejoy (1982 and 1989), Becker (1986, p. 668), Elbi (1986, pp. 487–​88), Richardson (1989, p. 3), and Eltis (1990) have revised Curtin’s estimates for the French, Portuguese, and British slave trades so that the aggregate figure accepted by most scholars for the number of captives boarded in Africa is now approximately 12.5  million. Joseph Inikori (1976 and 1986)  suggested the correct figure is closer to 15.4 million, but few accept Inikori’s estimate.

Effect on Africa’s Long-​Term Development Though scholars can access shipping records and consult archives to determine the volume of the transatlantic slave trade, what remains both mysterious and of utmost importance is the effect which the transatlantic slave trade may have had on Africa’s long-​ term development. Topics related to the long-​term consequences for non-​European societies of political and economic contact with Europe have exploded in importance since 2001 when Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson published a landmark study demonstrating that differences in European colonial rule had determinative effects on the long-​term development of colonized societies. Of great significance is Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson’s conclusion that the most developed regions, those with high population densities and urbanization, were also the areas that tended to regress the most as a result of European colonial rule. Ever since the publication of Acemoglu et al. (2001), the study of the European impact on economic development in regions outside Europe has become a major theme of new research in economic history. Much before the current vogue for linking development outcomes to colonial experiences, Guyanese historian Walter Rodney wrote a classic treatise on the long-​term impact of the slave trade on the economic misfortunes of Africa. Rodney (1972) claimed that the slave trade changed Africa and its future prospects in four ways: it introduced slavery to Africa, it led to the import of mostly worthless items; it generated violence

68   Wasiq N. Khan on a scale that obstructed future socioeconomic development; and it depopulated the continent which ultimately prevented the emergence of an industrial workforce that, as Rodney argued, tends to emerge in densely populated, rather than depopulated, environments. The general contention that the transatlantic slave trade had deleterious effects on Africa’s long-​term development trajectory is called the “Rodney Thesis,” but similar arguments have been made by Inikori (1992), Miller (1988), and Klein (2001). Walter Rodney’s ideas and Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson’s empirical techniques inspired an influential research paper by Nathan Nunn (2008). Using a regression model which examines the relationship between the volume of slave exports from particular African regions and the current output level of those regions, Nunn found strong evidence for a link between the degree of past involvement in slaving and current economic underperformance. To check whether African regions with currently low levels of economic performance were also poor performers in the past (a finding that would have weakened the claim that the slave trade had caused economic performance to deteriorate), Nunn claimed that the regions that perform poorly now were actually the most densely populated and urbanized areas (and hence the best economic performers) in Africa prior to the entry of European and American slave traders. The Rodney Thesis has been challenged by Fage (1969) and Northrup (1978) who argued that the slave trade had little effect on the socioeconomic development of the continent. Commenting on the impact that the slave trade had on the development of southeastern Nigeria, Northrup (1978, p. 167) claimed that “while it was true that the slave trade was cruel and produced a climate of fear and suspicion, its social and economic effects which can be measured were surprisingly benign.” Walter Rodney’s argument linking slave trading to depopulation which inhibited industrialization has been criticized because a short-​term reduction in population size has significantly less of a long-​term effect than a long-​term drop in the rate of population growth. Since the transatlantic slave trade did not reduce the population’s rate of growth, it probably did not significantly diminish Africa’s potential to industrialize and develop a mass consumer society along the lines of more labor-​abundant societies in Europe and Asia. A. G. Hopkins has criticized research by the protégés of Nathan Nunn who, inspired by the Rodney Thesis, take data on slave exports and conjectural estimates for population density and urbanization to draw sweeping conclusions about the long-​term effects of historical processes that elapsed more than a century ago. A. G. Hopkins (2009, p. 167) argued that Nunn’s conclusions are based on data that “are extrapolations from limited and shaky data. They ought not to be used to generate statistical results that have the appearance of scientific precision, but in reality are little more than guesswork.”

Why Africa? In addition to asking how the transatlantic trade shaped African economies and institutions, scholars have long puzzled over why Africa became the primary source for

The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact    69 America’s slave labor force. Why weren’t slaves procured from more labor-​abundant regions such as Asia? Why weren’t plantation crops such as sugar produced in Africa? Was the movement of slaves from Africa to the Americas driven by demand for labor in the Americas or by supply push factors unique to Africa? Bean (1972), Gemery and Hogendorn (1979), and Coelho, Phillip, and McGuire (1997) offer variants on the most common explanation for the transatlantic slave trade. This dominant explanation is based on the hypothetical existence of a labor-​ productivity differential that favored the Americas over Africa as the site and African over other populations as the race for the slave-​based production of sugar. Proponents of the labor-​productivity story argue that the labor-​productivity differential favoring American land and African labor originated in greater African resistance to tropical diseases and to American advantages in geography such as land abundance and the superiority of American soils for sugar cultivation, as well as the relative ease of situating European managers in the Americas as opposed to Africa where tropical diseases and more militarily potent African populations made foreign settlement more difficult. The labor-productivity-​based argument describes the forced migration of Africans in a manner that is reminiscent of voluntary labor migration of Europeans to North and South America—​making no effort to distinguish between the economic dynamics that govern voluntary versus forced migrations. For example, according to Eltis (2000, p. 135) “at a fundamental level, the roots of free and coerced migrations appear the same.” Fenoaltea (1999) has criticized the labor-​productivity-​based explanation for ignoring the fact that Africa was labor-​scarce and land-​abundant, which implied that any suggested labor-​productivity differential between Africa and the Americas was probably not large enough to cover the mortality and resource costs of the transatlantic migration. Fenoaltea (1999) also noted that if a labor-​productivity differential existed then a coerced migration would have been unnecessary since free workers typically respond to a productivity differential by migrating voluntarily. Khan (2002) used estimates of African family sizes and secondary data on slave prices in the Caribbean to estimate the labor-​productivity differential between subsistence farmers in West Africa and slave labor on sugar plantations in the West Indies. Khan (2002) found that the labor-​ productivity differential was minor and dwarfed by the opportunity costs of the trade—​ measured in terms of lost output due to the trade-​induced mortality of African farmers. The second class of responses to the “why Africa” question has come from scholars familiar with Africa’s land-​abundance and hence skeptical of arguments that appeal to a labor-​productivity differential favoring the Americas over Africa. Robert Harms (1981, p.  30), Kopytoff and Miers (1977, p.  13), and Philip Curtin (1979, p.  15) have all offered variants of the argument that the transatlantic slave trade was a response to a market failure in Africa—​originating in the difficulty of efficiently exploiting slave labor in a continent where slaves could easily escape from their captors by returning home or blending into a wider population in which they were racially indistinct. Supporters of the low relative-​exploitability hypoth­ esis take special notice of the fact that slave prices on the African coast were far lower than could be justified by reference to the price of food, the scarcity of labor,

70   Wasiq N. Khan or the size of families which subsistence farmers could support (Curtin 1975, p. 169). Supporters of the low relative-​exploitability hypothesis describe the slave trade as a market failure because the market was underpricing slave labor in Africa, not because the labor was low in productivity, but because insecure property rights in slave labor in Africa required that productive and scarce African labor be moved across the Atlantic (at great cost in mortality and transportation) before slave prices correctly reflected the high labor productivity of African slave labor. Fenoaltea (1999) has criticized the relative-​exploitability hypothesis in two ways. First, if prop­erty rights in slave labor became more secure as the ease of escape by the captive fell, then a captive moved further away in any direction from their point of capture should experience a rise in their sale price, but this was not the case. The price of captives only rose as they moved toward the coast. The relative-​exploitability argument ignored the vast size of Africa, the existence there of slave-​based plantation systems as well as the ethnic and linguistic heterogeneity that would have raised the likelihood of recapture and made the costs prohibitive for any captive seeking to escape and return home undetected. Fenoaltea (1999) also countered the relative-​ exploitability hypothesis by arguing that African slave prices were low, not because captives were difficult to exploit, but because the overall African price level was low as a result of massive African gold exports to Europe from late antiquity to the eighteenth century (Bean 1974). The third explanation for the “why Africa” conundrum and one that is unique for its singular focus on supply–​push factors within Africa was forwarded by Fenoaltea (1999). Fenoaltea argued that the African supply of slaves originated, not in American demand for labor or the low exploitability of slave labor in Africa, but in the African elite’s demand for imports which, given extremely high intercontinental transport costs from Africa and the scarcity of other suitable methods of paying for imports, could only be paid for using the most mobile export goods available which were gold (of which easily accessed surface deposits were greatly diminished by the eighteenth century) or slaves who had the advantage of being able to move themselves across land. Khan (2002) estimated that despite the huge costs in mortality and given the fact that Africa produced few goods (other than gold or slaves) that could have served as a means of paying for imports, the transatlantic slave trade was the lowest-cost method for the African elite to fund its consumption of imports. The major weakness in Fenoaltea’s transport cost-​ based explanation for the Atlantic trade is that he does not provide empirical evidence to support the contention that the cost of shipping commodities directly from Africa to Europe was prohibitive and far greater than the costs of shipping the same items from the Americas. In a case study that could weaken Fenoaltea’s hypothesis that transportation costs were a major constraint on the development of African sugar exports, Siebert (2013) demonstrated that a successful slave-​based sugar plantation complex existed in Sao Tome during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Siebert noted that Sao Tome’s planters shipped sugar directly to Europe, but little is known about the transport costs which were incurred by Sao Tome’s sugar exporters and how those costs compared to the costs of shipping sugar between the Americas and Europe.

The Atlantic Slave Trade and its Lasting Impact    71

Conclusion Of the five areas of research, debate and discussion on the study of the transatlantic slave trade, the Census Project and the debate around the “Fogel and Engerman Thesis” are relatively well-settled topics in which a broad scholarly consensus has emerged and only minor adjustments and qualifications are expected. These areas would only provide productive research opportunities if an investigation had the potential to undermine the dominant consensus. In the other three research areas surrounding the “Williams Thesis,” “Rodney Thesis,” and the “why Africa?” question, many interesting issues and unresolved problems remain for the motivated scholar. In recent years, there has been a great deal of discussion about the need to provide reparations to the descendants of slaves as well as to African countries which were ravaged by the slave trade. Research on the “Williams Thesis” could inform discussions over reparations by estimating how much European societies earned as a result of having access to African slave labor. In the “why Africa?” research area, little is known about the transportation costs which were incurred by the sugar plantations in fifteenth-​century Sao Tome, but if more is known about those costs it may be possible to understand more about why an African slave-​based sugar plantation complex did not emerge as an alternative to those that emerged in the Americas. The most fertile area for future research on the transatlantic slave trade, as recent breakthroughs and insights by Nathan Nunn have shown, is work related to the “Rodney Thesis.” Nigeria might be the place to test and potentially overturn Nunn’s thesis because it includes a large number of regions with wide variations in economic performance as well as great differences in their degree of involvement in the transatlantic slave trade. As a result of using the nation state as his primary unit of analysis, Nunn (2008) may not have seen that the link between slave exports and current economic performance could be reversed when regions within countries, rather than countries as a whole, are compared. In modern-​day Nigeria, for instance, the causal link that Nunn (2008) posits between the volume of exports and present-​day economic underperformance seems to falter. Many of Nigeria’s prosperous southern regions such as Lagos and Rivers State were important catchment and export zones while northern states such as Yobe and Kebbi, which barely participated in the transatlantic slave trade, are among Nigeria’s poorest areas.

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Chapter 5

C ol onial   Ru l e Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola

Introduction British colonial rule in Nigeria began in Lagos in 1861 and ended with the independ­ ence of Nigeria on October 1, 1960. In the intervening century, colonial authorities fundamentally transformed the relationship of indigenous peoples in the region to each other and to the wider world. The British created the national borders and governing structures of the contemporary Nigerian state. Colonial rule also transformed Nigeria’s various regions toward a more explicitly extractive model focusing on the production of cash crops and mineral resources mainly for the purpose of export to international markets. Administratively, the British followed a philosophy of “indirect rule,” whereby local power ostensibly remained in the hands of indigenous authorities at the local level even as those local authorities were controlled by British overlords. Historians have debated extensively the contradictions and complications of British colonial rule in Nigeria but, however, have reached a general consensus that the main purpose of British colonial rule in Nigeria was to establish a stable colonial society that served British interests first and foremost. Benefits accruing to Nigerian colonial subjects were of secondary importance unless and until Nigerians threatened the stability of the colonial system to acquire them. British leaders and the indirect rulers they supported were consistently forced to respond to the needs of Nigerian subjects, who contested the broader implications of British authority regularly throughout the colonial period. They protested colonial policies, particularly over issues related to taxation and labor. A small urban middle class with European education and, often, Christian values challenged racialized limitations on its social mobility. By the 1930s, fully organized political parties and labor movements emerged to push for greater indigenous representation in colonial governance and the more equitable use of Nigerian resources to better Nigerians’ material circumstances. After the Second World War, such anticolonial nationalist movements were successful at moving Nigeria toward independence, winning concessions in the

76    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola form of several constitutions and the increasing Africanization of the civil service and professions. However, the organization of anticolonial political movements also resulted in an increasing emphasis on identity politics in Nigeria: ethnic identities and regional affiliations hardened as politicians sought different agendas. The resource-​ poor and predominantly Muslim north feared domination by the relatively wealthy and European-​oriented south. The south feared domination by the more populous north. The federalist structure created and entrenched in successive postwar constitutional reforms exacerbated the consolidation of regional enclaves. The three largest ethnic groups: the Hausa–​Fulani, Yoruba, and Igbo shored up control of their respective regions in the 1950s. The result was that when Nigeria became independent its colonial legacy was one largely of disparities and discrepancies: between north and south; “traditional” and “modern”; unity and diversity. While British colonial rule had created a country and put it into business with the wider world, it had done little to make that country a viable, stable, self-​sustaining national entity. The history of colonial rule in Nigeria has to a great extent been shaped by efforts to grapple with the antecedents of postcolonial crisis.

The Colonial Creation of Nigeria There has been great historical debate about what the overall motivations were of British imperialism in Africa in the late nineteenth century. Depending on vantage point, the local contexts differ significantly. In the case of Nigeria, historians have emphasized the confluence of trade, antislavery, Christianity, and competition from other European powers in transforming the region in the nineteenth century into a space the British ultimately felt compelled to occupy (Dike 1956; Ikime 1977; Ayandele 1979). The British had significant trade interests on the southern coasts of the Bights of Benin and Biafra on the Gulf of Guinea from the mid-​seventeenth century. Between roughly 1650 and the early 1800s, the main item of trade from major port cities such as Lagos, Bonny, and Calabar, was slaves. After the British abolished the slave trade in 1807, they began to police the Gulf of Guinea with an antislavery squadron, recapturing slaves taken from West Africa and relocating them to Sierra Leone. The end of the slave trade brought about two significant changes to British engagement with West Africa: first was the transition to “legitimate commerce,” whereby the British sought to supplant the economy based on the trade in human bodies with trade in other items, most notably agricultural produce. In the Bights of Benin and Biafra, palm oil became the most significant item of “legitimate commerce” (Martin 1988). Palm oil was taken to Europe where it became an important catalyst of industrialization: palm oil could be used as a lubricant for machinery, for making candles and food preparation, and for soap production, among other things. By the 1850s, British traders were attempting to circumvent coastal middlemen and access interior markets directly.

Colonial Rule   77 In 1857, MagGregor Laird attempted to start the first British trade company on the Niger River. It failed, but set the stage for future efforts to control trade on the Niger. Even after the end of the slave trade, the British had important, and growing, trade interests in the West African interior. The second major transformation of the nineteenth century was the influx of Christian missionaries into Nigeria from the 1840s (Ayandele 1966; Ajayi 1965). Invested in antislavery and spreading the Gospel, missionaries arrived in Badagry in 1842, and had moved inland to Abeokuta by 1846. In 1857, the Church Missionary Society established the first mission at Onitsha, where Samuel Ajayi Crowther (1809–​91)later became the first African bishop of the Anglican Church. The Catholic Church also established missions throughout southern Nigeria in the second half of the nineteenth century, developing a particularly firm footing in the Bight of Biafra. Many Christian missionaries were Europeans, but many were also African. Recaptive slaves from Sierra Leone, many of whom had learned English and become Christian there, returned to their homelands to promote antislavery and spread the word of God. As congregations in southern Nigeria grew, Christian missions found themselves between two worlds: on the one hand, they needed the permission and support of indigenous leaders to live and work in their territories; on the other they were in conflict with those leaders, most of whom were not Christian, many of whom had relied on the slave trade and continued to practice slavery. Christians in the Bights of Benin and Biafra increasingly looked to the British presence to support and protect their interests in the territories that would soon become southern Nigeria. The colonization of Nigeria was intimately connected to British interests in trade, antislavery, and support for Christian missionaries. It began in Lagos, where, in 1851, the British Consul for the Bights of Benin and Biafra, John Beecroft (1790–​1854) acceded to Christian missionary pleas to remove the hostile king of Lagos, Kosoko (d. 1872), in favor of a Christian ally named Akitoye (d. 1853). However, Akitoye proved unable to bring the stability necessary for British and Christian trade and antislavery interests, resulting in the outright annexation of Lagos as a Crown Colony in 1861. By the 1850s, the British consul had become the prime intermediary in disputes between British traders and local coastal middlemen in the Bight of Biafra. With the power of the British navy behind him, the British consul was able to become a kingmaker, appointing and deposing rulers in the Cross River and Niger Delta regions, mostly in the interests of protecting British trading prospects. Official colonization of the interior of the Bights of Benin and Biafra became more feasible and politically necessary to secure British interests in the late nineteenth century. In earlier periods, the British could not have occupied the West African interior if they wanted to because they did not have the firepower or the malarial resistance to survive beyond the coasts. However, the advent of steamships, rapid-​fire machine guns, and quinine prophylaxis in the late nineteenth century made colonization more attractive (Headrick 1981). At the same time, competition from other European powers—​notably France and Germany—​threatened to subvert British territorial and trade interests by the 1880s (Anene 1970). French trading vessels were entering the Niger Delta by 1880 and

78    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola French trading interests on the upper Niger were intensifying at roughly the same time. Germany annexed Cameroon, just to the east of Calabar, in 1884. In 1885, the European powers convened at the infamous Berlin Conference to set the rules for carving up African territory. Increasingly, British interests were inherently tied to the ability to declare political and military control over land and people. The British began their move into the interior from Lagos, putting an end to decades of internecine warfare in Yoruba territory in the 1880s and forcing local rulers to sign a treaty in 1893 ceding their sovereignty to the newly formed Colony and Protectorate of Lagos (Falola 2009). By the 1880s, the British were forcing rulers to sign similar treaties of protection in the Bight of Biafra and Niger Delta, creating the Oil Rivers Protectorate in 1885 (renamed the Niger Coast Protectorate in 1893). Those who refused or who did not abide by the terms could face British wrath, as was the case with King JaJa of Opobo (1821–​91), who was deposed and exiled to the West Indies by British Consul Edward Hewitt in 1887 (Ikime 1969). The Royal Niger Company under George Goldie (1846–​1925) established a trade monopoly on the Niger River in 1886, which it defended fiercely until its charter was rescinded in 1900 and its territory incorporated into the Niger Coast Protectorate, forming the Protectorate of Southern Nigeria (Flint 1960). Having more or less taken control of the south (pockets of resistance continued to maintain independence until the mid-​1910s), the British moved north. Beginning in 1900, the West African Frontier Force, under the leadership of Lord Frederick Lugard (1858–​1945), conquered the various emirates of the Sokoto Caliphate, killing Sultan Attahiru I (d. 1903) at the Battle of Burmi in 1903 and establishing the Protectorate of Northern Nigeria under Lugard’s rule (Adeleye 1971). The name “Nigeria” has actually been credited to Lugard’s wife, Lady Flora Shaw (1852–​1929). In 1906, the Lagos Protectorate was added to the Protectorate of Southern Nigeria, and the Northern and Southern Protectorates were amalgamated into a unified Nigeria in 1914.

Colonial Administration Having created Nigeria, British colonial officers now had the responsibility of governing it. However, the British were not interested in importing a ruling class and civil service necessary to staff all the needs of their colonies. Indeed, Nigeria never became a destination for settler colonialism: the actual British presence was extremely small throughout the colonial era. British imperialism in Nigeria depended on the implementation of “indirect rule”—​reliance on indigenous political authorities to carry out the day-​to-​day administration of local areas. Indirect rule had the capacity to fulfill what Lugard called the “dual mandate” to realize the interests of both the British Empire and Nigerians simultaneously (Lugard 1922). British colonial officers would influence indirect rulers to transform the economy, promote European ideas about health and hygiene, promote a work ethic they believed Africans lacked, and eliminate some of what they saw as the

Colonial Rule   79 most noxious social problems, such as the continuation of slavery and perceived corruption of indigenous political institutions. However, beyond this, indirect rule supposedly allowed for the preservation of indigenous cultures to the extent that local rulers wanted. Indirect rule presumably had the capacity to create a stable, legitimate government on the cheap (Nicholson 1969). The philosophy of indirect rule quickly clashed with on the realities on the ground, however. On the one hand, the indigenous populations that the British now governed were quite heterogeneous in terms of cultural practices and political institutions. On the other, prior to the amalgamation of Nigeria in 1914, the British actually governed several different protectorates with little agreement on what, exactly, indirect rule was supposed to look like. In the Niger Coast Protectorate, for example, British Governor Claude MacDonald (1852–​1915) implemented indirect rule on the coasts through the establishment of a native court system in 1892 in which the leaders of important trading houses advised him on policy and adjudicated local disputes (Northrup 1978). However, in the interior, determining who should sit on native courts was a much more difficult prospect. Among the Igbo, governance had been historically very decentralized, so much so that it was often impossible to determine who held authority anywhere near what could be called a “paramount chief.” British officials ended up appointing people to native courts somewhat arbitrarily: there were even cases in which outcasts and slaves were given authority because the British were unable to recognize their social position. Britain granted authority of indirect rule to individuals in this region through an official certificate of recognition, or “warrant.” Indirect rulers therefore came to be known derogatorily as “warrant chiefs” because their authority derived entirely from the British warrant, not from any local legitimacy (Afigbo 1972). In the Lagos Colony and Protectorate, things developed somewhat differently. Lagos, as a Crown Colony, was technically British soil, granting its inhabitants all the rights of British citizens. As such, British officers governed Lagos more directly than elsewhere in the protectorates. Governor William McGregor (1899–​1904) established a Legislative Council and a Central Native Council made up of local elites to advise him on local custom. Under this system Lagos modernized much more quickly than the rest of Nigeria: by 1900 Lagos had established a medical department employing eight European and three African doctors; a post office; a police force; and a public works department that maintained roads, electricity service, and telegraph wires. In the Lagos Protectorate of the interior, native councils were established. Unlike in the southeast, Yoruba communities did have hierarchical political institutions, with local kings (oba in Yoruba language). Native councils were established around these kings with the colonial officer serving in an advisory capacity and as an intermediary with Lagos (Tamuno 1972). In the Protectorate of Northern Nigeria, indirect rule took on a more intuitive form. The Sokoto Caliphate had been an empire, with emirs controlling their own regions and reporting to the sultan. After conquering Sokoto, Lugard was able simply to leave the emirs in place and have them report to him through a British Resident who served as intermediary. The emirates were renamed Native Authorities. Most importantly for

80    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola Lugard, emirs had the long-​standing legitimacy to tax their populations and paying tribute to the sultan had been an important political responsibility in the caliphate. Taxation through Native Authorities had two major benefits in Lugard’s mind: first, it generated needed government revenue; second, it demonstrated the authority of the indirect rulers, binding their local populations to them in ways that were beneficial for a streamlined colonial administration. For Lugard, the emirate system was the ideal form of indirect rule (Heussler 1968). The amalgamation of the protectorates into a unified Nigeria in 1914 was done largely as a way of redirecting resources from the wealthier southern regions to the struggling north. The north had already been relying on subsidies from the south and amalgamation allowed for centralization of the treasuries as well as long-​term integration of the economies. Goods produced in the north invariably needed to move south to international markets, and in the short term southern capital was necessary to jump-​start infrastructure projects. Lugard, who had left northern Nigeria in 1906, returned in 1912 to oversee the amalgamation and served as the first governor-​general of Nigeria from 1914 to 1919. Lugard bristled at the disparate administrative structures that had emerged in the southern protectorates and sought to consolidate administration into a single form of indirect rule based on the northern protectorate model. However, this proved to be a difficult task. The northern model relied on the emir as a “paramount” chief. Such chiefs did not exist in the interior of southeastern Nigeria. The northern model relied on the emir’s authority to tax subject populations. Direct taxation was not a traditional revenue-​generating tool in most of southern Nigeria, where administrative revenues had for many generations largely accrued through tariffs and duties. While indirect rule had been philosophically based on the idea of preserving indigenous cultures and institutions to the greatest degree possible, efforts to extend Lugardian indirect rule throughout Nigeria proved highly disruptive. Responses to efforts to impose direct taxation in the south demonstrate both the transformative nature of colonial administration and the extent to which Nigerian resistance to colonial rule was an early and persistent feature of colonial society. Lagosians had organized mass protests against the imposition of a tax to fund a piped water scheme in 1908, but the largest protests came after the amalgamation of the protectorates in 1914. Lugard ordered obas in Yoruba territories to begin collecting taxes as early as 1916. These plans were met with immediate resistance from local populations who did not recognize the authority of their obas to collect such taxes. Riots broke out in Oyo related to tax levies in 1916, and in 1918, massive protests against the alake of Abeokuta were organized after efforts to impose direct taxation there in 1918. A major grievance of the population was the levying of taxes on women, something that was not even practiced by native authorities in the north, but which the colonial administration in the south deemed necessary because so much of the commercial activity in Yoruba communities was conducted by women. In response, in 1918, as many as 30,000 local Egba organized to destroy railroad and telegraph lines as a symbolic protest against colonial occupation in a revolt that has come to be known as the Adubi War or the Egba Uprising. In

Colonial Rule   81 southeastern Nigeria, efforts to impose direct taxation had a similar result. Efforts to impose a poll tax in 1929 led to massive protests by Igbo women. Dubbed the “Women’s War” by the Igbo and the Aba riots by the British, protestors looted and destroyed government buildings, factories, and homes of colonial officials. The British responded with force: by the time colonial troops had quelled the resistance, fifty-​five women had been killed (Mba 1982; Matera, Bastian, and Kent 2012). The resistance to taxation proved how negatively transformative average people thought colonial policy was to their “traditions”, while also demonstrating real grievances at how the colonial economy was reorganizing lives. Colonial authorities were not completely obtuse about the meaning of these mass protests. While taxation remained a necessary function of indirect rulers, some concessions were made to protestors. In the southeast, the Women’s War led to an inquiry into the structure of the colonial administration that ultimately found the warrant chief system illegitimate. In the southwest, the process of tax collection was altered, while in Lagos the Legislative Council was expanded in 1922 to seat forty-​six members, four of whom were to be directly elected for the first time. Indirect rule was producing significant transformation to political institutions in Nigeria that was itself producing demands for change from Nigerian populations. While these negotiations were piecemeal and mostly localized in the early decades of the colonial era, they would explode into full-​blown nationalist movements in the 1930s.

Colonial Economy Trade had always been one of the main drivers of British engagement with the peoples of Nigeria. With the colonization of Nigeria, the colonial government undertook significant transformation of the Nigerian economy to boost overall trade and to tie that trade more closely to export markets that benefited British business interests (Ekundare 1973). The colonial economy relied on the expansion of cash crops and mineral production. Some cash crops, such as groundnuts in the north and palm oil in the south, had been in production for centuries for domestic consumption. The British simply encouraged producers to make more of these products and sell the surplus for export. Other crops, such as cocoa in the southwest, were relatively new to Nigeria but produced big enough profits to encourage farmers to prioritize their cultivation over other food crops (Berry 1975). Nigeria began exporting large quantities of tin by the 1910s (Freund 1981). The British built railways connecting the interior to the coast, massively increasing export capacity for these products. Coal mined from around Enugu fueled the Nigerian railroads starting in the early 1900s. The British also dredged deep harbors to bring in bigger merchant vessels and built paved roads to connect production zones with railyards, which were located mostly in rapidly growing urban areas. The same trade networks that carried raw materials out of Nigeria brought in a variety of finished goods and luxury products from abroad.

82    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola The colonial economy also unified Nigeria’s currency by enforcing the use of British currency for official transactions. Historically, a wide variety of items were used as currency in Nigeria. Perhaps most notable were cowrie shells and manilas (metal bars), particularly in the south, but gold dust, cloth, beads, and a variety of foreign coins had also served as means of exchange in various places throughout the region. In order to standardize exchange, the British outlawed importation of cowries and manilas in the early 1900s, and required that all exchanges regarding exports be done in British money. All taxes also had to be paid in British currency, which meant that all Nigerians had to have some kind of relationship with the colonial economy, directly or indirectly. The need for cash pushed many Nigerians into the wage labor market and further encouraged trade in agricultural products for export. Even still, Nigeria suffered from a labor shortage throughout most of the colonial era, such that the British employed forced labor regularly to complete many of the infrastructure projects upon which the colonial economy relied. By the 1920s, the Nigerian economy was booming, but the benefits were accruing disproportionately to British investors who controlled the export economy. Most wage laborers had simply traded one form of poverty for another. And while skilled workers and European-​educated Nigerians saw a modest increase in their standard of living, opportunities for advancement were limited. A  few Nigerians, such as Alhaji Alhassan Dantata (1890–​1955) of Kano, became extremely wealthy through their business dealings in the export economy, but this was the exception to the rule. When the economy contracted during the Great Depression of the 1930s, many Nigerians suffered (Ochonu 2009). For example, the colonial government established its cocoa marketing board in 1938 to essentially undercut the market prices of an already depressed commodity. The struggles of the depression era fueled anticolonial sentiment amongst laborers and the middle classes, which began to push for more attention to internal development. Some of that development began in the context of the Second World War, when the British built military hospitals and airfields in Nigeria, in addition to training many Nigerians in technical careers such as electrical work, nursing, and carpentry, to aid the war effort. In 1945, the colonial government instituted a ten-​year development plan for Nigeria (Falola 1996). This plan invested tens of millions of pounds into the expansion of social services, infrastructure, and local industry. Some of the most significant development occurred in the realms of education and healthcare. Thousands of primary schools were built and the University of Ibadan became Nigeria’s first degree-​granting institution in 1948. The number of hospitals in Nigeria grew from about 100 to over 300 between 1945 and 1955, including the building of Nigeria’s first psychiatric hospital at Aro, near Abeokuta (Heaton 2013). Over £8 million was invested in improving water supplies. However, Nigeria’s economy continued to be dependent on export markets. Total values of Nigerian exports increased from £23.7  million in 1946 to £129.8 million  in 1955, signaling a recovery in the global economy, but by the time of Nigerian independence in 1960, the country was still far from having a sustainable, secure national economy.

Colonial Rule   83

Colonial Society While most Nigerians continued to live in rural areas engaged in agricultural pursuits, with their experiences of British colonialism largely filtered through Native Authorities and Administrations, a small minority saw their life courses significantly altered by the transformations of the colonial political economy. As discussed earlier, the philosophy of indirect rule, coupled with the desire to massively grow the export economy, meant that the colonial regime required a lot of cooperation from Nigerian subjects to operate. Urban areas in Nigeria grew exponentially as people moved to cities to take advantage of educational, employment, or social opportunities that emerged in the colonial context. For example, Lagos, the center of the colonial government and economy, grew from approximately 42,000 inhabitants in 1901 to 126,000 by 1931, and 272,000 by 1951. Other cities saw similar growth rates if lower overall numbers. Such urbanization created new, complex family and community arrangements. Urban migrants were disproportionately young males seeking new livelihoods to help support their kin back in their villages. Often, extended families or entire communities would pool resources to send someone to the city to seek education or fortune with the expectation that once successful, the beneficiary would become the benefactor of the family or community. Hometown associations were established in cities throughout the country by migrants from specific areas for the purpose of helping new migrants from the same area to get their footing in their new surroundings. Often hometown associations also pooled resources to maintain themselves. Many hometown associations took on an ethnic identity. As more men migrated to cities, more of the work in rural areas fell to women, who, particularly in southern Nigeria, became more responsible for farming and local trading. Many of the urban migrants had traveled for the purpose of obtaining a European education necessary to find good, stable employment in the colonial civil service or with a European trading firm (Fafunwa 1974). Throughout the colonial period, Christian missionary schools provided the vast majority of European education available to Nigerians. In 1921, over 90 percent of the roughly 2,200 schools operating in southern Nigeria received no government support whatsoever. Mission schools mostly provided primary education: basic reading, writing, arithmetic, and, of course, instruction in English language, European history, and Christianity. A small minority were able to go on to one of Nigeria’s few dozen secondary schools, and a still smaller minority to college abroad, or after 1932 to Yaba College in Lagos (which later became University College, Ibadan). Mission schools had a profound cultural impact on their pupils, who became cultural intermediaries between the “traditional” and the “modern,” the “African” and the “European.” Their education also gave them access to higher paying jobs that allowed them to have higher standards of living than they would likely have otherwise enjoyed. As such, this new economic elite was dubbed the “African middle class” in reference to both its economic and cultural position (Mann 1985; Zachernuk 2000).

84    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola The development of the African middle class was highly unequal in colonial Nigeria. Mission schools were located overwhelmingly in southern Nigeria. In fact, Lugard explicitly limited missionary access to northern Nigeria on the grounds of preserving the region’s Islamic cultural heritage, à la the philosophy of indirect rule. The result was that vastly more southern Nigerians than northern Nigerians partook of European education in the first half of the twentieth century, putting the regions on very different cultural and developmental paths. In fact, most of the civil service positions in the colonial government in northern Nigeria were filled by southerners. The education and experience gap between regions created significant anxieties as full independence approached in the 1950s. An alternative route to some European education and stable employment came through the military. Soldiers received basic training and a very small number received officer training in the United Kingdom. Nigerian soldiers also learned skills and gained international experience in the First and Second World Wars, in which battalions of Nigerians were stationed abroad. The rank-​and-​file military ballooned during these wars to over 100,000 but shrank again after the wars, leaving soldiers who fought for the Empire disgruntled with a government that did little to recognize or reward their service (Olusanya 1973). By the time of Nigeria’s independence, the army was made up of only about 10,000 active duty soldiers. Soldiers’ barracks also tended to be in more urban areas. Nigeria’s booming cities became epicenters of political, economic, and cultural change during the colonial era. A vibrant print culture emerged from the late nineteenth century, providing Nigerians with a host of news and entertainment sources. Between 1880 and 1937 over fifty different newspapers were circulated in Nigeria in both English and indigenous languages (Omu 1978). Writers produced literary works that grappled with the complexity of Nigerian society. By the 1950s, authors such as Wole Soyinka (1934–​), Amos Tutuola (1927–​97), and Chinua Achebe (1930–​2013) were producing some of the early classics of Nigerian literature. Artistically, new musical styles, such as highlife (which originated in the Gold Coast), and juju emerged that blended “traditional” indigenous forms of expression with European esthetics, most notably a basis in African drumming but incorporating instruments such as guitar, trumpets, and saxophones to create a new form of jazz unique to West Africa (Waterman 1990). The colonial social order produced many grievances in Nigerian subjects as well, however. Although middle-​class Nigerians benefited more than most from the colonial apparatus, they nevertheless bridled at the limitations placed on their advancement within it. Despite its emphasis on the dignity of indigenous culture, British colonial rule was suffused by a racist belief in the inherent inferiority of African peoples. So, while European-​educated Nigerian subjects were necessary for the smooth functioning of the colonial system, positions of authority and power within the civil service were reserved for white Europeans. Middle-​class Nigerians did not generally find this a just policy: after all, did they not have the same education as the British? The same Christian values? The same tastes and ambitions? Why should governance by an alien regime be considered legitimate when increasingly there was a cadre of indigenous people with the

Colonial Rule   85 same skills who could do the jobs arguably better because of their deep understanding of local structures and cultures? Middle-​class Africans also often challenged the authority of traditional rulers for their complicity with indirect rule and their lack of a “modern” orientation. For many, the colonial regime had repeatedly proved itself incapable of serving the best interests of Nigerians through poor responses to crisis, economic mismanagement, and failure to provide basic public services. Most galling, however, was the hypocrisy of a civilization that prided itself on its belief in democratic governance refusing to extend democratic rights to its colonial subjects.

Nationalism and Decolonization The decolonization of Nigeria came gradually over decades of sustained organization and resistance on the part of Nigerian subjects. The first Legislative Council for Nigeria was established in 1923, but had a minority of elected representation. The first major political organization to campaign for these elected seats was the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDC), led by Lagos-​based newspaperman Herbert Macaulay (1884–​1946). However, by the late 1930s, the NNDC was being effectively challenged by a new organization originally called the Lagos Youth Movement, but known by 1936 as the Nigerian Youth Movement (NYM), in a bid to claim a more pan-​Nigerian identity. In 1938, the NYM defeated the NNDC in Legislative Council elections for the first time. From the mid-​1930s, the development of political organizations to lobby for the empowerment of Nigerian subjects put increasing pressure on the colonial government to institute meaningful political and economic reforms. Labor unions also became increasingly powerful during and after the depression of the 1930s (Tijani 2012). The earliest union in Nigeria was the Nigerian Civil Servants Union, formed in 1912. By the 1930s there were also unions for railroad workers, coal miners, and other industrial laborers. In 1931, the Nigerian Union of Teachers formed and quickly became the largest labor union in Nigeria. One of labor unions’ main tools of negotiation was organized work stoppage. The Mechanics’ Union of railroad workers and the coal workers’ union successfully struck in the 1920s to prevent wage reductions. But the most famous and successful work stoppage was the General Strike of 1945 in which over 30,000 workers representing seventeen different unions struck for forty days, shutting down most of the colony’s communication and transportation services, over the government’s refusal to institute wage increases (Lindsay 2003). Other forms of “self-​help” organizations demonstrated for reform to the indirect rule model, including, for example, the Abeokuta Ladies’ Club, founded by Mrs. Olufunmilayo Ransome-​Kuti (1900–​78) in 1944 to lobby for concessions from the alake of Abeokuta. Over the 1940s, women’s activism in Abeokuta brought about the abolition of the flat tax and the incorporation of women into the local administration. In 1949, Ransome-​Kuti took her women’s group colony-​wide, forming the Nigerian Women’s Union (Johnson-​Odim and Mba 1997).

86    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola The development of anticolonial nationalism in Nigeria took on an increasingly regional and ethnic character from the 1940s. In 1941, a young newspaperman named Nnamdi Azikiwe (1904–​96) (founder of the West Africa Pilot) broke from the NYM over a dispute involving who should take one of the seats on the Legislative Council. Azikiwe’s candidate lost, and Azikiwe left the organization to found the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC). While the NCNC claimed a more pan-​Nigerian agenda, the NYM increasingly became a Yoruba-​dominated organization under the leadership of Obafemi Awolowo (1919–​87), who went on to create the Yoruba cultural organization Egbe Omo Oduduwa and, ultimately, the Yoruba-​dominated political party, the Action Group (AG), in 1951. The NCNC, for its part, maintained its headquarters in Lagos, but increasingly saw its main base of support in the southeast, particularly among the Igbo ethnic group of which Azikiwe was a member. The increasing strength of political organizations in the south prompted response in the north, where Mallam Sa’ad Zungur (1915–​ 58), Mallam Aminu Kano (1920–​83), and Sir Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa (1912–​66) founded the Northern People’s Congress (NPC) in 1949. These northern politicians worried that the south would move Nigeria too quickly to independ­ence under a unitary government in which northerners would be marginalized due to their lower levels of European education, relative poverty, and Islamic faith. The constitutional process of decolonization reinforced the regionalization of Nigerian politics (Coleman 1960). The colonial government produced three constitutions between 1946 and 1954, all of which simultaneously increased Nigerian representation in the colonial government and reinforced ethnic and regional divisions. The Richards Constitution of 1946 created a national government that included northern representation for the first time, but also created regional Houses of Assembly with their own elections. The Macpherson Constitution of 1951 expanded the regional assemblies, gave them more internal powers, and created a national council of ministers whose membership was divided evenly between the regions. It also gave half the national legislature’s seats to the north with the other half divided evenly between the southwest and southeast, and allowed for the first general election in Nigeria. The regional political parties mobilized their respective ethnic bases to take control of the regional houses of assembly in this election: the AG in the southwest, the NCNC in the southeast, and the NPC in the north. In 1954, the Lyttleton Constitution created the path to full internal self-​government, which the southwest and southeast regions took in 1957, and the north in 1959. Thus, by the time independence was declared on October 1, 1960, Nigeria was a fully federated state beset by deep regional tensions based on ethnic, religious, and ideological divisions.

Conclusion British colonial rule in Nigeria lasted less than a century everywhere, yet in that time the relationships of people in the regions to each other and the wider world were

Colonial Rule   87 fundamentally transformed. While historians increasingly reference the “light footprint” of British colonialism in Africa compared to other European powers, particularly among the majority of rural inhabitants, the colonial period nevertheless brought significant changes. Perhaps most significantly, the political entity of Nigeria is itself a colonial creation, brought about by decades of conquest, incorporation, and ultimately amalgamation of previously independent territories into a single administrative unit. Colonial rule brought changes to the power and authority of indigenous rulers, sometimes undermining them, sometimes empowering them. The types of products and forms of labor changed for many, and the economy became tied to external trade more thoroughly than ever before for most of the region. European education and Christianity helped produce a middle class of Africans capable of negotiating the local and the imperial, and increasingly interested in establishing Nigerian national identity and creating an independent Nigerian nation. However, the political process of creating that nation somewhat ironically resulted in a hardening of ethnic identities and the retreat of political parties into highly regionalized support bases. Surely the crises experienced by postcolonial Nigeria cannot be blamed entirely on colonial legacies, but the history of British colonial rule helps to contextualize them.

References Adeleye, R. A. (1971). Power and diplomacy in northern Nigeria: the Sokoto Caliphate and its enemies. New York: Humanities Press. Afigbo, A. E. (1972). The Warrant Chiefs:  Indirect Rule in Southeastern Nigeria, 1891–​1929. New York: Humanities Press. Ajayi, J. F.  A. (1965). Christian Missions in Nigeria, 1841–​1891:  The Making of a New Elite. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Anene, J. C. (1970). The International Boundaries of Nigeria: The Framework of an Emergent African Nation. London: Longman. Ayandele, E. A. (1966). The Missionary Impact on Modern Nigeria:  A Political and Social Analysis. London: Longman. Ayandele, E. A. (1979). Nigerian Historical Studies. London: Frank Cass. Berry, Sara (1975). Cocoa, Custom, and Socio-​Economic Change in Rural Western Nigeria. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Coleman, James S. (1960). Nigeria: Background to Nationalism. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Dike, K. O. (1956). Trade and Politics in the Niger Delta, 1830–​1885. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Ekundare, R. Olufemi. (1973). An Economic History of Nigeria, 1860–​1960. London: Methuen Young Books. Fafunwa, A. Babs (1974). History of Education in Nigeria. New York: HarperCollins. Falola, Toyin (1996). Development Planning and Decolonization in Nigeria. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Falola, Toyin (2009). Colonialism and Violence in Nigeria. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

88    Matthew M. Heaton and Toyin Falola Flint, Jon E. (1960). Sir George Goldie and the Making of Nigeria. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Freund, Bill (1981). Capital and Labour in the Nigerian Tin Mines. New York: Humanities Press. Headrick, Daniel (1981). The Tools of Empire:  Technology and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Heaton, Matthew M. (2013). Black Skin, White Coats: Nigerian Psychiatrists, Decolonization, and the Globalization of Psychiatry. Athens: OH: Ohio University Press. Heussler, Robert (1968). The British in Northern Nigeria. London: Oxford University Press. Ikime, Obaro (1969). The Merchant Prince of the Niger Delta. London: Heinemann. Ikime, Obaro (1977). The Fall of Nigeria: The British Conquest. London: Heinemann. Johnson-​ Odim, Cheryl and Mba, Nina (1997). For Women and the Nation:  Funmilayo Ransome-​Kute of Nigeria. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Lindsay, Lisa A. (2003). Working with Gender: Wage Labor and Social Change in Southwestern Nigeria. London: Heinemann. Lugard, F. D. (1922). The Dual Mandate in British Tropical Africa. London:  W. Blackwood and Sons. Mann, Kristin (1985). Marrying Well: Marriage, Status and Social Change Among the Educated Elite in Colonial Lagos. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martin, Susan (1988). Palm Oil and Protest: An Economic History of the Ngwa Region, South-​ eastern Nigeria, 1800–​1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Matera, Marc, Bastian, Misty L., and Kent, Susan Kingsley (2012). The Women’s War of 1929: Gender and Violence in Colonial Nigeria. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Mba, Nina (1982). Nigerian Women Mobilized: Women’s Political Activity in Southern Nigeria, 1900–​1965. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Nicholson, I. F. (1969). The Administration of Nigeria, 1900–​1960: Men, Methods, and Myths. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Northrup, David (1978). Trade Without Rulers: Pre-​Colonial Economic Development in South-​ Eastern Nigeria. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ochonu, Moses E. (2009). Colonial Meltdown:  Northern Nigeria in the Great Depression. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Olusanya, G. O. (1973). The Second World War and Politics in Nigeria, 1939–​53. London: Evans Brothers. Omu, Fred I. A. (1978). Press and Politics in Nigeria. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press. Tamuno, T. N. (1972). The Evolution of the Nigerian State:  The Southern Phase, 1898–​1914. New York: Humanities Press. Tijani, Hakeem Ibikunle (2012). Union Education in Nigeria: Labor, Empire, and Decolonization Since 1945. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Waterman, Christopher Alan (1990). Juju:  A Social History and Ethnography of an African Popular Music. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Zachernuk, Philip S. (2000). Colonial Subjects:  an African Intelligentsia and Atlantic Ideas. Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press.

Chapter 6

The Antic ol onia l St ru ggle in Ni g e ria Rotimi Ajayi

Introduction Before contact with the colonial powers, Nigeria was a mere conglomerate of kingdoms and empires: the Oyo Empire, the Sokoto Caliphate, and Benin Kingdom among others. During this period, individuals owed allegiance to their ethnic groups and rulers, which eventually defined the pattern of the resistance movements against the imposition of colonial rule. History has vividly captured the exploits of the legendary King Jaja of Opobo and King Kosoko of Lagos, for instance, against the superimposition of the British political order on their territories. This traditionalist movement (1885–​ 1900) as James S. Coleman (1958) calls it, later paved the way for more coordinated and elitist agitations, beginning from the 1920s under the most influential trade unionists, professionals, and educated political elites, in what Coleman called the “modernist” phase of the anticolonial or nationalist struggle in Nigeria. Between the traditionalists and the modernists, according to Coleman, was the movement anchored on mainly religious and ethnic lines, the era of the politicization of religion, particularly the struggle by the nationalists to inject African values and culture into Christianity, which was seen as the white man’s religion. The nineteenth century also witnessed the rise of ethnic and tribal associations across the country to agitate for improved welfare of their members. Bishop Samuel Ajayi Crowther (1809–​91) was a symbol of the struggle for an African Church founded on the traditions and culture of the people, while the legacies of the ethnic and tribal organizations could be found in the role of such bodies as the Egbe Omo Oduduwa, the Ibo State Union, and the Jarmiyar Mutanen Arewa, which were founded to advance the cause of Nigeria’s three dominant ethnic groups, Yoruba, Igbo, and Hausa respectively. The tempo of nationalist activities varied between the Northern and Southern parts of Nigeria. This could be attributed to differences in their internal structures and deliberate

90   Rotimi Ajayi policies of the colonialists that engendered uneven development of the two entities. For instance, the feudalistic, centralized, and absolutist traditional political structures of the north, upon which indirect rule was built, allowed for a more integrationist political order and the resultant bond of mutual trust and collaboration that existed between the British rulers and the traditional institutions. Therefore, within the north, agitations against colonialism were virtually nonexistent until the mid-​1900s, as the emirs saw the British as protectors of their traditional, cultural, and feudal interests. And, as “compensatory gestures,” the British shielded the north from the “subversive” influences of Western education and Christian missionary activities of the south. Consequently, while the tempo of nationalist activities had begun in southern Nigeria as far back as the early twentieth century, it was not until forty years later that political, and by extension nationalist activities, began in the north. However, in the south the traditional political institutions, to a greater extent, accommodated the exercise of individual rights and freedom, especially the right to dissent. For instance, Yoruba society, though a centralized form, provided for institutionalized mechanisms for checks and balances against arbitrariness and absolutism of rulers. For the Igbo, it was a diffused system that did not recognize formal traditional structures and institutions like the Yoruba, but different pressure points of authority. This laissez-​faire disposition of the southern political order, coupled with access of the region to early Western education, mass media, trade union activities, and different political associations, accounted for the high tempo of the nationalist movement in the area compared to the northern part of Nigeria. This chapter examines nationalist activities and their impact on the country’s political system. It looks at nationalism from a historical perspective and the various factors that facilitated the spread of anticolonial struggles in Nigeria. It highlights the role of some key actors in the nationalist movement and concludes by assessing the impact of nationalism on post-​independence Nigerian society.

The Concept of Nationalism Nationalism as a political phenomenon is devoid of a universally accepted definition, as an understanding of the concept varies from one region to another. Thus Smith (1991) sees nationalism from such diverse perspectives as: the whole process of forming and maintaining a nation; a consciousness of belonging to a nation; a language of symbolism of a nation; and a political and social movement aimed at realizing the will of a nation. Nationalism posits a sense of loyalty and “devotion to one’s nation.” It is a strong feeling of love and pride in one’s own country, especially a sense of national consciousness, feeling of community, and patriotism among a people. In different countries, nationalism is couched in expressions that serve the purpose of rallying together

The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria    91 the citizenry toward a common purpose. For the Romans, it was “ego Romanus,” for Americans it is “God’s own country,” and for the British it is “God save the Queen,” the ceremonial monarch who is highly revered as a symbol of unity, a center of attraction, and a magnet of loyalty. For most African countries in the period before and during colonialism, nationalism was borne out of the fact that despite their diverse cultural affinities, these different entities were bound by common historical experiences that necessitated their coming together as a nation to strive for the common good of all (Abdullahi and Baba 2014, p. 384). This argument aligns with the views of Amin and Rodney (1974), who proposed that colonialism was not only aimed at dominating and subjugating the black continent politically, but also an attempt to halt the whole historical development of African societies. As Negedu and Atabor (2015, p. 74) put it, nationalism refers to a sense of political togetherness that makes people feel patriotic about a country, connected to a “we group,” and distinct from the “they group.” This connotes a sense of self-​belief and confidence of an individual toward his/​her country, seeing the country as superior and unique over any other thing. In the words of Nwabugwu (2004, p. 4), nationalism is a “strong devotion to one’s own country, a patriotic feeling, an effort, a principle, a consciousness on the part of individuals or groups of membership in a nation, or a desire towards the strength, lib­ erty or prosperity of a nation.” Chikendu (2004, p. 48) sees the term as “a sentiment and activity directed towards the creation of a nation and the attainment of independent statehood.” In the same vein, Omolewa (1986, p. 182), simply looks at the term as “the love and pride in a country shown by its people.” While these definitions address nationalism in a general sense, Abdullahi and Baba (2014) approach nationalism as any conscious effort made by a people to resist the imposition of colonial rule and alien culture. Consequently, this chapter examines the anticolonial struggle in Nigeria from two major eras: activities that took place in the precolonial period, especially before the formation of the Nigerian state in 1914; and the post-​1914 agitations against colonial subjugation. The emphasis here is that popular revolts should be seen more as reactions against obnoxious and reprehensible human conditions irrespective of the prevailing state system.

History of Nationalism in Nigeria before 1914 The major significant features of precolonial Nigerian society include the prevalence of a strong, functional, and effective state system with various organs of govern­ ment—​ legislature, executive, and judiciary—​ contrary to their categorization as

92   Rotimi Ajayi stateless societies by some Eurocentric scholars. Other features included the place of religion and ancestral beliefs as the foundation of the state, and the use of sacred myth not only to legitimize the existence of the state, but also to institute a formidable regime of checks and balances against the rulers and to establish appropriate mores and values for society. Before the 1914 amalgamation of the northern and southern protectorates, the entity called Nigeria was nonexistent. Rather, there existed diverse ethnic nationalities, kingdoms, and empires, with distinct cultures and traditions, but linked and interrelated by factors of geography, commerce, and politics (Tamuno 1970; Ajayi and Ikara 1985). Generally, nationalism in precolonial Africa was motivated by a need to displace the forceful inculcation of an alien culture in the different empires that existed, Nigeria not being an exception. After the partitioning of Africa as a consequence of the Berlin Conference of 1884–​5, led by Otto von Bismarck (1815–​98), what later became known as a nationalist movement in Nigeria after the amalgamation, existed as resistance by different local entities. This, Olusanya (1980, p. 545) corroborated when he noted: The emergence of Nigerian nationalism predated the establishment of effective British rule over the whole country now known as Nigeria. This is because, the various areas which now constitute modern Nigeria were acquired at different times and certain forces and conditions favouring the emergence of the nationalist idea were already at work before 1914 when Nigeria became an administrative unit.

These resistance movements against the British by the indigenes and traditional rulers constitute the early phase of nationalist movement in Nigeria. Some of the key examples of early resistance by the locals include the British–​Ijebu War, the Benin Expedition, and the Anglo–​Aro War.

British–​Ijebu War of 1892 (Battle of Imagbon) This conflict broke out following the refusal of the Awujale Chief of Ijebu Ode (the capital of Ijebu Kingdom), to lift a blockade of the trade route from the interior into Lagos (a Crown Colony by this period). After several futile efforts by the British colonial government to persuade the Awujale to lift the blockade, he was given an annual compensation fee of £500, which led to the opening of the border in 1892. However, despite this agreement, a white missionary was denied access to the border which provoked the British government into deploying a troop of 450 men (Onibere and Adogbo 2010). Led by Colonel F. C. Scott C.B., the troop was comprised of men from the Gold Coast (Ghana), Sierra Leone, Ibadan, and Lagos (the Hausa troops numbered nearly 150), deployed to Ijebu Ode, which led to the eventual conquest and annexation of the Ijebu Kingdom (Aladejobi 2016, p. 494).

The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria    93

Benin Expedition of 1897 This operation was a punitive expedition propelled by the January 4, 1897 Benin massacre of British Officer Consul Philips and his troops on their way to negotiate the opening of Benin territory for trade (Boisragon 1897). They were ambushed by Ologbosere (a senior commander and the king’s son-​in-​law) through an order given by Iyase (commander-​in-​chief of the Benin army), with only two British officers surviving the massacre. This necessitated a response from the British, and on July 12, 1897, Rear-​Admiral Harry Rawson (commander-​in-​chief at Cape Town) was appointed to lead the invasion of Benin Kingdom and capture the king, Oba Ovoramwen. The bombardment of Benin began on February 9, 1897. Efforts were made by local forces but proved futile due to the sophistication of the British arsenals. All houses in the kingdom were set ablaze, people were killed irrespective of their gender, age, and status. An order was given to hang Oba Ovoramwen whenever and wherever he was found. The British troops numbering 1,200, were heavily armed and mostly Africans. And interestingly, the African faction of the British troops did most of the fighting, while the British soldiers sat behind machine guns and cannons. Shortly after ravaging the kingdom, Oba Ovoramwen was captured by British Consul-​General Ralph Moor, tried, found guilty, and banished, alongside two of his wives (Igbafe 1970).

Anglo–​Aro War (1901–​2) This war occurred in the then Aro Confederacy (in present-​day Delta State), when the Aro people resisted the penetration of British colonizers into the hinterland due to the threat this posed to their culture, influence, and sovereignty. Some of the major reasons for annexation put forward by Sir Ralph More, the British High Commissioner at the time, included: to subdue the slave trade generally through the enforcement of the Slave Dealing Proclamation No. 5 of 1901; to abolish the “Juju” hierarchy of the Aro tribe, which by superstition and fraud caused much injustice among the coastal tribes generally and was opposed to the establishment of government; to open up the country of the entire Aro to civilization; to induce the inhabitants to engage in legitimate trade; to introduce a currency in lieu of slaves, brass rods, and other forms of native currency and to facilitate trade transactions; and to eventually establish a labor market as a substitute for the present system of slavery. The Aro people found these repugnant, hence they resorted to raids and the invasion of communities controlled by the British. It was not until late 1901 that the Aro people were finally subdued by the British with the arrest and hanging of major Aro leaders such as Okoro Toti, while their king, Eze Kanu Okoro, went into exile and was later arrested (Afigbo 2006, p. 44). Furthermore, there were other key actors whose activism and writings served as a major impetus in the fight against colonial penetration. They include King Jaja of Opobo (1821–​91), Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832–​1912), Bishop James Johnson (1871–​1938),

94   Rotimi Ajayi Mojola Agbebi (1860–​1917), Adegboyega Edun (1860–​1925), John Payne Jackson (1848–​ 1915), William Bright Davies, and Tejumade Osholake Johnson. These individuals served as rallying points to conscientize and mobilize the Nigerian people in the various struggles against British suzerainty.

Nationalism in the Post-​1914 Era The social, economic, and political features of colonialism, especially British rule in Nigeria, have been vividly captured in the literature (Ake 1978, 1996; Oganova 1977; Jalée 1968; Nnoli 1980; Rodney 1972; Onimode 1983, 1988). Several notable features of that period are relevant to our study: first, we look at the experience of indirect rule that cultivated a new class of elites, many of whom developed interests that diverged from indigenous interests. Second, this young generation of elites acquired experience in social movements and cultural organizations that became the basis for Nigeria’s political parties. Third, some of the nationalist leaders had strong ties to pan-​Africanism. And finally, the chapter examines the metamorphosis of the structures and organs of government, especially the legislature, from an innocuous body to one that gained more authority and relevance in governance through various constitutional engineering initiatives beginning with the 1922 Clifford Constitution to the Independence Constitution of 1960. Sir Frederick Lugard amalgamated the Northern and Southern Protectorates into a single entity called Nigeria on January 14, 1914. According to Osadolor (2014 p. 84), the considerations of administrative convenience and economic expedience convinced Sir Fredrick (later Lord Lugard) to amalgamate the separately governed protectorates, thus to him the decision was not motivated by pressure from locals or political groups. Furthermore, it should be noted that despite the economic viability of the south and the weak contribution of the north to the budget of the colonial administration, both the northern and southern provinces had a common political head and no uniform style of administration was introduced, except the idea of indirect rule which was first introduced to the north by Lord Lugard. At this time, northern Nigeria had twelve provinces and the south had nine, with the Lagos colony as the tenth. As regards the central institutions of government, it should be noted that they remained unchanged, except for the merger of the two supreme courts, which had earlier operated in the northern and southern provinces. This amalgamation of the supreme courts led to the appointment of only one chief justice and one attorney-​general. The Legislative Council continued to exist; however it was more of a miniature council, because it only played an advisory role and was renamed the Nigerian Council by Lord Lugard. The Nigerian Council was more of a consultative body without any legislative or executive authority. The council consisted of thirty-​six members comprising the governor, members of the executive council, and other official members representing the administrative serv­ ice; six unofficial European members (representing chambers of commerce, shipping,

The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria    95 banking, and mining); and six unofficial African members nominated to represent both the coastal district and the interior (Wheare 1950, pp. 29–​30). It is axiomatic that what existed in the period immediately after amalgamation was a subservient relationship between the white Britons and black Nigerians, hence the clamor for change, especially among the new and emergent social class who had begun to see the need to pursue self-​determination as the topmost agenda of that era. It was clear that Lord Lugard’s “dual mandate” was not only a hoax, but a smokescreen to consolidate his hold on the colony. The result, as Ake (1981, p. 177) put it, was not just “the politicisation of the masses but also the radicalisation of their consciousness.” In the forefront of the colonial agitation were notable nationalists, some of whom are profiled here.

Herbert Samuel Macaulay Journalist, politician, engineer, and musician Herbert Samuel Macaulay (1864–​1946) was considered by many as the father of Nigerian nationalism. He was one of the first Nigerian nationalists who stood against the imposition of British rule in Nigeria. On the self-​acclaimed altruistic motive of the colonialists in their expedition, Macaulay aptly noted: “the dimensions of ‘the true interest of the natives at heart’ are algebraically equal to the length, breadth, and depth of the white man’s pocket” (Tamuno 1975). In 1908, he exposed the corruption in the handling of railroad finances and in 1919, in front of the Privy Council in London, he successfully argued in favor of the chiefs whose lands had been taken by the British, who were then compensated. His anticolonial position led him to jail twice. On June 24, 1923, he founded the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP), the first Nigerian political party, which became a major player in the nationalist struggle in Nigeria.

Dr. Benjamin Nnamdi Azikiwe Also known as “Zik of Africa,” an appellation derived from his pan-​Africanist disposition and orientation, Dr. Benjamin Nnamdi Azikiwe (1904–​96) was the country’s first post-​independence president and statesman. He was a highly rated and successful journalist, a scholar of repute, and politician of note, who became famous for his prodigious writings in the newspaper, the West African Pilot. He ventured into sports and was widely decorated. He was a close friend of Ghana’s first president, Dr. Kwame Nkrumah (1909–​72), who later became prime minister of Ghana. Both men were alumni of the same U.S. universities:  Lincoln University and the University of Pennsylvania. Alongside Herbert Macaulay, he cofounded the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC), and later became the secretary-​general of the National Council in 1946 (the organization later became the National Council of Nigerian Citizens). He was well known for his constant criticism of African traditional rulers and advocated for a

96   Rotimi Ajayi balance between the use of traditional rulers and the intelligentsia in the management of governance. His articles formed the framework for his famous Renascent Africa (1973). On his death, the New York Times (May 14, 1996) noted: As a lawyer, political scientist, journalist, political activist, President and for many years Nigeria’s elder statesman, Dr. Azikiwe towered over the affairs of Africa’s most populous nation, attaining the rare status of a truly national hero who came to be admired across the regional and ethnic lines dividing his country.

He espoused a pan-​Africanist ideology, following the footsteps of Nkrumah. His contributions to the anticolonial struggle were encapsulated in what has been described as his “Philosophy for the New Africa,” summarized in the following five principles; spiritual balance, social regeneration, economic determinism, mental emancipation, and political resurgence. On the whole, Azikiwe was concerned with the predicament of the entire black race, fragmented by historical circumstances of slavery, colonialism, and state creation. In Nigeria, using the medium of his West African Pilot, Azikwe played a prominent role in the nationalist struggle, calling for equal representation in the legislative houses, and between the educated and traditional elites. In 1943, he produced The Political Blueprint for Nigeria, which encapsulated his idea on the organization of the Nigerian state and spearheaded the controversy over the regionalist principle in the 1946 Richards Constitution. He went on further that year to publish his Ideology for Nigeria, wherein he espoused the neo-​welfarist ideology as the road map for sustainable development of the country.

Chief Obafemi Awolowo Chief Obafemi Awolowo (1909–​87) was a teacher, produce buyer, lawyer, and trade unionist. In 1930, he organized the Nigerian Produce Traders Association, and in 1937, when the Nigerian Youth Movement was formed, he became the secretary. In 1943, he became the secretary and editor of the Nigerian Worker, a publication of the Trade Union Congress of Nigeria. He later founded the Egbe Omo Oduduwa, a sociocultural group advancing the interests of the southwest-based Yoruba people. In 1951, the union transformed into the Action Group, one of the three major political parties that played an active role not only in the struggle for Nigerian independence, but also in the politics of the country’s first republic from 1960 to 1966. Unlike Azikwe, Awolowo was more at home with the idea of a commonwealth rather than a pan-​African setting. He espoused the regionalist principle and the empowerment of the nation’s component units, rather than an octopus state ruling over the affairs of the different entities that make up the country. No wonder he described the state that emerged out of the 1914 amalgamation as a “mere geographical expression.” His thoughts on the Nigerian state were encapsulated in his Path to Nigerian Freedom (1947), The People’s Republic (1968), and The Strategy and Tactics of the People’s Republic of Nigeria (1969).

The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria    97

Sir Ahmadu Bello Also called the Sarduana of Sokoto, Sir Ahmadu Bello (1910–​66) was known as one of the most prominent political protagonists of northern Nigerian extraction. He was born and had his earlier education in Sokoto Provincial School and later at Katsina Teacher’s Training College. His political stint began when, in 1934, he became the District Head of Rabbah, and was later promoted as the Divisional Head of Gusau city. After his return from England, he became the representative of Sokoto Province in the House of Assembly. In 1954, Bello became the premier of Northern Nigeria, a position he held till January 15, 1966 when he was killed in the first military coup. As the leader of the Northern Peoples Congress that won the first post-​ independence election, many had felt the Sarduana would have upped his game to the national scene by becoming the first prime minister of the country. Instead, Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa (1912–​66) was nominated and elected to that position. This decision to remain as the northern regional premier was widely seen as part of Sarduana’s belief in building and sustaining a powerful regional hegemony, in this case, one strong united north, at the expense of a powerful central government. The Sarduana’s allusion to Lord Lugard’s amalgamation of the north and south into one entity as “the mistake of 1914” has been used variously to describe his and indeed the entire north’s disenchantment with the creation and sustenance of the Nigerian project.

Chief Anthony Enahoro Chief Anthony Enahoro (1923–​2010) was prominent in politics for his anticolonial struggles and pro-​democracy activism, alongside his career in the civil service and media. In 1953, he moved the motion for Nigeria’s independence, which became a reality in 1960. He was imprisoned twice for sedition by the colonial government for an article allegedly mocking a former governor, and then for a speech allegedly inciting Nigerian troops serving in the British army. During the Nigerian Civil War (1967–​70), he played an active role in the various federal delegations to several peace meetings, alongside other pro-​democracy activists such as Dan Suleiman (1942–​), Cornelius Adebayo (1941–​), and Ndubuisi Kanu (1943–​). Enahoro played an active role in the formation of the National Democratic Coalition (NADECO), which emerged as part of the force that rose against the annulment by General Ibrahim Babangida’s military junta of the 1993 presidential elections in Nigeria. To be sure, the pattern of the decolonization struggle in Nigeria was influenced by the nature of colonial control and the differential consequences of colonial policies on one hand, and the “ideological disposition” of these leaders in the forefront of the nationalist struggle on the other. While these consisted of internal factors, they were aided by other external platforms.

98   Rotimi Ajayi Internally, nationalism was largely a product of the social, economic, and political contradictions inherent in the colonial order. The incorporation of Nigeria into the world capitalist economy came with its variegated contradictions and distortions in the mode of production and relations of production. As argued by Claude Ake (1980, 1996), Okwudiba Nnoli (1981), and Bade Onimode (1981), among several others, colonialism came with its new currency, wage labor, trade relations, and patterns of agricultural production, forced labor, and urbanization. The net effect of all of these was a sharp divide in class relations between the rich and the poor, the capitalists and the workers/​peasants. The unequal relationship and its attendant marginalization, oppression, and suppression became a veritable ground for opposition against the colonial order. Politically, denial of franchise, lopsidedness in the composition of organs of government in favor of the colonialist, and racial discrimination in policy formulation, and implementation were major motivating factors in the fight against colonialism. The agitations were further propelled using the instrumentalities of Nigerian students, mass media, market women, workers, and peasants. Important external contexts included the impact of the Second World War, the Ethiopian War (1935–​6), the recent independence of other states (especially India and Pakistan in 1947); the emergence of new power blocs in the international arena, which was characterized by the displacement of Britain and France as superpowers and the rise of Soviet Union and United States as the new centers of power; the pan-​Africanist movement led by the likes of Kwameh Nkruamah and Julius Nyerere among others; the role of the British Labour Party, which after 1945 pursued independence of colonized nations; the Atlantic Charter of 1941, anchored on respect for human rights; and the formation of the United Nations in 1945, which agitated for the formation of new nations. Many of these international ties are discussed in by Oliver Coates in this volume.

Nationalism and Post-​Independence Nigeria While it is true that the series of agitations against the colonial order led to the granting of independence in Nigeria in 1960, it failed to institutionalize a strong nexus of nationhood among the various units that make up the political entity. The post-​independence entity known as Nigeria was largely a reflection of the pattern of the nationalist struggle, led by the prominent political titans mentioned earlier. In particular, the trio of Ahmadu Bello, Obafemi Awolowo, and Nnamdi Azikwe, who were the foremost nationalist leaders, were equally ethnic irredentists who derived their legitimacy largely from their primordial cocoons. The fierce loyalty of the various tribal enclaves to these leaders robbed them of any pan-​Nigerian outlook and accentuated further the rising wave of centrifugal rather than centripetal forces in the nation’s body politic. It was such that even the initial Pan-​African disposition inherent in Azikwe’s early

The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria    99 political life soon gave way to various primordial cleavages characteristic of Nigerian politics, as his political exploits were confined to his Ibo-​speaking enclave of eastern Nigeria. We saw these primordial tendencies in the discordant tunes from these leaders to the promulgation of the Clifford, Richard, Macpherson, Lyttleton, and the Independence Constitutions between 1922 and 1960. Their reactions were largely ethnically and religiously motivated. A clear example was the controversy that surrounded the Motion for Independence in 1953, moved by Anthony Enahoro. While the south was supportive of the 1953 date for the country’s independence, the north, led by Ahmadu Bello, was against it, ostensibly for fear of domination and marginalization by southern political elites. As Osaghae (1998, p. 6) succinctly put the northern objection: Afraid that their educational and political head start gave the southerners an advantage that could easily be translated into political domination after independ­ ence, nationalists from the North refused to agree to self-​government in 1953 when Southern parties sponsored a motion to that effect. They seized on Northern preponderant size and population to insist on certain counter-​measures designed not only to nullify the grounds for fear of southern domination but also pave the way for Northern domination as the minimum conditions for agreeing to remain in the country and to eventual self-​government.

The resentment of the north was contained in their demand for 50 percent of the seats in the House of Representatives to the North, the use of population as a sole yardstick to share nationally collected revenue, and that no part of the area called north should be excised or joined to the west as being demanded by peoples of Kabba and Ilorin. Other demands were that until the north was ready, there should be no ministerial responsibility, and lastly,  that autonomy of the regions should be guaranteed. These demands were not only granted, but the promulgation of the 1954 Federal Constitution further ensured the coming together of regions that were unequal and uneven in terms of resources and opportunities from the federation. With 50 percent of the seats in the House of Representatives going to the north, which later became 52 percent, it was clear that the north could always override the other two regions in the south on any issue before the House. This development was a sour point in Nigeria’s intergroup relations, which further exacerbated mutual suspicions, fears, and acrimony among the regions in the build up to the country’s political independ­ ence in 1960. Hence, while colonialism sowed the seeds of disunity and animosity in the country’s political and economic arena through its divide-​ and-​ rule policy encapsulated in Lord Lugard’s Dual Mandate, the nationalist leaders accentuated this through various intraclass rivalries and struggles for political and economic dominance. Consequently, the new Nigeria at independence in 1960 was completely at variance with the expectations of genuine nationhood. While colonialism engendered the erosion of the values of the component units that made up the

100   Rotimi Ajayi country and further polarized them along various divisive tendencies, the struggle for independence and the immediate post-​independence Nigerian state also assisted in no small measure in reinforcing these acrimonious relationships (Afigbo 1991). Attempts at building bridges across regions and ethnic enclaves were transient and feeble, as they were targeted at appropriating political power through a coalition of forces. Such attempts included the Action Group (AG) alliance with the United Middle Belt Congress led by Joseph Tarka, designed to forge a unity of the western and Middle Belt regions. The Northern People’s Congress (NPC) also entered into a working agreement with the Nigeria National Democratic Party, a splinter group of the AG led by Samuel Ladoke Akintola. We also had the coalition of the NPC and the NCNC following the 1959 elections that failed to produce a clear winner to form the first post-​independence government. These alliances collapsed once elections, the purpose for which they were initiated, were fought and won. Osaghae (1998, pp. 33–​4) vividly captured the 1959 coalition: The NCNC’s decision to enter into a coalition with the NPC has less to do with its avowed commitment to national unity than with the “aspectival” consideration that it would be better assured of government patronage and other privileges associated with the Northerners than it would with partnership with rival westerners. The pay-​ offs reaped by the NCNC shortly after the coalition came into being justified this calculation . . . In spite of this, the NPC and the NCNC were strange bedfellows and even serious rivals, as later events were to show.

It was less surprising that the first republic that was meant to showcase the efforts of the nationalist leaders collapsed like a pack of cards under the debilitating weight of ethnic and religious politics, corruption, political violence, and intolerance of opposition views in politics. Ironically, the seeds of distrust and acrimony sown in the anticolonial struggles have remained major characteristics of Nigerian society. Today, what Nwosu (1977) calls “various legitimated authorities”—​ ethnic, tribal, religious, personality—​ are competing with the central authority for legitimacy. Reminiscent of the events that preceded the civil war between 1967 and 1970, the power and authority of the state have come under severe assault at these numerous pressure points today, with the Boko Haram insurgency ravaging the north and the threat of eastern secession led by the Indigenous Peoples of Biafra. These and other irritants in the polity point to the fact that while the anticolonial struggle might have succeeded in establishing the state as a legal entity, it failed to institutionalize a Nigerian nation “with a feeling of commonality, a consciousness of common belonging or common identity among members of the political community” (Obiakor 2009; Aleyomi 2015, p. 109), bound together by a desire to live together under common government, law, and purpose. This dilemma constitutes the greatest threat to the corporate existence of the country and what is generally referred to as the “National Question,” which successive administrations have failed to resolve.

The Anticolonial Struggle in Nigeria    101

References Abdullahi, A. and Baba, Y. (2014). “Nationalism and National Integration in Nigeria,” in R. Ajayi and J. Fashagba (eds), Understanding Government and Politics in Nigeria (pp 381–​396). Omuaran: Landmark University. Afigbo, A. E. (1991). “Background to Nigerian Federalism: Federal Features in the Colonial State,” Publius: The Journal of Federalism 21 (4): 13–29. Afigbo, A. E. (2006). The Abolition of the Slave Trade in Southeastern Nigeria, 1885–​1950. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Ajayi, J. F. A. and Ikara, B. (eds) (1985). Evolution of Political Culture in Nigeria. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press. Ake, C. (1978). Revolutionary Pressures in Africa. Nigeria: Longman. Ake, C. (1981). A Political Economy of Africa. Nigeria: Longman. Ake, C. (1996). Democracy and Development in Africa. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. Aladejobi, G. (2016). History of Yorubaland. Nigeria: Patridge Public Affairs. Amin, S. (1974). Unequal Development. New York/​London: Monthly Review Press. Awolowo, O. (1947). Path to Nigerian Freedom. London: Faber and Faber. Azikiwe, N. (1943). Political Blueprint for Nigeria. Lagos: African Book Company. Boisragon, A. (1897). The Benin Massacre. London: Methuen Chikwendu P. N. (2004). Imperialism and Nationalism. Enugu: Academic Publishing. Coleman, J. S. (1958). Nigeria: Background to Nationalism. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. French, H. W. (1996), “Nnamdi Azikwe the First President of Nigeria Dies at 91,” New York Times, May 14, 1996. Igbafe, P. A. (1970). “The Fall of Benin:  A Reassessment,” The Journal of African History 11 (3): 385–​400. Jalée, P. (1968). The Pillage of the Third World. New York: Monthly Review. Negedu, I. and Atabor, A. (2015). “Nationalism in Nigeria: A Case for Patriotic Citizenship,” American International Journal of Contemporary Research 5 (3) June: 74–​79. Nnoli, O. (1980). Ethnic Politics in Nigeria. Enugu: Fourth Dimension. Nnoli, O. (1981). Path to Nigerian Development. Dakar: Cordesria. Nwabuogu, A. I. (2004). Problems of Nation Building in Africa. Okigwe: FASMEN Communications. Nwosu, H. N. (1977). Political Authority and the Nigerian Civil Service. Enugu: Fourth Dimension. Obiakor, N. (2009). “Nation Building in Post-​Colonial Nigeria,” UZU: Journal of History and International Studies (UJHIS) 2 (1): 79–​88. Oganova, A (1977). “The Development of a Common Class  Interest Among the Urban Proletariat in Tropical Africa,” International Journal of Sociology Summer 1977. Olusanya, G. O. (1980). “The Nationalist Movement in Nigeria,” in O. Ikime (ed.), Groundwork of Nigerian History (pp. 545–​569). Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books. Omolewa, M. (1986). Certificate History of Nigeria. Harlow: Longman Group. Onibere, S. G. A and Adogbo M. P. (2010). Selected Themes in the Study of Religion in Nigeria. Nigeria: Malthouse Press. Onimode, B. (1983). Imperialism and Underdevelopment in Nigeria. London: Macmillan. Onimode, B. (1988). A Political Economy of the African Crisis. London: Zed Books. Osadolor, O. B. (2014). “Evolution of the Central Legislature in Nigeria,” in Hamalai and Suberu (eds), The National Assembly and Democratic Governance in Nigeria. Abuja: National Institute for Legislative Studies.

102   Rotimi Ajayi Osaghae, E. E. (1998). Crippled Giant: Nigeria Since Independence. London: Hurst and Company. Rodney, W. (1974). How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. New York: Howard University Press. Smith, A. (1991). National Identity. London: Penguin. Tamuno, T. N. (1970). “Separatist Agitation in Nigeria Since 1914,” Journal of Modern African Studies 8 (4): 563–​584. Tamuno T. N. (1975). Hebert Macaulay: A Nigerian Patriot. London: Heinemann Educational Books. Wheare, J. (1950). The Nigerian Legislative Council. London: Faber and Faber.

Chapter 7

Women’s Prot e sts in the Stru g g l e for Independe nc e Chiedo Nwankwor

Introduction Historically the exercise of political power is fraught with distributive asymmetries as claim-​making typically overwhelms the resource availability. However, the exercise of power in precolonial1 Africa was more inclusionary than exclusionary as power did not repose in individuals but in community-​constituted cabinets and councils, especially in southern Nigeria. Political decisions and governance, for the most part, reflected the interest and welfare of members of the community. And when power was exercised in ways that deviated from the pursuit of the common good or disadvantaged a particular group, the group would take action to redress such. Women historically opposed decisions they considered disadvantageous to their interests. They organized collective resistance within traditional organizations such as market associations and other social and religious clubs, using traditional strategies of opposition including dancing, market closures, and ridicule to secure redress and obtain their demands. The nature of this relationship between citizen and political leadership changed considerably with colonial conquest and administration. This shift was evident, not in the enduring character of distributive asymmetries, but in the motivations and prerogatives that implicated colonial rule. The goal of power and governance flipped from seeking the greater good to maximizing economic profit for the minority through the violent subjugation of indigenous populations. Socioeconomic policies such as taxation, cash-​cropping, labor laws, and others were specifically crafted to reify and reinforce the cultural project and its transformation of citizens into colonial subjects. Women were subjected to an additional level of subjection along gender lines, which triggered

104   Chiedo Nwankwor women’s protests. As such, gender-​framed patterns of anticolonial mobilization in Nigeria, and women’s protests, reflected their precarious position in the gendered male colonial despotism. My goal in this chapter is to provide evidence to prove two separate but related points. First, women were critical actors in the struggle for independence and decolonization in Nigeria in 1960, but their crucial role remains underappreciated and understudied until recently. Moreover, whereas women’s anticolonial protests and mobilization contributed significantly to the nationalist struggle, the gains of independ­ ence, which they jointly secured with men, continue to elude them. Whereas women’s activist history and its significance for the most critical political transformation in the history of the country is little highlighted and appreciated in national historiographies, it is central to the indigenization of political power in Nigeria. Women’s resistance or subaltern agency did alter the boundaries of subordination within a seemingly powerful colonial regime (Cooper 1994)2. While women’s protests and mobilization were bargaining tools with which women negotiated personhood and freedom with the despotic colonial authority, the movement it generated fortuitously sparked the flame for nationalism. Women’s heroic and coordinated attacks demystified colonial power by debunking the myth that colonialists were superhuman and proving to the contrary that they were just as vulnerable to attack as any other known chiefdom. The Aba Women’s War, among other resistance and protests, shows that women in Nigeria have an extensive history of anticolonial struggle and engagement, which is made more visible and better understood when viewed through an agentic perspective that ascribes intentionality and forethought to women’s collective action (Bandura 2001). This contradicts narratives of powerlessness, passivity, and victimhood attributed to Nigerian women based on what Guha and Spivak (1988) referred to as the “subalternity of non-​Western histories.” The received narratives just mentioned explain why the Aba Women’s War of 1929 is regularly invoked as though it was unusual. While referencing the Women’s War, the analysis will also present more evidence of women’s collective actions of sabotage, passive-​aggressive protest, and full-​blown confrontation with colonial rule and its subsidiaries. Colonialism was a hyper-​masculinist project of oppression that impacted men and women in different ways, with women subjected to multiple layers of oppression as both ethnicized and gendered subjects. While the Women’s War of 1929 in southeastern Nigeria against colonial domination is metonymic and symbolic of women’s anticolonial resistance, it is but one of several such incidents that occurred in different parts of Nigeria. Socioeconomic and political grievances towards colonial rule were not limited to women from the southeast alone, women from the Western Region actively participated in airing their grievances and protesting colonial overrule as well. Indeed, women resisted and protested colonial intrusion into their lives with heroic regularity (Ejikeme 2010), albeit interspersed through the early decades of the twentieth century until nationalist struggles displaced women’s mobilizations qua women in Nigeria.

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    105 Second, I aim to show that women’s struggle for independence did not end with the fall of colonialism but have continued against the postcolonial state’s instrumentalization of women’s oppression for advancing the logic of the state and maintaining power by African leaders. Women’s valor and relative success in challenging colonial authority is undisputed. What remains debated is women’s contribution to decolonization and their significance in shaping the landscape of contemporary politics in Nigeria. This chapter illuminates the political agency of women in Nigeria and argues that women’s mobilizations and radical activism provided the impetus for nationalism, contributed significantly to independence, and continues to impact the unfolding political landscape in Nigeria. It reveals differences in women’s contestation of the state during the colonial era and independent Nigeria. It suggests that the democratic project in Nigeria, especially since the hard-​fought return to democratic rule in the fourth republic reflects an ironic disempowerment of women despite the seemingly increasing signification to the contrary. This chapter unfolds these themes using an implicit within-​country temporal comparative analysis that loosely considers the triggers, consequences, and implications of women’s activist mobilizations and protests for women’s citizenship status and the project of state-​making/​building in Nigeria during precolonial, colonial, and contemporary Nigeria. The chapter is qualitative and relies on primary archival data and secondary peer-​and non-​peer-​reviewed, published and un-​published literature.

Gender Conceptions and Women’s Status in Precolonial Nigeria It is important to consider how African women are framed within historical contexts to understand how their political agency in resisting and protesting colonial rule shaped Nigerian independence. Debates on gender conceptions remain unsettled with implications for how they shape women’s citizenship status and role. Two near antithetical schools have formed in this regard. Particularists argue that women were just as politically and economically empowered as men before colonialism. Age rather than gender determined social hierarchy and power (Oyewumi 2002) so that women’s subservience to men is directly attributable to colonial domination. From this perspective, the gendered pathologies of contemporary African politics result from colonialism and the imposition of Victorian gender norms on indigenous communities. These standards significantly undermined women’s socioeconomic and political standing. The Universalists, on the other hand, insist that women’s marginalization is historically structured by the precolonial indigenous culture of patriarchy, which subjected women and limited their political agency within communities. “African communities were pervaded by relations of domination and dependence, based on patriarchal power exercised across differences of genders and generations, lineages and clans, languages and cultures” (Berman 1998, p. 310).

106   Chiedo Nwankwor In-​between these two polar perspectives lies a somewhat more nuanced stance. It includes those who believe that women’s subjugation and other forms of gender injustice are shaped by both colonial domination and existing indigenous cultural and patriarchal ideologies. Historical evidence suggests that this understanding comes closest to reflecting the realities that shape women’s status in Nigeria. Differences in women’s status across regions of the country support this approach. Colonially imposed norms interacted with context-​specific dynamics to shape women’s realities in different geo-​ ethnic zones of the country. In both contesting and confirming these marginalizing narratives, scholars note that African women were involved in politics and decision-​making before colonialism, and identify two models through which women were involved: the corporate and dual-​sex models. In the former, women were part of interconnected and interdependent networks of relationships, and it existed in all forms of societies including “acephalous” (southeastern) or “centralized states” (northern). Mikell (1997, p.  10) contends that the corporate model afforded women unique opportunities to engage in political leadership, but their status in their private/​public lives that obtained from their familial roles constrained them. For example, women experienced more oppressive gender norms and regimes in the centralized states of northern Nigeria where colonialism reinforced Islam for controlling the state and heightened the circumscription of women’s rights. The Northern Region was organized differently from the south. The highest political authority existed at once within the highest religious authority and trickled down the hierarchical religious ladder. Power production and control were based on the precepts of the Islamic faith and sharia law in some instances. Women were located farthest away from power and authority (Omotola 2007), and were subject to extensive marginalization from political activities and leadership3. Although history records much about individual women’s exploits in the precolonial era such as Queen Amina who led the Zazzau Emirate in the fourteenth century and Sawa Gambo (1933–​2001) who was an active women’s advocate during the colonial and postcolonial periods, not much is known and recorded about women’s anticolonial resistance4. By contrast, the dual-​sex model entailed parallel and complementary representational roles carried out by men and women political leaders on behalf of their corresponding sex. Moran (1989, pp. 433–​4) conceptualizes this site as male–​female domains arising from a “dual-​sex political system” as she finds the conventional public–​private domain less useful. She argues that women had an aversion to channeling their grievances through a “hierarchy of usually male representatives,” which they believed was incapable of representing their interests. They, therefore, preferred to represent themselves, finding power and protection in collective action traditionally organized under market associations with a leader, typically the Iyalode in Yorubaland and the Omu in Igboland. The market association became women’s platform for organizing, a primary site of resistance mobilization that provided linked networks for smooth and speedy information dissemination. This density of networks was to become key in the speed and scale of the Aba Women’s War of 1929.

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    107 The precolonial economy was mostly agrarian-​based and division of responsibilities was largely gendered. Men were tasked with heavy farming while women handled the distributive and trading services of food and other products including crafts. Women gained influence and power in society from their business roles. They cultivated a collective consciousness and group solidarity based on common interests and goals. As a result, “women held important rights in the public domain: . . . the right to representation on decision-​making bodies . . . wielded influence in policy-​making and possessed institutional mechanisms for making that influence felt” (Johnson 1982, p. 138). Colonialism worsened women’s disadvantage, however. It stripped women of political power and delegitimized precolonial-​era, women-​held authority positions. It relegated women to a second-​class citizenship status through institutionalized exclusion from holding political power such as warrant chief (southeast); sole native authority (southwest); district officers/​chiefs; and provincial and village chiefs. These were exclusively granted to men5. Economic policies, such as the practice of cash-​cropping, were equally used to curtail women’s economic opportunities and the influence it conferred. Additionally, women’s disenfranchisement institutionalized women’s subjugation during colonial rule. While the elective principle that granted men the right to vote in Nigeria was instituted in 1922, women gained the right to vote thirty-​two years later in the east, thirty-​three years later in the west, thirty-​seven years later in the south, and fifty-​seven years later in the Northern Region. The time differences when women in different regions first voted confirms the notion that context-​specific dynamics shaped gender effects on women’s role and status in Nigeria. Narratives of the historical evolution of the subjugation of women will remain unsettled for a while to come. The claim that women’s resistance reflected adverse changes in their precolonial realities during the colonial occupation is proven.

Women’s Response to the Political Economy of Colonialism in Nigeria Colonial conquest and domination in Africa elicited a range of reactions from Africans. On the one hand, some communities came to realize the futility of continuing to resist the Maxim-​gun armed invaders and “struck” deals with them. Others remained combative, submitting only after the conquest in wars. The response to colonial domination, therefore, ranged on a spectrum from extremes of collaboration to antagonism. In general, women fell into the latter group; most were seldom collaborators. While they scarcely came in direct contact with colonial administrators, women’s predilection for collective organization shaped their responses as well. The power and safety in collective action disincentivized the pursuit of self-​interest. Women’s protest of colonial administration in Nigeria was shaped by three main factors: a fundamental misunderstanding and underestimation of women’s position in society; the colonial pursuit of

108   Chiedo Nwankwor maintaining order and control over subject populations; and the prioritization of colonial economic imperative of resource extraction and the strategies required to sustain it. The totalitarian colonial project considered indigenous values and practices only to the extent that they were instrumentalized to advance its aims. British officials misunderstood and underestimated women’s role and power in society. Women’s political and economic assertive roles were aberrant to colonialists given their Victorian normative outlook. For instance, they misunderstood political arrangements in Yoruba communities, which resulted in the disempowerment of the Iyalodes (constituted women’s leader) and Erelus (either a noblewoman or priestess). In Igboland, colonial policies such as the creation of warrant chiefs was based on one of two erroneous assumptions. First, that Igbo societies were structured along chieftaincy lines as were most other Nigerian societies, with grave implications for women’s status and role. Second, the Igbos could not organize around a monarchical authority figure. Colonialists lacked understanding of women’s empowered position based on the sex-​complementary model of social organizing within the “democratic councils” of the acephalous Igbo societies (relative to European women). Colonial intervention refashioned existing order and aimed to cast women into the typical Victorian woman’s mold of docility and domesticity. They narrowly reinterpreted and reinvented social and political structures of precolonial society (Rai and Lievesley 1996), imposing subservience on women. This repositioning elicited a range of unanticipated resistance from women, unanticipated because they had underestimated women’s capacity for political agency. Unwilling to acknowledge the embarrassing women’s act of war and the blow it dealt the feared image of colonial authority, they labeled the Women’s War as “riots.” Falola and Paddock (2011, p. 8) argue that the British label of “riots” reflects their perception of women as “emotional and irrational . . . (which) . . . dismisses the totality of the events of the Women’s War.” Third, the  women’s revolt reflected opposition to the colonial prerogative of maintaining tight control on subject populations and the strategies they employed to maintain order. The British imposed three different forms of political administration on southern Nigeria—​the warrant chief system in the east, the Sole Native Authority in the west (SNA), and the local township government in the Colony of Lagos. Johnson writes of the SNA in Egba, whose authority women protested because the SNA used this authority to exploit and extort women: The advent of indirect rule brought about significant changes in the city government, mostly inimical to women as well as to the democratic character of leadership. Previously a system of checks and balances operated to prevent the ruler (alake) from becoming too authoritarian and despotic in his behavior. Under colonial rule, however, these checks and balances could no longer function effectively. (Johnson 1982, p. 149)

Okome (2013, p. 245) notes that “[w]‌omen’s activism during the anticolonial struggle in southern Nigeria reveals how the form of rule shapes the form of revolt against it,

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    109 and how indirect rule both reinforced ethnically bound institutions of control, and led to explosions from within.” As earlier noted, the Women’s War was a culmination of earlier pockets of protests. The first recorded women’s protest in the southeast took place thirteen years before the Women’s War while the earliest recorded women’s protest in the southwest occurred in 1908. The first of such publicly organized and documented protests in the southeast was the Dancing Women’s Movement, Nwaobiala, of 1925. Although mainly directed at native male authority and elites seen as colonial allies, the Dancing Women’s Movement expanded its scope to protest colonial administration and reflected women’s rejection of the newly imposed order that curtailed their freedom. They demanded, for example, that married women be allowed (as men were) to have affairs outside marriage without fear of prosecution, for unmarried girls to be allowed to go naked if they so choose, and for the abolition of cassava cash-​cropping (Mba 1982). The women of the Nwaobiala dancing protest directed their anger at the warrant chiefs, aggrieved by the excessive powers granted them. The British reposed moral and legal authority, traditionally conferred on an elders’ council, on ambitious and flighty young men willing to transgress sacred norms and values who were seen as working in the interests of the colonialists, corruptly enriching themselves at the expense of the community. Women sought fundamental changes—​a political transformation that would end the imposition of conventions and practices such as the authoritarian and corrupt warrant chief system. In the southwest, the “system set up by the British actually provided an umbrella over the alake’s (SNA) activities which allowed him to extend his prerogatives far beyond those allowed under traditional custom” (Johnson 1982). Women desired a re-​establishment of the social order that had recognized them as an important half of the society and desired the council-​based political arrangement that represented and respected the voices of all members of the community. As they resisted the native authority figures, they equally opposed the arrogant attitudes of the British officials (Mba 1982; Allen 1972). Among women’s recorded testimonies during the 1930 British-​ instituted Commission of Inquiry on the Women’s War, were remarks signifying “that they wanted to see the white man leave . . .” (Falola and Paddock 2011, p. 11). Fourth, women’s collective opposition against colonial authority was driven by the colonial economic imperative of maximizing economic benefit through resource extraction from the colony at the lowest possible cost to the British state. Although the debate continues as to whether colonialism had a net positive or negative effect on women’s status in general, less debatable is its severe impacts on women’s economic development at the time. The achievement of the colonial economic priority was inversely related to women’s economic advancement, a relationship powered by colonialism’s compatibility with patriarchal ideology and activated by Victorian gender norms. Colonialism was a hegemonic economic project and “economic . . . activity was defined, contested, and redefined in terms of gender . . .” (Cooper 1994). It reinvented indigenous economies by tying the region’s total economic output to the development demands of the metropole, which led to the adoption of the commodity-​based trading system, cash-​cropping, etc.

110   Chiedo Nwankwor Similarly, it reinvented gender norms, which altered women’s position by downgrading their economic roles and weakening their economic opportunities, which in turn constrained their ability to participate in local government (Johnson 1982). The despotic nature of colonial rule meant that this economic agenda was only achievable through violent coercion. The civilizing discourses of capitalist modernization relegated women to the private sphere of domesticity and reproduction. Not only were women burdened under the capitalist devaluation of reproductive labor, but they were also equally incorporated as unpaid labor for production. The colonial economic structure required that women work in the family to reproduce and care for the men and also contribute unpaid labor for cash-​cropping. Women mobilized to protest these exploitative colonial economic requisitions in defense of their economic interests. In her feminist critique of capitalism, Federici (2013) notes that women in Africa had consistently refused to be recruited to work on their husbands’ cash crops, and had instead defended subsistence-​oriented agriculture, transforming their villages from sites for the reproduction of cheap labor into sites of resistance to exploitation. Whereas they had been economically independent, the new economy was set to pauperize and push them to the margins. Women’s collective action against colonial authority under various organizations is mostly attributed to economic causes, more so than political motivations. These organizations include the Nwaobiala Dancing Movement,  the Aba Women’s Association, the Abeokuta Women’s Union (AWU), the Nigerian Women’s Union (NWU), the Lagos Market Women’s Association (LMWA), the Nigerian Women Party (NWP), the Lagos Women’s League, the Ladies Progressive Club, and others. Scholars of the Aba Women’s War of 1929 reflect two arguments—​the economic and political causes camps (Falola and Paddock 2011). Those who favor the economic interest read the war as against the onslaught of British economic exploitation of women. Women had resented the policy of unfair taxation including taxing the infirm, the elderly, and the very poor. They also resented price control and inspection of produce, and British market monopolies, all at a time of low palm-​oil prices and high prices of imported goods. The last straw, however, was the signification of an impending direct taxation for women through a census. As the tax assessor sent by warrant chief Okugo to evaluate members of the Opobo village encountered Nwanyeruwa (a woman who had just lost her daughter-​in-​law), she resisted him, and the ensued scuffle between the two set off the women’s revolt that consumed the region for about six months. The movement turned violent when a colonial doctor drove through the crowd and killed two of the protesting women. The colonial state responded with shocking violence, killing about fifty women according to official records, and scores more were injured. The violent repression of the movement by the colonial authority was shocking not for its novelty considering that the violent repression of the Adubi, Egba rebellion of 1918 killed about a thousand people. While predominant understandings of Africa’s colonial history seem to erroneously propagate the notion that colonial violence was

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    111 deployed only in settler colonies such as Kenya for the depopulation of indigenous people, and in wars of independence, Falola’s (2009) monograph leads the project to remedy its underepresented yet extensive use in non-​settler colonies such as Nigeria. He extensively documents the use of violence by the colonialists in seeking to dominate and crush anticolonial resistance in Nigeria, and from the Nigerian groups in attempts to resist colonial domination. Rather, the shock factor subsists in its blatant disregard of traditional norms of war that excluded women from direct violent attacks, allowing instead that they are taken captive as slaves. Colonialism imposed disruptions that generated economic dysfunctions and pathologies that resulted in women’s attempts to eliminate it. Proponents of the economic interest thesis suggest that women were primarily interested in reversing exploitative British economic policies including eliminating or reducing women’s taxation, changing the tax codes to reflect the differing and challenging realities of members of the community, getting rid of price controls, monopolies, and trade tariffs, etc. Proponents of a thesis centered on politics do not discount the contribution of economic imperialism in causing the Women’s War. Rather, they argue that the goals of the Women’s War transcended narrow economic interests to demands for broader political and social changes (Geiger, Allman, and Musisi 2002). “This group of historians often frames their argument with the purpose of using the Women’s War as one of the beginning points of Nigerian nationalism” (Falola and Paddock 2011, p. 11). Women started organizing collective protests in the southwestern province as early as 1908 for issues such as the water rate imposition (Johnson 1982), which continued from early to mid-19306. It was not until the 1940s, however, that they took center stage in anticolonial pro-​women’s protests. In 1940, the Lagos Market Women’s Association (LMWA) led by Madam Pelewura successfully protested the imposition of a £50 annual income tax on women. As wartime sacrifices continued to undermine their already precarious economic position, the LMWA successfully protested the price and distribution control by threatening to close down all the markets in Lagos in 1944. While the LMWA fought for women’s freedom from economic oppression, they equally fought for national independence through the provision of active support for militants opposing continued colonial exploitation. This engagement evolved to the articulation of nationalist sentiments including militants from the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP), the first political party founded in 1922 by Herbert Macaulay (1864–​1946). The hegemonic nationalist discourse typically centers on an imagined community where differences in interests are suppressed for the nationalist agenda, and group boundaries elide resulting in the formation of coalitions across social cleavages (LeVan 2011). Women forswore their femininity where it was considered distracting (for example, in combat) and instrumentalized it where it was found to be valuable (for example, in provisioning) for nationalist goals. Male-​led nationalist parties eagerly partnered with acquiescent women’s movement organizations that prioritized nationalist goals, while they shunned those that focused on the women’s agenda such as the Women’s Party; it would

112   Chiedo Nwankwor die shortly thereafter. Nevertheless, coalitions with conformist women’s movement organizations were sidelined in the political negotiations and elite bargaining that “shared the spoils” of independence (Enloe 1989; Yuval-​Davies and Anthias 1989). Formed in 1946, the Abeokuta Women’s Union (AWU) under the leadership of Fumilayo Ransome Kuti (1900–​7 8) successfully protested flat rate tax in one of the more notable women’s tax revolts called the “Great Upheaval” in 1947–​8 (Byfield 2003). The movement also secured the temporary abdication of the despotic and corrupt alake (SNA) and pressured the government into extending political representation to women in the governing council. In addition to protesting direct taxation of women without due representation, they protested the heavy-​handedness of British officials and their indigenous allies, and refused to accept the imposition of unfavorable market schemes such as selling by scale-​weight measurement (which would eliminate the traditional price-​haggling system). FRK led women’s rebellions against a changing social and economic order that not only subjected women, but had become unacceptably undemocratic in light of the immense power accumulated by the alake and his eagerness to use it against women. Just as Pelewura and the LMWA had demanded “votes for women or alternatively no taxation without representation,” so had FRK and the AWU refused to pay tax, especially without representation. The journey to democracy is cumulative, and the demands of these women’s movement organizations for inclusion played a role in dislodging colonial and native authoritarianism and expanding the discourse for independence. Although they adopted militant strategies such as blockading the palace and officials’ offices, arranging sit-​ins, refusing to pay tax, and threatening to close down the markets, they never engaged in violent activities. Whereas no proof of direct linkages exists, it would be untenable nevertheless, to argue that the patterns of women’s mobilization in the southwest did not draw lessons from the Aba Women’s War of 1929. Regional diffusion effects most probably played a role in advancing southwestern women’s success in claim-​making and state contestation. For example, the strategy of demanding the abdication of the Sole Native Authority—​the alake—​through militant strategies was not without precedent. Women in the Bende Division of Owerri Province had successfully demanded the removal of the warrant chiefs during the Women’s War. At a meeting in Umuahia called by the colonial district officer in an attempt to end the revolt, four thousand women had gathered and refused “to leave until the warrant chiefs surrendered their caps . . . [which] they threw down and left in a panic.”7 Women believed that the removal of colonial governance, including its native authority allies would solve their economic oppression. “[S]‌everal African historians argue that the Women’s War of 1929 represents the beginning of Nigerian nationalism” (Falola and Paddock 2011, p. 11). As such, women’s protests created the impetus for the articulation of nationalist sentiments, set the broader context for, and actively “tried to influence the broader nationalist movement” (Byfield 2003, p. 250), and independence mobilizations in Nigeria. In the same vein, one does not have to dig deep to identify the legacies of women’s protests in shaping the landscape of politics in contemporary Nigeria.

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    113

Women’s Protests and Contemporary Politics: Institutional (Dis)Continuity, Changing Contexts, and Outcomes Examples abound in the precolonial and colonial history of successful collective women’s action in state contestation and claim-​making. The women’s movement and mobilization took a downward turn in the immediate post-​independence period. This section makes the point that the decidedly masculinist outlook of the Nigerian state and its failure to integrate the interests of women who constitute one-​half of its total population partly results from the absence of a vigorous and autonomous women’s movement. This decline in women’s mass mobilization is implicated among other factors by the ethnicized, monetized, and contentious nature of post-​independent politics; by the military truncation of the First Republic in 1966 and the subsequent series of coups and military regimes; by the paradox of democratization in Africa; and by the commercialization of civil society. The nationalist metanarrative underlined by themes of freedom, equality, and justice has long been revered within postcolonial discourses of resistance. Nevertheless, these broad claims remain discriminately realized at best, and idealistic at worse. Women and other vulnerable populations still await the promised salvation as elites (mostly male) stake a claim and continue to loot and squander its resources. As stated earlier, women’s continuing disadvantage in contemporary democratic Nigeria is conditioned by the interchange between the changing contexts of national politics informed by shifting interests and alliances and the path-​dependent effects of colonial political and economic institutionalization of women’s subjection. There is little doubt that women’s movement organizations such as Women in Nigeria (WIN) and the Federation of Muslim Women’s Associations in Nigeria (FOMWAM) have played meaningful roles in advancing women’s and feminist interests against the onslaught of the masculinist modern Nigerian state. Nevertheless, the anticolonial women’s movement was more successful at resisting and challenging the colonial state-​driven oppression of women than the  contemporary women’s movement and mobilizations. While elaborating an assessment of this assertion is beyond the scope of this chapter, a brief remark is in order. The comparison is based on the triggers of women’s activist agency, and how they shape the trajectory and outcome of women’s mobilization in space and time. The contemporary women’s movement has not been a dominant force in Nigerian politics mostly because of its inability to unify and constitute a significant voting bloc capable of using women’s votes to punish parties that perpetuate prevailing patriarchal systems or reward progressive parties that support women’s rights8. Neither is the intention to deny the social gains women have made since independence. However, locating the women’s movement within the processes and structures that engendered said social

114   Chiedo Nwankwor gains is beyond the scope of this chapter. Whereas the triggers for women’s political mobilization and agency were evident during the colonial era and implicated women’s articulation of successful resistance, it would seem that said triggers exist on a greater scale in contemporary Nigeria. Although economic depression, crisis situations (political instability, conflict, natural disasters, etc.), the perception of injustice, and political transition/​democratization are common to both periods, the modern women’s movement certainly has more access to and benefits more from international and transnational women’s and feminist organizations. Advances in information and communication technology are game-​changing assets as well for the contemporary women’s movement, as the density of networks created through the market associations and other social groups pales in comparison. Tripp et al. (2008) elaborate upon an explanation for women’s political gains and the engendering of the state through the adoption of policies that promote women’s citizenship rights in Africa. The Nigerian state is hardly engendered. Women have not recorded significant political gains since independence. Nigeria ranks at the bottom of the list for women in the lower house (5.6 percent) and upper house (6.5 percent) of legislators in Africa and falls far short (18 percent) of the prescribed 30 percent of female representation in the executive. Neither has the state recorded policy changes or adoption of new women’s right policies and legislation in the decades since decolonization. For example, Nigeria has yet to record a nationally adopted women’s rights legislation or policy. The Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act (VAPP) signed by the Goodluck Jonathan administration was placed in the concurrent list, requiring that every state’s assembly will have to pass the bill to activate it at the state level. Only a few out of the thirty-​six states and Federal Capital Territory have passed the law so far. Women’s rights advancement remains an intractable political issue, driven especially by regionalization—​a path-​dependent effect from the Richards Constitution of 1945. The absence of a women’s movement capable of intervening in state politics in the interests of women highlights certain tensions and intersections shaped by historical path-​dependencies, disruptions, and discontinuities in institutions, trajectories, and outcomes. Although “nationalist elites in most post-​colonial states saw themselves as agents of social and economic transformation . . . [and] created a framework within which they sought to change and develop societies marked by the experience of colonial exploitation” (Rai 1996, p.  15), their transformation barely  agenda integrated the reformation of gender relations to redress women’s marginalization, save for nationalists such as Thomas Sankara (1949–​87) of Burkina Faso. Along with the failure to redraw the colonial geographical antecedents of the Nigerian state (as was the case in the rest of Africa), the nationalists equally failed to restructure the state. Rather, they amplified and deployed its pathologies in the cultivation of legitimacy and perpetuation of power. They reproduced and instrumentalized the marginalizing dichotomies of masculine/​ feminine, patron/​client, elite/​low-​class, in/​out that subjugated women during colonialism. Nationalists brandished the “logic of consequences” through inclusion/​exclusion into the corridors of power to reward support and discipline opposition. Colonial rule

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    115 had created the institution of the “big man” and patrons. By granting warrant chiefs and headmen unlimited power without control, except to the extent that it interfered with economic returns and the maintenance of control over subject populations, colonialism engendered patronage distribution. The abuse of power followed naturally in the absence of control. Patronage politics and the corruption it spun has become a leading explanation of Nigeria’s underdevelopment. This practice has continued and has been particularly constraining for women’s agency and development. Buoyed up by the hope for a state that will finally embrace them as it will reflect the values of equality and justice, women prioritized the broader interest of nationalism and subsumed the women’s agenda for the sake of the haloed Nigerian imaginary. Funmilayo Ransome Kuti cofounded the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC) and became its lone female National Executive member, a pattern of women’s marginalization from the party leadership that has continued to the present day. The first national women’s organization, National Women’s Union (NWU) was formed from AWU in 1947 by Funmilayo Ransome Kuti. The organization’s political goals were specifically to advance the women’s agenda through the following: (1) achieve franchise for women; (2) abolish the electoral college; and (3) allocation of a quota for women’s representation, where women can nominate their representatives on the local council, and not have the council headed by a traditional leader. By 1950, the NWU expanded and became truly national with several branches in all the regions of the country. Its activism played a significant role in securing Universal Franchise in 1954. Subsequently, women got caught up in nationalism fever and relegated the women’s agenda at the behest of men. In making a similar point about the nationalists’ prioritization of goals, Rai (1996, p. 11) quotes an Algerian woman activist: It would have seemed so mean to question the priority of the liberation of the country, and raise issues which were no issues anymore after the liberation:  we believed that all the remnants of women’s oppression would disappear with independence. We are made to feel that protesting [in] the name of women’s interests and rights is not to be done now.

In the years leading up to independence, women reframed their resistance to  the center  on deracialization and self-​determination, rather than women’s equality and individual freedom. They were organized in the women’s wing of the parties, away from party leadership and power. They ceded leadership and control of the mobilizing structures that had served the movement so well and submitted to being organized under the women’s wing of the male-​led nationalist popular movement. Co-​optation soon gave way to a different kind of women’s mobilization, one that avoided confrontation and did charity work instead. Thus, the National Council of Women’s Societies (NCWS) was founded in 1959 as an umbrella group for all women’s organizations in the country. The consequences of having sacrificed the organizational resources, rallying frames, and mobilizing structures of the women’s movement in the struggle for independence would soon become evident for the women’s movement after independence.

116   Chiedo Nwankwor In the euphoric immediate post-​independence period, women’s activist mobilization against state-​driven gender oppression declined. It was a lost opportunity for women as they failed to capitalize on the momentum from decolonization to expand their sphere of influence within the newly independent state. While few women fought and won inclusion in the First Republic, there was virtually little change in women’s lot as the social inequalities created by colonialism persisted. Women’s activist protests and mobilizations never gave rise to strong and viable women’s political parties. Neither were women influential enough to negotiate inclusion into the elite bargains that gave rise to the independent Nigerian state. The lone women’s political party, the Nigerian Women’s Party (NWP) was founded in 1944 by Mrs Oyinkan Abayomi (1897–​1990), as a result of her conviction that women were “cheated by our men and the government” died eventually in 1956, with its members joining the NCWS and other political parties. More crushing for the NWP was its lack of support from the market women. Women rallied again to protest their marginalization during the Second Republic (1979–​83). A group of leftist-​leaning academics and activists opposed to the NCWS’s neutrality articulated a new radical agenda. Women in Nigeria (WIN), an autonomous, data-​driven advocacy organization was inaugurated in 1983. It researched, analyzed, and documented women’s struggles. Relatively, women gained a little more prominence in government. They mobilized and pressured the state into creating a policy agency for women—​the National Committee on Women and Development—with advisory roles only as it was tucked away under layers of ministerial bureaucracy. WIN continued its radical activism, opposing the neoliberal structural adjustment program, “the military junta’s unfulfilled transitions to civil rule, and the proscription of the democratic formations and labor unions” (Abdullah 1995, pp. 218–​19). WIN’s demise around 1997 from internal fighting over conflicting interests gave way to the Nigerian Feminist Forum’s (NFF) eventual inauguration in 2008 after years of attempting to articulate an alternative platform. The NFF played a key role in successfully mobilizing opposition to “attempts by a private university to force virginity and HIV testing on Nigerian girls entering the institution . . . [and] state attempts to ban the use of condoms” (Madunagu 2008, p. 669). The year 1999 marked the return to democracy and the start of the Fourth Republic. As part of preparations for the transition, a Political Bureau was created to, among other things, make recommendations for settling the “woman’s question” in Nigeria. The government threw out all the recommendations of the Bureau for women’s advancement including the reservation of 5 percent of seats for women at all legislative levels. Including sharia law and the federal character into the “no-​go areas” during the debates at the Constituent Assembly narrowed the possibilities of sociopolitical reform to expand individual freedoms and autonomy especially for women in the north. Additionally, the creation and adoption of a two-​party system further worsened women’s political predicament, as ethnicity, regionalization, and patronage characterized the competition for power. In an attempt to end women’s political subjection under the guise of women’s wings of parties, the National Electoral Commission

Women’s Protests in the Struggle for Independence    117 outlawed women’s wings. However, it did not make any institutional provisions for women’s participation in parties. Without any springboard for women, their marginalization in formal politics became institutionalized once again, as neither of the two state-​sanctioned parties sought women’s inclusion through party-​mandated recruitment quotas. Additionally, the state discarded reports and proposals for attempts at political/​electoral reforms in the country including the Electoral Reform Committee headed by the reputable Chief Justice of the Federation, Justice Mohammed Bello Uwais who had proposed changes whose implementation would have had significant positive effects on women’s political participation and representation in the country.

Conclusion The disjoint between the character of precolonial Nigeria and the nature and mode of colonial domination shaped indigenous responses to colonialism, as reflected in men’s and women’s different experiences and responses to colonialism. This phenomenon established and embedded institutions and processes whose continuity and/​or disruption have shaped the trajectory of contemporary politics and its outcomes in Nigeria. The conscription of women’s economic opportunity and the erosion of their access to political power in colonial Nigeria resulted in women’s rebellion and organized protests against the colonial state. The above analysis leaves little doubt that women have played a significant role in Nigeria’s independence while resisting and protesting their particular oppression as women and seeking freedom from subjection by the colonial state. This activist mobilization was sustained by women’s rich history of association, most notably their market associations, even though the protests were dispersed across space and time. Women in Nigeria defied fear and disempowering colonial gender conceptions to organize an anticolonial uprising, creating the impetus for militant nationalism, using their organizational platform to  provide support, and eventually subsuming their women-​specific mobilization for the liberation struggle. While colonial states were obsessed with “projecting an image of unchallengeable power” (Berman 1998, p. 314), the Aba Women’s War, remarkable for its strategy and scope, demystified colonial power and heightened its vulnerability to attack. The successes and lessons from the Women’s War, arguably transferred through regional diffusion effects, shaped the successes of subsequent women’s protests, notably the LMWA and the AWU in their militant, yet nonviolent engagement strategy. Women’s successful anticolonial resistance movement was subsumed in the nationalist project through its supposedly universalizing agenda and it expected the embrace of women based on its values of freedom and equality. The ruling class, however, imported back into the new state the colonial policies they had protested, including women’s subjection, and bringing women back to the colonial era status quo, if not worse. No

118   Chiedo Nwankwor doubt many strides have been made in redressing women’s marginalizing through the republics and their checkered political history. Still, and paradoxically, these gains seem orchestrated to buy out women, constrain and destabilize their activist agency, and prevent their radical mobilization against the ruling class. This describes women’s situation in the present Fourth Republic. While the ruling class uses lessons from women’s formidable history of opposition to limit their influence, women appear bent on ignoring and dissociating themselves from said history. For as long as a vacuum persists in place of a women’s movement capable of organizing women into a credible electoral threat that could pressurize party leadership into extending significant power and policy distributive good to women, so will the women’s agenda remain on the back burner of politics and governance in Nigeria.

Notes 1. Precolonial here means pre-​foreign domination, which includes both colonialization and Islamicization. The north was subject to both “civilizational occupations,” the latter preceding the former. 2. This is a modified version of the argument Cooper makes in comparing African postcolonial narratives of resistance and Indian’s subaltern agency. He argues that both narratives risk trivializing and disempowering the revolting actions of these subject populations that reshaped the boundaries of colonialism in both continents. 3. Partly evidenced by the fact that they obtained suffrage nearly three decades after women from the other two regions, and even that was imposed by a military edict in 1979. 4. This chapter, therefore, is based mostly on women’s anticolonial collective action in the southern parts of the country. 5. Ahebi Ugbabe became the lone female warrant chief and king in colonial Nigeria (Achebe 2011). 6. The AWU had become very influential by 1940, overshadowing the NWP, an indication that Funmilayo Ransome Kuti had been working on the movement in preceding years. 7. CE/​K5, Report of the Commission of Inquiry, p. 86 cited in Falola and Paddock 2011, p. 78. 8. This assertion is not to essentialize women and discount the diverse interests that exist within different women’s groups. It is to argue, rather, that world history is replete with successful national women’s movement mobilizations despite a diversity of interests, which conflict at times and overlap at others.

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Chapter 8

T he Nigerian Nov e l an d the Anti c ol onia l Imaginat i on Cajetan Iheka

Introduction It has become commonplace, in the work of historians and political scientists of Africa, to thread the narrative of the colonial moment focusing particularly on the repressive instruments adopted by the British administration for pacification. Such scholarship has also pointed to the counter-​colonial activities that African communities under siege employed in expressing their resistance. In the Nigerian context, the writings of Toyin Falola (2009) and Felix Ekechi (1974) posited violence as the modus operandi of the colonial edifice and the myriad anticolonial movements that also adopted the instrumentality of violence to resist the strictures of colonialism. These violent activities may stand out for their spectacular nature but the colonial struggle was waged in other arenas as well, including the cultural sphere. The task in this chapter is to elucidate the anticolonial vectors of Nigerian literature, focusing particularly on two novels: Chinua Achebe’s Arrow of God (1964) and Flora Nwapa’s Efuru (1966), the first novel by a Nigerian woman. Reading both novels together is appropriate given their canonical status in Nigerian literature but also because they provide gendered responses to the colonial moment in southeastern Nigeria. While Achebe’s text foregrounds the epistemic violence of the colonial edifice and the patriarchy of the indigenous communities, Nwapa’s work rewrites the anticolonial text by foregrounding the female script and linking the experience of women to the exploitation of the colonies. The established fact that Achebe facilitated the publication of Efuru’s novel also makes it an interesting prospect to read both authors together. By making possible the publication of Efuru in his position as editor of Heinemann’s African Writers Series, Achebe enables a female writer to explore the interiority of women missing in his novels.

122   Cajetan Iheka In Edward Said’s 1993 study of the role of culture in the imperial project, he demonstrated the primacy of literature and other cultural productions in the effort to “civilize” the colonial subjects. In other words, if the gun was used as a direct weapon of coercion, literary texts, films, and other cultural artifacts equally proved useful in pacification efforts. Simon Gikandi (2004) makes a similar point in the case of African literature when he locates colonialism as a crucial factor in the development of its corpus. Nigerian literature bears out this point by capturing social transformations arising from the colonial encounter. Chinua Achebe’s early work, for instance, underscored the dynamics of precolonial Igbo society, therefore subverting the colonial argument that Africa was ahistorical and bereft of culture before the coming of the Europeans. Of course there were precursors to Achebe’s novels such as the Onitsha Market Literature, produced in the 1940s and known for their melodramatic and sensational qualities. Described by Charles Larson as “the Nigerian equivalent of the American dime novel,” these pamphlets made use of a limited English vocabulary and incorporated indigenous languages as would the more sophisticated literary forms that followed in the 1950s and 1960s (Larson 1976, p. 82).

Arrow of God and the Disruption of the Long Night of Savagery If, as Said (1993) argued, cultural productions were a crucial component of the colonial infrastructure, it makes sense that anticolonial resistance, including in Nigeria, would enlist more than the gun in the project of decolonization. The year 1958 turned out to be an important moment in the institution of the canon of African literature with the publication of Achebe’s first novel, Things Fall Apart. In this novel, divided into three parts, we track the experience of Okonkwo and his people in Umuofia before and during the colonial occupation of eastern Nigeria. Countering the charge that the Igbos are a barbaric and savage people, Things Fall Apart presented a rich and diverse culture that is anything but static. Unlike the idealized The Dark Child (1954) by Camara Laye, Achebe’s novel portrayed both the pleasant and ugly sides of Igbo civilization, what M. M. Mahood elsewhere called Achebe’s presentation of “a feeling of the continuity of custom” (Mahood 1977, p. 40). If most of Things Fall Apart (1958) is concerned with Umuofia before the European incursion, it is in Arrow of God (1964), considered his best work, that Achebe provided “a solid background of the traditional structures of social order and leadership in Igboland” and then their disruption by British colonialism (Nwoga 1981, p. 25). In the novel, Achebe demonstrated his oft-​cited expression that the African past “was not one long of night of savagery from which the first Europeans acting on God’s behalf delivered them” (Morning Yet on Creation Day 1975, p. 59). By “long night of savagery,” Achebe was referring to the denigration of Africans and the elision of their subjectivities

The Nigerian Novel and the Anticolonial Imagination    123 in colonial narratives such as the fictitious George Allen’s The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger, referenced in both Things Fall Apart and Arrow of God, as well as novels such as Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (1899), and Joyce Cary’s Mister Johnson (1939), reported to have influenced Achebe’s decision to write African-​ centered narratives (Mahood 1977, p. 37). Achebe’s incorporation of Allen’s work in both Things Fall Apart and Arrow of God illuminated his oppositional stance to the tenets of the colonialist text. Where the imagined colonial Allen considered the story of Achebe’s Okonkwo to deserve not more than a paragraph in his work, Achebe devoted an entire novel to the tragedy of this man, painting the picture of a complex character whose motivations were as difficult to comprehend as his tragedy. In Arrow of God, Winterbottom’s assistant, Tony Clarke, is reading “The Call” chapter of Allen’s book before he goes to have dinner with his boss, the colonial resident. It is telling that Achebe lifts a paragraph of this chapter into his text, allowing us to hear the European’s voice. In the passage, the colonizing mission is portrayed in heroic terms: “to lead the backward races into line.” Likewise, the masculinist impulse of the hero, “braving the climate, taking the risks, playing his best in the game of life,” is indicative of the dangers in Africa (Achebe 1964, p. 33). In fact, Winterbottom fleshes out this climatic danger as he sleeps in the “heart of darkness”: At night he had to imprison himself inside a mosquito-​net which shut out whatever air movement there was outside. His bedclothes were sodden and his head formed a waterlogged basin on the pillow. After the first stretch of unrestful sleep he would lie awake, tossing about until he was caught in the distant throb of drums. He would wonder what unspeakable rites went on in the forest at night, or was it the heart-​beat of the African darkness? . . . This dear old land of waking nightmares! (Achebe 1964, p. 30)

Here, Allen and Winterbottom are pointing to an image of Africa as a site of darkness and negativity, and it is to Achebe’s credit that he countered those portrayals with the liveliness of Umuofia and Umuaro. However, Clarke summarizes the problem with this characterization of Africans in the colonial imaginary, telling Winterbottom that Allen “doesn’t allow, for instance, for there being anything of value in native institutions” (Achebe 1964, p. 35). Achebe’s textual strategy deserves some comment here for its anticolonial stance. It is remarkable that such a critical statement is not expressed by a native but a complicit agent of the colonial edifice. If the colonial narrative is a simple, ahistorical rendering of Africa as seen in Allen’s work here, Achebe’s strategy revolves around the allowance of multiple voices and perspectives. By this technique, Achebe bears out the Igbo saying, Egbe bere, ugo bere, Onye si ibe ya ebele nku gbajie ya, which loosely translates as: “Let the eagle perch, let the hawk perch; whichever says the other should not perch, let its wing break.” Embedded in this saying is the accommodationist philosophy of Igbo culture. This original instance of postmodern multiplicities is in contrast with the definitive

124   Cajetan Iheka stance of colonial singularity. Achebe is at the forefront of the project of provincialization of Europe with his insistence on expanding the range of possibilities to accommodate localist perspectives and the differences even within such perspectives. It is a testament to Achebe’s narrative style that he allows the reader to see a range of options and then decide for themselves the appropriate interpretation. In so doing Achebe problematized the notion of singular History which Edouard Glissant equally critiqued in Caribbean Discourse (1989). I will focus on two textual examples to explicate this point. The first illustration comes from the dialogue between Winterbottom and Clarke, where the former comments on his houseboy’s age: “He’s a fine specimen, isn’t he? He’s been with me four years. He was a little boy of about thirteen—​by my own calculation, they’ve no idea of years—​when I took him on. He was absolutely raw” (Achebe 1964, p. 35). Like the African darkness, the “raw” is synonymous with negativity, barbarism, and savagery, requiring the intervention of the white man. At stake in this discussion is what Johannes Fabian termed the “denial of coevalness” (Fabian 1983, p. 31). The dialogue between the colonial officials is striking, too, because of what precedes it: a discussion of the alternative sense of time among the colonized. Achebe renders an elaborate sense of local time before the third chapter in which Winterbottom posits his colonialist view. At the novel’s beginning, for instance, there is the search for the moon, whose appearance empowers the chief priest, Ezeulu, to announce the Festival of the Pumpkin Leaves. When Clarke attempts to problematize his superior’s view, Winterbottom interjects, saying, “They understand seasons, I don’t mean that. But ask a man how old he is and he doesn’t begin to have an idea” (Achebe 1964, p. 35). Winterbottom’s problem here is to universalize his idea of time, relegating those he deems Other to an inferior status. Through this dialogue and the earlier dramatization of the local perception of time, Achebe makes sure that Winterbottom does not have the last word. Read contrapuntally with the other time-​narrative in the novel, Winterbottom’s view becomes questionable. The Winterbottom–​Clarke dialogue is also the location of the second demonstration of Achebe’s strategy of undermining the colonial script. I refer here to the discussion of the Umuaro–​Okperi land dispute. Winterbottom’s recollection of the cause of the war is telling and deserves quoting: As I was saying, this war started because a man from Umuaro went to visit a friend in Okperi one fine morning and after he’d had one or two gallons of palm wine—​it’s quite incredible how much of that dreadful stuff they can tuck away—​anyhow, this man from Umuaro having drunk his friend’s palm wine reached for his ikenga and split it in two. (Achebe 1964, p. 36)

Readers familiar with the colonial script cannot fail to notice the danger of Winterbottom’s characterization since it feeds into the stereotype of the lazy/​drunk African and his propensity for violence. Alcohol is absent from the original presentation of the conflict, which revolved around land ownership as well as the conflict between Akukalia, the Umuaro emissary, and Ebo, who belongs to the Okperi clan (Achebe 1964,

The Nigerian Novel and the Anticolonial Imagination    125 pp. 23–​4). Again Achebe undermines Winterbottom’s dangerous, authoritative text before its arrival by presenting an alternative description of what transpired. Considering these two examples, I argue that Achebe’s strategy of colonial subversion includes positioning the local interpretation of events and social practices alongside the colonial perspective. If the colonial position masquerades itself as the urtext, Achebe supplants that authority with the inclusion of alternative viewpoints and perspectives. But Achebe does not stop there. In the elucidation of the novel’s major conflict surrounding Ezeulu’s arrest and its impact on the social fabric of Umuaro as well as Oduche’s “arrest” of the sacred python of Idemili, we can decipher additional challenges to the colonial script. We can locate the novel’s anticolonial stance in the scene in which Oduche, Achebe’s son and emissary to the colonial mission, traps the sacred python. The catechist, Mr. Goodcountry, instructs his followers to kill the sacred snake for its serpentine affiliation. But Oduche, afraid of Idemili’s wrath, puts the snake in a box so that it dies of natural causes, absolving him of blame. In this incident, the totalitarian nature of the colonizer, including the missionary arm, becomes clear. Although the snake is harmless and coexists with the people of this community, Goodcountry wants the animal gone. It is remarkable as well that Oduche uses a box made for the Christians, a tool of the colonial mission, to subdue the traditional snake. The novel pairs this destructive attitude toward tradition and nature with the more liberal worldview of Moses Unachukwu, the most influential Christian from Umuaro. In challenging Goodcountry’s view, Moses “told the new teacher quite bluntly that neither the Bible nor the catechism asked converts to kill the python” (Achebe 1964, p. 49). Moses endorses the kind of accommodationist stance that we have discussed earlier. He is a Christian but decries destroying the snake as against Goodcountry’s authoritarian insistence on the animal’s annihilation. We can further make two claims regarding the environmentalism but also the hybridity suffusing the scene. In assigning the python a sacred status and ensuring that it gets a similar burial to a human if killed, Achebe’s novel reconfigures the portrayal of the African environment in the colonial script. If Winterbottom and Allen validate the idea of Africa as a heart of darkness and if Goodcountry further endorses this view by associating the snake with negativity and evil, Achebe affirms the environment by peopling it with human and nonhuman beings who derive sustenance from it. The positioning of the snake in relation to the human is also an indication of their entanglement or what I have called their “proximity” in Naturalizing Africa: Ecological Violence, Agency, and Postcolonial Resistance in African Literature (Iheka 2018, pp. 22–​6). In rehabilitating the environment via the snake, the novel makes possible a vision of ecological interconnection, a departure from the colonial tendency to separate civilized humans from nature. The novel gestures toward the importance of the environment to human activities and vice versa; and through the human–​snake coexistence, posits a vision of interconnection that deprivileges the human. Although critics can point to other parts of the novel that appear to endorse the exploitation of the nonhuman world, the sacred python proves crucial for proposing an alternative environmental ethics.

126   Cajetan Iheka Further subverting the colonial premise of that snake incident is the hybridity surrounding Oduche’s inability to kill the snake and Unachukwu’s defense of the animal. Although Oduche appears to agree with Goodcountry’s view of the snake, he lacks the courage to carry out his order. It is appropriate to attribute Oduche’s hesitation to the residue of indigenous belief. Even the foremost Christian in the community quotes not only the Bible but also the indigenous text to explain why the snake should be left alone. Here, the indigenous values with which Oduche and Moses endow the snake overwhelm the totalizing attitude of the Christian/​colonial structure. We see further examples among the policemen at Winterbottom’s court. As representatives of the colonial establishment and new converts, they take Christian names. Yet they attribute Winterbottom’s illness to Ezeulu’s arrest. These “converts” seek a medicine man’s protection against Ezeulu’s powers. As colonial agents, they uphold the values of the colonial edifice, but they also require and demand the fortification of traditional medicine men to ward off danger. In these examples, we see the disfiguration, if not the disabling, of the colonizer’s address. The language of the novel further speaks to Achebe’s investment in hybridity as an anticolonial infrastructure. As a participant at the 1962 Makerere Conference on the language of African literature, Achebe argued that English is part of his heritage and can “carry the weight of the African experience,” that is a new English “suited to its African surroundings” (Achebe, Morning, p. 62). Achebe’s position contrasted with Ngugi wa Thiong’o, who argued that crafting African literature in European languages furthers the colonial and imperial project (Ngugi, Decolonizing the Mind 1986). The pragmatic Achebe was sensitive to the multiplicity of languages in Africa and the difficulty of reaching an extended audience if writers used their mother tongue. Because Nigeria has multiple languages, for instance, a novel in Igbo would be unavailable to non-​Igbos; dialectal variations also would impede the cultivation of a larger Igbo readership. Achebe’s strategy of domesticating English and infusing it with Igbo and pidgin expressions have been well discussed and need no elaboration here (Madubuike 1975, pp. 147–​9). The point is to locate the strategy within the decolonizing ambitions of the writers and critics who gathered to ponder the language question in Makerere. Given Achebe’s deconstruction of the authoritative colonial script in Arrow of God, as well as his inclusion of multiple perspectives and linguistic complexity as markers of anticolonial politics in Nigeria, I aim next to show the manner in which the novel signifies historical resistance against the colonial administration. Achebe’s novel, according to Charles Nnolim (1977), drew from an actual event. Nnolim argues that Achebe must have collected material from The History of Umuchu (1953), which included the experience of the high priest of Uchu, who like Ezeulu, was imprisoned by the colonial administration. Although critics have contested Nnolim’s claim that Achebe used the work without attribution and/​or significant alteration, the parallels between the historical event and Achebe’s fictional rendering remain interesting for my purposes (Innes 1978, pp. 16–​18). Achebe employed the priest story to demonstrate physical resistance against the colonial administration, who in Winterbottom’s words, was “making a dozen mushroom kings grow where there was none before” (Achebe 1964, p.  59).

The Nigerian Novel and the Anticolonial Imagination    127 In refusing to be warrant chief in the service of British indirect rule, Ezeulu, like the historical referent in Nnolim’s work, subverts the colonial address and reinforces the traditional belief that Igbo enwe eze (“the Igbo has no king”). Critics might object that despite Ezeulu’s protestations, his imprisonment made it impossible for him to eat the sacred yams, which in turn engenders Ulu’s abandonment at the novel’s end. After all, the seeming triumph of Christianity appears to undermine Ezeulu’s resistance and that of the larger community against colonialism. As Ezeulu loses his son and his mind, the novel’s ending can be marshaled as evidence for this claim of colonial defeat: “many an Umuaro man had sent his son with a yam or two to offer the new religion and to bring back the promised immunity. Thereafter any yam that was harvested in the man’s fields was harvested in the name of the son” (Achebe 1964, p. 287). Yet the novel also provides evidence to suggest that the ending of the novel is symptomatic of the victory of indigenous communalism over Western individualism. I attribute Ezeulu’s tragedy to his failure to heed Umuaro’s request to eat the sacred yams and subsequently announce the new yam festival. Piqued that the Nwaka-​ led faction of the community called his bluff when he convened them to announce Winterbottom’s invitation, Ezeulu seizes the opportunity to punish them when he could not eat the sacred yams during his detention. On more than one occasion, the community leaders ask Ezeulu to eat the yams and let them incur the wrath of Ulu, but he refuses. I acknowledge that the novel’s treatment of the issue is ambiguous. On one hand, Ezeulu appears helpless and sympathizes with the people as his consultation with Ulu yields no favorable outcome. On the other hand, however, he is delighted at the opportunity “to hit” back for their disrespect for his office. As such, Ezeulu’s intentions are difficult to pinpoint. As he meets his tragic fate, the narrator notes that for the people of Umuaro, their “God had taken sides with them against his headstrong and ambitious priest and thus upheld the wisdom of their ancestors—​that no man however great was greater than his people; that no man ever won judgement against his clan” (Achebe 1964, p. 287). In this telling, Ezeulu’s conflict with his people, precisely his promotion of an individualist sensibility leads to his downfall. The transcendence of the community, and not the Christian Church, is what is at stake in my reading. As the community takes to the Christian Church, we are reminded of Homi Bhabha’s “signs taken for wonder” (Bhabha 1994, p. 145). Bereft of any evidence of real conversion, the novel exposes a people desirous to harvest their yams and see an opportunity in the church to fulfill that mission. Considering their antecedents, the fact that they previously discarded a god for outliving its purpose and that Ulu was fashioned to offer them protection, Umuaro’s relationships with deities have always been strategic. Neil ten Kortenaar aptly captured this dynamism: “The British intrusion forces Umuaro to redefine itself, but its culture has always been subject to redefinition. Umuaro did not have a homeostatic, holistic culture that fell apart when the Europeans came. The villages invented the god Ulu to unite them when they were threatened by Abam slave-​raiders” (Kortenaar 1995, p. 15). Kortenaar’s commentary implies that Umuaro’s romance with the Christian God at the end of the novel will not be an exception to this opportunistic relationship. In the same

128   Cajetan Iheka vein, the community’s unity as they embrace the Church at the end is a stab at the colonialist vision of individualism.

Subverting Internal and External Colonialisms in Nwapa’s Efuru In his assessment of the gender politics in Achebe’s Arrow of God, Olakunle George contended that “the novel’s horizon is circumscribed by the patriarchy of Ezeulu’s household” (George 2005, p. 359). Patriarchy is ostensible in the exclusion of women from the decision-​making process of Umuaro’s Ndichies. When the number of visitors to Ezeulu after his release from detention is tallied, the narrator suggests the irrelevance of women by excluding them from the count. Although Achebe’s narrative subordinated the women, they were at the forefront of anticolonial struggle in Nigeria, including the Aba Women’s War of 1929. Nwapa’s novel, to which I now turn, foregrounded the female perspective begging for elaboration in Achebe’s text. In doing so, Nwapa illustrated Chikwenye Okonjo Ogunyemi’s (1996) influential claim: African women writers conjoin women issues with the broader national issues affecting their society. If Achebe puts Ezeulu, his male children, and kinsmen at the center of Arrow of God (1964), Nwapa problematized such representation by foregrounding Efuru, the female protagonist. From the title, Nwapa wants it clear that the novel decenters the male narrative. If Achebe’s women are circumscribed by patriarchal strictures, Efuru emerges as an independent woman in the opening paragraph of Nwapa’s text. When Adizua is unable to pay the required dowry, Efuru refuses to sacrifice her happiness for patriarchal tradition. Against her father’s wishes, Efuru moves in with Adizua as his wife. In their relationship and in her subsequent marriage to Gilbert, Nwapa’s protagonist is a crucial support for her partners; yet, those marriages fail. Adizua elopes with another woman and does not return even when his only child with Efuru dies. Gilbert appears responsible in the early days of his marriage with Efuru but soon starts drinking and staying out late at night. Ultimately, the reader learns he fathers a child in another town. But the climactic moment of their relationship occurs when Gilbert endorses the rumor accusing Efuru of infidelity. Efuru leaves Gilbert and returns to her father’s house as she had done after separating from Adizua. Although Nwapa is sensitive to the peculiar challenges of women in such societies, she is careful to articulate Efuru’s agency and free will. Focusing on the challenges faced by women such as Efuru, Nwapa also addresses her difficulty in bearing children. This barrenness makes her subject to approbation. Nwapa emphasized the layers of colonialism for women in African societies. As we will see subsequently, Efuru and women like her are exposed to the ravages of British colonialism, but they also contend with the ostensible colonialism of indigenous patriarchal structures. Whereas Achebe leaves

The Nigerian Novel and the Anticolonial Imagination    129 unproblematized many of the indigenous patriarchal inhibitions against women, Nwapa sheds light on them while portraying strong women like Efuru and Ajanapu who are uncomfortable with the status quo. While Nwapa critiqued the oppressive elements of tradition causing “the pain that gnaws at the souls of women;” (Umeh 2001, p. 353), she approved the liberatory ones, such as the revered Ogbuide, the Oguta water goddess, portrayed as an example of female independence in Efuru (Jell-​Bahlsen 1995; Ogunyemi 1996). One way to decipher the anticolonial politics of Efuru is within the context of Ogunyemi’s claim that a critical strategy of African women writers is to make “women’s issue[s]‌and other forms of repression crucial aspects of the national agenda” (Ogunyemi 1996, p. 122). Besides challenging the treatment of women in traditional society, Nwapa’s text offered an extended critique of British colonial policies as they pertain to taxation and alcohol prohibition. Scholars have captured the burden imposed by taxation on the colonized in Africa, including in Nigeria. In fact, the aforementioned Aba Women’s War started because women feared that Britain wanted to extend taxation to them. Fearing that the original arrangement, which taxed men, was about to be altered to include them, the women vigorously protested. Part of the conflict’s logic was that the women were already bearing the burden of existing taxation and would be further imperiled with additional ones (Falola 2009, pp.  109–​20). Nwapa textualized this burden with Nwosu and Nwabata, who were visited by tax collectors at the height of their financial distress. Making the visit at this point highlights the additional burden of tax payment for this family. Interestingly, Nwabata locks in Nwosu, who had gone to collect his gun for attacking the colonial messengers, while telling the visitors that her husband is out. In this scene, Nwapa also skewered the masculine irrationality that would have landed Nwosu in jail had he succeeded in harming colonial messengers. We can interpret Nwapa’s handling of this scene against the novels of Achebe to further understand the gendered implications of the texts. Readers of Achebe’s Things Fall Apart (1958) can see a similarity between Okonkwo’s handling of the visit of the colonial messenger and Nwosu’s planned attack on the tax collectors in Efuru. Okonkwo responds with violence and commits suicide and it is not far-fetched to conclude that Nwosu would meet a similar tragic end if his wife had not stopped him. Other critics have argued that Okonkwo’s rejection of the feminine or “womanish” leads to his tragic end (Andrade 2011, p. 52). We can make a similar case for Ezeulu, who excludes his wives in decision-​making. In fact, he dismisses the counsel of his wife regarding his decision to send Oduche to school. Unlike Okonkwo and Ezeulu, however, Nwapa’s Nwosu is spared because of his wife’s intervention. At difficult moments of their lives, she is the stable hand who enables their family to surmount obstacles, suggesting the novel’s insistence on complementarity between men and women as antidote to social crises. Efuru’s (1966) endorsement of male–​female complementarity, rooted in African traditional practices, has also made the novel a weapon in the hands of African gender scholars who berate Western feminists for their colonizing and condescending attitudes toward African women and local cultural practices (Nnaemeka 1995).

130   Cajetan Iheka The family, in the works of African female writers, may be “the nation writ small” as Susan Z. Andrade (2011, p. 21) argued; yet African women authors, including Nwapa, also directly tackle larger national issues. While Arrow of God dramatized a real-​life anticolonial event with Ezeulu’s refusal to be warrant chief, Nwapa made a similar move with a critique of colonial taxation and her incorporation of local resistance to colonial prohibition of “illicit gin” in the novel. During a visit to Efuru before she became his wife, Gilbert asserts that local gin production, distribution, and consumption will not stop, and that “even those jailed return to the business of gin” (Efuru, p. 86). The resistance captured in Gilbert’s response points to the larger “illicit” gin crisis in the 1930s and 1940s. For a discussion of the historical moment, we can turn to the work of Chima J. Korieh (2003), who has written of local gin prohibition as a site of local resistance in colonial Nigeria. According to Korieh, these “laws and regulations were designed to keep alcohol under colonial control, satisfy temperance elements, and protect the economic benefits derived from taxes and tariffs” (Korieh 2003, p. 116). Colonial control here can be understood within the ideological construction of the African as irrational and uncontrollable when it comes to alcohol. Winterbottom reinforces this perception in Arrow of God (1964) when he describes the Umuaro–​Okperi conflict as one resulting from the drunken behavior of the natives. Constructing the Africans as drunks has the advantage of hiding the economic rationale for the ban, that is, the fact that imported alcohol tax and tariff were crucial sources of colonial revenue. Nwapa’s novel underscores the fact that despite the ban, local subjects devise various means of evading the capture of the colonial state. Even when they are jailed, they return to the business following their incarceration. The production of local gin in remote locations to evade the colonial gaze and the constant consumption of the beverage are, at least, a rebuff to the British administration. Besides the economic rationale for choosing the cheaper local gin, one can equally detect a nationalist inclination to promote artisanal production and subvert the colonialist tendency to diminish the import of traditional practices.

Conclusion In this chapter, I read Achebe’s Arrow of God (1964) and Nwapa’s Efuru (1966) for their articulation of anticolonial sensibilities in Nigeria. In both novels, we see the enunciation of what Peter Ekeh would call the “primordial public” distinguished from the civic type constituted by official apparatuses (Ekeh 1975, pp. 92–​3). The primordial public, as seen in traditional ethnicities and subnational affiliations in the novels, promotes indigenous values and practices. As imperfect as the workings of these traditional societies may appear, they manifest complex systems calibrated to undercut their denigration in colonial discourses. The narratives under discussion equally memorialize resistance practices against the colonial administration in Nigeria, including the local challenge to “illicit” gin production and consumption as well as the ferocious struggle against colonial taxation.

The Nigerian Novel and the Anticolonial Imagination    131 When I recently taught Arrow of God to an undergraduate class, one of the students remarked that Ezeulu’s fate reminded him of William Shakespeare’s tragedies. Abiola Irele took this universal character of Ezeulu further when he described him as a “world historical figure, taking his place alongside those epic victims of historical events who have embodied, in their fullest dramatic manifestations, the most stringent dilemmas of human experience” (Irele 2001, p. 2). Yet this affiliation should not be misconstrued to mean there are no distinctions between Achebe’s work and the European texts of Shakespeare. In his skillful manipulation of Igbo imagery and language as well as the domestication of English, Achebe rewrites the European narrative form to suit his African surrounding. Nwapa is equally attentive to creating a peculiar form as evident in the conversations among her characters. As they incorporate proverbs and oral tales, and as they mix Igbo with English, they are equally redrawing the boundaries of the English novel. The other texts that have extended this subversive project include Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood (1979), and Amos Tutuola’s The Palm-​wine Drinkard (1952), as well as My Life in the Bush of Ghosts (1954). Tutuola’s inspiring elaboration of Yoruba myths and folkways also finds expression in Wole Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman (1975). Soyinka’s play and the aforementioned works participate in the critique of colonial reason even if the same colonialism is the condition of their possibility.

References Achebe, C. (1958). Things fall Apart. Portsmouth: Heinemann. Achebe, C. (1964). Arrow of God. New York: Random House. Achebe, C. (1975). Morning Yet on Creation Day. New York: Doubleday. Andrade, S. Z. (2011). The Nation Writ Small:  African Fictions and Feminisms, 1958–​1988. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Bhabha, H. K. (1994). The Location of Culture. London: Routledge. Cary, J. (1939). Mister Johnson. London: Faber and Faber. Conrad, J. (1899). Heart of Darkness. New York: Global Classics. Ekechi, F. K. (1974). “Igbo Response to British Imperialism: The Episode of Dr. Stewart and the Ahiara Expedition, 1905–​1916,” Journal of African Studies 1 (2): 145–​157. Ekeh, P. P. (1975). “Colonialism and the Two Publics in Africa:  A Theoretical Statement,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 17 (1): 91–​112. Emecheta, B. (1979). The Joys of Motherhood. London: Allison & Busby. Fabian, J. (1983). Time and the Other: How Anthropology makes its Object. New York: Columbia University Press. Falola, T. (2009). Colonialism and Violence in Nigeria. Bloomington, IL: Indiana University Press. George, O. (2005). “The Narrative of Conversion in Chinua Achebe’s ‘Arrow of God,’” Comparative Literature Studies 42 (4): 344–​362. Gikandi, S. (2004). “African Literature and the Colonial Factor,” in Abiola Irele and Simon Gikandi (eds), The Cambridge History of African and Caribbean Literature (pp. 379–​397). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Glissant, E. (1989). Caribbean Discourse:  Selected Essays. Charlottesville, VA:  University of Virginia Press.

132   Cajetan Iheka Iheka, C. (2018). Naturalizing Africa: Ecological Violence, Agency, and Postcolonial Resistance in African Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Innes, C. L. (1978). “A Source for ‘Arrow of God’: A Response,” Research in African Literatures 9 (1): 16–​18. Irele, A. F. (2001). “Homage to Chinua Achebe,” Research in African Literatures 32 (3): 1–​2. Jell-​Bahlsen, S. (1995). “The Concept of Mammywater in Flora Nwapa’s Novels,” Research in African Literatures 26 (2): 30–​41. Korieh, C. J. (2003). “Alcohol and Empire: ‘Illicit’ Gin Prohibition and Control in Colonial Eastern Nigeria,” African Economic History 31: 111–​134. Kortenaar, N. T. (1995). “Beyond Authenticity and Creolization:  Reading Achebe Writing Culture,” PMLA 110 (1): 30–​42. Larson, C. R. (1976). “New Writers, New Readers,” Wilson Quarterly 4 (1): 81–​92. Laye, C. (1954). The Dark Child: The Autobiography of a Black Boy. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. Madubuike, I. (1975). “Chinua Achebe: His Ideas on African Literature,” Présence Africaine 93: 140–​152. Mahood, M. M. (1977). The Colonial Encounter:  A Reading of Six Novels. London:  Rex Collins. Ngugi wa Thiong’o (1986). Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature. London: Heinemann. Nnaemeka, O. (1995). “Feminism, Rebellious Women, and Cultural Boundaries:  Rereading Flora Nwapa and Her Compatriots,” Research in African Literatures 26 (2): 80–​113. Nnolim, C. (1977). “A Source for Arrow of God,” Research in African Literatures 8 (1): 1–​26. Nnolim, S. A. (1953). The History of Umuchu. Enugu: Eastern Syndicate Press. Nwoga, D. I. (1981). “The Igbo World of Achebe’s Arrow of God,” Research in African Literatures 12 (1): 14–​42. Ogunyemi, C. O. (1996). Africa Wo/​Man Palava:  The Nigerian Novel by Women. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Said, E. (1993). Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books. Soyinka, W. (1975). Death and the King’s Horseman. New York: Norton. Tutuola, A. (1952). The Palm-​wine Drinkard. London: Faber and Faber. Tutuola, A. (1954). My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. London: Faber and Faber. Umeh, Marie (2001). “Flora Nwapa As Author, Character, and Omniscient Narrator on ‘The Family Romance’ in An African Society,” Dialectical Anthropology 26 (3/​4): 343–​355.

Chapter 9

E c ol o gies of  Ru l e Politics, Political Economy, and Governing the Environment in Nigeria Michael J. Watts

Introduction Nigeria is a large and ecologically heterogeneous country encompassing almost 360,000 square miles, extending from the barrier islands, mangroves, and freshwater swamp forests of the Niger Delta in the southeast, to the arid and drought-​prone Sahelian and Sudan savannas of the north. Rainfall in the north rarely exceeds 600 mm while parts of the Niger Delta are some of the wettest places on the planet (4,000 mm per annum). In agroecological terms—​more than one-​third of all employment is associated with land-​based livelihoods—​the country is a complex mosaic of ecotypes and microenvironments, from the densely settled farmed parklands of Kano to the agroforest systems of Cross River (see Figures 9.1 and 9.2). Topographically, Nigeria’s landscape is gentle and rolling, drained by three major river systems including the massive Niger River system which empties into the Atlantic through the Niger Delta. Two water bodies are of great significance, Lake Chad in the northeast (massively diminished in size over the last fifty years) and Kainji Lake in the west-​central region (formed by the damming of the Niger). When viewed by satellite, Nigeria offers up a pronounced north–​south ecological gradient shaped by proximity to the Atlantic Ocean on the one side and the Sahara Desert on the other. But at the local level it appears as a patchwork quilt of radically diverse environments. Shaped by the seasonal movements of intercontinental air masses and the north–​south oscillation of the intertropical convergence which brings the monsoon rains to the north and south of the country alike, Nigerian livelihoods remain profoundly shaped by the biophysical environment. In environmental terms, Nigeria is customarily seen as “resource rich,” awash in natural wealth—​dominated by the hydrocarbon sector and its substantial reserves of oil

134   Michael J. Watts Vegetation Zones of Nigeria

Mangrove Fresh water swamp Rain forest Woodland and tall grass savanna Short grass savanna Marginal savanna Montane

0 62.5 125

250 Miles

Figure 9.1  Nigeria’s Broad Vegetative Zones.

Agroecological Zones of Nigeria Trough Lowland/Scarpland Plain High Plain Plateau Delta Semi-Arid Dry Subhumid Subhumid Humid Very Humid Perhumid 0

125

250 Miles

Figure 9.2  Agroecological Zones.

and particularly gas, but blessed too with substantial quantities of iron core, tin, and abundant land, water, and forest resources. Yet in practice all of these natural resources are under threat and the country confronts multiple and overlapping ecological crises all granted a particular urgency by the twin burdens of global climate change (and the prospect of increased aridity particularly in the north where rainfed agriculture predominates) and a rapidly growing population which according to most demographic estimates might reach 300 million by mid-​century. The livelihoods of the majority of the rural population—​currently about 53 percent of the population is rural—​depend directly or indirectly on the access to non-​oil natural resources: land, water, forests, fisheries, biodiversity, and nonrenewable energy. A  full catalog of Nigeria’s environmental problems would be a lengthy and sobering document: deforestation and loss of

Ecologies of Rule    135 biodiversity, air pollution, desertification, global climate change, gas flaring, oil spills, urban air pollution, solid waste, toxic waste dumping, industrial effluents, flooding, indoor air contamination, salinization, dredging, poaching, marine over-​exploitation, overgrazing (and associated conflicts over pasture and land), water scarcity, range depletion (ARD 2002; World Bank 2006). According to the World Bank (2005, p. 7), Nigeria’s “natural wealth is also subject to fast degradation, owing to a high population pressure, economic factors and critical social conditions [which] imposes costs on society.” These costs, measured in terms of human morbidity and mortality, account for roughly 8 percent of Nigeria’s GDP according to the Bank1. Nigeria’s environmental profile is colored by three dominant discursive narratives which frame the country’s prospects for “sustainable development” in the twenty-​first century. The first is Malthusian and the reality of a stalled demographic transition (population growth is currently 2.6 percent, doubling every twenty-​seven years) and high fertility rates (especially in the north where total fertility exceeds seven, i.e. the number of children who would be born per woman (or per 1,000 women) if she/​they were to pass through the childbearing years bearing children according to a current schedule of age-​ specific fertility rates). By some projections Nigeria’s population in 2100 will be close to 1 billion; it will certainly surpass the U.S. population by 2050. The second is poverty (World Bank 2003). Poorer households and communities disproportionately dependent upon the natural resource base confront economic and political pressures (for example, land enclosure, land fragmentation, privatization of forests) compelling vulnerable populations to over-exploit their environment (against their own long-​term interests) in a desperate effort to survive (sometimes called the “reproduction squeeze”). And third, by a poor track record of green governance: that is to say weak and uneven state capacity. As the World Bank (2006, p. 1) puts it: “given the high levels of poverty in the country, the limited technical capacity in all sectors, and the very limited budgets, it is no surprise to observe that the government capacity to deal with the variety and severity of environmental . . . problems . . . is rather weak”2. Central to this story is not the absence of environmental laws as such—​Nigeria has instituted a broad-​ranging set of legislation since the establishment of the Federal Environmental Protection Agency by the Decree 58 in 1988—​but rather weak (and often nonexistent) enforcement, monitoring, and oversight, a compromised judiciary, and corrupt governance practices designed to benefit Nigeria’s elite cartel (sometimes in cahoots with foreign capital operating in the resource sector). It is impossible to do justice to the diversity of environmental issues in Nigeria in a short chapter, or to recount the country’s deeper environmental history and its record with respect to environmental governance. First, I want to focus on one of the primary ecological challenges—​namely the fate of Nigeria’s forests—​to offer a brief glimpse into the political economy shaping specific environments and ecological dynamics. Second, I want to place Nigeria’s current environmental problems on a larger historical canvas—​without offering in any way a full account of the great arch, the longue durée, of Nigeria’s precolonial, colonial, and postcolonial political ecology. My purpose here is to show how historical research on nature, culture, and politics can shed light on

136   Michael J. Watts important historical conjunctures, discourses, and practices which enrich any simple narrative of secular environmental decline. Third, I will examine the relations between the rise of Nigeria’s petrostate—​and specifically its governance failures—​and its calamitous consequences for Nigeria’s environment, emphasizing here what Porter and Watts (2017) have called uneven state capabilities, rather than a unilateral sense of state failure, which arise from the ordering of power in Nigeria. Governing the environment offers insights, I believe, into the operations of the Nigerian state. And finally, I shall focus on two regional insurgencies—​namely the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) in the oil-​producing Niger Delta, and Boko Haram in the northern drought-​prone savannas—​each of which arises in a unique constellation of ecological, cultural, and political forces to explore the political ecology of contemporary Nigeria. My argument is not that environmental forces (drought or oil spills) are in any simple sense causally determinative of insurgent politics. Rather I want to show how two episodes of violent politics which emerged in the wake of the return to civilian rule after 1999 shed light on the relations between environment, resources, and Nigeria’s political economy; how questions of access to and control over resources and the environment—​the crux of political ecology—​enter into the often violent dynamics of postcolonial Nigerian politics and power.

Nature’s Political Economy: The Fate of Nigeria’s Forests Forests and the timber sector powerfully illuminate the politics of resource management and the challenges facing sustainable development in Nigeria. Demographic pressures, poor management of state and local forests, and massive illegal logging of hardwoods, particularly in the tropical forests of the southeast, have produced sharp decreases in forest cover. In particular, growing demand for fuelwood and charcoal in a country in which over 70 percent of domestic household energy among the rural and urban poor and small businesses is derived from forest resources3, has placed enormous pressures on forest cover in and around the major cities of the north. Forests in Nigeria currently cover about 10 million hectares, which accounts for more than 10 percent of land area, but the rates of forest depletion have been excessively high over the last half century. For instance, the Federal Department of Forestry (2010) estimated that Nigerian forests are being depleted at an annual rate of 3.5 percent (Ikuomola et al. 2016). Undisturbed forest decreased, between the mid-​1970s and 1990s, from 2.9 percent (10,000 square miles) to 1.3 percent of the total Nigerian land surface. Since that time Nigeria has experienced some of the highest rates of deforestation anywhere in the world. Between 1990 and 2010, Nigeria lost an average of 409,650 hectares or 2.38 percent per year. In total, between 1990 and 2010, Nigeria lost an astounding 47.5 percent of its forest cover, or around 8,193,000 hectares. According to some estimates, Nigeria lost about 90 percent

Ecologies of Rule    137 of its natural forests to agricultural encroachment, excessive logging, and urbanization between the 1960s and the year 2000 (FAO 2001)4. Freshwater swamp forests and mangroves have seen large-​scale reductions in the Niger Delta due to the impact of the oil and gas industry (clearance, venting and flaring, dredging, oil spills)5. The footprint of the oil and gas industry—​the hundreds of oil spills account annually to an equivalent of the Exxon Valdes spill in Alaska—​has left a huge scar on the region; according to the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) the delta creeks are some of the most polluted landscapes on the planet (see Kashi and Watts 2005). The bulk of the forest losses, however, have been in the northern savannas (the Sudan and Guinea savanna zones) propelled largely by agricultural expansion and growing demand for charcoal and fuelwood by the rapidly growing northern cities. In the famous Kano Close-​Settled Zone, fuelwood, organized through complex circuits of merchant capital, draws in wood and charcoal from a massive catchment area extending into southern Niger (Cline-​Cole 1998). Even if farmers within the zone attempt to protect some tree species and to limit logging and felling, the pressures of provisioning a city of some 4 million (there is no serious estimate of Kano’s population and the likely population is much higher) exerts enormous pressures on a poorly managed forest system6. While in the colonial and precolonial periods, forests were often managed at the community level through the institutions of chieftainship, over the last century these customary institutions have become severely attenuated. State-​owned concessional forests expanded from the 1930s but since the end of the civil war in 1970 they have been marked by gross mismanagement and corruption. Areas marked as forest lands have been decreasing steadily due to the indiscriminate felling of trees and activities of illegal loggers (including the charcoal industry) who have expanded in virtually every part of the country. More crucially, there has been a massive growth in large-​scale organized illegal logging of hardwoods—​often involving criminal syndicates and corrupt operations linking Chinese and Asian companies, politicians, village elites, and youth groups (for a study of Ondo and Edo States see Ikuomola et al. 2016). Since late 2013, rapacious demand by China for rosewood (Pterocarpus erinaceus)—​locally known as kosso—​in Kogi, Ekiti, Ondo, Ogun, Taraba, Kaduna, Adamawa, and Cross River states, has fueled an unprecedented frenzy of illegal logging (Aiyetan 2016). From a net importer of timber in 2011 and a marginal exporter of rosewood logs in 2013, posting a mere 30,866 cubic meters, by the end of 2014 Nigeria was, according to Chinese customs records, exporting 242,203 cubic meters of rosewood to China, an eighteen-​fold increase. By the end of 2015, Nigeria had become the single largest exporter of the ornate logs to China, accounting for 45 percent of total imports to the country. In 2015, thirty containers of rosewood were leaving Nigerian ports for China every day (Aiyetan 2016). Most of the exported rose and other woods from Nigeria is illegal, involving unrestrained felling of trees in many states which, on paper, have specific bans on logging activities on their books. In other states where logging is allowed only with the possession of a license obtained from the forestry department, local timber merchants feeding the export trade to China have ignored or boycotted official channels and directly source their timber from the forest using local youth groups, many of whom suffer from serious

138   Michael J. Watts underemployment and limited market opportunities. In Cross Rivers and Taraba states, for example, the logging, trading in, and export of all species of timber is banned by the state governments but the trade continues unabated (Ahmed et al. 2016). In Kogi, Ekiti, Ondo, and other states where a permit is required by law to fell trees, trees are freely harvested illegally from the forest without any official sanctions (Ahmed et al. 2016). Typically, Chinese companies commission an agent in a state, and provide N200,000 and logging equipment to source the product directly from communities and local youth groups. Some youths cut the trees into specific dimensions, others serve as loaders and transporters. At wholesale depots an agent collects the cargo and settles all costs including logging, cutting, loading, and transportation, and then arranges for transportation to a location close to ports such as Lagos where the logs are prepared, loaded into containers, and readied for export (Aiyetan 2016). An even greater scale of corruption permeates the process of exporting timber, something that is controlled at the federal level by the Ministry of Environment, the Nigerian Export Promotion Council (NEPC), and the Nigerian Custom Service. The entire trade resembles a sort of timber mafia drawing together aggressive foreign companies, high-​ranking officials, politicians and regulators, merchants, security forces, chiefs, and youth groups (see Ellis 2016). Deforestation, illegal logging, and the woodfuel shortage expose another aspect of resource and environmental politics, namely the changing historical–​political ecology of governance. Scientific forestry, with its roots in Germany and France and its administrative apparatuses developed in colonial Burma and India, was introduced into Nigeria in the late nineteenth century. The Royal Niger Company aggressively promoted palmoil plantations (which had deleterious implications for diverse tropical forests). But under the Dual Mandate peasant production, rather than large-​scale capital investment in plantations, was seen to combine political stability with economic provisioning. Native land rights and customary law and its institutions were deemed incompatible with the extension of state power over land and with large-​scale capitalist enterprise. In southern Nigeria this policy largely protected systems of customary tenure and restricted European plantation companies from obtaining interests in land. The only companies to have successfully acquired land were the prominent Miller Brothers and United Africa Company (UAC), who managed to obtain the consent to develop two rubber plantations in 1905 and 1907 respectively (Schoneveld 2014). UAC later made numerous attempts to acquire more land and proposed a tripartite agreement—​where the government would provide land and oversight, the UAC the technical, commercial, and managerial expertise, and local communities the necessary labor power. It was rejected outright by the colonial state on the grounds of high population densities in the Eastern Region and strong traditional attachments to land. Foreign-​owned plantations would “at once be suspect and . . . bring forth such a storm of protest that its success would be heavily prejudiced from the start” (quoted in Schoneveld 2014, p. 148). The colonial state did, however, introduce scientific forestry in the 1930s and 19940s through a dual system of large state reserves and small community forest reserves and a centralized system of management which in large measure superceded local control of forests by chiefs7. Britain justified the process in terms of both the protection of

Ecologies of Rule    139 community rights and the intergenerational preservation of forests for the future (Okali and Eyog 2009). In practice the principal focus of forest policy was revenue generation from commercial logging through concessions and licensing arrangements to European firms. Chiefs often supported large-​scale preservation as a vehicle to affirm their own authority and to reassert the powers of customary monarchs (von Hillerman 2013, 2010, 2007). Community forests were miniscule compared to the “nationalized” forest reserves and entailed no meaningful decentralization of decision-​making and authority. The effect of scientific forestry was not only a loss of land rights by Nigerian farmers and collusion between chiefs and colonial state officials (the former often capturing large rents), but the stunting of forest regeneration and high-​value species (mahoony, sapele) which had been facilitated by local farmers’ use of swidden cultivation which opens up the canopy for regrowth. Colonial-​style forest management systems were adopted by the postcolonial state8, which further permitted the establishment of large state-​owned rubber and palm oil plantations and the promotion of Nigerian timber firms through an ambitious process of “dereservation” (a formal application for land in reserves by private individuals, companies, and communities approved by the Forest Commission). Privatization of state lands in practice benefited commercial interests, local chiefs, and politicians who snapped up large landholdings (Enuoh and Bisong 2016). The consequences for forests were devastating. In Cross River, for example, twelve of seventeen Government Reserve Forests were completely cleared between 1960 and 1990. By the 1990s organizations such as the World Wildlife Fund estimated that Nigeria had lost 90 percent of its primary forests9. Since the return to civilian rule in 1999 the situation has deteriorated still further. In Cross River (Nigeria’s most biodiverse and forested state), many of the state plantations which had fallen into disuse and disrepair in the 1980s and were often recolonized by local farmers, were privatized beginning in 2003 with a subsequent expansion in 2010 encouraging “modernization and foreign investment.” To date over 135,000 hectares have been privatized. The net effect was to displace and dispossess large numbers of farmers (who were seen to be “squatting” on state lands) and to facilitate a new round of deals linking foreign agribusiness firms (for example, Wilmar International Limited headquartered in Singapore), local chiefs, and politicians with plantation monocultures while placing new pressures on the forest buffer zones (Schoneveld 2014). Yet this picture of colonial and postcolonial deforestation driven by waves of privatization, political corruption, and poor regulatory authority does not do full justice to the complex political ecology of Nigerian forests. First, while colonial forest management is rightly condemned for its centralized forms of scientific forestry, an analysis of Nigeria reveals a diverse welter of views held by scientists and colonial officials alike concerning forest ecology and knowledge. While farmer encroachment and the deleterious consequences of shifting cultivation were widely decried—​the discourse of “destructive swidden cultivation” and “peasant mismanagement and ignorance” seen across the colonial world—​some “agrarian populist” officials were sensitive to the merits of local systems of agroforestry and indigenous knowledges (von Hillerman 2007, 2010; see also

140   Michael J. Watts Fairhead and Leach 1998; Richards 1985). Second, colonial environmental policy was hardly the product of untrammeled power and authority but was rather a sort of hybrid of vernacular and scientific knowledges and complex strategic struggles within indirect rule and specifically, in the case of von Hillerman’s study of Benin, Oba Eweka II (1914–​33) and Oba Akenzua II (1933–​79) and their battles with various levels of the colonial bureaucracy. Third, while colonial forestry experienced all manner of financial and staff shortages and by the 1950s permitted companies to pursue wholly unregulated “salvage felling” outside the reserves, the forest department did pursue some innovative and decentralized strategies. Von Hillerman (2013) describes Taungya, an agroforesty system of Burmese origin, deployed in southern Nigeria by colonial authorities as a system of land allocation. Authorities permitted peasants to exercise precolonial use rights in forest reserves at early stages of the establishment of forest reserves and then after several years move to another site. In von Hillerman’s account, Taungya worked well until 1960 and then enforcement—​particularly the replanting requirement—​fell apart. But here, too, there was something of a silver lining since it flourished as a system of land allocation, and played an important (and locally legitimated) role in meeting demands for farmland. Even if the Taungya system had become something of a cover for encroachment into the reserves, community lands outside the reserve showed better forest cover. Finally, the rise of the illegal timber industry, and the “mafia-​like” organizations involved, must be situated on the landscape of the economic declines of the 1980s and 1990s, the public retrenchment associated with neoliberalism, and the decrease in employment and pensions incomes which collectively placed enormous pressures to acquire farmland at any costs and to be drawn into lucrative and nefarious forms of illegal logging. Over the last two decades, new pressures from donor agencies to decentralize resource management through local Forest Management Committees (FMCs)—​the so-​called community forestry movement—​have generated a contentious and contested politics among and within federal and state forestry commissions. Reforms of forest policy in other words potentially limit vested interests and rent-​seeking opportunities—​ permit issuance, colluding with illegal logging companies—​locating environmental and resource politics once more on the larger canvas of Nigeria’s political economy and the political settlements.

Greening Nigerian History: A Brief Interlude As the case of Nigeria’s depleted forests shows, many of Nigeria’s contemporary ecological threats clearly have to be understood historically while at the same time being sensitive to the ways in which powerful (indeed hegemonic) discourses—​often rooted in key institutions like forest departments or colonial research organizations—​come

Ecologies of Rule    141 to frame the environmental problems in particular sorts of ways (“poor management,” “expanding deserts,” “overpopulation”) (see Leach and Mearns 1996). The British colonial administration was concerned, sometimes obsessively so, with climatic variation, with locusts and epizootic disease, with soil conservation and intercropping, with the management of forests and grazing. During the 1930s there was considerable ventilation by the French and British alike on “desertification” and “the advancing Sahara” and the imminent prospect of the populous rainfed agriculture and agropastoral economy across the northern savannas turning West Africa into a Dustbowl. Nineteenth-​century imperial hunting (both colonial and precolonial) grew into a scientific concern with biodiversity, charismatic megafauna, and the push toward conservation areas and national parks (Mackenzie 1988; Beinart, Brown, and Gilfoyle 2009; Watts 1983), a process, which from the vantage point of communities who depended on local animal populations, appeared as a process of enclosure and criminalization of customary rights of use and as an authoritarian land grab by colonial states. Hodge (2007) has shown how an imperial science and technology—​the rise of the imperial expert—​rose to a dominant position in colonies such as Nigeria in the 1940s and 1950s, providing a rationale for administrative solutions to a raft of environmental, health, and natural resource issues. Yet there was also an undercurrent, a sort of counter-​movement that had its origins long before formal colonization, which showed a sensitivity to local and indigenous knowledges of the Nigerian environment that could be repurposed for colonial development (Watts 1983; Richards 1985). Helen Tilley (2010), for example, has explored Africa’s historical “laboratories” across the colonial era in a number of arenas—​race, medicine, and demography, for example. But equally Africa as a laboratory for environmentalism is deep—​stretching back four to five centuries. Climate, forests, rivers, and rangelands all became parts of a very considerable transdisciplinary enterprise that began long before the partition. Richard Grove’s (1987, 1995) pathbreaking work10 shows, for example, how some African islands which suffered the ravages of large-​scale production systems from the sixteenth century—​and by virtue of their island biogeography were ecologically sensitive in any case—​were the earliest markers of conservation thinking around issues such as deforestation, soil erosion, and water use. Formal colonial rule brought forth armies of scientists, research centers, commissions, and field expeditions and at the same time had the effect of Africanizing science—​that is to say, converted Africa, in key domains, into an object of scientific scrutiny on the one hand, and drew Africans and African knowledge into a constitutive process of what Tilley calls “vernacular science” on the other (Tilly 2009). The disciplines of ecology, geography, and anthropology were central to the vernacularization of scientific knowledge. In northern Nigeria, a growing cadre of anthropologists, often working in conjunction with district and agricultural officers sensitive to the flexibility and adaptability of African peasants and pastoralists, often promoted the utility of indigenous knowledge (and practice) against what was seen as a hasty and inappropriate application of European farming methods (Watts 1983). By the 1890s, the World’s Exposition in Chicago was promoting the science of “ethnobotany.” Early in the twentieth century, agricultural officers in northern Nigeria could be heard singing the praises of peasant farmers and their local

142   Michael J. Watts knowledge (Watts 1983; Richards 1985). A number of Africans employed in the colonial administration (and typically not scientifically trained) worked closely with the colonial research apparatus and in this sense approximated what, in a different setting, Steven Shapin (1994) has called “invisible technicians.” In other words, the localization of scientific knowledge had a way of entering into the archive of global science even if “Africans themselves were rarely at the helm of decision-​making” (Tilly 2009, p. 413). Nigeria certainly played its role in this crucible of environmental knowledge and practice. Following independence, Nigeria inherited from the colonial period a mix of new and old ecological challenges. Three assumed particular significance. The commercial exploitation of petroleum in the Niger Delta in the late 1950s (compounded by the environmental effects of the Biafran War11) brought not only transnational oil companies and new infrastructures, but the imposing environmental footprint of the industry. Forest clearance, mangrove destruction, coastal erosion, dredging, gas flaring, and oil spillage became the new markers of Nigeria’s “oil wealth.” A raft of oil and environmental laws provided scarce protection for communities and biomes alike. The “slick alliance” as Ken Saro-​Wiwa dubbed the links between oil capital and the state, operated with impunity, unhindered by any sort of regulatory oversight particularly during the military period. An estimated 9 million–​13 million (1.5 million tons) of oil has been spilled in to the Niger Delta ecosystem in the first half century of oil production—​roughly equal to the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska 1989 every year. The environmental and health consequences of oil exploration and production were raised by Ken Saro-​Wiwa in the 1960s, were gradually taken up by women’s movements during the 1980s, and became a plank of the Ogoni struggle after 1990 (Douglas and Okonta 2003). Between 2006 and 2016 there were 9,343 spills, many after 2009 the result of attacks on oil infrastructure perpetrated by militant groups. A second challenge was distinctively urban. Explosive rates of urbanization associated with an oil-​fueled industrial and construction boom, high rates of rural–​urban migration as agriculture stagnated during the 1970s (the so-​called Dutch Disease), and extremely highly fertility rates fueled cities like Kano, Lagos, and Port Harcourt which grew at over 5 percent a year. During the height of the 1980s oil boom urbanization, rates reached 15 percent (the highest in the world). Urbanization was almost wholly unplanned; infrastructure lagged (or was non-​existent), producing a devastating mix of air pollution, poor sanitation, water contamination, and massive solid waste problems. By the 1990s poor urban governance made a megacity such as Lagos and its massive “floating” slums like Makoko perched above the lagoon, a human ecological nightmare. It was in the slum world of Kano and Warri that the environmental effects of urbanization were most acutely felt through high rates of morbidity (due to diarrhea, malaria, and other diseases), limited living space, flooding and contaminated water. Over 80 percent of Nigeria’s urban residents live in slums, living in fragile structures and Lilliputian rooms famously dubbed “face-me-​face you” by Lagosian slum dwellers. In the prosperous middle-class and elite urban neighborhoods—​Victoria Island in Lagos or some of the old government residential areas in the northern cities—​money permitted residents

Ecologies of Rule    143 to buy some independence from the day-​to-​day ecological challenges of city life but the overwhelming sense is of an impending “ecological disaster” as Davis (2005) put it. The third  challenge was drought and climatic variability, an enduring problem in the northern savannas but a condition highlighted by years of poor rainfall beginning in the late 1960s affecting the entire West African Sahel and producing famine and extreme food scarcity across the region. By the 1990s, of course, this was attached to an entirely new discourse and a body of science unknown in the 1970s: namely global climate change. If climatic perturbations were commonplace for Hausa farmers and Fulbe herders in northern Nigeria a run of drought years confronted an agropastoral system in crisis (Mortimore 2009; Watts 1983/​2003). Many pastoralists (livestock herders) and farmers were in refugee camps, their herds decimated and their crops having failed again. Prevailing analysis at the time focused on demographically driven scarcity and shortage and over-exploited environments and animal overstocking on open ranges. What was on offer was a Malthusian tragedy of the commons (see Figure 9.3). Peter Taylor (1999), who has referred to such discourses as “neo-​Malthusian environmentalism,” examined the influential studies conducted by the MIT Systems Dynamics team that conducted a computer-​based analysis and simulation of agro-​pastoral systems in the West African Sahel in the wake of the 1970s crisis. Their model (in a sense, a regional variant of the Club of Rome’s global resource models) included a capacious menu of factors and mathematical relationships, all converted into a systems analysis anchored in (and confirmatory of) the “tragedy of the commons.” As calibrated, the model determined that overstocking and overgrazing were inevitable. Farmers on the other hand had mismanaged their land resources, and suffered from the effects of land fragmentation due to population growth and undeveloped markets incapable of delivering food to people who desperately needed it. In fact what was at stake was a deep crisis of the agrarian and pastoral economies—​a reflection of a deadly combination of climatic variability, fickle markets, and changing relations of production driven by deepening commercialization (Watts 1983, 2010). The period between the late 1960s through the early 1980s was a long decade of economic and political turbulence propelled by the oil boom and bust, by financial liberalization, and the launching of structural adjustment programs. In the policy arena, food shortages over much of Africa contributed to a widespread sort of catastrophist thinking, an echo of the advancing deserts fears of the 1930s. The picture was more Drought

Population Ecological & Productivity Crisis

Desertification

Figure 9.3  The Model of Neo-​Malthusian Environmentalism.

Famine

144   Michael J. Watts complex. Farmers and pastoralists who possessed historical strategies for adapting to drought and food shortages rooted in local knowledge and institutions—​what I called a moral economy (Watts 1983, 2010)—​had seen their resilience undercut and their vulnerabilities enhanced by the deepening commercialization of agriculture which could be traced back to the early colonial period. It was the conjuncture of severe drought, increased commodification of social and economic life (the fickleness of the market), and an extractive postcolonial state which conspired to expose the rural poor in particular to the vicissitudes of weather. These environmental challenges, none peculiar to Nigeria of course, became a rich laboratory, as Tilly (2010) had suggested for the colonial period, for developmental ideas, theories, and practices. From the 1970s, the laboratory took an a self-​ consciously economic tone and indeed helped deliver what became the neoliberal counter-​revolution in developmental practice of the 1980s (Toye 1980). Ecology, food, climate, population, and disease all fed into arguably one of the founding documents in the rise and consolidation of neoliberal development thinking and the rise of the Washington Consensus, namely, the Berg Report (named after Michigan economist Elliot Berg), released as Accelerated Development in Sub-​Saharan Africa by the World Bank in 1981. At the core of Africa’s crisis was “domestic policy” and a poor export performance in basic commodities in which the continent had a comparative advantage. Distorted markets and state marketing boards became the conceptual frontlines in a ferocious assault on the African state, a critique backed up with the prescriptive heavy artillery of structural adjustment and stabilization. The solutions to the environment–​ development crisis were sought in a technical fix (bringing the Green Revolution and irrigation, and improved transportation, to the continent) and in markets by unleashing the peasant innovativeness from the yoke of the state. The African peasant emerged, in this account at least, less as a backward and ill-​equipped farmer than as a rational economic agent who required the right incentives and market signals. Three decades on, the potentially devastating impact of global climate change on the Sahelian region including swathes of northern Nigeria has reignited the policy debate albeit in rather different terms than the Berg Report. One line of thinking explores the relations between climate change—​temperature, drought, water availability, the prospects of catastrophic crop loss, or human displacement—​and conflict (Sayne 2011; Burke et al. 2015; Smith and Vivekananda 2007). A large and contentious literature dominated by ‘large n’ studies conducted by economists, it points toward a robust association between rainfall and temperature variation and risks of conflict. In an influential review including much work in Africa for example, Burke et al. (2015) find that deviations from moderate temperatures and precipitation patterns systematically increase conflict risk. All of this in principle would point to northern Nigeria as a high-​risk region. Another line of analysis points to governance and how the old modes of calculation—​the logic of calculable risks and market improvement—​have been replaced with modalities of preparation, preemption, and remediation. Central to the way these questions are now framed

Ecologies of Rule    145 is the notion of resilience12. Resilience encompasses such notions as: disturbance as opportunity, self-​organization, adaptive capacity, acceptance of uncertainty, non-​equilibrium dynamics, dynamic learning, flexibility, performance, and stress absorption (see Bahadur et al. 2010). Adopted by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) in its call for “adaptive strategies,” resilience is to incorporate social and economic systems into an overarching complexity science or “socioecological resilience” (Adger et al. 2009; Holling 1986; Folk et al. 2006). Resiliency is a risk-​management tool—​adaptive co-​management is the current term—​for African development and for vulnerable and crisis-​prone regions like the Sahel and northern Nigeria (see Gubbels 2011). African communities can now be fine-​ tuned—​paradoxically building on their traditional strengths (for example, the social capital of village communities or city slums) yet supplemented by the expertise of development and state practitioners. The oil question and the crisis of the Niger Delta which gained international visibility in the wake of the murder of Ken Saro-​Wiwa by the Nigerian military junta in 1995 also proved to be a crucible within which new governance and regulatory policies emerged in the natural resource sector. The influential resource curse analysis (see Collier 2005)—​in which Nigeria appeared as an archetypical if not paradigmatic example—​and a raft of environmental disasters in the global oil and gas industry which revealed oil companies operating with impugnity in autocratic states (often operating in joint ventures with military governments) contributed to the rise of advocacy and social movement campaigns to hold “Big Oil” accountable for what was, in Nigeria and elsewhere, a grim environmental (and community development) record (Gillies 2010; Shaxson 2007; Wenar 2015). Devastating environmental costs of oil operations in the Niger Delta were a key ingredient in the rise of the MOSOP, and the Ogoni movement bequeathed a raft of committed Nigerian NGOs (Environmental Rights Action (ERA), Our Niger Delta (OND), Niger Delta Wetlands), which contributed to both domestic policies and debates over regulating the oil sector, to engaging local communities in environmental governance, and to a global movement (spearheaded by organizations such as Global Witness, Greenpeace, and the Natural Resource Governance Institute) designed to render transparent and accountable an extractive sector marked by corruption, complicity with military regimes, and a poor environmental record (Porter and Watts 2017; Gillies 2010). The emergence of the urban slum world during the 2000s as a major concern of development and environmental policy, driven in large by release of the UN HABITAT Challenge of the Slums report of 2005, also drew upon the Nigerian experience. Megacities such as Lagos pointed to what Mike Davis (2005) called an “urban climateric,” namely massive “surplus populations” living in cities marked by economic recession induced by structural adjustment policies. By the late 1990s, Lagos figured as a textbook example of the disastrous human and ecological costs of urban life in the Global South13.

146   Michael J. Watts

Environmental Governance, State Capabilities, and the Ordering of Power in Nigeria’s Petrostate How can one think about the demonstrable failures of environmental governance in postcolonial Nigeria and weak state capacities invoked by the World Bank in its assessment of the state of Nigeria’s environment? Nigeria is customarily seen as a worst case of the “resource curse, an exemplar of petro-​affliction in extremis.”14 Oil and gas earnings of U.S.$1 trillion over the past half century have not translated into either significant increases in employment or widespread improvements in the well-​being and life chances of the majority of its citizens (World Bank 2014). In the phrasing of one International Monetary Fund (IMF) report, Nigeria’s oil wealth has “not significantly added to the standard of living of the average Nigerian” (Sala-​i-​Martin and Subramanian 2003, p. 4). Economic inequality remains unacceptably high; 58 percent of oil revenues accruing to 1 percent of the population and inequality in household consumption widened in 2004–​13 by 15 percent (the gini coefficient rose from 0.36 to 0.41). The 2000s were a period of economic growth: trade, ICT, real estate, and agriculture all grew in excess of 10 percent between 2000 and 2009, and following rebasing solid minerals and construction all posted impressive rates of growth between 2011 and 2014 (Usman 2016; World Bank 2016). But total unemployment grew by 4.4 percent between 2010 and 2014 while the national unemployment rate increased from 11.9 percent in 2005 to 25.1 percent in 2014. Between 2005 and 2014 employment shrank in all sectors except services; the fall in manufacturing employment has been especially sharp. Despite the talk of the rise of a Nigerian middle class, economic growth and the expansion in white-​collar jobs over the last decade has produced a slow consolidation of the Nigerian middle class. Even if one believes that Nigerian welfare improvement since 2004 is significant, 86 percent of the population remains vulnerable to poverty or poor (World Bank 2016a)15. In short, Nigeria’s systemic “governance failures”—​a euphemism for the chronic crises of legitimacy and failed human development—​seem endemic and debilitating. One fundamental aspect of Nigeria’s contemporary poverty profile in the postmilitary period (post-​1999), is the changed spatial pattern of impoverishment and vulnerability. In particular the north–​south gap has widened over the last decade. While the total number of the poor in the south declined by almost 6 million, it increased by almost 7 million in the north. In both the northwest and northeast, poverty reduction has stagnated and income poverty is exceptionally high: 47.6 percent in the northeast and 59 percent in the northwest. The number of the poor residing in the northeast and northwest was 29 million in 2004, and it had risen to 37 million by 2013. Adding the north central region into the equation, it appears that about two thirds of the Nigerian poor reside in the northern part of the country. Geographically two different dynamics are at work: substantial poverty reduction in the southern zones (except for the southeast)

Ecologies of Rule    147 and a substantial increase in poverty in two of the three northern zones (World Bank 2016). Over time, the life chances of those in the north and south have radically diverged. Life expectancy in some of the northern states is a full five years shorter at forty-​five than the national average for men and women (ICG 2010). Across the northern sharia states, fertility rates are high and human insecurity is pronounced:  malnutrition is almost twice the national average, the human poverty index is 45.9 compared to 27.8 in the non-​ sharia states, and female literacy is 17 percent as compared to 69 percent in the south (Lubeck 2010; ICG 2010). Not only have the northern textile and leather industries—​ the industrial base of the region16—​been devastated but those firms which remain are the least productive in the country. The Muslim heartlands of the north—​the dominant source of political power in the country for a half century—​now appear as the most materially deprived region in the federation and singularly account, in large degree, to the durability of mass poverty in the country. Inevitably Nigeria’s catastrophic developmental failures have translated into human environmental deficits. Poverty and ecology are closely associated even if the causal connections are complex. The poor—​and the rural poor in particular—​are especially dependent upon local ecologies: for firewood, for pastoral and agricultural production, and for wild plants and animals. None of this is to suggest that the Nigerian peasants are poor resource managers or have insufficient knowledge of local ecologies (i.e. destroying the environment upon which they depend). Indeed, a body of research (see Richards 1985; Watts 1983; Mortimore 2009)  has documented the sophistication of local agricultural knowledge and practice in managing environmental perturbations (through intercropping and varietal selection of seeds to adapt to changing rainfall and posture) and increased demographic pressures (through land-​use intensification and the careful orchestration of water budgets and organic fertilizers). Rather, environmental changes of the sorts I have described fall with particular ferocity upon the rural and urban poor. Take water and sanitation. Only 29 percent of Nigerians have access to improved sanitation and 130 million use unimproved sanitation facilities. Nigerian utilities performed poorly in terms of financial indicators and only showed marginal improvements in continuity of service. While the rate of access to improved water has grown slightly to 61.2 percent, only 7 percent have piped water on premises. Nigeria has actually regressed in regards to piped water service dropping from three in every ten persons in 1990 to less than one in 2015. More than 38 percent of all improved water points and 46 percent of water schemes are nonfunctional and nearly 30 percent fail in the first year of operation because of poor construction. Almost half of borehole projects are never started; the figure is close to 80 percent for canals and dam projects. There is a sharp class and geographical divide in water and sanitation; the richest 20 percent of households have more than 90 percent access to improved water and sanitation while among the poorest quintile only 12 percent can claim such access. Poor children are four times more likely to get diarrheal disease than children from wealthy households. Approximately 73 percent of the enteric burden for the country is associated with inadequate water and sanitation. Nigeria’s water profile is grim, a sort of human ecological condensation of the country’s national condition.

148   Michael J. Watts Nigeria’s postcolonial development strategy is intimately associated with the environment and with one set of resources in particular—​that of oil and gas. Since the end of the civil war in 1970, oil has seeped indelibly into the country’s political, economic, and social lifeblood and has become an essential part of the conflicted national political space (Lewis and Watts 2015). In 2016, oil and gas revenues accounted for over 80 percent of government revenues, 90 percent of foreign exchange earnings, 96 percent of export revenues, and 15 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) (World Bank 2016). The capture of substantial oil rents by the state contributed to the rapid growth of centralized power, even as the political settlement and the ferocious elite struggle drove societal fragmentation, splintering, and dispersion. The main beneficiaries of a political economy constructed around oil rents are a diverse and fractious class of politicians, civil servants, high-​ranking military officers, and business interests, who constitute a form of elite cartel. In Nigeria, as elsewhere, exclusionary political settlements and extractive institutions are associated with high levels of violence and political conflict (Porter and Watts 2017; Lewis and Watts 2015). The logic of the political settlement entails buying off powerful groups and individuals so that they do not become a threat (co-​optation); permitting some benefits to trickle down to purchase consent and legitimacy; and building powerful coercive apparatuses to ensure compliance. Nigeria’s petrostate is a form of political settlement through which there is a particular “ordering of power” (Slater 2010; see Kraft 2013), albeit one that is dynamic over space and time. The ordering of power wrought in part by the capture of oil rents in Nigeria is a counterpoint to the states that Slater (2011) describes in Southeast Asia. He argues that the growth and development trajectories in Southeast Asia after the Second World War were shaped by the rise of what he calls durable “Authoritarian Leviathans.” These regimes arose because contentious, class-​based political contests were seen by the powerful classes as endemic and unmanageable—​that is to say, they saw their security and class positions as threatened by urban insurrection, radical redistributive demands, and communal tensions. These threats, in short, sustained state-​centered coalitions and “protection pacts” that facilitated state building—​in the first instance through the state’s coercive apparatuses, but more generally through building durable state institutions. But nothing of this sort existed in late-​colonial Nigeria and the threat of unmanageable conflict (the Biafran War) was undercut by the simultaneous emergence of oil as the determinant of state revenues and political stability. What emerged was not a protection pact but an ordering of power through a “provisioning pact,” a resource-​dependent patrimonial system resting on oil rents. The provisioning pact tends to produce conditions of “ungovernability,” while at the same time elite sanction of investments in coercive and patrimonial capability produce a durable system, albeit insecure, unjust, and violent. The provisioning pact, as Slater (2011) says, has built-​in “birth defects.” If the most durable feature of the country’s state building in the petroleum era is the exclusionary political settlement (Okonta 2008; Smith 2007), this analysis also contains a profound weakness. The inventory of institutional and governance failures—​the fragile and conflicted state narrative typical of much Nigerian analysis—​must not blind us to the fact that the operations of the provisioning pact in one of the federation’s most

Ecologies of Rule    149 contentious regions exhibit capabilities which, if volatile, unstable, and limited, confer nonetheless a sort of political durability. The combination of oil and nation building has produced a durable and expanded federal system (including the slow national-​ rebuilding after the Biafran War), a multiparty partial democratization (albeit retaining an authoritarian and often violent cast) and important forms of institution-​building (increasing separation of powers, more autonomy of the judiciary, a gradual improvement in electoral processes, and a proliferation of civil society organizations). The state has been informalized for particular purposes, vested with certain capabilities and made “functional” (networks, pacts, coalitions) in particular ways (Joseph 1987; Pierce 2016). In other words, the state’s institutional capabilities are asymmetric. Nigeria’s state apparatuses are an effective instrument to garner the loyalty of powerful groups and individuals, and direct benefits to particular constituencies while enabling extraordinary illicit wealth to be accumulated and secured, with impunity, over time. In terms of public-sector efficiency—​whether and how fully services and public good are provided—​and governance (whether environmental reforms and legal enforcement are possible), the picture is uneven over space and time, and within and across sectors and institutions. This unevenness is a function of political economy and the ordering of power. In sum, Nigeria’s complex provisioning system reflects a variegated institutional political landscape in which “pockets of capability” or effective and institutional capacity (Pogoson and Roll 2014)  can coexist with the obvious deficits and dysfunctions on which so much of the policy prescriptions obsessively focus. In a capacious and complex multiethnic federal system held together by a contentious system of revenue allocation to federal, state, and local levels, it is inevitable that a conventional resource curse analysis covers over all manner of different federal and state capabilities. Bayelsa is not Lagos; governance in some sectors is better (civil service) than others (oil and gas); some institutions have more effective records (EFCC) than others (NNPC) (see Abah 2016; Usman 2016). That these capabilities are “asymmetric,” reflects the fact that the state has been informalized and made functional for particular political purposes. The fact that the Niger Delta has stabilized from a violent and massively disruptive insurgency since the signing of an amnesty in 2009 is a case in point. No critic would suggest that the amnesty is a model of transparent empowerment or rational, calculated reform initiatives. But inserting resources into the delta through all manner of networks, associations, and institutions has purchased a form, albeit fragile, of sustained peace. The recent acknowledgment that Nigeria implemented a “world-​class response” in containing the Ebola outbreaks in Lagos and Port Harcourt also points to the existence of capabilities of considerable scope (World Bank 2015). The fact that federal and state institutions may perform quite differently with regard to regulatory and legal activity—​rather than viewing the public sector as a uniformly corrupt and ineffective monolith—​is relevant to understanding environmental legislation, regulation, and governance in Nigeria. In the immediate post-​independence period and up through the Biafran War (1967–​70), environmental concerns were not a priority. The state simply inherited a weak legislative and legal framework—​the colonial

150   Michael J. Watts Criminal Code Law of 1916, and the Public Health Act of 1917, for example—​which nominally addressed a limited number of health concerns and in the absence of specific environmental laws (at least until the 1980s), violations pertaining to the environment were sought within English common law tort. As oil became central to the economy during the 1970s, environmental enactments were almost exclusively focused on this sector through a raft of acts passed during the 1960s (the Oil in Navigable Waters Act 1968, the Petroleum Act 1969, the Hydrocarbon Oil Refineries Act 1965)17. But in practice both before and after the Biafran War, the oil companies operated with total impugnity and regulatory authority was for the most part nonexistent. Deals were cut between companies and paramount chiefs, compensation claims (for land or oil spills) irregular and hardly ever adjudicated through the judicial process, and popular protest dealt with violently by state security forces. In the wake of the 1972 Stockholm Conference green issues did assume a greater visibility. A federal ministry charged with responsibility for the environment was established after the conference, and the 1975–​80 Third National Development Plan (and its successor, the Fourth (1981–​6)) institutionalized environmental regulation through the recommendations (not a law it should be emphasized) that environmental impact assessments (EIA) be performed for all planned activities. In addition, an environmental division within the Ministry of Economic Development was created, and not least a raft of green laws were enacted to address wildlife, the oceans, water, and land (for example, the Endangered Species Act in 1985, the Energy Commission of Nigeria Act, and the 1986 River Basins Development Authorities Act). Very little of this legislation had any regulatory bite until the late 1980s when in August 1987 an environmental catastrophe—​an Italian company imported and dumped toxic wastes in Koko, Delta State—​and a growing sense of the catastrophic health and environmental impacts of dredging, gas flaring, and oil spillage in the Niger Delta18 pushed the government to pass the Federal Environmental Protection Agency (FEPA) in 1988. The FEPA Act authorized the Agency to prescribe national guidelines, criteria, and standards for water quality, air quality and atmospheric protection, noise levels, gaseous emissions, and effluent limits; to monitor and control hazardous substances; and to supervise and enforce compliance. It also gave the Agency broad enforcement powers, even without warrants, to enter premises, inspect and seize property, and arrest offenders who obstruct the enforcement officers in the discharge of their duties. FEPA was followed by a plank of progressively more sophisticated legislation (Ogunba 2010). In 1989, the Federal Environmental Protection Agency formulated the current National Policy on the Environment; in 1993, legislators wrote the major federal law on water management, the Water Resources Act19. Crucially, in 1992, the Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) Act was passed. For the first time, the country could claim to have a generally applicable law that mandates prior appraisals of likely environmental impacts of intended projects. It requires that projects belonging to both the public and private sectors must undergo an initial early appraisal in case of resulting harm to the environment. In 1999, the Federal Ministry of the Environment took over the functions of the Federal Environmental Protection Agency and subsequently, in July 2007, the National

Ecologies of Rule    151 Assembly repealed the FEPA Act, and enacted the National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (Establishment) Act. This Act creates a new federal agency, the National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (NESREA), replacing the Federal Environmental Protection Agency, and has twenty-​four subsidiary regulations under its authority compared with the meager four regulations promulgated under the former FEPA Act. Their coverage is substantial and includes:  conservation and wise use of wetlands and resources; protection of water catchment areas; minimization of pollution from mining; ozone layer protection; soil erosion and flood control; desertification control and drought mitigation; protection of endangered species in international trade; coastal and marine protection; control of vehicular emissions; surface and groundwater quality control; and sanitation and waste control. Against this legislative and legal backdrop, Nigeria’s problem is not a lack of dedicated environmental institutions and regulations (or indeed expertise). The country has more than 122 Acts and additional subsidiary legislation dealing with environmental issues. There are certainly organizational and jurisdictional questions which hamper the implementation of the laws currently on the books. A recent water and sanitation report by the World Bank (2017) details multiple, overlapping, and contradictory institutions addressing local water service provision and sanitation compounded at the local level by political interference from governors in releasing resources through the fiscal federalist system of revenue allocation. In many cases it is unclear what state-​level responsibilities are and local governments—​the weakest of the three levels of government—​are barely able to pay salaries let alone mobilize the resources to monitor or enforce environmental standards. The EIA Act encouraged states and local government councils (LGCs)—​the lower administrative tiers of government—​to set up their own environmental protection agencies but there are vast differences between states in terms of institutional arrangements for environmental management20. At the subnational state level, legislation is formed by the House of Assembly but there is enormous variation in the capacity to review and develop legislation across states. In the same way, the research capability and enforcement capabilities of federal and state agencies are often sadly lacking due to underfunding and often a basic lack of data and expertise. Environmental committees in the state houses of assemby lack training in environmental issues or have the technical capacity to effectively develop and review environmental legislation. Almost all state environmental agencies have serious resource constraints and are ill-​equipped to perform their functions. In River State the environmental agencies do not even possess a laboratory. These institutional deficits can and do cripple meaningful regulation but the fundamental constraints on effective implementation and enforcement are political, rooted in the nature of Nigeria’s political settlement. Agencies, organizations, and institutions (including the judiciary) display a huge implementation gap pertaining to the raft of laws already on the books (WDR 2017). As a recent review concludes that the low level of constitutional provision for environmental protection means that “the legislative objectives remain unachieved because enforcement is superficial; excessive time exists between

152   Michael J. Watts non-​compliance and enforcement; available punishment for non-​compliance is inadequate; injured parties are not properly compensated; and some environmental crimes receive administrative instead of remedial measures or criminal punishments” (Ijayiah and Joseph 2014, p. 1). If infrastructural powers—​the capacity to implement, administer, and enforce—​are weak it is because public sector reforms typically produce a shallow response by the institutions concerned, what has been dubbed “isomorphic mimicry” (Andrews, Pritchett, and Woolcock 2013). If politics and power are key then the question is less: why does environmental governance fail? than why is governance so uneven across space, sectors, and institutions?21 These asymmetrical capabilities are rooted in institutional politics, that is to say whether and how political coalitions and leadership can be constructed around particular sorts of environmental challenges. In different places and sectors, the environmental politics and the means by which they can be addressed in relation to vested interests and regulatory capture will vary. Pockets of effectiveness (Roll 2014) may emerge around, for example, federal food and drug laws or Lagos State’s water and sanitation, while  in other domains—​EIAs in the oil and gas industry for example—​a lack of transparency and accountability and outright venality may radically limit any regulatory enforcement. Commissioners of the Environment may be relatively effective in one state, and virtually invisible in another. Regulatory capture—​at federal, state, and local levels—​as we saw in the forestry and timber sectors can convert some sectors of resource governance into “ungovernable spaces” (Watts 2016). The structural problem is the degree to which in a provisioning system various line ministries, or high-​ ranking regulatory, administrative, and legal appointments, are submerged by the logic of rent-​seeking and the privatization of public office (Ogunba 2012). By way of illustration, one can compare the case of the federal regulation of the oil sector (to which I return in more detail later) and water and sanitation in Lagos State. In an important study comparing two very different sectors, telecommunications and oil and gas, Zainab Usman (2016) shows how the nature of threats, available resources and inequities in the distribution of benefits shapes why reform of the petroleum sector has been abysmal. She shows how in the case of domestic telecoms there was a capitalist class within the ruling coalition capable of responding to the commitments made by President Obansanjo’s government (1999–​2007) although Usman points out that empowering the firms was “highly selective and clientelistic” (2016, p. 44). Oil and gas conversely stands at the very epicenter of state power and the political economy of the provisioning pact. Powerful interests within and outside the ruling coalition, among the popular classes and externally through the international oil companies (IOCs), were diverse and complex, producing a set of constraints on reform which were unsurmountable. Reforms to oil and gas ran headlong into the contentious politics of fiscal federalism, of the power of the oil-​producing states, of popular expectations over the price of subsidized petrol, of classes powerfully vested in import licenses and oil subsidies to say nothing of oil theft. Usman (who has a chapter in this volume) concludes that oil produced “competitive and distributional pressures” which “undermined efficiency and reform” (2016, p. 42). All of this helps explain why the ecological costs of oil in the Niger Delta have been so high and without effective regulation in spite of the fact that since 1999 there have been

Ecologies of Rule    153 considerable social and civil pressures from below (advocacy groups, community-​ based pressure from oil hostcommunities, legal actions, and so on) (Stevens 2011). First the NESREA Act does not cover the petroleum sector which is largely regulated through a set of laws and institutions (many from the 1960s and 1970s) widely seen as utterly corrupt and ineffective. The Environmental Guidelines and Standards for the Petroleum Industry in Nigeria (EGASPIN) is produced by the Department of Petroleum Resources (DPR). On paper they appear robust but it is not clear whether they do, in fact, represent law, or are merely guidelines to behavior. If these guidelines been actively followed then the high levels of oil pollution found in the delta would not have occurred (SDN 2016). While the DPR may be lacking in scientific expertise its real weakness resides elsewhere, namely that the DPR remains part of the oil ministry—​massively corrupt in itself—​and therefore with little or no autonomy. Second, after 1999 two organizations were launched—​the Ecological Fund and the Niger Delta Development Commission—​whose mandates were in whole or part designed to address ecological crises. But each was stillborn, eviscerated by a history of massive corruption and rent-seeking by Niger Delta elites, chiefs, and well-​connected political classes. Third, the judiciary is a weak reed and while there are literally thousands of legal cases pending pertaining to compensation for spillage and other environmental harms, the local courts have neither the capacity nor the autonomy to address plaintiffs claims (Frynas 2000). Oil spill investigations, compensation (personal and community) and cleanup activities are seriously flawed (Amnesty 2011, 2009)22. Fourth, EIAs, while nominally an integral part of the oilfield operations, are rarely subject to review by regulatory agencies and local input and participation is close to zero. And not least, even though some Niger Delta states have brought legal claims against oil companies, and international organizations such as UNEP (in the case of Ogoniland) have assessed ecological damage and recommended massive commitments (in excess of $1.5 billion) by the oil companies, very little remediation or actual financial settlement has ever transpired. The failure to deal effectively with gas flaring and its environmental consequences since it was raised as a regulatory issue more than fifteen years ago is another compelling case in point (Osuoka et al. 2016). Against a larger national backdrop of poor water and sanitation policy, Lagos State stands out as an exception. Lagos’s improved record of green governance (at least around water and solid waste) exemplifies the significance of domestic coalitions, inclusive leadership, and the role of a broad group of core agents as catalysts of change. With a population of over 15 million, Lagos is the commercial, media, and cultural capital of Nigeria. A  number of critical constituencies have increased the momentum for reform, including a large, organized business community; vigorous labor unions; varied news media and social media; a broadly articulate middle class; and an active, diverse civil society. These social, professional, and organizational elements have encouraged changes in policy and governance, though advocacy is often fragmented, ad hoc, and poorly coordinated. In Lagos, political factors galvanized reformist constituencies. After 1999, the governor was a member of an opposition party and confronted hostility from the ruling party

154   Michael J. Watts and the president at the federal center (Cheeseman and de Gramont 2017). Not least, by 1999 the city had become to all intents and purposes dysfunctional for all classes (traffic, public transportation, water provision, and so on) and the administration’s survival (in political terms) clearly depended on addressing a number of core issues quickly and effectively23. In short there were compelling threats to elite interests and clear benefits for institutional reform around a limited number of public goods that were deliverable in the short term (Porter and Watts 2017). In the case of water the government aggressively pushed a number of core strategies (World Bank 2005; Watts 2017). It reduced reliance on consultants and trained its staff with respect to inspections, it helped industries prepare environmental assessment reports and used that as a basis to start monitoring, it threatened noncomplying firms with closure, it cleaned up the appearance of the Agency by painting its premises, buying cars for its inspectors, symbolically creating an image of a transparent and clean agency, and not least the new administration also used media advertising with simple messages like “don’t give, don’t take,” with the director himself going on TV to enlighten the public regarding environmental pollution and reducing corruption (World Bank 2005). Crucially, the administration generated and collected almost N20  million through a number of measures including charging administrative fees for helping firms prepare reports, and imposing fines and sanctions on noncomplying firms. The director created a motivated group of staff without increasing staff salaries, showed deep support for environmental monitoring and compliance, and was reachable by his frontline workers when they encountered noncompliance. Interestingly, the water program depended upon and deepened forms of civic engagement (Watts 2016; de Gramond 2015). In sharp contrast to the prevailing discourse of the 1990s, Lagos is now held up as an exemplar of “smart city” development.

The Political Ecology of Two Insurgencies Since its return to civilian rule in 1999, Nigeria has produced two home-​grown insurgencies. A  Salafist rebellion, originating in the northeast of the country and gaining prominence and momentum after 2003, has laid waste to a vast swathe of territory in the three states of Bornu, Yobe, and Adamawa, and launched massive and deadly attacks across the north in major cities such as Maiduguri, Kano, and Katsina. Between 2011 and 2014, according to the Council on Foreign Relations, 20,000 people were killed by Boko Haram militants (with another 6,000 deaths in 270 attacks during 2015). Large-​ scale abductions, female suicide bombers, assassinations, beheadings, and the brutal terrorizing of civilian communities have become the tools of their trade. By April 2015, 2.5 million people had been displaced across six northeastern states, and over 1 million were barracked in refugee camps in and around Maiduguri.

Ecologies of Rule    155 Boko Haram (People Committed to the Propagation of the Prophet’s Teachings and Jihad)24 arose as, and until the late 2000s remained, a largely local frontier phenomenon located in Bornu, part of the former Kanem-​Bornu Empire. The group’s origins seem to be traceable to an Islamist study group in Maiduguri during the mid-​1990s. When its founder, Abubakar Lawan, left to pursue further studies at the University of Medina, a committee of shaykhs appointed Mohammad Yusuf as the new leader. The thirty-​two-​ year-​old Yusuf established a religious complex with a mosque and an Islamic boarding school in the city. A popular preacher and a student of Jafar Adam—​an influential leader of a radical Shi’ite group in Kano, the Islamic Movement of Nigeria (IMN)—​Yusuf was part of the shifting landscape of Nigerian Islam. In Maiduguri he established the Islamic Youth Vanguard, which by 2000 had morphed into Yusufiyya, also known as the Yobe Taliban, rooted in a largely rural, impoverished Kanuri region of Yobe State. Modeled on al-​Qaeda and the Taliban, and self-​consciously imitating their dress and public image, Yusufiyya’s followers believed that the adoption of sharia in the twelve northern states since 2000 was not just incomplete, but reflected a weakness and abandonment of Muslim principles by the state. Some six hundred miles to the south, on the Niger Delta oilfields, an armed nonstate group—​the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND)—​emerged from the western creeks in late 2005 and within four years brought the oil industry, accounting for over 80 percent of government revenues, to its knees25. According to a report released in late 2008—​prepared by a forty-​three-​member government commission and entitled The Report of the Technical Committee of the Niger Delta (RTCND)—​in the first nine months of 2008 alone the Nigerian government lost a staggering U.S.$23.7 billion in oil revenues to militant attacks and sabotage. By May 2009, oil production had fallen by over a million barrels per day, a decline of roughly 40 percent from the average national output five years earlier. At least 300 individuals were abducted between 2006 and 2009, 300 armed assaults were launched between 2007 and 2010, and 13,000 pipeline attacks and vandalizations were reported between 2006 and 2011. By some estimates, mortalities ran to 1,500 per year and perhaps as many as 200,000 people were internally displaced. A government amnesty, signed in October 2009 in the wake of a state-​sponsored counter-​insurgency program, brought peace to the delta by 2010. But it proved to be fragile, punctuated by periodic bouts of violence between 2010 and 2015. Ominously, in early 2016 a new militant group—​the Niger Delta Avengers (NDA)26—​ occupied the space vacated by MEND. By May 2016, NDA’s “Operation Red Economy” had shut in over 800,000 barrels of oil producing a thirty-​year low in national output. MEND emerged, quite dramatically, in late 2005 in the western delta creeks south of Warri, a major oil city on the oilfields. The political agenda of MEND was not clear at the outset, except that it self-​identified as a “guerrilla movement” whose “decisions, like its fighters, are fluid.” In fact, in a press release by email, PR man Jomo claimed that MEND was apolitical and its fighters “were not communists . . . or revolutionaries. [They] are just very bitter men.” But a clear political platform emerged. In a signed statement by field commander Tamuno Godswill in early February 2006, MEND’s demands were clearly outlined: the release of three key Ijaw prisoners (so-​called Ijaw patriots arrested

156   Michael J. Watts by the federal government in late 2005), the immediate and unconditional demilitarization of the Niger Delta, the immediate payment of U.S.$1.5 billion environmental compensation from Shell approved by the Nigerian National Assembly, and local resource control (meaning states and communities would “directly manage” oil). At first glance the insurgencies are a study in sharp contrasts. One is draped in the language of a return to a republic of virtue and the ideals of dar al-​Islam, of “true Islam” and the restoration of the caliphate; the other is secular and self-​consciously modern, invoking a renovated civic nationalism, a new federalism, community rights, and “resource control.” One is located in a remote, semi-​arid, and drought-​prone border region marked by agrarian recession and the collapse of its traditional industrial base (textiles); the other is housed in a huge deltaic zone of swamp rainforests and riverine creeks awash with federal oil revenues and populated by some of the largest transnational corporations in the world. Along many axes of comparison—​ecology, ethnic composition, forms of livelihood, political histories, and cultural formations—​Boko Haram and MEND suggest little in the way of family resemblance. Despite their surface differences and their counterintuitive emergence, the two insurgencies were shaped by a common set of structural forces—​a set of conditions of possibility—​which have arisen from the political settlements and the ordering of power (Slater 2011) associated with the dominance of oil and gas in Nigeria’s political economy. State deficits and dysfunction across virtually all of the institutions with which most Nigerians had some modicum of direct contact (namely local governments, elections, public service providers, the national power authority, and the judiciary) represented a profound crisis of all secular systems of legitimate authority. The postcolonial landscape in the north and south is littered with the wreckage of state repression, extrajudicial killings, human rights violations, and undisciplined security forces. But the authority crisis extended beyond the state narrowly construed. The institutions of customary authority were no longer legitimate systems either, and most youth felt excluded from their gerontocratic orders. Not unusually, Niger Delta chiefs were summarily, and often violently, ejected from office by rebellious youth groups angry at their pocketing of monies paid to them by oil companies, purportedly for community development. The emirs and their retinues continued to function but were increasingly marginal to the lives of many Muslims in the north, and in any case were seen to be part of a ruling sarauta class that had abandoned the populace, like their political representatives in the National Assembly. The illegitimacy, indeed the ethical and moral bankruptcy, of these multiple and overlapping networks of customary and modern governance created a vast space of alienation and exclusion, a world in which the armies of impoverished youth were neither citizens nor subjects, a rural and urban underclass, alienated and excluded from the worlds of legitimate authority, and from the market order (McGovern 2012; Richards and Chaveau 2008). Contempt was the ruling ideology and precarity the ruling condition (Watts 2017; Butler 2015). Both MEND and Boko Haram were forged in the different frontier spaces—​spaces in which governance institutions were both compromised in their effectiveness and legitimacy and populated by classes of youth at the margins of the political and market orders (Beretta and Markoff 2006) sharing common properties in

Ecologies of Rule    157 regard to state capacity, the deepening illegitimacy of forms of political, civic, and religious authority, and the radical precariousness experienced by what Joe Trapido (2015, p. 31) in describing the Congo, has called a class of young, masterless men (see also Gore and Pratten 2003; Last 2007, 2005). To what extent were these frontiers of precarity—which presented the conditions of possibility for the insurgencies—ecological in character and origin, or more properly shaped by environmental processes? In the case of the Niger Delta the case is clear. The devastating consequences of untrammeled oil and gas exploration and production had been a political issue since the late 1960s when Ken Saro-​Wiwa had begun to lobby the oil companies and government. Later in the early 1990s his international activity to gain support for the Ogoni struggle was as much focused on environmental rights (and his recruitment of international NGOs such as Greenpeace) as human and indigenous rights. Ogoniland became a poster child for the sorts of oil disasters which had become global environmental news during the 1990s. By the 1980s local opposition and movements arose at the community level among so-​called oil host communities (see Strutton 2015; Adunbi 2015). Nascent women’s movements across the creeks were protesting the impact of oil on maritime resources and the consequences of dredging, spillage, and mangrove clearance on fishing (a backbone of the region). The infamous Kaiama Declaration of 1998—​a founding moment in the Ijaw struggle and the establishment of the Ijaw Youth Council—​marked the birth of a militant politics in the delta which explicitly framed the struggle as “resource control” including massive compensation from the oil companies and strengthened environmental regulations (including greater transparency regarding EIAs and community participation). A United Nations report (UNDP 2005) on human development in the delta was unflinching in its ecological assessment. By conservative oil industry estimates, there were almost 7,000 oil spills between 1970 and 2000, more than one each day (the real figure might be twice or three times that number), many of these not fully documented in terms of their extent and damage. A back of the envelope calculation suggests that an equivalent of one gallon of oil has been spilled for every 1,000 square feet of the Niger Delta. Two independent studies completed in 1997 revealed total petroleum hydrocarbons in Ogoni streams at 360 and 680 times the European Community permissible levels. Canalization dredging, large-​scale effluent release, mangrove clearance, massive pollution of surface and groundwater, these are the hallmarks of a half century of oil and gas extraction. A World Wildlife Fund report released in 2006 simply referred to the Niger Delta as one of the most polluted places on the face of the earth. It is no wonder that in a survey of oil-​producing communities in the Niger Delta by Langer and Ukiwo (2011), 75 percent of survey respondents said that environmental pollution caused by companies caused militancy (the only variable scoring higher was “perceived socioeconomic marginalization”). In the wake of the hanging of Ken Saro-​ Wiwa, oil companies vastly expanded their community development efforts (in monetary terms), and promoted corporate social responsibility websites on which spillage and compensation could be documented. Massive public relations campaigns—​in part to rebuild corporate reputations and to maintain their “social license to operate”—​were

158   Michael J. Watts designed to show their newfound sensitivity to communities and the environment (and later transparency as most companies signed onto the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative [EITI]). Crucially, corporations were concerned to show (with some justification after 2005) that oil spillage was less a function of malfunction or aging infrastructure as “vandalization” (oil theft, pipeline tapping). In practice the corporate record is very mixed. Often corporate community liason officers were engaged in corrupt practices (including concocting nonexistent spills and creaming compensation funds), and the entire EIA process remained shrouded in secrecy and involved limited local participation. Of course it needs to be said that pollution was both a cause and an effect of the delta conflict. As militancy increased after 1999, and particularly after 2005, oil infrastructure became a strategic focus of attacks. According to NNPC data, between 2005 and 2007 alone there were over 9,000 attacks and vandalizations of pipelines. If the environmental question was central to popular mobilization and to the genesis of militant politics it is also true that over the course of the last decade environmental issues seem to have been largely replaced by fiscal and monetary matters and the so-​called derivation principle (the desire to increase from 13 percent the proportion of oil income returning to the producer states). The amnesty program signed in 2009 and the expansion of federal funding through the NDCC and the Ministry of the Niger Delta has offered precious little in regard to environmental restoration or more effective regulation of the industry. The insurgency—​still ongoing—​in the northeast of Nigeria offers up a rather different story with respect to the environment. The overwhelming poverty rates and the appalling human development indices across the region are clearly a crucial element in any understanding of the social reproduction crisis of youth. And it is clear that the deepening alienation and marginalization of the rural and urban underclasses is shaped by the often dire environmental conditions confronting rapidly growing populations and land-​and job-​scarce communities (World Bank 2017). Over 67 percent of employment is in agriculture and the dependence of millions of households upon the natural resource base is incontrovertible. But the changing ecological conditions—​short or long term—​have no simple causal role in the genesis of conflict. Like MEND, Boko Haram is multiply determined by a complex constellation of political, economic, cultural, historical, and religious forces at work. The ecological role in the insurgency is typically seen through the lens of the dramatic shrinkage of Lake Chad (see Figure 9.4). The average size of the Lake declined from over 8,500 square miles in 1960 to about 660 square miles in January 1985 and this radical shrinkage constituted, to quote the World Bank report (2016a) on conflict in the northeast of Nigeria, the set of structural and proxy factors of “climate change and environmental degradation (drought, desertification, and contraction of Lake Chad” (2016, p. 31). Their analysis indicates that such changes produce increased competition and conflicts over land and water among and between pastoral and settled agrarian communities. There is no question that pastoral (nomadic Fulani and Shuwa) conflicts with peasant communities have sharply increased not only in Bornu but in parts of Yobe, Gombe, Taraba, and Plateau States (Yousuf and Higazi 2017). These have often been compounded by preexistent ethnic

Ecologies of Rule    159

Figure 9.4  Lake Chad in 2015. (Source: Magrin, Lemoalle, Pourtier, 2015. Atlas du lac TChad.)

tensions and by the post-​1999 politicization of religion across the country. But there is no reason to believe that this has played a major role in Boko Haram (indeed pastoral communities have suffered from insurgent attacks as have farming communities). Drought, of course, is a “normal” condition of life in northern Nigeria and while rainfall has been variable over time, two immediate points need to be made. Farming and pastoral communities have developed complex adaptive strategies to respond to rainfall variability (including food storage); furthermore the degree to which food scarcity (in the event of a severe drought) is presumed to generate conflict is highly contentious (Watts 2003). And second, since the early 1980s (following from a run of drought years in the late 1960s and early 1970s) rainfall in the northeast has increased by over 30 percent. Since 1985 the extent of Lake Chad has increased by over 300 percent to an average of approximately 3,000 square miles during the 2000–​15 period. While population pressures on land have certainly driven forms of land scarcity, Bornu (to take one state) has a relatively low population density of roughly eighty persons per 0.4 square miles (comparable figures in the Kano close settled zone are 300–​400 people). The climate-​conflict literature does purport to show that temperature and rainfall changes are associated with conflict but the causal links are weakly understood. Causal mechanisms linking climate change and conflict of the sort outlined by Sayne (2011)

160   Michael J. Watts for Nigeria—​climate-​induced resource shortage causing hunger, unemployment, and displacement in turn producing conflict risks (“strained relationships,” “destructive self-​help”)—​are rather dubious and often in keeping with an apocalyptic narrative concerning the impacts of global climate change in Africa. Certainly in the case of Boko Haram and the northeast, the precarious nature of rural and urban livelihoods matter and such precarity necessarily has an ecological aspect. But why many young men take up arms in the name of Allah in Maiduguri or Potiskum or Biu requires a sophisticated analysis of the politics of Nigeria’s provisioning system, of the changing institutional landscape of Islam, and of the profound illegitimacy of a raft of public and civic institutions of rule. None of this is to suggest that Nigeria will not have to confront the profound implications of global climate change. The IPCC anticipates that northern Nigeria will experience a decrease in precipitation of at least 15 percent by 2100—​coupled with unpredictable variability in the onset and termination of the monsoon—​which may render rainfed agriculture perhaps impossible while potentially creating severe water shortages. Likewise an estimate increase to sea-​level rise of between 18 and 36 inches by the end of the century will create massive threats for the urban poor and slum dwellers in low-​lying coastal cities such as Lagos and Port Harcourt, to say nothing of onshore coastal oil operations. All of this will demand not only a huge commitment of resources to build resilient urban and rural communities but a set of governance structures with vastly improved regulatory and enforcement capabilities and more enhanced political support than are currently on display in Nigeria.

Notes 1. The Bank’s results should put environmental health issues high on the agenda of priority social issues in Nigeria, although they have traditionally received very limited attention. Damages from indoor air pollution account for between 1 and 2 percent of GDP, making it a major cause of deaths in Nigeria: every year, on average, nearly 50,000 children under the age of five die due to acute respiratory illness linked to household smoke. Lack of water and sanitation and poor hygiene are also important: on average, every year diarrhea alone kills 30,000 children under five years of age. Deforestation causes an estimated mean loss equivalent to 1 percent of GDP, while damages from floods amount to more than 1.5 percent of GDP. 2. “A key finding of this analysis is that in addition to very limited budgets, personnel, and technical capacity, the weaknesses in implementation and enforcement have to do both with limitations in the formal rules (e.g. constitutional framework, existence of multiple EIA frameworks, and so forth) themselves and also the existence of ‘informality’ that undermines effective functioning of formal rules” (World Bank 2006, p. 17). 3. Only Lagos State uses less fuelwood than other fuel types, while between 30 and 70 percent of households in each of the remaining thirty-​six states including Abuja primarily use fuelwood for their cooking. The north has the highest level of fuelwood usage compared with other sources of cooking fuel (Naibbi and Healey 2014). 4. Between 2000 and 2005, Nigeria lost 35.7 percent of its forest cover, or around 6,145,000 hectares (Babbanyara and Saleh 2010).

Ecologies of Rule    161 5. Onojeguho and Blackburn’s (2011) study determined the spatial extent and rates of forest transition in the Niger Delta using remotely sensed data from 1986 and 2007 and established that the spatial extent of deforestation, unchanged forest cover, and afforestation were 1.38, 2.39, and 1.15 million hectares, respectively, while the annual deforestation and afforestation rates were 0.95 and 0.75 percent which are high compared to other areas in the humid tropics. The authors observed that the main determinants of forest dynamics were the variations in state forest management policies and the influence of the oil and gas industry on the economies of the states. High rates of afforestation were found in states that have limited oil resources and were more economically dependent on forest products, while states with high deforestation rates were found in the main oil-​producing parts of the study site. 6. Data by Gbadegesin and Olorunfemi (2011) show that tree-​planting rates, while higher in the north and the south, tend to be quite low. 7. Von Hillerman’s (2013) work in Benin Division in southern Nigeria shows that by the 1930s, 67 percent of the area was under state forests. 8. In Edo State, for example—​a state with a large forest industry—​there are forty-​eight government forest reserves totaling 439,139 hectares, and a large number of community forests which account for only 3,803 hectares. 9. Forest loss as a conservation issue emerged, under pressure from local and international conservation organizations, in the 1980s in Nigeria. In 1991, the federal government established the Cross River National Park (which represents roughly 15 percent of forested lands in the state). It has been a source of resentment among local communities who have lost land rights, and at the same time have been encroached upon and poorly managed (with minimal funding) by the Nigerian National Parks Service. 10. In the case of the Cape in South Africa, Grove was able to show how a debate about conservation—​rooted in the fate of the forests along the southern coast—​emerged in the first half of the nineteenth century and in the appointment of a colonial botanist in 1858 (and an ordinance to preserve large game in the same year). The conservation structure in place in the Cape by 1880 was the product of three forces: the scientific botanists, the white settler farming community, and the government’s fear of external security considerations (and supporting a robust settler economy threatened by drought). An understanding of the processes of geographical displacement of European costs of industrialization onto the colonies makes the point that “much of the ideology of modern conservation thinking actually emerged out of the colonial rather than metropolitan conditions” (Grove 1987, p. 23). 11. While there is precious little research, the war, in addition to the massive loss of human life, also caused untold damage to land and forests. Attacks on oil infrastructures released large quantities of oil in the delicate swamps, forests, and creeks of the delta. 12. Resilience theory has become a sort of field theory which encompasses everything from national security to international development, natural disasters, military training, engineering, teen development, PTSD, and criminology. On the World Bank’s website, resilience is contained in almost 10,000 documents—​educational resilience, climate resilience, ten principles of urban resilience, the list is endless—​including its definitive blueprint, branded jointly with the UNDP and the World Resource Institute, entitled Roots of Resilience (2008), a manual for “growing the wealth of the poor.” For a critique, see Evans and Reed (2016). 13. Exploring how Lagos—​in particular in the work of HABITAT and urban theorists like Davis—​is configured as an exemplar of the ecological disaster of urban life is beyond

162   Michael J. Watts the remit of this paper (but see Gandy 2008). By 2015, however, Lagos, under Governors Fashola and Tinubu, was being held up as a success story! (see Watts 2017; Cheeseman and de Gramont 2017). 14. There is a large literature of this sort on the “resource curse”; see, for example, Ross (2012 and 2015 for a review), and Humphreys et al. (2007). For Nigeria, see Collier (2005). 15. When Nigeria’s HDI is discounted for inequality, its value falls by 41.4 percent to 0.276—​a considerably greater loss than the average for sub-​Saharan Africa of 35 percent (UNDP 2013). The country’s global HDI ranking fell from 142nd in 2010 to 152nd in 2015. 16. Some 820 firms were closed between 2000 and 2008; in the mid-​1980s there were 175 mills and by some estimations 3 million workers; by 2004 only ten factories remained (World Bank 2016). 17. The framework for oil operations in Nigeria is set by the Petroleum Act (originally Decree No. 51 of 1969). Other relevant legislation includes the Oil in Navigable Waters Act (Decree No. 34 of 1968), the Oil Pipelines Act (Decree No. 31 of 1956), the Associated Gas (Reinjection) Act of 1979, and the Petroleum (Drilling and Production) Regulations of 1969, made under the Petroleum Act. The Department of Petroleum Resources (DPR) issued a set of Environmental Guidelines and Standards for the Petroleum Industry in Nigeria (1991). 18. Two massive spills occurred in 1979 and 1980. In July 1979 the Forcados Tank 6 Terminal in Delta State incident spilled 570,000 barrels of oil into the Forcados estuary polluting the aquatic environment and surrounding swamp forest. The Funiwa No. 5 Well in Funiwa Field blew out an estimated 421,000 barrels of oil into the ocean from January 17 to January 30, 1980; when the oil flow ceased, 836 acres of mangrove forest within six miles off the shore was destroyed. 19. Other legislation included: the National Agency for Food and Drugs Administration and Control Decree No. 15 (1993) and thirty-​eight subsidiary legislations; Inland Fisheries Decree No. 108 (2004); Nuclear Safety and Radiation Protection Decree No. 19 (2004); Nigerian Meteorological Agency (Establishment) Act (2003); Nigerian Urban and Regional Planning Decree No. (88) (1992); Merchant Shipping Act (2007), plus sixty subsidiary legislations; Consumer Protection Council Act (1992). 20. In some states such as Adamawa, there is a Ministry of Environment and the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) reports to the Commissioner of Environment. In others, such as Cross River, the EPA is subsumed within the State Ministry of Environment. There are states such as Imo that have no Ministry of Environment but have an autonomous EPA. 21. The Centre for Social Justice in Abuja regularly assesses different federal ministries in relation to a series of bench indices of performance. In its assessment of the 2011–​13 period, the highest indices of “fiscal responsibility” were the Ministries of Environment and Land and Housing. The vast majority performed poorly, and Education, Finance, Education, and Transport and water resources were at the bottom of the list with exceptionally poor performance indices (see CJR 2014). Abah’s (2012) research on a raft of federal organizations—​ including the Nigerian Customs Service, the Standards Organization of Nigeria, and the Federal Inland Revenues Service—​confirms that institutional capability can be found in the most unexpected places. 22. The oil spill agency NOSDRA, which falls under the Federal Ministry of Environment, has no independent capacity to identify oil spills. It is usually dependent on either being notified by the oil companies or the community affected. UNEP’s investigation of

Ecologies of Rule    163 Ogoniland found that ten out of fifteen investigated sites which SPDC records show as having completed remediation, still have pollution exceeding the SPDC (and government) remediation closure values. In eight of these sites the contamination had migrated to groundwater. 23. In 1997, for example, 40 percent of Lagos residents surveyed acquired water from water sellers, 10 percent from a public standpipe, and 30 percent from a yard well. Only 20 percent of households had piped water (ARD 2002, p. 42). 24. For work on Boko Haram see Forest (2012); Amnesty (2015); ICG (2014); Pantucci and Jesperson (2015); Loimeier (2012); Comolli (2015); Smith (2015); Cooke (2011); and Thurston (2016). 25. For work on the Niger Delta conflicts see Watts (2007, 2011); Nwajiaku (2012); Ikelegbe (2006); Ukiwo (2007); Courson (2015); Obi and Rustaad (2011); Adunbi (2015). 26. Between mid-​February and mid-​June 2016, the NDA claimed responsibility for fourteen attacks on pipelines and other infrastructures; at least one other militant group—​Niger Delta Greenland Justice Mandate (NDGJM)—​has emerged over the last six months.

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PA RT   I I

P OL I T IC A L I N ST I T U T ION S

Chapter 10

The L ong Sha d ow of Nigeria’s Mi l i ta ry Ep o chs, 196 6 –​7 9 and 1983 –​9 9 Eghosa E. Osaghae

Introduction Military rule was a common phenomenon in Africa and other parts of the developing world in the period spanning the 1960s to the early 1990s. Although illegal, authoritarian, and indicative of state fragility, military rule was deemed appropriate for dealing with the colossal challenges of postcolonial statehood, national cohesion, and economic development on the grounds of the perceived modernizing, strong leadership, and institution-​building roles of military officers. By the 1990s, however, the tenability of military government waned on the evidence of an inverse relationship between authoritarianism and development, and the advent of a global democratic revolution. Nigeria was one of the paradigmatic cases of military rule. With a total of eleven officially announced coups, seven military heads of state, and one of the longest periods of military rule (twenty-​nine of the country’s first thirty-​nine years of independence) which included a civil war, the Nigerian case amply reflected the rise and fall of military regimes as well as their intricacies, strengths, and limitations. It also demonstrated the capability of military rule to affect the futures of their countries by changing the trajectories of political, social, and economic formations in enduring ways. This because, to borrow Ekeh’s (1983, pp. 5–​8) useful classificatory distinctions, military rule was more of an epoch, whose imprints persisted long after its period of existence, than an episode whose effects did not linger beyond the period. At the core of the epochal effects is the nature of military regime, defined simply as the structural framework, including

172   Eghosa E. Osaghae rules, regulations, values, institutions, and processes of military government. The enduring legacies are a consequence of the peculiar authoritarian framework of military rule and the deliberate efforts by the rulers to reinvent the state in the image of their so-​called corrective agenda. The purpose of this chapter is to analyze the context, character, and legacies of military regimes in Nigeria. The chapter is divided into three sections:  the first presents important conceptual clarifications for analyzing military rule in Nigeria; the second adumbrates the nature, context, and dynamics of successive military governments and how they manifested the nuances of a generic military regime; and the third section places the enduring legacies and consequences of military rule in historical perspective.

The Nature of Military Regimes If we characterize regime as the structural framework of governmental organization, perhaps the most important defining element of military regime in Nigeria would be its unrestrained frame: the absence or undermining of constitutional and legal restrictions, including legislative and judicial oversight, which has been described by Nwabueze (1994, p. 4) as “lawless autocracy, that is to say, a government not limited by law” (also see Joseph 1996). This frame, which constituted the basic law or grundnorm of military regimes, was spelled out in the very first law passed by the military: the Constitutional (Suspension and Modification) Decree No. 1 of 1966 which vested executive and legislative powers in the head of state at the federal level and governor in the regions (later states). The decree made military decrees supreme by declaring that they could not be challenged in the country’s courts of law. The decree was further strengthened over time by the Supremacy and Enforcement of Powers Decree No. 28 of 1970 which abrogated the 1963 constitution except the parts retained in Decree No. 1, and the 1984 and 1994 amendments which suspended sections of the 1979 constitution and other legal provisions that seemed to challenge military authority. The regime of lawless autocracy made military governments unaccountable and susceptible to abuse of office and corruption (Joseph 1996). Underlying the unchallengeable powers of military governments were their totalizing tendencies and attempts to control the entire political space. They proscribed democratic institutions, notably legislatures, political associations and parties, banned politicians and political activities, deprived individuals and groups of fundamental rights, and suppressed organized labor, professional, student and voluntary organizations, mass media, and other civil society constituents. Despite the repressive tendencies, military governments found it necessary to build strategic alliances with civilian elites who they co-​opted to buy support and enhance credibility. Traditional rulers who were thought to represent the people were one such group. But even they—​ and other strategic elites—​were not exempt from military tyranny as from time to time, powerful traditional rulers such as Sultan of Sokoto Alhaji Dasuki (1923–​2016), Emir

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    173 of Kano Ado Bayero (1930–​2014), and Ooni of Ife Okunade Sijuade (1930–​2015) were deposed or suspended for disloyalty. Democratic institutions and activities were only authorized during periods of transition to civilian rule when political activities including formation of political parties and elections were allowed. However, the activities were regulated by stringent criteria on formation and registration of political parties, participation, and electoral processes. The administration of General Ibrahim Babangida (1941–​), which distinguished itself with ambitious experimentation and institutional reforms, was the most notable in this regard. The government not only imposed a two-​party system by fiat, it literally “manufactured” the parties (membership, funding, ideology, manifesto and all) which practically functioned as agencies of the federal government. In addition, politicians had to pass integrity tests to participate in the new dispensation, with the so-​called new breed politicians being preferred to old brigade, money bags, and corrupt politicians who were held responsible for the repeated failures of democratic regimes and accordingly banned from further participation. The character of military regimes was further shaped by the unconstitutionality and illegality of military rule itself—​in the liberal tradition the military is subordinate to civil authority and a coup or violent overthrow of constituted authority is defined as a capital offense in Nigeria (Adekanye 1981). This made legitimation strategies, by which military governments sought acceptance, a crucial part of the regime although quite ironically, it has been pointed out that self-​legitimization and coalition-​building agendas had the unintended consequence of restraining dictatorship (see for example Gandhi 2008; LeVan 2014). There were at least three such strategies. The first was impermanence, which Hutchful (1986) argues, was central to the legitimacy of military government. No matter the justification for military intervention which included popular demands and support for military intervention “as the last hope,” the leaders still had to convince citizens that the regime was a temporary stopgap, short-​term quick fix and not meant to replace civil authority on a permanent basis. Thus, in his inaugural address, the first military head of state, General J.T.U. Aguyi-Ironsi (1924–​66), emphasized that the purpose of his government was to “maintain . . . law and order . . . and essential services . . . until such a time when a constitution is [produced] according to the wishes of the people” (Federal Ministry of Information Release and Government Notice, No. 148/​1966, p. 2). Subsequent governments pledged not to stay for any longer than necessary, and it is instructive that one of the grounds on which General Yakubu Gowon (1934–​) was overthrown in 1975 was that he and the military governors of the states had stayed too long in office—​Gowon’s indefinite postponement of the date of hand over to civilians only worsened his case. In effect, governments that had no plans to return power to civilians (such as Buhari’s), or reneged on promised dates to prolong their rule (such as Gowon’s and Babangida’s), or whose head sought self-​succession as a civilian ruler (such as Gowon’s, Babangida’s, and Abacha’s) were either overthrown by other factions of the military or faced serious opposition and crisis. But to the extent that only two military governments—​those of Mohammed and Obasanjo in 1979 and Abubakar in 1999—​successfully handed over power to civilians, it appears that impermanence was more forced than voluntary.

174   Eghosa E. Osaghae The second strategy, running in tandem with impermanence, was the interest-​ begotten claim that soldiers were on a rescue or corrective mission to, as various coup proclamations claimed, “save the country from collapse and misrule by (overthrown) corrupt politicians and military rulers  .  .  .  correct the ills of the past,” and “set the country on the paths of political stability, national cohesion, and economic development” (Oyediran 1979, pp. 1–​11). These tasks typically necessitated a return-​to-​civil rule plan, whose expansive scope afforded military rulers the opportunity to seek solutions to troubling issues of political accommodation, appropriate constitution and system of government, party and electoral systems, intergovernmental relations, and fiscal arrangements. The corrective regime also extended to cleaning the Augean stables which in many cases involved the trial and punishment of overthrown leaders, and mobilization of new patterns of moral and public conduct. Having accomplished these tasks and laid the foundation for a new beginning as it were, power was expected to be handed over to civilians, while the military returned to the barracks. The ability of the military to execute a corrective mission, however, depended on the credibility and integrity of its leaders. The popular and idealized perception of soldiers as apolitical, patriotic, and nonpartisan made them credible agents of change. Successive military governments made conscious efforts to live up to this expectation. For example, they sought to “depoliticize” controversial and divisive matters such as constitution-​writing, census, revenue allocation, states creation, public service reforms, local government, and resource control, by appointing expert committees and think tanks to tackle them. The Murtala  Mohammed/​Olusegun  Obasanjo government appointed a Constitution Drafting Committee made up of academics, lawyers, and other professionals. Babangida set up a similar body—​the Political Bureau—​whose members produced the blueprint for the return to civil rule and implemented the transition programs. The more expedient strategy for asserting credibility, however, lay in denouncing officeholders they overthrew. It was fairly easy to do this with civilian politicians who were presented as corrupt ethnic bigots in need of cleansing and mentorship by self-​acclaimed morally superior military leaders. Pretty much the same arguments were advanced in overthrowing fellow military governments, but in this case, the accent was on restoring the good image and integrity of the military and putting the corrective mission back on course. Thus, in overthrowing Gowon, General Mohammed alleged corruption, indiscipline, and neglect, “which w[ere] clearly incompatible with the philosophy and image of our corrective regime” (Mohammed’s first address to the nation, July 30, 1975). Similarly, General Muhammadu Buhari was accused of not living up to the corrective image by being high-​ handed, failing to halt the country’s economic decline and articulate a program of return to civil rule. For Graf (1988, p. 169), however, these rationalizations were no more than “a reconciliation of the military’s corporate interests and factions.” It is another matter altogether if the military actually met these perceptions. The evidence suggests that, contrary to the claims of the leaders, military interventions were far from patriotic or apolitical. The complexion of coup plots and ensuing governments indicated that military factions intervened for personal and sectional ethno-​regional reasons. The very first coup in January 1966 and the ensuing government of General

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    175 Ironsi had the character of an Igbo agenda to replace northern domination of the country with Igbo domination, notwithstanding the neo-​Biafra argument of the 2000s that the coup had a pan-​Nigeria plot. The July 1966 coup was staged by Northern officers to avenge the losses of January and restore northern domination, and inevitably led to a civil war. The July 1975 coup appeared less sectional, but it was led by officers from the July 1966 coup who felt they were shortchanged and relegated by Gowon. The unsuccessful coup of February 1976 that claimed the life of General Mohammed was led by Middle-​Belt officers whose desire was to restore the status enjoyed by the region under Gowon. The leaders of another unsuccessful coup in April 1990 were more openly partisan: according to the coup announcement, it was “well-​conceived, planned and executed for the marginalized, oppressed and enslaved people of the Middle Belt and the south, with a view to freeing ourselves and our children yet unborn from eternal slavery and colonization by a clique.” The December 1983, August 1985, and November 1993 coups were motivated by a combination of grievances over decreasing defense budgets and crass opportunism on the part of ambitious generals. They also reflected the consolidation of northern hegemony in cahoots with the mysterious Kaduna Mafia, a secretive group of elites who had acquired wealth and political power outside of the traditional emirate networks (Turner and Baker 1984; Graf 1988; Othman 1989; Olukoshi 1995; Osaghae 1998). The political orientations and interventions of the military could not have been a surprise because as Adekanye (1989, 2005) points out, the military was not immune to the highly volatile politics that characterized Nigeria as a deeply divided society. Indeed, the potential of the military as a power broker was recognized by Nigerian political leaders even before independence following the spate of military interventions in developing countries. They therefore took steps to ensure balance in the composition of the armed forces, which saw the introduction of a quota system of recruitment and promotion as early as 1956 for the rank-​and-​file and in 1962 for officers. After independence, the involvement of the military in quelling civil disturbances and elections, and rivalries among political leaders over control of the forces gave officers a sense of indispensability. By the time the coups came, the politicization of the military was complete, as was amply reflected in the tenor of coups, the civil war, and military governments, which all became a continuation of politics by military means. Attempts at self-​succession and regime prolongation by Gowon after the civil war, and by Babangida and Abacha in the aftermath of the annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election which was expected to end military rule, only made military rule less credible. To close this section we shall discuss the institutional bases and manifestations of military regimes. Perhaps the most distinctive character of a military regime is its authoritarian nature. Military governments typically deny basic freedoms of association, free speech, and so on, are unaccountable, and rule by unquestioned supremacy as we saw in the framework of lawless autocracy outlined earlier. The more specific institutional expressions of military rule derive from the principles of military organization, namely, unity of command, hierarchical authority, and centralization. From a Nigerian perspective, what is crucial is that these principles contradict those of federalism, the country’s

176   Eghosa E. Osaghae political system, namely, division and sharing of power and non-​centralization. This created a dilemma for military leaders, but from the onset, General Ironsi helped to resolve it by declaring that as a military officer he could not pretend to govern on civilian precepts of federalism and democracy. His subsequent abrogation of the federal system and replacement with a unitary system—​which is understandably more amenable to military principles—​offended political sensitivities and led to his overthrow. General Gowon, who succeeded Ironsi, restored the federal system for reasons of regime legitimation. But the military variant of federalism that was practiced from then onward, which Elaigwu (1979) calls military federalism, was more unitary than federal. The lesson from Ironsi’s overthrow was that federalism of any form was uncompromisable—​General Babangida later called federalism a settled and “no-​go” area of Nigerian politics, the very basis of the country’s existence—​and no government dared to take the risk of calling the system by any other name. Military federalism had the following features: (1) the federal government had unchallengeable powers over all matters, including appointment of state governors—​it was to capture this reality that the ruling council chaired by the head of state was called for a long time the supreme military council; (2) powers exercised by state (and local) governments over budgets, salaries, judicial appointments, and so on were at the discretion of the federal government; (3) fiscal powers were centralized: the federal government not only monopolized control of oil, the country’s main revenue earner, and other major taxes, it unilaterally determined the structure of fiscal relations and revenue allocation between it and the state and local governments; and (4) social goods and services (education, health, salaries) and local government systems were made uniform throughout the country. In addition to conformity with the principles of institutional organization, the military also deemed unitary arrangements more suitable for holding the country together, having apparently concluded that the autonomous powers wielded by the erstwhile regions boosted the divisive politics that led to civil war. On this premise, whittling down the powers of the states and subordinating them to federal control was made a cardinal objective of military regimes. The multiplication of unviable states that lacked fiscal capacities to function as constituent states in a federal system was an integral part of this project. So also was the strengthening of local governments—​in fact, there were suggestions in the 1990s for local governments to replace the states in what advocates touted as a grassroots-​ based political system. However, the (over-​ )concentration of power at the federal level raised the political stakes at two levels. First, it increased the desperation of conflicting ethno-​regional coalitions to control it, which further politicized military interventions. Second, it made questions of access, representation, inclusivity, and distributive justice in relation to the federal government critical to political stability. The creation of more states, whose numbers increased from four regions in 1964 to thirty-​six in 1996, empowerment of local governments as a separate tier of government, and the increase in numbers to 774 by 1996, as well as the introduction of the federal character principle to prevent the domination of government and its agencies by people from one or a few groups, were some of the creative responses to the challenges elicited by military federalism.

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    177 It has been argued that despite the creative measures adopted to enhance the workability of military federalism, it demonstrably diminished the capacity of the federal solution in Nigeria by divesting states of their fiscal powers, legislative competences, and relative autonomy (Suberu 2010; Osaghae 2015a). This was the context within which state-​challenging conflicts, separatist agitations and demands for true federalism, and political restructuring were resurrected in the country by groups dissatisfied with the inability of the federal government to treat and develop all areas fairly and justly. In the north, the conflicts found ethnic and religious expressions while in the south they resonated in separatist agitations and demands for equitable power-​sharing or power rotation and resource control by the oil-​bearing minorities of the Niger Delta. Above all else, the institutionalization of military federalism was the hallmark of military regime in Nigeria, and proved to be its most enduring legacy. Having discussed the generic nature of military regime, we now examine in brief, its contexts and manifestations in the successive military governments.

The First Phase of Military Rule: 1966–​79 General Aguiyi-​Ironsi, January 1966–​July 1966 General J. T. U. Aguiyi-​Ironsi headed the short-​lived first military government, which was a consequence of the bloody coup led by Major Kaduna Nzeogwu that overthrew the civilian government of the First Republic. The Prime Minister Tafawa Balewa, the premiers of Northern Region Ahmadu Bello and the Western Region Ladoke Akintola, the Minister of Finance, Festus Okotie-​Eboh, and several top military officers of Northern and Western regional origin were killed. The coup did not come as a surprise in view of the dismal performances of the civilian leaders, widespread conflicts and tensions over irreconcilable political differences, and inconclusive elections. However, the initial acclaim that greeted the coup quickly disappeared when it became known that most of those who organized it were Igbo and Easterners, and most of those killed were Northerners. Some actions of the Ironsi government seemed to confirm fears that the object of the coup was to displace the North from power in order for the Igbo to take over. Chief among these were the failure to put the coup planners on trial as demanded by sections of the army, accelerated promotion of Igbo officers and their postings to head strategic command positions, and most important of all, the abrogation of the federal system including regional public services by Decree 34. Ironsi’s defense that the decree was meant to remove “the last vestige of intense regionalism and to produce that cohesion in government structure which is so necessary in achieving and maintaining

178   Eghosa E. Osaghae the paramount objective of . . . national unity” (radio broadcast to the nation May 24, 1966) was not enough reassurance for Northern elites for whom federalism offered protection, opportunities, and privileges in relation to the more developed south. Violent riots targeted at Igbo people broke in various parts of the north, and led to the counter-​ coup by Northern military officers to restore the status quo in July 1966. Although Ironsi’s government was short-​lived, it laid the grundnorm of military regimes through Decree No. 1 which promulgated the unchallengeable powers of the supreme military council. Decree No. 34 abrogated the federal system because, as Ironsi pointed out, a military government could not pretend to be run federally.

General Yakubu Gowon, July 1966–​July 1975 The government of General Gowon was formed in the wake of the revenge coup by Northern military officers in which General Ironsi, the governor of the Western Region, Colonel Adekunle Fajuyi, and many Igbo officers were killed. Gowon inherited a country that was badly polarized by the events that led to the collapse of the First Republic on the one hand, and the coup and countercoup of 1966 and the widespread massacres of Igbo people in the north. To check the slide toward disintegration, he restored the federal system and made reconciliatory moves, including convening ad-​hoc constitutional conferences and a peace summit, to assuage the military government of the then Eastern region led by Colonel Odumegwu Ojukwu which became separatist after the July coup. The efforts unfortunately came to nought, as following the declaration of secession by the Eastern Region which adopted the name Biafra, the country was plunged into a civil war that lasted from July 1967 to January 1970. The civil war marked a watershed in Nigeria’s post-​independence history, as the circumstances before, during, and after the war led to important structural changes. The compelling imperatives of winning the war and peace necessitated the changes, but they had the arguably unintended consequences of deepening the foundations of military federalism. Armed with the full powers of a state of emergency, which gave the supreme military council control of all matters affecting the country as a whole, Gowon abolished the four powerful regions and replaced them with twelve states in May 1967. The creation of states was justified on the grounds of ensuring a more equitable and balanced federation, which was partly true as the exercise attempted to address the long-​standing demands for separate states by ethnic minorities to emancipate them from the stranglehold of the dominant ethnic groups in the regions. However, the creation of states was more obviously calculated to weaken the support base of the secessionist Eastern Region which was split into three states, more so that the new states were created on the same day the “Republic of Biafra” was declared. The federal government also expanded its fiscal powers, a process that was reinforced by the postwar processes of rehabilitation, reconstruction, and reconciliation.

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    179 The system of revenue allocation between the federal and state governments was restructured to give the federal government not only control over the major taxes and other revenue sources, most notably oil, which had become the main revenue earner, but also a greater chunk of the federally collected revenue (the Distributable Pool Account, later called Federation Account)—​which was higher than 50 percent all through the period of military rule and after. Decree No. 9 of 1971 transferred rents and royalties on offshore petroleum from states of origin (based on the principle of derivation), which used to be 100  percent, to the federal government. In subsequent military governments, revenue allocated on the basis of derivation fell to between 1.5 and 3 percent until 1996 when the Abacha government raised it to 13  percent. The loss of derivation rights and the greater weight assigned to other criteria of need, population, equality, and balanced development, which favored the larger ethnic groups, was a major factor in the insurgencies by the rights-​claiming ethnic minorities of the oil-​bearing Niger Delta region beginning from the late 1980s (Osaghae 2015b). The fiscal changes and the huge windfalls that came with the oil boom of the early 1970s (federal revenues increased from about N340 million in 1966–​7 to N5,514.7 million in 1974–​5) enabled the federal government to take over responsibilities that previously belonged to the states especially in the areas of education, healthcare, and social services. Finally, the civil war led to a diversification and shift in Nigeria’s foreign policy. The unwillingness of the U.K., Nigeria’s former colonial master, the U.S.A., and other major Western powers to give full support to the federal government’s war efforts, especially in the procurement of arms, forced a rapprochement toward the USSR and the Eastern bloc which, in the context of the Cold War, was a significant shift from the country’s established pro-​West foreign policy. General Gowon was praised for the reconciliatory approach which ended the civil war on a “no-​victor no-​vanquished” note in January 1970. But he faltered in the management of postwar events, especially in the execution of the transition to civil rule program. Problems left unresolved included reorganization of the armed forces, change of state governors and federal commissioners, corruption, writing of a new constitution, and carrying out a population census. The announcement that the promised handover to civilians in 1976 was no longer realistic sounded the death knell of the Gowon government which was overthrown on July 29, 1975.

General Murtala Mohammed and General Olusegun Obasanjo, July 1975–​October 1979 Although the government that emerged after the overthrow of Gowon had two heads of state—​General Mohammed who was killed in an unsuccessful coup in February 1976 and General Obasanjo who replaced him—​it is generally regarded as one government because of the fidelity with which Obasanjo executed the agenda for return to civil rule

180   Eghosa E. Osaghae laid down under Mohammed. The government was notable for path-​setting reforms, which were carried out within the agenda of the transition to civil rule whose key items were creation of new states, constitution drafting, local government reorganization and reforms, revenue allocation, and elections. The agenda aimed at addressing the perceived threats to national cohesion, thereby laying new foundations for political and democratic stability. First, the number of states was increased from twelve to nineteen in February 1976, ostensibly for reasons of even development, political balance, and bringing government closer to the people. The significance of the exercise, however, rested in the redefinition of the status and role of states in the federation. Prior to 1976, a major factor in creating a new state was viability, defined simply as the possession of the fiscal and administrative resources necessary to function as a substantively self-​reliant federating unit. However, the Irikefe panel (as it became known) on whose recommendation more states were created, argued that in the context of the country’s military federalism, viability was no longer necessary since states depended on the federal government for their upkeep—​in effect, states could only be viable if the federal government was viable. Henceforth, states were to function as appendages of the center and distributive agencies for federal resources, rather than relatively autonomous federating units. This change in status deepened the structural basis of military federalism. Another change that produced a similar effect was the reorganization of local governments, which used to be a matter for state governments. The 1976 local government reform introduced a uniform structure of local government throughout the country in place of the different forms that existed since colonial times. More significantly, it established local government as the third tier of government with a share of the Federation Account, areas of legislative competence, and guaranteed powers. The federal takeover of local government and the elevation of status that made it an alternative to state governments were part of the deliberate efforts of the military to weaken and subordinate the states. The new revenue allocation formula introduced in 1977 gave 57 percent to the federal government, 30 percent to states, 10 percent to local governments, and 3 percent to special grants. Other formulas are discussed by Elemo’s essay in this volume. The other major structural changes were introduced as part of the process of writing a new constitution that involved a constitution-​drafting committee and constituent assembly whose recommendations and draft constitution were ratified by the military government, and gave birth to the 1979 constitution. The changes included: (1) adoption of a U.S.A.-​type executive presidential system; (2) introduction of the federal character principle aimed at ensuring that government and its agencies at all levels reflected the country’s diversity; (3)  regulation of party and electoral politics to ensure that only truly national parties contested for power; and (4) establishment of so-​called corrective institutions such as the corrupt practices tribunal and public complaints commission. Having laid what was considered to be the foundation for a new and more suitable political structure, General Olusegun Obasanjo handed over power to an elected civilian president, Shehu Shagari, on October 1, 1979.

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    181

The Second Phase of Military Rule: 1983–​99 General Muhammadu Buhari, December 1983–​August  1985 Contrary to expectations, and in spite of the elaborate “corrective” institutional precautions introduced by the Mohammed–​ Obasanjo government, the Second Republic lasted for only four years. On December 31, 1983 the military returned to power, accusing the civilian politicians of proving once again, to be incapable of holding the country together and mismanaging the economy, which was on the threshold of insolvency with dwindling foreign reserves and several state governments unable to pay salaries. The main preoccupation of the Buhari government was economic recovery. Every other matter including restoration of civil rule was secondary and put on hold until the “economic mess” of the Second Republic was cleared. The clearing took the form of a reign of terror under which supposedly corrupt leaders and politicians were detained, fundamental rights were suppressed, and citizens suffered severe deprivations and hardship under a regime of austerity and were forced to embrace a “war against indiscipline.” The economy became more tightly controlled by the federal government and government increasingly gravitated toward personal authoritarian rule by General Buhari and his deputy General Tunde Idiagbon. The tough and uncompromising posture on economic recovery, particularly the rejection of IMF therapies that had been on the cards since the Second Republic alienated more liberal and populist members of the government. It did not come as a surprise when General Buhari was overthrown in what was clearly a palace coup on August 25, 1985 on the grounds of inability to halt economic decline, the self-​righteous and authoritarian attitudes of Buhari and Idiagbon, a poor human rights record, and failure to commit to the restoration of civil rule. On balance, perhaps the most notable thing about the Buhari government was its contribution to the consolidation of the authoritarian character of military regimes. The draconian decrees enacted by the government, some of which were adopted by subsequent military governments, served this purpose very well. The decrees included the State Security (Detention of Persons) Decree of 1984 which authorized the detention without trial of persons deemed to be a risk to state security or to have contributed to the country’s economic crisis for up to a renewable period of three months; the Military Courts (Special powers) Decree of 1984 and the Judgment and Tribunals (Enforcement) Decree of 1985 which made judgments of tribunals set up under various decrees final and conclusive in respect of “all pronouncements, orders, sentences, fines and forfeiture of assets”; and the Public Officers (Protection against False Accusations) Decree of 1984 which authorized the arrest, detention, and trial of

182   Eghosa E. Osaghae journalists and closure of any medium making any false statement or rumor embarrassing to public officers.

General Ibrahim Babangida, August 1985–​August 1993 General Babangida’s government is easily distinguished as the most reformist and experimentalist of all the military governments. It was evidently obsessed with the creation of a new social order and an ideal state, which it hoped would correct the structural malformations that imperiled democratic governance, political stability, national cohesion, and economic development. Against the backdrop of the unexpected collapse of the Second Republic, and the inability of the Buhari government to remedy the situation, this seemed to make some sense, but the government’s convoluted “transition without end” (Diamond et al. 1997) which was largely explained by General Babangida’s ploys to remain in office possibly as civilian president raised doubts about the intentions of the project. In the end, after failing to hand over power on promised dates (October 1, 1990, then October 1, 1992, and later January 2, 1993), Babangida was forced to “step aside” and hand over to an interim national government in August 1993 in the heat of the upheavals that greeted the annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election that was supposed to conclude the transition-​to-​civilian program. Notwithstanding the unceremonious end, the Babangida years were momentous for the overall definition of military regime in virtually all ramifications. The era witnessed two unsuccessful coups, one led by General Mamman Vatsa in 1985 and the other by Major Gideon Orkar in April 1990. While the Vatsa coup had the trappings of a palace coup, that of Orkar was atypical. Unlike previous coups whose organizers claimed to be acting in the national interest, the Orkar coup was openly sectional as the plotters claimed to be acting on behalf of the “marginalized, oppressed, and enslaved people of Middle Belt and the South,” and announced the excision of the core Hausa/​Fulani states that constituted the bastion of alleged Muslim–​northern domination. Babangida’s self-​ preservation strategies, which were steeped in ethno-​religious calculations including making the country a member of the Organization of Islamic Conference, the global union of Islamic countries, despite protests by Christians, provided the backdrop for the unprecedented coup, but it also reflected how the military had become politicized and badly divided. The highlights of the Babangida government, however, lay in massive reforms and experiments. Part of the framework for this was set by the World Bank/​IMF Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), which was formally adopted in 1986 in the quest to get the economy out of recession. SAP marked a turning point in Nigeria’s economic trajectory which moved from state dominance to neoliberal reforms that sought to entrench market forces. The outcomes of structural adjustment as an economic recovery package were mixed, with most analysts agreeing that it demonstrably increased the hardships of poor citizens. But what is more important for our immediate purpose is that SAP made the state more authoritarian, and allowed the federal military government the

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    183 opportunity to further strengthen its control of the economy especially in its relations with the subnational governments. One of the major instruments of control was the creation of extra-​ministerial agencies and institutions such as the National Directorate of Employment, Directorate of Food, Roads and Rural Infrastructure, Directorate of Social Mobilization, and the Oil Mineral Producing Areas Development Commission, which was created to address the unrelenting agitation for resource control in the Niger Delta. The location of these agencies which had huge budgetary allocations along with other crucial agencies such as the electoral commission in the presidency not only strengthened the controls exercised by the federal government but also gave the president enormous powers over resource allocation (it should be noted that unlike other military heads of state, Babangida chose to be called president). The main focus of Babangida’s efforts to create a new sociopolitical order, which was largely scripted by a political bureau appointed to formulate the blueprint for transition to civilian democracy, was the political (and social) terrain. The blueprint addressed troubling issues that had become customary with transitions: states creation, local government, revenue allocation, census, new constitution, political parties, elections, and social mobilization. More states and local government areas were created—​the number of states increased from nineteen to twenty-​one in 1987 and thirty in 1991, and local government areas from 301 to 453 in 1989 and 589 in 1991. The increases were partly in response to agitations by aggrieved groups that demanded greater access to the huge resources controlled by the federal government, although the evidence suggested that considerations of regime-​elongation were also crucial. Local governments were further strengthened through increased revenue allocation from the Federation Account, extension of the executive presidential system to the local level, and reduction of the scope of state government controls. For revenue allocation, in addition to periodic reviews of vertical and horizontal allocations that led to the restoration of the derivation principle at between 1.5 and 3 percent, a statutory intergovernmental body, the Revenue Mobilization, Allocation, and Fiscal Commission, was created to handle allocation matters on a continuous basis. The government also attempted to deal with one of the most divisive issues in the country by conducting a supposedly “depoliticized” census in 1991, but like that of Gowon in 1973 it was forced to suspend the final outcome in the face of the acrimony that greeted the provisional results. A new constitution, in 1989, which was essentially a re-​enactment of the 1979 constitution with few amendments, was also promulgated, but ended up not being used due to the inconclusiveness of the transition. Then there were the political experimentations:  imposition of a two-​party system in which the two national parties were “manufactured” and operated as state institutions; test runs of various voting options to minimize electoral corruption; eligibility tests to keep out supposedly discredited politicians and ensure that a “new breed” of politicians took center stage; and a mixed military–​civilian government that had the military at the federal level and elected civilian governments at the state and local levels. The experiments ended with the Babangida government, but hindsight suggests that the focus on the so-​called new breed of politicians was a deliberate ploy to create a client

184   Eghosa E. Osaghae political class that could be trusted to protect the privileges enjoyed by military leaders after their exit from power. The predominance of Army Brought Ups (ABUs), that is, cronies and protégés of powerful military leaders such as Babangida and Abacha who became the godfathers and strongmen of post-​1999 civilian politics is instructive. Many of those who emerged as party leaders, governors, ministers, and senators were “made” by the military, as popular Nigerian parlance has it. The preponderance of retired military officers who had served in past military governments in similar positions lends support to the apparent success of the military project (Adekanye 1999).

General Sani Abacha, November 1993–​June 1998 The annulment of the results of the June 12, 1993 presidential election, which was won by M. K. O. Abiola, triggered a rash of violent protests and conflicts in different parts of the country, particularly the Yoruba southwest, Abiola’s home area. These were the circumstances under which General Babangida was forced to “step aside” on August 27, 1993. He handed over power to an “interim national government” (ING) headed by Ernest Shonekan, a fellow Yoruba like Abiola, apparently to pacify members of the ethnic group, although the retention of General Sani Abacha as defense minister led to suspicions that the new government was a military contrivance. The strong opposition to the ING in the form of strikes and demonstrations by pro-​democracy groups and other civil society constituencies paralyzed Shonekan’s government which proved incapable of arresting the drift toward anarchy and disintegration. On November 17, 1993, in an apparent palace coup, General Abacha announced that he had accepted the “resignation” of Ernest Shonekan and “dutifully” taken over as head of state to save the country from collapse. General Abacha’s government is generally regarded as the most despotic of all the military governments. This was most probably due to the serious hostility it faced within and outside the country, but Abacha’s absolute hold on power (which earned him the sobriquet “maximum ruler”) and ploys to prolong his stay beyond the one year that opposition military leaders argued was agreed upon, and succeed himself as an elected civilian president were also crucial factors. The crisis provoked by the annulment of the presidential election did not abate, and remained the main source of opposition which transformed internally into a coalition of opposition pro-​democracy movements and aggrieved political groups whose demands ranged from termination of military rule to political restructuring or so-​called true federalism, and resource control. One of the aggrieved groups was the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP), which championed the agitations of the oil-​bearing Niger Delta minorities for resource control, greater shares of the Federation Account, and environmental justice. True to its ultra-​authoritarian character, the government executed Ken Saro-​Wiwa and leaders of MOSOP. Another strand of internal opposition played out in the military itself, whose factions struggled for supremacy. Two reported coups of doubtful veracity—​one in

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    185 1995 involving former head of state, General Obasanjo and his former deputy, General Shehu Yar’Adua, and the other in 1997 involving Abacha’s deputy, General Oladipo Diya—​were symptomatic of such struggles. Abacha’s mysterious death in June 1998, a few days before that of M. K. O. Abiola, whom Abacha kept in custody all along, is believed to have been a fallout of the deadly struggles. On the external front, Nigeria was isolated as a rogue state by (liberal) regime-​change-​seeking Western powers that supported pro-​democracy groups at home and in the diaspora in the struggle to terminate military rule. Notwithstanding the hostility, the Abacha government pledged a return to civilian rule and implemented a transition program similar to Babangida’s in terms of reforms introduced as well as its manipulations. The number of states was further increased to thirty-​six and local governments areas to 774, a new constitution was produced (but like the 1989 constitution was never used) with new instrumentalities including power rotation among the six zones into which the country was divided, a multiparty system was restored although all the parties curiously adopted General Abacha as presidential candidate. The Federal Character Commission was created to ensure the compliance of government agencies with the objective of the principle of federal character to reflect the country’s diversity, and the proportion of the Federation Account allocated to subnational units on the basis of derivation was increased to a minimum of 13 percent. These changes were mostly based on the recommendations of the National Constitutional Conference which Abacha convened in a last-​ditch effort to appease aggrieved groups and address issues of appropriate political economy configuration that could no longer be suppressed. Abacha’s sudden death in June 1998, however, aborted the transition which in all likelihood would have resulted in his transmutation to civilian president.

General Abdulsalami Abubakar, June 1998–​May 1999 After Abacha’s death, General Abdulsalami Abubakar emerged as head of state. The prevailing circumstances of global hostility and demands for regime change, increased internal opposition, loss of military credibility, and threats of national disintegration due to the lingering crisis over June 12, forced him to adopt a more conciliatory though no less authoritarian approach to governance. The approach hinged on a speedy restoration of civil democratic rule. The transition program included formation of political parties, promulgation of a new (1999) constitution which was written by a committee of federal and state attorneys-​general, and concluded with the restoration of civilian democracy on May 29, 1999. The provisions of the 1999 constitution were very similar to those of the 1979 constitution, and gave legal backing to many of the additional instrumentalities and institutions created by military governments after 1979, such as the Revenue Mobilization, Allocation and Fiscal Commission, Federal Character Commission, 13 percent minimum derivation revenue allocation to subnational units, restrictions on formation of political parties, and so on.

186   Eghosa E. Osaghae More significantly, the constitution consolidated the dominance of the federal government established under military rule. This is amply reflected by the fact that the 1999 constitution not only assigned sixty-​eight matters to the exclusive legislative list of the federal government, and only twelve to the concurrent list on which the federal and subnational units have jurisdiction, but also gave the federal government exclusive control over the commanding heights of the political and economic spheres. The exclusive list included:  mines and minerals, including oil fields, oil mining, and natural gas; labor; revenue allocation; election to the offices of president, vice president, governor, and deputy governor and all elected offices provided for in the constitution except election of local government chairmen, police, and other government security services; trade and commerce; trade or business name; public holidays; regulation of political parties; taxation of incomes, profits, and capital grants; and marriage other than that under customary or sharia law. In addition, the office of president was assigned wide-​ranging executive powers over major national institutions and agencies including the armed forces, police, and independent electoral commission. General Abubakar also made efforts to resolve the political crisis triggered by the annulled June 12 election. After Abiola died, the transition plans moved in the direction of a “power shift,” that is, a principle of power rotation between the north and south of the country, the apparent decision being to placate the Yoruba and south by installing a southern Christian Yoruba as president. This led to the emergence of two Yoruba presidential candidates—​General Olusegun Obasanjo and Olu Falae—​and the victory of Obasanjo, who was believed to be the choice of the Abubakar government. The emergence of Obasanjo, former military head of state as president (General Buhari, another former military head of state became president in 2015), a preponderance of Army Brought Ups in the elected governments of the post-​1999 dispensation, the highly centralized structure of fiscal arrangements and party politics, and wide-​ranging powers granted to the federal government and executive president by the 1999 constitution were strong indications that the legacies of military rule were going to exist for a long time in Nigeria.

Conclusion As far as events that have had effects of epochal proportions on Nigerian social formations and politics go, military rule scores very highly and probably ranks next to colonialism. According to renowned political sociologist Peter Ekeh (1983), epochs are events such as the Industrial Revolution and colonialism, which not only profoundly and fundamentally change the nature and character of social formations, but whose effects continue to linger on long after the events have come to an end. Epochs stand in contrast with episodes, which are also historically significant events but whose effects do not endure beyond the period of the events.

The Long Shadow of Nigeria’s Military Epochs    187 Military rule has certainly had epochal effects in Nigeria, as several years after it, critical aspects of the country’s political, economic, and social relations continued to bear its imprint. The enduring effects are usually attributed to the long years and predominance of military rule, but they had more to do with the military regime type and the deliberate efforts of military leaders to legitimize military regime and social engineering. The experimentations and reforms, which were primarily intended to justify, legitimize, and prolong military intervention and rule, were comprehensive in scope and character, and constituted the mainstay of the numerous and seemingly endless transition-​to-​civil-rule (and self-​succession) programs that became major defining elements of military rule. The so-​called corrective agenda involved not only the restructuring of the polity (this ranged from the creation of states in place of the former regions to fiscal centralization), but also the “cleansing” of extant social formations and installation of new political and social orders through the nurturing of political cultural frames that supported military rule and its reproduction. There is some consensus that the legacies of military rule, their concomitants and consequences, are generally negative and dysfunctional, similar in character to the colonial legacies that Kirk-​Greene (1980) described as damnosa hereditas (fatal legacies). Examples include: the distortions—​or destruction—​of the federal system and especially fiscal arrangements that have made the subnational units of government appendages of an imperial federal government; executive control and dominance over the legislature and judiciary; predominance of repressive strategies for addressing conflicts; seemingly endless reforms and policy somersaults; and a political culture of impunity and corruption on the part of the ruling elite, and lawlessness, militancy, agitation, and violence on the part of interest groups and aggrieved citizens. The contention that military legacies are fatal is valid when we consider the deepening of the National Question (referring to the lingering difficulties of nation building and resolving the aspirations of Nigeria’s many small would-​be nations) and serious challenges to the survival and cohesion of the state in the post-​military era. But the point to be noted is that the circumstances which suited military rule as they related to centralization of power and resources and closure of democratic spaces, were different from those of democratic rule in a federal setting. The pertinent question to ask is whether the instrumentalities of military rule were necessary, relevant, expedient, or effective in addressing the problems of the country as they were perceived at the time. In other words, were the dissolution of the powerful regions, creation of more states, strengthening of local governments, the adoption of the presidential system, federal character principle, and restructuring of fiscal relations effective instrumentalities? Within the context of the integrationist project pursued by the military, which ostensibly was to keep the country together, they certainly were. The open and pluralist nature of a democratic regime, however, presents a different scenario that requires less centralist instrumentalities. This explains the agitations for new—​and arguably more appropriate—​instrumentalities that characterize the post-​military era.

188   Eghosa E. Osaghae

References Adekanye, J. B. (1981). Nigeria in Search of a Stable Civil-​Military System. Boulder, CO: Westview. Adekanye, J. B. (1989). “Politics in a Military Context,” in P. P. Ekeh et al. (eds), Nigeria Since Independence, The First 25 Years, vol. 5, Politics and Constitutions. Ibadan: Heinemann. Adekanye, J. B. (1999). The Retired Military as Emergent Power Factor in Nigeria. Ibadan: Heinemann. Adekanye, J. B. (2008). Military Organization in Multi-​Ethnically Segmented Societies:  A Comparative Study. Lagos: Ababa Press. Diamond, L. et  al. (eds) (1997). Transition Without End:  Nigerian Politics and Civil Society Under Babangida. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Ekeh, P. P. (1983). Colonialism and Social Structure. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press. Elaigwu, J. I. (1979). “The Military and State Building:  Federal-​State Relations in Nigeria’s ‘Military Federalism’ 1966–​1976,” in A. B. Akinyemi et  al. (eds), Readings on Federalism. Lagos: Macmillan for NIIA. Gandhi, J. (2008). Political Institutions under Dictatorship. New York: Cambridge University Press. Graf, W. D. (1988). The Nigerian State: Political Economy, State Class and Political System in the Post-​Colonial Era. London: James Currey. Hutchful, E. (1986). “New Elements in Militarism:  Ethiopia, Ghana and Burkina Faso,” International Journal 41 (4): 802–​830. Joseph, R. A. (1996). “Nigeria Inside the Dismal Tunnel,” Current History 95 (601): 193–​200. Kirk-​Greene, A. H. M. (1980). “‘Damnosa Hereditas’: Ethnic Ranking and the Martial Races Imperative in Africa,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 3 (4): 393–​414. LeVan, C. (2014). “Analytic Authoritarianism and Nigeria,” Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 52 (1): 212–​231. Nwabueze, B. (1994). Nigeria ’93: The Political Crisis and Solutions. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Olukoshi, A. O. (1995). “Bourgeois Social Movements and the Struggle for Democracy: An Inquiry into the ‘Kaduna Mafia’,” in M. Mamdani and E. Wamba-​dia-​Wamba (eds), African Studies in Social Movements and Democracy. Dakar: CODESRIA Books. Osaghae, E. E. (1998). Crippled Giant: Nigeria since Independence. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Osaghae, E. E. (2015a). “Nigeria: Struggling to Formalize and Decentralize Inter-​Governmental Relations,” in J. Kincaid et  al. (eds), Intergovernmental Relations in Federal Systems. Montreal: Oxford University Press. Osaghae, E. E. (2015b). “Resource Curse or Resource Blessing: The Case of the Niger Delta ‘Oil Republic’ in Nigeria,” Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 53 (2): 109–​129. Othman, S. (1989). “Nigeria:  Power for Profit—​Class, Corporatism and Factionalization in the Military,” in D. B.  C. O’Brien et  al. (eds), Contemporary West Africa States Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oyediran, O. (ed.) (1979). Nigerian Government and Politics under Military Rule, 1966–​1979. London: Macmillan. Suberu, R. T. (2010). “The Nigerian Federal System: Performance, Problems and Prospects,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 26 (4): 459–​477. Turner, T. and Baker, A. (1984). Soldiers and Oil: The 1983 Coup in Nigeria, McGill University Centre for Developing Area Studies Discussion Paper No. 22.

Chapter 11

F i scal Fede ra l i sm, Subnational P ol i t i c s , and State Cre at i on i n C ontemp orary Ni g e ria Olufunmbi M. Elemo

Introduction Neopatrimonialism, the fusion of patronage systems and bureaucracy, has pervaded Nigeria’s political institutions since the time of independence. This regime form ultimately influences how the tiers of government interact with one another and how government interacts with citizens. Nigeria’s political leadership, through cycles of civilian and military governments, has prioritized gaining access to revenue in order to distribute resources via patronage systems. As a result, the desire of elites to access the primary mode of revenue generation motivated political choices to centralize power in the national government or disperse authority through the federal system. Thus, leaders of Nigeria’s (current) Fourth Republic find themselves attempting to balance political and fiscal authority in a newly re-​established democratic, federal regime. This chapter begins with a discussion of how, repeatedly, the political leadership’s attempts to extract revenue and control the dominant means of economic productivity influenced the breakdown and/​or success of democratic governance and federalism in Nigeria. Second, using Nigerian legislatures as examples, the chapter outlines how, over time, elites have dispersed political authority to govern throughout the national, state, and local levels of government. Finally, moving beyond political federalism, the chapter examines fiscal federalism in Nigeria. Here, we can consider how natural resource revenue has been accrued and distributed among the three levels of government, as well as assess constitutional powers of taxation and national, state, and local governments’ tax jurisdictions. Ultimately, this chapter provides an overview of Nigeria’s political and

190   Olufunmbi M. Elemo fiscal contexts, allowing us to understand how, historically, access to various forms of revenue has motivated politics in Nigeria.

Neopatrimonialism, Federalism, and Citizen–​E lite Relations in Nigeria: A Historical Overview According to Bratton’s and van de Walle’s (1997) seminal work, neopatrimonialism—​ the incorporation of patrimonial logic and traditional, informal authority into bureaucratic institutions—​is a “hallmark” of African politics. Three key features delineate neopatrimonal regimes: concentration of political power in one individual, clientelism (where personal favors, jobs, and resources are awarded in exchange for political support), and leadership’s private use of state resources for political legitimation. In fact, there is little distinction between public and private coffers. These three qualities interact to undermine formal rules and institutions. Since Nigeria’s independence in 1960, the country has undergone both civilian government and military dictatorship. However, a neopatrimonial mode of administration serves as a common thread linking over fifty years of governance. During this time, the political regime has been defined and altered by political elites’ attempts to gain access to revenue in order to sustain patronage systems. Public funds have repeatedly been used to reinforce political dominance. Therefore, particularly in Nigeria, “the political process is structured around distributional contention and the capture of rents [e.g., government contracts, business deals, appointments to state enterprises/​ministries, illicit payments] rather than mechanisms of representation” (Lewis 2009, p. 179).

Sustaining Neopatrimonialism in Nigeria’s First Republic In Nigeria’s First Republic (1960–​6), power over the dominant mode of economic development was held subnationally. These leaders were able to translate financial power into political gain, expanding subnational influence in such a way that the federal system and national sovereignty were eventually challenged. During this time, Nigeria had a federal parliamentary system comprised of a central government and four (subnational) regional governments. Though both levels of government held executive, legislative, and judicial authority, fiscal power was concentrated at the regional level through the institution of the marketing board. Marketing boards (a holdover from British colonial administration) were created during the Second World War in times of economic crisis.

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    191 These institutions were charged with regulating the agricultural industry and mandated to use whatever funds they accumulated for the benefit of farming communities. At the time, agriculture represented the primary economic activity in Africa (and Nigeria), generating large amounts of foreign exchange. Thus, these organizations became wealthy and influential. Marketing boards also became a tool for regional politicians in need of revenue. Politicians would often divert funds from these marketing boards into the public treasury (Bates 1981, pp. 12–​13). Regional leaders would go on to use revenue generated by marketing boards to fund patronage networks and garner political support. Politicians provided loans, licenses, and funds for development work in return for electoral support (Welden 2001). For example, in Western Nigeria “persons in charge of development agencies used their powers [to] transfer funds into banks and corporations in which they held directorships [instead of toward agricultural subsidies],” using the funds to award themselves large, interest-​free loans (Bates 1981, p. 100). Regional politicians used this financial influence to gain political leverage. The concentration of fiscal and political influence at the regional level resulted in repeated challenges to the Nigeria’s central authority. According to Suberu (2004, p. 331): “The regions enjoyed the loyalty of their respective major ethnic communities [and] commanded relatively substantial constitutional power and financial resources.”1 Moreover, “although the federal government acquired more prestige and influence in relation to the regions,” it was clear that the federation’s more talented politicians and bureaucrats remained at the regional level (Suberu 2004, 331). Regional fiscal autonomy and political power contributed to the outbreak of Nigeria’s Biafran Civil War (1967–​70), an attempt by the Igbo-​dominated Eastern Region to secede from the federation. Conflict brought an end to the First Republic, as military leaders from the Eastern and Northern Regions launched coups and countercoups, either in support of or in opposition to the secession attempt (Ihonvbere and Shaw 1998). In the end, the Eastern Region was unsuccessful in its challenge, and following the civil war, the military government moved to minimize regional authority. The regional system was scrapped in 1967 and Nigeria expanded from four regions to twelve states2. The military government also paid particular attention to the fiscal independence of the states. For example, in an effort to minimize future secession attempts in the regions, the military moved control of the marketing boards to the central government (Diamond 1988; Ihonvbere and Shaw 1998). Similarly, the power of the states to levy taxes was suspended. Furthermore, unlike in the First Republic, the national government now held control over the sector leading economic development: the petroleum sector. As Nigeria “rode the crest of a bounteous petroleum boom” in the 1970s, the rules of oil revenue allocation were amended so that the national government took the bulk of these earnings (Lewis 1996, p. 81). Like regional leaders in the First Republic (who used revenue from marketing boards to sustain their patronage networks), national political elites also relied on petroleum income to fund the neopatrimonal regime. During the Gowon/​Mohammed/​Obasanjo military governments (1966–​79), “the rapid influx of cash fostered a dramatic increase in corruption,” where 90 percent of the budget was

192   Olufunmbi M. Elemo used to fund inflated military salaries and political appointments to the civil service (Lewis 1996, p. 81). This “result[ed] in an untrained, undereducated bureaucracy whose primary function was to support the patron that granted the position and [their] secondary function was personal enrichment” (Welden 2001, pp. 70–​1).

Neopatrimonialism and Democratic Breakdown in Nigeria’s Second Republic After the military stepped aside, Nigeria returned to civilian rule in the Second Republic (1979–​83); however, gaining access to revenue to fund patronage networks remained the political priority. Early on in the Second Republic, “even more than in the First Republic, government office was an opportunity for the enrichment of oneself and one’s supporter . . . not only was all the wealth of the country in the hands of the [central government], but also it had increased ten-​fold” (Watts and Lubeck 1983, p. 109). Scholars estimate that 60 percent of GDP was used as patronage. Moreover, access to national oil revenues increased “financial dependency of the states (and their localities) on the center [and the] consolidation of central political authority” (Suberu 2004, p. 334). Yet, by 1982, revenues accruing to the national government declined as a result of a drop in international petroleum prices. This coupled with a growing foreign debt fostered a climate of economic decline. As a result, “patrons could no longer support broad client bases, and concentrated instead on enriching themselves” (Lewis 1997, p. 305). Since the funding of patronage networks was now concentrated at the national level, a drop in central government revenue damaged the ability of politicians to maintain political power via clientelist networks. After uncovering evidence of this self-​enrichment among civilian politicians, Major-​ General Muhammadu Buhari (1942–​) led the military takeover of December 1983 (Welden 2001). Between 1983 and 1998, the military (under generals Ibrahim Babangida (1941–​) and Sani Abacha (1943–​98)) embarked on a series of changes, which shifted Nigeria from “prebendalism, [or] decentralized patrimonial rule, to predation, [that is] the consolidation of avaricious dictatorship” (Lewis 1997, p. 80). For example, in an attempt to alleviate popular and elite opposition to economic reforms, Babangida’s government used a series of remunerative policies to distribute patronage to vocal groups. These included the creation of new institutions, such as the Directorates for Food, Roads, and Rural Infrastructure and various community banks. Economic reform did have the effect of minimizing the amount of government contracts, licenses, and employment, which were traditionally used as patronage at the elite level. However, politicians devised new forms of political patronage, including providing insider investment information and granting special access to nascent markets during the privatization of public assets. Politicians also turned a blind eye while elite participation in illegal

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    193 economic activity flourished (e.g. petroleum smuggling, drug trafficking, international commercial fraud). During this time, “financial corruption and the apportionment of privileged access . . . created private incentives for persons to support the continuation” of the current regime (Reno 1998, p. 184). The “state retreat from citizens reflect[ed] the extent to which [the ruling elite] relied on extensive personal networks, rather than effective institutions” (Reno 1998, p. 153). In particular, during General Abacha’s military government, there was no attempt to develop institutional capacity to provide public social services. Instead Abacha opted to sustain his patronage network though a “highly visible and extremely wealthy military-​political class.” Using contract awards within the petroleum industry, some of which the general negotiated himself, it is estimated that $12 billion in patronage was distributed over a six-​year span (Reno 1998, p. 198; Welden 2001, p. 81).Thus, the national government’s access to oil revenues was key to centralization of clientelistic control at the cost of developing institutional capacity to govern throughout the federation. Furthermore: $5 to $10 billion a year in oil profits is controlled by a small group at the top and distributed through patronage. To collect this income, the government need do nothing for the people or for the domestic economy. It needn’t build roads, maintain infrastructure, or build schools. It needn’t account for its spending nor discuss with representatives of the people how funds should be distributed. It need do nothing except protect its partnerships in oil production because this is where income is derived, not from taxing the domestic economy. (Welden 2001, p. 87)

Political Federalism and Devolution of Power in Nigeria’s Fourth Republic Following General Abacha’s death in 1998, Nigeria returned to civilian government and since “federalism has been long recognized as the indispensable basis for Nigeria’s stability and survival,” it was not surprising that the federal structure re-​emerged (Suberu 2004, p. 328)3. In theory, a federal system would minimize regional and ethnic conflict by allowing subnational units the ability to govern themselves. At the same time, a federal structure would maintain overall stability in Nigeria’s national structure. However, “the oil-​centric political economy,” encouraged by years of “hypercentralized military rule,” has created tension in Nigerian politics and institutions in the post-​military era (Suberu 2004, p. 329). Subnational entities have repeatedly demanded the decentralization of political authority and access to fiscal resources. For example, Nigerian governors in the southern states have called for “true federalism,” localized control of resources, and state-​led economic development. This includes the decentralization of the national police force into state police units, increasing the portion of oil income allocated to state and local

194   Olufunmbi M. Elemo governments, regional authority of natural resources, and local control of public serv­ ice provision (e.g. education, public housing, and agriculture). This southern demand for true federalism has prompted opposition not only from the central government, but also from northern political leaders. In particular, “the landlocked and relatively more economically depressed north depends more heavily on the south and the present system of centralized, distributive federalism” (Suberu 2004, p. 341). Therefore, in Nigeria’s (contemporary) Fourth Republic, national and state governments are continually renegotiating the balance between national authority and decentralization of power. It is important to note that devolution of political authority has been accompanied by a shift in the way that political elites interact with ordinary citizens. Under neopatrimonial forms of rule, scholars argue that citizens also participate in and expect clientelistic behaviors and seek individualized benefits from elected officials (van de Walle 2001; Lindberg 2006; Wantchekon 2003). Bratton’s (2009, p. 16) analysis with Afrobarometer public opinion data finds that almost one-​fifth of Africans report making a “side payment” to obtain documents. Specifically, in Nigeria, 27 percent of respondents admit to “paying a bribe within the last year for water or sanitation.” With that said, recent work also finds that citizens, in fact, prefer the delivery of public goods and services instead of individualized benefits (Young, 2009). In Nigeria, 60 percent of respondents indicate that “in electing a representative to the National Assembly, [they] prefer to vote for a candidate who can make policies that benefit everyone in [the] country (as opposed to localized, private benefits)” (Afrobarometer 2008). As state and local governments emerge as more powerful players in governance and resource allocation, we observe subnational variation in the incentives facing political elites and the way these leaders interact with constituents. The next section uses Nigeria’s legislatures as an example to outline this decentralization of political power, revenue sharing, and revenue mobilization in the Fourth Republic.

Devolution of Power and Purview to State and Local Governments Even though political power was concentrated in the national executive during Nigeria’s military and civilian regimes, state and local legislatures did have a role in governance. The extent to which power was delegated to these tiers varied as a result of politicians’ quests to access public revenue. Furthermore, in the Fourth Republic, subnational governments have become more prominent in decision-​making. Particularly, state and local governments have begun to use their new political and fiscal authority to enact public policy, rather than depending on a federally led program (Fajingbesi et al. 2004). During Nigeria’s First Republic, subnational power was vested in four regions (Northern Region, Eastern Region, Western Region, and Midwestern Region. According to the 1963 Constitution (Chapter 1, Section 5), each region was governed by a regional constitution (which held the force of law throughout that region), an Executive

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    195 Governor (executive council, executive ministers, a public service commission, and Director of Audit), a high court, and a legislature. Regional legislatures were endowed with the power to make laws “for the peace, order, and good government of that region with respect to matters” not specifically included in the (national) Exclusive Legislative List. Additionally, the Concurrent Legislative List (1963 Nigerian Constitution, The Schedule, Part  2) detailed the areas in which both national and regional legislatures could enact law. This included higher education, industrial development, and execution of civil and criminal processes as dictated by the Regional High Court and other regional courts of law. Regional legislatures were also granted “residual powers,” which were items not mentioned expressly in the constitution. This included primary and secondary education, health, public works, secondary roads, and marketing boards. In general, regional legislatures “guarded their autonomy jealously,” competing with the central government for political control. Access to a large and steady stream of revenue from the marketing boards allowed regional bodies to increase their political scope. Bates (1981, pp. 14–​15) provides an example from Nigeria’s Western Region. There, the Action Group and the National Council of Nigerian Citizens (the two dominant political parties) formed a legislative coalition, intending to consolidate financial power in the regional legislature. Seizing the Commodity Marketing Boards, they oversaw the direct transfer of £34 million from the boards to the Western Region’s government’s coffers. As the regions became more [financially] autonomous, fragility and insecurity grew in Nigeria’s federal structure (Elaigwu 2005, pp. 60–​1). This ultimately coalesced in the secession attempt led by the Eastern Regional government and the interruption of civilian government by the military. With the disaggregation of the four regions in the Second Republic and the creation of nineteen states, subnational governments also changed form. The executive structure shifted from that of a regional executive to a state governor (executive council, ministers). Each state’s legislative authority was vested in a House of Assembly (1979 Nigerian Constitution, Chapter 1, Part 2; Chapter 5, Part 2). Membership of a state’s House of Assembly equaled three times the total number of seats which that state held in the Federal House of Representatives. Members of state Houses of Assembly had authority to form committees and make laws in the same areas as their regional predecessors. Responsibilities also expanded to include electoral law, electric power, public finance, and tax collection. Additionally, the 1979 Constitution (Chapter  1, Part  2, Section 7)  recognized a new local government system made up of 301  “democratically elected local government councils” (Fajingbesi et al. 2004, p. 306). State governments were charged with “ensur[ing] local governments’ existence under law, providing for the establishment, structure, composition, finance, and functions of such councils.” The local government’s duties included economic planning and development of the local government area (an administrative constituency predetermined by the state government). Most significantly, further duties involved provision and maintenance of primary education and health services.

196   Olufunmbi M. Elemo In the Second Republic, conflicts over state autonomy continued to define Nigerian federalism, especially when it came to the creation and operation of local government councils. While federal entities claimed the authority to regulate the establishment of local governments, state officials disagreed. Since the constitution gave state governments authority to “provide for the establishment structure, composition, finance, and functions” of local government councils, they inherently had the right to create, merge, and dissolve local government councils as they saw fit (Elaigwu 2005, p. 161). However, similar to the First Republic, the major source of conflict between the federal and state governments stemmed from finance. In the First Republic, agriculture was the major source of Nigeria’s revenue. Regional governments regulated this sector via control of the marketing boards. But in the Second Republic, the national government came to dominate the major engine for income generation—​the oil sector. The 1969 Petroleum Decree established that “all royalties, rents, and other revenues derived from or relating to exploration, prospecting or searching for petroleum” would accrue directly to the federal government (Ndebbio 2004, p. 113). With the oil boom of the 1970s, states demanded a share of oil funds. In reaction to these demands, the Revenue Allocation Act was passed in 1981. This act determined that petroleum income would be shared among the tiers of government in the following manner: 55 percent to the national government, 32.5 percent to be distributed among the state governments, and 10 percent to be divided between local governments (Elaigwu 2005, p. 287). As a result, rather than cultivating internal sources of revenue, states grew more dependent on allocations from the national government. “As additional states were created in Nigeria, the tendency towards greater authority at the center became more glaring”; while the number of states increased, the newer entities had a weaker resource base, relying on transfers from the national government for funding. Therefore, the power of the federal center became greater (Elaigwu 2007, 151–​5). Thus, unlike in the First Republic where the hyper-​autonomous nature of regional governments led to secession attempts and the military’s interruption of civilian government, federalism in the Second Republic was characterized by political and fiscal power concentrated in the center. As international petroleum prices dropped in the 1980s, the national government no longer had the income to sustain the three tiers of government. This, coupled with severe personal enrichment by national politicians, resulted in military intervention in 1983, lasting until 1998. By the time Nigeria reinstituted civilian government (the current Fourth Republic) in 1999, there were thirty-​six states and 774 local government areas. In addition to the National Assembly, the 1999 Nigerian Constitution establishes a House of Assembly in each of the states and a Local Government Council (LGC) in each Local Government Area (LGA). State legislatures in the Fourth Republic are allowed to form laws in the same areas as their predecessors in the Second Republic (1999 Nigerian Constitution, Second Schedule, Part 2). Moreover, they hold residual powers in areas not specifically given to the National Assembly in the constitution. The Fourth Republic also maintains the system of local governance set up in the 1979 Constitution. LGCs are still charged

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    197 with the economic planning and development in their jurisdiction. Local councils hold purview in the same areas as their predecessors in the Second Republic. Their duties have also been expanded to include regulation of places for the public sale of food and liquor, as well as provision of adult and vocational education (1999 Nigerian Constitution, Fourth Schedule). Broadly, evidence suggests that state and local governance is becoming increasingly important to the execution of Nigerian democracy as avenues for enhancing representative and participatory government, which bring ordinary Nigerians into the fold of democratic governance (Fajingbesi et al. 2004, p. 47). Yet, as the federal, state, and local tiers attempt to reorganize and redistribute authority from the highly centralized system handed over by the previous military government, they struggle with boundaries and overlapping jurisdictions. For example, state governments believe the federal tier to be “too sprawling” in its duties and functions. State political leaders argue that development should be driven by the state, not as a national program. On the other hand, the federal tier warns that stripping the central government of too much authority would hearken back to the First Republic period, where national sovereignty was undermined by hyper-​ regionalism. Last, local governments perceive the state as overbearing, refusing to recognize LGCs as autonomous institutions. State governors have even gone so far as removing democratically elected LGC chairs as if they are bureaucrats and not independent political actors. However, from the state governments’ perspective, “local governments are the most problematic tier in the federation; they lack executive capacity. They are inexperienced . . . mistaking autonomy for independence or sovereignty” (Elaigwu 2005, p. 320). These political debates in Nigeria’s political federalism are further compounded by the structure of fiscal federalism, that is the allocation of tax authority, revenue mobilization, and expenditure responsibilities across the three levels of government (Ogwumike and Isumonah 2004, p.  259). We will now consider Nigeria’s revenue-​ sharing from petroleum and current system taxation, highlighting the current debates and reforms.

Distributing Petroleum Wealth Across the Three Tiers Since the 1969 Petroleum Decree, all revenues derived from the production, exploration, prospecting, or searching for petroleum would accrue directly to the federal government, into the federation account. From there, the funds would be distributed between the three levels of government. Nigeria’s natural resource income is derived from two sources: crude oil sales and oil taxes. The Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC), representing the govern­ ment’s business interests, has formed partnerships with private petroleum companies to find and produce crude oil. The private oil companies and NNPC (via the federal budget) both finance business operations and share the crude oil that is produced. NNPC then takes the government’s share of the crude oil and sells it on

198   Olufunmbi M. Elemo domestic and international markets, which, in turn, accounts for a major portion of Nigeria’s oil income. In addition to taking the portion of crude oil produced in the NNPC–​private partnerships, the government also imposes taxes on oil-​producing companies: royalties (1); the Petroleum Profits Tax (PPT) (2); and rents (3). Between 2007 and 2009, $70 billion in oil income accrued to the Nigerian government from these sources. Of that, 54.8 percent derived from the sale of crude oil (via NNPC), 28.9 percent of the total petroleum revenue was derived from the PPT, and 10.5 percent from royalties (Federal Ministry of Finance 2010, p. 28) (see Table 11.1). Over the last thirty years, Nigeria has used various formulas to distribute the income from petroleum between the three levels of government (see Table 11.2). Currently (since 2004), 13  percent of oil revenue goes directly to oil-​producing states (derivation). The remaining 87 percent is vertically distributed between the three tiers in the following way: 52.68 percent to the federal government, 26.72 percent to be shared by state governments, and 20.60 percent shared by LGCs (Uche and Uche 2004; Elaigwu

Table 11.1 Sources of Federal Government Oil Revenue (%) Item

2007

2008

2009

Crude oil sales

50.8

54.4

59.2

PPT

31.7

32.5

20.5

Royalties

12.3

9.4

10.3

Natural gas sales

4.5

3.5

8.1

Rents and other oil taxes

0.7

0.2

1.9

Source: Federal Ministry of Finance 2010, p. 28.

Table 11.2 Vertical Allocation of Federation Account, 1981–​present  (%) Recipient

1981

1990

1992

Current (from March 2004)

Federal government

55

50

48.5

52.68

State governments

30.5

25

24

26.72

Local governments

10

20

20

20.60

Special funds

4.5

5

7.5

—​

Sources: Ndebibio 2004, p. 119; Osagie 2007, p. 128; Onuigbo and Eme 2015, p. 28.

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    199 Table 11.3 Horizontal Allocation of Federation Account, 1980–​present (%) Principle

1980

1989

Current (from 1992)

Equality of states

40

40

40

Population

40

30

30

Social development

15

10

10

Landmass and terrain

—​

—

10

Internal revenue efforts

 5

20

10

Sources: Osagie 2007, p. 133; Onuigbo and Eme 2015, p. 29).

2005). The formula for the distribution of oil revenue among the thirty-​six states (horizontal allocation) has also varied, depending on different principles through the last thirty years. Currently, as has been the case since 1992 (see Table 11.3): • 40 percent is divided equally between all the states (equality of the states) • 30 percent is apportioned based on state population (more populous states obtain a larger share) • 10 percent is divided based on social development need (e.g. education, health, water) • 10 percent is divided based on state size (landmass) and terrain (larger states obtain a greater share) • 10 percent is distributed based on a state’s internal revenue effort. States generating higher rates of internal revenue earn more; thus, a portion of petroleum income is used as an incentive for states to increase their capacity to mobilize internally generated tax revenue (Oriakhi 2004; Usman 2007). Having an understanding of the sources of petroleum income for Nigerian national, state, and local governments, we can explore that non-​oil sources of public revenue.

Nigeria’s Tax System: Mobilizing Revenue at Three Levels of Government As with the National Assembly, the 1999 Nigerian Constitution endows state and local legislatures with the power to raise non-​oil revenue via taxes on citizens (Orewa 1979; Guyer 1991; Suberu 2003; Fajingbesi et al. 2004). Several clauses, taken together, provide the constitutional source for federal, state, and local governments’ tax authority, via the power to generate tax law and the duty of individuals to comply (Sanni 2007, p. 2).

200   Olufunmbi M. Elemo According to the Federal Inland Revenue Service, the Nigerian Tax System includes three separate prongs: the Nigerian National Tax Policy, the Nigerian Tax Law, and the Nigerian Tax Administration. The Nigerian National Tax Policy (as of 2011) provides a set of guidelines for regulation of the tax system and serves as a basis from which resultant tax legislation and organization is derived. According to this policy, a tax is defined as “a monetary charge imposed by the Government on persons, entities, transactions or properties to yield revenue.” This is further described as “the enforced proportional contributions from personal property, levied by the State by virtue of its sovereignty for the support of Government and for all public needs” (Federal Ministry of Finance 2011a). The policy goes on to outline types of taxes that can be levied on individuals, corporations, transactions, and assets; the role federal, state, and local governments play in tax collection; the responsibilities of the tax authorities at different tiers of government; and the role of taxpayers, tax consultants, and other professional bodies (Federal Ministry of Finance 2011b, p. 55; Abdulrazaq 2005). The second prong of the tax system is tax law. As a body, these laws guide the administration of taxes in federal, state, and local government authorities. The following legislation comprises the bulk of the tax framework: • Federal Inland Revenue Service Establishment (FIRS) Act 2007. While the Ministry of Finance is the primary administrator of tax law at the federal level, they operate via the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS). The FIRS Act charges this autonomous body with the administration of national tax law, investing the “powers to do all such things as may be deemed necessary and expedient for the assessment and collection of taxes due to the Federal Government” (Sanni 2007, p. 3). • Companies Income Tax Act (CITA) 2007. In Nigeria, “once a company is incorporated, it becomes a legal entity and is treated under law as an artificial person, separate and distinct from its shareholders.” Consequently, corporations pay a tax on their yearly profits at a rate of 30 percent. Each company performs its own self-​assessment; however, Nigerian companies are taxed on their worldwide income, while foreign corporations are only assessed on the portion of their revenue attributed to business operations in Nigeria (CITN 2009, p. 1). Since companies in the petroleum sector already pay the Petroleum Profits Tax (PPT), they are exempt from the Companies Income Tax. • Education Tax Act 2004. All corporations are also assessed a 2 percent tax of their revenue, as a “social obligation placed on all companies in ensuring they contribute in developing educational facilities in the country” (NIPC 2009, p. 4). This fund is disbursed in the following manner: 25 percent to universities; 12.5 percent to polytechnic schools; 12.5 percent to the College of Education; 10 percent to secondary schools; 40 percent to primary schools (JHI 2009). • Capital Gains Tax Act 2004. This is a 10 percent tax on corporations and individuals on all gains from the sale, lease, or transfer of stocks, bonds, real estate, and other investments. However, if the company or individual is a non-​Nigerian resident, the tax will only be assessed on the amount received or brought into the country (NIPC 2009).

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    201 • Stamp Duties Act 2004. This tax is assessed on documents and transactions, the rate varying by the type of document. When one of the parties is a corporation, FIRS levies the tax; in other circumstances, the tax is paid to the state tax authority (CITN 2009; NIPC 2009). • Value Added Tax Act (VAT) 1993/​2007. This consumption tax replaces the former sales tax. Those purchasing/​consuming goods and services pay 5 percent of the purchasing price as a tax. VAT is administered by FIRS and collected at the federal level on behalf of the national, state, and local governments. At the same time, many revenue-​generative goods are exempted from VAT (e.g. medical/​pharmaceutical products and services and all exports). All revenue from the VAT accrues directly to the federal VAT pool and are disbursed in the following manner: 15 percent to national government; 50  percent to state governments; 35  percent to local governments (CITN 2009; NIPC 2009; JHI 2009; Federal Ministry of Finance 2010). • Personal Income Tax Act (PITA) 1993/​2007. According to this law, every Nigerian employee is supposed to pay tax on his or her aggregate income (salaries, wages, fees, allowances, gains, benefits), derived both within Nigeria and outside the country. In this instance, the taxpayer’s residency determines to whom their income tax is paid. (See Table 11.4 for the scale on which the personal income tax is levied.) There are also exemptions from the personal income tax, which include a meal subsidy/​allowance, medical or dental expenses, retirement, gratuities, and compensation for loss of office (JHI 2009; NIPC 2009). These seven regulations constitute the major taxation laws under which Nigeria operates (JHI 2009). The third prong of the tax system is the Nigerian Tax Administration, which is made up of the national, state, and local bodies charged with assessing, collecting, and accounting for all forms of taxes in accordance with the law. The organizations involved in managing Nigeria’s tax system include the Federal Inland Revenue Service. FIRS is

Table 11.4 Current Income Tax Rates Taxable income (naira)

Rate of tax (%)

First 30,000

 5

Next 30,000

10

Next 50,000

15

Next 50,000

20

Over 160,000

25

Source: JHI 2009, p. 8.

202   Olufunmbi M. Elemo the independent body charged with the administration of taxation at the national level. Specifically, FIRS oversees levies, including the Companies Income Tax, Petroleum Profits Tax, and Value Added Tax (Federal Ministry of Finance 2011b). The State Internal Revenue Service (SIRS), also known as the Board of Internal Revenue, is mandated to carry out tax policy at the state level. Specifically, SIRS has jurisdiction over the taxes within their state (e.g. Personal Income Tax [Pay As You Earn4 for individuals and Direct Taxation via individuals’ self-​assessment] Federal Ministry of Finance 2011b). Another entity of subnational revenue, the Local Government Committees on Revenue Collection, is created in each LGA within a state (under PITA 1993). These committees are given authority to collect market, shop, and kiosk levies, marriage, birth, and death registration fees, and wrong parking charges (Federal Ministry of Finance 2011b). Finally, there is the Joint Tax Board (JTB). Since both federal and state governments have the authority to tax income, “this makes it necessary to have a joint forum for the discussion and resolution of issues arising in the course of [personal income] tax administration” (Sanni 2007, p. 5). Established under PITA 1993/​2007, the Joint Tax Board is mandated to administer the personal income tax. They also provide advice to federal and state governments on methods for improving the management and execution of income tax assessment, collection, and remuneration. This includes the improvement of information-​sharing between FIRS and the SIRS, promoting uniformity in tax administration across Nigeria, and issues of double taxation. The FIRS chairman chairs the JTB while the directors of each state’s SIRS serve as members. A brief analysis of the process by which the Nigerian Tax Administration sought to modernize and coordinate the country’s tax collection system highlights the complexities of overlapping jurisdiction due to Nigeria’s political and fiscal federalism. In 2007, the Nigerian Tax Administration, led by the JTB, embarked on a project aimed at overhauling the system of tax collection (and tax payment). They identified several barriers to the expansion of Nigeria’s tax regime. The initial problem the JTB isolated was that taxpayers were difficult to identify. With no unified database, there was no method for identification or acquiring information about taxpayers (Omoigui 2007). Up until that point, FIRS/​SIRS utilized a manual system of tax payment and remittance. This manual processing system resulted in errors. There was no concrete way to determine who made a tax payment. FIRS/​SIRS were also unable to identify the tax for which a collected payment was meant. Furthermore, there was no information about where/​ when the tax was paid, who received the payment, how much was paid, or the form in which the payment was made. This culminated in the total inability to track the funds (from taxpayer to FIRS/​SIRS). As a result, there were time lapses between tax payment and remittance to FIRS/​SIRS and difficulty in tracking defaulters. JTB’s solution is the automation of tax collection or Project FACT (Friendly, Accurate, Complete, and Timely). This is a joint effort between FIRS and the SIRS via the Joint Tax Board. Each taxable individual or corporation would register at their local FIRS/​ SIRS office and receive a taxpayer identification number (TIN). TIN is “basically an electronic system of tax registration, which would be unique to identify taxpayers for life and would be available nationwide” (Omoigui 2007). Due to the potential accuracy

Fiscal Federalism, Subnational Politics, and State Creation    203 of the taxpayer database, the system would facilitate a more efficient system of tax assessment and collection, as well as auditing and investigation. Widespread use of the TIN system would reduce leakages in tax collection, eventually working to minimize corruption. Long term, the accuracy in data collection would allow FIRS/​SIRSs to monitor taxpayers and authorities, minimizing or eliminating the cost of tax compliance. Ultimately, this would help to engender greater voluntary compliance in the tax system (Omoigui 2007). In this new system, upon receiving their unique TIN, the taxpayer would perform a self-​assessment of the tax payment owed (based on their income and allowances, tax rate determined under PITA 1993/​2007). Taxpayers would then remit the tax payment to one of the approved collecting banks (paid directly into the FIRS/​SIRS account) and obtain an electronic ticket (e-​ticket)5. Returning to their FIRS/​SIRS office, the taxpayer would present the bank e-​ticket as their proof of payment. That e-​ticket would also serve as an official FIRS/​SIRS receipt, evidence of tax payment, and compliance to FIRS/​SIRS  agents. The payments taxpayers have made to the collecting banks are remitted to four lead banks (United Bank for Africa, First Bank Nigeria Plc., Union Bank of Nigeria, Zenith Bank Plc.), which FIRS/​SIRS deal with directly. Through this process, FIRS/​SIRS employees do not have access to any payments or money, curtailing corruption or fraud among tax agents. Thus, as more taxpayers (individual and corporations) obtain their TIN number and participate in the automated tax payment system, tax officials are able to focus on minimizing tax evasion and institutionalizing a culture of tax payment in Nigeria. This is a key example of how Nigeria’s subnational entities are strengthening their institutional capacity to mobilize income, independent of the federal government. Historically, we have observed in Nigeria how authority over the country’s dominant mode of economic production translates into political sovereignty. In the First Republic, agriculture was the major source of Nigeria’s revenue. Regional governments regulated this sector via control of the marketing boards. However, this shifted in the Second Republic, where the national government came to dominate the major engine for income generation, the oil sector. The national government’s access to oil revenues was key to centralization of clientelistic control. This occurred through Nigeria’s cycles between civilian and military government and came at the cost of developing institutional capacity to govern. At the same time, the centralization of revenue extraction and neopatrimonial networks throughout the federation purposefully corroded subnational autonomy and reinforced state and local governments’ dependence on the central tier. In the Fourth Republic, the federal government still has exclusive rights to the extraction of petroleum income. Yet, in negotiations over tax policy and extracting non-​oil revenue (via the Joint Tax Board and State Internal Revenue Boards), states are mobilizing non-​oil income via taxes on citizens. It is imperative to consider the consequences of renewed subnational autonomy for Nigeria’s political and fiscal federal systems. Hearkening back to the First Republic, there is the potential for subnational entities to parlay fiscal autonomy into political authority and re-​emerge as major actors in Nigeria’s political system. Could this possibly

204   Olufunmbi M. Elemo curtail neopatrimonialism and enhance democratic government? Traditionally, research suggests that since state and local governments are closer to citizens, they are better able to determine and act on their constituents’ needs. Simultaneously, citizens (particularly marginalized groups) are better able to reach their state and local officials to express policy preferences (Tiebout 1956; Oates 1972; Weingast 1995; Ahmad et al. 2005; Reinikka and Svensson 2004; Bardhan and Mookherjee 2005). Therefore, increasing subnational autonomy (e.g. political and fiscal decentralization) could also translate to enhancing representative governance in Nigeria.

Notes 1. In Nigeria, “demographically the Northern Region was predominantly Muslim, with an ethnic Hausa–​Fulani majority; the Western Region, mainly Yoruba, was roughly balanced among Muslims and Christians; the Eastern Region was predominantly Igbo and overwhelmingly Christian” (Lewis 2011, p. 3). 2. Nineteen states in the Second Republic: Anambra, Bauchi, Bendel, Benue, Borno, Cross River, Gongola, Imo, Kaduna, Kano, Kwara, Lagos, Niger, Ogun, Ondo, Oyo, Plateau, Rivers, Sokoto. 3. Elections for the Third Republic “were convened under military rule in 1992, but the civilian government was stillborn after the annulment of the presidential election in June 1993. General Sani Abacha seized power in late 1993, and civilian rule was deferred until Abacha’s death in 1998 opened the door to a new political transition” (Lewis 2011, p. 5). 4. The Pay As You Earn (PAYE) system was implemented with PITA 1993. Under Nigerian tax law employers collect tax by deducting it from the salary of employees and then remit directly to the appropriate tax authority (JHI 2009). The PAYE system is primarily used for civil servants, federal, and state government employees. 5. The following are participating collecting banks:  Access Bank Nig. Plc.; Afri Bank Plc.; Diamond Bank Plc.; Eco Bank Nig. Plc.; Equitorial Trust Bank Plc.; Fidelity Bank Plc.; First Bank Nigeria Plc.; First City Monument Bank; First Inland Bank Plc.; Guarantee Trust Bank; IBTC Chartered Bank Plc.; Intercontinental Bank; Nigeria Transnational Bank; Oceanic Bank Plc.; Platinum Habib Bank; Skye Bank Plc.; Spring Bank Plc.; Sterling Bank Plc.; Union Bank of Nigeria; United Bank for Africa; Unity Bank Plc.; Wema Bank Plc.; Zenith Bank Plc.

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Chapter 12

The Legisl at u re s in the F i rst and Sec ond Re pu bl i c s Joseph Olayinka Fashagba

Introduction Nigeria inherited a parliamentary system of government with a bifurcated executive at independence in 1960. The system was bequeathed to Nigeria by the British colonial administration, and provided for a federal system, parliamentary democracy, and a bicameral legislature. The political class deployed both tribal politics and regional/​ sectional parties as tools for political recruitment, mobilizing support and consolidation of power. As not only was the center turned into a theater of conflict, the regions also became political battlegrounds for the parties as they sought to outdo one another either by divide and rule, formation of alliances, or through realignment. The parliamentary democracy collapsed under the strain of political crises that engulfed the political process between 1960 and 1966 (Adebayo 1986; Ojo 1985, 1998). While the First Republic lasted, the parliamentary system operating at the federal level was also replicated at the regional level between 1960 and 1966. The military terminated the First Republic parliamentary government in January 1966 and governed until a new civilian regime took over on October 1, 1979, marking the beginning of the Second Republic. After a successful democratic transition, a presidential system styled after the United States was adopted under the 1979 constitution, and the legislative, executive, and judicial arms became separate institutions with each one staffed by different personnel and exercising distinct powers. Despite such alterations to Nigeria’s political structure, the Second Republic collapsed prematurely in 1983. Both stretches of military rule, from 1966 to 1979, and from 1984 to 1999, are elegantly described by Osaghae in this volume.

208   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba This chapter briefly examines the parliamentary democracy of the First Republic, from 1960 to 1966, and the presidential democracy of the Second Republic, from 1979 to 1983, and the reasons for their collapse. The chapter focuses on how these institutions operated, the composition of the legislature, and the relationship between the executive and the legislature. Legislative inaction, instability, and poor institutional design that promoted political polarization and corruption were important factors in the failure of Nigeria’s first two attempts at democracy. Both of these failures lend support to Fish’s (2006) finding that the strength of democracy depends on a strong, functioning legislature. The conclusion discusses how these failures have important implications for the current democratic dispensation since 1999, which has also suffered from an unproductive legislature, gridlock between the legislative and executive branches, and weak political accountability.

The Legislatures under the Parliamentary System, 1960–​6 The foundation for independence started gathering momentum in the 1950s, with the 1957 Constitutional Conference held in London and the 1958 conference held in Lagos. At the two conferences political elites reached a consensus that the Western and Eastern Regions should become self-​governed in 1957, the North in 1959, and the entire country in 1960 (Gberevbie and Oni 2014). At these conferences, important issues emerged relating to the creation of more regions, especially for minority groups who feared domination by majority ethnic groups, and the right fiscal arrangements. A commission was set up for the purpose of addressing the issues but its concerns were never addressed. On October 1, 1960 Nigeria became an independent state, but nevertheless remained a dominion state of Britain. What this entailed in respect of the legislature was that the parliament consisted of a governor-​general who represented the Crown, the Senate, and the House of Representatives (T. I. Ojo 1997). According to Ojo, without any one of these institutions, a legislative measure could never become an Act or law. Thus, the 1960 constitution did not change the legislative power of the British Crown in Nigeria. The executive, under the First Republic parliamentary system, did not emerge through direct popular support given in a general election. Rather, as J. D. Ojo (1998) avers, the Northern People’s Congress (NPC), which drew its major support from the Hausa–​Fulani Muslims in the north, formed an alliance with the National Council of Nigerian Citizens (NCNC), which drew support from the Ibo and was largely in control of the Eastern Region. The alliance gave the NPC and NCNC the majority needed to form a government at independence. Thus, with the adoption of the Westminster model, the executive derived its power from and in fact existed at the continual pleasure of the legislature. However, the federal structure was lopsided, as Osaghae (1998)

The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics    209 contends, the combination of two and later three regions (Midwestern Region added to the existing two in the South) was smaller in size than the only one region in the north. The lopsidedness in the size of the regions was such that the Northern Region controlled by NPC could have taken control of the government alone without any support from other regions in the south, if it had won a majority of seats in parliament. While the NPC won the largest share of seats in the House of Representatives, it fell short of the majority needed to form a government. The results showed that two possibilities emerged from the elections that ushered Nigeria into independence. In one scenario, the Action Group (AG) and the National Council of Nigerian Citizens (NCNC) could have formed an alliance with the majority needed to form a government. This option was rejected by the leader of NCNC, perhaps because of the rivalry between him and the leader of AG. Possibly too, the leader of the NCNC also rejected the request of the Western Region-​based AG to go into a coalition hoping that the less sophisticated north could become subservient. The second option was settled for, with the NPC and the NCNC forming the government with 237 seats at independence in 1960. Under the arrangement, the NCNC, the junior partner, produced the governor-​general, who represented the Crown and performed ceremonial functions, while the NPC, the senior partner in the coalition, produced the prime minister who was head of government with full executive power. The AG with seventy-​five legislators became an opposition party (Agagu 2007; Anifowose 1982). The Northern Elements Progressive Union (NEPU), the Action Group (AG), and the United Middle Belt Congress also formed an alliance and became the opposition in the national parliament. The 1960 constitution replicated the democratic institutions of the center at the regional level. At the national level was a Senate as well as a House of Representatives. In the regions, bicameralism was manifest in a House of Chiefs and a Regional Assembly. While the prime minister headed government at the center, the premier headed government at the regional level (Lafenwa 2014). The members of both federal and regional cabinets were drawn from the House of Representatives and Regional Assemblies respectively. In the opinion of Adebayo (1986), the fusion of personnel and powers in the First Republic turned legislatures into a weak and docile institutions. It should be pointed out that while the leader of the NPC decided to stay back in the North as the premier of the region, the leaders of both the NCNC and the AG decided to cede the office of the premier of their respective regions to other members of their parties while they proceeded to the center. Unlike the leader of the NPC who preferred to stay back in his region as the premier, the center appeared to be more important to the leaders of both the NCNC and the AG and therefore should not be left in the hands of just anybody. The decision of the leader of the NCNC seemed to pay off, as he eventually formed a coalition with the NPC and was appointed the president. The leader of the AG with his alliance therefore became the opposition. Playing the opposition role, however, appeared to unsettle the ruling coalition. Also the premier of the Western Region, a member of the AG that formed the opposition at the center was also not comfortable with the AG playing opposition at the center. He preferred to be part of the alliance that

210   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba ruled the country. The internal disagreement within AG and other issues created a rift that the NPC-​led government covertly and overtly exploited to undermine the AG and the opposition leader until the crisis that decimated the party broke out in 1962. We will discuss this later when explaining the collapse of the First Republic. The 1960 constitution was reviewed in 1963. The emergence of the 1963 Republican Constitution resulted in the complete termination of direct influence and authority of the Crown of England in Nigerian politics. The 1960 and 1963 constitutions did not make provisions for the office of executive president. The 1963 constitution vested in parliament the power to delegate any of the functions of the president to any other person as the parliament may find desirable. The imperative for maintaining a coherent and highly disciplined cabinet and majority meant that the executive required firmness in action, sanction, and sharing of patronage. As typical of any parliamentary system, the First Republic was under the firm grip of the executive (prime minister) who dominated policymaking (Aiyede 2006). Legislatures in the First Republic, both at the central and regional levels, were too feeble to affect the course of governance. Jimoh (1999) avers that all colonial constitutions in Nigeria and the 1960 independence constitution were designed in  such a way as to make the legislatures ineffective. Rather, the British intended them to be only deliberative Houses. Hence, the legislatures were mere window dressing and toothless institutions which performed limited legislative functions. Although the three biggest parties, the NPC, NCNC, and AG were largely regional and tribal parties, the struggle and desperation to extend their respective membership and support base to other regions precipitated the interparty acrimony and conflict from which the First Republic did not recover. Cut-throat competition and adversarial politics among the multiethnic groups further contributed to the collapse of the First Republic (Adebayo 1986; Isijola 2002). In the next section, we briefly discuss the collapse of the First Republic.

Reasons for the Collapse of the First Republic The parliamentary democracy of the First Republic lasted from October 1960 to January 1966. Considering the evident adversarial politics that characterized the era, the collapse was unsurprising. At independence, each region was firmly under the control of a political party founded under the platform of ethnic grouping. The power struggle over the control of the respective regions by the indigenes as well as the efforts to extend their influence to other regions, in part precipitated the political crisis in politics (Anifowose 1982). Other factors that led to the fall of the First Republic include the Western Region crises of 1962, the 1962/​63 census crises, and the electoral violence of 1965 among others.

The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics    211 The first indication that all was not well was the intraparty crisis within the Action Group (AG), the then ruling party in the Western Region, in 1962 (Obikeze and Anthony 2003). The party was founded to appeal to ethnic Yorubas, using the “Egbe Omo Oduduwa” (meaning “the descendants of Oduduwa”) cultural organization as a springboard. The Yorubas saw the party as their own and the party drew the bulk of its members and support from the Western Region. One major challenge that arose early on, was that the leadership of AG could not agree on common issues regarding the administration of the Western Region as well as the national government (Gberevbie and Oni 2014). The irreconcilable difference between the premier of the region and the leader of the party at the center, the violent conflict inside the chamber of the Western Region as well as a declaration of a state of emergency in the region by the NPC-​led federal government. This spurred many events that put democracy in jeopardy. The leadership of the NPC played partisan politics with utter indiscretion by declaring a state of emergency over internal conflicts/​affairs of the Western Region Assembly (Anifowose 1982). The action raised some questions about the sincerity and the interest of the federal government in the crisis. The internal crisis of the AG also broke up its alliance with other opposition parties. The Western Region crisis set the stage for the bitter political struggle and cut-throat politics that followed and also laid the groundwork for the democratic reversal. The sacking of the premier of the Western Region in 1962 by the governor, who remained loyal to the leader of the party, was indeed a turning point in the political history of not only the Western Region but also the entire country. The conflict inside the chamber of the Western Region Assembly, provided an opportunity for the central government, under the control of a coalition government of the NPC and the NCNC, to weaken the AG (Anifowose 1982). To be sure, the faction of the deposed Western Region’s premier enjoyed the support of the coalition government at the center. To undermine the AG and weaken the political base of the leader of AG at the center, Obafemi Awolowo, the central government declared a state of emergency in the Western Region and imposed a federal administrator on the region. Although the administrator was an indigene of the region, the action was a calculated attempt to erode the power and influence of the AG vis-​à-​vis the NPC. In the regional elections conducted in 1962, the NPC-​ led center imposed on the region the United People’s Party (UPP), a new party formed by the deposed premier, Ladoke Akintola. Using divide and rule to conquer as well as federal might, the federal government succeeded in paving the way for the NCNC and the UPP to form a coalition government in the Western Region while the AG became the opposition party. In what many Yoruba believed to be a premeditated action, the federal government took over the Western Region from Obafemi Awolowo and charged him with treasonable felony in court. While Awolowo was tried and imprisoned, other leaders of the party were persecuted by the NPC-​led government. Apart from the AG crisis, the struggle between the NPC and UMBC for control over land held by ethnic Tiv people was also a major cause of the 1960 and 1964 political violence in the north. With the Tiv political violence in 1960, followed by the Western Region Assembly violence of 1962, more Tiv violence in 1964, and then the

212   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba Western Region’s electoral violence of 1965, politicians doomed the new democracy (Anifowose 1982). Consequently, when the 1964/​65 election was conducted, it took place in a warlike atmosphere. The alleged statement by the premier that no matter how the election went he would win raised concerns about possible plots to rig the election. The matter was made worse because of the NPC-​led government’s support for the NNDP. The federal election was marred by the crisis (Anifowose and Enemuo 1999). The Western Region election of 1965 was characterized by widespread violence and intimidation of supporters and candidates (Kew and Lewis 2010). The appeal for postponement of the election by UPGA to both the prime minister and the president was disregarded leading to the boycott of the election in the Eastern Region and four of the five constituencies in Lagos. Although the NPC won a majority of seats in the federal elections, the president refused to advise him to form a government due to serious problems with the credibility of the electoral process. The president threatened to resign rather than asking the prime minister to form a new government, but in the end a political compromise was reached. This itself is evidence that all was not well within the coalition. It was the frequent misunderstanding between the president and the prime minister—​the dual executive—​that helped plunge the nation into a severe constitutional crisis. Western regional elections in 1965 were inconclusive. The Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP) was declared the winner with the support of the NPC at the national level; in return the NPC sought support in the national elections. The declaration triggered violence starting from Mushin 1 Constituency in Lagos until the entire Western Region was engulfed (Anifowose 1982). When the NNDP proceeded to form a government, the AG formed a parallel government, engulfing the whole Western Region in violence. However, the scheming of the NPC paid off, as it received a majority of seats in the national election. The election was initially boycotted by the Eastern Region, but that did not stop the NPC government from conducting the elections. This further exposed the mistrust in the NPC/​NCNC alliance. It suffices to point out that while the Western Region crisis was playing out, the agitation for the creation of the Midwest Region was heeded with a parliamentary decision resulting in the carving out of a new region, namely, Midwest Region, from the Western Region in 1963 (Kew and Lewis 2010). However, it is important to point out that agitation for the creation of Midwest and other regions predated the 1960 independence (Obikeze and Anthony, 2003). The NCNC was one of the major proponents and perhaps canvassed for the creation of Midwestern Region after independence not only to weaken the political base of AG and its leaders, but also hoped to use it to expand its political influence and base. Violence further intensified with the creation of the new region because it was seen as a further effort to decimate the political base and support of the AG. With the NPC achieving a majority in 1964, it did not need any alliance to form a government this time. However, its new status gave it confidence that prompted its members to engage in serious corruption. According to Agagu (2007), the legislature became weak and unassertive. Therefore, the executive was neither responsible to the legislature nor to the electorates but only to the leaders of the coalition.

The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics    213 Furthermore, the population census of 1962/​63 that was meant to help in developmental planning and constituency delimitation became a source of conflict. Unlike the 1952/​53 census that recorded higher numbers of people in the north than in the two southern regions, the result of the 1962 census put the southern regions ahead of the Northern Region in population. The controversy and massive protest following the 1962 census led to its rejection and call for another census. Another census was taken in 1963, but similar allegations of rigging, fraud, inflation, and wrong counting followed the announcement of the result (Anifowose 1982; Kew and Lewis 2010). The attempt by the premier of the Eastern Region to have the census result cancelled failed, prompting him to threaten to secede. The census result which was published in 1964 had restored the numerical superiority of the North. It was on the basis of the census result that constituency delimitation for the 1964 general election was based. The disagreement over the census figures led to the collapse of the NPC/​NCNC alliance at the center and the UPP/​NCNC in the west. However, by the middle of 1964, it had led to the emergence of new alliances. The leader of the ruling UPP in the west made some reasonable political gains from the census conflict as his party accommodated some Yoruba members of the NCNC to form a new party called the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP). The party eventually formed an alliance with the NPC under the name the Nigerian National Alliance (NNA). The AG and the NCNC formed an alliance under the name the United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA). It was these two major political alliances that contested the 1964 federal election under a very charged atmosphere. Indeed, considering the events that unfolded from 1962 to 1965, the path to democratic reversal was well laid and the end result was the military intervention of January 1966. As Adebayo (1986) points out, the First Republic collapsed due to destructive elite competition.

The Nigerian Presidential System in the Second Republic Most Nigerians were dissatisfied with the challenges and crises that precipitated the fall of the First Republic. But others wanted changes in the political system and a new constitution. The American presidential model anchored on the twin principles of separation of power and checks and balances was adopted in 1979 (Akande 1982). The 1979 constitution, as Ajayi (2007, p. 13) states, was “designed to accommodate the inadequacies of the parliamentary system, especially the conflict arising from the dual nature of powers of the President and the Prime Minister.” Equally important as a reason for switching from the parliamentary system to the presidential system during the Second Republic, according to Aiyede (2006), was the need to strengthen the legislature so that it could function as an effective check on the executive.

214   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba The groundwork for the Second Republic took off effectively in 1975. By this time, the military appeared determined to return the country to civil rule. Therefore, a program of transition to democratic rule was initiated by the Murtala Mohammed/Olusegun Obasanjo government (Obikeze and Anthony 2003). In pursuit of this, the military regime set in motion the Constitution Drafting Committee (CDC). The CDC was given six items to consider for adoption in the new constitution. These included: (1) a federal system based on democracy; (2) political parties with genuine and national appeal; (3) an executive president; (4) an independent judiciary; (5) institutions for fighting corruption; and (6) constitutional restrictions on the number of states. The report of the committee was subsequently given to a Constituent Assembly (CA) constituted in 1977 by the military government to deliberate and fine-​tune the new constitution. The constitution was consequently promulgated on September 21, 1978 with the Constitution of the Republic of Nigeria (Enactment) Decree No. 26 of 1978. The constitution became effective on October 1, 1979 (Obikeze and Anthony 2003). Some of the issues that were very controversial in the CA included sharia courts the roles of the vice president and the deputy governors of the states, among others. The controversies nearly derailed the entire constitutional reform process (Dudley 1982). A compromise was reached and all the issues were resolved. Another issue was the military’s strong influence. For example the Supreme Military Council successfully pressured political elites to adopt a presidential system in 1979 modeled after the U.S. The model was influenced by the prevailing opinions view that parliamentary government is unsuitable for ethnically fragmented societies, and this systemic flaw contributed to the demise of the First Republic. Those who conceived and drafted the 1979 constitution of Nigeria felt that the presidential system possessed the qualities required to achieve political stability and social cohesion in an ethnically fragmented and socially divided society such as Nigeria (Dudley 1982; Osaghae 1998; Akinsanya 2002; Benjamin 2004). Consequent upon the adoption of the presidential constitution, a clear separation of powers and personnel between the executive and the legislature replaced the fusion of power that characterized the First Republic’s parliamentary system. The bicameral arrangement operational in the United States was also adopted. By virtue of the provisions of the new constitution, the president or members of his cabinet were only allowed to appear in the national assembly on invitation or when the president found it necessary to address the legislature on critical national issues. Nevertheless, the provisions on attendance of the president and any of his ministers did not confer on them any voting rights. The 1979 constitution provided for a multiparty system, and five parties participated in the 1979 general elections. The parties included the National Party of Nigeria (NPN), the Unity Party of Nigeria (UNP), the Great Nigeria People’s Party (GNPP), the People’s Redemption Party (PRP), and the Nigeria People’s Party (NPP). Despite the efforts of the military government to avoid the emergence of ethnic parties, some of the parties of the First Republic reincarnated under different labels. For instance, the Hausa–​Fulani’s NPC resurfaced as NPN, the Yoruba’s AG reappeared as UPN, the Ibo’s NCNC was repackaged

The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics    215 as the NPP, the United Middle Belt Congress (UMBC) took the new name GNPP, while the Northern Element Progressive Union (NEPU) returned as the PRP. In 1983, one more party, the National Advance Party (NAP) emerged. However, while the National Party of Nigeria (NPN) won the 1979 presidential election under controversial circumstances, it did not win a majority of seats in either chamber of the National Assembly. On the presidential election, it took the intervention of the Supreme Court to resolve the controversy over whether or not the NPN had met the requirements for actin. The constitution provided that for any contestant to be declared elected as president, he or she must have received at least one-quarter of votes cast in two-​ thirds of the states of the federation. This was to avoid the emergence of any candidate who was not nationally accepted. The NPN met the requirements very clearly in twelve states, but the situation was not clear in the thirteenth state. The Unity Party of Nigeria, which came second, felt that the election was not won by the NPN. The Supreme Court had to rely on the expertise of a professor of mathematics to determine what two-​thirds out of the nineteen states was. The decision ultimately favored the NPN. The inability of the ruling National Party of Nigeria (NPN) to command a working majority, despite having the highest number of seats in both houses of the central legislature, forced the NPN with thirty-​six out of ninety-​five seats in the Senate and 168 out of 450 seats in the House of Representatives into a short-​lived alliance with the Nigeria Peoples Party (NPP) with sixteen seats in the Senate and seventy-​eight seats in the House of Representatives. According to Olukoshi (1999), the second-​largest party in the National Assembly, the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN), with twenty-​two of the ninety-​ five Senate seats and 111 of the 450 House of Representatives seats, worked with elements within the Great Nigeria Peoples Party (GNPP) and Peoples Redemption Party (PRP) to form an opposition to counter the governing NPN/​NPP alliance while it lasted. The alliances in the First Republic were in this way revived. However, the incompatibility in ideologies and interests between the NPN and the NPP caused the working relationship to end abruptly in 1981, thereby putting the NPN-​led government at the mercy of the opposition-​controlled legislature. The intolerance of NPN to opposition was at the heart of the acrimony that pulled asunder the NPN/​NPP coalition. This was particularly evident in Kaduna State. This is discussed later in greater detail under the reasons for the collapse of the Second Republic. While coalition governments are not very common in presidential systems, the political parties formed an “alliance” and opposition in the National Assembly. However, by separating the legislature from the executive under the presidential system, the members of the legislature were excluded from the main center of power since the executive was now responsible for the major decision-​making of government. The legislature appeared to expose itself to executive manipulation and maneuvering, especially while the alliance between NPN and NPP lasted. This, in part, accounted for the failure of the legislature to check executive excesses. In addition, the performance of the legislature was unsatisfactory in terms of its legislative and non-​legislative functions, especially the oversight role of confirmation of political nominees for appointment into public offices. The legislature was simply

216   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba ineffective in law-​making. The failure of the legislature to check executive excesses led to the high level of corruption that characterized the democratic regime of the era. The ineffectiveness was reflected in the amount of time devoted to lawmaking and the quality of legislative output as well as scrutiny of administration (Isijola 2002). For its part, the NPN saw the need to strengthen its hold on power. Thus, to avoid a situation in which it would need to enter into an unsecure coalition again, the NPN sought and succeeded in luring some members of the opposition parties into its fold. Consequently, some of those who defected to the NPN became the flag-​bearers of the party in the 1983 elections. For instance, the former deputy governor of Ondo State defected from UPN to NPN to stand as a candidate in the governorship election. In Oyo State another defector also stood as a candidate in the governorship election. By the time the results of the election were released, the candidate of NPN was declared the winner of the governorship election in Ondo State in 1983. By this, the defected deputy governor was declared winner against the incumbent governor. Members and supporters of UPN felt that the result did not represent the voters’ decision. The fact that the NPN’s candidate received full federal backing caused the political atmosphere in the state to be tense before, during, and after the elections. Ultimately, violence broke out in protest against the alleged electoral fraud. However, barely three months after the new regime was inaugurated, the military intervened and suspended the 1979 constitution. Thus, the Second Republic collapsed faster than was ever imagined and in fact was shorter-​lived than the First Republic. In the next section we discuss in detail some of the reasons for the intervention.

Reasons for the Collapse of the Second Republic When the presidential constitution was adopted as a replacement for the failed parliamentary democracy of the First Republic, there were high expectations that most of the challenges that led to the premature collapse of the First Republic would not reoccur. Contrary to expectations, however, the presidential constitution of the Second Republic (1979–​83) also collapsed after four years and three months. Below are some of the reasons often adduced for the premature termination of the Second Republic. By the time the Second Republic took off in 1979, the Nigerian economy had become dependent on oil. Agriculture, which used to be the backbone of the economy in the 1960s and early 1970s, had been neglected. As Nigeria became increasingly dependent upon the international price of oil, the economic situation became very volatile. This is because the Nigerian annual budget became tied to international oil prices and revenue. This was further worsened by the ruling elite who mismanaged the revenue from high oil prices. Consequently, when the price of oil fell in the early 1980s, the economy became a major victim. Therefore, halfway into his four-​year term, the president was

The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics    217 struggling to take Nigeria out of economic recession. Although the legislature passed an austerity bill presented by the executive in 1981, the economy continued its downward spiral. To be sure, the recession, resulting from the fall in oil prices in the middle of 1982, made the Nigerian economy and the state vulnerable. This severely strained the fragile, young democracy. Rather than exercising restraint, government spending continued to rise at an alarming rate for political reasons, and the states only reinforced financial irresponsibility (U.S. Library of Congress n/​d). It was under this state of a weak and fragile economy, along with electoral violence and corruption that the 1983 general election was held (Othman 1984). Thus, by the time the military intervened and sacked the civilian administration and abrogated the 1979 constitution, the state of the economy had weakened and eroded the confidence of the public in the politicians. It became very easy for the coup plotters to justify their actions (Othman 1984; Dickovick and Eastwood 2016, p. 514). Another major challenge tthreatening the Second Republic from the outset was the fact that most of the parties that emerged were essentially reincarnations of the old First Republic parties. The old parties simply reappeared under new labels. As a consequence, the old rivalries returned under different platforms in the Second Republic. Although the NPN won the presidential election its inability to win a majority of seats in both the Senate and House of Representatives meant that it needed to build a coalition to have the legislative majority required to pass its measures (Obikeze and Anthony 2003). Like the First Republic, the NPN, a party dominated by the Hausa–​ Fulani and the NPP, a party controlled by the Ibo, formed an alliance. One of the major reasons for the alliance’s collapse in 1981 was the impeachment of the governor of Kaduna State by the NPN-​dominated Assembly. While the PRP produced the governor, it did not win a majority of seats in the State Assembly. The national ruling NPN therefore appeared to be in support of the move that culminated in the impeachment. From the onset of his administration, the governor faced harassment until he was removed in 1981. The leadership of NPP openly opposed the action, leading to the breakdown of the alliance between the two parties at the national level in 1981. Thereafter, the NPN started to find it difficult to pass its measures in the National Assembly (Fashagba, Davies, and Oshewolo 2014; Lafenwa 2014). In an attempt to overcome the precarious situation in which the NPN found itself, it became desperate during the 1983 elections. It was this desperation that led to massive electoral violence. Further, the numerical disadvantage of the NPN-​controlled government in the National Assembly and the collapse of the coalition of the NPN and the NPP in 1981 set the stage for a serious electoral battle in 1983. To avert a repeat of its numerical disadvantage, the NPN was able to attract several ambitious politicians to its fold as the preparations for the 1983 elections drew closer. The NPN-​led federal government provided all-​round support to the politicians who defected from the other parties. This created tensions in states such as Ondo and Oyo, in particular. The unwillingness of the UPN to lose any of its states to the NPN and the desperation of the latter not to go through another humiliating experience in the legislature and the two-​thirds problem precipitated a very serious conflict as the states in the old Western Region witnessed

218   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba some serious political violence. The NPN ultimately succeeded in capturing the majority in both states and national elections in 1983 through massive fraud and violence (Obikeze and Anthony 2003; Kew and Lewis 2010). Thus, economic crisis, corruption among politicians, electoral malpractice and violence, and the political intolerance gave the military a platform for its intervention to terminate the Second Republic in 1983 (Othman 1984).

Conclusion Nigeria operated different systems of government in the First and Second Republics. The parliamentary system of the First Republic (1960–​6) was jettisoned in 1979, when the country returned to democracy after thirteen years of military rule. This time, Nigerians opted for a presidential system of government with the hope that it would better manage the nation’s heterogeneous society. Despite the expectation of the designers of the new constitution, the Second Republic collapsed after four years and three months, even earlier than the First Republic. The parliamentary constitution had managed to last for five years and three months. Although many reasons have been given for the collapse of both republics, the role of the legislature in each was a major factor. First and foremost, in both the First and the Second Republics, the party that received the highest number of seats did not have the majority required to take control of the National Assembly. Thus a coalition was formed between the Hausa–​Fulani-​controlled NPC and the Ibo–​controlled NCNC in the First Republic before a government could be formed. Similarly, a northern party, the NPN and a southeastern party, the NPP, had to form an alliance in the Second Republic for the NPN which received the highest number of seats in the two national chambers to have the simple majority required to be able to pass its bills in the National Assembly. However, in both instances, the legislative coalition collapsed halfway into the tenure of the regime. The breakup of the coalition threw the ruling party into a situation in which it was at the mercy of the coalition of opposition parties that controlled a majority of seats. In this regard, the Fourth Republic has, arguably, had a governing advantage since each election has produced clear legislative majorities. In both the First and Second Republics, while the coalitions lasted, the legislature supported the executive blindly. This was particularly more pronounced in the First Republic, due largely to the fusion of power between the legislature and the executive. What is surprising was the fact that the parliamentary system characterized by a fusion of power exposed the First Republic to executive abuse and made the system very volatile and fragile, but the separation of powers in the Second Republic failed to remedy these institutional defects. Considering Fish’s (2006) claim that a strong democracy is a function of a strong legislature, whatever undermines the legislature will therefore expose the democracy to reversal and erosion. This helps us to know why democracy was unstable and fragile in the First and Second Republics. It suffices to point out that what

The Legislatures in the First and Second Republics    219 the collapse of both Republics suggests is that the operators of the constitutions rather than the provisions of the constitutions accounted for the instability.

References Adebayo, A. (1986). Power in Politics. Abuja: Spectrum Books Ltd. Adejumobi, S. (2002). “The Relevance of the Presidential System of Government to Nigeria’s Quest for Democracy,” The Constitution: Journal of Constitutional Development 3 (2): 38–​57. Agagu, A. A. (2007). Elements of Government:  A Comparative and Nigerian Perspective. Lagos: Seol Concept. Aiyede, E. R. (2006). “Executive-​Legislature Relations in Nigeria’s Emerging Presidential Democracy,” Unilag Journal of Politics 2 (1): 64–​87. Ajayi, M. O. (2007). The Soccer Pitch and the Political Arena in Nigeria. Public lecture series, Ota, Covenant University, February 22, 2007. Akande, J. O. (1982). The Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria 1979. London: Sweet & Maxwell. Akinboye, S. O. and Anifowose R. (1999). “Nigerian Government and Politics,” in R. Anifowose and F. Enemuo (eds), Elements of Politics (pp. 238–​260). Lagos: Sam Iroanusi Publication. Akinsanya, A. A. and Davies, A. E. (2002). “Legislative-​executive Relations,” in A. A. Akinsanya and G. J. Ijang (eds), Nigeria Government and Politics (1979–​1983) (pp. 136–​153). Calabar: Wusen Pub. Alabi, M. O. A. (2008). “The Legislature in Nigeria: Origin, Power and Challenges,” in H. A. Saliu, I. H. Jimoh, N. Yusuf, and E. O. Ojo (eds), Perspectives on Nation Building and Development in Nigeria: Political and Legal Issues (pp. 53–​78). Lagos: Concept Publications Ltd. Anifowose, R. (1982). Violence and Politics in Nigeria:  The Tiv, Yoruba and Niger Delta Experience. Lagos: Sam Iroanusi Publications. Barkan, J. D. (2009). “African Legislatures and the Third Wave of Democratization,” in J. D. Barkan (ed.), Legislative Power in Emerging African Democracies (pp. 1–​32). London: Lynne Rienner. Benjamin, S. A. (2004). “The Executive in Democratic Nigeria: Problems and Prospects,” in I. B. Bello-​Imam and M. I. Obadan (eds), Democratic Governance and Development Management in Nigeria’s Fourth Republic, 1999–​2003 (pp. 383–​405). Ibadan: Centre for Local Government and Rural Development Studies. Dudley, B. (1982). An Introduction to Nigerian Government and Politics. Nigeria: Macmillan. Boadi, E. G. (1998). “The Rebirth of African Liberalism,” Journal of Democracy 9 (2): 18–​33. Dickovick, J. T. and Eastwood, J. (2016). Comparative Politics: Integrating Theories, Methods, and Cases (2nd edn). New York: Oxford University Press. Fashagba, J. Y. (2012). “Model of Government in Modern States,” in R. Ajayi and Y. Fashagba (eds), Introductory Text in Political Science, Department of Political Science and International Relations (pp. 161–​188). Omuaran: Landmark University. Fashagba, J. Y., Davies, A. E., and Oshewolo, S. (2014). “The National Assembly,” in R. Ajayi and Y. Fashagba (eds), Understanding Government and Politics in Nigeria. Department of Political Science and International Relations (pp. 99–​127). Omuaran: Landmark University. Gberevbie, D. E. and Oni, S. (2014). “Post-​Colonial Nigeria: Power and Politics in the First Republic,” in R. Ajayi and Y. Fashagba (eds), Understanding Government and Politics in Nigeria. Department of Political Science and International Relations (pp. 53–​74). Omuaran: Landmark University.

220   Joseph Olayinka Fashagba Isijola, O. (2002). “Nigerian Legislative Performance 1979–​1983,” in A. A. Akinsanya and G. J. Ijang (eds), Nigerian Government and Politics (1979–​1983). Calabar: Wusen Pub. Jimoh, A. A. (1999). Law Practice and Procedure of Legislature. Lagos: Learned Pub. Ltd. Kesselman, M., Krieger, J., and Joseph, W. A. (2010). “Introducing Comparative Politics,” in M. Kesselman, J. Krieger, and W. A. Joseph (eds), Introduction to Comparative Politics (5th edn). Boston, MA: Wadsworth Cengage Learning. Kew, D. and Lewis, P. (2010). “Nigeria,” in M. Kesselman, J. Krieger, and W. A. Joseph (eds), Introduction to Comparative Politics (5th edn). Boston, MA: Wadsworth Cengage Learning. Krieger J. (2010). “The Making of Modern Britain,” in M. Kesselman, J. Krieger, and W. A. Joseph (eds), Introduction to Comparative Politics (5th edn). Boston, MA:  Wadsworth Cengage Learning. Lafenwa, S. A. and Oluwalogbon, L. A. (2014). “The Executive Arm of Government in Nigeria,” in R. Ajayi and Y. Fashagba (eds), Understanding Government and Politics in Nigeria. Department of Political Science and International Relations (pp. 75–​98). Omuaran: Landmark University. Obikeze, O. S. and Anthony, O. E. (2003). Government and Politics in Nigeria: The Struggle for Power in an African State. Onitsha: Bookpoint Ltd. Ojo, J. D. (1985). The Development of the Executive under the Nigerian Constitutions, 1960–​80. Ibadan: University Press Ltd. Ojo, T. I. (1997). The Nigerian Legislature: Historical Survey of Nigerian Governmental System, 1960–​1993, vol. ll. Lagos: ASCON. Ojo, T. I. (1998). “The Executive Under the Nigerian Presidential System, 1960–​1995,” in K. Amuwo, A. Agbaje, R. Suberu, and G. Herault (eds), Federalism and Political Restructuring in Nigeria (pp. 299–​315). Ibadan: Spectrum Books Ltd. Olukoshi, A. (1999). “The Legislature,” in O. Oyediran and A. Agbaje (eds), Nigerian Politics of Transition and Governance 1986–​1996 (pp. 177–​195). Dakar: CODESRIA. Osaghae, E. E. (1998). Crippled Giant: Nigeria Since Independence. London: Hurst Pub. Oshewolo, S. (2012). “Structure and Organisation of Government,” in R. Ajayi and Y. Fashagba (eds), Introductory Text in Political Science, Department of Political Science and International Relations (pp. 133–​160). Omuaran: Landmark University. Othman, S. (1984). “Classes, Crises and Coup: The Demise of the Shagari’s Regime,” African Affairs 83 (333): 441–​461. U. S. Library of Congress (nd). The Second Republic, 1979–​83. Countrystudies.us/​Nigeria/​29 Vile, M. J. C. (1998). Constitutionalism and the Separation of Powers (2nd edn). Indianapolis, IL: Liberty Fund.

Chapter 13

Le gisl ative Dev e l opme nt and Decade nc e i n the Fourth Re pu bl i c National As se mbly Rotimi T. Suberu

Introduction In a blistering critique of the Nigerian National Assembly (NASS) in November 2016, former President Obasanjo described the institution as a “den of corruption,” and its members as “a gang of unarmed robbers” and “lawbreakers.” The legislators, Obasanjo railed, are “blatant in their misbehavior, cavalier in their misconduct, and arrogant in their misuse of parliamentary immunity as a shield against reprisals for their irresponsible acts of malfeasance and outright banditry” (Obasanjo 2016). Obasanjo’s scathing and vituperative tirade against the assembly re-​enacted his acrimonious relationship with the legislature during his two civilian presidential terms (1999–​2007). His position that the “National Assembly stinks” is echoed in popular and scholarly narratives about the assembly’s ineffectiveness, obstructiveness, venality, and impunity. Emblematic of such appraisals are Ibrahim’s depiction of the assembly as a “cesspool of greedy, self-​ centered mega-​looters,” and Osumah’s disquisition about the institution’s “bellicosity,” “rascality,” “charlatanry,” and “primitive accumulation” (Ibrahim 2016; Osumah 2014, p. 116). Other observers provide a more benign and sympathetic assessment of the assembly. NASS, according to this second perspective, has advanced its own institutional growth as a separate branch of government, challenged presidential hegemony, and supported or spearheaded reforms promoting Nigeria’s democratic and economic development. According to Barkan, the doyen of legislative studies in Africa, the assembly’s

222   Rotimi T. Suberu performance “has been much better than expected,” with its members successfully expanding “their authority in recent years,” and becoming “increasingly engaged in their oversight of the executive branch,” while altering “the balance of power between the executive and the legislature” (Barkan 2009, pp. 22, 28; Barkan 2013, p. 255). Similarly, Oko contends that the assembly “has, for the most part, risen to . . . demands and challenges” associated with a fraught legislative environment, and “has managed to preserve its institutional integrity.” “Contrary to legend and prevailing public perceptions”, Oko surmises, “a majority of legislators are dedicated to high standards of conduct” (Oko 2014, p. 258). This chapter articulates a third perspective on the assembly. Building on Lewis’s portrayal of the assembly as both a “body of rules” and “a trading floor for the distribution of rents,” the chapter analyzes the institution’s concurrent and contradictory roles as a democracy-​promoting and a democracy-​eroding body (Lewis 2009, pp. 179, 194). On one hand, robust entrenchment of the principle of separation of powers in the 1999 constitution and relative longevity of the Fourth Republic has enabled the assembly to amass considerable independence, experience, confidence, and resources. This has fostered remarkable instances of legislative activism, bold oversight of the executive, and adroit representation and accommodation of the conflicting interests and constituencies inherent in Nigeria’s diverse society. On the other hand, the underlying prebendal or neopatrimonial currents of Nigeria’s political economy, defined by the appropriation of public institutions for personal and group enrichment, have powerfully shaped legislative functions and processes, leading to legislative corruption, dysfunction, and decadence. The rest of the chapter, therefore, chronicles the assembly’s conflicted evolution towards political development and decadence. First, the institutional and structural background to the assembly’s trajectory is discussed, highlighting the constitutional framework supporting the rise of legislative power, while analyzing the political economy variables that have driven legislative inertia, vulnerability, and venality. Second, an assessment of the assembly’s ambivalent performance of its core functions of legislation, oversight, representation and constituency representation is provided. Third, the chapter looks into the future, exploring prospects and pathways for improving legislative performance, before summing up with concluding reflections.

Foundations and Limitations of Legislative Power Even its most ardent critics agree that the NASS enjoys extensive formal powers and institutional prerogatives. These characteristics “tip the balance of power toward . . . the legislature vis-​à-​vis the executive branch” (Barkan 2013, p. 256). They also distinguish the NASS from legislatures in many other African countries and in Nigeria’s subnational

Legislative Development and Decadence    223 states, where parliaments function primarily as political auxiliaries of the executive. The features that enhance the NASS’s powers include: (1) Nigeria’s 109-​member Senate and 360-​member House of Representatives are modeled on the U.S. separation-​of-​powers presidential system: They were established under the 1999 Constitution as an independent bicameral legislative arm of the federal government with a “comprehensive constitutional mandate and wide-​ranging constitutional powers” (Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p. 22). (2) Under Nigeria’s constitutional federalism, the assembly is empowered to legislate on sixty-​eight items on the federal exclusive legislative list, and on an additional roster of twelve items on the concurrent legislative list. This gives the assembly more formal powers than the subnational legislatures, effectively allowing the assembly to make laws on virtually all matters of public importance, despite Nigeria’s federalist division of powers. (3) NASS is elected for fixed four-​year terms, thereby depriving the executive of any powers unilaterally to suspend the sitting of the assembly, to dissolve the assembly, or to otherwise tinker with the electoral calendar for electing the legislators. (4) NASS can override a presidential veto with a two-​thirds majority vote of each house. The assembly has not only invoked this overriding powers to accomplish its independent legislative agendas, but also developed new proposals to further curb the president’s policymaking powers. Two of these proposals, which were vetoed by outgoing President Jonathan along with other provisions of the 2014 Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill, would dispense with the requirement for presidential assent in the process of constitutional amendment and allow automatic enactment of a bill into law if the president fails to signify assent or dissent within the constitutionally mandated thirty days. (5) NASS is empowered to scrutinize and confirm all major presidential appointments, including cabinet ministers, heads and members of the federal judiciary, and chairpersons and commissioners of independent agencies such as the electoral and revenue allocation commissions. In addition, the assembly can require information from the executive and summon members of the executive branch to testify before the legislature. (6) NASS enjoys a broad power of the purse under Section 80 (4)  of the 1999 Constitution, which provides that, “No moneys shall be withdrawn from the Consolidated Public Fund or any other public fund of the federation except on the manner prescribed by the National Assembly.” This has emboldened the assembly to amend and reshape, rather than merely approve or reject, the federal executive’s budget proposals. In particular, NASS has consistently insisted on setting aside funds in the federal budget for constituency projects in each federal legislative district. (7) NASS has harnessed its power of the purse to make the institution as financially autonomous as possible. It successfully increased its budget from 54.8 billion naira in 2006 to 154.3 billion naira by 2010, while adroitly passing a constitutional amendment to make its budget a direct or “first-​line” charge

224   Rotimi T. Suberu

on the consolidated fund of the federation (Egwu and Dan-​Azumi 2016, p. 29). Indeed, NASS members are some of the most well-​paid legislators in the world, directly receiving not only salaries and numerous allowances (for vehicle maintenance, entertainment, utility, domestic staff, newspapers, recess, wardrobe, personal assistant, and housing), but also generous payments for “running costs” to cover expenses associated with “office maintenance, constituency office maintenance, and committee activities” (Egwu and Dan-​Azumi 2016, p. 37). These resources have significantly insulated the assembly from financial manipulation or coercion by the executive. (8) NASS has its own National Assembly Service Commission (NASC), which is responsible for recruitment, discipline, and promotion of legislative support staff. The assembly’s vast bureaucracy also includes the National Institute for Legislative Studies (NILS), established to meet the legislature’s training, capacity building, and research needs; the  National Assembly Budget and Research Office (NABRO), which provides analytical support to the legislature on budgetary and economic matters; and the Public Complaints Commission (PCC), which facilitates legislators’ engagement with citizens’ quotidian grievances. (9) The assembly’s financial and institutional expansion described here reflected the extended opportunity for legislative learning, consolidation, and development afforded by the relative stability and continuity of the Fourth Republic in comparison with previous short-​lived democratic experiments. As the Republic evolved, the assembly progressively became more resourceful in preventing or deflecting executive meddling in its affairs, more successful in attracting relatively educated and experienced members (including more than twenty governors and deputy governors in the 2015–​19 Senate), more effective in selecting shrewder political leadership for the legislature and, consequently, more stable in the composition of its legislative leadership teams. (10) Finally, assembly members are elected from single-​member districts (SMD) on a first-​past-​the-​post (FPTP) basis, rather than from multimember districts using the party-​list Proportional Representation (PR) system. The use of single-​ member districts establishes a direct line of accountability between legislators and their constituents, theoretically removing the ability of party leaders or political executives to “threaten MPs . . . with removal or demotion” from party lists. Along with the adoption of a presidential separation of powers system, the SMD/​FPTP design reduces incentives for party discipline and cohesion. This is evident in the extreme internal fractionalization of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) and All Progressives Congress (APP), Nigeria’s leading parties of the Fourth Republic. Such noncohesiveness can give legislators more freedom to “pursue their own individual agendas” or to form interparty coalitions of reform for strengthening the legislature (Barkan 2013, p. 261; Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p.  20). Indeed, reflecting the fluidity and fragility of party identities, and the autonomy of individual legislators, party-​switching is rampant in the Nigerian legislature (Fashagba 2014a; Oko 2014).

Legislative Development and Decadence    225 However, in environments characterized by widespread inequality and poverty, governmental control of major economic resources, and strong ethno-​territorial identities, the election of legislators from single-​member constituencies can be detrimental to legislative power vis-​à-​vis the executive because legislators come to recognize that “their re-​election depends on their records of constituency service rather than their ability to legislate or oversee the executive branch” (Barkan 2013, p. 260). As claimed by House of Representatives member, Umar Barde Yakubu, “for a fact” the legislator’s re-​election is “not based on the quality of laws that I help make on the floor but because of money I give out. That is what the electorate use to rate us” (Monnier et al. 2014). Legislators, therefore, become “intimate practitioners and beneficiaries of political patronage,” to use former House Speaker Aminu Tambuwal’s words (Tambuwal 2013, p. 29). Such considerations reflect and reinforce the informal politics of prebendalism or neopatrimonialism at the expense of the development of the legislature as a formal liberal democratic institution. Prebendalism in Nigeria, as formulated by Joseph (1987), involves the appropriation and exploitation of state offices and associated public resources by officeholders primarily for their own personal gain and enrichment, but also for the benefit of their reference, support, or communal groups. Such prebendalsim is driven by several factors, including relative paucity of nonstate routes to wealth accumulation, the attendant premium on public offices as avenues of primitive accumulation and bourgeois class formation, the weak social legitimacy of formal national state institutions in a “conglomerate” or ethnically fractionalized postcolonial society, and the expansion of state-​controlled resources by oil revenues. Prebendalism undermines legislative development and fuels legislative decadence by subverting the performance of the legislature’s core functions of legislation, oversight, representation, and constituency outreach. Indeed, under predendal or neopatrimonial conditions, formal legislative functions become a mask beneath which the informal politics of corruption, patron–​client relations, and personalizing and diversion of public resources and offices flourishes. Thus, “since the very motivation for membership of the assembly is wealth acquisition, the primary responsibility of oversighting government departments is sacrificed on the altar of filthy lucre,” with legislators colluding “with public servants to share” the funds and resources of the ministries, departments, and agencies (MDAs) they are supposed to oversee (Fashagba 2009, p. 454). Similarly, a prebendal logic is evident in the assembly’s propensity to use its legislative powers to create numerous regulatory agencies that simply proliferate opportunities for prebendal office-​holding. Bemoaning the enormous costs of governance in Nigeria arising from the creation of several public agencies with unwieldy bureaucracies and bloated governing boards that simply duplicate functions of existing MDAs, for instance, the Presidential Committee on the Rationalization and Restructuring of Federal Government Parastatals, Commission and Agencies (the Steve Oronsaye Committee) called for the scrapping of more than one hundred agencies of government, several of which were established by the Fourth Republic assembly. Defying the Committee’s recommendation, however, the assembly continued to propose or approve the creation of

226   Rotimi T. Suberu new government agencies, including the Northeast Development Commission, Grazing Areas Management Agency, National Ranches Commission, National Research and Innovation Council, and Federal Entrepreneurship Centre. Prebendal practices pervade legislators’ promotion of constituency projects and the procurement contracts that go with them, as well as their appointment of legislative aides on the basis of patronage and not competence. And prebendal politics ultimately explains legislators’ vulnerability to the electoral machinations of national and subnational executives in direct control of vast prebendal opportunities, especially the distribution of oil rents and disposition of lucrative appointments in the executive bureaucracy and in critical security institutions. Indeed, Barkan’s thesis that “weak parties are best for legislative development” (Barkan 2013, p. 236) should be caveated in the Nigerian context with an acknowledgment of the ways in which political executives in control of government patronage have exploited internally undemocratic and weak party structures to truncate the legislative careers of assertive sitting legislators by manipulating party primaries and electoral contests in favor of more compliant candidates (Oko 2014). This has contributed to extraordinarily high electoral turnover of legislators, with an average 70 percent of Nigerian legislators failing to retain their legislative seats from one electoral cycle to the other. This jeopardizes institutional performance and development by robbing the legislature of continuity and experience in legislative cohorts.

Assessing Legislative Performance The legislature’s conflicted impulses towards development and decadence are glaring in the performance of its core functions. The ambivalence is most evident in the domains of legislation and oversight, where the assembly’s significant contributions to democratic political development have been tainted by systemic self-​dealing, misconduct, and institutional fragility. The assembly has played a benign role in representing, articulating, and mediating the competing ethnic interests that dominate Nigerian politics, but in ways that have reinforced prebendal ethno-​distributive politics. Available evidence suggests that the assembly’s attempts at constituency outreach are mired in short-​termism, corruption, and underperformance.

Legislation Analysis by the National Institute for Legislative Studies (NILS) shows that a total of 3,759 bills were introduced in both houses of NASS between June 1999 and May 2015. Out of that number, 1,005 bills were processed and passed by the Assembly, while 244 of the bills were finally enacted into laws following presidential assent. Although the majority of bills enacted are presidential initiatives, the assembly is proactive in the law-making

Legislative Development and Decadence    227 process, proposing far more bills than the executive, and contributing significantly to reviewing and amending executive bills (NILS 2016, pp. 64, 87; Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p. 5; Lewis 2009, p. 178). Many legislations approved by the assembly addressed Nigeria’s principal challenges of national integration and unity, democratic continuity and stability, and socioeconomic development. Legislative enactments addressing militant resource-​based agitations in the oil-​ bearing Niger Delta were emblematic of the assembly’s early engagement with issues of national unity. The assembly passed a law establishing the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) in 2000, followed in 2004 by another act abrogating the dichotomy between onshore and offshore oil revenues in the implementation of the constitutional provision mandating the allocation of at least 13 percent of centrally collected oil revenues on a derivation basis. The laws offered a framework for compensating the Niger Delta through direct federal developmental intervention in the region and revenue transfers to subnational governments in the Delta. Although these did not end agitations in the Delta, both laws underscored the assembly’s commitment to addressing financial, developmental, infrastructural, environmental, and social service needs of aggrieved communities in the Delta, despite considerable ethno-​political contention over resource distribution issues in the federation. The NDDC Act, for instance, was passed with a legislative supermajority overriding a presidential veto that sought to incorporate clauses that were less financially favorable to the Niger Delta region. Similarly, the onshore–​offshore dichotomy abolition act apparently reversed a 2002 Supreme Court decision, in AG Federation v. AG Abia & Ors, that declared natural resources in Nigeria’s continental shelf a national asset not subject to the 13 percent derivation rule. However, when the act was challenged by non-​oil-​bearing states in AG Adamawa & Ors v. AG Federation & Ors, the Supreme Court ruled that the Act was consistent with the extensive revenue-​sharing powers of the legislature under the 1999 Constitution, and with principles of natural justice, as offshore exploration activities negatively impact the ecosystem in adjoining states (Suberu 2014, p. 119). The assembly’s legislative agenda engaged centrifugal threats to national unity and stability beyond the Niger Delta. Reflecting deep historic inequalities in educational opportunities along Nigeria’s north–​south fault lines, a 2004 basic education law mandated the public provision of “free universal basic education for all children of primary and junior secondary school age” throughout the federation (Suberu 2014, p. 120). The establishment of separate pilgrims’ commissions for the country’s two major religious communities responded to sectarian sensitivities around governmental support for religious life in this deeply divided society. To address outbreaks of violent communal instability in the country, the assembly passed or amended legislation for establishing a civil defense corps, for terrorism prevention, and for federal proclamations of states of emergency. Nigeria’s quest for unity and stable intergroup accommodation is intertwined with its struggles for democratization. Accordingly, the assembly enacted several laws focused on addressing what Tambuwal (2013, p. 29) described as the country’s “acute poverty of democratic culture and practices.” The assembly’s amendments to the electoral act

228   Rotimi T. Suberu and to the 1999 Constitution improved the financial autonomy of the electoral administration and increased the transparency and credibility of Nigerian elections. Laws passed by the assembly also comprehensively guaranteed citizens’ freedoms to access public records and information, enhanced the independence, mandate, and funding of the National Human Rights Commission, broadened the original jurisdiction of the Supreme Court as a constitutional court for resolving various intergovernmental and intragovernmental conflicts, and constitutionalized the National Industrial Court as a superior tribunal of record for arbitrating labor disputes. Establishing or strengthening institutions of horizontal and vertical accountability such as the electoral administration and the courts reflected and reinforced another legislative agenda of the assembly, namely, creating a legal framework for reducing corruption and improving the quality of national economic management. This agenda found expression in laws that formally provided for new anticorruption agencies, an openly competitive public procurement process, fiscal responsibility and prudent public budgeting, transparency and accountability in extractive industries, and a sovereign investment authority for conserving and capitalizing volatile hydrocarbon revenues. Yet, in most cases, these laws were ineffectual, failing to fundamentally transform the corrupt and unaccountable nature of Nigerian governance. The ineffectiveness of these laws implicates structural and institutional factors. Structurally, the rentier nature of the oil economy, which entrenches and valorizes the role of government primarily as repository and dispenser of patronage, constitutes an underlying impediment to change. But also implicated is the weak institutional design of many of these laws, especially their failure to politically insulate formally nonpartisan oversight agencies, including the governing bodies of various transparency or anticorruption agencies and the offices of auditor-​general and attorney-​general. Beyond improvements in the financial and operational autonomy of the electoral administration, attempts to increase the autonomy of oversight agencies were unsuccessful. Indeed, several proposals designed to promote such autonomy collapsed when the president vetoed them in 2015 along with other provisions of the Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill. A challenge of lawmaking is the huge number of legislatively approved bills that have not been signed (and, in most cases, have simply been ignored) by the president. As explained by President Jonathan in a letter to the assembly justifying his rejection of the Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill, the executive believes that its responsibility for enforcing laws passed by NASS gives the presidency a constitutional obligation to constrain the exercise of legislative powers, especially in the absence of sufficient executive input into bills approved by the legislature (Senate of the Federal Republic of Nigeria 2015). Furthermore, in the opinion of the executive, many of the unsigned bills are constitutionally suspect, administratively problematic, mutually incoherent, plainly inconsistent with the political priorities or interests of the presidency, or brazenly opportunistic in promoting the selfish interests of the legislators. Legislative self-​dealing was particularly evident in many of the clauses of the vetoed Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill. The Bill included proposals to grant immunity to

Legislative Development and Decadence    229 legislators, to make leaders of the legislature members of the National Council of State (an advisory council presently dominated by current and former heads of the federal government, the governors, and the federal chief justice), and to grant life pensions to former leaders of the legislature. Along with jumbo payments that legislators have awarded to themselves, these self-​serving legislative proposals reinforced public distrust in the legislature. Even as it indulged in opportunistic and hubristic lawmaking, the assembly failed to pass critical legislative proposals, while ratifying or sponsoring several democratically dubious bills. The assembly, for instance, undermined anticorruption reform by failing to pass a constitutionally mandated, enabling legislation, that would provide for citizens’ access to public officers’ assets declarations. Another classic example of legislative omission was the Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB), which was first introduced in the assembly in 2008 as a comprehensive legislative framework for reforming the country’s notoriously inefficient, disorganized, and fraud-​ridden petroleum sector. Despite its centrality to national economic well-​being, the PIB languished in legislative contention, confusion, and inaction for nearly a decade before it was unbundled into potentially more manageable piecemeal bills on regulatory governance, fiscal framework, downstream administration, and host community compensation. Although the Senate passed the Petroleum Industry Governance Bill in May 2017, there is little indication that the assembly will overcome in the near-​future its chronic, long-​standing inability to implement fundamental legislative reforms in this critical sector. The assembly’s inaction on critical legislative proposals contrasts sharply with its activism on several dubious bills. The assembly swiftly passed a harsh Same-​Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Act in 2104, which was broadly supported by Nigerians, but violated the rights of sexual minorities and provoked condemnation from domestic and international rights groups. The assembly also drew public criticism for proposing or processing bills that would impose jail terms and hefty fines for antigovernment publications in social media, capriciously overregulate and bureaucratize nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and prohibit and punish indecent public dressing. The arbitrariness inherent in these proposals raised questions about the ability of the assembly to curb the executive’s excesses through legislative oversight.

Oversight The assembly used its oversight powers to debate and interrogate the executive’s legislative agenda and constitutional reform proposals, to review and revise budgetary appropriations bills, to scrutinize the implementation of approved federal budgets, and to document and expose allegedly impeachable constitutional breaches by the executive. Legislative oversight was also invoked to withhold confirmation for presidential nominees to key government positions, to probe suspected cases of public fraud and mismanagement, and to inquire into major federal public policy reforms or proposals. These oversight activities contributed to good governance in some instances.

230   Rotimi T. Suberu Legislative oversight secured the continuity and integrity of the Fourth Republic through the resounding defeat by the Senate in 2006 of an executive-​backed constitutional reform proposal that would have overthrown current two-​term limits on the tenure of the president and governors. The defeat of Obasanjo’s third-term agenda affirmed popular opposition to the agenda, advanced constitutionalism and the rule of law, and highlighted the increasing resilience of formal institutions in the face “big man,” presidential authoritarian rule. Legislative oversight rebalanced relations between the two branches of government, challenging an entrenched tradition of executive domination or evisceration of the legislative branch, especially under military rule. Following one of several notices of impeachment issued to the executive by the legislature for violating the provisions of appropriations acts, among other alleged constitutional breaches, for instance, Obasanjo not only apologized to the legislature, but also “decided to review and refurbish the liaison arrangements between the Executive and National Assembly” (Obasanjo 2002; Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p. 15). The subsequent institutionalization of the office of special adviser to the president on national assembly matters underscored the presidency’s realization of the need to engage the legislative branch as a co-​equal, rather than subordinate, partner in governance “through formal and informal contact between the executive and the legislature at the party and national levels” (Obasanjo 2002). Beyond expressing the institutional power and relevance of the legislature as a co-​ equal arm of government, parliamentary oversight exposed monumental corruption in various sectors of the political economy, including aviation, power generation, pension administration, petroleum, and even the presidency. These revelations sometimes led to significant administrative or personnel changes, including the removal, suspension, or prosecution of major public functionaries such as the heads of the national oil company and pension commission, secretary to the government of the federation, and ministers in the federal cabinet. However, while they may have informed or inspired initiatives such as the Petroleum Industry Governance Bill, amendments to the Pension Act, and establishment of the federal treasury single account, the legislature’s revelations of government corruption did not produce fundamental governance reforms in most instances. Legislative oversight of the executive was often ineffective, incomplete, uninformed by rigorous committee work, corrupt, and viscerally and unconstructively acrimonious. The assembly’s “budget activism,” for instance, did not produce more timely, transparent, coherent, and responsible budget formulation or implementation (Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p. 10). Rather, appropriations acts continued to be finalized and approved way behind schedule, the cost of governance remained prohibitive, “elitist capital projects” continued to trump “pro-​poor programs,” and the assembly’s capacity to track public resources and evaluate the impact of government spending on the lives of citizens remained weak (Obadan 2014, p. 192; Salihu 2014, p. 448–​9). In several instances, legislators were unable or unwilling “to carry out most of their oversight investigations to logical conclusions” (Stapenhurst et  al. 2016, p.  23). Legislative oversight was more revelatory than corrective as the uncovering of massive

Legislative Development and Decadence    231 fraud in the use of public resources was often not followed by effective remedial measures. Thus, the assembly failed to regularly or methodically consider the reports of its own Public Accounts Committees (PAC), to implement a proposed forensic audit of the national oil company, or to investigate and sanction the reported mismanagement of federal ecological funds by state governors (Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p. 23; Obadan 2014, p. 193). Such lack of thoroughness and completeness often reflected multiple, fundamental weaknesses in the assembly’s committee structure. Legislative committees are generally regarded as the lynchpin of the modern legislature and engine room of oversight work. However, the committee structure of the Nigerian assembly is plagued by several inadequacies. With up to sixty-​five and ninety-​five standing committees in Senate and House of Representatives, respectively, the assembly’s committee structure is unwieldy and inordinately fragmented (Egwu and Dan-​Azumi 2016, p.  1). The bloated committee structure leads to unproductive duplications, fuels a legislative patronage system, and contributes to absenteeism from committee work as each legislator belongs to too many committees. Other problems of the assembly’s committee system include: lack of continuity in committee functions due to high electoral turnovers in legislative memberships; concentration of funds for committee work in the hands of legislative leadership, which promotes corruption and patronage in the legislature, leads to the underfunding of committee system, and encourages the unwholesome financial dependence of committees on the very agencies of government they are designed to oversee; poorly skilled committee clerks, aides, and other support staff, who are often appointed on a patronage rather than professional basis; and poor research facilities, including a grossly underutilized legislative library, which lacks adequate resources in space, staffing, and equipment (Egwu and Dan-​Azumi 2016, p. 75; Stapenhurst, et al. 2016, p. 21). Unsupported by rigorous and dispassionate committee work, oversight functions often morph into an instrument of legislative grandstanding, insolence, or extortion. Such degradation of oversight work has undermined executive–​legislation relations, which continue to be characterized by “mutual suspicion and distrust, acrimony, intimidation, political rivalry, unnecessary bickering, blackmail, and muscle-​flexing” (Shikyil 2016, p. 149). The perverse over-​politicization of legislative oversight has been especially obvious in the process for confirming key executive appointments. The assembly, for instance, opposed the appointments of widely respected officials such as Ibrahim Magu, acting chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), and Arunma Oteh, Director-​General of the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC), who probed, exposed, or critiqued corruption among members of the legislature. Another example was Bode Augusto, a financial expert and former director of the federal Budget office, who was rejected as ministerial nominee because many senators considered him to be intellectually arrogant. Another ministerial nominee, Babalola Borishade, was rejected thrice by the Senate in 2003 for his alleged incompetence, only to be confirmed by the same Senate “after much pleading and politics” by the Obasanjo presidency (Osayande 2015; Fashagba 2009, p. 445).

232   Rotimi T. Suberu The absence of any constitutional requirement for the president to present ministerial nominees with designated portfolios reinforces a tendency to confirm “ministerial nominees without prior knowledge of their capacities to oversee a specific ministry” (Stapenhurst et al. 2016, p. 14). Rather, a convention of the Senate simply requires that a nominee, to receive Senate confirmation, should obtain endorsement by at least two of the three senators from their respective states (Osayande 2015). Many ministerial nominees are simply approved and asked comically to “bow and go,” without any rigorous screening (Osayande 2015). Given the arbitrariness that characterizes the process of legislative confirmation of key executive appointments, the executive has sought to limit the Senate’s confirmatory powers to positions explicitly identified as requiring such confirmation under the constitution. This would invalidate several legislative acts by removing appointments to key executive positions, including the heads of anticorruption agencies, from legislative scrutiny. Such an approach would not only abridge the oversight functions of the assembly, but also curtail the ability of legislators to reflect and represent their constituents’ interests and views on the composition of agencies of the federal government.

Representation and Constituency Service Representation and constituency service are relatively parochial functions of the legislature because, unlike legislation and oversight, they can be conducted and advanced by legislators in their individual capacities, rather than as a collective entity (Barkan 2009, p. 8). Nonetheless, these more parochial roles of the assembly have exhibited the same underlying ambivalence evident in the institution’s more collective lawmaking and watchdog functions. The legislature has offered a platform for the representation and accommodation of the contending interests and constituencies embedded in Nigeria’s diverse society, while simultaneously developing a notoriety for self-​dealing and for underrepresenting vulnerable groups, including women. Similarly, legislators have invested resources in establishing constituency offices, providing diverse private goods to their constituents, and attracting or sponsoring constituency projects, but these interventions have been marked by corruption, manipulation, and tokenism. In their motions, resolutions, and interventions on public issues, legislators have supported populist agendas. They have endorsed, for instance, popular opposition to the removal of fuel subsidies, labor’s demands to increase the national minimum wage, university workers’ agitations for better conditions of service, and civil society’s demands for good governance and democratic transparency, including a participatory approach to constitution-​making. Legislators have also been conduits for the ethnic, regional, and religious interests of their constituents. Thus, senators from the southwest have proposed a special status for the southwestern city of Lagos; assembly members from the northeast have been at the forefront of criticisms of the federal government’s harsh emergency rule in the northeast; representatives from the oil-​bearing Niger Delta

Legislative Development and Decadence    233 have pushed for decentralization of the country’s centrist petroleum governance framework; and legislators from Niger State and other hydroelectric power-​producing areas in central Nigeria spearheaded the agitation for the establishment of the Hydroelectric Power Producing Areas Development Commission (HYPPADEC) to manage the environmental challenges arising from the operations of dams and related hydroelectric-​ generating activities in those areas. Although often understated, the most remarkable representational function of the assembly involves its role as a forum of intergroup accommodation or “inter-​ethic elite socialization,” negotiation, conciliation, and consensus-​ building (Fashagba 2014b, p. 172). This is evident not only in its more or less amicable institutionalization of informal ethnic power-​sharing strategies within the assembly, but also in its successes in forging creative interethnic settlements and bargains on deeply divisive and potentially combustible issues. Examples include the abolition of the offshore–​onshore oil revenue dichotomy; the ratification in 2011 of three sets of constitutional amendments or alterations, which received the constitutionally required approval of a two-​thirds majority in each house as well as the supporting resolution of legislatures in two-​thirds of the states; the crafting of a formula, under the Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill, to end indigene-​based discriminatory internal citizenship practices across the federation; and the formulation of the so-​called “doctrine of necessity,” which transferred presidential power in 2010 from an ailing Umaru Yaradua, from the Muslim north, to his southern Christian deputy, Goodluck Jonathan. On many of these and other ethnically polarizing issues, legislators from northern Nigeria, with a majority in the assembly, underwrote policies that were relatively unpopular among their constituents, but were broadly supported in southern Nigeria. Legislators’ relationships with their electoral constituencies have remained a challenge. Legislators have sought to engage constituents in the following ways: “attracting” public developmental amenities to their constituencies by proposing and promoting the inclusion of specific constituency projects in the federal budget; direct funding by legislators of small-​scale constituency projects, including the construction of boreholes, provision of scholarships and loans, and the establishment of training or skills acquisition schemes for artisans; regular making of cash gifts to support weddings, funerals, child-​naming ceremonies, and medical or educational expenses, and other personal financial needs of constituents; using legislators’ political influence and oversight powers to obtain public jobs or procurement contracts for constituents; and establishment of constituency offices to ensure continuous contact between legislators and their constituents. The assembly has supported the constituency engagement initiatives of its members through appropriations for constituency projects, provision of generous constituency allowances to members, and through the creation of a “constituency outreach committee,” which promotes and monitors legislators’ establishment of “functional constituency offices” (Benjamin 2014, p. 336). However, legislators’ performance of their representational duties, in general, and their constituency obligations, in particular, have attracted multiple criticisms. In particular, the implementation of constituency projects has been criticized for undermining

234   Rotimi T. Suberu the coherence of the national budget through the promotion of poorly prepared and designed local projects, often at the expense of funding for critical national infrastructure projects. Furthermore, constituency projects are “only partially executed or not executed at all,” owing to a lack of transparency and due process in their design and implementation (Obasanjo 2016). In addition, the projects subvert the federal division of powers and duplicate the activities of subnational governments, by incorporating into the national budget local projects (street lights, drainages and culverts, boreholes, community halls, rural roads, erosion control, skills acquisition centers) that are not on the exclusive or concurrent list of federal powers. Similarly, legislators’ implementation of constituency projects often usurps the responsibility of the executive for project design and execution, while detracting from the primary obligations of legislators for lawmaking and oversight. Constituency projects have been a source of corruption by legislators, who “are the [projects’] initiators and the contractors directly or by proxy” (Obasanjo 2016). Such self-​dealing reinforces the assembly’s notoriety for impropriety, severely damaging its credibility as an institution for representing Nigerians. Along with the legislature’s unpopularity for allocating illegal jumbo allowances and running costs to its members, several legislators have been tainted by credible allegations and revelations of various forms of misconduct, including bribe taking, budget padding, money laundering, academic certificate forgery, sex scandals, drug trafficking, and electoral shenanigans (Bakare 2014, p. 128). At the same time, the assembly’s reputation and role as a representational body continued to suffer from a severe underrepresentation of women in the institution. Women have consistently accounted for less than 10 percent of the membership of each house of the assembly since 1999: In the 2015–​19 legislative term, the assembly included only eight female senators and fourteen female representatives, accounting for 6.4 percent and 3.9 percent of the total membership of the Senate and House, respectively (Hamalai et al. 2016, p. 278). This underrepresentation extends to management levels of the NASS bureaucracy, where only four out of twenty-​three directors are women (Salihu 2014, p. 446). Not surprisingly, gender concerns, including proposals for the passage of a law prohibiting violence against women and for the domestication of the convention on eliminating all forms of discrimination against women, continue to be marginalized in the assembly’s legislative agenda. The shortcomings in legislative representation and constituency outreach, along with deficits in the legislature’s performance of lawmaking and oversight functions, have engendered profound public disaffection with the assembly. Indeed, surveys indicate that only 27 percent of surveyed Nigerians have some or a lot of trust in the National Assembly. The body, therefore, enjoys less public trust than organizations such as the army (trusted by 50 percent of Nigerians), judiciary (43 percent) presidency (36 percent), and ruling party (29  percent) (Stapenhurst et  al. 2016, p.  9). This legitimacy deficit, among other challenges facing the legislature, has engendered debates about redesigning or reforming the institution.

Legislative Development and Decadence    235

Legislative Reform: Pathways and Prospects Dissatisfaction with the performance of the NASS has led to proposals to downscale the institution by making legislative work a part-​time, rather than full-​time, commitment, or by replacing the assembly’s current bicameral design with unicameralism (Egwu and Dan-​Azumi 2016, p. 5). However, the idea of part-​time legislature is arguably more suited to small political entities with fewer people to represent and a closer interface between politicians and their constituents, than to a huge, complex, diverse country such as Nigeria. Similarly, bicameralism is a critical feature for Nigeria and other federations, where it is important to provide representation not only for the population at large, but also for the component units of the federation. More constructive proposals have focused on consummating ongoing constitutional reform agendas, on investing more resources in legislative capacity-building, on using constitutional adjudication to arbitrate current conflicts between the executive and the legislature, and on reshaping the electoral framework for constituting the legislature. Following the vetoing of Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill, for instance, the assembly developed an alternative strategy for ensuring the success of its constitutional reform agendas. This would involve implementing constitutional amendments more incrementally, by incorporating each proposed change in separate individual bills, and not encompassing the changes in a single omnibus bill. Such incrementalism can reduce the possibility that the executive would veto all proposed constitutional changes in one fell swoop. This could ensure the ratification of various constitutional reform proposals for enhancing the operational autonomy and political insulation of key nonpartisan oversight agencies. Greater independence for nonpartisan agencies of restraint would enhance the effectiveness of many of the legislations that the assembly has instituted to increase transparency and accountability in governance. This could also encourage the assembly to abide by its own code of ethics for legislators. Improvements in transparency and accountability would discourage the diversion of institutional resources to enrich individual legislators, reduce the incentives to maintain a bloated, dysfunctional, patronage-​ridden structure, promote better investment in building the institutional capacity of the legislature, and enhance the quality of executive–​legislative relations. Constitutionally requiring the executive to assign portfolios to ministerial nominees would enhance legislative oversight. Similarly, clarifying grey areas in executive–​ legislative powers through judicial interventions could help forge more constructive interbranch relations. Key items for adjudication and clarification would include the extent of the legislature’s powers to reshape the executive’s budget proposals, the constitutionality of subjecting key extraconstitutional or statutory appointments to Senate confirmation, the procedures to be followed for overriding a presidential veto on a

236   Rotimi T. Suberu constitutional amendment bill (as distinct from an ordinary legislative bill), and the fate of bills that are neither vetoed nor signed by the president. More radically, reforms can focus on redesigning the electoral framework for electing the legislature. While the Fourth Republic has witnessed significant improvements in electoral integrity, major recommendations of the 2009 Electoral Reform Committee remain unimplemented. Implementing these recommendations can help build a more robust legislature by introducing changes in electoral administration in order to more comprehensively prevent and punish electoral corruption; by instituting affirmative action quotas in order to increase female representation in the legislature; and by adopting a mixed Proportional Representation/​First-​Past-​the-​Post electoral system in order to dilute some of the perverse incentives inherent in the current single-​member district electoral system. However, it is unlikely that major reforms in the behavior of the assembly will take place without fundamental structural shifts in Nigeria’s political economy and the prebendal attitudes it encourages. These shifts would involve a reduction in government’s fiscal dependence on oil revenues, an expansion in nonstate routes to wealth, the broadening of socioeconomic opportunities for the citizenry, and the consolidation of a stronger sense of Nigerian national identity. In the absence of these changes, the assembly will continue to be undermined, despite its constitutional empowerment and institutional development, by powerful undercurrents of prebendalism.

Conclusion The flaws and failures of NASS dominate public and scholarly discourse about the institution. But narratives about the assembly’s performance failures, corruption, self-​ dealing, and unpopularity often overlook its significant accomplishments in developing its own identity and authority as a key institutional actor, in curbing executive excesses, in initiating and passing significant legislation and constitutional amendments, and in accommodating the diverse interests that comprise Nigeria’s multiethnic society. Arguably, the assembly’s biggest achievement has involved its role in reversing a long-​ standing tradition of executive dominance and dictatorship by scrutinizing and sometimes overriding the president’s legislative agendas, constitutional reform proposals, appointing powers, and spending or budgetary prerogatives. The assembly’s role as a counterweight to the powers of a super-​presidency has contained “big man rule,” advanced pluralistic politics, and stabilized civilian governance. Yet, such institutional independence and assertiveness has often not led to effective lawmaking, oversight, representation, and constituency engagement. This chapter has explained the paradoxical behavior of the assembly in terms of the disjuncture between the institution’s formal constitutional empowerment as a separate and independent branch of government and the underlying prebendal or neopatrimonial parameters of Nigerian politics. This has enabled the assembly to have

Legislative Development and Decadence    237 an important, democracy-​promoting impact, while remaining vulnerable to routine corruption and subversion. This dissonance may be mitigated through implementation of ongoing proposals for electoral, constitutional, and broad democratic governance reforms. The underlying structures of Nigerian political economy are, however, likely to make legislative ambivalence a long-​term feature of the country’s government and politics.

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238   Rotimi T. Suberu Obasanjo, Olusegun (2016). “Nigeria Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow:  Governance and Accountability,” First Akintola Williams Annual Lecture, Lagos, November 23. Oko, Okechukwu (2014). Legislators in Changing and Challenging Times: An Analysis of the Nigerian National Assembly. Glassboro, NJ: Goldline and Jacobs. Osayande, Augustine (2015). “Minister-​ Nominees Screening:  Still Business as Usual,” Congresswatch (Abuja), October 30. Osumah, Oarhe (2014). “Responsibility and Rascality:  The Nigerian National Assembly, 1999–​2013,” Taiwan Journal of Democracy 10 (2): 115–​140. Salihu, Amina (2014). “The Legislature and Women’s Rights in Nigeria,” in Ladi Hamalai and Rotimi Suberu (eds), The National Assembly and Democratic Governance  in Nigeria (pp. 441–​483). Abuja: NILS. Shikyil, Sylvester (2016). “Legislative-​Executive Relations in Presidential Democracies:  The Case of Nigeria,” in Charles Fombad (ed.), Separation of Powers in African Constitutionalism (pp. 135–​155). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stapenhurst, Rick, Kerry Jacobs, and Oladeji Olaore (2016). “Legislative Oversight in Nigeria: An Empirical Review and Assessment,” Journal of Legislative Studies 22 (1): 1–​29. Senate of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (2015). Votes and Proceedings, Abuja:  National Assembly Press, April 15. Suberu, Rotimi (2014). “Legislation by the National Assembly and the Challenges of Governance,” in Ladi Hamalai and Rotimi Suberu (eds), The National Assembly and Democratic Governance in Nigeria (pp. 112–​153). Abuja: NILS. Tambuwal, Aminu (2013). “A Long Walk to Good Governance,” in Mid-​Term Report of the Legislative Agenda: 7th House of Representatives (pp. 23–​31). Abuja: Policy and Legal Advocacy Center (PLAC).

Chapter 14

Sharia P ol i t i c s , t he 1999 C onst i t u t i on, and the Ri se of the Fourth Re pu bl i c Olufemi Vaughan

Introduction The governor of Nigeria’s northern Zamfara State, Ahmed Sani, when newly in office in October 1999, generated major political controversy in Nigerian politics by signing two items of legislation into law: the first established new lower sharia courts, and the second changed the jurisdiction of the Sharia Court of Appeal. Associated with this, Sani enacted into law a penal code that was integrated into sharia in January 2000. Several weeks later, the Zamfara State government transferred the administration of sharia courts from the state chief justice to the grand qadi, who by this very official act was empowered to preside over a transformed Sharia Court of Appeal. These executive actions enjoyed overwhelming endorsement from the state legislature, and for the first time in Nigeria’s postcolonial history, sharia courts gained authority over civil and criminal cases in a state located in the Federal Republic of Nigeria. In his announcement declaring the arrival of expanded sharia to the State House of Assembly, Sani insisted that this historic development established a new dawn not only for Zamfara State, but for all Nigerian Muslims, affirming emirate Nigeria’s reformist tradition going back to the Sokoto Caliphate (“Nigeria Will Lead World Back to God,” 1999). To consolidate the policy, Sani enlisted the support of emirs and ulamas (“Zamfara Organizes Seminar for Royal Fathers on Shari’a,” 2000). Three months after Zamfara’s announcement, the governor of another northern state, Niger, announced that he, too, would sign into law a bill for expanded sharia (“Niger Set to Send Sharia Bill to Assembly,” 2000). Over the next two years, nine more northern

240   Olufemi Vaughan state governors followed suit:  Sokoto, Katsina, Kano, Jigawa, Yobe, Bornu, Bauchi, Kebbi, and Gombe. In addition, the governor of Kaduna State signed a more limited version of expanded sharia. Among northern Nigerian majority-​Muslim states, only the Adamawa and Nasarawa governments did not embrace expanded sharia. Political sociologist Paul Lubeck provides a perspective on the conditions of uncertainty that made the expansion of sharia so attractive to the masses of northern Nigerian Muslims: There is no doubt that for the youths participating in the Muslim sphere in the eighties, the spectacular failure of Nigerian oligarchic rule confirmed what their cultural nationalist and anti-​imperialist instincts told them was true. For these cohorts, the obvious failure of Western-​imposed institutions to meet their material and spiritual needs confirmed that they should recommit themselves to tajdid [renewal] in order to implement sharia as an alternative path to realizing Muslim self-​ determination. (Lubeck 2011, p. 253)

These complicated questions with their implications for the configuration of state power throughout the country necessitate a discussion of the context in which Islamic law was vigorously contested at the beginning of Nigeria’s Fourth Republic in 1999. These contestations over the meaning of sharia among contending ethno-​religious and ethno-​regional political classes and the constituencies they claim to represent in Nigeria’s troubled nation state also warrant a careful analysis of the legal and political implications of sharia reforms for Nigerian citizens, especially since the attainment of independence in 1960.

Legal and Political Contexts Muslim and customary laws were supplanted by English common law during the imposition of colonial rule at the beginning of the twentieth century. Islamic scholar Syed Khalid Rashid contends that over time this colonial policy not only undermined sharia’s legitimacy under colonial rule, but also established the framework for the marginalization of Islamic law in the postcolonial era (Rashid 1986). Additionally, the military regimes that had dominated Nigerian politics following the failure of two civil democratic governments from 1960–​6 and 1979–​83, respectively, had used a reformed customary court system called area courts to further supplant Islamic law in northern communities. Finally, the drafters of the 1979 Constitution overcame significant pressures from the Hausa–​Fulani political class to establish federal and state sharia courts of appeal to adjudicate civil and criminal cases during Nigeria’s second transition to civil democratic government1. By the 1990s, opposition to the area court system had gained momentum, especially among northern Muslim leaders. Detractors of the area court system charged that these courts lacked due process (Civil Liberties Organisation 1992). The area courts’ bureaucracies were said to suffer from a host of administrative problems: by many accounts the courts were notoriously corrupt, with no systematic records of court decisions.

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    241 Furthermore, relations between Islamic judges and Western-​trained legal experts were often strained. The former considered the latter ignorant of local custom and overly bureaucratic, while the latter considered the former uninformed about basic legal principles. Many cases in these courts were decided ex parte (with only one party present), usually not in exigent circumstances. In many cases, judges used oaths to decide the case when a full trial was necessary. Often, in northern states, judges were Muslim clerics even though the courts administered many cases that did not possess any religious components. Beyond these structural problems, the area courts were poorly staffed—​most of the legal assistants and court clerks were untrained. Nevertheless, these courts adjudicated most of the cases involving Nigeria’s poor, an arrangement perceived as legitimate because their authority was considered to reflect local custom and tradition. In short, informality made the area courts more accessible but also impeded justice and due process. With such grossly inefficient administration of customary and Islamic courts, outspoken sharia advocates seized on the democratic opening that followed military rule at the turn of the century to press their case for legal reform. To most northern Muslim critics of the prevailing system, however, the more pressing concerns went beyond the failures of the area courts; they complained that Islamic law needed greater representation within Nigeria’s judiciary system (Rashid 1986). In failing to increase the scope of Islamic or customary law, the 1999 Constitution did little to address these problems. Indeed, as with previous constitutions, the Nigerian legal system remained decidedly under the authority of the common-​law courts. New courts that were established at Nigeria’s Federal Capital Territory in Abuja also affirmed the authority of the common-​law courts. At the national level, a federal high court has broad jurisdiction on matters pertaining to the federation or between particular states. Appeals from this court or any of the superior state courts go to the Federal Court of Appeal, as do decisions from constitutional tribunals and any ad hoc commissions established by acts of the National Assembly. Finally, in addition to its role as the ultimate appellate bench, the Supreme Court is granted original jurisdiction on all cases pertaining to the existence of legal rights and any further remit bestowed by acts of the National Assembly. Consequently, when notable northern Muslim political leaders insisted on expanded sharia in the early years of the Fourth Republic, this posed more than a thorny constitutional problem. With Nigeria’s entrenched ethno-​religious structure, the insistence on expanded sharia exposed the apparent contradictions between Islamic law and Nigeria’s Western-​derived constitution. The analyses that follow will underscore the constitutional challenges posed by expanded sharia to the Nigerian state in the critical early years of the Fourth Republic.

Islamic Law and Common Law In the Northern Provinces during the colonial era, Islamic scholar Adebayo Oba identifies two phases of the evolution of Islamic law that contributed to the erosion

242   Olufemi Vaughan of sharia in postcolonial Nigerian society. First, in the early years of colonial rule, he contends that British authorities embraced Islamic law as a necessity but limited its scope by classifying it as customary, steadily allowing common law to dominate its authority2. With the growing presence of Southern Christian immigrants and foreign immigrants (European and Lebanese) in the Northern Provinces by the 1930s (Yusuf 1982), common law rapidly gained supremacy over Islamic law. During this period, Islamic courts were also subjected to the oversight of British administrators. Most contentious was the restriction of sharia’s jurisdiction to personal law (Oba 2004, p. 895). Firmly established by the period of decolonization, the Repugnancy Clause established by British administrators in the early years of colonial rule was reviled by conservative Muslim clerics and emirs as the hallmark of colonial intrusion (Abdur Rahman 1989). Conceived during decolonization and the early decades of independence, the second phase effectively witnessed the formal subjugation of Islamic—​and customary—​law to the jurisdiction of common-​law courts (Sambo 2003), reflecting a profusion of cases where common, customary, and Islamic law conflicted with each other as well as with competing legal interpretations. Islamic law was increasingly flexible, despite claims of its divine origin by Muslim clerics, while customary law was so ill-​defined that it could be shoehorned into competing juridical systems. With the exception of conflicts between Islamic law and common law in criminal cases, Islamic law often adapted to local conditions on personal cases where it retained jurisdiction. Consequently, as Nigerian society evolved in the postcolonial era, the three legal systems converged, diverged, and overlapped in various ways. By the time the 1999 Constitution was enacted, local people were choosing their preferred bench based on their identification with a particular religious or cultural group, and to many, Nigeria was heading toward a mixed legal system (Yusuf 1982). Emerging from this legal blend, however, was a perception by a vocal voice in the northern Muslim political class of an unjustifiable dominance of common law in Nigeria’s legal system. These advocates of sharia contend that common law is not normatively neutral because it is derived from Christian traditions (Kukah 1993).

Secularism, Multireligiosity, and State Religion A second cause of conflict revolved around Nigeria’s multireligious identity and the country’s constitutional principle of secularism, which prohibits state religion. While the former calls for a state structure that embraces a diversity of faiths, the latter asserts a complete absence of religious influence in state affairs. Christian opponents of sharia have long complained about sharia’s endorsement of state religion, though they resisted attempts to strip state funding for Christian schools and churches (Ludwig 2008, p. 617). By the time the sharia crisis exploded on the national scene in 1999, sharia advocates had latched onto the distinction, extending their argument for sharia from federal and state governments’ undeniable support for Nigeria’s two world religions. (“Winds against Shari’a’s Soul,” 2000).

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    243 Furthermore, advocates of sharia felt it hypocritical for Christian opponents of Islamic law to claim that the Nigerian constitution should be based on unassailable secularity. To these sharia advocates, the Nigerian state has never been secular, having its foundation in common law that is derived from Christian traditions (Muhibbu-​Din 2005). Their insistence on expanded Islamic law would simply put sharia on an equal footing with common law, as both have religious moorings that need to be balanced for Nigerian jurisprudence to be acceptable to Muslims. Thus, sharia activists contended that since historically the government had favored Christian traditions and institutions (for example, by subsidizing Christian missionary schools), the sharia policies of the twelve northern states would simply rectify the imbalance of many decades3. As a result of this history, they contend that southern, Middle Belt, and northern-​minority Christians consistently have enjoyed significant advantages in Nigerian constitutional evolution, from which they project the myth of Western secularism that blocks Muslim religious and social aspirations (Gusau 1994). In short, advocates of expanded sharia presented secularism as Western-​derived, in direct conflict with Islam, and at its core fundamentally a political theology (Harnischfeger 2008, p. 224). The claims of sharia advocates seemed substantially bolstered in the numerous provisions in the Constitution providing for a Sharia Court of Appeal4. If it were simply the religious nature of sharia that was unconstitutional, sharia advocates argued, then how could the same document concede so much authority to Islamic law within the jurisdiction of the state governments? They further contend that the mere provision against state religion5 did not guarantee secularity, or the absence of religion in government (Oba 2004). Nevertheless, opponents of sharia underscored the importance of secularity in the constitution, insisting the new laws violated Section 10 of the 1999 Constitution. Political scientist Johannes Harnischfeger provides the typical refrain: “Muslims’ call for autonomy flies in the face of Nigeria’s moderately secular tradition . . . The Constitution does not allow elevating any religion to a state religion. Yet this principle is violated when governors in the North use state authority to Islamize public life” (Harnischfeger 2008, p. 13). This position flowed in part from the Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC) debacle of the 1980s and the conflict over whether Nigeria joining an Islamic organization, such as the Islamic Bank, amounted to declaring a state religion, as well as the 1978 and 1989 Constituent Assembly debates wherein pro-​sharia advocates purportedly refused to differentiate between secularism as godlessness and secularism as religious neutrality (Kenny 1996). Furthermore, many detractors of sharia argued that state resources would be directed to enforcing a religious code, which amounted to funding Islam (Byang 1988). Sharia proponents countered that these critics ignored the fact that the state was already heavily subsidizing and funding religious institutions, especially schools, pilgrimages, and other interests (“The Way Forward,” 2000). Constitutional scholars, judges, and politicians in the end relied on specific circumstances to decide constitutional meaning (Durham 2005, p. 145). Both “secular” and “religious” states are not the simple products of various stages of modernization; rather, they are stages in ongoing processes of state formation, overlapping with people’s

244   Olufemi Vaughan aspirations and struggles (Hackett 2005, pp. 86–​9). According to Islamic scholar Sanusi Lamido Sanusi (who was installed as Emir of Kano in 2014), the concept of justice that is held by progressive Muslims has been connected to Western scholarship since the Enlightenment, and the interpretations conferred on Islam represent a hermeneutical process of finding meanings in the Quran and the hadith (Sanusi 2005, p. 257).

States’ Rights The third constitutional issue involves the question of whether state governments have the powers to create, modify, and abolish courts in their spheres of influence. When Mamuda Aliyu Shinkafi, Deputy Governor of Zamfara State, defended sharia’s legality, he noted that “any law that is enacted by the House of Assembly is constitutional” (“Pending Cases in Zamfara to Be Heard in Shari’a Courts,” 2000). While this is at best a curious constitutional pronouncement, more common was the narrower claim that, as prominent Muslim leader Lateef Adegbite argued, states have the right to control their laws and their courts6. Importantly, northern states retained the Sharia Court of Appeal and extended its jurisdiction. Exercised through these reforms, expanded sharia appeared to have exceeded a constitutional guarantee by claiming authority over criminal cases (Edu et al. 2000). Southern, Middle Belt, and northern minority Christians’ anti-​ sharia analysts contested the imposition of expanded sharia by the twelve northern Muslim states. Distinguished lawyers Rotimi Williams and Ben Nwabueze contended that Islamic and customary law provisions in the Constitution are subject to the federal Penal Code, making illegal a statewide shift to sharia. Nwabueze further argued that, by the rules of statutory construction (the Constitution was written after the Penal Code), the application of a uniform federal Penal Code is necessary in the country (Edu et al. 2000). Nevertheless, constitutional scholars such as E.  Essien argued that changes by the northern states were in line with provisions of the Constitution: only an amendment to the Constitution can take away from the jurisdiction of a state’s Sharia Court of Appeal, but any state can legislate to add to its original jurisdiction. More problematic, however, was the legal limbo in which high courts’ jurisdiction was left hanging with the new role of expanded sharia in civil and criminal cases (Essien 2000, p. 264).

Written Law Islamic law is essentially derived from the holy texts in Arabic about the life and teachings of the Prophet Muhammad. According to doctrine, these texts should not be translated from Arabic into any other language. Despite defending sharia’s constitutionality, Justice Mohammed Bello (former chief justice of the supreme court) had noted that the challenge of translating Islamic law from Arabic poses a serious problem for the constitutional requirement to codify Nigerian criminal laws (Edu et al. 2000). On this measure,

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    245 opponents of expanded sharia argued that Islamic law is not compatible with Chapter 4, Section 36 (12) of the Constitution, which states that “a person shall not be convicted of a criminal offense unless that offense is defined and the penalty therefore is prescribed in a written law,” and in this subsection, a written law refers to an act of the National Assembly or a law of a state, any subsidiary legislation, or instrument under the provisions of a law7. Many sharia activists rejected this argument because, as they saw it, sharia has endured over a thousand years of textual interpretation and scholarly debates (Ado-​Kurawa 2000).

Freedom of Religion The relevant constitutional provision on freedom of religion is found in Chapter  4, Section 38 (1) of the Constitution: Every person shall be entitled to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion, including freedom to change his or her religion or belief, and freedom (either alone or in community with others, and in public or in private) to manifest and propagate his or her religion or belief in worship, teaching, practice and observance8.

Many sharia activists read this provision to mean that the Constitution gave Muslims access to all that Islam entails, including the requirement that Muslims be governed by sharia; in this reading, Section 38 validates the constitutionality of expanded Islamic law. Along the same lines (Edu et  al. 2000), anti-​sharia analysts argue that just as the Constitution grants freedom of religion, it also ensures freedom from religion, protecting citizens from state-​ sanctioned expanded sharia (Nasir 2002). Defense lawyers in Kaduna and Niger states would make this case on behalf of their non-​Muslim clients who were being prosecuted under sharia (Harnischfeger 2008, p. 15). Advocates for sharia have argued that religious orthodoxy necessitated sharia, but legislators had made alterations to the law that seemingly violated their faith, making the new legislation no more “holy” than the previous. For instance, in many states, the sharia Penal Code was not written de novo but, rather, adapted from the old Northern Nigerian Code, itself a colonial compromise (Harnischfeger 2008, pp. 89–​93).

Civil and Human Rights Particularly objectionable to opponents of expanded sharia was the concern that the twelve northern states’ expanded Islamic law abrogated constitutionally guaranteed civil and human rights of Nigerian citizens. These critics contend that the northern states’ sharia courts, in contrast to prevailing practices in common law courts, contravened established norms of justice and lacked procedural standards. Consequently, they conclude that expanded Islamic laws are in violation of constitutional provisions protective of citizens’ rights and due process (Harnischfeger 2008, pp. 174–​8).

246   Olufemi Vaughan Anti-​sharia analyst Simeon Nwobi’s argument encapsulates the sentiments of most of these critics. He identifies three areas where strict application of sharia in criminal and civil cases contravened the civil and human rights guaranteed by the Nigerian Constitution. First, sharia’s prohibition of commercial activities on products deemed haram (forbidden), such as alcohol, abrogates the constitutional rights of citizens to participate freely in the country’s national economy9. Second, Nwobi claims that expanded sharia restricted Nigerians from moving freely within the country because it limits the social activities of people under its jurisdiction10. Finally, Nwobi judges that sharia prohibits conversion from Islam to any other religion, contradicting the Constitution11. The ban on “apostasy,” while formally absent from the letter of Islamic law in most of the twelve northern states, would be considered an essential rule once expanded sharia was instituted12. Anti-​sharia advocates further argued that preaching Christianity (and other religions) would be outlawed under sharia, which violates the “freedom to manifest and propagate [any] religion or belief in worship, teaching, practice, and observance,” as would expanded sharia’s abrogation of Christian education, a right guaranteed by the Constitution13. Whatever the challenges posed by sharia on the Fourth Republic’s judicial framework, it was clear that northern Muslim reformers’ long-​standing agitation for Islamic law was absent in the country’s emergent legal system. It was in this context that prominent northern Muslim leaders pushed for reforms in their respective states. This led to expanded sharia policies instituted by the twelve northern states14. To fully understand the impact of these reform policies in the northern states, it is necessary to situate the push for expanded sharia in the broader context of the construction of the northern Nigerian ummah and the articulation of Islamic doctrine.

The Northern Ummah and Islamic Doctrine Among contending northern Nigerian Muslim groups, the reformism that shaped the agitation for sharia came out of Izala, a powerful Salafi group with strong connection to Gulf states, especially Saudi Arabia since the oil boom years of the mid-​1970s. Consequently, Izala theological doctrine called on a new generation of northern Muslims to articulate a new Muslim legal vision that challenged Nigeria’s Western-​ derived 1999 Constitution (Lubeck 2011). To many northern Muslim reformers, these changes were essential. The adoption of expanded sharia, one advocate of Islamic law claims, was “the essential foundation of the just Islamic society . . . one that follows the revelations and words of God” (“The Meaning of Prophethood, Messengership, and Sainthood,” 2000). When the Bauchi State government announced its expanded sharia policy, the governor reasoned that the decision was taken simply in fidelity to Islam (“Bauchi Moves to Adopt

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    247 Shari’a,” 1999). A typical editorial of the northern-​centered New Nigerian newspaper reiterated that the law governing Muslims “cannot be adapted, altered, or dropped capriciously but must be followed absolutely” (“The Right Belief Is Based on Shari’a,” 2000). It followed that any contradiction within the Constitution that restricted access to expanded sharia on civil and criminal cases for northern Muslims was prima facie invalid. Similarly, as historian Murray Last argues, ideas inherent to emirate society have always pushed Muslim leaders to advocate for sharia in local communities. Because Islam is as much a civilization as a religion, it experienced various transformations as it spread across Sudanic Africa over many centuries (Last 2008). Since the imposition of colonial rule, its doctrines have acted as a buffer against Western conceptions of modernity and other global intrusions (Callaway and Creevey 1993). Moreover, Last (2008) argues, “the sense of closure is central to Islamic culture. Not only is the interior of a house strictly private . . . so too, in a sense, is the territory of the jama’a [Muslim faithful]. Not for nothing is the land of the Muslim ummah [Muslim polity] called dar al-​Islam, the ‘house’ of Islam.” The push to expand Islamic law in 1999 and 2000 represented “a way of keeping ‘strangers’ in their place, reminding them that [a community such as] Kano is not theirs and reasserting the right of Muslim dominance in a Muslim city” (Last 2008, p. 47). Thus, sharia is an attempt to re-​establish the dar al-​Islam and assert northern Nigeria’s membership in a global Muslim community. Thus, from the start, the imposition of expanded sharia was a reassertion of northern Muslim identity; sharia thus became the unifying regional framework for the enunciation of a vision that connected the noble past articulated in the Sokoto Caliphate with the future of a northern Muslim community. For Muslim proponents of sharia, this restoration of the ummah required the reframing of expanded sharia to challenge the erosion of Islamic law since decolonization. This public support for Islamic law did not only challenge an alien Western legacy, but also situates northern Muslims in their proper place in the global Ummah.

The Northern Ummah and the Common Good In addition to articulating sharia as the essence of the ummah, powerful advocates of expanded sharia also packaged their support for sharia as the quest for the common good in northern Muslim society. Political scientist Frieder Ludwig observes that many northern Muslim proponents of sharia defended the application of expanded Islamic law on the grounds that “the new laws have been enacted by democratically elected executive and legislative officials responding to the unquestionable desire of the vast majority of their constituents” (Ludwig 2008, p. 611). Governor Sani of Zamfara State provides a good illustration of this line of argument. For Sani the democratic process was premised

248   Olufemi Vaughan on implementing sharia because he had based his gubernatorial campaign on Islamic law. As opposition mounted against Zamfara’s sharia policy, Sani replied: “When I was campaigning for this office, wherever I [went], I always start[ed] with ‘Allahu Akbar’ (Allah is the greatest) to show my commitment to the Islamic faith . . . As part of my programme for the state, I promised the introduction of sharia” (“Sharia Implications for Nigeria,” 2000). Sani told us additionally that sharia is essential for the organization of a just Muslim society, and would serve as an effective response to the corruption that Western conceptions of modernization had imposed on Zamfara communities (New Nigerian 2000). The sharia-​as-​justification-​for-​democracy argument later was used by advocates of Islamic law in Bauchi State (Takko, “Governor Mu’azu, a Word on Shari’a,” 2000) to turn the Katsina State government’s position toward sharia (“Ugly Face of Contradiction,” 2000), and in Kano to declare that if non-​Muslims (only 2 percent of the population) were against sharia, they should leave the state (“We Didn’t Suspend Sharia,” 2000). In Katsina State, Governor Umaru Yar ‘adua, a confidant of President Obasanjo among PDP governors and later president of the federal republic, who earlier had been ambivalent about expanded sharia, reversed his opinion when he was confronted with sharia’s popularity in his state (“Ugly Face of Contradiction,” 2000). In Kaduna State, with its substantial Christian population, the government established a statewide public opinion campaign (“Shari’ah,” New Nigerian, 2000), which eventually led to sharia’s enactment (“Govt Will Not Hesitate to Implement Shari’a,” 1999). Adegbite, the secretary-​ general of the Nigerian Supreme Council for Islamic Affairs (NSCIA), declared that since northern Muslims had spoken through the democratic process, any opposition to sharia could only be seen as an attack on the popular will15. Consequently, for pro-​sharia activists, southern, Middle Belt, and northern Christians’ fierce opposition to sharia signifies intolerance and is antithetical to the democratic will (“Understanding Shari’a Law,” 2000). Supporters of the expanded sharia policies of the northern states also argued that Islamic law represents a societal necessity. Beyond a straightforward binary of legal and illegal, sharia, they think, provides the only just legal system for mediating relations among Muslims. Many prominent emirate clerics had argued since decolonization in the 1950s that sharia’s elimination from the Penal Code spelled the death knell of Usman dan Fodio’s vision for the Sokoto Caliphate (Gumi and Tsiga 1992, p. 79). For its supporters, the extension of sharia beyond family cases thus represented a homogenizing force, eliminating the sectarianism that had plagued northern communities since independ­ ence (Harnischfeger 2004, p. 438). Tied to this argument was the belief that sharia is inherently just and is built upon extensive textual and case law for the protection of minority rights. The National Concord, founded by Moshood Abiola as a pro-​National Party of Nigeria newspaper during Nigeria’s second civil democratic government of 1979–​83 (the Second Republic), editorialized that true sharia would lead to religious tolerance (“In Search of a Peaceful Society,” 2000), while an opinion piece in the New Nigerian said that sharia in Kaduna State would, in fact, protect the religious beliefs of the state’s

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    249 substantial Christian population (“Shari’a Committee in Kaduna Hailed,” 2000). Indeed, Sani personally assured Christians in his state that their freedom of worship would be protected under sharia (“In Zamfara, Tension over Shari’a,” 1999). As pro-​ sharia commentators contended that expanded sharia is the panacea to the social problems in northern communities, they also argued that the sharia revolution would encourage a renaissance in Islamic culture. This, they contended, would not only provide an effective response to the corrupting influence of Christian and secular education in northern communities, but would also reverse the educational disparity between northern and southern states (Ado-​Kurawa 2000). With heavy emphasis on lionizing the precolonial Sokoto Caliphate, the British colonial authorities, the previous allies of Hausa–​Fulani Muslim rulers, were now denounced by sharia advocates as the destroyers of Islamic piety and the cause of northern states’ turn to the immorality seen in the West (Ado-​Kurawa 2000). The return of Islamic law, which British colonialism destroyed, would thus represent the revival of a noble Muslim heritage (Sambo 2003). To sharia proponents, Western vice was the cause of social chaos and economic crisis (“Shari’a in the North: Fear of the Unknown,” 2000). Sharia advocates also were aware that they needed to provide an effective response to the strong southern Christian opposition to sharia mounted through the powerful Lagos–​Ibadan news media outlets, especially in the months after the launch of comprehensive sharia policies by northern state governments. As a Yoruba, Lateef Adegbite, the NSCIA secretary-​general, was well positioned to respond to the scathing attacks on sharia policies of the northern states by the southern intelligentsia. Interestingly, Adegbite emerged as one of the most articulate defenders of northern sharia states, challenging the assault of southern Christians against sharia (“Sharia Not Aimed at Obasanjo,” 2000). In Zamfara State, where Sani particularly drew the rage of southern Christians, Adegbite countered that the state’s sharia policy was not only in keeping with the Constitution, but also would address the crisis of law and order (“Shari’a: No State Can be Declared Islamic, Says Adegbite,” 2000). Indeed, to confront what many Hausa–​Fulani Muslim elites have long considered southern and Middle-​Belt Christian propaganda against Islam, now manifested in the vitriolic campaign against sharia, the chairman of the Council of Ulama called on Muslims everywhere to defend their religion against its enemies. Similarly, at the announcement of his state’s sharia policy, Kano State’s governor called for a massive turnout for its inauguration—​demonstrating to the country that sharia had widespread appeal among northern Muslims (“Muslims Urged to Defend Islam,” 2000). However, this overwhelming northern Muslim support for expanded sharia was hardly a blind allegiance to the Hausa–​Fulani political class. The erosion of the moral authority of the northern Muslim political class, especially under unpopular military regimes led by northern generals had left the masses of northern Muslims disaffected with the northern Muslim power structure (Yusuf 1982). Northern Muslim power brokers, along with emirs and Islamic clerics, are good at preaching sharia, critics argued, but are an essential component of a national neopatrimonial system that can only be eradicated through fidelity to true Muslim values16.

250   Olufemi Vaughan

A Northern Muslim Coalition for Expanded Sharia Despite the ambivalence of a small minority of northern Muslims for expanded sharia, the sharia movement clearly had popular appeal among most northern Muslims17. Sharia also had the support of notable figures in northern Muslim society’s small but influential group of radical intellectuals who had shaped the progressive traditions of populist socialist parties, notably the Northern Elements Progressive Union and the People’s Redemption Party, since decolonization. For a movement that southern modernists generally saw as atavistic, the sharia movement, at least initially, succeeded in unifying northern public opinion of diverse ideological orientations around a common northern Muslim identity (“Towards a Northern Renaissance,” 2000). These disparate groups coalesced around a revived Northern People’s Congress (NPC) in March 2000. Led by the Sultan of Sokoto Alhaji Muhammadu Maccido, the revived NPC morphed into a renewed Arewa (Hausa for “northern”) Consultative Forum (ACF), a political association of emirate leaders (with a minority of junior partners from non-emirate northern communities) committed to asserting northern interests. In fact, the initial success of this pan-​northern ACF was not unconnected to northern perception of a visceral southern and Middle-Belt Christian opposition to the sharia movement. This was particularly apparent in the southern Christian-​dominated national press corps. Thus, a northern “manifesto” declared that the “pastime” of southern Christians was “to ridicule, vilify and scandalize Islam and sharia” (“The Way Forward,” 2000). Added to this were the northern Muslim leaders’ feelings that despite their strong support for Obasanjo in the 1999 presidential election, an administration led by a self-​proclaimed Yoruba born-​again Christian failed to confer on northern Muslims the recognition commensurate with their support for him (“We Need One Party State,” 1999). In this context, the ACF unified northern Muslims behind sharia and argued that Hausa–​Fulani Muslims have a moral obligation to defend the northern state governments’ sharia policies against their southern and Middle-​Belt Christian adversaries. The influence of this intersecting northern Muslim identity will be seen in the evolution of the debate discussed here. The major challenge before older-​generation ACF leaders was to bring into the northern Muslim fold disaffected Muslim youths, who had become increasingly restless since the political and economic crisis of the 1980s (“Governor Mu’azu, a Word on Shari’a,” 2000; “Give Shari’a a Chance,” 2000). Confronted by an uncertain future, this younger generation of northern Muslims had been attracted to Islamic reformist movements (especially neo-​Salafi movements) such as Izala. Thus, the strong southern and Middle-​B elt Christian opposition to sharia further radicalized educated northern Muslim youths in the Arewa Peoples Congress, the de facto militant wing of the ACF under Brigadier General Sagir Mohammed (“Of Elders Fora and the North,” 2000).

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    251 Nevertheless, the environment created by these militant Hausa–​Fulani Muslim youth movements gave greater coherence to the sharia riots that engulfed many northern cities during the early years of the Fourth Republic. In Kaduna State, where the sharia riots were particularly violent, northern Muslim youths blocked some one hundred thousand Christian demonstrators against sharia, whose “otherwise peaceful protest” they “literally lit on fire” (“Shari’a: Days of Rage, Blood, and Death in Kaduna,” 2000). When southern and Middle-​Belt Christian students fled their northern university campuses during the Kaduna riots in February 2000, their properties were looted by Muslim mobs (“More People Flee Kaduna  .  .  .  Students Vacate Campuses . . . Soldiers Drafted to Kano,” 2000). Also, Hausa–​Fulani Muslim youths targeted the Christian Deputy Governor Stephen Shekari, for his earlier handling of the sharia riots as acting governor (“Shari’a: From Zamfara to Kaduna,” 2000). At a minor level, the sharia crisis spilled over into a few Yoruba communities, betraying the low-​level rumblings of Yoruba Muslim activists against the decidedly anti-​sharia opposition of Yoruba Christians (“Community Leaders Alert on Imminent Religious Violence,” 2000). To be sure, riots incited by Christian youths also were reported in northern, southern, and Middle-​Belt communities during this period of religious and political turbulence. Another crucial constituency was to be found among emirs and Muslim clerics, who were promptly co-​opted into the newly established sharia courts. In exchange for the emirs’ support for state policies, senior state officials rewarded them with state patronage (“Zamfara Governor Hailed over Shari’a,” 2000). For instance, Zamfara State governor identified emirs as the first vector for the implementation of the government’s sharia policy (“Zamfara Organizes Seminar for Royal Fathers on Shari’a,” 2000). Sharia advocates also drew inspiration from international supporters by linking northern Nigeria’s sharia reforms to a global history of Islamic law dating back centuries. These reformers justified the legal changes by pointing to global jurisprudential precedents. Thus, “the experiences of countries which practiced forms of sharia such as Sudan and Saudi Arabia were taken into account” in drafting legislation in the northern states (Ludwig 2008, p. 610). Partly as a result of widespread concerns that the extension of sharia into criminal cases would undermine the civil rights of religious minorities, sharia proponents drew on Algeria as a successful case of protections afforded to non-​ Muslims (Garba 2000). Consequently, the Zamfara State government made overtures to the broader Islamic world, and several Muslim countries pledged to train Zamfara’s Islamic judges and provide resources for the state’s sharia institutions (“Obasanjo Worried over Shari’a,” 1999). Other northern states also sought and received support from the Arab world. Several northern Muslim judges received training in Saudi Arabia, while Iran, Libya, Mauritania, and Sudan lobbied the Nigerian federal government to promote sharia18. Such efforts were helped by the formalization of Nigeria’s place in the global ummah through its membership in the Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC), going back to the 1980s.

252   Olufemi Vaughan

Concluding Remarks With the opening provided by the civil democratic dispensation that followed the massive failure of military rule at the turn of the century, northern Muslim political leaders effectively mobilized the masses of local people under the political–​religious platform of expanded sharia that defined the essence of the northern Ummah. With the growing neopatrimonialism of the custodians of the Nigerian state and the devastation of neoliberalism in the 1980s and 1990s, this insistence on expanded sharia by a new generation of northern Muslim elites thus provided an alternative vision for the governance of emirate society. The popularity of expanded sharia in the twelve northern states in the Fourth Republic thus reflects the extent of the alienation of northern Muslims from the rest of the country and reveals the depth of the crisis of the Nigerian nation state. Consequently, northern Muslim advocates of sharia contend that pious Muslim traditions, embodied in expanded sharia, were continually assaulted by Nigeria’s Western-​oriented nation state in several ways. First, under colonial rule, sharia was subordinated to English common law. Second, sharia’s influence suffered because of the modernizing effects of Christian missions in non-​Muslim sections of northern states. Finally, sharia was assailed by the secularist agenda of various Nigerian postcolonial military and civilian governments. Thus, at the critical turning point at the onset of the Fourth Republic, northern Muslim political and clerical leaders insistence on expanded sharia provided the structural platform for the expression of ethno-​religious and ethno-​regional struggles between the Muslim north and the rest of the country. The crisis of sharia thus reflects the structural imbalances of the Nigerian state going back to the amalgamation of the colonial Northern and Southern Provinces in 1914.

Notes 1. For detailed discussion see Adele L.  Jinadu, “Federalism, the Consociational State, and Ethnic Conflict in Nigeria,” Publius 15: 71–​100; see also David Laitin, “The Sharia Debate and the Origins of Nigeria’s Second Republic,”Journal of Modern African Studies 20 (3): 1982, 411–​30. 2. Rashid, see pages 817–​50. 3. A Memorandum on the 1999 Constitution to the Government and National Assembly. 4. Not least Chapter 7, Part 2, Article B, Section 275 (1), which guarantees, “There shall be for any State that requires it a Sharia Court of Appeal.” See Constitution of Nigeria, 1999. 5. Chapter 1, Part 2, Section 10 states, “The Government of the Federation or of a State shall not adopt any religion as State Religion.” See Constitution of Nigeria, 1999. 6. There is substantial constitutional evidence for such an argument, particularly in Chapter 7, Part 2, Article B, Section 277 (1) of the Nigerian Constitution, which reads in part, “The Sharia Court of Appeal of a State shall, in addition to such other jurisdiction as may be conferred upon it by the law of the State, exercise such appellate and supervisory jurisdiction in civil proceedings involving questions of Islamic personal Law which the court

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    253 is competent to decide.” See Constitution of Nigeria, 1999; see also Edu et al., The Sharia Issue: Working Papers for a Dialogue. 7. Constitution of Nigeria, 1999. 8. Constitution of Nigeria, 1999. 9. For example, the subject of citizen’s economic rights is defined in Chapter II, Section 16 of the Constitution, part of which asserts that “the state shall . . . without prejudice to the right of any person to participate in areas of the economy within the major sector of the economy, protect the right of every citizen to engage in any economic activities,” and Section 17, which reads in part, “The State shall direct its policy toward ensuring that . . . all citizens, without discrimination on any group whatsoever, have the opportunity for securing adequate means of livelihood.” See Simeon Okezuo Nwobi (2000), Sharia in Nigeria: What a Christian Must Know, Abuja: Totan. 10. Nwobi contends that this would violate Chapter 4, Section 41 (1) of the Constitution: “Every citizen of Nigeria is entitled to move freely throughout Nigeria and to reside in any part thereof.” See Constitution of Nigeria, 1999; see Nwobi (2000). 11. Chapter 4, Section 38 (1) of the 1999 Constitution reads in part, “Every person shall be entitled to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion, including freedom to change his religion or belief.” See Constitution of Nigeria, 1999. 12. Quoted in Ludwig 2008, pp. 613–​14. 13. Section 38 (3) of the 1999 Constitution notes: “No religious community or denomination shall be prevented from providing religious instruction for pupils of that community or denomination in any place of education maintained wholly by that community or denomination.” See Constitution of Nigeria, 1999. 14. Legislative provisions among the twelve northern states varied from state to state, with sharia courts in each state having their own distinct characteristics. However, these provisions in all twelve northern states include the creation of sharia courts, the enactment of a penal code based on Islamic law, and the expansion of the jurisdiction of the Sharia Court of Appeal. In all of these states, sharia courts replaced the old area courts as courts of first instance in Islamic legal matters. Now under the supervision of the grand qadi, the courts have jurisdiction in criminal cases on all matters involving Muslims; in civil cases, sharia courts have jurisdiction on Muslims as well as on consenting non-​ Muslims. Appeals in sharia courts of first instance could only be adjudicated in superior sharia courts, with ultimate appeals only to the Sharia Court of Appeal. Significantly, the Sharia Court of Appeal for the first time since its creation now has jurisdiction in criminal cases. See Oba (2004), “The Sharia Court of Appeal in Northern Nigeria,” 883–​4. 15. See Muhibbu-​Din, 2000. 16. See Muhibbu-​Din, Shari’ah in a Multi-​Faith Nigeria. 17. Tayob, “The Demand for Shari’ah in African Democratisation Processes,” 45. 18. David P. Johnson, Jr. (2000). “Islamic Law May Spread in Nigeria,” Washington Report on Middle East Affairs April 2000: 53, 58–​59.

References Newspapers and Periodicals National Concord, Weekend, and Sunday Concord “We Need One Party State,” National Concord, August 2, 1999.

254   Olufemi Vaughan “Nigeria Will Lead World Back to God,” National Concord, October 11, 1999. “Obasanjo Worried over Shari’a,” National Concord, October 18, 1999. “In Zamfara, Tension over Shari’a,” National Concord, October 21, 1999. “Bauchi Moves to Adopt Shari’a,” National Concord, October 25, 1999. “Govt Will Not Hesitate to Implement Shari’a,” National Concord, December 12, 1999. “Pending Cases in Zamfara to be Heard in Shari’a Courts,” National Concord, January 17, 2000. “Niger Set to Send Sharia Bill to Assembly,” National Concord, January 18, 2000. “Shari’a: No State Can be Declared Islamic, Says Adegbite,” National Concord, January 31, 2000. “Sharia Implications for Nigeria,” National Concord, February 2, 2000. “Shari’a: Days of Rage, Blood, and Death in Kaduna,” Weekend Concord, February 25, 2000. “Shari’a: From Zamfara to Kaduna,” Weekend Concord, February 26, 2000. “More People Flee Kaduna . . . Students Vacate Campuses . . . Soldiers Drafted to Kano,” Sunday Concord, February 27, 2000. “We Didn’t Suspend Sharia,” National Concord, March 3, 2000. “Community Leaders Alert on Imminent Religious Violence,” National Concord, April 10, 2000. “The Way Forward,” National Concord, May 5, 2000. “Muslims Urged to Defend Islam,” National Concord, June 14, 2000. “In Search of a Peaceful Society,” National Concord, June 30, 2000. “Winds against Shari’a’s Soul,” National Concord, July 14, 2000. “Sharia Not Aimed at Obasanjo,” Sunday Concord, July 23, 2000. New Nigerian“Shari’ah,” New Nigerian, January 3, 2000. “Zamfara Governor Hailed over Shari’a,” New Nigerian, January 3, 2000. “Ugly Face of Contradiction,” New Nigerian, January 12, 2000. “The Right Belief Is Based on Shari’a,” New Nigerian, January 21, 2000. “Shari’a Committee in Kaduna Hailed,” New Nigerian, January 25, 2000. “Towards a Northern Renaissance,” New Nigerian, January 30, 2000. “The Meaning of Prophethood, Messengership, and Sainthood,” New Nigerian, February 4, 2000. “Give Shari’a a Chance,” New Nigerian, February 8, 2000. “Zamfara Organizes Seminar for Royal Fathers on Shari’a,” New Nigerian, February 9, 2000. “Governor Mu’azu, a Word on Shari’a,” New Nigerian, February 16, 2000. “Understanding Shari’a Law,” New Nigerian, February 16, 2000. “Of Elders Fora and the North,” New Nigerian, February 21, 2000. “Shari’a in the North: Fear of the Unknown,” New Nigerian, February 27, 2000.

Books and Journals Ado-​Kurawa, Ibrahim (2000). Shari’ah and the Press in Nigeria: Islam versus Western Christian Civilization. Kano: Kurawa Holdings. Abdur Rahman, I. Doi (1989). “The Impact of English Law and Concepts on the Administration of Islamic Law in Nigeria,” in African and Western Legal System of Contract, trans. T. Akinola Aguda et. al., Bayreuth African Studies Series (pp. 25–​56). Bavaria: Bayreuth University. Byang, Danjuma (1988). Shari’a in Nigeria: A Christian Perspective, Jos: Challenge. Callaway, Barbara J. and Creevey, Lucy (1993). The Heritage of Islam: Women, Religion, and Politics in West Africa. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner.

Sharia Politics, the 1999 Constitution, and the Rise    255 Durham, W. Cole (2005). “Nigeria’s ‘State Religion’ Question in Comparative Perspective,” in Philip Ostein, Jamila M. Nasir, and Franz Kogelman (eds), Comparative Perspective on Shari’ah in Nigeria (p. 145). Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Edu, S. L. et al. (2000), The Sharia Issue: Working Papers for a Dialogue. Lagos: Committee of Concerned Citizens. Essien, E. (2000). “The Jurisdiction of State High Courts in Nigeria,” Journal of African Law 44 (2): 264. Gumi, A. M. and Tsiga, I. A (1992). Where I stand. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Gusau, Nabara Sanda (1994). A Case for Shari’ah in Nigeria. Kaduna State. Hackett, Rosalind (2005). “Rethinking the Role of Religion in the Public Sphere: Local and Global Perspectives,” in P. Ostien, J. M. Nasir, and F. Kogelmann (eds), Comparative Perspectives on Shari’ah in Nigeria (pp. 86–​89). Ibidan: Spectrum Books. Harnischfeger, Johannes (2004). “Sharia and Control over Territory:  Conflicts Between ‘Settlers’ and ‘Indigenes’ in Nigeria,” African Affairs 103 (412): 438. Harnischfeger, Johannes (2008). Democratization and Islamic Law:  The Sharia Conflict in Nigeria. New York: Campus Verlag. Jinadu, Adele L. (1982). “Federalism, the Consociational State, and Ethnic Conflict in Nigeria,” Publius 15: 71–​100. Kenny, Joseph (1996). “Shari’a and Christianity in Nigeria: Islam and a Secular State,” Journal of Religion in Africa 26 (4): 338–​364. Kukah, Matthew H. (1993). Religion, Politics, and Power in Northern Nigeria. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Laitin, David (1982). “The Sharia Debate and the Origins of Nigeria’s Second Republic,” Journal of Modern African Studies 20 (3): 411–​430. Last, Murray (2008). “The Search for Security in Muslim Northern Nigeria,” Africa 78 (1): 47. Lubeck, Paul (2011). “Nigeria:  Mapping a Sharia Restorationist Movement,” in Robert W. Hefner (ed.), Sharia Politics:  Islamic Law and Society in the Modern World (p. 253). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Ludwig, Frieder (2008). “Christian-​ Muslim Relations in Northern Nigeria since the Introduction of Shari’ah in 1999,” Journal of of the American Academy of Religion 76 (3): 610–​617. Muhibbu-​Din, M. A. (ed.) (2005). Shari’ah in a Multi-​Faith Nigeria, Ibadan: Association of Teachers of Arabic and Islamic Studies. Nasir, Jamila (2002). “Women’s Human Rights in Secular and Religious Legal System,” Paper presented in at a conference on Islamic Legal System and Women’s Rights in Northern Nigeria, Abuja, Nigeria, October 27–​30, 2002. Civil Liberties Organisation (1992). Justice Denied:  The Area Court System in the Northern States of Nigerian. Ibadan: Kraft Books. Oba, Abdulmumini A. (2004). “The Sharia Court of Appeal in Northern Nigeria:  The Continuing Crises of Jurisdiction,” American Journal of Compararive Law 52 (4): 895. Rashid, Syed Khalid (1986). Islamic Law in Nigeria: Application and Teaching. Lagos: Islamic Publiation Bureau. Sambo, Bashir (2003). Shari’a and Justice:  Lectures and Speeches. Zaria, Nigeria:  Sankore Educational Publishers. Takko, Danlami M. B. (2000). “Governor Mu’azu, a Word on Shari’a,” New Nigerian February 16, 2000.

256   Olufemi Vaughan Sanusi, Sanusi Lamido (2005). “The West and the Rest:  Reflections on the Intercultural Dialogue about Shari’ah,” in P. Ostien, J. M. Nasir, and F. Kogelmann (eds), Comparative Perspectives on Shari’ah in Nigeria (p. 257). Ibidan: Spectrum Books. Sanusi Garba, Muhammadu (2000). “Unnecessary Fears of the Shari’a” (editorial), New Nigerian, January 6, 2000. Yusuf, Ahmed Beita (1982). Nigerian Legal System:  Pluralism and Conflict of Laws in the Northern States. Delhi: India National Publishing House.

Chapter 15

Ex ecu tive D om i na nc e a nd Hyper-​P reside nt ia l i sm in Nigeria Yahaya T. Baba

Introduction Like other former British colonies in Africa, Nigeria abandoned its Westminster-​style parliamentary system after the demise of the short-​lived First Republic (1960–​6). The premature collapse of democracy in 1966, through a bloody military coup, spurred national debates as to which democratic system of government could best guarantee stability, order, and national integration in Nigeria. At different fora, particularly in various constitutional conferences and constituent assemblies organized by different military regimes, the American presidential system of government was endorsed as the preferred system to the parliamentary model. Thus were instituted the 1979, 1989, and 1999 constitutions, which were designed in favor of presidentialism, meaning a separation of powers and an executive serving a fixed term who is not dependent upon the confidence of the legislature. However, even with the choice and adoption of presidential system of government, Nigeria’s political crisis and instability continued unabated. For instance, the first presidential regime installed in 1979 was truncated by the military in 1983. Only the 1999 Constitution has survived multiple election cycles, producing in 2015 party turnover for the first time in Nigeria’s political history. This raises several questions. Why has Nigeria preferred the presidential system of government, given its mixed record? In light of the ruling party’s defeat in 2015, can Nigeria’s democratic development in the Fourth Republic be attributed to features of presidentialism? And even more importantly, despite recent progress, should we consider the executive too powerful? The chapter argues that the presidential model has entrenched dominant executives in Nigeria. However, this requires looking beyond the 1999 Constitution’s role in the emergence of powerful

258   Yahaya T. Baba presidents and the culture of executive dominance. This chapter therefore examines various informal practices and traditions that influenced the country’s gradual drift towards hyper-​presidentialism, despite the checks and balances evidenced by Suberu’s chapter within this volume and elsewhere. This chapter also highlights a little noticed irony in studies of Nigeria’s executives: the choice of presidentialism was substantially influenced by Nigeria’s military regimes, all of which emphasized the flaws of parliamentary government in their respective constitutional reform projects. These puzzles constitute the main fulcrum of this chapter.

The First Republic and the Crisis with Nigeria’s Parliamentary Democracy Nigeria’s first postcolonial government adopted a traditional British Westminster model, democratically constituted after the 1959 general elections. Arguably, the First Republic only acquired full independence in 1963, when Nigeria discarded the ceremonial and constitutional role of the British crown as the country’s governor general. The Republican Constitution of 1963 created the office of the Head of State who was chosen from the majority party or coalition of parties in the parliament that formed the government. The choice of the parliamentary system of government in the buildup to independ­ence was a deliberate commitment to ensure the effective management of the country’s complex fragmentation. The evolution of a parliamentary government in Nigeria was both an imposition and a product of necessity. For one, British power was bent on retaining its influence and control of the Nigerian state even after independence. For another, the Nigerian indigenous elites, who negotiated with the British for independence, were somewhat comfortable with a parliamentary design that apportioned enormous powers to regional governments and made politics at national parliament a function of the electoral outcomes at regional and constituency levels. The leading Nigerian nationalists quickly embraced the parliamentary arrangement because they saw it as a means of maintaining their regionally-concentrated power and influence. This way they controlled resources and political incentives at regional level and negotiated their positions in the national parliament either as an official opposition platform or a majority party as a whole or in coalition with other party(ies). The First Republic suffered from certain fundamental structural and institutional weaknesses. In the first place, the total landmass of the Northern Region was bigger than the other two regions, east and west, put together. The population distribution also suggested that the north has numerical strength over the total population of the combined Western and Eastern regions. This design was suspected to be deliberate, in order to favor the Northern Region, which appeared friendlier to the colonialists

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    259 compared to the populations and elites in the south. This gave conservative Muslim elites in the Northern Peoples’ Congress (NPC) an advantage with a highly majoritarian electoral system, and facilitated the regional concentration of parties, thus undermining the goal of national integration. In addition to the tension of interparty conflicts among the regionally established parties, various minority groups across the regions emerged in opposition to the dominant parties in the regions. These parties periodically aligned themselves with the parties in other regions that appeared sympathetic to their demands for a separate state. These cracks within the regions also provided opportunities for the dominant parties to extend their influence beyond their traditional strongholds. A coalition government formed between northern and southeastern politicians raised hopes that parliamentary arrangements offered a framework for elites to pursue dialogue, compromise, and consensus for sustainable democracy and development. Events, however, proved otherwise. Regional rivalries and tension escalated and cracks began to emerge even within the coalition government. The national population census of 1962 was one of the major issues that shook the foundation of the coalition government. Population figures were used in allocating revenue to the regions and determining the number of parliamentary seats. This led to the politicization of the census and widespread fraud. There was evidence of inflated figures in the southern regions according to the chief census officer, yet the Northern Region retained its numerical advantage. Expectedly, southern elites rejected the results, which led to its cancellation and the conduct of a fresh census in 1963. Even with the recount, the new figures gave the Northern Region a population of 29,758,975 out of the total of 55,620,268. These figures strategically entrenched the dominance of the Northern Region in the federation. Apparently, the nature of institutional arrangements in the parliamentary system of Nigeria’s First Republic, particularly the influence of the regional structures in national politics, made the country even more fragile. For instance, power tussles within the western regional government in 1962 led to the intervention of the central government and the declaration of a state of emergency in the region. The federal coalition government also created the Midwestern Region from the Western Region in 1963. This crippled the opposition in parliament and increased the dominance of the NPC. It also exacerbated tension, unrest, and disenchantment among the people, which culminated in the breakdown of the parliamentary system. Coalitions in the 1964 elections again accentuated the north–​south dichotomy in electoral competition. The incumbency advantage played out clearly in the organization, conduct, and management of the elections. Expectedly, there were claims and evidence of electoral malpractice and fraud on a monumental scale, largely in favor of the coalition parties in control of the center. During this period, ethnic pogroms against Igbos increased instability. Eventually democracy collapsed with a coup (January 1966) and countercoup (July 1966), and the instability further descended into the Nigerian Civil War (1967–​70). Accordingly, it has been argued that Nigeria’s First Republic collapsed largely on account of the fragile nature of the parliamentary regime. Moreover, the regions and

260   Yahaya T. Baba the parties that controlled them functioned as parochial organizations. They lacked the credentials of national structures and disregarded institutionalized frameworks for conflict resolution. The colonial orientation of the regions and parties also affected the outlook and operation of other national institutions. The parliament, for instance, drew its membership from regionally based parties under the leadership of uncompromising cultural elements. This made it difficult for dialogue, cooperation, and national consensus. Other institutions such as the public services, the electoral commission, the security agencies, and even the military were dragged into partisan politics, which exacerbated tension. Overall, the conduct of the political actors was central to the collapse of the parliamentary regime. The parliamentary system—​which provided the opportunities for ethnic nationalities to shape the political and socioeconomic transformation of the newly independent state—​was abused in elite struggles for power and access to state resources. The fragile nature of Nigeria’s parliamentary regime informed the basis for military intervention in the politics and governance of Nigeria. Thus after prolonged military rule, subsequent democratic transitions in Nigeria placed their hopes in presidentialism’s ability to promote national integration.

The Military, Constitutional Development, and Presidentialism in Nigeria Nigeria’s constitutional development, particularly in the postcolonial period is greatly influenced by the military. After the collapse of the parliamentary democracy in January 1966, the military established itself as the central institution that influenced the transformation and restructuring of the Nigerian state. This was achieved as a result of an extensive period of military interregnum. Over the course of prolonged military rule, decrees became the dominant legal instrument for the maintenance of law and order, governance, and administration of justice. Thus substantial parts of the constitutional provisions inherited by the military were abrogated and replaced with decrees. Most of the decrees were meant to be emergency laws, with the view to creating the necessary atmosphere for national integration as the basis for transition to civil and democratic rule. The democratic transition programs of the military were thus determined and actualized by certain constitutional arrangements. These constitutional-​ making processes were largely determined and overtly influenced by different military regimes which set the agenda. One of the most remarkable impacts of the military on Nigeria’s constitutional design has been the shift away from a parliamentary to a presidential system of government. Consistently, the three constitution-​making processes supervised by the military adopted a presidential system of government. Thus the 1979, 1989, and 1999 constitutions all adopted the presidential model. The military’s attraction to a presidential system may not be unconnected with Nigeria’s turbulent

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    261 experience under the parliamentary arrangement. Thus the choice of presidentialism as a system of government is both a product of constitutional developments and the influence of military regimes in the politics and government of Nigeria. Military regimes are inherently centralized and autocratic. The suspension of parts of the Constitution and the enactment of decrees abrogated them enormous powers with little or no limitations. For instance, Decree No. 1 of 1966 established the Supreme Military Council (SMC) and the Executive Council. The former operated like the cabinet. Section 3 of the decree provided that the Federal Military Government had the power to make laws for the peace, order, and government of Nigeria. Decree No. 2 renamed the federation as the “Republic of Nigeria,” which made Nigeria a unitary state. The decrees introduced by the military mainly centralized power to limited selected members of the military and a few civilian members controlled by the head of state and commander-​in-​chief. The excessive centralization of power under military governments had a lasting influence on subsequent constitutional reforms leading up to the 1999 transition. For instance, the first democratic government that was established after prolonged military rule (1966–​79) was ordained to be presidential in its structures and provisions by the military. Teniola (nd) reports that on October 18, 1975, the-​then head of state, General Murtala Muhammed (1938–​76) addressed the opening session of the fifty-​ member Constitution Drafting Committee declaring that: “Supreme Military Council has carefully discussed and agreed on an executive Presidential system of Government.” He further mentioned that: The SMC has agreed on an executive Presidential system of Government in which the President and Vice-​President are elected, with clearly defined powers and are accountable to the people. We feel that there should be legal provisions to ensure that they are brought into office in such a manner so as to reflect the Federal character of the country.

To a very large extent that was how Nigeria eventually adopted a presidential system of government (Teniola nd). Thus even when the military declaration needed a constitution and the acceptance of the people, this was not hard to achieve by a government that ruled with decrees. Thus the military decreed the presidential system of government and subsequently established a fifty-​member Constitutional Drafting Committee, which as per the opinion of the military recommended the adoption of presidentialism. The 248-​member Constituent Assembly equally approved it. Although there were only thirty-​two nominees of the military government, the decision of the Constituent Assembly was also in line with the military declaration. Perhaps the decision of these ad hoc structures to rubber stamp the resolution of the military was borne out of concerns to hasten the process of democratic transition. The Constitution promulgated in 1979 was explicit about the structure, composition, powers, functions, and limitations of both the national and state assemblies. Chapter 4 of the Constitution was more detailed about the legislature, its distinct and overlapping

262   Yahaya T. Baba roles from both the executive and judiciary. Part  2 of the Constitution, particularly Section 5, subsections 1–​4, on the other hand, outlined the executive powers of both the federal and state governments. The president at the federal level and the governors at the state level were each elected separately from their respective legislatures. Chapter 5 of the 1979 Constitution was clear about how the executive was to be constituted distinctly from the legislature, and closely checked by it and the judiciary. Section 6, Part 2 of the Constitution equally provided for the existence of an independent judiciary. Subsections 1–​6 also outlined the structures, functions, powers, and composition of the judiciary. Chapter 4, however, provided details of what constituted the powers, functions, and limitations of the judiciary in relation to both executive and the legislature (for details of the institutions and structures of the Second Republic, see the 1979 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria). These provisions of the 1979 Constitution clearly provided for the presidential system of government, which gave birth to the Second Republic (1979–​83). Nigeria’s transition from military to civil rule and particularly the shift away from parliamentary to presidential democracy did not guarantee democratic consolidation. The regime and the constitution was truncated yet again by the military in 1983. What then were the challenges of presidentialism in Nigeria and particularly the Second Republic? The sudden collapse of the Second Republic created doubt as to the suitability of presidentialism in Nigeria. It was argued that the adoption of the presidential system of government was merely an imposition of the military rather than the consensus of the people. The disadvantages inherent in the presidential system contributed to the imminent collapse of Nigeria’s Second Republic. For instance, it is argued that in a presidential regime, the executive is elected to serve for a fixed term, and during that term the president has the exclusive ability to exercise executive power. This is against what obtains in a parliamentary system, whereby authority resides with the legislature, and that the members of parliament are responsible for the election of the head of government. Theoretically, therefore, the two systems differ in the manner in which power is determined and allocated. Juan Linz (1994), for instance, argues that the presidential system is inherently inferior to the parliamentary system for more than a few reasons. In the first place, it is less flexible than the parliamentary system, largely because of the stringent procedures for the removal of an executive who may have lost the support of the people. Second, the executive powers of the president suggest that there is little incentive for coalition-​building or power-​sharing compared to parliamentary governments. This makes politics more fragmented and polarized. In this regard, it could be argued that one of the reasons for the sudden collapse of Nigeria’s Second Republic was the rigid nature of power relations in presidential systems. For instance, the First Republic was even more turbulent, yet on account of the flexible nature of the system it endured for six years, due to different strategies employed to temporarily cope with the crises. Additionally, there is the issue of executive–​legislative gridlock, where government action is stalled by differences between the executive and legislative branches, both of which can claim some electoral legitimacy (Linz 1994). However, gridlock can be overcome in presidential regimes, because a president can

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    263 sometimes take unilateral action to determine policy. Thus even when there are constitutional limits to executive powers, these limitations can generally be circumvented with presidential decrees, executive orders, and other mechanisms designed to facilitate swift action in times of emergency. In some countries, such as Argentina, the result of this kind of executive unilateralism has been drift towards hyper-​presidentialism (Brito 2016). The crises that culminated in the collapse of Nigeria’s Second Republic are very complex and are discussed in detail in Fashagba’s chapter in this volume. Though many factors are said to be responsible for the collapse of the Second Republic, the presidential system basically failed on account of executive recklessness. Intra-​and interparty conflicts and violence, electoral fraud and the attendant consequences, economic mismanagement, and pervasive corruption largely accounted for the instability of the first presidential system. The limited capacity of the executive paralyzed the economy, particularly its handling of the economy in the times of oil glut in the early 1980s. The desperation on the part of the ruling National Party of Nigeria (NPN) to secure re-​election in 1983 made cabinet members excessively corrupt, which increased poverty and unemployment as well as hunger. The high concentration of power in the hands of the executive and the executive control of the party and the legislature increased the fragility of the presidential system in the Second Republic. Thus in the buildup to the elections in 1983, the polity was overheated with fierce and unprincipled competition for power among parties that were more established in certain parts of the country rather than across the nation. This made the 1983 general elections fraudulent and violent (see Oyediran 1997). The widespread resentment and violence generated by the 1983 elections (Shehu 1984; Toyin and Ihonvbere 1985) as a result of the reckless use of executive power at both the federal and state levels only prepared the ground for military intervention and the collapse of the first presidential regime and the consequent truncation of the 1979 Constitution. The first presidential regime in Nigeria was short-​lived, not as a result of the limitations inherent in the system but mostly as a consequence of the management of the political system by the actors involved. The military intervention and the regime that emerged after the December 31, 1983 coup was mainly concerned with the abuses that characterized the government (corruption) rather than the flaws inherent in the presidential system. The military regime came into force with the enactment of Decree No. 1 of 1983, which suspended the 1979 Constitution and gave the Federal Military Government (FMG) unlimited legislative powers. Many actions of the FMG such as arrest and detention of politicians, freezing of bank accounts, changing of banknotes, and a ban on importation of certain food items were swiftly taken to avert societal degeneration, economic crisis, and political instability. As discussed at length in Osaghae’s chapter in this volume, the military interregnum lasted fifteen years. During this period, Nigeria had one of the most extensive and prolonged transitions to civil rule programs. There were a series of proposals and modifications of the transition programs. One notable program was the aborted Third Republic, which promulgated the 1989 Constitution. The Constitution was a replica

264   Yahaya T. Baba of the 1979 constitution, though the processes leading to the enactment of the 1989 Constitution were more consultative and elaborate. Ibrahim Babangida’s regime set up a political bureau even before the establishment of the Constitution Drafting Committee and the Constituent Assembly. Eventually, the Third Republic was crafted just like the American presidential system with a two-​party system. At the climax of the transition program, after the inauguration of the National Assembly and the Constitution of the state governments, the annulment of June 12 presidential elections generated upheavals and General Babangida was forced to step down on August 17, 1993. An interim government was constituted under the leadership of Chief Ernest Shonekan. This interim government didn’t survive, however, as the military under General Sani Abacha dissolved it and discontinued the transition program. Abacha inaugurated the Provincial Ruling Council with the promise of an early return to democratic rule. Abacha’s Constitutional Conference was one of the most unconvincing and represented a façade, with the proceedings controlled by government agents. It actually produced yet another constitution in 1995. Among the unique features of the constitution were the recognition of the six geopolitical zones and a rotational presidency. The constitution, like the previous two constitutions, also recommended a presidential system of government. The sudden demise of Abacha led to the suspension of the proposed constitution and the dissolution of the suspicious transition program. The new military leader, General Abdulsalami Abubakar swiftly announced a new transition program due to domestic and international pressures. The new transition program began with the inauguration of the Constitution Drafting Committee. The committee was haphazard in its drafting of the constitution and even in the manner in which it conducted its affairs. Members conducted public hearings in specific centers and received memoranda from the public on the debate about the structure and system of government to be evolved as a guide to the transition program. After limited and rapid consultations, the committee recommended the adoption of the presidential system of government. Indeed, the recommendations of the committee suggested that the 1979 Constitution be adopted and the military government endorsed the committee’s recommendations. Eventually the 1999 Constitution was promulgated with a presidential system of government adopted for the country.

The Pinnacle of Executive Dominance: Is Nigeria Drifting Toward Hyper-​P residentialism? Presidential systems are designed to institutionally create separate branches of government and to promote balance in the distribution of powers among the branches of government. The rationale is to provide mechanisms for checking the conduct of three

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    265 organs: the executive, the legislature, and the judiciary. Nigeria’s consistent choice of a presidential system is largely informed by this thirst for checks and balances in the conduct of governmental affairs. The assumption has been that the three branches are co-​ equals with relatively equivalent powers. This assumption is far from true. In reality, all presidential regimes are structured to have strong presidents (Andrew and Kirsti 2009). For instance, presidents typically possess certain legislative initiative and agenda-​setting powers that allow them to exercise political leadership, for example, enabling them to propose legislation, control the legislative agenda, and issue decrees with legal force (IDEA 2015, p. 1). This makes presidential regimes somewhat lopsided in the balance of power. It is also argued that all presidential and semi-​presidential constitutions invest the president with some agenda-​setting and legislative initiative powers. Newer presidential constitutions, especially those in Latin America, tend to give more explicit legislative initiative powers to presidents (Rose-​Ackerman 2011). The excessive concentration of powers in the presidency may result in a hyper-​presidential regime, in which the president is subject to few effective constraints, undermining both democracy and good government (IDEA 2015, p. 1). Thus the provisions of the 1999 Constitution of Nigeria, like other previous presidential constitutions, seem also to reflect these assumptions. As with other presidential constitutions, the 1999 Constitution of Nigeria provides for enormous executive powers. One can argue that the insistence of various military regimes for a presidential system of government is largely as a result of the military orientation towards the command system and power centralization, which makes the decision-​making process swift and effective. The difference with the military is that there are institutional restraints that check excesses and abuses. The constitutional limitations control the conduct of the executive to prevent abuse of power and tyranny. In Nigeria, these limitations are embedded in the various powers and responsibilities of the legislature, as provided for by the Constitution. For instance, the functions of law-​making and oversights empowered the legislature to exercise tremendous control over the executive. These restraints and control mechanisms have often been successfully resisted and contested by the executive, setting the country on course towards hyper-​presidentialism. Hyper-​presidentialism is an emerging concept that creeps into the discourse of various forms of presidential arrangements. It occurs either when there are not sufficient limits on presidential powers or the president is able to subvert the limits that are institutionalized. Essentially it is when the executive office has too much power, officially or unofficially. The capacity for the president to act unilaterally in areas that are not the role of the executive is a symptom of hyper-​presidentialism (Brito 2016). In Argentina, for instance, the president can appoint people into high offices, even cabinet members, without legislative approval. He also has significant control over the provinces, particularly over the distribution of funds. The president thus has enormous discretion over the distribution of much money that goes to the provinces (Rose-​Ackerman et al. 2011). This is different from what obtains in Nigeria, at least as per the provisions of the 1999 Constitution. For one, the president in Nigeria has no power to appoint cabinet members and senior officials without the approval of the legislature. Since 1999, various presidents

266   Yahaya T. Baba have had cause to disagree with the legislature over presidential nominations. Recently, President Muhammadu Buhari has had his nominee for the chair of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission rejected on three occasions. In spite of this, however, the president has maintained the nominee as the head of the anti-​graft agency in an acting capacity. This suggests a predisposition towards hyper-​presidentialism. Thus while structurally, hyper-​presidentialism can be instituted or derived, there are also historical grounds for the transformation of certain presidential regimes to hyper-​ presidentialism. In Latin America, for instance, the preponderance of military rule stands out. In particular, the instability in Argentina in the buildup to military disengagement undermined the growth and development of democratic institutions. This is particularly the case with the legislature and judiciary, which are required and designed to check the executive. This resulted in significant control being vested in the executive (Smith 2005). This made the use of presidential decrees popular in Argentina in order to avoid constant gridlocks. In Argentina, therefore, presidents have more power to use decrees (Rose-​Ackerman et al. 2011). The use of presidential decrees is a clear indication of the emergence of a hyper-​presidential regime. Adam Prezworski (1991, p. 187) described this rule by decree as “People get a regular chance to vote, but not to choose.” In Nigeria, the use of presidential decrees is not provided for in the Constitution. However, presidents at various times used their prerogative to override the legislature and even the judiciary. There are many instances of abuse and disregard of court orders or even legislative decisions by presidents in Nigeria. Recently, various courts have granted bail and instructed the executive to respect the fundamental rights of some personalities under detention without compliance. Notable of these cases are former National Security Adviser (NSA) Colonel Sambo Dasuki, Nnamdi Kanu, the leader of the Independent People of Biafra (IPOB), and Sheikh Ibraheem Al-​Zakzaky, the leader of the Islamic Movement in Nigeria (IMN). This suggests some of the recklessness of executive power and the abuses that often drifts to hyper-​presidentialism. Recently also, the executive through one of its agencies, the Directorate of State Security (DSS) attacked the residences of top judges of the High and Supreme Courts on account of suspected charges of corruption. The attacks were carried out disregarding the laid down procedures of investigations. Though huge amount of funds were said to have been recovered, the executive acted in blatant disregard to due process. The acts are said to have been on the instructions of the president. Several professional and civil society organizations (CSOs) condemned this illegal act of the president. These unilateral actions of the executive, in contrast to the existing practices in presidential arrangements, indicate that Nigeria’s presidential democracy is headed towards hyper-​presidentialism, although the executive at various points is credited with upholding the rule of law by obeying court decisions that appear highly political. For instance, the conflict between the former president Obasanjo and his vice president, Atiku Abubakar, is a case in point. The former declared the seat of the latter vacant when he defected to an opposition party. The Supreme Court, however, ruled that the president has no power to hire and fire the vice president as they are jointly elected. The Lagos state government also defeated the Obasanjo-​led presidency when the federal government withheld the allocation of local

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    267 government funds. These and related issues give some measure of confidence that the president’s powers in Nigeria are limited. However, it can be argued that the culture of executive dominance is more apparent in respect to executive–​legislature relations. At the onset of democracy in 1999, the executive tried to subordinate the legislature and entrench its dominance in the governance process. In the first place, as obtains in typical African democracies, where legislatures are relegated to mere “rubber stamps” of the executive, and rendered to an “order of executive dominance,” Nigeria is no exception. Thus power tussles between the executive and members of the legislature are common occurrences in Nigeria. It has also been largely responsible for high leadership turnover in the legislature. In some instances, the executive acts under the guise of party supremacy and often party members are coerced into accepting the proposals of the executive as the position of the party. This has caused serious tensions, instability, and crisis in the legislature since 1999. This point was equally stressed by Salisu Buhari1: The greatest challenge of Nigeria’s democracy since 1999 is how to get the executive arm of government appreciate the place and role of the legislature in the governance process. The fight by the legislature to ward-​off executive interference and dictatorship in the affairs of the House started under my regime but received a great boost under my successor. (This Day, June 6, 2009)

Thus whether or not the executive succeeded in its bid to impose leaders on the legislature has been a source of instability. Where the executive succeeds, the opposing members of the legislature continue to battle the person until he/​she is impeached or forced to resign. At the extreme of such opposition, party members take different positions from the party. This further complicates the crisis. According to Ume-​Ezeoke2 excessive executive interference in the activities of the legislature, particularly in the determination of its leaders, is largely responsible for leadership crises and instability in the legislature. He contends that his tenure as Speaker in the Second Republic was more stable because the executive, and indeed the parties, were more focused and disciplined. He further stressed that the suspension of the legislature during the military regime resulted in the stunted growth of the legislative arm of government in relation to the executive, which may explain the growing culture of executive dominance (This Day, June 6, 2009). Accordingly, the legislature is always a subject of ridicule by the executive. One of the tactics of subordinating the legislature by the executive in Nigeria is the imposition of its leaders by the latter. This has become an effective strategy of executive control of the legislature. Anyanwu argues: One of the defining characteristics of eight years of legislative practice was the struggle for supremacy between the executive and legislature. Behind the downfall of repeated leaders of both arms of NASS have been disagreements over control and independence of the legislature. Checks and balances were taken to mean opposition

268   Yahaya T. Baba to the executive branch and attempts to show the independence of NASS were dubbed disloyalty to the President and the party. Each presiding officer across time and session adopted different ways to cope with the situation. (Anyanwu 2007, p. 4)

In Nigeria, the executive control of party organizations, and by extension electoral incentives, make members of legislature vulnerable. For instance, from 1999 to 2007 none of the leaders of the legislature were re-​elected. Some of them could not seek re-​ election because the party refused to renominate them, while others who perceived the plot against them by the party and the executive refused to seek re-​election. However, for Ghali Umar Na’Abba3, who won primary elections for the 2003 elections, the party supported a candidate from the opposition party, ANPP, in his constituency (author interview, Masari). This is perhaps the case with Anyim Pius Anyim and Aminu Bello Masari. In both cases, they were believed to be “anointed” by the executive, but they resisted attempts by the executive to influence their actions in the legislature. For instance, the refusal of Anyim Pius Anyim to manipulate the proposed Electoral Bill 2002 and ensure its passage as presented by the executive, pitted him against the presidency. In the case of Aminu Bello Masari, the failure of his leadership to manipulate legislative processes and ensure the endorsement of the third-​term issue also affected his relations with the presidency. In both cases, the presidency in collaboration with the PDP punished the two leaders. Both Anyim and Masari were, however, frustrated by the party under the influence of the presidency in their bid to contest gubernatorial elections in their respective states (author interview, Masari). Accordingly, divergent sources of information confirmed the excessive interference of the executive in the affairs of the legislature, particularly the choice and removal of its leaders. This situation was more glaring under the former president, Olusegun Obasanjo; his military background was argued to be responsible for his dictatorial tendencies. This is the view of Faruk Lawan: We all know by now the President still have hangover of his military background. He seems to be high-​handed in the way he handles issues especially with regards to both the legislature and judiciary. And there must be credible opposition, principled opposition to check the excesses of the executive arm of the government. (Hotline, September 5, 1999)

Similarly, Ghali Umar Na’Abba also corroborated this viewpoint: I think what is happening is that, the President being in the military for most period of his life has the tendency to be dictatorial and we must not forget the fact that he was at one time a Head of State under military dispensation. The military style of governance is such that the executive performs the functions of the legislature and judiciary. I believe that this has a bearing on the behaviour of the President [sic]. (Hotline, September 5, 1999)

Ken Nnamani also acknowledged the increased culture of executive dominance, particularly its interference in the affairs of the legislature. He argues that this contradicts

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    269 the philosophy of a presidential system of government. He disputes the assumption that the leadership of NASS are stooges of the executive and contends that the president of the Senate and Speaker of the House of Representatives ought to be independent of the ruling party and the executive. He maintains: “It would not serve any useful purpose to impose a Senate president against the wishes of the majority of senators. In the last eight years the Senate has had five Senate presidents. The large turnover is traceable to executive interference” (Leadership, June 1, 2007). However, because of the trend of imposition of legislative leaders by the executive under the guise of party supremacy, it is assumed that the imposed leaders often compromise the autonomy of the legislature to serve the vested interests of the executive. Even when imposed leaders of the legislature are impeached and replaced by freely elected trustees of members or when the imposed leaders abandon their executive, there are always attempts by the executive to ensure that such leaders are impeached. For instance, the election of Ghali Umar Na’Abba as the speaker after the resignation of Salisu Buhari, saw a House leadership that was committed to asserting the independence of the legislature. This gesture pitted him against the presidency and the latter masterminded several unsuccessful attempts at impeaching him. Although the executive branch did not succeed in unseating Na’Abba, it succeeded in breaking the House membership into mutually antagonistic factions. There were “pro and anti Na’Abba groups.” As a result his leadership experienced much internal unrest, culminating into unprecedented number of attempts at impeaching him. One of the fallouts of this struggle was that the House declared the Presidential liaison officer, Esther Uduchi a “persona non grata” in NASS having accused her of bribing some of the House members to impeach the Speaker. (Anyanwu 2007, p. 2)

In spite of the crisis that is associated with the imposition of legislative leadership, the trend has continued. For instance, on the eve of leaving office, the former president, Olusegun Obasanjo, in a meeting of the PDP caucus held at the presidential villa on May 30, 2007, endorsed the candidature of David Mark and Patricia Etteh as Senate President and Speaker, respectively. Speaking in defense of the action by the presidency and the PDP, Mahmud Kanti Bello, states that: It is not a question whether I support or reject whatever, we are party people and the party did not just do this alone, we are the people who accepted it this way. The party gave reasons and it should be so for everyone who supports the ranking policy in the Senate rules. The rule is very clear, it should be ranking Senators and if the party in its wisdom decided to zone these things and advised, then why is somebody complaining? [sic]. (This Day, May 31, 2007)

Thus, it can be argued that executive interference in the affairs of the legislature has over the years compromised the quality of presidential democracy in Nigeria. Accordingly, the executive consistently, whether in the exercise of its constitutional powers or in contravention of the Constitution, regards the legislature as a

270   Yahaya T. Baba subordinate institution. Just like the experiences of many Latin American states that are drifting rapidly towards hyper-​presidentialism, largely through constitutional amendments, in Nigeria the executive encroachment into the jurisdiction of other branches of the state has been through the abuse of power. It should also be mentioned that limits on Nigeria’s presidential powers are not only through judicial and legislative checks, the states (subnational entities) also constrain the actions of the presidents in Nigeria. Nigeria is a federation of thirty-​six states and the Federal Capital Territory. The Constitution, through fiscal federalism, provided for the distribution of national wealth through the Revenue Mobilization, Allocation and Fiscal Commission. The federal government has no overt power in revenue allocations. This makes the states somewhat autonomous and mostly assertive. Although the president controls security agencies, governors are constitutionally the chief security officers of their respective states. They also enjoy legal immunity, as does the president. This makes it difficult for the president to control or even influence them. The governors also control the local governments in their states in that they are responsible for the management and disbursement of their funds. The State–​ Local Governments Joint Account made governors even more powerful. States further assert their authorities through the Nigerian Governors Forum (NGF). For instance, after the presidency of Obasanjo, all the subsequent presidents elected except Muhammadu Buhari were former governors. They control such huge electoral incentives and financial resources that the president must engage with them to win elections or facilitate the adoption of certain policies or the enactment of laws. The governors also strongly control their respective Houses of Assembly in that they are mostly instrumental to their emergence as candidates in the ruling parties and members of the legislature. Even members of the National Assembly from their states are greatly influenced by their governors. A  typical example of this was the defection of some governors from the ruling PDP to the-​then opposition APC in the buildup to the 2015 general elections. Almost all the members of the National Assembly from these states equally defected along with their governors. This helped cripple the PDP’s re-​election bid in the 2015 elections.

Conclusion: Between Hyper-​P residentialism and Executive Dominance in Nigeria Nigeria’s transition to presidential democracy is largely a resolution of the military rather than the consensus of the people. The experiment with the parliamentary system collapsed in 1966 through a bloody military coup. In spite of the built in mechanisms of dialogue and cooperation, the political actors squandered the

Executive Dominance and Hyper-Presidentialism in Nigeria    271 opportunities for consensus-​building and cooperation in the parliamentary system. Subsequently, the military prolonged its stay in power, which entrenched the culture of executive dominance through excessive centralization and fusion of governmental powers. The military eventually succumbed both to domestic and international pressures to transfer power to the civil authority. The various transition programs were equally determined by the military. Thus various constitutional-​ making processes were dictated by the military. This led to the choice and adoption of a presidential system of government in at least three transition programs that produced the 1979, 1989, and 1999 constitutions. The first presidential regime abruptly collapsed in 1983, while the second experiment was aborted with the annulment of the presidential elections held  on June 12, 1993. However, the current presidential regime has survived four transitional elections. In spite of this milestone, the practice of presidentialism is still at risk. Clearly, the executive, particularly the presidents, are not comfortable with checks and balances. Unlike in Latin America where constitutional amendments give additional powers to presidents to rule with decrees, in Nigeria the political environment has resisted such temptation. Even attempts by former President Obasanjo to extend his tenure through constitutional amendments, were thwarted by the legislature with the support of CSOs. Notwithstanding, presidents in Nigeria abrogated to themselves powers in contravention to the Constitution. Many abuses and encroachments into the jurisdictions of both the legislature and the judiciary have over the years entrenched the culture of executive dominance in Nigeria’s Fourth Republic. The interferences in the activities of the legislature and the blatant disregard of court decisions discussed are cases in point. Thus, in practice Nigeria exhibits some attributes of hyper-​presidentialism but these practices are not formalized either in the Constitution or any other legal framework.

Notes 1. Salisu Buhari was the first Speaker of the House Representatives in the Fourth Republic. He was forced to resign his position when it was discovered he had falsified his educational certificates. 2. Edwin Eme-​Ezeokewas the Speaker of the House of Representatives in the Second Republic, vice president of the ANPP, presidential flag-​bearer in the 2007 elections, and chairman of the party and a cabinet member of the APC government in 2015. 3. Ghali Umar Na’Abba was the second member to be elected Speaker of the House of Representatives after the resignation of Salisu Buhari in 1999.

References Anyanwu, Chris N.  D. (2003). The Law Makers, Federal Republic of Nigeria 2003–​2007. Abuja: Startcraft International.

272   Yahaya T. Baba Anyanwu, Chris N.  D. (2007). The Law Makers, Federal Republic of Nigeria 2007–​2011. Abuja: Startcraft International. Basabe-​ Serrano, Santiago (2017). “The Different Faces of Presidentialism:  Conceptual Debate and Empirical Findings in Eighteen Latin American Countries,” Revista Española de Investigaciones Sociológicas 157:  3–​22 (http://​dx.doi.org/​10.5477/​cis/​reis.157). accessed December 12, 2017. Brito, Anna C. (2016). “Misuse of Executive Power as an Obstacle to Democratic Institutional Reform in Argentina,” Claremont Mckenna College (CMC) Senior Thesis Paper 1366. http://​ scholarship.claremont.edu/​cmc_​theses/​1366 Ellis, Andrew and Samuels, Kirsti (2009). “Making Presidentialism Work:  Sharing and Learning from Global Experience,” in IDEA, Making Presidentialism Work, UNAM (pp. 509–​ 541). Stockholm:  International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance International (IDEA) SE-​103 34. Falola, Toyin and Ihonvbere, J. O. (1985). The Rise and Fall of Nigeria’s Second Republic, 1979–​84. London: Zed Books. Hotline Magazine (1999). September 5, 1999. IDEA (2015). “Presidential Powers:  Legislative Initiative and Agenda-​setting,” International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IDEA), October 2015. Levitt, Barry S. (2012). Power in the Balance:Presidents, Parties, and Legislatures in Peru and Beyond. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Linz, Juan J. (1994). “Presidential or Parliamentary Democracy: Does it make a Difference?” in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), The Failure of Presidential Democracy (pp. 3–​87). Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Malamud, Andrés (2001). “Presidentialism in the Southern Cone. A Framework for Analysis,” EUI Working Paper SPS No. 1. European University Institute Badia Fiesolana. O’Donnell, Guillermo (1994). “Delegative Democracy,” Journal of Democracy 5 (1): 55–​69. Othman, Shehu (1984). “Classes, Crises and Coups: the Demise of Shagari’s Regime,” African Affairs 83 (3): 441–​461. Oyediran, O. (1997). Electoral Violence and Party Politics in Nigeria. Ibadan: Oduduwa Press. Prezworski, Adam (1991). Democracy and the Market:  Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Relacion, April Farell and Grace C. Magalzo (2014). “System of Checks and Balances in the Philippine Presidential Form of Government,” Journal of Multidisciplinary Studies 3 (2): December 2014. Rose-​Ackerman, Susan et. al. (2011). “Hyper-​Presidentialism: Separation of Powers without Checks and Balances in Argentina and the Philippines,” Berkeley Journal of International Law 29: 246. Shugart, Matthew Søberg (2005). “Semi-​Presidential Systems:  Dual Executive And Mixed Authority Patterns,” Springer Open December, 3 (2): 323–​351. Smith, Peter H. (2005). Democracy in Latin America:  Political Change in Comparative Perspective. New York: Oxford University Press. This Day (2007). May 31, 2007. This Day (2009). June 6, 2009.

Chapter 16

Civil M ilitary A ffa i rs an d M ilitary C u lt u re i n P ost -​T ransiti on Ni g e ria Max Siollun

Introduction Nigeria’s military is currently engaged in the largest peacetime deployment in its history. The country’s historical legacy of military rule and the combined forces of political, religious, and social unrest in Nigerian society have coalesced to present the Nigerian military with its most severe challenge since the end of the civil war forty-​nine years ago. Although civilian governments have governed Nigeria since military rule ended in 1999, Nigeria’s military and politics are still afflicted by the legacies of challenges that developed but were not adequately addressed during the years of military rule. As a result, the military has been repeatedly summoned to confront violent emanations of its failed policies in government. Military rule failed to resolve core controversies about the structure of the Nigerian state, generated conflict between the military and civil society, and left a legacy of internal insurrection and political violence that endured after the military’s exit from political governance. This chapter will examine three aspects of civil–​military relations in post-​1999 Nigeria: subordinating the military to elected civilian authority in a postmilitary rule environment; confronting Nigeria’s intense internal security challenges; and relations between the military and civil society.

The Military and Politics: Four Decades of Military Rule The first four decades of Nigeria’s post-​independence history were dominated by its military. Eight different military governments ruled Nigeria for twenty-​nine of the

274   Max Siollun thirty-​three years between 1966 and the restoration of democracy in May 1999 (which are discussed in the chapter by Osaghae in this volume). However, legacies of the military rule remain. Contemporary federal political and military issues continue to be dominated by tackling the inherited legacies of military-​era policies. The process by which military rule ended in 1999 and was succeeded by an elected civilian government led by a retired military officer has been termed an “army arrangement,”1 manipulated by the military to ensure its succession by a political party and candidate of which it approved. Ironically the military profession has also been a casualty of military rule. Several military officers hold the view that “the military is always the first casualty when democracy is overthrown” (Shiyanbade 2001). Ten military coups in thirty-​one years (between 1966 and 1997), a civil war, and prolonged military rule depleted the officer corps, politicized and factionalized the military, and caused it to absorb multiple controversies and vices from civil society. After military rule ended in 1999, the military’s successor civilian government preoccupied itself with subordinating a coup-​prone military to civilian authority and reforming the military after decades of institutional decay under military rule. During his inaugural presidential speech in May 1999, President Obasanjo mourned: The incursion of the military into government has been a disaster for our country. The esprit de corps among military personnel has been destroyed. Professionalism has been lost. Most youths go into the military now not to pursue a noble career but with the sole intention of taking part in coups and to be appointed as military administrators of states and chairmen of task forces. As a retired officer, my heart bleeds to see the degradation in the proficiency of the military. A great deal of reorientation has to be undertaken and a redefinition of roles, retraining, and re-​ education will have to be done to ensure that the military submits to civil authority and regains its pride, professionalism, and tradition. (BBC 1999a)

Post-​military rule societies often face the challenges of consolidating the new democratic order by subordinating the military to civilian authority. Likewise, Obasanjo prioritized the depoliticization and reform of the military. Less than one month after he was sworn in as president, he retired ninety-​three military officers who were members of prior military governments (BBC 1999b). He also retired hundreds more officers over the next four years and replaced them with apolitical officers who had not participated in the past military governments. The retirement of politicized officers removed a destabilizing source of intramilitary tension between two competing ideological blocs in the military: the so-​called “professional” officers who had long advocated the military’s extrication from politics, and the so-​called “political” officers who defended the military’s right to intervene in politics (Siollun 2013, p. 206). The process of subordinating the military to civilian authority was not seamless. During several years of military rule, the military became unaccustomed to, and resisted, civilian oversight and control. The Chief of Army Staff Lieutenant-​General

Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    275 Victor Malu typified this residual resistance and continually challenged defense policies initiated by the Obasanjo government. A prominent example was Malu and other senior officers’ objection to Obasanjo’s decision to appoint the American company Military Professional Resources International (MPRI) to provide training and advice on security sector reform. Malu’s private and public criticism and obstruction of MPRI and other government-​initiated defense policies became so persistent that the United States Ambassador to Nigeria, Howard Jeter complained that dealing with the Nigerian military “felt like the removal of several teeth without novocaine.”2 Obasanjo finally tired of Malu’s intransigence and summarily retired him in 2001 along with the heads of the air force and navy3. After these forced retirements, overt military challenges to civilian political authority decreased. However, the intensity of military opposition to the modest reforms initiated by the Obasanjo government demonstrated that the military was still influential enough to slow down, and place boundaries on, the scope of military reforms. Dialogue on military reforms was not broadened to address long-​standing military deficiencies and institutional vices from the military rule era. The retirement of politicized officers achieved its short-​term objective of preventing a relapse to military rule, but could not by itself reverse decades of institutional damage  and neglect of the military that accrued during the military rule years. Corruption, incoherent defense spending, and the distraction of politics caused military training, equipment maintenance, and upgrades to be deprioritized. By the year 2000, 75 percent of the army’s equipment was either damaged or out of commission (Bach 2007, p. 311). The poor state of military equipment maintenance was exposed on January 27, 2002 when over 1,000 people were killed after military ammunition stored at the Ikeja army cantonment in Lagos exploded (UN 2002). Intermittent blasts continued overnight and rained down exploding projectiles across a three-​mile radius on nearby civilian neighborhoods. Terrified residents fled in panic, fearing that a military coup was in progress. Those not killed by the blast drowned in a lagoon while trying to escape in the dark. Even though the explosion was later shown to have been caused by negligence and poorly maintained equipment and storage facilities, no apology was forthcoming from the ministry of defense or the military high command, nor did the military give any explanation as to why such a large quantity of high-​grade explosives were kept so close to a heavily populated civilian area. Military rule created the conditions for underinvestment in weaponry and maintenance. Military governments were reluctant to equip the military sufficiently well enough for it to overthrow the military government. Successor civilian governments continued this legacy of military underinvestment. In January 2015 the National Security Adviser Lieutenant-​Colonel Sambo Dasuki (a former member of a military junta) admitted that the military’s equipment had not been significantly upgraded in over two decades (Dasuki 2015). The former Chief of Defense Staff General Martin Luther Agwai’s observation that: “our military is properly equipped to fight yesterday’s war” also revealed the extent of weaponry obsolescence4. These equipment deficiencies

276   Max Siollun impeded the military’s combat readiness and ability to respond to security challenges posed by new insurgent forces that emerged in the democratic era.

Armed Instability in the Democratic Era The latter military rule years were characterized not only by a pro-​democracy movement in civil society, but also by intense and conflicting conceptual contests for separation from the Nigerian state, and/​or radical political and military restructuring of it. These contests included control and sharing of Nigeria’s oil resources, Nigeria’s brand of federalism, and the balance of power between the federal government and Nigeria’s regional and ethnic constituencies. The military ceded power to civilians without addressing any of these incendiary controversies. Instead, military regimes had ruthlessly suppressed regional demands for a restructuring of the Nigerian state and all ethno-​regional articulations for Nigeria’s structure that were inconsistent with those of the military. Successive military governments used the military as enforcement agents for unpopular policies. Examples include the military’s suppression of resource control agitation in the oil-​producing Niger Delta which culminated in the execution (in 1995) of Ken Saro-​Wiwa and eight other Ogoni leaders who had campaigned against the activities of international oil companies in oil-​producing communities. The Babangida military government ordered a military crackdown on students who protested against its Structural Adjustment Policy (SAP) economic program in the 1980s. Soldiers invaded university campuses to suppress student unrest and closed universities. Military force became the option of first, rather than last, response to communal conflicts. Military tribunals were used to adjudicate matters such as armed robbery, drug trafficking, and other civil disturbances that were previously the domain of civilian institutions. The constant use of military force to suppress civil agitations also left a deep legacy of militarism in Nigerian society that still persists. After 1999, the ignored reformist and separatist agitations of the military rule era resurfaced violently. The political competition of democracy (which was unavailable under military rule) opened opportunities after 1999 for disaffected civilian elites and political groups to deploy violence as a means of gaining access to power, money, and other resources to which they felt they had been denied access. A plethora of armed ethnic or regional militias, vigilantes, and insurgent groups rose to present armed challenges to the state. These groups include the Oodua People’s Congress in the southwest, the Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB), and Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) in the southeast, Egbesu Boys, and Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) in the oil-​producing Niger Delta, Hisbah in the northwest region, and Boko Haram in the northeast. Most of these armed groups present

Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    277 weaponized responses to previously ignored grievances. They simultaneously act as self-​professed representatives and vigilante guardians of their communities and have engaged in intense violence. Over 100,000 Nigerians have been killed in ethnic and religious violence since 1999 (Bariledum et al. 2015, p. 24). As a result the military has been preoccupied by security challenges with roots embedded in the pre-​1999 era. The armed insurgency in Nigeria’s Niger Delta is among the most prominent of such challenges.

Niger Delta Insurgency (2003–​9) In April 1990 a group of young officers from the Niger Delta staged a coup to overthrow Nigeria’s then military leader, General Babangida. The coup plotters bitterly criticized the inequitable distribution of Nigeria’s oil revenue. Although the coup failed and its ringleaders were executed, it placed the collateral damage caused by Nigeria’s oil industry on the national agenda. The-​then military government’s failure to address mounting grievances in the Niger Delta allowed those grievances to fester and mutate into an insurgency after military rule ended. Years of pent-​up grievances, coupled with massive youth unemployment in the Niger Delta, erupted when youths armed themselves, formed militant groups, and waged an armed insurgency from 2003 to protest economic exploitation and environmental pollution in their states. They demanded greater regional autonomy and control of oil extracted from the Niger Delta. The militants formed several groups such as the Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force (NDPVF) and MEND. They sabotaged oil pipelines, attacked oil installations, and kidnapped oil workers. International oil companies closed some of their facilities and evacuated their staff. The militancy was worsened by the activities of criminal syndicates which engaged in piracy and oil “bunkering” (oil theft from pipelines). The insecurity severely disrupted Nigeria’s oil production and economy, and caused an increase in world oil prices. In 2008, Nigeria’s oil production fell by nearly 50 percent from its customary 2.2 million barrels per day to 1.2 million barrels per day (USIP 2011). The insecurity cost Nigeria approximately $100 billion in lost oil revenues between 2003 and 2008 (USIP 2009).

Operation Restore Hope In 2003, the military formed a Joint Task Force (JTF) featuring military, police, and intelligence units. The JTF launched a crackdown on the militants (codenamed “Operation Restore Hope”) during which they raided militant camps, seized weapons, and used helicopters and boats to patrol the creeks of the Niger Delta.

278   Max Siollun The inhospitable topography of the Niger Delta was a challenge for the military. The Delta’s narrow creeks, waterways, and marshes were dangerous for soldiers and provided plenty of hiding places for militants and their weapons. Conversely, the militants could not win a war against a better funded and better armed military. The military offensive demonstrated to both sides that neither side could achieve its aims by force alone. In June 2009, the federal government announced an amnesty deal with the militants, under which more than 25,000 militants agreed to stop fighting in exchange for the government granting them amnesty, monthly cash stipends, and training. The amnesty suspended, rather than terminated, the insurgency. It created a “cash for guns” precedent that will be difficult to reverse. The economic security of being on a regular government payroll has created a disincentive for militants to leave the amnesty program and re-​enter the employment market in which their salary will almost certainly decrease. It has also encouraged new militants to take up arms in the hopes of being incorporated into the amnesty program. The militants now hold an unofficial armed veto over the government’s oil industry policies. While the military can be blamed for failed policies under its political leadership, it has also been an indirect victim of the weakness of other state security forces. The military’s deployment for internal security exposed, and is a corollary consequence of, the ineffectiveness of the police. Nigeria’s police service is intensely disliked and distrusted in many communities for its corruption and disproportionate use of force. In 2008, a presidential committee concluded that the police is “saddled with a very large number of unqualified, under-​trained and ill-​equipped officers and men many of whose suitability to wear the respected uniform of the Force is in doubt.”5 The inability of the police to contain crime waves and multiple communal insecurity outbursts by itself, resulted in the government continually deploying military units to reinforce or substitute for police formations across the country. As a result the military has spent much of the past twenty years engaged on internal security operations to tackle terrorists, armed robbers, kidnappers, and ethnic, religious, and other communal riots. These military deployments use force to retroactively tackle emanations of socioeconomic and political challenges in Nigeria problems, without addressing their root causes. Many senior officers such as the former Chief of Army Staff Lieutenant-​General Victor Malu oppose the routinized deployment of soldiers for internal security operations. Malu stated that he had “always believed, and still believe, that soldiers should not be involved in basic law enforcement duties,” because “The army has neither the training nor the disposition for such assignments” (Malu 2013, p. 109). However, intense insurgencies in the Niger Delta and northeast, communal conflicts and insecurity in the Middle Belt and southeast, made mass internal military deployment unavoidable. Internal security demands are currently at their highest levels since the end of the civil war over forty-​eight years ago. By October 2016, the military was deployed on security operations in thirty of Nigeria’s thirty-​six states (CLEEN 2016). In 2014, the former Chief of Army Staff Lieutenant-​General Abdurrahman Bello

Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    279 Dambazau lamented: “It is not normal . . . in Nigeria today, the armed forces are the ones doing the duties of the police.”6 Mass military deployment among the civilian population has amplified the frequency and intensity of civil–​military contact and conflict. Military rules of engagement have not been sufficiently recalibrated to de-​emphasize the military’s usual modus operandi of eliminating an enemy, to being embedded in the civilian population during internal security operations (Agbola 2003, pp. 16–​17). A troubling emanation of this has been widespread accusations of excessive force and human rights abuses by the military. Anticrime and internal security operations frequently bear codenames that emphasize the maximum use of force by security agencies7. The current counterinsurgency operation in the northeast is codenamed Operation Lafiya Dole (peace via force).

Human Rights Mass military deployment demonstrated that unpleasant human rights practices that the military developed during the military rule years did not dissipate with the restoration of democracy. Human rights abuses by the security forces were rife during the military rule era and peaked during the 1984–​98 military governments led by Generals Buhari, Babangida, and Abacha. Buhari’s regime enacted military decrees that empowered it to indefinitely arrest and detain suspects without charge or trial if the military deemed them a security risk, and to retroactively impose the death penalty on drug traffickers. Babangida’s regime banned newspapers that criticized the military government, and the investigative journalist Dele Giwa was assassinated by a parcel bomb in 1986 after publishing articles that criticized the military government. It also closed universities and sent soldiers onto campuses to suppress student protests about the government’s economic policies. General Abacha’s regime imprisoned Moshood Abiola in 1994, due to Abiola’s unilateral declaration of himself as president after winning a presidential election the year before which the military subsequently annulled. Abiola’s wife Kudirat was shot dead (allegedly by the security forces) after campaigning for her husband’s release. Military officers in Abacha’s regime were also accused of arbitrarily arresting, torturing, and murdering pro-​democracy activists, human rights campaigners, trades union leaders, and other opponents of the government (Ogbondah 2000). Some countries that emerged from military rule placed former military leaders on trial for crimes committed while the military was in power8. Such transitional justice can establish a new paradigm and era of justice and accountability for military crimes. Nigeria’s post-​1999 process of democratic transition included only cosmetic attempts at transitional justice. In 1999, President Obasanjo inaugurated a Human Rights Violations Investigations Commission chaired by Justice Chukwudifu Oputa (known as the “Oputa Panel”). Despite receiving over 10,000 (ICG 2016, p. 5) petitions of human rights abuses and recommending prosecutions for military-​era crimes, the Oputa Panel

280   Max Siollun became a sinecure commission. Three former military heads of state whom the Panel summoned to appear and testify before it ignored the Panel’s summons—​without consequence9. The government did not pursue the prosecutions that the Panel recommended, and successive civilian governments ignored its report and declined to release it to the public. The failure to impose transitional justice when military rule ended enabled the culture of impunity for human rights abuses that developed under military rule to continue. Some soldiers “still carry military-​era attitudes” (ICG 2016, p. 17) of superiority to, and contempt for, civilians. Such attitudes were exposed during counterinsurgency operations during which soldiers committed severe human rights abuses such as mass arbitrary arrest and the summary execution of suspects. The scale of military abuses of civilians was demonstrated by two punitive military expeditions that occurred while the Oputa Panel was in session. In 1999 and 2001, soldiers invaded the communities of Odi (in Bayelsa State) and Zaki-​Biam (in Benue State) respectively, used heavy weapons including artillery and mortar bombs, killed hundreds of unarmed civilians, and razed houses in retaliation for the killing of security officers who were on duty in both communities (Human Rights Watch 1999, 2001). A serving army officer later admitted: “by the time the soldiers left, only a church, a community center, and a bank were left standing . . . Everything else was destroyed.” (Agbola 2003, p. 20) Rather than show contrition for the attacks, the Chief of Army Staff Lieutenant-​ General Victor Malu (who coordinated the Odi operation) defiantly and without remorse, defended the military’s actions in Odi by stating “We are not police officers. If you fire from a building I will dislodge you from your comfort zone by taking down the building. This is exactly what happened at Odi” (Malu 2013, p. 109). The failure to rein in military excesses generated further civil animosity against the military and intensified existing security challenges.

The Challenge of Boko Haram The security forces’ culture of impunity and reckless use of force was a causal factor in the weaponization of the Boko Haram insurgency from a low intensity communal conflict into a full guerrilla war that threatened national security. Just as Nigeria paused to exhale after weathering the Niger Delta insurgency, another insurgency emerged at the opposite end of the country and caught the government and security forces unprepared. Before 2009, Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati Wal-​Jihad10, (known colloquially as Boko Haram) had been perceived as an eccentric and severe religious cult, but was not a threat to national security. The catalyst for the group’s evolution into mass casualty terror attacks occurred when President Yar’Adua ordered a ruthless military crackdown on the group in 2009, during which security forces arrested and summarily executed the group’s leader Mohammed

Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    281 Yusuf, his 72-​year-​old father-​in-​law, the group’s alleged financier, and approximately 700 other members of the group (Washington Post 2014). The army also demolished Boko Haram’s mosque and headquarters. Gruesome photos and videos on social media showed security forces casually executing Boko Haram members by the roadside using machine guns. Rather than suppress Boko Haram, the extrajudicial killing of its leaders and members radicalized the group into more extreme violence. Desire to avenge their dead leader and members provided fuel that kept the group’s fire burning. Boko Haram unleashed an unprecedented wave of marauding mass casualty attacks using explosives, armored personnel carriers, machine guns, rocket-​propelled grenades, and suicide bombings that has so far killed more than 20,000 people and displaced more than 2 million others from their homes (Al-​Jazeera 2016). In May 2013, President Jonathan declared a state of emergency in the three northeastern states worst hit by the insurgency (Adamawa, Borno, and Yobe). JTF troops flooded into the northeast in the army’s largest troop deployment since the civil war. The JTF also escalated its violence in response to Boko Haram and some claimed that it “functioned like an army of occupation” (Mohammed 2014, p.  25). In April 2013, residents of Baga in the northeast claimed that soldiers retaliated against a Boko Haram attack that killed soldiers in the town by killing at least 185 unarmed civilians and burning over 2,000 houses (Human Rights Watch 2013) in the town (after blaming the town’s residents for sympathizing with and shielding Boko Haram members). In March 2014 the army responded to an attempt by Boko Haram to free its inmates detained at Giwa Barracks in Maiduguri by killing 600 of the detainees as they tried to escape (Amnesty International 2014). The Giwa Barracks incident also antagonized U.S. government officials. A former U.S. State Department official described it as “a nail in the coffin”11 of U.S. military assistance to Nigeria. The U.S. consequently blocked Nigerian government requests to purchase American military equipment (including Cobra Attack helicopters) from Israel12. Constant military deployment has also aggravated intramilitary cohesion and discipline. Troops from the 7 Division (which leads the fight against Boko Haram) opened fire on their commander in May 2014, after blaming him for a failed night-time operation that led to several of their colleagues being killed. This incident and other reports that some soldiers had refused to fight Boko Haram or had “tactically retreated” from battle, led to an increase in the frequency and severity of intramilitary punishment. In 2014, the Chief of Army Staff Lieutenant-​General Kenneth Minimah ordered a harsh crackdown on intra-army dissent, after which court martials sentenced sixty-​six soldiers to death for mutiny and refusing to obey orders. He rejected soldiers’ complaints about being poorly equipped and responded that “It is the soldier that fights, not the equipment.”13 The election of the uncompromising Muhammadu Buhari as president in 2015, along with his election campaign promises to “take the fight to” Boko Haram seemed to indicate that the military would continue to be the option of first response to Boko Haram. After being sworn in, he immediately ordered the army to crush the insurgency before the end of 2015. He also purged the military by replacing his national security adviser,

282   Max Siollun chief of defense staff, and the heads of the army, navy, and air force, in one fell swoop in July 2015. Buhari seems to be relying on local knowledge to fight the insurgency, as both the new national security adviser and chief of army staff he appointed are from the northeast where the insurgency rages and both had their hometowns attacked by Boko Haram. However, some in the military have begun to heed the often-​repeated mantra that military force alone cannot subdue Boko Haram. Nigeria’s former Chief of Defense Staff General Martin Luther Agwai said: “You can never solve any of these problems with military solutions . . . It is a political issue; it is a social issue; it is an economic issue, and until these issues are addressed, the military can never give you a solution.”14 However, socioeconomic measures will take years or decades to have effect. Since neither the military nor socioeconomic policies can eliminate Boko Haram in the short term, the military has begun to adapt and diversify its approach. The military has belatedly begun to extend a velvet glove to accompany its iron fist. In March 2014 the Office of the National Security Advisor (ONSA) unveiled a new “soft approach” to countering terrorism. The ONSA recruited behavioral psychologists to deradicalize and rehabilitate militants, and imams to render nonviolent interpretations of the Quran to counter Boko Haram’s narrative. In 2016, the military complemented this initiative by launching an “Operation Safe Corridor” program for insurgents to surrender and enter the rehabilitation program. For these programs to succeed, the military must conduct itself with uncharacteristic restraint, avoid summarily executing Boko Haram suspects (as they have done in the past), and keep them alive long enough for the psychologists and imams to do their work. The military has also become sensitized to its poor image with the civilian population. In 2011, the-​then Chief of Army Staff, Lieutenant-​General Onyeabor Azubuike Ihejirika created a Directorate of Civil–​Military Affairs (DCMA), and appointed a two-​star gen­ eral as the Chief of Civil–​Military Affairs to establish formal channels of communication with civil society groups15. In 2016, the DCMA created a human rights office within the department to facilitate interaction with human rights organizations, promote human rights, and investigate complaints of abuses by the military. Although the military continues to deny allegations of abuses, it has demonstrated greater willingness to engage with civil society and human rights groups. In 2016, it held interactive dialogues with human rights organizations such as the National Human Rights Commission, the Nigerian Bar Association, Amnesty International, and the International Committee of the Red Cross, and allowed them to inspect military detention facilities where Boko Haram suspects are detained. In January 2017 the Director of Defense Information, Major-​General Rabe Abubakar stated that “There is a policy shift in the military now; the days of secrecy are over.”16 The army has also undertaken corporate social responsibility projects such as road construction and providing free medical advice. Military rapprochement with civil society emerged as a matter of necessity, not choice. Boko Haram’s successes against the army and the army’s poor image, led the army to seek external engagement to counter Boko Haram and repair its image.

Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    283 The centralized nature of Nigeria’s security forces means that soldiers are often deployed in areas where they do not understand the local culture or language. This makes it difficult for them to obtain the trust or cooperation of locals. As a result the military has allied with a volunteer civilian group known as the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF). The CJTF are a hybrid of neighborhood watch schemes and ruthless vigilantes. The CJTF’s local knowledge and cooperation with regular security forces helped to push Boko Haram out of Maiduguri (the capital city of Borno State where Boko Haram was based). The military may be regarded as prone to excessive uses of force. However, it perceives itself as the custodian of Nigeria’s national unity (Ruland and Manea 2013, p. 59), and is a microcosm of Nigeria’s vast ethnic and religious diversity. Military units are ethnically and religiously mixed and many officers pride themselves on being above parochial sentiment. The current chief of defense staff is a Christian from the southwest, the chief of army staff and national security adviser are Muslim polyglots from the northeast. A bizarre demonstration of mixed and contradictory perceptions of the military is that at times of sectarian unrest, civilian refugees often flee into army barracks for shelter (Adeakin 2016, p. 138) as the military is often regarded as the most ethnically and religiously neutral of Nigeria’s state institutions. However, the new emphasis on soft power is still in its infancy and excessive uses of military force have not ended. In December 2015, a confrontation between soldiers and members of the Islamic Movement of Nigeria (IMN) in Zaria, Kaduna State, culminated when soldiers invaded the compound of IMN’s leader Ibrahim Al-​Zakzaky, arrested him and his wife, and killed more than 350 IMN members (Amnesty International 2016)  in an attack that bore chilling echoes of the violence that preceded the Boko Haram insurgency. The (then) 62-​year-​old Zakzaky’s arrest was so violent that he sustained numerous wounds and is now thought to have been blinded in one eye. Zakzaky remains in custody despite several court orders for his release.

Ongoing Legacies of Military Influence The military’s role as the provider of national security has placed it in a strategic position to influence political outcomes. Obasanjo conscripted the services of retired military officers when confronted by political and internal security challenges. Following repeated cycles of violence between Christians and Muslims in Plateau State during which over 50,000 people were killed (BBC 2004), Obasanjo declared a state of emergency in the state in 2004, suspended the state’s elected governor, deputy governor, and House of Assembly, and appointed retired Major-​General Chris Alli as the state’s administrator. Two years later, Obasanjo again declared a state of emergency; this time in Ekiti State in

284   Max Siollun the southwest. He also appointed a retired army officer (Major-​General Tunji Olurin) as the state’s administrator. The appointment of retired military officers in Plateau and Ekiti States was a microcosm of the significant roles that retired military officers have retained at federal, state, and local levels of government. Two of the four presidents since 1999 were former military heads of state, and military officers from past military governments have also served as senate president, state governors, and House of Representatives members17. Serving and retired military officers also played a key role in the timing and result of Nigeria’s much heralded first democratic transfer of power from one civilian government to another in 2015. Prior to the 2015 presidential election, every post-​independence change of government had been effected by the military. However, military influence determined the candidates, outcome, and timing of the election. At the start of 2015, Boko Haram seemed unstoppable and launched attacks at will after having captured an area of Nigeria’s northeastern territory approximately the same size as Belgium. The absence of a coherent government or military response to Boko Haram’s violence severely eroded public trust and confidence in the PDP government. In February 2015, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) suddenly postponed the election by six weeks on the recommendation of the military and security chiefs who informed INEC that they would not be able to provide adequate security for the election due to being preoccupied with a military escalation against Boko Haram (BBC, 2015). An election postponed due to military advice touched raw nerves in a country with a long history of military interference in politics. The National Security Adviser, Lieutenant-​Colonel Sambo Dasuki was one of the security officers who advocated the postponement of the election. Dasuki was a member of General Babangida’s military government that aborted a planned return to democracy in 1993 by voiding the election results when results showed that a candidate disliked by powerful elements in the military was heading to a resounding victory. The military’s long-​standing equipment deficit was suddenly addressed when the government equipped the army with T72 battle tanks from Hungary and procured MI-​ 17 and MI-​35 attack helicopters from Russia and Belarus respectively. In less than three months the Nigerian army managed to do what it had been unable to do during the previous six years, which was to push Boko Haram back and dislodge it from all of the major towns and cities that it overran. The military-​inspired election postponement and rapid military gains against Boko Haram seemed contrived, and gave the appearance that the PDP government used the military in a partisan manner to effect (or the military engineered) the postponement and military campaign to recede the opposition’s electoral momentum. The election result was also influenced by a realignment of political loyalties by former military leaders. Obasanjo’s estrangement from President Jonathan of the PDP culminated with Obasanjo publicly withdrawing support for Jonathan, writing a public eighteen-​page letter containing lacerating criticism of Jonathan in December 2013,

Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    285 then resigning from the PDP, and ripping up his party membership card in public in February 2015. Other events seemed to compromise the expectation of the military’s political neutrality. The army lent credence to PDP claims that the main opposition presidential candidate Major-​General Muhammadu Buhari was educationally unqualified, by claiming that the army had no record of Buhari’s school certificates. Nigerian newspapers also published transcripts of a tape-recorded conversation between an army officer and PDP officials colluding to rig the July 2014 governorship election in Ekiti State in favor of the PDP18.

Conclusion The cessation of military rule did not eliminate military influence on the trajectory of national political and social life. The military continues to influence politics, daily security, and national defense priorities. Military rule generated long-​term conflicts with consequences that continued being contested after the military left power. These conflicts bequeathed a legacy of politically motivated violence that was inherited by the military’s successor governments. These successors have used the military as an instrument to react to such conflicts rather than prevent them. The military’s ongoing preoccupation with internal security deployments since 1999 has led to it becoming a prism through which underlying economic, ethnic, political, and religious conflicts are viewed and contested. As a result the military has been blamed for failing to subdue security challenges that have socioeconomic and historical origins far removed from the battlefield. Being dragged into these multidimensional conflict arenas has broadened the military’s role to become a strategic interlocutor for framing national security and human rights discourse. This expanded role has increased and improved coordination between the military and other state security agencies, and between the military and other civil society actors. The military has also embarked on initiatives indicating its willingness to embrace reforms and dialogue with civil society. Some of these reforms may be self-​serving, aimed at restoring the military’s severely depleted image, and may have come after a belated realization that the military could not accomplish its objectives without civil society’s cooperation. Nonetheless, they indicate incremental military change, albeit initiated by the military itself, rather than from civil society. The broad and intense nature of Nigeria’s security challenges means that military influence on national political life is unlikely to recede in the near future.

Notes 1. Tempo, November 12, 1998. 2. Painkiller.

286   Max Siollun 3. Respectively: Air Marshal Isaac Alfa and Vice-​Admiral Victor Ombu. 4. “Sunrise Daily”, Channels Television, 2014: https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=2gDMTzjFvys, accessed October 25, 2016. 5. 2008 Presidential Committee on Police Reform. 6. Leadership, July 1, 2014. 7. An example is the “Operation Fire for Fire” anti-​robbery unit that was launched in 2002. 8. Such as South Korea, Argentina, and Greece. 9. The exception was President Obasanjo himself, who appeared before the panel both as claimant and defendant. 10. Sunni Group for Proselytizing and Jihad. 11. Personal communication with U.S. State Department official, April 19, 2017. 12. Nigeria wanted to buy U.S.-​made Cobra helicopters from Israel. However U.S. approval was required before Israel could sell them to Nigeria. 13. Leadership, April 15, 2015. 14. The Nation, August 25, 2015. 15. The navy and air force also have their own respective DCMA. 16. Vanguard, January 5, 2017. 17. Including retired Admiral Murtala Nyako, Air Commodore Jonah Jang, and Colonel Olagunsoye Oyinlola. 18. Premium Times, February 6, 2015.

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Military Culture in Post-Transition Nigeria    287 BBC News (2004). “Nigerian Clashes: 50,000 Killed,” October 7, 2004. http://​news.bbc.co.uk/​ 2/​hi/​africa/​3724218.stm accessed March 9, 2017. BBC News (2015). “Nigeria Elections: Security Chief Urges Vote Delay,” January 22, 2015. http://​ www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​africa-​30938612 accessed March 20, 2017. Rüland, Jürgen and Manea, Maria-​ Gabriela (2013). “Taking Stock of Military Reform in Nigeria,” in Hans Born, Jürgen Rüland, and Maria-​ Gabriela Manea (eds), The Politics of Military Reform:  Experiences from Indonesia and Nigeria (pp. 57–​76). Berlin/​ Heidelberg: Springer. CLEEN Foundation (2016). The Roadmap for Fostering Civil Military Relations in Nigeria. Abuja, Nigeria. Dasuki, Lt-​Colonel Sambo (2015). Speech at Chatham House Africa Program, January 22, 2015. http://​w ww.chathamhouse.org/​sites/​f iles/​chathamhouse/​f ield/​f ield_​document/​ 20150122NigeriaScurity.pdf accessed September 30, 2016. Human Rights Watch (2013). Nigeria: Massive Destruction, Deaths From Military Raid, May 2, 2013. https://​www.hrw.org/​news/​2013/​05/​01/​nigeria-​massive-​destruction-​deaths-​military-​ raid accessed March 11, 2017. International Crisis Group (ICG) (2016). Nigeria:  The Challenge of Military Reform. Africa Report No. 237, June 6, 2016. Malu, Terver and Oko, Okechukwu (2013). In the Name of Victor: Confronting Errors with the Truth. AuthorHouse. Mohammed, Kyari (2014). “The Message and Methods of Boko Haram,” in Boko Haram: Islamism, Politics, Security and the State in Nigeria (pp. 9–​32), West African Politics and Society Series, vol. 2. Leiden: African Studies Centre. Ogbondah, Chris W. (2000). “Political Repression in Nigeria, 1993–​ 1998:  A Critical Examination of One Aspect of the Perils of Military Dictatorship,” Africa Spectrum 35 (2): 231–​242. Shiyanbade, Rear-​ Admiral Gabriel (2001). The Military in a Democratic Nigeria: Institutionalizing Professionalism. Abuja: Centre for Peace Research and Conflict Resolution, National War College. Siollun, Max (2013). Soldiers of Fortune—​Nigerian Politics from Buhari to Babangida (1983–​1993). Abuja: Cassava Republic Press. United Nations (2002). UNDAC Mission to Lagos, Nigeria: Munitions depot explosion, Report, February 7, 2002. http://​reliefweb.int/​report/​nigeria/​undac-​mission-​lagos-​nigeria-​munitions-​ depot-​explosion-​report accessed March 11, 2017. U.S. Institute for Peace (USIP) (2009). Blood Oil in the Niger Delta, Special Report 229, August 2009. http://​www.usip.org/​sites/​default/​files/​blood_​oil_​nigerdelta.pdf accessed March 11, 2017. U.S. Institute for Peace (USIP) (2011). Conflict in the Niger Delta: More Than a Local Affair. Special Report 271, June 2011:  https://​www.usip.org/​sites/​default/​files/​Conflict_​Niger_​ Delta.pdf accessed March 11, 2017. Washington Post (2014). “The Boko Haram Insurgency, by the Numbers,” October 6, 2014. https://​www.washingtonpost.com/​news/​monkey-​cage/​wp/​2014/​10/​06/​the-​boko-​haram-​ insurgency-​by-​the-​numbers/​?utm_​term=.5a8e5e54d07b accessed April 20, 2017.

Chapter 17

Pro gress an d Set bac k s in Nige ria ’ s Antic orrup ti on E fforts Daniel Jordan Smith

Introduction Few topics generate as much anguished discussion in Nigeria as corruption. While there are myriad perspectives about its causes, about who should be most blamed for its prevalence, and about what should be done to control it, most Nigerians do not dispute that corruption is widespread and that it is ultimately detrimental to the country and its people. Although corruption exists in every nation, Nigerians tend to believe that it is especially pernicious in their society. Indeed, a common local colloquial expression for corruption is “the Nigerian factor” (Smith 2007). For as long as corruption has been perceived as a national malady there have been political proclamations, policies, programs, and movements designed to combat it. This chapter examines the progress and setbacks in Nigeria’s struggles to address corruption. While anticorruption efforts can be traced back to colonial and even to precolonial Nigeria (Pierce 2016), in this chapter I focus only on post-​independence Nigeria, and primarily on anticorruption measures adopted since the return to civilian rule in 1999. The chapter begins with a brief summary of different perspectives regarding the meaning of, reasons for, and mechanisms of corruption. Although debates about the nature of corruption—​including a vast literature about its definition, causes, processes, and consequences—​are beyond my scope here, some familiarity with these issues is necessary to understand and evaluate the fate of anticorruption initiatives in Nigeria. Next is a cursory history of the major initiatives to tackle corruption since the country’s independence. The main point that will be derived from such an overview is that deploying anticorruption rhetoric and agendas have been

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    289 a primary political strategy throughout Nigeria’s history, even as actual anticorruption efforts have been consistently undermined by the corruption of the regimes that initiate them. Hopes for Nigeria’s future, including its efforts to control corruption, were kindled by the transition to democracy in 1999, after more than fifteen years of military governments. While almost all previous policies, programs, and institutions created by the Nigerian state to fight corruption were ultimately judged to be ineffective and even disingenuous, during the administration of President Olusegun Obasanjo from 1999 until 2007 many Nigerians—​and numerous outside observers—​perceived what they thought were Nigeria’s first serious anticorruption efforts (Enweremadu 2010; Obuah 2010; Inokoba and Ibegu 2011). This perception was embodied in the work of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), established in 2003, and in its ambitious inaugural chairman, Nuhu Ribadu. Eventually, Ribadu’s EFCC, and especially its efforts under his predecessors, became the object of familiar critiques leveled against past anticorruption initiatives (Agbiboa 2013; Akinola and Uzodike 2014; Inokoba and Ibegu 2011). But because the Ribadu-​led EFCC encapsulated the hopes and challenges and the successes and failures of anticorruption efforts in Nigeria more generally, this chapter examines the EFCC in considerable detail. The final section of the chapter offers a brief overview of some other recent, current, and proposed efforts to combat corruption, including endeavors that privilege the roles of civil society, the media, foreign governments, and multinational corporations. Foreign actors and institutions are particularly relevant given Nigeria’s large petroleum industry, which is the locus of much of the large-​scale corruption that continues to plague Nigeria (Watts 2007; Gillies 2009a, 2009b). I conclude by offering some lessons learned about anticorruption efforts, drawn mostly from surveying the literature, but also from my own twenty-​five years of experience working, living, and doing research in Nigeria.

What Is Corruption and How Does It Work in Nigeria? Defining corruption is difficult and has occupied a good deal of space in social science literature, particularly in political science. Most political science definitions include or imply the existence of the state and typically emphasize the misuse of public office for private gain. For example, Joseph Nye’s classic definition is widely cited: “Corruption is behavior which deviates from the formal duties of a public role because of private-​ regarding (personal, close family, private clique) pecuniary or status gains; or violates rules against the exercise of certain private-​regarding influence” (Nye 1967, p. 419). In formulating his definition, Nye recognized that corruption also has much broader moral meanings, including “a change from good to bad” (Nye 1967, p. 419). Nye’s definition and

290   Daniel Jordan Smith its many subsequent variants, which sidestep issues of morality, provide a parsimony that facilitates an appealing clarity. When looking at corruption ethnographically, however, parsimonious definitions such as Nye’s obscure as much as they reveal. In Nigeria, the question of whether the misuse of public office for private gain is perceived to constitute corruption varies significantly depending upon context. The social morality of behavior figures much more prominently in popular assessments of corruption than any technical definition. Rather than being separate issues, in Nigeria corruption and morality are closely intertwined—​ both when Nigerians engage in corruption and when they condemn it (Smith 2007). Based on a comparative study of corruption in three West African countries (Benin, Niger, and Senegal), Blundo and Olivier de Sardan (2001) developed a useful typology of forms of corruption that maps reasonably well onto the Nigerian scene. The seven basic forms they identify are: (1) commission for illicit services; (2) unwarranted payment for public services; (3) gratuities; (4) string-​pulling; (5) levies and tolls; (6) sidelining; and (7) misappropriation. Scholars have produced numerous typologies of corruption, none obviously better than the rest. Nonetheless, Blundo and Olivier de Sardan’s typology captures and describes a wide range of forms of corruption that are prevalent in Nigeria. As they acknowledge, however, the boundaries between these forms can be fluid, and the perceived legitimacy of particular practices can depend very much on context, and particularly on the position of the people participating in or assessing the behavior. Social context is important for explaining when and why Nigerians participate in corruption, but also for understanding what kinds of corruption are acceptable, and what kinds produce the popular discontent so prevalent in contemporary Nigeria. Over the past few decades new forms of corruption have emerged that Nigerians widely view as illegitimate. This illegitimacy is most pronounced with regard to the deceptions Nigerians associate with the failure of their postcolonial state to deliver the expected benefits of development and democracy, at the same time that more traditional mechanisms of patron–​clientism are perceived to be breaking down. In other words, as elites manipulate the intertwining of modern bureaucratic and more traditional kinship-​based clientelistic idioms of accountability in order maximize their wealth and power through corruption, the legitimacy of both idioms is undermined (Gore and Pratten 2003; Adebanwi and Obadare 2011). A patron–​client system, in which people rely on kin, on people of the same community of origin, and on other hierarchically organized social ties of affection and obligation for assistance, has long served as a buffer against the capriciousness of the state by providing access to resources through familiar mechanisms of reciprocity (Ekeh 1975; Joseph 1987; Berry 1989). This system is widely perceived by ordinary Nigerians to have given way to a much more individualistic pursuit of wealth and power (Smith 2007). The deceptive mechanisms of corruption associated with the state are perceived to have diffused throughout society, creating a popular sense of social crisis, such that Nigerians see the repercussions of corruption in everyday life as both caused by and contributing to the demise of morality (Apter 1999). While most Nigerians subscribe to Chinua Achebe’s lament in his 1983 book, The Trouble with Nigeria, that corruption and

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    291 other problems of Nigeria’s postcolonial governance are the consequence of bad leaders, it is also the case that ordinary Nigerians see themselves as complicit in enabling both bad leadership and corruption (Smith 2007). Nevertheless, nearly everyone in Nigeria agrees that corruption is a scourge, and everyone except the elites who benefit most would like to see it suppressed.

Anticorruption Efforts since Independence In his book about the history of corruption in Nigeria, Steven Pierce (2016) argues that during the colonial period accusations of corruption evolved into a significant political weapon. British colonial officials and then Nigerian political leaders themselves wielded charges of corruption to validate decisions about who was removed from or installed into positions of power, when, in fact, those on the inside and those on the outside engaged in more or less the same corrupt behavior. The importance of corruption accusations in politics continued in postcolonial Nigeria. Beginning with the soldiers’ professed rationale for Nigeria’s first coup in 1966, every transition of power in Nigeria—​whether military or democratic—​has been justified by, above all else, the need to root out corruption. Further, each new regime unveiled what it claimed was a major new initiative to tackle corruption. A very brief look at some of those initiatives and how they have been judged by scholars and by the Nigerian people offers a revealing window into the place of anticorruption efforts in Nigerian history, politics, and governance. In Nigerian popular imagination, perhaps the most romanticized anticorruption agenda was that of General Murtala Muhammed, who in 1975 led a successful coup against then military head of state General Yakubu Gowon, who had ruled Nigeria since the Biafran civil war began in 1967. General Muhammed promised to return the country to democratic rule and clean up corruption. He launched “Operation Purge the Nation,” which he promised would be a massive probe into corrupt politicians and civil servants (Nwaodu, Adam, and Okereke 2014). Muhammed was assassinated in a coup attempt barely six months after taking office. The coup failed and Muhammed was replaced by his deputy. But the anticorruption agenda he had promised faltered. Even today, many Nigerians lament Muhammed’s fate and the demise of his anticorruption efforts. Given that time has proven every other head of state’s anticorruption program to be ineffective, and even hypocritical in the face of evidence of enormous plundering of national resources by the same regimes trumpeting the fight against corruption, one suspects that Muhammed’s favorable legacy is mostly the result of his brief tenure. Nigerians similarly remember the military regime from 1983–​5, led by Nigeria’s current civilian president, Muhammadu Buhari, for the relative seriousness with which it tried to address corruption. Indeed, Buhari’s reputation as genuinely opposed to corruption is arguably a major reason he won Nigeria’s 2015 presidential election,

292   Daniel Jordan Smith unseating incumbent Goodluck Jonathan. Buhari’s December 1983 coup overthrew the civilian administration of Shehu Shagari, just as he was about to begin a second term in office. Shagari’s government had proclaimed its own anticorruption agenda, grandly named the “Ethical Revolution” (Nwaodu, Adam, and Okereke 2014). In fact, ordinary Nigerians and scholars alike saw the Shagari government as even more venal than the military regimes it succeeded. For many Nigerians, Buhari’s coup was a welcome intervention. Shortly after seizing power, Buhari and his deputy, General Tunde Idiagbon, launched their “War Against Indiscipline.” At first it was well received by ordinary Nigerians. But, eventually, people realized that it was more effective (and brutal) in targeting the daily indiscipline of average Nigerians (such as failing to queue for public transportation or wanton public urination) than in bringing corrupt elites to face justice (Nwaodu, Adam, and Okereke 2014). But while Nigerians seemed also to welcome the coup led by General Ibrahim Babangida for the respite it brought from Buhari’s harsh tactics, decades later many Nigerians feel nostalgia for Buhari’s “War Against Indiscipline.” This nostalgia not only helped Buhari to his electoral victory in 2015, it also testifies to Nigerians’ sense of their own complicity in corruption. Only a strong leader willing to tackle corruption from top to bottom can effectively combat the scourge, many Nigerians believe. While the short-​lived military regimes of Murtala Muhammed and Muhammadu Buhari still evoke a romantic nostalgia in contemporary Nigeria for their seemingly serious anticorruption efforts, the military dictatorships of Babangida (1985–​93) and General Sani Abacha (1993–​8) arouse no such positive memories today. Both Babangida and Abacha mimicked every Nigerian ruler before them in making many public proclamations against corruption. They promulgated degrees and launched programs, probes, and commissions of inquiry ostensibly designed to investigate and punish corruption. But, in fact, each is best known for taking grand corruption to unprecedented heights, masterminding new methods of plundering, including state collusion in Nigeria’s infamous 419 scams, and the creation of institutions whose sole purpose was to funnel literally billions of dollars of Nigeria’s oil money into their personal coffers (Lewis 1996; Apter 1999). Given the spectacular scale of state corruption during the military regimes that preceded the transition to democracy in 1999, it is no surprise that when the new civilian government was elected, popular expectations ran high that it should curtail corruption.

The Return to Democracy and Anticorruption Efforts since 1999 When former General Obasanjo was elected president it was perhaps over-​determined that he would lead a strong anticorruption crusade. In addition to popular expectations fueled by the return to democracy, Obasanjo’s own background solidified his

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    293 anticorruption credentials. Although there were many accusations of corruption during his term as military head of state from 1976 to 1979 (he had been Murtala Muhammed’s deputy and took over after the assassination and failed coup attempt), Obasanjo had delivered on the promise to return Nigeria to democratic rule in 1979. In addition, during the 1990s, as retribution for Obasanjo’s criticisms of the military regime at the time, General Abacha imprisoned him on trumped-​up charges of plotting a coup. Further, as a civilian statesman Obasanjo had served as a founding member of the board of directors of Transparency International. Not surprisingly, he made fighting corruption a central pillar of his post-​1999 democratic platform and agenda. Within a year of taking office he pushed through passage of the Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offenses Act, creating a commission (the ICPC) tasked with investigating and prosecuting reports of corruption and putting in place measures to prevent state malfeasance. By most accounts the ICPC has done little to distinguish itself from unsuccessful past anticorruption initiatives. It wasn’t until the establishment of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission and the appointment of its first chairman, Nuhu Ribadu, in 2003 that the Obasanjo administration’s approach to fighting corruption began to appear more serious than what Nigerians were used to in the past. But as Wale Adebanwi chronicles in his riveting book (2012) about Nuhu Ribadu and the EFCC, the rise of Ribadu’s EFCC as an anticorruption powerhouse was anything but given. As Adebanwi shows, and others have corroborated, the EFCC was created mainly to address the fact that Nigeria had been included on list of non-​cooperating countries by the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), an intergovernmental organization created by the G-​7 nations to combat international money laundering and terrorist financing. The EFCC was the Obasanjo government’s attempt to demonstrate that Nigeria could take a strong law enforcement approach to address these problems. But as Adebanwi describes, the early days of the EFCC proved anything but auspicious for the new commission. Ribadu’s appointment was resisted and delayed (especially in the higher ranks of the Nigerian police, from where he was drawn). The commission initially had no office, little or no budget, and few personnel. It was not clear at the beginning that this would be a more serious anticorruption endeavor than anything that preceded it.

Ribadu’s EFCC Ribadu proved to be an ambitious, dogged, and courageous leader. Nearly every scholarly, journalistic, and popular account attests to this, even as he would later face considerable criticism for other reasons. There can be little doubt that Ribadu’s personal character and commitment explain much of the early relative success and positive reputation of the EFCC compared to past anticorruption initiatives. But there were other aspects of the context and work of Ribadu’s EFCC that help elucidate both the commission’s acclaimed achievements and the problems it eventually faced. Adebanwi and Obadare (2011) set out five reasons, in addition to Ribadu’s personal courage and conviction, for the EFCC’s initial—​and largely unprecedented—​success

294   Daniel Jordan Smith in pursuing and prosecuting corruption. First, after initial skepticism, or at least disinterest, on the part of President Obasanjo regarding the EFCC’s capacity to fight corruption, the president became a staunch supporter (Enweremadu 2010; Adebanwi 2012). Although eventually criticisms mounted that Obasanjo manipulated the EFCC to target his political opponents, without question Obasanjo’s support for the EFCC enabled its work and protected Ribadu from high-​level interference. Second, civil society groups applied pressure on the government to address corruption and offered backing for the EFCC’s efforts. Third, the media helped expose and publicize high-​level corruption and Ribadu skillfully cultivated positive media coverage of the EFCC’s work. Fourth, the international community provided both financial support and political pressure to back the EFCC, including rewarding the Obasanjo administration for what was perceived as a serious attempt to tackle corruption. Finally, and by no means least important, the EFCC both built on and further developed the Nigerian public’s desire to see corruption reined in. In addition, the EFCC’s early work was facilitated and its reputation bolstered by initially going after not politicians and state officials but rather perpetrators of international scams known as “419.” The first major targets of Ribadu’s EFCC’s investigations, arrests, and prosecutions were kingpins of 419—​men (and women) who organized major scams involving foreigners who were duped (albeit often because of their own greed) into fraudulent deals based on the promise of huge payouts that would follow their initial investments. Ribadu’s former job as an assistant commissioner of police meant that he had ready access to evidence of these crimes; now he had the power to reach around his corrupt police superiors to pursue known criminals. Indeed, many of the 419 kingpins were well known to the Nigerian public. The fact that they had not previously been prosecuted was evidence of their protection by police and politicians alike. But popular appetite for their prosecution was growing, and President Obasanjo was eager to show, both at home and abroad, his commitment to the fight against corruption (Ocheni and Nwankwo 2012). Ribadu’s EFCC’s successfully nabbed and prosecuted several high-​ profile 419 kingpins. Perhaps the most notorious was Emmanuel Nwude who had defrauded a Brazilian banker of nearly U.S.$250  million. Nwude was tried and convicted, his money and property were confiscated, and a significant portion of the victim’s funds was returned. This and other similar widely publicized arrests and prosecutions of 419 scammers, along with Ribadu’s own expert use of the media, created popular support for the EFCC in Nigeria as well as accolades abroad. President Obasanjo was also clearly pleased with and benefited from the EFCC’s anticorruption efforts. After solidifying political and popular support by pursuing and prosecuting scammers who were not, for the most part, politicians or government officials, Ribadu and the EFCC were in a stronger position to go after more powerful actors who had typically been protected by their relationships with the state. In 2005, Ribadu arrested his former boss, the Inspector General of Police, Tafa Balogun on multiple charges of corruption. The arrest and eventual prosecution and imprisonment of Balogun stunned both the Nigerian public and the political establishment. Even though nearly every

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    295 Nigerian considers the police one of the most corrupt institutions in the country and few would have doubted that the inspector general was guilty of many crimes, in the past such powerful figures were essentially untouchable. Snaring Balogun was all the more remarkable given that he was from the president’s Yoruba ethnic group and perceived to be an Obasanjo ally. That Ribadu was empowered to arrest and prosecute such a significant figure sent a strong message about the ambitions, capacity, and presidential backing of the EFCC. Eventually, criticism would emerge that Balogun and other high-​ranking politicians and officials convicted of corruption-​related crimes received what could be called proverbial slaps on the wrist compared to the magnitude of their crimes. Balogun, for example, only spent about six months in prison and was fined just a small portion of the vast sums he was convicted of stealing. Nevertheless, Ribadu’s EFCC sent a message, arguably for the first time in the history of anticorruption programs in Nigeria, that even so-​called “big fish” were not necessarily safe from prosecution. Indeed, the arrest of the police chief was followed in relatively quick succession by indictments of other high-​profile figures, including federal ministers and senators. Ribadu made his biggest splash when he began to go after many of Nigeria’s thirty-​ six governors. After the president, governors are among the most powerful figures in Nigeria’s federal system. Over the course of Nigeria’s history many are widely believed to have amassed fortunes of tens of millions—​even hundreds of millions—​of dollars through corruption. Taking on governors would be challenging not only because of their great power, but also because, like the president and vice president, the Nigerian Constitution granted them immunity from prosecution while in office. To indict governors, the EFCC would have to wait until they left office or convince state legislators to impeach them. I do not have space here to offer details about the cases against individual governors, though each is fascinating in its own right (see Adebanwi 2012 for more in-​depth accounts of specific cases). One example, however, merits some discussion because its reveals much about the power of Ribadu’s EFCC and his eventual dismissal. The case involved then Governor of Bayelsa State, D.  S. P.  Alamieyeseigha. Alamieyeseigha had been arrested in the U.K. on charges of money-​laundering when he was found in possession of £1 million in cash. While on bail in London and waiting to appear in court, he escaped to Nigeria, purportedly dressed as a woman. His reappearance in Nigeria drew huge domestic and international media attention and proved highly embarrassing to the Obasanjo administration. With evidence provided by the EFCC and under pressure from the federal government (by some accounts Bayelsa state legislators were bribed to vote in favor of impeachment), Alamieyeseigha was impeached and eventually arrested and indicted (Adebanwi and Obadare 2011). He was detained for two years and eventually made a plea bargain, which included credit for time served. Although the conviction of this powerful governor (and several others as well) showcased the EFCC’s commitment and capacity to pursue corruption to nearly the highest levels of the Nigerian state, Alamieyeseigha’s case also foreshadowed criticisms that would plague the commission and its chairman.

296   Daniel Jordan Smith The hardnosed manner by which the EFCC went after its targets opened it up to allegations that it circumvented due process. Had the EFCC bribed or intimidated Bayelsa State legislators (and others in additional states where governors were also impeached) into removing Alamieyeseigha? Further, had the EFCC singled out Alamieyeseigha (and several other governors) less because he was corrupt and more because he was a political opponent of the president? All of the governors impeached and indicted by the EFCC between 2005 and 2007 were known or suspected to be allies of Vice President Atiku Abubakar, with whom President Obasanjo was in a major political battle. No one believed that any of the governors the EFCC targeted were innocent of corruption. The presumption was that all of Nigeria’s governors were corrupt. The question was why a few of them were pursued by the EFCC while others were not. The answer, many critics—​and eventually much of the public—​believed, was that those investigated and prosecuted were enemies of Obasanjo. The EFCC, such charges suggested, was using anticorruption investigations to do the political bidding of the president. This allegation became hard to refute by the time the EFCC indicted Vice President Abubakar, thereby contributing to efforts to render him ineligible for the 2007 presidential elections. By then Obasanjo’s intention to amend the constitution to enable him to run for a third term had been fully revealed and his war with his deputy was on national display. As with the governors the EFCC pursued, few Nigerians doubted that Vice President Abubakar was highly corrupt. But most also assumed that the president himself was equally or more corrupt. The fact that the EFCC went after Abubakar but not Obasanjo was chalked up to power and politics. The president had manipulated the EFCC and Ribadu had become an instrument in Obasanjo’s uses of corruption allegations for political purposes—​a seemingly timeless story in Nigerian politics. Ultimately Obasanjo’s third-​term bid was thwarted, though Abubakar also was not able to secure the presidency. In 2007, Umaru Yar’Adua was elected Nigeria’s president. By then the reputation of the EFCC and Ribadu had been sullied by accusations of politicization (Igbokwe-​Ibeto and Okoye 2014).

The EFCC since Ribadu: When Corruption Fights Back President Yar’Adua promised, like every incoming head of state in Nigeria’s history, to root out corruption. But the evidence suggests that corruption, to use Adebanwi and Obadare’s (2011) phrase, was beginning to successfully “fight back.” Ribadu survived only a few months into the new Yar’Adua administration. At first, Ribadu’s EFCC continued to pursue major political figures. But his contest with former Delta State governor, James Ibori, seemed to challenge powerful interests beyond what the new Yar’Adua government would tolerate. Ibori had been in the EFCC’s crosshairs for many years, since he had been convicted of corruption-​related crimes in the U.K. But Ibori and a number of other powerful current and former People’s Democratic Party governors were known to have financed and promoted Yar’Adua’s quest for the presidency. To try to shake off the

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    297 EFCC’s pursuit, Ibori allegedly offered EFCC brass a $15 million bribe. It was reportedly rejected and led to an additional count in Ibori’s charges. Ultimately the Yar’Adua administration saved Ibori, and arguably many other political “big fish,” from prosecution by removing Ribadu from the EFCC chairmanship and defanging the commission (Umar 2015). Even though the public announcement was that Ribadu had been transferred to take a compulsory police in-​service course, the process of removing him was transparently political. No one in Nigeria believed the ruse, but, as noted earlier, by that time many Nigerians also thought that the EFCC had become highly politicized by former President Obasanjo. When Farida Waziri eventually formally replaced Ribadu as chairperson, the ostensible aim of reforming some of the EFCC’s past practices was used to suppress its work. Waziri emphasized that her EFCC would be more attuned to due process, an allusion to Ribadu’s aggressive tactics such as engineering governors’ impeachments to enable prosecuting them or detaining the family members of indicted persons on the run to try to compel them to appear in court. In practice, of course, all this meant that the powerful could more easily hide behind Nigeria’s plodding, dysfunctional, and often-​corrupt judicial system. Additional evidence that the Yar’Adua government was dialing back anticorruption efforts was the announcement by Yar’Adua’s Attorney General that all prosecutions proposed by the EFCC would be vetted by and run through the Ministry of Justice. To many observers, the new administration had purposely undermined the commitment to fight corruption. The EFCC has continued to operate until the time of this writing, but almost all observers agree that its heyday ended after Ribadu’s leadership. The commission continues to pursue and prosecute many cases of corruption, but the perception is that the “big fish” once again have little to fear. Yar’Adua was generally viewed as a weak president, unwilling or unable to tackle corruption, even if he was perceived to be not particularly greedy personally. Goodluck Jonathan, who assumed the presidency at Yar’Adua’s death and then won his own four-​year term in 2011, is widely perceived to have allowed corruption to run rampant. His presidential pardon of James Ibori was powerful evidence for many critics that corrupt interests once again ruled the country. Probes in recent years by various legislative commissions have exposed massive theft of government funds in connection with the awarding of oil industry contracts and the country’s huge fuel subsidy program. But despite public hearings and evidence that many billions of dollars have been stolen, few guilty parties have been indicted, much less prosecuted, convicted, and imprisoned. The renewed obstacles to anticorruption efforts are perhaps unsurprising given the powerful interests that political elites have in perpetuating a system from which they benefit so handsomely. In some ways more surprising—​and more interesting—​is how Ribadu’s EFCC managed to be so relatively successful for several years. I have already reviewed the reasons scholars have suggested. I do not dispute these but want to add that clearly President Obasanjo’s support for the EFCC was not indicative of his own clean hands. Most Nigerians believe, with considerable evidence to back it up from media accounts, that the Obasanjo administration was heavily corrupt and that the president—​ as well as his family and cronies—​enriched himself generously (many would even say

298   Daniel Jordan Smith grotesquely) during his years in power. Perhaps the lesson of Ribadu’s EFCC is that no matter how successful a top-​down anticorruption initiative appears to be, if the top is in fact rotten, the whole effort will ultimately spoil as well. It is an interesting postscript to Ribadu’s legacy at the EFCC that he eventually ran for president himself. To his supporters, his failed candidacy was the best hope to root out corruption in Nigeria. To his detractors, his political ambitions belied his claims that his actions while EFCC chairman were not influenced by politics.

Other Efforts to Curtail Corruption I have focused primarily on the EFCC not only because it was the most high-​profile, and arguably most effective, anticorruption effort since the return to democracy in 1999, but also because its successes and failures encapsulate many of the dynamics of corruption and anticorruption in Nigeria more generally. While I do not have space to delve into other anticorruption measures in any detail in this chapter, it is nonetheless instructive to touch on a few of them briefly to round out the picture, but also to illustrate other strategies and theories about how best to combat corruption in Nigeria. Briefly, other arenas for anticorruption efforts include better partnerships with foreign governments and multinational corporations, relying more on civil society, depending on the media as a watchdog against corruption, and trying spur what is often referred to in the literature as “collective action,” which can involve both civil society and the media, but also refers to changing social norms and overcoming a “culture” of corruption. Perhaps the best-​known effort involving foreign governments and multinational corporations to cooperate with Nigeria to curtail corruption is the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative, a multilateral agreement in which companies have pledged to report what they pay to governments as part of doing business. The agreed upon transparency is aimed to prevent bribery and other clandestine transactions that feed corruption. While there is some evidence that the initiative is having positive effects on the oil sector in Nigeria, there are many arenas for corruption in the industry that are still not effectively addressed (Gillies 2009a, 2009b). Although Nigerians rightly recognize that cleaning up corruption in their country is above all a national challenge, given the centrality of oil in Nigeria’s grand corruption, clamping down on foreign complicity in corruption is imperative. In addition to the work of the EFCC, the ICPC, and other anticorruption agencies that are part of the government, civil society and the media also have a vital role to play. Since the transition to democracy in 1999 a plethora of anticorruption NGOs have been established (Akinyemi 2016) and many of them are doing excellent work to push against corruption. But they also find it difficult to operate in a context where the state is frequently antagonistic to their activities. Nigeria’s media regularly publishes exposes of corruption, but the sensationalistic nature of the coverage, combined with the obstacles to documenting details to back up accusations often seems to lead to public cynicism.

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    299 Story after story of spectacular corruption with few consequences for the accused creates a sense of “business as usual.” In 2011, after more than a decade of debate, the federal legislature passed a Freedom of Information Act, but thus far it seems to offer access to government information more in principle than in practice (Duru 2016). Civil society groups, think tanks, and academics alike have offered prescriptions for addressing corruption that take into account social norms, moral economies, and “cultures” that enable corruption, often calling for approaches that stimulate collective action (Hoffmann and Patel 2017; Bamidele, Olaniyan, and Ayodele 2016; Rothstein 2011; Igbuzor 2008). Such proposed approaches rightly recognize that without popular pressure elites who control state institutions and private industries where corruption thrives are unlikely to change their behavior voluntarily. But often such prescriptions come across as highly theoretical—​what Nigerians themselves call “big grammar.” Whether the social change necessary to combat corruption in Nigeria can be engineered through policy and program design alone seems questionable, but as the fleeting success of the EFCC suggests, Nigerians are eager for their government to be an ally in fighting corruption rather than an opponent.

Conclusion Over and above the technocratic features of particular policies, programs, and related efforts to curtail corruption in Nigeria, two main—​and often intertwining—​aspects of the problem are at the core of whether anticorruption initiatives in Nigeria will succeed or fail. The first is the problem of political elites (Achebe 1983). The second is ordinary citizens and their role in reproducing a culture of corruption even as it contradicts their ultimate interests (Smith 2007). With regard to elites, as Lawson notes in her analysis of the politics of anticorruption in Africa more generally, “those called upon to make the structural changes necessary to limit opportunities for corruption are the very actors who benefit most from the status quo” (Lawson 2009, p. 74). In Nigeria, as elsewhere, “anticorruption campaigns, by their very nature, pose a serious danger to the material interests of elites” (Adebanwi and Obadare 2011, p. 187). Corruption, many have argued, is part of the very fabric of power in Nigeria, a defining element of the state (Joseph 1987; Chabal and Daloz 1999; Smith 2007; Lawson 2009). As such, rooting it out requires more than just formal anticorruption policies and programs. The challenges to effective anticorruption efforts are exacerbated by the fact that even ordinary Nigerians have become invested in certain practices of corruption. As Adebanwi and Obadare point out, in a context of widespread poverty and massive inequality: many Nigerians survive on [the] patron client relationships and other indentitarian relationships which link them to particular members of the elite. This means that while Nigerians are generally socially supportive of anti-​corruption efforts, many are

300   Daniel Jordan Smith politically and economically connected to the corruption complex, directly or indirectly [italics in original]. (2011, p. 195)

Such realities explain much about the context-​specific manner in which Nigerians reward, tolerate, or condemn elite corruption, and these complexities make it difficult to mobilize the popular political will necessary for an all-​out war against corruption in the country. While all of this suggests that a socially engineered, donor-​driven technological approach to combating corruption in Nigeria is likely to be bumpy at best, more gen­ eral trajectories of social and political change in the country offer more hope, I think. Nigerians’ discontents about corruption are genuine. Further, they are grounded in an awareness that it is precisely by exploiting the nexus of an impersonal state bureaucracy and the more personalistic ties associated with kinship and patron–​clientism that elites are able to hijack Nigeria’s patrimony. As exemplified by the obvious public support for Ribadu’s initial efforts at the EFCC, Nigerians’ appetite for something better is whetted and growing. The more it becomes apparent the traditional systems of patronage cannot deliver the future the people want, the closer they will come to a collective political conclusion that the only viable way forward is to clean up state corruption, even if it means some sacrifice and hardships in the process.

References Achebe, C. (1983). The Trouble with Nigeria. Enugu: Fourth Dimension Pub. Adebanwi, W. (2012). Authority Stealing: Anti-​Corruption War and Democratic Politics in Post-​ Military Nigeria. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. Adebanwi, W. and Obadare, E. (2011). “When Corruption Fights Back: Democracy and Elite Interest in Nigeria’s Anti-​Corruption War,” Journal of Modern African Studies 49 (2): 185–​213. Agbiboa, D. (2013). “One Step Forward, Two Steps Back: The Political Culture of Corruption and Cleanups in Nigeria,” CEU Political Science Journal 8 (3): 273–​295. Akinola, A. O. and Uzodike, U. O. (2014). “Combating or Condoning Corruption? The Two Faces of Anti-​Corruption Agencies,” Ubuntu: Journal of Conflict Transformation 3 (1–​2): 35–​61. Akinyemi, L. S. (2016). “Civil Society and the Anti-​ Corruption Struggle in Nigeria,” International Journal of Business and Social Science 7 (3): 115–​127. Apter, A. (1999). “IBB  =  419:  Nigerian Democracy and the Politics of Illusion,” in J. L. Comaroff and J. Comaroff (eds), Civil Society and the Political Imagination in Africa: Critical Perspectives. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Bamidele, O., Olaniyan, A. O., and Ayodele, B. (2016). “Culture, Corruption, and Anticorruption Struggles in Nigeria,” Journal of Developing Societies 32 (2): 103–​129. Berry, S. (1989). “Social Institutions and Access to Resources,” Africa 59: 41–​55. Blundo, G. and Olivier de Sardan, J.-​P. (2001). “La corruption quotidienne en Afrique de l’Ouest,” Politique Africaine 83: 8–​37. Chabal, P. and Daloz, J. P. (1999). Africa Works: The Political Instrumentalization of Disorder. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Duru, C. W. (2016). “The Relevance of Nigeria’s Freedom of Information Act (2011) to the Country’s Anti-​Corruption War,” Journalism 6 (12): 757–​762.

Progress and Setbacks in Nigeria’s Anticorruption Efforts    301 Ekeh, P. (1975). “Colonialism and the Two Publics in Africa:  a Theoretical Statement,” Comparative Journal of Society and History 17 (1): 91–​112. Enweremadu, D. U. (2010). Anti-​corruption Policies in Nigeria under Obasanjo and Yar’Adua: What to do after 2011? Friedrich-​Ebert-​Stiftung, Discussion paper No. 1. Gillies, A. (2009a). “Reforming Corruption Out of Nigerian Oil? Part One:  Mapping Corruption Risks in Oil Sector Governance,” U4 Brief 2009(2). Gillies, A. (2009b). “Reforming Corruption Out of Nigerian Oil? Part Two:  Progress and Prospects,” U4 Brief 2009(6). Gore, C. and Pratten, D. (2003). “The Politics of Plunder: The Rhetorics of Order and Disorder in Southern Nigeria,” African Affairs 102 (407): 211–​240. Hoffmann, L. K. and Patel, R. N. (2017). Collective Action on Corruption in Nigeria: a Social Norms Approach to Connecting Society and Institutions. London: Chatham House, The Royal Institute for International Affairs. Igbokwe-​Ibeto, C. J. and Okoye, J. C. (2014). “Anti-​Corruption Crusade in Nigeria: More Words THan Deeds,” International Journal of Public Policy and Administration Research 1 (2): 47–​63. Igbuzor, O. (2008). Strategies for Winning the Anti-​Corruption War in Nigeria. Abuja: Action Aid. Inokoba, P. K. and Ibegu, W. T. (2011). “Economic and Financial Crime Commission (EFCC) and Political Corruption:  Implication for the Consolidation of Democracy in Nigeria,” Anthropologist 13 (4): 283–​291. Joseph, R. A. (1987). Democracy and Prebendal Politics in Nigeria:  The Rise and Fall of the Second Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lawson, L. (2009). “The Politics of Anti-​Corruption Reform in Africa,” Journal of Modern African Studies 47 (1): 73–​100. Lewis, P. (1996). “From Prebendalism to Predation:  The Political Economy of Decline in Nigeria,” Journal of Modern African Studies 34 (1): 79–​103. Nwaodu, N., Adam, D., and Okereke, O. (2014). “A Review of Anti-​Corruption Wars in Nigeria,” Africa’s Public Service Delivery and Performance Review 2 (3): 153–​173. Nye, J. (1967). “Corruption and Political Development: A Cost-​Benefit Analysis,” American Political Science Review 56 (1): 417–​427. Obuah, E. (2010). “Combatting Corruption in Nigeria: The Nigerian Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC),” African Studies Quarterly 12 (1): 17. Ocheni, S. and Nwankwo, B. C. (2012). “The Effectiveness of Anti-​Corruption Agencies in Enhancing Good Governance and Sustainable Developmental Growth in Africa: The Nigeria Paradox under Obasanjo Administration, 2003–​2007,” Canadian Social Science 8 (3): 16. Pierce, S. (2016). Moral Economies of Corruption:  State Formation and Political Culture in Nigeria. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Rothstein, B. (2011). “Anti-​ Corruption:  The Indirect ‘Big Bang’ Approach,” Review of International Political Economy 18 (2): 228–​250. Smith, D. J. (2007). A Culture of Corruption: Everyday Deception and Popular Discontent in Nigeria. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Umar, H. S. I. (2015). “An Analysis of Differential Performances of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) Along Leadership Regimes in Nigeria,” Global Journal of Political Science and Administration 3 (3): 1–​9. Watts, M. (2007). “Petro-​Insurgency or Criminal Syndicate? Conflict and Violence in the Niger Delta,” Review of African Political Economy 34 (114): 637–​660.

Chapter 18

The Judiciary i n Ni g e ria Since  19 9 9 Patrick Ukata

Introduction Since the return to civilian rule in May 1999, Nigeria has practiced a presidential system of government. Under this system of governance, there are three co-​equal branches, of which the judiciary is one. The other branches are the executive and the legislature. The 1999 Constitution structurally adopted the doctrine of separation of powers and checks and balances between the three branches of government. Therefore, each arm of government, even while performing and discharging its own particular functions, will also at the same time maintain a check on the powers and excesses of theother branches of government. The role of the judiciary under such a constitutional arrangement is very critical because it is both the interpreter of the Constitution and also serves to check the excesses of the other two branches of government. Such a role is important given that the democratic process has been mired in disputes over fundamental issues including how best to operate Nigeria’s federalism and how to effectively rebuild its weak and inefficient public institutions (Mustapha 2009, p. 71). Therefore, an independent and effective judiciary is vital within Nigeria’s current constitutional arrangement. This chapter analyzes the role and problems of the judiciary in Nigeria since the beginning of civilian rule in 1999.

A Brief History It should be noted that, prior to 1999, the Nigerian judiciary did not have any significant experience in performing the role of interpreting the Constitution. This is so because the only other period during which the judiciary played any defined constitutional

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    303 role as the interpreter of the Constitution was during the relatively short-​lived Second Republic (1979–​83). As will be seen shortly, during the First Republic (1960–​6) and then throughout the two periods of military rule (the first from 1966 to 1979 and the second period from 1984 to 1999), there was no such clearly defined role for the judiciary. During the First Republic, the judiciary saw its activities curtailed. As Rotimi Suberu points out: Nigeria’s Independence Constitution of 1960 creatively grafted the federalist and intrinsically anti-​majoritarian principle of judicial review onto a majoritarian parliamentary template. The Constitution established a federal Supreme Court, which exercised original jurisdiction in all inter-​regional and federal-​regional conflicts. (Suberu 2008, p. 453)

The practical implementation of this hybrid system left very little to be desired. The judiciary was not quite sure what its exact role should be. Also, operating within a politically charged environment which was marred by intense ethnic rivalry and competition for control of the various regions, it was not long before the judiciary itself became embroiled in bitter political litigations arising from this competition for political power and control. The judiciary in general and the Supreme Court in particular soon ran afoul of the political class. The result was that, under the revised republican Constitution of 1963, the judiciary was essentially stripped of its independence (Suberu 2008). From that point on and until the overthrow of the First Republic by the military in January 1966, the judiciary essentially shied away from any major involvement in the determination of political issues or in asserting its independence (Mackintosh 1966). The coup of January 15, 1966 ushered in Nigeria’s first experience of military rule, a period which lasted until October 1, 1979. Beginning with the promulgation of Decree No. 1 of 1966, known as the Suspension and Modification Decree, the new military government suspended some provisions of the Nigerian Constitution and modified others. Both the executive and legislature branches were suspended. However, the more sweeping changes by far, including the further curtailment of civil liberties, came in the aftermath of the Supreme Court’s decision in the E. O. Lakanmi and Kikelomo Ola v. The Attorney General (Western State) and Others case1. This was a case brought by the appellants (Lakanmi and Ola) who contended that their assets had been wrongly confiscated by the military government because Decree No. 45 of 1966 (known as the Forfeiture of Assets Decree) was invalid and unconstitutional because it accorded the military regime some legislative powers that they did not have under the 1963 Constitution2. In rendering its decision on the Lakanmi case, the Supreme Court held that the takeover of government by the military in January 1966 was not a coup d’état but rather an occasion in which the civilian government had constitutionally handed over power to the military regime. The Supreme Court was persuaded by the argument that the Federal Military Government derived its powers from the 1963 Nigerian Republican Constitution and therefore did not have unlimited legislative powers. Furthermore, the Supreme Court affirmed the view that the granting

304   Patrick Ukata of power to the military regime took place by virtue of the “doctrine of necessity,” and as such, was in accordance with the Constitution which included the law of necessity. In effect, the Supreme Court’s decision in the Lakanmi case had questioned the military government’s ability to make laws and to confiscate property without the express permission of the Constitution. In a prompt reaction to the Supreme Court’s decision in Lakanmi, the military regime quickly promulgated the Federal Military Government (Supremacy and Enforcement of Powers) Decree No. 28 of 1970. This decree clarified the power and authority of the military regime by reasserting (albeit retroactively) that the military takeover of January 15, 1966, and the subsequent coup which followed it on July 29, 1966, were indeed coups d’état and that these two coups had effectively abrogated the preexisting legal order, except for those which had been expressly preserved in Decree No. 1 of 1966. Decree No. 28 further stated that the Federal Military Government had unlimited and absolute powers and therefore, no court of law had the power to entertain any question relating to the validity of its decrees or edicts. On the whole, Decree No. 28 of 1970 had a serious chilling effect on the courts and society at large. The judiciary, which had been accustomed to reviewing legislation, suddenly found itself prevented from doing so because of the decree. Also, individuals who felt that their civil liberties had been violated by particular decrees or edicts could no longer challenge them in any court of law. The handing over of power to a democratically elected government on October 1, 1979 ushered in a new period of relative judicial independence in Nigeria. Under the 1979 Constitution, the judiciary had the power to arbitrate and adjudicate matters between individuals and government and also between either the other two arms of government or the various tiers of government (namely, the federal, state, and local governments)3. The judiciary also had the power to declare null and void any law passed by the National Assembly which was deemed to be in violation of the Constitution. Armed with these powers, the judiciary witnessed a period (albeit relatively brief) of robust judicial federalism as the courts entertained and ruled on issues including those dealing with federal–​state conflicts, electoral administration, and public order (Suberu 2008). But this evolving judicial robustness was cut short by the intervention of the military on December 31, 1983. The second period of military rule in Nigeria ran from January 1, 1984 until May 29, 1999. Under military rule, the judiciary was effectively hemmed in yet again. As Clement Nwankwo points out, on seizing power the military “embarked on a systematic annihilation of the principles and practices of due process recognized by the nation’s legal and judicial system” (Nwankwo 1997, p. 352). The military did away with the executive and the legislative branches and severely restricted the judiciary’s judicial review powers. Decree No. 1 of 1984, for instance, effectively suspended all individual civil rights including those against unlawful arrest, the right to a lawyer, the right to expect to be charged and taken to court at a reasonable time, to be informed in writing within twenty-​four hours of the reasons for your arrest, and the right to be compensated for unlawful arrest, all contained in Section 32(3)–​32(7) of the 1979 Constitution. The military

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    305 also damaged the concept of judicial independence (Nwankwo 1997, p. 362). This period came to an end in May 1999, when power was handed over to a democratically elected civilian government.

Judicial Powers and Independence Since 1999 Under the 1999 Constitution, judicial powers are vested in the courts4. These courts include the Supreme Court (at the apex), the Court of Appeal, the Federal High Court, State High Court, Sharia Court of Appeal, Customary Court of Appeal, Magistrates Courts, and such other courts as may be authorized by law to exercise the jurisdiction on matters within the competence of the National or State Assembly. Section 6 of the 1999 Constitution also spells out the numerous powers of the courts including the power to adjudicate and resolve all conflicts and disputes between persons; disputes between the legislature and the executive branches of government; and between government and individuals5. It also empowers the courts to strike down legislative and executive actions which are deemed unconstitutional. The 1999 Constitution also provides for the creation of a National Judicial Council (NJC), made up mainly of senior judges of the federal courts and headed by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court6. It is the independent body with exclusive supervisory authority over all federal courts and which also has responsibility for formulating broad policy guidelines for the judiciary. On the basis of nominations and submissions received from the federal or state judicial services commissions, the NJC recommends suitable federal and state judges for appointment by either the president (at the federal level) or the governor (at the state level). These appointments are subject to confirmation by the Senate at the federal level, or the State House of Assembly at the state level. It reviews the performance of all judicial officers. Judges are generally appointed and promoted in a fair and unbiased manner. The NJC has been very effective in scrutinizing prospective candidates. The promotion of judges is normally done by seniority. The NJC has also exercised effective oversight of judicial conduct. It has the power to recommend to the president the removal from office of federal judicial officers and to the governors of states the removal of state judicial officers, and to exercise disciplinary control over both state and federal judicial officers throughout the federation. Where allegations of impropriety are leveled against a judicial officer, the NJC fully investigates such allegations. During that process both the petitioners and the accused are given an opportunity to appear before the NJC to, as the case may be, either substantiate their claims or to fully defend themselves. It is only once the NJC is fully convinced that there is indeed impropriety on the part of the judicial official that a recommendation for removal is made. The creation of the NJC was meant to shield the judiciary from overt political interference by both the executive and the legislative branches of government. To further insulate the judiciary from excessive executive branch financial control, the NJC is charged with the disbursement of salaries, allowances, and overhead costs

306   Patrick Ukata of the judicial officers. It does so by being responsible for preparing the Capital and Recurrent budget for the federal judiciary (and also for the payment of pensions and gratuities of all retired federal judicial officers), and the Recurrent budget for the state judicial offices7. However, the state courts still remain vulnerable to political pressures. Whereas the federal courts are now fully under the exclusive supervision of the NJC, the state courts are still partly under the supervision of the state executive branch, particularly in matters of capital budgetary allocations. This exposes them to gubernatorial manipulation. Funds for state upkeep of courts are usually allocated through each state’s ministry of justice, allowing governors to reward their judicial branches for favorable rulings and starving them of funds if they show defiance. As a result, state courts tend to bend to political pressure from the executive branch. Governors have also been known to offer inducements, such as purchasing new cars or providing better housing for state court judges, in the hope of receiving favorable judgments in exchange. Since the inception of democratic rule in May 1999, the judiciary has been empowered by the Constitution to carve out its independence as one of the three branches of government. The judiciary has been remarkably placed to resolve all kinds of disputes including those dealing with the exercise of political power. As John Campbell states: the judiciary and the legislature—​are potential venues for positive transformation of the Nigeria’s political culture. The judiciary, especially the election tribunals, the Court of Appeals, and the Supreme Court, is acting with greater independence from the executive; at least on occasion. Following the 2007 elections, the judicial system invalidated numerous Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC)-​ announced results. (Campbell 2013, p. 36)

Such a concerted effort on the part of the judiciary to increasingly assert its own independence is remarkable, given its recent subjugation during the military regimes. For as Osahon Guobadia aptly points out: The courts must interpret the Constitution and the law to maintain equilibrium and harmony between the government and the governed. The supremacy of the Constitution must be upheld at every opportunity. In order to carry out this arduous function, the judiciary needs to be independent because it is the stabilizing organ in the polity. To deny that means the denial of democratic principles, denial of the rule of law, and denying citizens their fundamental rights and their entitlement to good governance. (Guobadia 2012, p. 317)

Arguably, the judiciary is fast becoming a stabilizing force within Nigeria’s Fourth Republic. Though the overall scorecard on the judiciary’s stewardship thus far has been mixed, it is clear that it has not shied away from fully embracing its newly acquired powers and independence under the 1999 Constitution. Some of the judiciary’s own shortcomings (some of these will be looked at shortly) notwithstanding, its performance as a stabilizing force within the Nigerian political structure since 1999 has been

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    307 nothing short of remarkable. As discussed in the next section, the courts in general have come to play a very active and mediating role within Nigerian society.

The Role of the Judiciary Since 1999 Since May 1999, the judiciary as a whole has steadily performed a significant role as the interpreter of the law and an adjudicator of numerous conflict-​driven issues. The courts have played a critical judicial review role in mediating intergovernmental conflicts and in constitutional conflicts between the branches of government particularly on very consequential federalism issues. According to Rotimi Suberu, the “inter-​governmental conflicts have involved some of the most constitutionally contentious, politically explosive and regionally divisive issues in the federation” (Suberu 2008, p. 451). What follows is a brief overview of the role which the courts played in resolving cases. The protection of the fundamental human rights of citizens as enshrined in the 1999 Constitution is one of the issues which the judiciary has been called upon to deal with. The Nigerian judiciary, as Osahon Guobadia has pointed out, “stood as a bulwark against the various dangers and violations targeted at the fundamental rights of citizens as contained in the 1999 Constitution” (Guobadia 2012, p. 314). For instance, in delivering its judgment in the case of Anode v. MMeka8, the Court of Appeal applied relevant provisions of Section 42 (2) of the 1999 Constitution guaranteeing fundamental human rights to rule on the custom amongst the Umuyi Ndiukwu Akabo Community of Imo State which barred a person born out of wedlock from inheriting the estate of his grandparents. The court held that it was antithetic to the well-​cherished tenets of fundamental human rights to deprive the grandson of this inheritance. In another case, during the aftermath of the 2007 general election which had been characterized by monumental malpractice, there were many protests to reject the results of the elections. The police disrupted one of such demonstration by twelve political parties, citing the Public Order Act which prohibits meetings and processions without a license. The police action was challenged in court by the aggrieved political parties in Inspector General of Police v. All Nigeria People’s Party and 11 Others9. In delivering its judgment, the court held that the relevant sections of the Public Order Act were in conflict with Section 40 of the 1999 Constitution and as such were invalid. The court also affirmed the right to organize rallies as a form of expression in a democratic state. Furthermore, the court stated that “it is a trend recognized and deeply entrenched in the system of governance in civilized countries—​it will not only be primitive but also retrogressive if Nigeria continues to require a pass to hold rallies.”10 The immunity clause is another issue area in which the judiciary has been called upon to address conflicts. To ensure that certain officeholders are not overly distracted from discharging their official duties by private suits while they are in office, the immunity clause was enshrined in Section 308 of the 1999 Constitution. There are some like Osahon Guobadia who have argued that granting “immunity is a clear escape route

308   Patrick Ukata for political officeholders who have engaged in illegalities” (Guobadia 2012, p.  310). However, the courts have consistently found in favor of the officeholders by ruling that the constitutional provision grants absolute immunity to the officeholder throughout their tenure in office. For instance, in Tinubu v. IMB Securities Plc11, the Supreme Court reiterated its long-​standing principle that the immunity created by Section 308 temporarily puts a stop to any action against an officeholder pending when the occupant of that office vacates such an office, and then the cause of action regains its life. In essence, the court re-​emphasized its belief that Section 308 of the 1999 Constitution does not deny citizens their right of access to court but rather protects officeholders from lawsuits while still in office. This frees the officeholder to conduct the affairs of governance free from any hindrance, embarrassment, and difficulty which may arise if he or she is being constantly pursued and harassed with court actions. While upholding its earlier decision in the Tinubu case, the Supreme Court nonetheless made a slight variation in terms of its view of the immunity clause in the case of Global Excellence Communication Ltd v. Mr. Donald Duke12. The Supreme Court ruled that Mr. Donald Duke, the then governor of Cross River State, was not precluded under Section 308 of the 1999 Constitution from exercising his right to institute actions in his personal capacity in any relevant court of law to press for redress during his tenure of office, however, no court action shall lie against him during his period in office. Clearly, the courts appear to be somewhat hyper-​sensitive to the destructive activities of some Nigerian politicians who, even when they lose elections fairly, would rather engage in the use of vexatious litigation to frustrate the policies and programs of their successful opponents. There have also been numerous occasions when the judiciary has been called upon to adjudicate disputes between the different tiers of government. For instance, in Attorney General of the Federation v. Attorney General of Abia and 35 Ors13, the Supreme Court was called upon to decide a matter dealing with natural resources and the “derivation principle.” This is a principle enshrined in Section 162 of the 1999 Constitution whereby, for any allocation of federal revenue, not less than 13 percent of the total revenue or proceeds accruing to the Federation from any natural resources is set aside for the state or group of states from where that natural resource is mined. The dispute in question arose between the federal government and littoral states (mainly Akwa Ibom, Bayelsa, Cross River, Delta, Rivers, Ondo, and Lagos) as to the issue of whether the revenue from oil resources derivable from the continental shelf of Nigeria should be included in computation of the derivation revenue accruing to those states which directly share a boundary with the sea. In rendering its judgment on the matter, the Supreme Court agreed with the federal government’s position that the natural resources (including oil and gas) of Nigeria’s continental shelf belonged to the entire country and so could not be subjected to the derivation principle as argued by the littoral states. According to the court, the southern boundaries of the littoral states did not extend to Nigeria’s territorial waters but rather ended at the water’s edge. However, in strictly political terms, as Rotimi Suberu points out, “the Supreme Court’s blunt rejection of the claims of littoral states to offshore oil

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    309 revenues reflected and legitimated the fiscal interests of the Federal Government and the non-​oil-​producing majority of the Nigerian states” (Suberu 2008, pp. 463–​4). In another case, the Attorney General of Abia State & 2 Ors v. Attorney General of the Federation and 33 Ors (Revenue Monitoring case)14, the issue before the Supreme Court had to do with the constitutionality of the Local Government Revenue Monitoring Act which had been passed by the National Assembly. The argument made by the plaintiff states was that this Act which called for the disbursement of local government revenue allocations from the federation account directly to the local governments and also called for the direct monitoring of that process by the federal authorities, was unconstitutional. According to the states, this Act had called for undue federal government interference into the political and fiscal administration powers of the state governments over local government matters as laid out in Section 7 of the 1999 Constitution. One of the stated objectives of the Revenue Monitoring Act, it was claimed, was to ensure that all funds allocated to the local governments from the Federation Account were actually being handed over to them. Another goal of the legislation was to contain the perceived leakages and even corrupt uses (by some state governments) of funds allocated to local governments. The general perception was that funds allocated to the local governments that were meant to be used for the development of infrastructure such as roads within the local governments were not being used for such purposes. The result was that there was a very deplorable state of infrastructure throughout the country. Notwithstanding all the stated laudable goals and objectives behind this legislation, the Supreme Court in its ruling on the matter held that the National Assembly had clearly exceeded its powers under the Constitution. The court, in upholding the arguments put forward by the plaintiff states, made it clear that the National Assembly’s legislative actions had to be kept squarely within the limits prescribed by the Constitution. The justices further laid emphasis on the Supremacy Clause which mandated the three branches of government to only act within the confines or limits of the Constitution. In another example of an intergovernmental dispute case, the Attorney General of Abia & 35 Ors v.  Attorney General of the Federation15, the state governments had instituted a lawsuit challenging the constitutional powers of the National Assembly to enact legislation on the tenure of local government councils. All the thirty-​six states had challenged the constitutionality of the 2001 Electoral Act which had been passed by the National Assembly and assented to by the president. The states had argued that, in enacting this legislation, the National Assembly had exceeded its powers in clear violation of Section 7 (1) of the 1999 Constitution. They had further argued that the state legislatures (and not the National Assembly) were empowered by Section 197 of the Constitution to alter, as they saw fit, the tenure of office of elected local government officials in their respective states. In rendering its decision on the matter, the Supreme Court held that the National Assembly had clearly exceeded its authority by passing legislation to alter the tenure of elected local government officers. The court said that the National Assembly lacked the authority under the Constitution to set the dates for the conduct of local

310   Patrick Ukata government elections or to make other provisions for the conduct of such elections anywhere around the country, except as it relates to the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja, which is under the federal government’s jurisdiction. However, rather than declaring the entire Act as unconstitutional as the states had asked for, the court instead engaged in a section-​by-​section review of the Act to determine which provisions were constitutional and which sections were not. This practice is commonly referred to as the “blue pencil rule.”16 The courts have invariably resorted to the “blue pencil rule” to somehow redeem legislative excess (Yusuf 2009). The court’s position however, was aptly summed up by Justice Idris Kutigi when he observed in his lead judgment that: The Electoral Act as a whole is a mix-​up, a confusion, because the National Assembly seemed to have treated its powers with respect to Federal elections as if it were co-​ extensive with its powers over Local Government elections. They were wrong . . . a few provisions of the Act are good but quite a large number of them are bad and had been struck-​out17.

This latter case clearly illustrated the very delicate balancing act which the Supreme Court in particular, and the entire judiciary in general, has displayed over the years in rendering its judgments on the various cases having to do with intergovernmental conflicts. Arguably, a treatment of the judicial review role of the Nigerian judiciary in the period since 1999, particularly as it pertains to federalism conflicts between the National Assembly and the state governments, cannot be complete without a reference to the extraordinary level of deference which the courts have consistently shown to the National Assembly. As Hakeem Yusuf points out: Notwithstanding the broadly couched powers of judicial review contained in sections 6 and 315 (3) of the Constitution, in practice, the Court has consistently adopted an attitude of considerable judicial deference to the legislature. In case after case, when called upon to strike down a piece of challenged legislation in its entirety the Court has exercised restraint. For all its seeming readiness to take on political issues and its commitment to uphold the Supremacy Clause, the Court has been reluctant to declare any piece of legislation illegal. Indeed, it has yet to invalidate any enactment in its entirety on grounds of unconstitutionality. In Attorney General of Lagos State v Attorney General of the Federation & 35 Ors (Urban Planning case), Justice Tobi declared that, even in cases where a section of a statute is inconsistent with the Constitution, the Court was duty bound to only “remove the chaff from the grain.” (Yusuf 2009, p. 664)

As the ongoing review of the role of the judiciary since 1999 shows, the judiciary as a whole has played a significant mediating role within Nigerian society. The Supreme Court, in particular, has been called upon to arbitrate or rule on numerous constitutional matters affecting the various tiers of government and between the government and individuals and the Supreme Court has performed this role creditably (Yusuf 2008).

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    311 As Rotimi Suberu who did an extensive study of the Supreme Court from 1999 to 2007 puts it: A remarkable feature of the post-​military civilian rule in Nigeria from 1999 to 2007 was the independent and relatively balanced role of the Supreme Court in arbitrating a succession of intergovernmental conflicts in the federation. The Court affirmed federal ownership rights over offshore oil resources, but validated national political legislation that assigned portions of those resources to the littoral states in order to assuage grievances in the Niger Delta region. It upheld the broad powers of the Federal Government to craft the parameters for the intergovernmental distribution of centrally collected revenues, but proclaimed the rights of the states to a transparent, non-​arbitrary, and potentially decentralized national revenue-​sharing scheme. (Suberu 2008, p. 482)

Corruption in the Judiciary It has been said that corruption has permeated just about every facet of Nigerian society (Smith 2007). In a democracy, the judiciary is supposed to enforce and to uphold the rule of law (Adeleke and Olayanju 2014). Of course, this presupposes that judicial officers will hold themselves to a higher standard and, as such, will not engage in corrupt practices (Oko 2009). But, when members of the judiciary are themselves corrupt, it creates a situation where the society at large loses faith in the judicial process. This is because the public becomes suspicious of the motivations behind court decisions, wondering whether particular court decisions have been arrived at by judges due to the facts of the case or due to pecuniary gains. As Okechukwu Oko points out: Nigerians appear to be moving away from the general idea of courts being impartial in the dispensing of justice and now believe that what you have in place is “cash and carry” justice where judges subvert justice at will and ignore precedents. (Oko 2005, p. 30)

For some time there was a general perception that many judges in the state courts were corrupt. The federal courts, particularly the Supreme Court which has shown a high degree of probity and independence, had for a long time been seen as somewhat immune from this problem. However, over time this has changed. But it was still somewhat of a scandal when, the then president of the Court of Appeal, Justice Isa Ayo Salami, filed a lawsuit in the Federal High Court rejecting a proposed promotion by the NJC to the Supreme Court because, as he alleged at the time, the then Chief Justice of Nigeria, Justice Aloysius Katsina-​Alu, had asked him to compromise the Court of Appeal’s verdict in the matter of the Sokoto governorship election case before it (SaharaReporters 2011; Samade 2011). Justice Ayo Salami had alleged that Justice Katsina-​Alu had personally asked him to either disband the original panel hearing the case, which Justice

312   Patrick Ukata Katsina-​Alu believed was about to give a verdict adverse to Aliyu Wamakko, the then incumbent Sokoto governor’s interest, or to direct the panel to issue a judgment in the governor’s favor (SaharaReporters 2011; Samade 2011; Human Rights Watch 2011). Justice Salami further stated that it was when he refused to do either of those things that Justice Katsina-​Alu announced his surprise promotion from the Court of Appeals to the Supreme Court as a way of removing him entirely from that process (SaharaReporters 2011; Samade 2011). The NJC subsequently investigated the issue and found that Justice Salami had no evidence to prove his allegation and asked him to apologize. When he refused to do so, he was suspended (Shehu 2011). In April 2012, the NJC headed by the then new Chief Justice of Nigeria, Justice Dahiru Musdapher, revisited the issue and made a recommendation to President Goodluck Jonathan that Justice Salami should be reinstated (Shehu 2011; Bamgboye 2011). That NJC recommendation was, however, not implemented by President Jonathan18. Until his compulsory retirement in 2013, Justice Salami was never reinstated by the former president. However, the reaction to this disclosure by Justice Salami was one of outright condemnation of the alleged actions by the then sitting Chief Justice of Nigeria. It also signaled to many the fact that the Supreme Court may not be immune from corruption after all (Shehu 2011; Bamgboye 2011). Since then, the federal courts including the Supreme Court, just like the state courts, have come under increasing attack for corruption and for issuing frivolous interim injunctions (Ughegbe 2011; Shehu 2011). For instance, in September 2011, the then Chief Justice of Nigeria, Justice Dahiru Musdapher, made a startling revelation that the NJC was receiving an average of about forty complaints and petitions of alleged corruption and misconduct against sitting judges at each of its meetings (Oyesina 2011). Justice Musdapher then went on to say that “there shall be zero-​tolerance for judicial corruption or misconduct” (Oyesina 2011). Following these developments, a twenty-​nine-​person, high-​powered judicial reform committee was set up headed by a former Chief Justice of Nigeria, Justice Muhammad Uwais, to carefully study the judiciary and to make recommendations for reforms. Among the issues the committee was asked to look into were “the trial process, procedural inefficiencies, poor infrastructure, poor conditions of service for judicial and non-​judicial officers, declining intellectual quality and reasoning content of delivered judgments, and corruption” (Ughegbe 2011a). In December 2011, the Justice Uwais judicial reform committee submitted its report, calling for judicial reforms, some of which required constitutional and legislative amendments (Ughegbe 2011b; Bamgboye 2011). The expectation then was that the Uwais committee recommendations will form the basis for a wide range of reforms of the federal court system to be conducted by the NJC. Unfortunately, no sweeping overhaul of the judiciary, based on the Uwais committee recommendations, ever took place. In October 2016, two justices of the Supreme Court and five judges of the Federal High Court were arrested and detained by officials of the Directorate of State Security (DSS) on suspicion of corruption and professional misconduct (Daniel 2016; Butty 2016). According to the news reports, acting on allegations of corruption leveled against

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    313 them, the DSS security agents raided the homes of the judges and justices and, in one particular instance, they found as much as $2 million stashed away in the home of one of the judges (Daniel 2016; Butty 2016). In September 2017, the NJC constituted fifteen separate panels to probe fifteen judges, including two chief judges, for alleged judicial misconduct (Adesomoju 2017a; Ikhilae 2017). According to news accounts, the NJC had taken the decision after considering the reports of two Preliminary Complaints Assessment Committees on forty-​six petitions written against judicial officers in the federal and state judiciaries. From such reports, it is clear that judicial corruption is continuing unabated. However recently, the judiciary appears to be taking major steps to show that it is serious about fighting corruption and about repairing its tarnished image. In September 2017, during a special Supreme Court session held to mark the opening of the 2017–​18 legal year, the Chief Justice of Nigeria, Justice Walter Onnoghen, directed all heads of courts in the country to designate at least one court in their various jurisdictions as Special Courts (Nnochiri 2017). These Special Courts will be solely responsible for hearing and speedily determining corruption and financial crimes cases. Justice Onnoghen also ordered heads of courts to compile and forward to the NJC a comprehensive list of all the corruption and financial crimes cases being handled by their courts (Ejike 2017; Ikhilae 2017b). Shortly thereafter, the NJC announced that it had constituted a fifteen-​member Corruption and Financial Crime Cases Trial Monitoring Committee to be headed by the retired former Court of Appeal President, Justice Isa Ayo Salami (Ejike 2017; Ikhilae 2017a). The NJC listed the primary responsibilities of the committee to include: the regular monitoring and evaluation of proceedings at designated courts for financial and economic crimes nationwide; advising the Chief Justice of Nigeria on how to eliminate delays in the trial of alleged corruption cases; giving feedback to the NJC on progress of cases in designated courts; conducting background checks on judges selected for the designated courts; and evaluating the performance of the designated courts (Nnochiri 2017). However, after a major civil society organization, the Socio-​Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP), circulated a widely published petition to the Chief Justice of Nigeria regarding the need to recompose the committee in view of the potential conflict of interest arising from the presence on the committee of senior lawyers involved in the often “corrupt” legal defense of corrupt politicians, Justice Ayo Salami turned down his appointment as chair of the Anti-​Corruption Cases Trial Monitoring Committee (Adesomoju 2017b). And the NJC has since replaced him with a retired Justice of the Supreme Court, Justice Suleiman Galadima (Adesomoju 2017c). Only time will tell if these steps being taken by the judiciary will yield their intended results. The NJC was set up to deal with some of the “underlying sources of such judicial corruption, including politicization of the appointment process for justices, the relatively poor salaries and conditions of service in the judiciary, the operational and financial dependence of the judicature on the political executive, and the paucity of effective mechanism for detecting, investigating and punishing corrupt behavior” (Suberu 2008, p. 457). However, considering that judicial corruption continues unabated, clearly more needs to be done, even beyond the steps discussed here, to effectively contain the situation.

314   Patrick Ukata

Other Problems Affecting the Judiciary Apart from the problem of judicial corruption, already discussed here, there are a number of other problems which also affect the performance of the judiciary. These include: heavy caseloads and lack of speedy trials; intimidation and manipulation of judges; and inadequate infrastructure. These will each be discussed briefly, beginning with the issue of the heavy caseload and lack of speedy trials. Under the 1999 Constitution, everyone has a right to a “fair hearing within a reasonable time by a court or other tribunal established by law.”19 However, the reality is that trials are almost never speedy nor are they held within a reasonable time. On average, cases at the first instance could take up to five or six years to reach a judgment, with an additional three or four years added to it if the case goes on to appeal (Oko 2005, p. 39). With such long delays, it is not uncommon for the original litigant to have passed away before a final verdict is reached in a case. One reason for such long delays is that, at any given time, most of the courts in Nigeria have a heavy load of pending cases to deal with. Another reason is that the environment under which most courts operate in Nigeria makes the court process slow and it becomes difficult for judges to dispose of cases expeditiously. This is because the task of judges “is painfully cumbersome due to the lack of stenographers. Judges struggle with recording all the evidence in long hand, while trying to get impressions on the demeanor of the witnesses and fielding legal arguments, objections and interjections from lively Nigerian lawyers” (Oko 2005, p. 44). Clearly, this is a very cumbersome process and makes it difficult for judges to live up to the constitutional provisions which guarantee a fair and speedy trial. Interestingly, to avoid excessive delays in court proceedings, a time limit of ninety days for judges to deliver their judgments from when a matter has been heard and counsels have addressed the court was imposed by the 1999 Constitution20. Therefore, judges are actually constitutionally required to render their judgment on a case within ninety days after the conclusion of evidence and final arguments by counsel. However, the reality is that, given the sheer number of cases before them and the trial conditions highlighted earlier, it is just not practical to live up to this constitutional mandate. Another problem that plagues the Nigerian judiciary and which also negatively impacts on the fair and speedy administration of justice is the problem of inadequate infrastructure (Oko 2005, p.  42). In a study conducted by Human Rights Watch, it found that: Court facilities are hopelessly overcrowded, badly equipped, and underfunded. Interpreters may be nonexistent or badly trained. Court libraries are inadequate. There are no computers, photocopiers, or other modern equipment; and judges may even have to supply their own paper and pen to record their judgment in longhand.

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    315 If litigants need a transcript of a judgment for the purpose of an appeal, they have to pay for the transcript themselves. (Human Rights Watch 1999)

These are very serious problems faced by courts throughout the country. And the paucity of funds available to the judiciary nationwide only compounds these problems and makes them difficult to solve. This means that court records and judgments are at times stored in “less than satisfactory conditions, thus making them susceptible to damage or intentional destruction by unscrupulous citizens” (Oko 2005, p. 43). And this further promotes corruption within the judiciary. Also, inadequate infrastructure in the courtroom can potentially result in parties to cases not having as wide a range of visual and technological aids at their disposal to litigate their cases (Oko 2005, p. 43). The intimidation and manipulation of judges is another problem which adversely affects the Nigerian judiciary. There is a general attitude, particularly amongst Nigeria’s political elite, to try to influence the judicial process to their own advantage. They do so usually by either offering the judge a bribe or by promising them a speedy promotion to a higher bench. But if the judges refuse such offers, they then often resort to outright intimidation. The intimidation of judges is very widespread and spans the entire spectrum of the judiciary (Ushigiale 2004; Iloegbunam 2004)21. As Okechukwu Oko points out: Threats are intended to and often do have a chilling effect on the judges. Unchecked, threats on judges will fundamentally affect the way the judges approach their functions. Feelings of insecurity engendered by threats on judicial officers seriously undermine the security, tranquility and independence judges need to fairly and impartially dispense justice. (Oko 2005, p. 36)

Also, very well-​placed individuals and some executive branch members engage in different types of manipulation, including gratification, to get judges to render judgments which are favorable to them. “Top government officials have little or no respect for the concept of separation of powers and unabashedly use their enormous powers to manipulate the judiciary” (Oko 2005, p. 36). As such, judges live with the constant fear and anxiety that if they do not conduct themselves in ways deemed as “pleasing” to the executive branch officials, they may be subjected to some form of manipulation (Oko 2005, p. 36).

Conclusion The Nigerian judiciary has played an important role in interpreting the Constitution and ensuring the enforcement of the rule of law. The courts have been called upon to rule on many issues and disputes, including those dealing with the protection of

316   Patrick Ukata fundamental human rights of citizens, intergovernmental conflicts, election disputes, conflicts among individuals, and corruption. As the ongoing discussion has shown, the Supreme Court, in particular, has gradually risen up to the challenge of playing a critical balancing role within Nigeria’s evolving federalism. Arguably, the problems within the judiciary, especially corruption, have affected the legal profession in particular and the entire Nigerian society. The legal profession was once seen as a very honorable profession and both judges and lawyers were once held in very high esteem by the general public. That is no longer the case given widespread judicial branch corruption and executive branch manipulation of judges. However, to begin to restore the judiciary to its once exalted position will require comprehensive reforms of the entire judicial branch and dealing squarely with the problems and challenges which have been highlighted in this chapter. Such a comprehensive reform effort will necessarily include: providing better conditions of service to judges and judicial staff, upgrading the infrastructure, bolstering judicial independence and fiscal autonomy, placing serious sanctions on corrupt judges, and providing continuing education for the judicial staff including judges. Providing better conditions of service for judges and judicial staff is a necessary first step towards restoring some respectability to the judicial branch. The judiciary has the responsibility of ensuring that the rule of law is maintained within Nigerian society and also helping to combat corruption. Those are very important tasks which the judiciary must constantly strive to accomplish.

Notes 1. This case is popularly referred to as “The Lakanmi Case” (1971) I. U.IL.R. 201. 2. Under Decree No. 45 of 1966, the military government had purportedly taken over all the assets of some named government officials (two of which were Lakanmi and Ola) accused of unfair or corrupt enrichment while in office. 3. Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended), 1979, S 6 (6). 4. Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended), 1999, S 6. 5. Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended), 1999, S 6. 6. This provision is contained in Paragraph 21 of Part One of the Third Schedule to the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, as amended. 7. The NJC performs these additional responsibilities pursuant to its Constitutional powers in Section 158 and Paragraph 21 Subparagraph (i) of Part One of the Third Schedule to the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, as amended. 8. (2008) 10 NWLR (Pt. 1094) 1 (CA). 9. (2007) 18 NWLR (Pt. 1066). 10. See Inspector General of Police v. All Nigeria People’s Party and 11 others (2007) 118 NWLR (Pt. 1056) 459 at 499. 11. (2001)16 NWLR (Pt. 740) 670. 12. (2007) 16 NWLR (Pt. 1059) 22. 13. SC 28/​2001. 14. SC 99/​2005.

The Judiciary in Nigeria Since 1999    317 15. SC 3/​2002. 16. This is essentially a principle of British contract law where the rules do allow for courts to enforce a contract after first striking out those terms within the contract deemed to be unreasonable to make the contractual terms more reasonable. 17. See SC 3/​2002 at 132. 18. At the time, Justice Ayo Salami had been viewed by both the then ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and the Jonathan administration as a judge who always ruled against PDP candidates in election matters which came before his court. Therefore, they were not very interested in reinstating him. 19. See Article 36 (1) of the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. 20. See Article 294 (1) of the 1999 Nigerian Constitution. This article states that: “Every court established under this Constitution shall deliver its decision in writing not later than ninety days after the conclusion of evidence and final addresses and furnish all parties to the cause or matter determined with duly authenticated copies of the decision within seven days of the delivery thereof.” 21. See Joseph Ushigiale, “Abia CJ Attacked, Escapes Unhurt,” This Day (Nig.), June 9, 2004. See also Chucks Iloegbunam, “Perspectives:  Justice Nigeria,” Vanguard (Nig.) March 2, 2004.

References Adeleke, F. A. and Olayanju, O. F. (2014). “The Role of the Judiciary in Combating Corruption:  Aiding and Inhibiting Factors in Nigeria,” Commonwealth Law Bulletin 40 (4): 589–​607. Adesomoju, A. (2017a). “NJC Raises Panels to Probe Two Chief Judges, 13 Others,” Punch October 3, 2017. Adesomoju, A. (2017b). “Grafts Cases Monitoring:  CJN awaits Justice Salami’s Rejection Letter,” Punch October 26, 2017 Adesomoju, A. (2017c). “NJC Replaces Salami with Galadima as Head of Graft Cases Monitoring Committee,” Punch October 31, 2017. Bamgboye, A. (2011). “Uwais C’ttee to CJN: Reinstate Salami,” Daily Trust December 16, 2011. Butty, J. (2016). “Nigeria’s Corruption Fight Nabs Judges and Justices,” Voice of American News October 12, 2016. Campbell, J. (2013). Nigeria: Dancing on the Brink. Lanham, MD: Rowan and Littlefield. Daniel, S. (2016). “Two Supreme Court Judges, 5 Others Arrested over Alleged Corruption,” Vanguard October 8, 2016. Ejike, S. (2017). “Justice Salami Heads NJC Committee on Looters’ Trial,” Nigeria Tribune September 27, 2017. Guobadia, O. O. (2012). “The Relevance of the Judiciary in a Democratic Nigeria,” African Journal of International and Comparative Law 20 (2): 301–​317. Human Rights Watch (1999). The Price of Oil:  Corporate Responsibility and Human Rights Violations in Nigeria’s Oil Producing Communities. New York: Human Rights Watch. Human Rights Watch (2011). Corruption on Trial? The Record of Nigeria’s Economic and Financial Crimes Commission. New York: Human Rights Watch. Ikhilae, E. (2017a). “NJC Appoints Salami as Head of Corruption Cases Panel,” Nation September 28, 2017.

318   Patrick Ukata Ikhilae, E. (2017b). “NJC begins Probe of 15 Judges,” Nation October 3, 2017. Mackintosh, J. (1966). Nigerian Government and Politics. Evanston, IL:  Northwestern University Press. Mustapha, A. R. (2009). “Nigeria since 1999: A Revolving Door Syndrome or the Consolidation of Democracy?” in A. R. Mustapha and L. Whitfield (eds), Turning Points in African Democracy (pp. 71–​93). New York: James Currey. Nnochiri, I. (2017). “Anti-​graft War: CJN Okays Special Courts, Judges to try Alleged Looters,” Vanguard September 19, 2017. Nwankwo, C. (1997). “The Judicial System and Human Rights,” in L. Diamond, A. Kirk-​ Greene, and O. Oyeleye (eds), Transition Without End: Nigerian Politics and Civil Society Under Babangida (pp. 351–​362). Boulder, CO/​London: Lynne Rienner. Ogowewo, T. I. (2005). “Self-​inflicted Constraints on Judicial Government in Nigeria,” Journal of African Law 49 (1): 39–​53. Oko, O. (2005). “Seeking Justice in Transitional Societies: An Analysis of the Problems and Failures of the Judiciary in Nigeria,” Brooklyn Journal of International Law 31 (1): 9–​82. Oko, O. (2009). “Lawyers in Fragile Democracies and the Challenges of Democratic Consolidation,” The Nigerian Experience. Fordham Law Review 77 (4): 1295–​1331. Oyesina, T. (2011). “Petitions Flood NJC against Judges–​CJN; Admits All is Not Well with Judiciary,” Nigerian Tribune September 20, 2011. SaharaReporters (2011). “Court of Appeal President, Justice Ayo Salami, to be Promoted to the Supreme Court,” SaharaReporters February 2, 2011. Samade, A. (2011). “Promotion: Justice Salami Drags CJN to Court,” Vanguard February 9, 2011. Shehu, M. S. (2011). “Jonathan Tasks Musdapher on Crisis in Judiciary,” Daily Trust September 27, 2011. Smith, D. J. (2007). A Culture of Corruption: Everyday Deception and Popular Discontent in Nigeria. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Suberu, R. (2008). “The Supreme Court and Federalism in Nigeria,” Journal of Modern African Studies 46 (3): 451–​485. Ughegbe, L. (2011a). “Musdapher Admits Rot in Judiciary, Vows Reforms,” Guardian September 20, 2011. Ughegbe, L. (2011b). “Panel on Judicial Reform Submits Report Amid Controversy,” Guardian December 16, 2011. Yusuf, H. O. (2008). “Robes on Tight Ropes: The Judicialisation of Politics in Nigeria,” Global Jurist 8 (2): 1–​29. Yusuf, H. O. (2009). “The Judiciary and Political Change in Arica: Developing Transitional Jurisprudence in Nigeria,” International Journal of Constitutional Law 7 (4): 654–​682.

Chapter 19

El ections and E l e c tora l Perform a nc e Nkwachukwu Orji

Introduction This chapter examines an important aspect of political development in Nigeria which has been in progress, though on an irregular basis, for almost a century. Like many other countries in Africa, Nigeria has a colonial past—​framed in a Western image and bequeathed Western political institutions and practices. A crucial element in Nigeria’s political development involves imbibing, nurturing, and sustaining these institutions and practices. The extent to which the country has been successful, or not, in nurturing and sustaining its inherited institutions and practices has been the subject of inquiry for many social scientists. Elections are one of the most important political practices handed down to Nigeria by the British colonialists. The fundamental value of elections is that they provide a basis for peaceful political succession. In the early colonial period, the colonialists and their nationalist opponents accepted elections because, in theory, they provided a basis for legitimate transfer of power. In the postcolonial era, a government is generally perceived to be legitimate only if it is produced through a free election under a wide franchise. This robust consensus in favor of elections is perhaps the main reason why all unelected governments in Nigeria were usually under intense pressure to initiate election-​based political transition. Although there is a seeming consensus in favor of elections, yet equally, there is a great variation in the practice of elections and performance of electoral institutions in Nigeria. For instance, since the elective principle was adopted in Nigeria, the country has moved from an electoral system based on limited franchise to that founded on universal adult suffrage. Nigeria has also seen elections in which outcomes are credible and peaceful, and those that are disputed and violent. Lastly, Nigeria has experimented with various forms of institutional arrangements for election administration, include setting up statutory electoral commissions, and these arrangements have produced divergent

320   Nkwachukwu Orji results. A study of the practice of elections may help us gain a better understanding of the deep complexities that characterize Nigerian politics in general, and elections in particular. Because of Nigeria’s diverse and complex makeup, in which political forces converge around multifaceted socioeconomic and political interests, elections have become not just critical because they provide the basis for peaceful political succession, but because they embody the hopes and aspirations of different interest groups for social, political, and economic transformation. Under this circumstance, forces outside the electoral process play significant roles in shaping electoral practice and influencing the performance of electoral institutions. In presenting a survey of elections in Nigeria, this chapter will examine the issues and forces that shape electoral practice and performance of electoral institutions in the country. Furthermore, it will account for why Nigerian elections are volatile. Finally, the chapter will review the efforts made to reform the electoral process in Nigeria.

A Survey of Nigerian Elections Nigeria has a long, discontinuous history of elections that spans nearly a hundred years (see Table 19.1 for a breakdown of Nigerian elections from 1923 to 2015). These elections fall into two broad categories: those conducted during the colonial and early independ­ ence period, and the ones organized by military and postmilitary regimes.

Elections during the Colonial and Early Independence Period Elections were introduced to Nigeria in 1923 following a concession granted by the British colonial authorities to residents of the municipal areas of Lagos and Calabar to elect three official and one unofficial representatives, respectively, to the Nigerian Legislative Council. The legal framework for the 1923 elections was, however, highly restrictive. The electoral regulations, dated June 1, 1923 and made under the Nigeria (Legislative Council) Order in Council of November 21, 1922, provided for franchise that was strictly limited by qualifications of gender, age, nationality, residence, and income. Thus, only men above the age of twenty-​one, who were British subjects or “a native of the protectorate of Nigeria,” could vote. In addition, a prospective voter must be ordinarily resident for twelve months immediately preceding the date of registration in the municipal area for which an election was being held, and must possess a gross annual income, from all sources, of not less than £100, during the calendar year immediately preceding the date of election (Tamuno 1966, pp. 33–​4). The electoral regulations of June 1923 (with amendments in 1941, 1946, and 1951)1 remained in force until 1954. The new constitution which came into force in 1954 removed many of the limitations on franchise imposed by the electoral regulations of

Elections and Electoral Performance    321 Table 19.1 Nigerian Elections, 1923–​2015 S/​N

Election Year

Election Type

Remarks

Elections during the colonial and early independence period 1

1923

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos and Calabar)

2

1926

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos)

3

1928

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos and Calabar)

4

1933

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos and Calabar)

5

1938

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos and Calabar)

6

1940

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos)

Election to fill a vacant seat caused by the death of an elected candidate

7

1941

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos)

Election to fill a vacant seat caused by the resignation of an elected candidate

8

1943

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos and Calabar)

Election to fill a vacant seat caused by the death of an elected candidate

9

1945

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos)

Election to fill a vacated seat

10

1946

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos)

Election to fill a vacated seat

11

1947

Nigerian Legislative Council (Lagos and Calabar)

12

1951

Federal elections and regional election (Western, Eastern, and Northern Regions)

13

1953

Regional election (Eastern Region)

14

1954

Federal elections

15

1956

Regional elections (Western and Northern Regions)

16

1957

Regional elections (Eastern Region)

17

1959

Federal elections

18

1960

Regional election (Western Region)

19

1961

Regional elections (Eastern and Northern Regions)

20

1964

Federal elections and regional election (Mid-​West Region)

21

1965

Regional elections (Western Region)

Regional election to fill seats in the newly created Mid-​West Regional Assembly.

(continued)

322   Nkwachukwu Orji Table 19.1 (Continued) S/​N

Election Year

Election Type

Remarks

Elections organized by military and postmilitary regimes 22

1979

General elections

23

1983

General elections

24

1990

Local government elections

25

1991

Governorship and State Assembly elections

26

1992

National Assembly elections

27

1993

Presidential election

28

1999

General elections

29

2003

General elections

30

2007

General elections

31

2011

General elections

32

2015

General elections

Annulled by the military government just before the announcement of results

1923 and diversified the scope of elections by providing for separate polls for the regional and central legislatures2. In the different regions, electoral regulations varied. As regards the method of voting, for instance, the Northern Region used electoral colleges, whereas the other regions adopted direct elections through the ballot box (Nnadozie 2007). It was during the 1959 federal elections that electoral colleges were done away with throughout Nigeria. The adoption of universal adult suffrage and direct elections posed the challenge of conducting elections all over Nigeria. At the time of the 1954 constitutional reforms, election-​related matters were handled by local and regional administrations through the normal administrative apparatus of the colonial state. Senior staff of the administration including District Officers, Residents, and Administrative Officers served as election personnel, taking up roles as electoral commissioners, electoral officers, presiding officers, and returning officers. But with expanded franchise and the introduction of federalism in Nigeria, the need arose for an independent federal electoral management body. Consequently, the first electoral commission in Nigeria, the Electoral Commission of Nigeria, was established based on the  Nigeria (Electoral Provision) Order-​in-​Council of 1958. The Commission conducted all elections held between 1958 and 1966 when it was dissolved following the military intervention of that year (Ogbogbo 2009). Besides inspiring the reform of the election administration framework, the adoption of regional and federal structures reshaped electoral politics in Nigeria. The process of

Elections and Electoral Performance    323 decolonization in Nigeria was such that the colonial authorities gradually transferred political power to the Nigerian elite through the newly created regional governments (Coleman 1958). The regions, therefore, first attained self-​government in 1956, before the colonial regime finally disengaged from the central government in 1960. As a result, politicians from each of the three regions of Nigeria established political associations through which they took control of the government in the respective regions, before seeking to capture the federal government3 (Sklar 2004). Given the predominance of a major ethnic group in each of the regions controlled by a particular political party4, the three political parties became commonly associated with the interests of the three main ethnic groups (Coleman 1958; Nnoli 1978). However, as has been underlined by some scholars, “ethnicization” of electoral politics in Nigeria has tended to mask a more complex struggle between interests that are not necessarily ethnic in nature (Sklar 2004; Ake 1985; Ekekwe 1986). Electoral politics in Nigeria in the 1950s and 1960s was defined by a struggle between two groups of the Nigerian political elite: the “traditionalists” who sought to safeguard “regional security” (that is, the preservation of the political control of each particular region by a regional party while controlling the federal government in coalition with other regional parties), and the “progressives” who believed that political parties are free associations that are free to compete for votes/​offices in any part of Nigeria and should be free to single-​handedly form the government at the federal level, if they could (Sklar 2004, xiv). Elements of the traditionalist and progressive wings of the Nigerian elite existed, in varying degrees, in all the early parties, although the Northern People’s Congress (NPC) appears to be the most avowed traditionalist party. The NPC’s success in the use of the regionalist strategy encouraged the other parties to increasingly embrace the regionalist stance (Ngou 1989; Sklar 2004). In a bid to ward off other parties from their regional strongholds, many of the early parties resorted to, among other things, fomenting rancorous sentiments that cemented existing communal divisions and tensions, or opened up new ones (Coleman 1958). The tensions created by conflicts between the contending factions of the Nigerian elite caused a series of political crises that culminated in sectarian violence of 1966 and a civil war one year later. Looking at the history of elections in Nigeria, a progressive increase in the level of rancor and volatility of the elections can be observed. To be sure, the Legislative Council elections of 1923 to 1947 were more congenial than subsequent elections. Accounts of the elections indicate that candidates and their supporters exhibited higher levels of restraint and respect for the rules of the game than their likes in subsequent elections (Tamuno 1966, p. 66). Although occasional verbal mudslinging was reported during electioneering campaigns, the elections were largely trouble-​free with an absence of “thuggery” and bloodshed by party supporters. This contrasts with the later elections in which acts of hooliganism, fraud, and violence became a feature of the electoral process (Mackenzie and Robinson 1960; Abdullahi Smith Centre for Historical Research 2002). The failings of Nigerian elections in the colonial and early independence era were reflected most visibly in the 1964–​5 federal and Western Region elections. In the 1964 federal election, which was contested by the United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA)5

324   Nkwachukwu Orji and the Nigerian National Alliance (NNA)6, it appears that the NPC, using the Nigeria National Democratic Party (NNDP) as its proxy, was desperate to capture the Western Region, a move that would guarantee its control of the federal government (Post and Vickers 1973). On the other hand, the Action Group (AG) was not ready to lose the Western Region—​its regional stronghold, while the NCNC was prepared to resist the NPC’s attempt to have a stronger grip on the federal government (Dudley 1973). The high stakes involved in the elections and the acrimony carried over from previous polls made the 1964 elections extremely volatile. Just before the Election Day, UPGA announced that it was boycotting the elections based on claims of massive vote manipulation by the NNA. On its part, the NNA insisted on proceeding with the elections as scheduled—​a move that earned it a resounding victory in the polls (Post 1964). The outcome of the 1964 elections provided the backdrop against which the 1965 Western Regional election was fought. The election, which came just a few months after the 1964 federal election, presented an opportunity for AG (and indeed the UPGA) to demonstrate its popularity in the Western Region and to prevent the NPC (through the NNDP) from taking over the Western Region. Although the 1965 poll was a regional election, it had far-​reaching implications for federal politics. Notably, a victory for AG would ensure that the NNA was kept out of Southern Nigeria, as the UPGA already controlled Eastern and Midwest Regional governments. But a victory for NNDP would mean that the NNA controlled a majority of the national vote sufficient for the alliance exclusively to rule Nigeria. Considering these stakes, both the NNDP and the AG tried to win the 1965 election by all means, however unscrupulous and unlawful. On the polling day, two electoral officers and two polling agents, alleged to have attempted to manipulate voting, were killed at Mushin I Constituency in Lagos. This action sparked off violent demonstrations which spread to virtually all the sixteen administrative divisions of the Western Region, especially after official election results indicated that NNDP had won seventy-​one seats compared with AG’s seventeen seats. Official reports said the 1965 electoral violence led to the death of 153 people, including sixty-​four people killed by the police; but observers put the number of casualties at over 2,000 deaths with many more seriously injured (Anifowose 1982, pp. 220–​1). Those who lost their lives and properties were mostly NNDP members, election officials (believed to be instrumental to NNDP’s victory), local government officials, traditional rulers (believed to be loyal to NNDP), and other people associated with the NNDP government (Anifowose 1982, p. 240). The chaos triggered by the election was one of the factors responsible for the military intervention of January 15, 1966 (Post and Vickers 1973).

Elections Organized by Military and Postmilitary Regimes Military and postmilitary regimes in Nigeria conducted a total of eleven general elections between 1979 and 2015. The elections conducted by the military governments appear to be less chaotic and disputed than the ones organized by postmilitary regimes (Agbaje and Adejumobi 2006). Observers argue that the peaceful outcome

Elections and Electoral Performance    325 of the so-​called “transition” elections stems from the fact that the departing military authorities played the role of a strong umpire, relatively independent of the political forces contending to capture power (Kurfi 1983). This posture gave the military the authority required to midwife peaceful elections. The relatively peaceful outcome of the transition elections can be further attributed to the fact that these elections occur at historical junctures where consensus in favor of regime change was strong. This means that it is usually easier for contestants in transition elections to moderate their actions and ensure that they do not jeopardize the transition program. The veracity of the above analysis has been challenged by analysts such as Iyayi (2005), who rejected the assessment on the grounds that its assumption about the fairness and peacefulness of the elections was based on observation of voter behavior made on Election Day. Iyayi argues that it is inappropriate to make conclusions about an entire electoral process based on the experiences of a single day. He claims that, on the whole, the electoral processes established by military regimes were fundamentally flawed because they were founded on “flawed electoral rules, without legitimate and valid constitutions, with electoral agencies under the firm jackboots of military rulers.” The flaws in the electoral processes designed by the military are reflected in the failure of the elections to consolidate democracy as most of them led to disruption and eventually a return to military rule. Iyayi cited examples of the 1979 elections where unclear rules led to serious postelection controversy, and the 1989 and 1993 elections which were frequently delayed, cancelled, postponed, and adjusted to produce a predetermined result, and in the event that this did not happen, the result of the “June 12,” 1993 election was annulled by the military government. Related to the “transition elections” are the “consolidation elections” which were conducted by the postmilitary regimes. These elections were defined, in varying degrees, by poor organization, disputed outcomes, and violence. A distinctive feature of many consolidation elections is the overt attempts by the ruling parties to engineer grand electoral fraud, monopolize the electoral space, and move the electoral process towards one-​party dominance. Attempts by the political opposition either to resist or protest against this form of electoral politics have often produced violence. A brief analysis of the 1983 elections may provide greater insight on consolidation elections. The National Party of Nigeria (NPN), which won the presidency and gubernatorial elections in seven out of the nineteen states in 1979, was determined to extend its political power throughout the federation. However, the party was concerned that its main challenger, the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN), would get a sufficient amount of votes to deprive its candidate, President Shehu Shagari, of a simple majority on the first ballot. There was no risk that UPN’s candidate, Chief Obafemi Awolowo would actually win in the first round, because he could not hope to win the required 25 percent in two-​thirds of the states, the required “spread.” But as the 1979 election had shown, President Shagari’s strength was in “spread” while Chief Awolowo’s power lay in votes. As Christopher Hart aptly notes: It might then be that Shagari could still survive a second round with Awolowo but his prospects would have been much poorer if he had had to go into a third and deciding

326   Nkwachukwu Orji election. For then his reputation would have been dented and Awolowo could have dispensed with any need for “spread” and just won on national votes alone. It was therefore imperative that he should knock his opponents out in the first round, as he had done, with a little help from the Supreme Court’s endorsement of the twelve and two-​ thirds decision, in 1979. Thus the NPN leaders had the task in each state of gathering in as many votes as possible and finding enough to reach 25 percent. (Hart 1993, p. 404)

The quest for votes, therefore, pushed the NPN to rig the 1983 elections on a grand scale (Tijani 1986). The brazen manipulation of the 1983 elections triggered violent protests in many parts of Nigeria, especially in Ondo State where the people reacted violently to the perceived rigging of the gubernatorial election in favor of NPN candidate, Akin Omoboriowo (Apter 1987; Babarinsa 2003). Although the electoral fraud committed during the 2003 and 2007 general elections was more blatant and widespread, the elections produced lesser degrees of violence than the 1983 and 2011 elections (Orji 2010; Human Rights Watch 2004). This anomaly can be explained by the inability of the opposition to adequately mobilize protests against the election outcome. One thing that helped weaken the opposition’s capacity to mobilize was the innovative power-​sharing arrangement crafted by the political elite, which formed the basis for mobilization of broad national support in favor of the ruling party in 2003 and 2007 (Orji 2010; Kew 2004). Of all elections conducted by postmilitary regimes in Nigeria, the 2011 and 2015 general elections are regarded as the most credible7. The credibility of the elections is reflected in the fewer cases of litigations they attracted compared to the barrage of cases brought before the election tribunals and courts as well as the number of election results nullified by the tribunals and courts in the aftermath of the 2003 and 2007 elections (INEC 2007; Ugochukwu 2009). The success of the elections can be attributed to the remedial measures taken by both the government and INEC in the aftermath of the 2007 general elections to restore confidence in the electoral process. These measures include review of the Constitution and the Electoral Act, appointments of more credible INEC leadership, and improved funding of INEC. On its part, INEC adopted several remarkable innovations in electoral administration such as the compilation of a comprehensive electronic voter register, restructuring of its bureaucracy, the development of a comprehensive election project plan, the introduction of a system of electronic accreditation of voters using Smart Card Readers, and the introduction of an electronic Transparency in Results Administration and Collation (e-​TRAC). Nigeria’s electoral process remains deeply contentious and fragile despite the progress achieved during the 2011 and 2015 elections. As recent elections demonstrate, Nigeria is still confronted by the challenges of electoral malpractice, disputed outcomes, and violence. The situation is exacerbated by the recent phenomenon of judicial interventionism in the electoral process, marked by the reversal of electoral outcomes by courts and issuance of contradictory decisions by different courts on electoral matters. What all these imply is that there is still a need for further reform and improvement of the electoral process to ensure that the progress made so far is sustained.

Elections and Electoral Performance    327

Why Nigerian Elections are Volatile Evidence from the foregoing survey of elections in Nigeria suggests strongly that the country’s electoral process is deeply volatile. To appreciate the causes and dynamics of the volatility of elections in Nigeria, it is vital to reflect on the wider sociopolitical and economic context of the country. Five key issues provide the general context for understanding the difficulties with elections in Nigeria, namely the nature of the issues involved, the amount of power at stake, links between electoral struggle and communal tensions, lack of trust in election management bodies, and failure of law enforcement and impunity for electoral offences. The issues on the basis of which elections are contested in Nigeria have transformed tremendously over the years. Elections were less volatile in the early years following the introduction of electoral principle when contests were based mainly on local issues, touching on matters of social welfare such as education, sanitation, and racial discrimination. It has been pointed out that the earliest parties in Nigeria framed their political programs on, among other things, opposition to colonial rule, campaigns to extend franchise, and pledges to secure self-​government for all parts of the country (Tamuno 1966; Okafor 1981). Elections, however, became more volatile with the emergence of political parties which draw support more from personal, sectarian, and other considerations than ideological appeal. Between 1951, when the struggle for self-​government gained momentum, and 1960 when independence was achieved, the core electoral issue had shifted from opposition to British colonial government to struggle for ethnic and regional control of the Nigerian government (Joseph 1991; Sklar 2004). Latter-​day political figures had introduced a personal dimension by stoking personal animosities which further destabilized the electoral process (Ojo 1981; Kew 2010). In addition to the nature of the issues involved in elections, the volatility of Nigerian elections depends on the amount of power at stake. The stakes in Nigerian elections have increased progressively since the early elections. Between 1923 and 1947, there were few demonstrable financial rewards for contesting and winning elections. Moreover, British officials were unwilling to share responsibility for government with Africans until the 1950s. Those who vied for political positions at this period, when no salaries were given to elective representatives and when they did not control any real power, may have done so mainly for the honor of holding an elected office. Over the years, however, Nigerian politics has become deeply centered on the distribution of state resources, whether officially in the form of debates over allocation of revenue and positions, or unofficially as civilian and military politicians seek favor with those in a position to reward them with opportunities to “chop” (Human Rights Watch 1999, p. 27). Since the 1950s, Nigerian politics has progressively transformed into a struggle for the privatization of the state to the benefit of personal and sectional interests (Ake 1985; Ekekwe 1986). Because election outcomes essentially determine access to power and the enormous resources controlled by the state, electoral contests are often

328   Nkwachukwu Orji extended beyond the electoral space and are conducted in ways that undermine the rule of law. In this way, elections are inevitably akin to war, and therefore, prone to intense contestation, manipulation, and violence. A distinctive link exists between electoral contests and communal tensions in Nigeria. There are two aspects to this relationship. On the one hand, communities are sometimes mobilized to confront each other over the processes and outcomes of elections or based on the animosity engendered by electoral contest. On the other hand, existing communal tensions unrelated to elections may escalate and transform into violence during election seasons. In their studies of ethnic relations in Nigeria, Leonard Plotnicov (1971), Okwudiba Nnoli (1978), and Olawale Albert (1995) reflected on these two aspects of the relationship between elections and communal tensions. Because elections are at times perceived as a struggle between representatives of particular communal groups, entire communities are often dragged into the contest, and communal tensions are aroused once communities become polarized into winners and losers (Best 2007). The zero-​sum nature of elections in Nigeria transforms political competition into communal struggle. The volatility of elections in Nigeria can also be linked to the absence of a key prerequisite for successful elections—​belief in the capacity of the state (or its agents) to fairly and impartially administer elections. Lack of trust in the capacity of the state to conduct elections fairly is an enduring feature of elections in Nigeria (Mackenzie and Robinson 1960). But this phenomenon has become profound in recent times. Much of the distrust in the capacity of the state to run fair electoral contests has been due to ignorance of the machinery for conducting elections, and the safeguards incorporated in the electoral regulations. However, there are cases where the electoral management bodies have, in reality, demonstrated lack of independence, efficiency, and professionalism (Suberu 2007; Ibeanu 2009). Recent studies highlight the link between failure of election administration and electoral violence (Orji 2017; Norris 2014). They argue that perceived or real acts of electoral malpractice and other forms of infractions on election integrity undermine the legitimacy of the electoral process and encourage disputes over election outcomes. Finally, the volatility of elections in Nigeria can be attributed to the inability of the Nigerian state to provide adequate security and law enforcement. Decades of corruption and bad governance have weakened the capacity of the Nigerian government to prevent or punish mass violence. The weakness of security and law enforcement in Nigeria is reflected in the country’s inability to regulate the flow of small arms, curtail banditry, and check the activities of illicit armed groups (Human Rights Watch 2005; Hazen and Horner 2007). This weakness is also reflected in the emergence of various forms of self-​ help including private security outfits and vigilante groups (Fourchard 2008). These nonstate security crews have not succeeded in deterring violence, rather, in some cases, they have been used to perpetrate electoral offenses (Hoffmann 2010). The inability of the Nigerian state to provide adequate security and law enforcement has engendered a culture of impunity, where offenders easily avoid arrest and prosecution due to either incapacity or corruption by law enforcement agencies (Amnesty International 2011). This leaves perpetrators undeterred and victims of electoral offences with little or no redress.

Elections and Electoral Performance    329 The awareness of possible impunity for electoral offenses fosters unabated continuation of those acts.

Efforts to Reform Nigerian Elections The contentions, flaws, and controversies that typically trail elections in Nigeria are the underlying grounds for repeated attempts to reform the country’s electoral process. Electoral reforms in Nigeria have taken various forms ranging from slight amendments to the electoral regulations to outright abrogation and reconstitution of an entire system. Reforms during the colonial period fell mainly into the former category while they took the latter form in the postcolonial period. Besides measures aimed at expansion of franchise, the most notable reform measure in the colonial days was the establishment of a statutory electoral commission in 1958 following complaints about the role of colonial officials in elections (Ogbogbo 2009). The key reform strategy in the independence era has been the dissolution and reconstitution of the electoral commissions. In the aftermath of the military intervention of 1966, the first electoral commission was dissolved. The commission was reconstituted as Federal Electoral Commission (FEDECO) in 1978 following recommendations by the Constituent Assembly and the Constitution Drafting Committee set up by the military government to produce the blueprint for Nigeria’s return to civil rule. When the military intervened again in 1983, FEDECO was equally dissolved and an Administrative Panel of Inquiry headed by Justice Bolarinwa Babalakin was set up to, among other things, determine the causes of the commission’s failure and the individuals responsible for them. While the recommendations of the Babalakin Commission were still being considered by the administration of General Muhammadu Buhari, the regime was toppled in 1985 following a military coup8. The work of the Commission was, therefore, superseded by that of the Political Bureau set up in January 1986 to conduct a national debate on the political future of Nigeria. After considering the political processes in Nigeria, among other issues, the Bureau recommended the establishment of the National Commission on Political Parties and Elections to replace FEDECO. Under a slightly different name (National Electoral Commission—​ NEC), the Commission conducted four major elections between 1989 and 1993, the fourth being the controversial June 12, 1993 presidential election, the annulment of which precipitated the dissolution of NEC, the fall of the Third Republic, and Nigeria’s return to military rule. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), which was established in 1998, has been the most enduring election management body in Nigeria. Yet, discontentment with the Commission’s work in particular, and the country’s electoral process in general, has led to further demands for reform. The first major reform effort since 1999 took place within the framework of the National Political Reform Conference convened by the administration of President Olusegun Obasanjo in February 2005. The Conference recommended the financial autonomy of INEC9, and the expansion of the

330   Nkwachukwu Orji number of National Electoral Commissioners from thirteen to fifteen. It also proposed that National Electoral Commissioners should be drawn from political parties, professional bodies, women, youth, and civil society organizations, as a way of democratizing the appointment of the Commission’s leadership. The recommendations of the National Political Reform Conference were rejected by the National Assembly, but following the 2007 general elections which were widely regarded as fundamentally flawed, the government set up the Electoral Reform Committee (ERC) headed by respected former Chief Justice of Nigeria, Hon. Justice Muhammadu Lawal Uwais, in August 2007. The Committee was charged, among other things, with undertaking a review of the history of elections in Nigeria and identifying factors which affect the quality and credibility of the elections and their impact on the democratic process. The recommendations of the ERC were considered and incorporated into amendments of the Constitution and Electoral Act in 2010. The amendments introduced significant changes that touch on issues such as election timeline, financial autonomy of INEC, administrative independence of INEC, internal democracy of the political parties, and the management of election petitions and appeals. In addition to the wider legal and structural reforms contrived by the government, the electoral management bodies, on their own, have adopted internal reforms and innovations to improve the electoral process. Two elements of the reforms, relating to the voting system and use of technology in elections, are very striking. Nigeria inherited a secret ballot system from the British, but this system was so roundly abused in previous elections that many lost faith in the outcomes it produced. Abuses of the secret ballot system include use of fake ballot papers, stuffing of ballot boxes, impersonation, multiple voting, snatching of ballot boxes, and manipulation of election results. In 1989, the National Electoral Commission (NEC) adopted the Open Ballot System in response to these ills. The system requires accredited voters to line up in front of the posters carrying the portraits of the candidates of their choice, and be counted by the presiding officer (Nwosu 2008, pp. 116–​22). This system was used in the December 1990 local government elections, but complaints by some members of the public forced NEC to review the concept. Critics of the system insist that it violated the international best practice of safeguarding the secrecy of vote. In revisiting the system, NEC sought a balloting system that would protect the individual’s choice of candidate but at the same time ensure that the vote was protected. The Commission, therefore, came up with the Modified Open Ballot System which combines elements of secrecy and open casting of vote. This system enables the voter to thumbprint or mark the ballot paper in secrecy and thereafter cast their vote in the open glare of all in the polling station. The voter may thereafter wait to witness the counting of votes and announcement of result. In essence, all potential voters would first be accredited as a group, then all accredited individuals would vote as a group; and finally everyone who had voted would be invited to remain at the polling unit to witness counting of ballots and announcement of results. The intent of this system is to ensure that all voters would spend the entire day at their assigned polling unit in order to prevent multiple voting and enhance public confidence in the accuracy of the results announced at

Elections and Electoral Performance    331 the polling units10. The modified open ballot system was first used in the June 12, 1993 presidential election. Since then, it has been adopted in many other elections, including the 2015 general elections. The second notable innovation adopted by election management bodies in Nigeria relates to the use of technology in elections. Technological advancement holds strong possibilities for tackling many of the challenges impeding the electoral process in Nigeria. INEC adopted its first major technological reform in 2002 with the implementation of Optical Mark Recognition (OMR) technology for voter registration (Guobadia 2009). Since then, the Commission has taken steps to transit from manual to technologically driven processes. In 2006, the Commission introduced the concept of Electronic Voting System (EVS) involving four components: 1) Electronic Voter Register (EVR); 2) Electronic Voting Machine (EVM); 3) Electronic Voter Authentication (EVA); and 4) Electronic Transmission of Results (ETR). With the exception of the use of Electronic Voting Machine, the Commission has made serious progress in developing the various components of its electronic voting system11. INEC successfully compiled an electronic voter register based on biometric technology in 2011. This accomplishment opened the way for the use of the electronic voter authentication system built into the Permanent Voter Card (PVC) and run through the Smart Card Reader (SCR) in the 2015 general elections. The Smart Card Readers (SCRs) enabled election officials to verify that a PVC presented at a polling unit was issued by INEC, and to authenticate that the bearer of the card as the legitimate owner of the card through fingerprint matching. The significance of this technology is that it guarantees the principle of one-​person-​one-​vote by ensuring that a person can only vote once with his or her PVC, and that once a PVC has been read and accredited by the SCR, the Voter Identification Number (VIN) is stored in the reader and it does not allow a repeat accreditation of that VIN on that particular reader any longer. The third component of INEC’s Electronic Voting System (EVS) is electronic results collation and transmission. Results collation and transmission has been identified as the weakest link in Nigeria’s electoral process (Situation Room 2015). Observers note that manual results collation and transmission processes are often vulnerable to manipulation by desperate politicians (Ibeanu 2009). In dealing with this challenge, INEC has developed a secure platform to collate and transmit results from polling units to a central database. The platform has a flexible dashboard with a real-​time user interface, showing a graphical presentation of the current status of results collated per given time. The system has been piloted in all by-​elections and rerun elections since 2014, but is yet to be used in any general election.

Conclusion This study reviewed electoral practice in Nigeria, focusing on the issues and forces that shaped the electoral process and performance of electoral institutions in the country.

332   Nkwachukwu Orji It contends that four main issues framed the development of electoral practice in each phase of Nigeria’s political development. These issues include the expansion of franchise, introduction of regionalism and federalism, military intervention in politics, and attempts by the ruling parties to monopolize the electoral space. While the expansion of franchise made it imperative for the nationalists and the colonial authorities to organize elections all over Nigeria, the introduction of regionalism and federalism redefined electoral competition along sectional lines. Furthermore, the advent of military rule led to extensive tinkering with Nigeria’s electoral system, which in some ways, complicated the challenges of election management in the country. Added to all these are the attempts by the ruling parties to monopolize the electoral space which, in many cases, have disrupted the electoral process. Overall, this study indicates that Nigerian elections are fundamentally volatile. It attributes the volatility of Nigerian elections to five main factors, namely the nature of the issues involved in the elections, the amount of power at stake, links between electoral struggle and communal tensions, lack of trust in election management bodies, and failure of law enforcement, and impunity for electoral offences. The study reviewed the reform measures taken to improve the quality of elections in Nigeria, but notes that Nigeria’s electoral process remains deeply contentious and fragile as the country continues to face the challenge of electoral malpractices, disputed outcomes, and violence. What this implies, therefore, is that there is still room for further electoral reform to sustain the progress made so far.

Notes 1. The electoral regulations of 1923 were amended in 1941 as regards registration formalities, and in 1946 to reduce income qualification for elections from £100 a year to £50. The 1951 Constitution removed the income qualification of £50 and introduced electoral colleges and indirect election of members to the new federal legislature—​the House of Representatives—​it created. 2. Universal adult suffrage was introduced for the first time in Nigeria in the Lagos Town Council election of 1950. Outside of Lagos, it was adopted for the first time in 1954 in the Eastern Region to elect members of the Federal House of Representatives. 3. The National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC) controlled the Eastern Regional government, the Action Group (AG) took power in the Western Region, while the Northern People’s Congress (NPC) dominated the Northern Regional government. 4. Igbo in the Eastern Region, Yoruba in the Western Region, and Hausa–​Fulani in the Northern Region. 5. A coalition of NCNC and AG with predominantly southern appeal. 6. An alliance of the NPC and the NNDP, with support mostly in Northern Nigeria. 7. The 2015 elections were exceptional in that they mark the first time Nigeria achieved interparty alternation of the presidency in its electoral history. 8. Key recommendations of the Babalakin Commission include democratization of the appointment of the chairman and members of the electoral commission, conclusion of any revision to the electoral regulations at least three years before elections, and adoption of measures to address structural factors that encourage the abuse of the electoral process.

Elections and Electoral Performance    333 9. By listing statutory grants to the Commission as a first line charge on the Federation Account. 10. However, the pitfall of the method lies in its potential to reduce participation between the stages of accreditation and voting—​the timelag in between accreditation and voting tended to discourage accredited voters from voting. In the 2015 presidential election, for example, over 2.3 million voters, or 7.2 percent of the accredited voters, failed to cast their votes, see . 11. My description of INEC’s Electronic Voting System (EVS) draws largely from a presentation titled “Introduction of New Technologies to Electoral Processes in Nigeria” by Chidi Nwafor, INEC’s Director of Information Communications Technology. I am grateful to Engr Nwafor for sharing a copy of the presentation with me.

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Chapter 20

Drivers and Dyna mi c s of Electoral Re form, 1999–​2 015 A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola

Introduction Until recently, the most important questions related to Nigeria’s elections had concerned the freeness and fairness (Akhaine 2011; Kew 2004), causes of violence (Kurfi 1983; Paden 2012), or general administration (Omotola 2010). The corruption of the 2003 elections and the poor electoral management in 2007, followed by the surprising administrative success of the 2011 elections seemed to justify this focus. With the defeat of the ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP), the 2015 elections heralded an important a milestone in the nation’s democratic development as well as ushering in a burning new research agenda around the opposition’s unlikely victory. Studies attribute the ruling party’s loss to issues such as corruption, insecurity, and lackluster economic performance that accompanied the collapse of global oil prices in 2014 (Lewis and Kew 2015; Owen and Usman 2015). This chapter zeros in on a slightly different topic. We examine important legal and administrative changes to the electoral system, focusing in particular on reforms enacted in 2010. These included improvements to the electoral appeal process, criminal liability for electoral fraud, more participatory primaries, and increased transparency at the ballot box. These reforms significantly contributed to Nigeria’s democratic progress and constructively raised the expectations of Nigerian citizens. We examine why these reforms passed. By identifying the causes of electoral reform, our analysis adds important context and nuance to existing explanations that assign credit to the appointment in 2010 of a new electoral commissioner, Attahiru Jega. We maintain that such explanations neglect important shifts within civil society and political institutions that

Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–2015    337 pushed electoral reform, enabled successful election administration in 2011, and laid the groundwork for a more competitive political environment in 20151. First, we briefly describe how electoral violence and fraud have been recurring problems in Nigeria’s elections. In the initial years after the 1999 transition, the strong distaste for a return to military rule permitted a surprising tolerance of procedural imperfections in democratic institutions. Second, we outline how the 2007 elections broadened the political and popular constituency for electoral reform. In some ways, the failures of 2007 facilitated the successful reforms of 2010. We also summarize key provisions of the 2010 Electoral Act. Third, we explain why the Act passed and identify additional administrative changes implemented for the 2015 elections, which proceeded without passage of new legislation. Specifically, reformers in the National Assembly (NASS) who helped resolve a leadership crisis in 2010, and a civil society revival that began in 2006, shaped the political climate for reform even before Jega took office. New civil society actors and elite political coalitions created political space for INEC, which empowered the new commissioner to exercise political independence, adopt creative innovations, and implement legal reforms. Our conclusion identifies some important political trends, including how the recent reality—​and future possibility—​of party turnover could impact electoral reform debates.

Nigeria’s Troubled Electoral History When elections organized by the transitional government in 1998 and 1999 took place peacefully, and the military then handed over power, Nigeria ended a long chapter of military rule on a hopeful note. As elections in 2003 neared though, old fears resurfaced since previous civilian administrations had a poor success record of organizing elections. In the First Republic (1960–​6), a regional electoral crisis in the Western Region and then contentious parliamentary elections were contributing factors to the nation’s first coup d’état (Diamond 1988). The Second Republic (1979–​83) fared no better, with riots and political instability giving the generals another excuse to take over (Falola and Ihonvbere 1985). Moreover, the 1993 elections, successfully organized by a military regime but then nullified by it, left a measure of uncertainty in voters’ minds about whether election results could ever be honored. President Olusegun Obasanjo and his People’s Democratic Party swept the 2003 elections. Observers documented extensive problems at all levels and several cases of alleged political assassinations (Kew 2004; LeVan, Pitso, and Adebo 2003). To restore confidence in elections, Obasanjo appointed Maurice Iwu to run the Independent Electoral Commission (INEC). His reforms began with the introduction of Direct Data Capture (DDC) machines for governorship and state assembly elections. A skeptical public turned against the technology, prompting the National Assembly to call Iwu to testify. Iwu adopted a confrontational posture, insisting that adopting DDC was within

338    A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola INEC’s authority and implying that the Assembly was interfering. The Electoral Act passed in 2006 explicitly rejected the idea of electronic voting (in Section 52), rejecting Iwu’s earlier aspirations. But it did not specify what technology or method would be used for creating a voter registry or issuing voter cards, opening the door for DDC. The Act also mandated INEC to compile and maintain a continuous register of voters. Because Section 16 said the “Commission shall cause a voter’s register for each state to be printed,” the Act was interpreted to permit an electronic registry—​since otherwise printing would be unnecessary. Iwu originally seemed to place hope in the DDC’s ability to eliminate multiple registration through technological advancements. But the verification of each voter still depended on the integrity of electoral officers, who would have to ensure that the images of voters matched pictures on INEC register (Odili 2007). The flaws in the system became quickly apparent with logistical problems on the first day of the elections. Frustrated by the poor showing of INEC and the complete lack of information as to the location and time of arrival of officials, many simply went home. The delays were compounded the next day, when confusion arose in the accreditation process. With no administrative structure to verify the voter registry, locating the names of voters became impossible. Under pressure to proceed, INEC officials at various polling stations discarded the entire voters register and began admitting anyone with a voter card. Such problems negated Iwu’s earlier promises to eliminate multiple voting by using the DDC, leaving the credibility and transparency of the elections tainted. Despite these apparent flaws, the country’s top electoral officer described the elections as “a remarkable success” despite some lapses, and incredibly concluded that “by and large,” there was “no intimidation, people voted freely” (Okocha 2007). He was virtually alone in this assessment (Ogbonna 2010). The Transition Monitoring Group (TMG), a civil society coalition of hundreds of organizations, described the 2007 elections as “seriously marred by egregious irregularities and malpractices to the extent of not only compromising the integrity of the ballot in many states . . . but also calling in to question the reliability and validity of the results declared by INEC” (Transition Monitoring Group 2007). The European Union Election Observation Mission argued that the elections did not meet basic international and regional standards. Upon the announcement of the results, citizens across the nation took to the streets to protest (Osogbo and Johnson 2007). The sudden cancellation of polls in some local governments resulted in further violence (Amaize 2007). The presidential elections were no different. Katsina, the home base of the two major candidates—​General Muhammadu Buhari of the All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP) and Governor Umaru Musa Yar’Adua of the PDP—​erupted in violence when voters discovered that INEC had not sent enough presidential ballot papers, prompting allegations of a conspiracy to deprive them of voting for their respective kinsman (Adamu 2007). Reports of fraud, and violence in reaction to it, spread across the nation (Human Rights Watch 2007). Election tribunals nullified dozens of results, including several gubernatorial and legislative elections. The president-​elect was hounded by the prospects of a nullification of the results that ushered in his own presidency and a broad cross section of Nigerians

Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–2015    339 characterized the elections as fatally flawed. While Iwu was not wholly responsible, he bore a sizeable proportion of the blame for the failure to conduct a free, fair, and credible national election. Electoral reform therefore became equated with the removal of Iwu, since it would signify the government’s determination to hold officials accountable for failures and would presumably restore citizens’ trust in the electoral process. Unlike the modest reforms in the 2006 Electoral Act, the crisis precipitated by Iwu’s controversial leadership and the failed 2007 elections helped shape a new constituency for electoral reform with a sharpened sense of focus, increased civil society input, and clear demands from the public about the content of electoral reforms.

A Reform Agenda Emerges Umaru Musa Yar’Adua handily won the presidential elections in 2007. To distance himself from Iwu and restore confidence in the electoral process, he appointed a twenty-​ two-​member Electoral Reform Committee (ERC) headed by a former Chief Justice, Muhammadu Lawal Uwais. The ERC’s mandate was to “examine the entire electoral process with a view of ensuring that we raise the quality and a standard of our general elections and thereby deepen our democracy” (International Foundation for Electoral Systems 2009). The core recommendations of the report issued in December 2008 covered several broad areas of reform. First, the ERC argued that neither INEC nor the State Independent Electoral Commissions (SIECs) possessed the necessary independence to perform their duties. Though Iwu had bragged about INEC’s independence in his testimony before the National Assembly, Omotola argues he was actually eager to please the president who appointed him and whose party dominated the National Assembly. Moreover, INEC’s funding depended upon the annual appropriations process (Omotola 2010). These harsh realities had shaped citizens’ overall perceptions of the election (Kerr 2011). Echoing reform discussions following the 2003 elections, ERC proposed consolidating SEICs into one single election management body for the country. It also proposed unbundling INEC so that some of its functions would be transferred to a Political Parties Registration and Regulatory Commission, an Electoral Offences Commission, and a Constituency Delimitation Commission. Second, ERC proposed reforms relating to candidate qualifications and the procedures for electing them. Specifically, political parties seeking registration would have to establish offices in two-thirds of all states. Such a geographical distribution of support was meant to undermine the utility of ethnic appeals. More significantly, the ERC proposed allowing independent candidates to run for the presidency, under the odd presumption that doing so would level the state of political competition. Ever since 1999, the PDP had dominated the House, the Senate, and a majority of the thirty-​ six governorships. In the context of such a hegemonic party, independent candidacy would do quite the opposite of leveling the playing field given the difficulties of running

340    A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola for national office without an organizational base. In terms of procedures, the ERC resurrected ideas that the House of Representatives and State Houses of Assembly be elected on the basis of mixed member proportional representation (PR). A third set of reforms concerned electoral fraud and the handling of complaints and appeals. Disputation of election results since 1999 had undermined government legitimacy, clogged up the courts with election appeals, and generally weakened citizens’ confidence in the democratic process (Aninmashaun 2010). The ERC (somewhat bizarrely) proposed shifting the burden of proof for justifying an election result from the complainant to INEC. Since dozens of appeals had drawn out over months and even years, it further proposed that tribunals should deliver a judgment in writing within 120 days from the date of the election, and appeals of such decisions should be disposed of within sixty days after the tribunal’s judgment. Most importantly, the ERC proposed repealing Section 149 of the Electoral Act 2006, which would prevent anyone from assuming office until the case against him/​her in the Tribunal or Court is disposed of. These procedural changes were accompanied by increasing the punishment for abusing state resources, buying or selling voters’ cards, or registration fraud. To complement the ERC’s work and advance alternative ideas, civil society leaders formed the Electoral Reform Network (ERN). This large coalition of groups in turn led to a Civil Society Coordinating Committee (CSCC), which included large multi-​ issue organizations such as the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) and Federation of Muslim Women’s Association in Nigeria (FOMWAN). Newer organizations such as the Alliance for Credible Elections (ACE) and Citizens’ Forum for Constitutional Reform joined more established voices, notably the Transition Monitoring Group. The CSCC demanded that civil society nominate INEC commissioners based on quotas, who would then be confirmed by the National Assembly. To enhance independ­ ence, it also sought a “first line charge” to fund INEC directly from the Consolidated Revenue Fund (rather than the annual budget process), as well as a five-​year term for the Commissioner. Echoing Iwu’s fixation on a technological solution to registration problems in 2006, it called for biometric voter registration. Finally, the CSCC proposed the adoption of proportional representation for some legislative seats, allowance for independent candidates, and the elimination of constitutional requirements that all parties be national—​three measures that would have fragmented the party system. Other reforms included calls for the declaration of results at individual polling units.

The 2010 Electoral Reform Act When the National Assembly began drafting the Electoral Act in 2009, there was an element of ritual to the whole exercise. Grassroots activists through the CSCC, and intellectuals in the ERC, offered ideas for improving electoral integrity, while the international community expressed cautious hope and pledged aid. Meanwhile, PDP politicians masqueraded technical modifications that promoted incumbent advantage

Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–2015    341 as innovative reforms. The party argued that presidential elections should precede legislative elections, many politicians embraced independent candidacy, and some called for a return to the “A4” option used in the 1993 elections organized by the dictatorship—​ where voters visibly queued up behind the party they supported. The National Assembly quickly agreed upon measures to consolidate INEC’s accounts in order to simplify oversight, since Iwu had left its finances in disarray. The most important provisions of the Act, however, concerned administrative and structural improvements to registration and voting, new regulations for political parties and the process for selecting candidates, and changes in the legal principles governing electoral appeals. The thorny issue of tenure remained largely unresolved by the Act. The next section details these various reforms and then asks why the Act, with its far-​reaching changes, actually went forward.

Voter Registration and Election Procedures Preparing a register of voters has become increasingly problematic with each election since 1999. For transitioning countries, this is important not only for electoral integrity but because publishing the voter registry educates voters about elections in general. INEC ended up adopting an expensive biometric system, and it provided for the public display of the voter’s register for up to two weeks. Perhaps more importantly, the 2010 Act provides that a person resident in a constituency other than that in which he is registered may apply to be transferred to his place of residency. Residency requirements remain a sensitive issue due to Nigeria’s broader yet unresolved debates over national identity, tying citizens to their states of origin regardless of where they actually live. In this sense, a seemingly minor change could end up playing an important role in the de-​ ethnicization of politics. However, the most important provisions relate to electoral procedures and the declaration of results. Section 27 stated that announcement of election results will be at the polling unit. During his 2010 visit to Washington, DC, when he was still “acting” president, Goodluck Jonathan publicly pledged that election results would be declared at the polling unit level. With the Electoral Act signed into law, he made good on that pledge and showed responsiveness to the ERC and the CSCC recommendations. Since vote theft often occurs at the tallying stage, the ability to cross-​reference aggregate figures with results added up from polling stations facilitates a check against corruption at the polls. To his credit, he also argued that electoral reform should not rest on the shoulders of a single individual, implying that firing Iwu might not fix all of Nigeria’s electoral flaws.

Political Parties and Candidate Selection The Act, under Section 31, requires a submission of list of candidates and their affidavits by political parties no later than sixty days before the election, and anyone can obtain

342    A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola a copy of any candidate’s information for a small fee. Importantly, this gave INEC adequate time to verify candidate affidavits. Together with other sections of the bill, it also increased the time available for campaigning, which may have had a positive impact on voter education and civic engagement. There were no significant changes concerning independent candidacy, but the bill did include language (in Section 84) stating that requests to merge political parties are automatically approved if INEC fails to act, a measure that would in the long run counter the party fragmentation that has served the interests of the dominant PDP. Most importantly, the legislation required parties to hold primaries. On more than one occasion, two rival factions claimed the mandate for the same party, most famously during the First Republic (Sklar 2004 [1963]). The Act refers to direct and indirect primaries, but it lacks binding language for what could have been a singularly important reform: transparency of party conventions and congresses. Historically, primaries have been closed-​door affairs in which candidates have literally been shut out (Egwu 2014), and INEC staff who observed them were prohibited from disclosing any improprieties. In this regard, the Act’s provisions granting INEC the authority to deregister parties arguably improved the quality of registration applications. However, the authority to deregister, rather than simply deny registration in the first place, is a broad power that could be abused. Should INEC fail to act upon a dubious primary process, individual candidates can apply to the Federal or State High Courts for redress. At the same time, the Act (under Section 87) does not empower courts to stop primaries or a general election from being held while a suit is pending; as in previous iterations of electoral law, the primary process remains largely “non-​justiciable.” The primaries showed some of improvement in the 2010–​11 election season, and the APC set a major precedent when it televised its primaries in 2014. Yet the potential for political abuse or administrative confusion based on these provisions of the law remains.

Electoral Appeals, Petitions, and Tenure The elections of 1999, 2003, and 2007 resulted in congested electoral tribunals and courts, with the more significant cases such as Muhammadu Buhari’s challenges to the presidential results receiving the most attention. However, hundreds of other cases wound their way through the courts, leaving only candidates with deep pockets to see their petitions through. The 2010 legislation appeared to fix a reasonable timeline for such an appeal process, which sets goals for the courts. This made it more difficult for petitioners to abuse the appeals process or for officeholders to take advantage of incumbency. The Act gave resident Electoral Commissioners in states seven days to respond to petitions (or face rather excessive jail time). New sections (134 through 141) provided that an election tribunal must deliver its written judgment 180 days from petition filing date, and any appeal shall be heard and disposed of ninety days from the above judgment date. If a court or tribunal nullifies elections on the grounds that the candidate most voted for was not qualified to contest, they shall order a fresh election. Also, a tribunal

Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–2015    343 or court cannot declare any person a winner if such a person has not fully participated in all the stages of the election. This obvious sounding provision reinforces the overall importance of primaries. A common complaint in the tribunals had been candidates on the ballot who did not participate in primaries at all—​a result of informal powerbrokers known as “godfathers” exercising control over candidate selection (Fashagba 2015). The courts and tribunals had become so clogged with appeals following elections that the CSCC proposed holding elections nine months in advance of swearing in the new officeholder, in order to allow enough time for complaints to proceed. This reform was not adopted, perhaps because it presumes that elections will be contested, rather than fixing the issues leading to contestation. But it does highlight a set of other problems related to tenure. The Act’s provisions left unresolved two important issues related to tenure of office. One related to a common scenario where an elected governor remained in office pending the resolution of an electoral challenge. It was unclear whether that official would be required to vacate the office at the end of the fixed four-​year term, or if the term of office only begins following the resolution of the electoral challenge and the subsequent swearing in. A second issue concerned whether an incumbent should remain in office pending the resolution of any challenge to his or her re-​election. Five state governors—​Timipre Sylva of Bayelsa, Murtala Nyako of Adamawa, Aliyu Magatakarda Wamakko of Sokoto, Ibrahim Idris of Kogi, and Liyel Imoke of Cross Rivers—​seized upon the ambiguities to argue that they should be permitted to remain in office beyond May 2011, the stated end of their fixed four-​year tenure. A panel of Supreme Court judges resolved the issue in 2012 by denying the governors the basis for a mandate extension (Bamgboye 2012). The court in Abuja held that the tenures of the governors started to count from the time they took their oath of office after emerging winners in their respective state governorship elections in 2007 and not from the period when they took their second oaths of office after emerging winners of the rerun elections (Nnamdi 2012). The 2010 Electoral Act did not include some of the reforms demanded by the ERC and the CSCC. But it did embrace practical administrative changes precipitated by the convergence of grassroots pressure and elite frustrations with the state of limited political competition. The next section traces the emergence of these popular demands for reform in the post-​transition years and explores how key elements of electoral reform aligned with elite interests.

Accounting for the Drivers of Electoral Reform Why did the Electoral Act pass? After all, popular outrage over the 2007 elections was slow to emerge. “There was a relative lull,” said the president of the Campaign for Democracy, one of the principle civil society coalitions which fought for democracy during the 1990s (Sawyer 2010). The U.S.  ambassador agreed:  “Protests were

344    A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola remarkably few,” especially in contrast with popular anger over corrupt elections elsewhere in Africa (Campbell 2011, p. 108). The standard explanation for improvements in Nigeria’s elections after 2007 credits Attahiru Jega, appointed to head INEC in 2010. Media commentaries praised him for increased transparency at the ballot box, the civil conduct of the security agencies, and professionalization of INEC (Kantai 2011). Jega’s leadership constituted a complete reversal from Iwu’s hostility towards civil society and independent international organizations. The public and the international community alike welcomed his commitment to technical competence, including his blunt objective assessments of shortcomings during election preparations, as refreshingly honest. In this section we maintain that momentum for election reform began with the failure of the 2007 elections, if not earlier. President Yar’Adua knew that a cloud hung over the process through which he came to power; his inaugural speech acknowledged the flawed electoral process and promised reforms. The coalition for reform emerged from two angles: Yar’Adua needed to resolve his credibility problem stemming from the elections’ administrative and technical failures, especially since power had alternated from the south back to the north, meaning that he had to reassure powerful PDP constituencies based in the south. With former president Obasanjo towering over the PDP, the new president needed to show he could and would stand on his own; electoral reform could help. This meant that in addition to any popular doubts about his election, Yar’Adua’s crisis of legitimacy posed a problem for elites in the party and across the north in general. The other driver of electoral reform came from civil society. The failures of the 2007 election intensified popular demands for reform (Omotola 2010). Civil society groups wanted to restore the promise of the 1999 transition, when organizations united around a goal of removing the military, and groups such as the TMG held elites to a transition timetable. After 2007, organizations through the CSCC and ERA drew attention to INEC’s lack of autonomy, the limited access civil society had to INEC overall, the inaccuracy of the voters register, lack of transparency in the determination of results at the polling booth and during general tabulation, and late granting or refusal of domestic observers’ accreditation. These problems had enabled broader breakdowns in the democratic process, including the use of thugs and intimidation by candidates, and abuse of state resources by incumbents. Together, these two drivers led to a convergence of interests between legislators and popular demands for reform. Popular organizing gathered momentum from several successful strikes against elimination of the fuel subsidy, which had demonstrated the possibilities of successful mass mobilization (Okafor 2010). More importantly, grassroots organizing for governance reforms had demonstrated its efficacy with the defeat of Obasanjo’s third term bid in 2006. The idea of changing the Constitution to extend his time in office first surfaced in 2005, when the deputy senate president floated the idea through a bipartisan commission. The PDP leadership officially endorsed a third term, and it proposed a third term for the governors, expecting that such an offer would bring in support from northern states which might otherwise oppose keeping a southerner in office (Ajayi 2006). It was more than simply northern opposition that defended the Constitution’s two terms. Even

Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–2015    345 in the southwest, where front organizations had popped up in support of Obasanjo, the Yoruba Council of Elders and Afenifere condemned the third-term agenda in Obasanjo’s own backyard. Civil society organizations in the TMG suddenly had an issue that energized their members in between national elections. National polls confirmed widespread support across country for presidential term limits (Afrobarometer 2006; Daniel 2006). The result was a confluence of elite and grassroots demands that defended democracy by defending constitutional institutions. Third, when Yar’Adua fell ill and disappeared from public view for over five months, protests took place in 2010. Organizations explicitly linked the “invisible presidency” to demands for electoral reform (Adeniyi 2011). The fact that this popular pressure centered on reforming the process, rather than complaining about electoral outcomes, remains a little noticed positive sign of democratization in Nigeria’s tumultuous post-​transition era. Several months into the bizarre episode, Yar’Adua’s supporters posted a doctored video on YouTube which played a loop of an old clip of the president speaking, with a voiceover that didn’t match. As the leadership vacuum came to a head, civil society took to the streets of Abuja, defying a police ban on protests reminiscent of the dictatorships from 1985 to 1998. Human rights activists, citizens, and “Nollywood” actors demanded an end to the presidential impasse. Thousands of citizens organized by the Save Nigeria Group marched through the streets of the capital with three parsimonious demands: (1) dissolve the cabinet because it had failed to act on the presidential crisis; (2) fire Maurice Iwu for impeding electoral reform; and (3) “end the invisible presidency” by constitutionally transferring power to the vice president (LeVan 2015; Obasi 2010). Thus at the time Jega began articulating INEC’s reform agenda in 2010, civil society had secured a victory with the defeat of the third-term agenda, repeatedly held off fuel price increases, and played a critical role in pressuring the National Assembly to resolve the so-​called invisible presidency. It had advocated electoral reforms through organizational mechanisms that linked the formal process of change with grassroots structures that facilitated participatory input, and reform advocacy had aligned with Yar’Adua’s efforts to affirm his administration’s credibility following the 2007 elections. These various crises had expanded constituencies for reform and, at key junctures, aligned the interests of political elites and grassroots activists.

Democratic Progress through Elections in 2011 and 2015 Though significant violence trailed the polls and voters complained about preventable logistical bungles, the public held INEC in generally high regard after the 2011 election. According to a nationwide poll conducted by ACE, 76 percent of Nigerians described the Commission as prepared, 72 percent said it was impartial, and 87 said they were satisfied overall with INEC’s performance (Onwuemenyi 2011). The registration process contributed to this sense of confidence, reducing opportunities for registration and voter fraud. Though one should not fetishize technology, this costly investment proved useful. The European Union’s Electoral Observation Mission described the elections as

346    A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola “an important step towards strengthening democratic elections in Nigeria” (European Union Election Observation Mission 2011). The public confidence in INEC lasted. When a nationwide survey just weeks before the 2015 elections asked voters how well prepared INEC was, a majority (51.8 percent) said it was “very prepared” and another 35.7 percent said it was “somewhat prepared.” If the 2007 election provided a shock in the form of administrative failures, the 2015 defeat of the PDP generated a new realm of possibilities for hopeful electoral reformers. What might such electoral reforms look like though, and what structural factors of politics might again be conducive to an alignment of elite and popular interests? Headed into 2019, demands for reform have centered on several areas of electoral law and administration. One area concerns the voter registry, which Jega had to purge of duplications and other anomalies shortly before the 2011 polls. The Senate’s 2017 legislation calls for the voters’ register to be published on INEC’s website (Section 6). A second area of reforms concern far-​reaching reforms meant to take advantage of technological advancements. Technology continues to stimulate hope (sometimes not so cautiously) that new hardware and strict laws can significantly curb fraud. In the case of Wike v. Peterside (SC. 1002/​2015), the Supreme Court called Smart Card Readers “an innovation in our electoral process” that “barring any technical mishap, breakdown or malfunction, was to ensure a credible, transparent, free and fair election.” Organizations such as Election Monitor have gone so far as to argue that manual accreditation should not be permitted. The 2015 elections showed that “technology has its merit” and is the way of the future (Election Monitor 2015, p. 95). To this end, the Senate’s reform bill in 2017 called for “full biometric accreditation of voters with Smart Card Readers and/​or other technological devices as INEC may introduce” (Section 1). Presiding officers would also be required to electronically transmit accreditation data from polling units to collation centers (Section 2). This advances the 2010 reforms that required publication of election results at the polling unit level. Critically, INEC would also be mandated to maintain a database of “National Electronic Register of Election Results” down to the polling unit level (Section 7). It also facilitates the goal of Section 8 of the Act, that “collation of election results is now mainly electronic,” since reporting results in real time will impede the coordination necessary to orchestrate electoral theft on a grand scale. In general, “INEC now has unfettered powers to conduct elections by electronic voting” (Section 4)2. A third, critical area of reform concerns ongoing improvements to primaries and candidate selection in general. Since party leaders and incumbent politicians have been able to dominate candidate selection, Section 14 of the Act would enable “all members of political parties” to participate in selection of delegates for indirect primaries. Perhaps most significantly, Section 12 states, “no political party can impose qualification/​disqualification criteria, measures or conditions on any Nigerian for the purpose of nomination for elective offices, except as provided in the 1999 Constitution.” This language is destined to conflict with “zoning”—​the parties’ practice of rotating eligibility for positions on an ethno-​regional basis. Though the practice remains widely used for federal, state, and local offices, no such provisions for rotating power exist in the Constitution. This may be a sign of democratic progress, since frustration with zoning contributed significantly to

Drivers and Dynamics of Electoral Reform, 1999–2015    347 the party defections that led to the formation of the APC (LeVan 2018). Or perhaps, the shoe is now merely on the other foot—​and the APC doesn’t want to bother with power-​ sharing. Time will tell.

Conclusion What distinguished the 2010 civil society activism on electoral reform? We have argued that the context of Nigeria’s 2010 electoral reforms was at least as important as the content—​or the leadership at the helm. The formation of the CSCC facilitated cohesive positions and a unified platform. New structures promoted sustained engagement with the Commission, a more coherent public education process that expanded civil society’s influence, and put nongovernmental voices in a better position to uphold reforms. Elections in 2003 and 2007 left Nigerians outraged, where thousands of small complaints multiplied democracy’s disappointments rather than renewing hope in the power of the people. The defeat of Obasanjo’s third-term agenda gave civil society a renewed sense of the possibilities, and then the response to the invisible presidency in 2010 connected some of those alternative visions of politics to broader electoral reforms. Increasingly, the reform agenda will have to grapple with potentially conflicting incentives generated by institutional reforms considered in isolation, rather than holistically or comparatively (i.e. drawing upon global examples). With ideas and recommendations arriving from many different sources, civil servants and legislators will need to understand and assess the potential for incompatible institutional incentives in any bundle of reforms. For example, the Supreme Court decision on tenure elongation reinforces Nigeria’s commitment to presidentialism by emphasizing the importance of fixed terms in office. Legislatures and executives bargain on the basis of this expectation that the electoral cycle presents a stable opportunity for accountability. In this context, civil society’s calls for PR may warrant some caution since it would increase the number of parties in the National Assembly. Multiple parties in the legislature tends to be a cumbersome arrangement without a relationship of collective parliamentary responsibility with the executive (Morgenstern and Nacif 2002). Civil society calls for independent candidacy are in tension with party primary reforms, suggesting a similar kind of misalignment of incentives. The CSCC in its charter noted that to prevent frivolous candidates from emerging, “it could be provided that a certain percentage of the electorate must nominate the independent candidate.” In some countries such a threshold is established on the basis of previous electoral performance, but in Nigeria it is unclear how an electorate would nominate a candidate without a party primary. Given popular frustration in Nigeria that parties lack ideology and that elections center on individuals (Obafemi, Egwu, Ibeanu, and Ibrahim 2014), there is also an irony in endorsing a structural reform that would shape political competition around personality cults rather than collective organization. The 2010 Electoral Act’s requirements for party primaries was a significant step forward, and the APC’s

348    A. Carl LeVan and Abiodun Ajijola convention took these reforms to heart—​with the desired effect on voters. But without additional language clarifying the operational distinctions between direct and indirect primaries, party barons will likely continue to exploit legal loopholes. Parties still retain significant power over the names they advance to INEC, which has few choices other than to accept them, even if it includes candidates who were “substituted” by party godfathers. INEC’s authority remains largely limited to monitoring. One of the single most important reforms has been to enhance the transparency of party conventions and congresses that nominate candidates. Yet the Supreme Court in Shinkafi v. Yari (2016) held that “the issue of nomination of a candidate by a political party for an election is within the exclusive purview of the political parties and that the courts have no jurisdiction.”3 If courts are empowered to decide on the credibility of outcomes, as they regularly do, one would think that they possess overall competence and authority to assess the process that chose the candidates. Similarly, if INEC has the authority to deregister parties, it seems it might also implicitly possess equally important but much narrower authority to determine (or publicly report on) the integrity of the processes that chose the parties’ candidates. The 2010 reforms, and the two rounds of elections that followed, moved the institutional basis of Nigeria’s democracy forward in significant ways. The challenge in the future will be to defend that progress through both creative bureaucratic adaptation and a legal framework that shapes democracy through citizen engagement and new avenues of participation.

Notes 1. The authors wish to thank Amarachi Utah for her research assistance. 2. This fixes electoral law amendments passed belatedly in March 2015 to formally enable electronic voting which were so poorly drafted that the Supreme Court considered them too ambiguous to interpret. 3. SC/​907/​2015.

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Chapter 21

The Peopl e ’ s Demo crati c   Pa rt y From the 1999 Transition to the 2015 Turnover Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo

Introduction A decade ago, we published an article (Agbaje, Akande, and Ojo 2007, pp. 79–​97) on the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). It was then the ruling and dominant party in Nigeria’s putative federal setup, having won in each of the first three general elections in Nigeria’s postmilitary Fourth Republic inaugurated in 1999. It controlled the federal government and an overwhelming majority of state and local governments over the years. Understandably, that review ended with the prognosis that, despite the party’s well-​known shortcomings, it looked “set to rule Nigeria for some time to come” (Agbaje, Akande, and Ojo 2007, p. 80). The auguries for that period (1999–​2007) were very clear, and most pointed to the image and reality of the PDP as a behemoth destined, in the words of party leaders, to rule Nigeria for an unbroken sixty years, despite worrying developments at the macro level of Nigerian governance and politics. As it was already typical of the Nigerian political scene by then, politicians from the other political parties started trooping into the PDP in preparation for the 2003 elections, buoying the confidence of the party. The party grew in strength as it settled in government, not necessarily for the quality of its performance in governance but more for the mastery of exploitation of the greed of politicians within and outside the party. The party quickly moved away from its lofty goals of being a vehicle for national unity, justice, and progress into a huge machine for the distribution of patronage. A one-​time national chairman of the party, Dr Okwesilieze Nwodo, aptly captured this when he

352    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo noted that the PDP had “ ‘become a winning machine where we win elections without winning the hearts of the people” (Channels Television 2011). It was in this context that the party emerged electorally dominant in the 1999, 2003, 2007, and 2011 elections, often in controversial and disputed contexts (Hamalai, Egwu, and Omotola 2016). This dominance was less a reflection of actual electoral presence and more an indicator of the power of incumbency and related capacity to manipulate elections, patronage, and intimidation of opposition and electorate. Thus the PDP missed the opportunity to evolve into a truly consolidated, coherent, and sustainable party with a strong institutional base and rules as well as identifiable ideological focus. Rather, there were enhanced roles for individuals and factional politics within the party as well as a rising culture of impunity. This contested dominance in a context of increasing deinstitutionalization of the party arose from two realities, one with a comparative international flavor and the other related to developments at the national level. At the comparative level, the first reality placed Nigeria squarely in the mix of countries succinctly described by Greene: When incumbents can access and use public resources for partisan gain, they benefit from a virtually bottomless campaign war chest and create quasi-​permanent resource asymmetries between insiders and outsiders. Incumbents can access public funds when the public bureaucracy is politically controlled through non-​merit-​ based hiring, firing, and career advancement, which makes bureaucrats less likely to act as gatekeepers or whistleblowers. Incumbents can use public funds for partisan advantage where campaign finance laws do not exist or cannot be enforced because the incumbent controls the electoral authority (Greene 2010, pp. 807–​8).

In our 2007 paper, we highlighted the worrying developments at the national level in which the PDP and the ruling elite had failed to deliver on the promise of “democracy, development, good governance, a functional party system, a well-​adjusted federal framework, social justice and peace.” In addition, the party had also taken Nigerians “further from any of these lofty goals than they could ever have imagined” (Agbaje, Akande, and Ojo 2007, pp. 79–​80). The PDP was conveniently blamed by opposition parties and members of the voting public for the reality of widespread economic, social, political, governance, institutional and security failure, as well as a growing perception of corruption and a culture of impunity. Subsequently, in the countdown to the 2015 elections, key opposition parties were able to merge to form a new, more formidable platform—​the All Progressives Congress (APC)—​that brought to an end the sixteen-​year grip of the PDP on Nigerian governance and politics (see Tables 21.1, 21.2, and 21.3). The rest of this chapter examines the journey of the PDP from being the dominant party destined to rule Nigeria for a long period to one that is now in the political wilderness as Nigeria’s opposition party. It has lost its grip on federal power and the majority of subnational executive and legislative power to the APC in the 2015 elections—​the first time a ruling party at the federal center has lost elections to the opposition.

Table 21.1 Composition of the House of Representatives, by party, 1999–​2015 PDP

APP/​ ANPP

AD/​AC/​ ACN

LP

CPC

APGA

APC

Others

1999

214

78

67

–​

–​

–​

–​

—​

2003

223

96

34

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

2007*

261

62

33

1

–​

–​

–​

3 (PPA)

2011**

203

27

69

8

38

7

–​

8

2013/​2015***

171

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

172

–​

2015****

142

–​

–​

1

–​

4

211

2 (LP -​& Accord)

Sources: Hamalai 2014: 49; Omotola 2013, cited in Hamalai, Egwu and Omotola 2016. *Figures based on results published by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) in its Official Report for 2007 General Elections. ** Figures as published in INEC Official Report for 2011 General Elections. **During this period, there was high level of changeability in membership of the House of Representatives along party lines due to three main factors. One was the gale of defection back and forth across parties, but mostly to the new opposition APC; and two, the issue of by-elections as well as court nullifications of some results. The third and perhaps the most significant factor was the merger of the then ACN, CPC and ANPP to form APC, which altered the majority-minority line of demarcation slightly in favor of the new APC. **** Figures as published in INEC Official Report for 2015 General Elections.

Table 21.2 Composition of Senate, by political partiy, 1999–​2015 PDP

APP/​ ANPP

AD/​AC/​ ACN

LP

CPC

APGA

APC

Others

1999

67

23

19

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

2003

75

28

6

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

2007*

85

16

6

–​

–​

–​

–​

2 (PPA & A)

2011**

72

6

18

4

7

1

–​

1 (DPP)

2013/​2015***

71

–​

–​

3

–​

1

34

–​

2015

49

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

60

—​

Sources: Hamalai 2014: 49; Omotola 2013. *Figures based on official results released by INEC. ** Figures as published by INEC in its 2011 General Elections Official Report. ***New figure due to similar reasons given in Table One above. According to Hamalai, Egwu & Omotola (2016), ‘at the state level, PDP had 57% of the seats in 1999 elections. PDP share of States Houses of Assembly seats rose to 72.7% in 2003 and 73% in 2007. PDP’s share declined in 2011 to 67%’.

354    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo Table 21.3 Composition of governorship seats, by political party, 1999–​2015 PDP

APP/​ANPP

AD/​ACN

PPA

APGA

LP

CPC

APC

1999

21

9

6

–​

–​

—​

–​

–​

2003

28

7

1

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

2007*

28

5

1

2

–​

–​

–​

2010

28

3

3

–​

1

1

–​

–​

2011**

18

3

3

–​

1

1

–​

2013

19

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

–​

16

2015***

9

–​

–​

–​

1

–​

–​

20

Source: Hamalai, 2014: 47–54. *Statistics is as reported by INEC in its Official Report on the 2007 General Elections. These figures changed significantly after the Election Petitions Tribunals reversed the outcomes of some of the elections. **The 2011 gubernatorial election results were as reported by INEC. Governorship elections took place in 26 states due to staggered elections arising from adjudication on election petitions by courts and tribunals. *** Figures as published in INEC Official Report for 2015 General Election. Note that as a result of judicial intervention in Nigeria’s elections, governorship elections took place in 29 states while other 7 took place at different times.

PDP and the Travails of Power, 1999–​2015 Between 1999 and 2007, the fortunes of the PDP were inextricably linked to the two-​ term presidency of its candidate, Chief Olusegun Obasanjo. At the early stages, having battled to re-​establish civil democratic rule after the latest experience of military rule from 1993 to 1999, the party was committed to a democratic ethos and good governance, including practices of inclusivity. Its presidential candidate, who emerged as the first president of the Fourth Republic, Chief Obasanjo, had himself been jailed by the preceding military administration. Senior military officers who were exposed to political office under the preceding military regimes in the period 1993–​9 were retired while the party and its government set out to form an inclusive government, recruiting leaders of rival political parties into the federal government (Agbaje, Akande, and Ojo 2007, p. 95; Katsina 2016). This subsequently turned out to be a strategy with which the PDP sought to weaken other parties as its own hold on government firmed up and as the presidency entrenched itself in power. Such a strategy was central to the party remaining dominant in the twelve-​year period between 1999 and 2011, well beyond the two terms of President Obasanjo.

The People’s Democratic Party    355 Nonetheless, the personalities and circumstances of subsequent presidents produced by the PDP in the period up to 2015 continued to constitute a major factor in shaping the PDP and its political fortunes (Hamalai 2014). However, by 2015, the dialectics of its internal politics, governance failure, and the increasing weakness of the post-​Obasanjo presidency (comprising the combined periods in office of presidents Umaru Yar’Adua and Goodluck Jonathan) contributed to the unraveling of the PDP, leading to its defeat in key elections held between 2011 and 2015. Obasanjo assumed office as president with landslide support from all sections of the country except his own native southwest where he lost his polling unit, ward, local government, state, and geopolitical zone. Indeed, his clearance to contest for the primaries of the PDP was against the guidelines of the party. The guidelines stipulated that a presidential candidate must have delivered his local government and state to the party in the local government election held in December 1998. While Dr Alex Ekwueme, Obasanjo’s main rival, delivered on this, and Obasanjo did not, the party still cleared him to stand for election. A former military head of state from 1976 to 1979, Obasanjo apparently rode on the back of the military establishment which wanted one of its own as civilian president, as well as an emerging consensus among the political elite to field candidates from the southwest for president to compensate for Chief M. K. O. Abiola, presumed winner of the 1993 presidential election whose election was annulled by the then military government and who subsequently died in detention. Obasanjo was also well regarded among the northern political establishment that perceived him as not antagonistic towards northern interests. While the military establishment, comprising retired senior military officers, paved the way for Obasanjo’s nomination, the political work for the general election was handled by the Yar’Adua political group led by Obasanjo’s running mate, Atiku Abubakar. However, this combination of forces behind him soon became an albatross for the party. The military establishment led by General Ibrahim Babangida had emerged as a powerful bloc within the party by 2000 with a strong presence in the party’s leadership, even though only a few former military officers sought visible public office1. Prominent among such key players with military backgrounds (Adekanye 1999)  were generals Abubakar Abdulsalami, who as head of state handed over power to elected President Obasanjo in 1999, Theophilus Danjuma, Aliyu Gusau, David Jemibewon, David Mark, Tunde Ogbeha, Air Vice Marshall Mohammed Lawal, and Navy Commodore Olabode George. This power bloc within the party became uncomfortable with the rising profile of the Yar’Adua group. Obasanjo himself soon became suspicious of the moves of his deputy. Within two years of the administration, mutual suspicion had deepened into huge fault lines and the three contending groups (supporters of Obasanjo, Atiku, and Babangida) sought to outdo one another in the buildup to the 2003 elections. There were talks of Obasanjo dropping Atiku for Aliyu Gusau, scion of the northern military establishment, as vice presidential candidate as there were speculations of Atiku himself having presidential ambitions. A campaign for Obasanjo to play the Mandela option by not contesting the 2003 elections deepened the crisis. At the end, Obasanjo contested and won the ticket. Atiku returned as vice president but the trust between him and Obasanjo was so damaged that within a few months of the inauguration, Obasanjo

356    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo had withdrawn virtually all the functions he assigned to his vice president, declared his post vacant, and eventually frustrated him out of the PDP. Atiku spent a lot of time and resources going to court to contest many of the vindictive actions and won all the legal contests against Obasanjo. This period witnessed Obasanjo taking over control of the party. The position of the party’s national chair increasingly became a musical chair as chairpersons were changed as soon as conflicts emerged between them and the president. The PDP had eight national chairpersons in its first eleven years. Obasanjo alone had four chairpersons in his eight years as president. He kept changing the chairpersons until he brought in his military compatriot, Ahmadu Ali, from the All Nigerian People’s Party (ANPP) to chair the PDP. Ali presided over a complete overhaul of the party in which state chapters that were not identified as allying with Obasanjo were dismantled and new leadership installed. The officers of the party at the national and zonal levels were also systematically removed and replaced with those loyal to the president. Indeed, the party embarked on new registration of party members where leading members such as the vice president were denied registration. The exercise was carried out outside the party structure as a strange office of “links-​man” was created in the states to oversee the registration. The scheme to control the party at the state level was also designed to take away party control from governors who were not identified as supporters of President Obasanjo. A high point of this period was the attempt by Obasanjo to amend the 1999 Constitution to make him eligible to run for president beyond the tenure limit of two terms. This pitched him against Atiku Abubakar who aligned with opposition figures and even PDP leaders in the National Assembly who were opposed to the initiative. The attempt further created problems within the party. By 2007, what was left of the PDP was a frame for intimidation and distribution of patronage to politicians. Having failed to extend his rule, Obasanjo took it upon himself to impose a presidential candidate on the party. Again, having weakened the presidential ambition of his vice president, Obasanjo went ahead to pressure all the PDP governors contesting the presidential ticket of the party in the lead-​up to the 2007 election to step down for his preferred aspirant, then Governor Umaru Musa Yar’Adua of Katsina State. Yar’Adua, younger brother of his erstwhile deputy in the years of military rule (1976​–​9), Shehu Musa Yar’Adua was imposed on the party delegates and eventually emerged as the party’s presidential candidate for the 2007 election. This did not go down well with frontline aspirants such as Dr. Peter Odili, then governor of Rivers State, and Mr. Donald Duke, governor of Cross River State, who had spent enormous resources traveling around the country trying to rally party delegates to support their presidential ambitions. Yar’Adua had a reputation for discipline and performance as governor but it was common knowledge that he was ill. Yet, Obasanjo, using the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) to arm-​ twist other presidential aspirants in the PDP, got Yar’Adua confirmed as presidential candidate. Yar’Adua went ahead to win the election, ushering in Nigeria’s first experience in civilian-​to-​civilian transition within the same party. The Yar’Adua presidency was hobbled by his illness as well as attempts by his men to take over the control of the party from Obasanjo. Yar’Adua’s illness ceded open

The People’s Democratic Party    357 political space to his associates, a “cabal” of mostly young Turks from the northwest who took it upon themselves to stamp Yar’Adua’s authority on the party. In the absence of Yar’Adua, who frequently traveled overseas for medical treatment, his wife Turai, the Minister of Agriculture Abba Sayyadi Ruma, and the National Economic Adviser Taminu Yakubu sought to fill in the void. When Yar’Adua became too weak, this group effectively made presidential decisions. They tinkered with the idea of picking one of themselves as the presidential nominee through early PDP primaries as Yar’Adua’s medical condition further deteriorated. Yar’adua died before this could materialize. The quest of the cabal to hold on to power in spite of Yar’Adua’s illness exposed the PDP as a party lacking in coherence and discipline. The cabal resisted every attempt to allow the vice president, Goodluck Jonathan, to perform the role of the president. Not until their posture generated a national uproar did the National Assembly, under a “doctrine of necessity,” mandate that the vice president should assume the position of “acting president.” Even then, there were regular media reports of Yar’Adua’s men interfering with Jonathan’s ability to perform his role as acting president. In summary, the Yar’Adua presidency had little impact on the PDP, given his illness. Against expectations in much of the north that someone from that section of the country would be president for eight years from 2007 in accordance with the zoning arrangement of the PDP, Jonathan went on to be elected president in the 2011 election. This precipitated a new round of internal crisis in the PDP. Section 7, subsection 3 (c) of the 1999 PDP Constitution as amended in 2012, talks about “adhering to the policy of the rotation and zoning of party and public elective offices in pursuance of the principle of equity, justice and fairness.” Power at the national level was thereby meant to alternate between north and south. Many notherners therefore believed that a northerner should have been nominated to serve out the second term that President Yar’Adua was entitled to under this arrangement. Deviating from zoning ultimately generated a lot of ill will for the PDP among notherners. Many PDP chieftains from the north never forgave those who they considered as having circumvented the PDP constitution to allow a southerner to come to power so soon after the eight years of the Obasanjo presidency. It was part of the anger that culminated in the formation of a “New PDP” in 2013 after former Vice President Atiku Abubakar (following his return to PDP from Action Congress of Nigeria) and seven PDP governors walked out of the special convention of the party on August 31, 2013. Of the seven governors, only Chibuike Amaechi of Rivers State was from the south. Five of the seven governors as well as Vice President Atiku Abubakar were later to join the opposition APC, which had been registered by INEC only on July 31, 2013. The APC was formed (Ibrahim and Hassan 2014; Olowojolu 2015) following a merger of the Action Congress of Nigeria2, the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC, the political party of General Muhammadu Buhari), the All Nigeria People’s Party (ANPP), and a faction of All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA), the leading opposition parties to the PDP. Thereafter, the APC generated an exodus of PDP chieftains into the new party.

358    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo The PDP never fully recovered from all this. It was a depleted and divided PDP therefore that went into the 2015 general election. By the time the polls were over, the party had lost the presidency, its majority in the House and Senate, and many of the State Houses of Assembly. Out of the twenty-​nine governorship elections held on April 11, 2015, the PDP managed to win nine with most of them coming from southeastern and Niger Delta states of Rivers, Akwa Ibom, Cross River, Delta, Ebonyi, Abia, and Enugu. The other two governorship seats won by PDP were those of Gombe and Taraba States. The colossal loss made the party hemorrhage all the more as members left in droves after the general election to join the new party in power, the APC. The politics of the PDP in Jonathan’s era partly reflected the politics of the presidential election of 2011. Jonathan, being from a minority from the Niger Delta and a weak individual, relied heavily on other people to exercise the power of the president. He sustained many layers of power blocs, each assisting him to maintain a balance that kept him in office. The most vociferous and dramatic of these layers was that occupied by his wife, Dame Patience Jonathan. She exercised influence on her husband openly. People in the elite power circles knew that much of the locus of power in the presidency lay with the wife of the president. State governors, including those of opposition parties, sought the favors of Mrs Jonathan. Many governors detailed their wives on the entourage of the First Lady to guarantee her support. Patience Jonathan was influential within the PDP and even in opposition parties. A governor in the rival APC once recalled how Mrs. Jonathan sent a politician to him to fix a senatorial candidate in one of the southwest states, with the assurance that the federal government would be used to ensure that the candidate won. Where she faced resistance from state governors, she never shied away from engaging in public controversy as she did endlessly with Rotimi Amaechi, the governor of Rivers State, her home state. She was also involved in battles for the control of the party in her husband’s home state, Bayelsa State, against Governor Seriake Dickson. Mrs. Jonathan was indeed involved in party administration across the country, many times convening meetings to resolve party conflicts or giving instructions on how the party should be organized. The Ijaw political elite led by Chief Edwin Clark, a former Minister of Information under General Yakubu Gowon, formed the second ring of influence in the Jonathan government. It comprised Ijaw politicians, bureaucrats, and business people who had operated at the national level at different times. They were apparently brought together to help the president, who was widely perceived as inexperienced in national politics, to navigate the national political landscape. The group later created more problems for the president as they interpreted events within the context of the marginalization of the Ijaw over time, publicly stating that Jonathan’s presidency was the divine favor for them to redress the disadvantage of the past. This clouded their perception of issues and soon Jonathan came to be seen as a clannish president. Besides, many of them were, indeed, also limited in national exposure, having to rely on surrogates across the country for advice on critical national issues. In the absence of a clear compass, Jonathan had to depend on other power factors. One such was the Governors’ Forum. Jonathan was once a state governor, which gave him psychological comfort in the midst of the governors. The governors were also

The People’s Democratic Party    359 excited that one of their own was the president, which gave them unfettered access to the presidency unlike in the Obasanjo era, when state governors referred to the president as “baba” (the Yoruba word for father). However, given Jonathan’s personal weakness, the governors soon became the leading partner in the relationship and began to call the shots. Under Jonathan’s indecision in most cases, the governors took control of the PDP in their respective states. They changed the leadership of the party at will without any sanction from the national leadership and virtually took over the financing of the party. The new dispensation challenged the legacy of Obasanjo in the party and, within a short time, Obasanjo parted ways with Jonathan. Internally inconsistent and mostly at war with each other, this combination of power centers spelled doom for Jonathan as he advanced towards seeking another term as president in 2015. Meanwhile, in securing the presidential ticket of the PDP in 2011 against northern opposition, northern political elites felt betrayed since they thought power would revert to the north in accordance with the PDP’s zoning arrangement. These elites insisted that Jonathan gave them assurances that he would run for only one term.The Governors’ Forum supported his candidacy in 2011, but they were less enthusiastic when Jonathan showed interest in running for re-​election in 2015. It took the use of the EFCC for political arm-​twisting for most of the remaining PDP governors in the north to provide lukewarm support for their party’s presidential candidate. Out of apprehension and in order to pave the way for the emergence of Jonathan as the PDP presidential candidate in 2015, only one presidential nomination form was reportedly printed. Two aspirants who wanted to buy the form, Dr. Abduljelili Tafawa Balewa and Mrs. Zainab Duke-​Abiola, were denied access to the forms even though they paid for these3. As indicated earlier, the PDP in the states was left largely in the hands of the state governors under Jonathan. Indeed, during the last year ahead of the 2015 election, the party was rocked by crises in a majority of the states. Efforts by Jonathan to make last-​minute amendments did not yield much in the way of results and the party went into the 2015 elections divided. In the north in particular, the state governors and politicians were reluctant to work for Jonathan or the PDP. Indeed, in most states, PDP agents at the polling units reportedly worked actively for the election of Muhammadu Buhari of the APC. This perhaps explains why the APC won seventeen of the governorship seats in the north in addition to the presidential election in which it won in all the nineteen northern states. In essence, northern sentiments rather than the PDP sentiments were a major factor in the choice of the northern electorate in the 2015 election.

Funding of the PDP In the area of funding (Aiyede 2008; Akande 2016; Adetula 2008), for instance, the party was, in terms of its rules and procedures, built on the principles of transparency, with party funding expected to be sourced from contributions of members, dues by party

360    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo members elected and appointed to public offices, returns on investment by the party, and donations as indicated in Chapter 9 of the PDP 1999 Constitution as amended in 2012 in Section 51 (1). However, the party moved away from these stated transparent sources of funding shortly after it settled into government. Among many others, the controversy between President Obasanjo and Vice President Abubakar over the disbursement of funds from the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC) indicated that the government kept a slush fund that was used to finance party activities. Many of the state governors who were subsequently put on trial for corruption—​such as ex-​Governor Joshua Dariye of Plateau State (a serving senator as we write this)—​had also demonstrated how funds from the federal government’s Ecological Fund, for instance, were returned to the national chapter of the party to fund party activities. Although these examples were under the Obasanjo presidency, it became the standard practice for subsequent PDP administrations. While the short tenure of Yar’dua did not yield much evidence of such practices, perhaps because President Yar’Adua did not have to seek a second term, the Jonathan presidency showed that it was a worthy student of Obasanjo in the diversion of public funds for party funding. The PDP derived most of its funding from illicit sources. At many of the party’s fundraisers, state financial resources were donated to the party. On December 20, 2014, the party organized a fundraiser in Abuja. A whopping N21.3 billion was realized at the colorful event which was held at the Old Banquet Hall of the presidential villa. A majority of those who donated huge sums of money at the event were government contractors, government agencies, and governors elected on the platform of the party. For instance, N50 million each was donated by the twenty-​one PDP governors as well as N15 million by the Niger Delta Development Commission, a federal agency. Many of the donations were in clear breach of the Electoral Act, Companies and Allied Matters Act as well as the Code of Conduct for Political Parties. The party used its power of incumbency extensively in its sixteen years in government. As early as in 1999 and 2003, a group of business elites donated billions of naira in support of the presidential ambition of ex-​President Olusegun Obasanjo. This was in clear breach of the Corporate and Allied Matters Act 2004. One of the major scandals that trailed Jonathan’s presidency in the post-​2015 elections period was a series of allegations outlining the diversion of N4.1 billion meant for the purchase of military arms to fight Boko Haram insurgents in the northeast, in order to prosecute the 2015 elections. The NNPC, under the leadership of Allison Madueke, the Minister of Petroleum Resources, provided a second source of funding for the PDP. A consequence of such funding was that party dues from ordinary members became unimportant, weakening a sense of ownership among the rank-and-file. Besides, party leaders who knew that funding for elections were more assured from illicit sources ceded elements of party control to such sources to the detriment of ordinary members. Finally, there are indications that recipients of government funds diverted for party use hardly utilized such funds for the party alone but diverted part for their personal needs

The People’s Democratic Party    361 as well. In the countdown to the 2015 elections, many of those who collected government money for the re-​election of President Jonathan diverted much of it to personal use. Beyond the diversion of government funds to finance the PDP, the party also maintained an elaborate patronage system through which many business people were granted government patronage through government privatization programs and waivers from taxes and duties in exchange for provision of funds for the party. It was common practice for ministers and heads of government agencies not only in PDP-​ controlled governments but also in governments controlled by other parties to mobilize funds from corporate organizations so favored. Thus, party fundraising committees tended to mainly comprise ministers/​commissioners and heads of government agencies with strong patronage capacities. In 2003, corporate organizations came together to form Corporate Nigeria and collectively raised billions of naira for the campaigns of the PDP. Many active members of the organization were beneficiaries of the economic policies of the government4.

pdp and the Opposition at National and Subnational levels As indicated earlier, the PDP set out with a comfortable control of the political landscape in 1999. It had won a clear majority of seats in the two houses of the National Assembly, producing the leadership of both chambers without the need for a coalition government with other parties. It is ironic, however, that in 1999 the PDP almost immediately became the opposition to itself in the Senate and House of Representatives. The jostling for the control of the government by the three major contending forces in the PDP, namely the Obasanjo group, the Peoples Democratic Movement (PDM), and the Babangida military establishment, led to a high turnover of leadership in both houses. Nevertheless, the PDP had a relatively smooth take-off in government because the two leading opposition parties, the All People’s Partty (APP) and the Alliance for Democracy (AD), were relatively weak and therefore unable to provide much opposition. The APP, populated mostly by associates of General Sani Abacha, did not enjoy popular appeal. The AD, largely a Yoruba party, on the other hand, had probably become battle weary due to the long years of agitation, first for the revalidation of the annulled June 12, 1993 election of Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola and later, for a return to democratic rule. Perhaps also significant for the docility of the party was the fact that the new president, Obasanjo, was a Yoruba man from the southwest—​the party’s base. It was not clear if opposition to Obasanjo would have been popular among the Yoruba electorate. However, the unholy alliance between Obasanjo and the AD governors ahead of the 2003 elections did create an opportunity for Obasanjo to use federal might to wrestle power from most

362    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo of them in the 2003 elections. Obasanjo had approached the AD, mainly made up of his Yoruba kinsmen, on the need for them to support him to secure a second term against a plot by the north to regain presidential power in 2003. In turn, he was to ensure that the PDP did not use federal might to take power away from them. The AD governors, other than Bola Tinubu of Lagos, fell for the plot and the party did not field a presidential candidate in the 2003 presidential election. Obasanjo won the presidency and strengthened his hold on the PDP by having five of his kinsmen as governors and members of the party’s National Executive Council. However, Obasanjo did not keep to this understanding. The PDP won five of the six gubernatorial seats in the southwest, leaving only Lagos State whose governor, Bola Ahmed Tinubu, was reported to have warned his fellow AD governors not to lower their guards in deference to the understanding with Obasanjo. The dismantling of the AD in the southwest is a reference point in the PDP’s carrot-​ and-​stick approach to opposition parties. The PDP also used patronage to win over leading members of the opposition so extensively that by 2013, there were hardly any notable politicians of national status in the opposition parties. The notable names attracted to the PDP included Chief Harry Marshall, chairman of the APP in Rivers State, Chief Lamidi Adedibu, leader of the APP in Oyo State, Otunba Gbenga Daniel of the AD in Ogun State, Senator Wahab Dosumu from Lagos State, Senator Lekan Balogun, and Senator Brimo Yusuf from Oyo State and numerous others. Indeed, three of the national chairs of the PDP between 1999 and 2007, Chief Barnabas Gemade, Dr Ahmadu Ali, and Chief Vincent Ogbulafor had crossed over to the PDP from the APP. Another dimension comprised instances of political assassinations of opposition figures and PDP leaders. The victims who died in such suspicious circumstances included: Chief Bola Ige, mentioned earlier, who was murdered in his home in Ibadan; Chief Harry Marshall, vice chair of the PDP in the South-​South (the party’s term for states in the Niger Delta), who was having a running battle with leading figures in the party with links in government; Chief Godwin Dikkibo, also vice chair of the party in the South-​South; engineer Funsho Williams, a PDP governorship aspirant in Lagos; Dr. Ayo Daramola, a PDP governorship aspirant in Ekiti State; and architect Layi Balogun, a frontline ANPP chieftain in Ibadan, Oyo State. Finally, the PDP actively sponsored division within opposition parties to distract them from sustaining vibrant opposition against the party. A case in point is the AD which was held down by crises actively promoted by the PDP. The PDP also maintained moles in the ANPP and actively promoted conflicts within the party from 1999. There were also instances of politicians of note put on the payroll of government to reduce the potency of opposition from the likes of Chief Gani Fawehinmi5.

Understanding the 2015 Elections A major factor responsible for the PDP’s losses in the 2015 elections was the refusal of President Jonathan to respect the zoning and rotation arrangement of the PDP for the

The People’s Democratic Party    363 presidential elections. Other factors of a worsening economy and the pervasive insecurity in the country, including the Boko Haram insurgency in the northeast, further helped to hasten the defeat of Jonathan and the PDP. The north felt short-​changed: after eight years of the Obasanjo presidency, it lost presidential power after only two years of the Yar’Adua presidency. Jonathan’s insistence to contest in 2015 put PDP stalwarts in the north in a very uncomfortable situation. A campaign for the PDP in the north was interpreted as a position against the stand of the north. In essence, those who traditionally mobilized and protected votes for the PDP in the north were not forthcoming with their services. Indeed, in many locations, card-​carrying party agents of the PDP openly canvassed for votes for the APC and readily allowed the manipulation of votes against the PDP. This sentiment was also extended to the governorship elections where the APC that had only one state governor prior to the 2015 elections ended up with seventeen of the nineteen governors in the north.

Conclusion: Out in the Cold—​ Post-​2 015 Developments and Prospects for the Future The experience of the PDP demonstrates that impunity in the political process does not last forever. The PDP was able to use government machinery and the distribution of largesse to seek to address its internal crises that began almost as soon as it got into power. However, the internal contradictions of the party could not be so easily resolved. The party would have fared better if it kept to the lofty objectives of its founding fathers. However, the relegation of these ideals and their replacement by baser elements provided the background to the events of 2015. The party’s weak ideological vision left the basis for a cross-​sectional coalition lacking, creating an enabling environment for ethnic mobilization, and the revolt of traditional supporters of the party in the north. President Jonathan and the PDP undervalued the importance of ideology and underestimated the frustration in the north. The sycophantic political culture that pervaded the party, coupled with the virtual absence of a party leadership and strategic vision, encouraged the party faithful to choose staying in the good graces of the president over counseling him about the danger his ambition constituted for the party’s electoral fortunes. The challenge for the PDP following its 2015 defeat revolves around how to address these issues of strategic thinking, ideology, and leadership (Kumolu 2015; Ezigbo 2016; Ezea 2016; Ojo 2016a). It now has to address and envision a new life of coping and learning from electoral failure. The dire situation is not helped by the party’s legacy in such areas as corruption, poor governance, and inability to deliver on its democratic and developmental promises for the sixteen years that it was in

364    Adigun Agbaje, Adeolu Akande, and Jide Ojo government. Equally unhelpful is the fact that much of its leadership has been tainted by corruption allegations, with numerous figures facing investigations and appearing in court. Help may yet come from an unlikely source, namely the APC itself and its apparent inability to transform its electoral victory into deliverables in those vital areas in which the PDP has so thoroughly been marked as a failure (Nzeh 2017; Ezigbo 2016). For now, it is enough to note that the failure of the PDP is a warning signal to other political parties that impunity and non-​p erformance cannot last forever. What the party is currently facing provides it with another opportunity to begin again and rectify the anomalies that led to it being voted out of power and left in the chilly, uncomfortable role of opposition party—​a new role for a party created to rule.

Notes 1. We owe this point as rendered here to Carl LeVan, co-​editor of this volume. On the issue of the retired military in politics, see the authoritative Adekanye’s The Retired Military as Emergent Power Factor in Nigeria. 2. The ACN was itself a product of earlier party realignment. It formed from the Action Congress, which in turn was formed by a breakaway faction of Alliance for Democracy, a southwest-​based party formed during the 1999 transition. 3. See “PDP prints only one presidential form, denies Balewa’s son, Abiola’s wife” (Umoru 2014), p. 65–​69). 4. On the last five paragraphs, see Nairametrics 2014; Admin. 2015; Authority 2016; and, on a general note, Adetula 2008 and Ojo 2016. 5. Personal communications with sources at the highest levels of governmental, party, and gen­eral political intrigues

References Adekanye, J. B. (1999). The Retired Military as Emergent Power Factor in Nigeria. Ibadan: Heinemann Books. Adetula, V. (ed.) (2008). Money and Politics in Nigeria. Abuja: IFES. Admin. (2015). Second Campaign Finance and Use of State Administrative Resources Report in the 2015 Presidential Election. Web blog post, March 9, 2015. http://​csj-​ng.org/​blog/​second-​ campaign-​finance-​and-​use-​of-​state-​administrative-​resources-​report-​in-​the-​2015-​presidential-​election/​ Agbaje, A., Akande, A., and Ojo, O. (2007). “Nigeria’s Ruling Party: A Complex Web of Power and Money,” South African Journal of International Affairs 14 (1): 79–​97. Aiyede, R. (2008). “The Role of INEC, ICPC and EFCC in combating Political Corruption,” in V. Adetula (ed.), Money and Politics in Nigeria. Abuja: IFES.

The People’s Democratic Party    365 Akande, A. (2016). “Party Financing and Political Corruption in Nigeria.” Paper presented at conference on New Public Management, University of Ilorin, October. Authority (2016). Dasukigate and the Limitation of Money Politics. http://​authorityngr.com/​ 2016/​01/​Dasukigate-​and-​the-​limitation-​of-​money-​politics/​ Channels Television (2011). January 19, 2011. Ezea, S. (2016). “Why Nigerian Opposition Political Parties, CSOs are Comatose,” Guardian (Lagos), August 15, 2016. Ezeigbo, O. (2016). “Weak Ruling, Fractured Opposition Rob Nigerians of Democracy Benefits,” This Day (Lagos), November 13, 2016. Greene, K. (2010). “The Political Economy of Authoritarian Single Party Dominance,” Comparative Political Studies 43 (7): 807–​834. Hamalai, L. (2014) Continuity and Change in Nigeria’s Election:  A Collection of Essays. Abuja: National Institute for Legislative Studies. Hamalai, L., Egwu, S., and Omotola, J. (2016). “Party System and the Dominance of the People’s Democratic,” in L. Hamalai, S. Egwu, and J. Omotola (eds), Continuity and Change: Nigeria’s Electoral Democracy Since 1999. Abuja: National Institute for Legislative Studies. Ibrahim, J. and Hassan, I. (2014). Nigerian Political Parties: From Failed Opposition Electoral Alliance to Merger:  The March Toward the 2015 General Elections. Abuja:  Centre for Democracy and Development. Katsina, A. M. (2016). “People’s Democratic Party in the Fourth Republic of Nigeria: Nature, Structure, and Ideology,” Sage Open April–​June 2016. Kumolu, C. (2015) “PDP: From Ruling to Opposition Party,” Vanguard May 2015 http://​www. vanguard.com/​2015/​05/​pdp-​form-​ruling-​to-​opposition-​party/​ Nairametrics (2014). List of Donors For The President GEJ 2015 Election Campaign, December 21, 2014. https://​nairametrics.com/​list-​of-​donors-​for-​the-​president-​gej-​2015-​election-​ campaign/​ Nzeh, E. (2017). “From Opposition to Ruling Party:  The Many Challenges of APC,” The Authority (Abuja), July 8, 2017. Ojo, J. (2016). “Still on the Controversial N21bn Fundraiser,” in J. Ojo, A Nation in Tow: Essays on Governance and Leadership in Nigeria. Lagos: Joe Tolalu & Associates. Ojo, J. (2016a). “The Beginning of the End of PDP?” The Punch (Lagos) May 25, 2016. Olowojolu, O. (2015). “The Rise of the Oppositional Political Party in Nigeria: Case Study of the All Progressives Congress,” International Journal of Politics and Good Governance 6 (4). Umoru, H. (2014). “PDP Prints Only One Presidential Form, Denies Balewa’s Son, Abiola’s Wife,” Vanguard, October 30, 2014. https://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2014/​10/​pdp-​prints-​one-​ presidential-​form-​denies-​balewas-​son-​abiolas-​wife/​

PA RT   I I I

CIVIL SOCIETY

Chapter 22

Civil So ciet y i n Ni g e ria Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja

Introduction Civil society has played a pivotal role in Nigeria’s political development, offering what was often the only avenue for public input into national decisions during the long years of colonialism and military rule, and at times during the insular processes of civilian governments as well. Yet civil society reflects the broader political cultural patterns of the state as much as it shapes them, such that some Nigerian civil society groups also embodied the authoritarian and corruption trends so evident in the nation’s political elites while pressing for democratization and reform. In this chapter, we briefly review the development of Nigerian civil society to demonstrate how its relationship to the state has been central in determining civil society’s structure and overall orientation toward its role in politics. Building on Kew’s (2016) notion of several “generations” of Nigerian civil society, we discern four generations of groups, each with its own distinctive character and approach to the state. Overall, we find strong evidence that civil society has played an important part in democratizing Nigeria, but that its plural character and funding needs have also imposed limits on its ability to have an impact when predatory political elites work to undermine these groups. Civil society needs a critical mass of reformist partners at the state level if the Fourth Republic is to escape corrupt oligarchy and move Nigeria toward more responsible democratic governance.

Four Generations of Nigerian Civil Society and Their Symbiotic Relationship to the State Policy discussions of civil society groups in recent decades have tended to take an organizational view of this sector, which sees it primarily in terms of associations independent

370    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja of the state that have some kind of public agenda and civic ethos. Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) are typically the model actor in this view, and oftentimes the terms NGO and civil society are used interchangeably. Older conceptions of the term, however, defined civil society as an arena of public activity outside of the state, but organically tied to it, and playing a mediating role between the state and the individual arenas. Hegel, in particular, framed this conception of civil society, calling it the “Middle Sphere” of associational activity between the state and individual (or private) spheres. Yet these three spheres form an interconnected, interpenetrated whole, such that activities and changes in one can influence the others in a dynamic, symbiotic fashion (Cohen and Arato 1992). Hegel’s model offers a more helpful perspective on civil society in Africa and worldwide because it takes a wider view of the concept beyond just associations and organizations. Even in regard to associations, however, the Middle Sphere perspective reminds us that civil society is far more than NGOs, and widens our aperture of inquiry to include trade unions, professional associations, ethnic associations, age cohorts, religious institutions, traditional institutions, and many other types of civic organizations. In addition, this view’s understanding of the Middle Sphere as an arena of public activity allows it to encompass more transient forms of group actions such as mass demonstrations or internet-​based group conversations. Thus when a million Egyptians filled Tahrir Square in 2011 demanding an end to military rule, or when thousands of Nigerians filled the streets of Occupy Nigeria in 2012, they counted as civil society. Hegel’s focus on the civic dimensions of civil society also highlights the important political cultural contributions of this sphere, as it provides a safe zone where values can be inculcated and political ideas developed outside of state control and perhaps in opposition to the current occupants of the state sphere. Consequently, the media is typically included in civil society for its crucial contributions in this regard, even though many news organizations are private businesses, which belong to the individual sphere. This symbiotic, interpenetrated relationship between civil society and the state means that political cultural trends and behaviors tend to flow back and forth from one to the other, as well as to the individual sphere. Yet because civil society is by definition an anarchic actor, in the sense that it has no central governance structure of its own, while the state is a largely coherent, centralized, and hierarchical system, often with much greater power, it tends to be the dominant partner in the relationship. Trends present in how the state governs tend to filter through civil society and provide a baseline upon which associations build or against which they structure themselves in opposition. Consequently, as the state changes over time, the overarching phases in state development will be mirrored in the fundamental structures and orientations of the groups of the Middle Sphere. Kew (2016) refers to these as generations of civil society, and identifies three such generations in Nigeria, with the possibility of a fourth, which we develop here (see Table 22.1). Although each generation’s structural orientation reflects dominant state trends of a particular time period, the category is not time-​bound, in the sense that if an association founded today reflects the structure of a past period, it will be

Civil Society in Nigeria    371 Table 22.1 Four Generations of Nigerian Civil Society Structural Orientation Toward the State

Generation

Type of Civil Society Group

First (precolonial)

Religious and traditional institutions, ethnic associations (ascriptive groups)

Neutral

Second (c.1914–​80)

Trade unions, professional associations, chambers of commerce, student associations (voluntary membership organizations)

Positive

Third (c.1980–​present)

Nongovernmental organizations (human rights, pro-​democracy, women’s interests, economic development, environmental, conflict resolution, etc.)

Negative

Fourth (c.2005–​present)

Social media-​based movements

Transformative

categorized in that generation. For instance, a religious institution founded in 2017 will be labeled as part of the First Generation, since it shares the same structural orientation toward the state as other religious institutions discussed later. Perhaps the most fundamental structural characteristic of the Nigerian state in this regard is that, prior to 1914, it did not exist, and it was not an independent entity until 1960. Although this era accounts for more than a century of institutional life, Nigeria is still young enough that many civil society groups predate it. These are the First Generation of Nigerian civil society, characterized overall by a neutral structural orientation toward the state, because these groups were not created for the purpose of influencing the state. Many religious institutions, traditional institutions, and ethnic associations not only see their beginnings as much earlier than Nigeria itself, but their primary concerns also have little to do with the state; they focus on spiritual matters, the social and cultural affairs within their communities, and so on. Note that this does not mean that First Generation associations do not lobby the government or seek to influence it, but rather that their institutional purpose is not about the state—​they exist for functions that continue regardless of whether the Nigerian government endures or not. The Second Generation of Nigerian civil society, on the other hand, features a positive structural orientation toward the state, in that these groups’ fundamental purpose is to push the state to do more in the provision of social goods and services. They reflect the values of a time of the expansive Nigerian state, roughly 1914 to 1980, when the dominant view of state responsibilities was that of social welfare. This was the heyday of trade unionism, such that unions are the signature organization of the Second Generation, including student unions, but also business and professional associations, like the bar association, and the media. These groups together seek to lobby or demand the government to perform their vision of its proper functioning, taking an expansive role in society to provide health, education, jobs, better wages, improved governance, news, and a variety of other concerns, many of which were socialist leaning.

372    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja Mass demonstrations, protests, and large-​scale public movements also therefore typically fall into this generation, given their central focus on pushing the state to act in a particular direction. As the Nigerian state, largely under military rule, reneged on its welfare responsibilities and grew increasingly corrupt, predatory, and elite-​dominated after 1980, a new generation of civil society arose in order to restrict or replace the state’s role and to address the responsibilities that the state had been neglecting: the nongovernmental organization. Nigeria’s Third Generation of civil society groups were built with this overall negative orientation toward the state, such that they sought to curb the abuses of the state, as in regard to human rights, or to roll back or replace its influence. As structural adjustment policies and corrupt governance fostered government withdrawal of welfare programs and overall institutional decay, other Third Generation organizations rushed in to try to provide the help or services that the state no longer could or would provide, such as health, education, development, and conflict resolution NGOs. The information revolution in Nigeria, taking root after approximately 2005, gave rise to a Fourth Generation of civil society consisting of primarily internet-​based networks and social movements. These amorphous groups feature a generally transformative orientation toward the Nigerian state and the massive corruption and dysfunction of civilian rule since the military returned to the barracks in 1999. These loose networks of middle-​class and more affluent Nigerians have used their tech savvy to try to transform the very neopatrimonial heart of Nigerian politics, filling the streets with protesters and tipping elections away from incumbents in order to promote reform and anticorruption themes. We discuss each of these Generations in greater detail, in order to provide not only a sense of the great variety of Nigerian civil society organizations and movements, but also to offer some overview of how the Middle Sphere has developed since independ­ ence. Nigerian civil society has in many ways mirrored the rise and unraveling of the state, yet has also sought to compensate for its shortcomings, providing an important vehicle for reform and renewal.

The First Generation: Traditional Institutions, Ethnic Associations, and Religious Institutions In precolonial times, from the emirate system in the North to the Benin and Yoruba kingdoms in the West, traditional and religious institutions gave legitimacy to the rulers in the form of divine right to rule. The organic relationship that exists between the traditional and the religious, which was practiced by different ethnic identities, was rooted in what is known as African Traditional Religion. The belief in god, gods, spirits, divinities, deities, and ancestors was premised on a reality that life is the conduct of harmony

Civil Society in Nigeria    373 and interaction between nature and spirits (Awolalu 1976). Traditional institutions are deeply embedded in the anthropology of Nigerian societies and rooted heavily in traditions and culture nationwide. The traditional institutions operated independently of one another in precolonial societies, exercising absolute powers over society in some cases, and demonstrating strong democratic tendencies in others. While many of these institutions lacked statehood, most had centralized or consensus-​based decision-​ making processes (Diamond 1977). The persistence of many precolonial political and social entities in Nigeria was a result of the British policy of governing its colonies through indirect rule. Many traditional Nigerian governance structures, such as the Hausa emirates or the Yoruba kingdoms, were absorbed into the colonial governing apparatus primarily in terms of providing local administrative functions. In societies that lacked such bureaucratic structures, such as the Igbo who did not have government systems beyond the local community council, the British imposed chieftaincies and ruled through them. With the exit of the colonialists in 1960, most of these traditional institutions were cut loose from the formal state, although many still receive financial support, and state and local governments play roles in the naming of new monarchs. Since independence, although they have lost their formal powers and authority, traditional institutions continue to wield varying degrees of cultural authority and influence, and have evolved into important civil society actors who serve as liaisons between their communities and government at all three tiers, but particularly at the local level. Traditional rulers are often the first interveners in local disputes, and will also plead the case on behalf of their communities with local authorities to request public services and resources. Though their influence varies widely from community to community, they remain particularly important. Given this local cultural influence and degree of legitimacy, military rulers frequently turned to traditional rulers for their public support to help legitimize various juntas over the years, typically in exchange for state largesse (Vaughan 2000). Not surprisingly, this undermined many traditional rulers’ influence over time, particularly the summit leaders who were most associated with military politics and massive corruption of the Babangida and Abacha regimes. Civilian politicians after 1999 have tended to be less reliant on traditional institutions at the national level, but state and local politics still features important traditional roles. Ethnic associations also have precolonial roots, in the sense that many of them were built upon precolonial communities and networks, which then formed the basis of ethnic-​based organizations during the colonial years. Some of the Igbo town councils, for instance, formed the basis for new cultural associations, some of which later joined the National Council for Nigeria and the Cameroon (NCNC), which was formed in 1944 as a platform for achieving internal self-​government for Nigeria (Ubaku, Emeh, and Anyikwa 2014). In the Western Region, the Egbe Omo Oduduwa (Society of the Descendants of Oduduwa), was established by Obafemi Awolowo in 1945 as a political movement to foster the unity and development of the Yorubas (Arifalo 2001). Some of these and other ethnic associations became platforms for the ethnic-​based political

374    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja parties of the First Republic, and became critical vehicles for engaging the colonial government in their quests towards realization of political freedom. The majority of ethnic associations, however, remained in civil society and served to promote their community interests at all three levels of Nigerian government, in addition to sociocultural services that many offered. Currently, groups such as Afenifere, a Yoruba association, Ohaneze and the Indigenous People of Biafra, Igbo associations, the Arewa Consultative Forum, a northern and particularly Hausa organization, the Ijaw National Congress, the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People, and many other ethnic associations play important roles in national political debates, and also as vetting grounds for candidates in their regions. Religion has long played a central role in everyday life in Nigeria, and thus religious movements and associations are key actors in civil society, and are likely the largest and most powerful groups of the Middle Sphere. Yet their massive size has also made common political agendas difficult within religious institutions, much less across religious lines, but on specific issues or at key moments they have often been able to organize a tremendous amount of influence. Increasingly in recent years, religious institutions have been able to shape issues in both the private and public spaces. The Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN), a coalition of nearly all the Christian churches in Nigeria, and the Ja’maatul Nasril Islam (JNI), a similar umbrella group for many of Nigeria’s Muslim sects, have served as formidable national platforms for the articulation of the interests of Christians and Muslims. For instance, one of the most notable contributions of CAN in the fight against military rule and the return to democracy was its opposition to the Babangida regime’s annulment of the June 12th 1993 presidential election. As observed by Kukah (2000), while CAN and other Christian groups, such as the Catholic Bishops Conference among others, publicly opposed the annulment of the presidential election, the president of the Supreme Council of Islamic Affairs, head of JNI, and Sultan of Sokoto, Alhaji Ibrahim Dasuki, viewed it merely as “an act of God.” Yet under a new sultan, Muhammadu Sa’adu Abubakar III, these organizations have taken a more active political role, condemning electoral malpractices and working to foster Muslim–​ Christian dialogue at the national level. Nonetheless, the mainstream churches and Islamic groups have lost ground in recent years to smaller churches and mosques, as Christian Pentecostals and Muslim Wahhabist and other movements have gained massive followings preaching prosperity gospels, antistate ideologies, and utopian revivalist messages. CAN has also seen problems with corruption, resulting in part from close political alignment with President Goodluck Jonathan’s government (2010–​15), prompting the Catholic Church to reduce its involvement in CAN to observer status. In response to what was perceived to be the partisan nature of CAN under the leadership of Pastor Ayo Oritsejafor, the Catholic Bishops Conference of Nigeria (CBCN) led by Archbishop Ignatius Kaigama, officially pulled out of CAN at the national level. The CAN leadership was accused of deviating from the core principles of CAN, which has to do with the promotion of peace and unity of the country.

Civil Society in Nigeria    375 In CBCN’s view, CAN became increasingly partisan, to the extent that Oristejafor’s comments were often in support of the Peoples Democratic Party-​led federal government under President Goodluck Jonathan. The implication of such a move was that it weakened CAN’s ability and capacity to speak with one voice on issues that affected Christians. Though, with the expiration of the tenure of Oritsejafor, the CBCN returned to CAN.

The Second Generation: Trade Unions, Professional Associations, Business Associations, and Student Unions The imposition of the Nigerian state in the early twentieth century with its growing bureaucracy alongside the slow development of elements of a modern economy fostered a new generation of civil society groups focused on directing state policy, particularly in terms of service provision. From the beginning, however, these groups proved to be deeply concerned with democratizing the Nigerian state, seeing democracy not only as an ideal form of governance, but also as the system in which their interests were likely to be best served over time. Consequently, many of the Second Generation groups—​especially the trade unions—​have been the warhorses of pro-​democracy movements since the 1950s, but also then suffered the brunt of oppression and internal meddling from military governments in the 1980s and 1990s, as well as efforts to snare them with corruption by both the military and civilian leaders after 1999. The emergence of student unions in Nigeria can be traced to the activism of the West African Students Union (WASU) that was formed in 1925, which heralded the creation of the National Union of Nigerian Students (NUNS) in 1954, as well as its transformation into the National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) in 1981 (Ya’u 2005). Historically, the student unions represented a powerful rallying point for Nigerian students in their struggles against state policies that were considered antipeople. Some of the key issues that dominated the agenda of the students’ struggle in Nigeria included denunciation of the role of the World Bank and International Monetary Fund (IMF) on the Nigerian economy, with specific reference to the 1980s Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), policies on education, campaigns for academic freedom, opposition to military rule, as well as demand for the enthronement of democracy (Adejumobi 2005). Labor movements in Nigeria gradually expanded their fundamental mandates to ensure better conditions of work for their members to include the struggle for democratic values and human rights, as well as other socioeconomic and political issues. In fact, the labor movement was described as the “veteran” of democratic struggles in Nigeria (Tar 2009, p. 165) and provided the most formidable front for democratic coalition-​building

376    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja (Ihonvbere 1997). The emergence of the Nigeria Civil Service Union (NCSU) in 1912, the Nigeria Union of Teachers (NTC) in 1931, and the Railway Workers Union (RWU) in 1931, all operated under one common trade union platform. Other labor unions, such as the Nigeria Trade Union Congress (NTUC), Labour Unity Forum (LUF), United Labour Congress (ULC), Nigeria Workers Union (NWU), National Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers (NUPENG), and the Petroleum and Natural Gas Senior Staff Association (PENGASSAN), all provided a much-​needed impetus against colonial rule, military dictatorship, state repression and antipeople policies. As Tar (2009, p.  170) rightly observed: Apart from struggling for workers’ welfare, most labour unions in Nigeria claim to represent the interests of the socially marginalized and oppressed segments of society, in particular, the masses and peasants who, like workers, are seen as standing at the receiving end of unjust state policies.

Consequently, the late 1980s witnessed a surge in the emergence and struggle of pro-​democracy groups, students’ organizations, market women, professionals, the organized private sector and labor unions. These struggles were centered around demands, which had to do with the repression by the military, deterioration of the Nigerian economy, and corruption (Ihonvbere 1996). These groups were at the forefront of resistance against what were perceived as unpopular and antipeople policies (Mgba 2015). As discussed by Kraus in his chapter in this volume, trade unions spearheaded the fight against military rule in Nigeria between 1984 and 1999, building vast coalitions that included the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), Women In Nigeria (WIN), Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU), National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS), among others (Beckman 2001). In addition, despite being a professional association, the resistance of the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) against military rule, was so vibrant that the regime came to view it more as a political front than a trade union (Momoh and Adejumobi 1999). Organized labor under the platform of the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), as well as professional associations such as the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU), Nigeria Medical Association (NMA), Nigeria Bar Association (NBA), NUPENG, and PENGASSAN provided the stiffest resistance against military rule in Nigeria (LeVan 2011; Arisi 2015). The media has also served an important role in democratizing Nigeria, and in exposing the massive corruption of the Fourth Republic after 1999. The foundation of the media in Nigeria has a history that dates back to the precolonial era. In fact, the Iwe Irohin (1859), Anglo Africa (1863), Lagos Times (1880), Lagos Observer (1882), Eagles and Lagos Critics (1883), Lagos Weekly Record (1891), Lagos Standard (1894), as well as the Nigerian Chronicles (1908) (Basiru 2014, p. 31), all predated the amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates into what became Nigeria in 1914. Anticolonial papers soon rose against the colonial project, beginning with the establishment of the West African Pilot in 1937 by future president Nnamdi Azikiwe (Mohammed 2003). This newspaper became a leader in molding and shaping public opinion in the run-up to

Civil Society in Nigeria    377 independence in 1960. The Daily Service was established as an organ of the Nigerian Youth Movement (NYM), with the mandate of enlightening the people about the importance and need of achieving self-​rule for Nigeria from the British colonial government (Eleazu 1977). After independence, there was a shift in focus towards the inadequacies of the postcolonial political elites who replaced the British colonial rulers. In fact, the Nigerian constitution was framed in a way that makes the media what Oyovbaire (2001) described as a constitutional instrument. Yet, like the rest of civil society, the media faced both the pressure of military oppression and the constant pull of corruption pressures under both authoritarian and democratic governments. The “brown envelope” problem of journalists being given “honoraria”—​which amount to bribes—​to cover powerful individuals and print their version of stories has become a perverse industry standard, such that many media houses do not pay young beat reporters, telling them to earn their salaries through the collection of these “tips.” In reaction to these pressures, however, several media outlets have moved online and to social media to report the vast corruption of politicians and the elite, printing direct video feed and photos taken by readers themselves. Other Second Generation groups, however, continue to struggle with the eroding effects of corruption. Trade union leadership at the federal, state, and local levels faces constant pressures to succumb to bribery from government officials, and many union leaders utilize these practices to subvert union elections and gain their own personal advancement. Nonetheless, the rank-and-file of the labor movement remains vibrant, and many labor leaders remain committed to workers’ rights and democratic deepening overall, resulting in continual pressures within the unions for reform. In a similar fashion, the student movement in Nigeria has fallen prey to the corruption culture, but has yet to reform or regain its past influence. It has also become quite worrisome in view of the resurgence of identity politics, in the context of religion, ethnicity, and regionalism. The opportunistic mobilization of these identities, as observed by Egwu (2005), has no doubt deprived the Nigerian state and civil society in particular, of a powerful source of pressure on government. Confronted with the challenge of eroding democratic culture, the students’ union in Nigeria lacks the mobilization capacity to serve as a rallying platform for all Nigerian students.

The Third Generation: NGOs The growing authoritarianism and collapsing service capacity of the Nigerian state in the 1980s and 1990s gave rise to the Third Generation of Nigerian civil society, the nongovernmental organizations. NGOs are typically small organizations that provide a specialized service or professional skill, such as development organizations, human rights NGOs, conflict resolution groups, health and education NGOs, and so on. Many of the founders of these organizations started their professional lives in Second Generation groups, such as the Nigerian Bar Association, the student unions, or the trade unions,

378    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja but found these groups to be either too co-​opted by military interference in the 1980s and 1990s or too bureaucratic to be open to innovation or quick action. In addition, as small, professional groups with more business-​like organizational cultures, NGOs were ideally poised to take advantage of the new opportunities offered by the early Information Revolution technologies, such as fax machines and desktop computers to connect to global allies and funding sources. Moreover, with Western donors providing increased direct funding for civil society actors after 1980, NGOs rapidly situated themselves as the preferred contractors to get the work done. Emblematic of the rise of the NGO sector was the growth of Nigeria’s human rights movement, beginning with the foundation of the nation’s first human rights organization, the Civil Liberties Organisation (CLO) in 1987. CLO attracted some of Nigeria’s brightest young lawyers, many of whom were frustrated by the slow, sometimes timid pace of the Bar Association to challenge the abuses of military rule. CLO’s human rights work quickly immersed the organization in pro-​democracy struggles against the Babangida regime, seeing some of its leaders arrested, yet its international networks offered important leverage that helped CLO check and shame some of the military’s abuses of the time. CLO’s successes attracted new organizations to the field, such as the Constitutional Rights Project, the Committee for the Defense of Human Rights, Baobab (a women’s rights NGO), Campaign for Democracy (CD), and many other human rights and pro-​democracy groups. The return of the military to the barracks in 1999 ushered in a brief period of cooperation between the human rights and pro-​democracy groups and the new government of President Obasanjo, who had himself been a member of a democracy think tank and the Nigerian chapter of Transparency International. These NGOs initially worked closely with the Obasanjo administration to craft anticorruption bills and commissions, expand human rights freedoms, and deepen the new democracy system. By 2002, however, as President Obasanjo and his ruling party reverted to more neopatrimonial patterns to ensure their re-​election in 2003, and then attempted to change the Constitution in 2006 to allow him to run for a third term, relations with the democracy NGOs soured. Some groups returned to the barricades to name and shame government abuses, while others succumbed to government largesse and took a more collaborationist tone. Some groups have, however, managed to collaborate with government and accept contracts while maintaining their independence and integrity, but their internal structures face constant stress from corruption and poverty, particularly for smaller groups located outside Abuja and Lagos. Organizations that confronted government had to turn to international donors for funding, which was forthcoming, but also ceded some policy direction to fit donor priorities. Conflict resolution groups followed a similar pattern as the human rights and pro-​democracy groups, in that one or two pioneer organizations, such as Academic Associates PeaceWorks, established successful practices in the late 1980s and early 1990s, and soon gave birth to break-​away NGOs or inspired new ones, such as the Interfaith Mediation Centre, the Nigerian Conflict Management Group, and a host of other NGOs. Like the human rights groups, conflict resolution groups were largely unable to develop

Civil Society in Nigeria    379 steady private streams of local funding, and so were forced to either accept government contracts and the political compromises that came with them, or to work with international donors within the priorities that came with their funds. Development, health, and education NGOs also faced similar patterns and difficult choices, especially after 2000 as international donors poured increased funding into these areas. Given their small size, NGOs typically are forced to build networks and alliances in order to have national impact. The Campaign for Democracy (CD) initially served as a coalition of pro-​democracy NGOs to push the Babangida regime to exit power in 1992–​3. As member groups later exited CD, its secretariat transformed into an NGO of its own. With CD declining, Babangida’s annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election led to the emergence of a new National Democratic Coalition (NADECO) to fight the subsequent Abacha regime, and which included opposition politicians in addition to NGO leaders. The return to civilian rule in 1999 opened new possibilities for coalition building, and most major policy issues saw one or several NGO coalitions form around it. Such coalitions included the passage of a Freedom of Information Bill, or for transparency and anticorruption, like the Nigerian Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative, or for the rights of disabled persons, or for interfaith dialogue, and so on. The Transitional Monitoring Group (TMG), Electoral Reform Network (ERN), and Citizens Forum for Constitutional Reform (CFCR) emerged in response to key issues on the monitoring of elections and electoral and constitutional reforms. The changes brought about by the Information Revolution and globalization that fostered the rise of the Third Generation also began to undermine it to some extent by 2010. With Nigeria’s telecommunications grid highly functional across much of the country, organizations based abroad could effectively manage complex projects in Nigeria, opening the nation’s NGOs to competition from international groups with deeper pockets, greater capacity in some areas, and home court advantages in lobbying Western donors for funding. Within the last decade, major Western organizations, such as the National Democratic Institute or the International Republican Institute, Search for Common Ground, Mercy Corps, Global Rights, International Crisis Group, International Alert, and development contractors, such as RTI and the Sullivan Foundation, have all moved into Nigeria to run donor-​funded projects. Nigerian NGOs have seen their best staff often bought out or absorbed by these global organizations, which then hire Nigerian groups as local contractors and service providers at a much lower price based on “local rates.”

The Fourth Generation: Social Media-​Based Civil Society The emergence of the internet witnessed a meteoric rise in the number of cellular phone lines in Nigeria, from almost none in the year 2000 to over 100,000 lines by 2010. Most

380    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja internet companies in Nigeria can now offer global quality speed and service in the major cities, and rural areas are also increasingly able to connect. Nigerians have fast become avid social media users, such that Facebook, Twitter, and other sites saw some of their fastest growth in new users located in Nigeria in several years of the last decade. Nonetheless, the high cost of these technologies combined with the high rate of illiteracy has kept social media beyond the reach of many people. In addition, the intermittent power supply in the country has been a major obstacle to people’s ability to access social media. Nationwide, however, activists have been creative in utilizing free platforms such as WhatsApp to create chat groups that allow formal and informal networks to stay in touch and organize. This rise in social media has led to significant social, economic, and political transformation in Nigeria. As a convenient platform that is now deeply embedded in the daily lives of Nigerians, social media has become an online place where people exchange ideas and share information, thoughts, and opinions (Weber 2009). Social media has transformed Nigeria’s political landscape in significant ways, facilitating social networking as an effective tool for information dissemination. In the run-up to the 2011 election, Enough is Enough initiated a voter education and an election monitoring initiative christened RSVP—​Register (to vote), Select (your candidate), Vote, and Protect (your vote from fraud). The campaign had a strong social media content that was anchored on the Social Media Tracking Centre (Asuni and Farris, 2011). The successes recorded by the SMTC and other sociopolitical initiatives are underscored by the fact that social media has a lower cost in terms of mobilization, sensitization, participation, organization, recruitment, and training of different groups (Dunu and Uzochukwu 2015). The growing popularity and use of social media as a tool for social and political mobilization in Nigeria’s civic space has become a common medium for engagement, particularly among youths. Social media as an effective platform for social mobilization of citizens provides unlimited space for citizens to voice their opinions. In this sense, the power of social media in Nigeria, as evident in platforms such as Facebook, WhatsApp, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google+, and YouTube, allows for the timely dissemination of information to a wide range of audiences, bypassing government restrictions, facilitating interaction, sharing uncensored information, building networks, and empowering people to make informed choices and decisions. As Dunu and Uzochukwu (2015) observed, social media provides the “opportunity to tap into personal networks and present information in multiple formats, spaces, and sources, which helps to make messages more credible and effective.” The Internet has become a formidable platform for social mobilization of Nigerians across gender, class, and identity fault lines. Facebook, Twitter, and Linkedin are the most prevalent and highly subscribed social media platforms in Nigeria (Dunu and Uzochukwu 2015). The removal of fuel subsidy by President Goodluck Jonathan in 2012, which held down pump prices, led to massive public demonstrations against the policy. Widespread mobile phone and social media communication provided an opportunity for Nigerians to mobilize and organize street protests in major cities across the country, under what was termed “Occupy Nigeria” (Onwuegbuchi 2012; Egbunike

Civil Society in Nigeria    381 2015). The first few days of the protests progressed largely organically, with self-​ appointed, lone activists organizing and encouraging demonstrators through text messages and Facebook postings to vent their anger over skyrocketing fuel prices through peaceful occupation of public spaces in Lagos, Abuja, Kano, Port Harcourt, and other urban centers. Professionals and poor people alike joined in the protests, which soon caught the attention of the global media, as well as local NGOs, who joined in the networking and organizing efforts. Occupy Nigeria did not, however, bring the nation to a standstill until the trade unions, led by the Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC), went on strike in support of the demonstrations and swelled the streets with trade unionists. For a week, the economy ground to a halt, forcing the government to negotiate a partial restoration of the fuel subsidy, which the NLC accepted and called off the strike. The departure of the NLC led to the collapse of Occupy Nigeria shortly thereafter, even though many of the initial activists had been pushing for greater government acceptance of anticorruption measures and other reforms. Frustrated by the experience of Occupy Nigeria and critical of the NLC’s willingness to settle—​which some said included corrupt payments to union leaders—​many activists turned their sights on the 2015 elections and the removal of the sixteen-​year dominance of the corrupt PDP machine. Clusters of activists, particularly youth, began asynchronous conversations on social media sites promoting notions of political reform, and many eventually joined or supported the opposition APC to call for the defeat of the PDP in 2015, which ultimately proved successful. Social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, and WhatsApp enabled candidates to hold virtual engagements with the electorate, fostering greater discussion of policy, and creating some sense of public ownership of the process. Most of the candidates had Facebook and Twitter accounts, which they used in popularizing their campaign messages, thus raising the bar on civic participation and providing greater access through its cost-​effectiveness and ability to provide real-​time information. In communities where electricity supplies were intermittent, people relied on social media for updates on issues related to the elections, particularly voting and the counting of votes (Chinedu, Chinoye, and Obi 2016). Social media is already deeply engaged in the early stages of the 2019 elections, and civil society groups and individual activists are playing important roles in shaping public views on candidates and issues.

Responsibility for Democracy and its Limits so Far Viewed across these four generations, Nigerian civil society overall demonstrates its central role in building democracy in the nation, but also underscores its limits and dependency on the state in a variety of ways. Clearly, civil society groups deserve the bulk

382    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja of the credit for promoting democracy and keeping democratic values alive during the long years of colonialism and military rule, and can be considered the principal force for the establishment of a new political order in Nigeria. Three interrelated movements in particular—​the pro-​democracy movement, the human rights movement, and the labor movement, developed vigorously as critical platforms in the fight against military rule that ultimately resulted in the transfer of power to civilians in May 1999 through peaceful elections. Even before independence, Second Generation groups, and the trade unions in particular, have demonstrated the greatest “muscle” among civil society in pushing for democratic reforms, and arguably, they have had the greatest impact toward those ends, especially when they had sympathetic political parties or actors with whom to ally. No civil society coalition was successful in winning major concessions from the military without significant trade union involvement, and union internal democracy practices, with all their faults, were fundamental to providing many Nigerians with democratic skills and values throughout this period. The unions also spearheaded the organization of strikes and other pro-​democracy coalitions among NGOs and other civil society groups. The rise of the Fourth Generation offers important hope in engaging much broader populations of Nigerians in democratic reform efforts, but so far appears true to its amorphous and decentralized nature, in that it requires the leadership and organization of the other three generations to have tangible impacts. Even when unions have led pro-​democracy movements, however, civil society has had only a handful of instances where it has been able to check the power of the military or civilian elites singlehandedly. In fact, in only one instance did civil society action result in the overthrow of the military, when General Ibrahim Babangida was forced to “step aside” in 1993 and installed a civilian caretaker government, but this effort was conducted in partnership with the politicians of the Social Democratic Party of the time. The 2015 elections that led to the fall of the PDP could be seen as a possible second example of civil society success in regime change, and here again these groups worked in close alliance with the opposition APC. Subsequent civil society coalitions against the military in 1994 and 1996, or the anticorruption and reformist movement of Occupy Nigeria in 2012, were conducted without significant alliances with the political parties or politicians, and all of these ultimately collapsed without achieving their main goals. In fact, the multigenerational involvement of civil society in the 2015 election victory of the APC may augur a new phase of cooperation between political society and the Middle Sphere, which could transform the fundamental nature of Nigerian politics if it continues. Colonialism followed by nearly four decades of military rule created the elitist, neopatrimonial oligarchy that has dominated the Fourth Republic and destroyed the fundamental organizing principle of responsible governance: the Social Contract, in which the public gives up some of its natural sovereignty to the government in exchange for policies that serve the greater good. The more that politicians need civil society and the public at large to gain office—​typically through credible elections—​the more these politicians will feel beholden to follow through on

Civil Society in Nigeria    383 campaign promises once in office over time, so long as this process continues over multiple elections and in the context of viable opposition that offers the public a choice. In this way, the Social Contract is restored and strengthened, as politicians feel greater pressures to deliver public goods in exchange for public support. The 2015 election featured all four generations engaged in supporting both the APC and the PDP, as well as in monitoring the election system overall, and the 2019 election appears set to show a similar positive pattern. In some ways, the Buhari administration has shown signs of acknowledgment of this debt owed to the public, and has worked to fulfill some campaign promises, particularly in terms of cracking down on corruption in government. Initially, a number of civil society groups also engaged the Buhari government and the APC leadership in the National Assembly as well on several other policy concerns. However, as the APC has become increasingly riven with internal power struggles amid the president’s declining health, party leaders have also shown a worrisome tendency to try to restrict civil society activity, particularly in terms of media and social media investigations into politicians’ corrupt practices. These restrictions are even more acute at the state level, where many of the state governments continue to restrict civil society activity severely if it is critical in any way, and where social media activists are often arrested and harassed for their online postings. The NGOs of the Third Generation revolutionized civil society activities, bringing a host of new skills and initiatives to the sector, professionalizing many of its functions, and providing a higher level of flexibility and innovation compared to the first two generations. Yet they have also ushered in a new era of globalization of the Middle Sphere, in which foreign donors and civil society groups have gained greater leverage and influence than at any time since independence in 1960. Most NGOs are caught between accepting government funds on the one hand, and the trap of neopatrimonial obligations such financing typically creates, and foreign grants on the other, which often forces groups to follow foreign donors’ agendas, however well intentioned, and to be vulnerable to criticism of being under foreign influence. More groups are looking to find local private sources across Nigeria as a way out of this difficult choice, but philanthropic practices across Nigeria remain heavily focused on religious institutions. Nonetheless, as Nigeria’s first billionaires and millionaires are growing older and more socially conscious, opportunities for civic funds are increasing. Of all the civil society sectors, the massive First Generation groups probably have the most potential influence, but over the years they have so far been the most reluctant to engage in pro-​democracy activities. This reluctance is understandable and perhaps even helpful, as the politicization of ethnicity since the colonial period and, since the 1990s, the increasing polarization across religious lines as well, underscore the fine line between civic engagement and identity politics that these groups risk. Ethnic associations had strong links to the political parties of the 1960s, and remain deeply connected to the multiethnic parties since 1999. Moreover, both the 2011 and 2015 elections saw real dangers of major violence along religious lines as the PDP played to Christian sentiments and the APC played to Muslim ones, and both parties may

384    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja retain these reputations in 2019. Nonetheless, the First Generation as a whole wields enormous power that could be a tremendous support for democratic development if utilized responsibly. For instance, CAN and the Supreme Council of Islamic Affairs, the summit association of most Muslim groups in Nigeria, assisted by the Interfaith Mediation Centre and other interfaith groups, proposed a bill to the National Assembly in 2017 that promoted religious tolerance and interfaith dialogue, which included provisions for prohibiting the sorts of hate speech from the pulpit that had fostered violence in the 2011 and 2015 elections. In the end, however, although civil society contributions are essential for democratic development, the Middle Sphere remains symbiotically linked to the fortunes of the state, and needs the state to develop politically in order to flourish. Civic actors can keep democratic practices and yearnings alive for long periods of irresponsible authoritarian and/​or kleptocratic rule, as Nigerian groups have done for years, but ultimately political parties and governments must adopt good governance and democratic practices if civil society is truly able to flourish. Moreover, the negative influence of massive corruption among state actors has had a growing debilitating effect on civil society since the 1980s, and particularly since the oil boom of 2003. Some civic groups continue to fight these trends and push for reform, and the rise of the Fourth Generation has opened new possibilities for wider public engagement in politics, but leadership and action from the other three generations will be required to create a sustained front in support of broad-​based development and against corruption. These groups will then need partnerships with reformist politicians in the political parties to be successful, and to move Nigeria beyond the current corrupt oligarchy dominating the Fourth Republic to a more democratic, responsible form of politics.

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Civil Society in Nigeria    385 Beckman, B. (2001). “Civil Society and Alliance Politics,” in B. Beckman, E. Hannson, and A. Sjogren (eds), Civil Society and Authoritarianism in the Third World: A Conference Book. Stockholm: Politics of Development Group (PODSU). Chinedu, O., Chinoye, F., and Obi, I. (2016). “Social Media as a Political Platform in Nigeria: A Focus on Electorates in South-​East Nigeria,” Journal of Humanities and Social Science 21 (11): 6–​22. Cohen, J. and Arato, A. (1992). Civil Society and Political Theory. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Diamond, J. (1997). Guns, Germs, and Steel:  The Fates of Human Societies. New  York: W.W. Norton & Co. Dunu, I. V. and Uzochukwu, C. E. (2015). “Social Media:  An Effective Tool for Social Mobilization in Nigeria,” Journal of Humanities and Social Science 20 (4): 10–​21. Egbunike, N. (2015). “Framing the #Occupy Nigeria Protests in Newspapers and Social Media,” Open Access Library Journal 2:  e1486, available at www.dx.doi/​10.4236/​ oalib.1101486 Egwu, S. G. (2005). “Ethno-​Regional Identity Politics and the ‘Uncivil’ Student Movement in Jos,” in B. Beckman and Y. Z. Ya’u (eds), Great Nigerian Students: Movement Politics and Radical Nationalism. Kano: Centre for Research and Documentation (CRD) and Politics of Development Group (PODSU). Eleazu, U. (1977). Federalism and Nation-​ Building:  The Nigerian Experience. Devon: Stockmell Ltd. Ihonvbere, J. (1996). “On the Threshold of Another False Start? A  Critical Evaluation of Pro-​ Democracy Movements in Africa,” Journal of Asian and African Studies (JAAS) 31 (1–​2): 125–​142. Ihonvbere, J. (1997). “Organised Labour and Struggle for Democracy in Nigeria,” Africa Studies Review 40 (3): 77–​110. Kew, Darren (2016). Civil Society, Conflict Resolution, and Democracy in Nigeria. New York: Syracuse University Press. Kukah, H. M. (2000). Democracy and Civil Society in Nigeria. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. LeVan, A. Carl. (2011). “Questioning Tocqueville in Africa: Continuity and Change in Nigeria’s Civil Society During Democratization,” Democratization 18 (1): 135–​159. Mgba, C. (2015). “Civil Society and Democratization in Nigeria:  A Historical Perspective,” American International Journal of Social Science 4 (4): 176–​191. Mohammed, B. J. (2003). The Nigerian Press and the Ibrahim Babangida Military Administration: 1985–​1993. Ibadan: Book Builders. Momoh, A. and Adejumobi, S. (1999). The Nigerian Military and the Crisis of Democratic Transition: A Study in the Monopoly of Power. Lagos: Civil Liberties Organisation (CLO). Onwuegbuchi, C. (2012). “How Social Media Fueled ‘Occupy Nigeria’ Protests.” http://​www. nigeriacommunicationsweek.com.ng/​news/​how-​social-​media-​fueled-​o ccupy-​nigeria-​ protests accessed May 5, 2018. Oyovbaire, S. (2001). “The Media and the Democratic Process in Nigeria (1).” www.waado.org/​ ni/​nigerdelta/​Essays/​Oyovbaire.html accessed May 5, 2018. Tar, A. U. (2009). “Organised Labour and Democratic Struggles in Nigeria,” Information, Society and Justice 2 (2): 165–​181. Weber, L. (2009). Marketing to the Social Web: How Digital Consumer Communities Build Your Business. London: Wiley Inc.

386    Darren Kew and Chris M. A. Kwaja Ubaku, K. C., Emeh, C. A., and Anyikwa, C. N. (2014). “Impact of Nationalist Movement on the Actualization of Nigerian Independence, 1914–​1960,” International Journal of History and Philosophical Research 2 (1): 54–​67. Vaughan, O. (2000). Nigerian Chiefs:  Traditional Power in Modern Politics 1890s–1990s. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Ya’u, Y. Z. (2005) “The Nigerian Student Movement: A Review of Issues and Literature,” in B. Beckman, B and Y. Z. Ya’u, (eds), Great Nigerian Students: Movement Politics and Radical Nationalism. Kano:  Centre for Research and Documentation (CRD) and Politics of Development Group (PODSU).

Chapter 23

T he P olitical St ru g g l e s of Nigerian  L a b or Jon Kraus

Introduction The struggle of workers in Nigeria for basic rights and security from dismissals at will has always involved a conflict with the authority and power of the private or state employers to do as they wished. The struggle is inherently conflictual, a challenge to employers or the state that possess power. This is why the organization of workers into unions to protect and advance their interests has invariably been attacked or contained by employers and the state. In the early stages of trade unionism, this process of contestation has been unstable as the nature of the labor regime, the societal relationship between labor, capital/​employers, or the state, has been strongly disputed. Conflicts over the authority to change worker/​union relationships with capital/​employers does not mean that trade unions have normally wished political power directly. However, the instability in labor regimes in Nigeria since independence has involved multiple challenges to the state over major policies, frequently in the form of strike ultimatums or general strikes. As the wage labor force expanded after 1955, the mostly small unions grasped that there were issues that their local conflicts could not alter and that required contestation at a national political level. There were always politicized leaders who believed that Nigerian governments did not in any way represent workers’ interests.

Analyzing Nigerian Unions’ Political Struggles: Labor Regimes The literature on Nigerian trade unions includes general histories of the union movement and the combative structure of conflict (Cohen 1974; Otobo 1992). There are

388   Jon Kraus sociological/​political studies of the emergence of working-​class protests, unions, and worker consciousness in specific areas of Nigeria’s uneven capitalist development; for example, in Lagos (Peace 1979), Kano (Lubeck 1988) Engu coal mines (Smock 1969), Northern tin mines (Freund 1981), and Lagos port workers (Waterman 1983). Several studies observe the workplace as a source of class conflict and union activity: Lubeck (1988); Peace (1979); and Andrae and Beckman (1998) in their seminal work on a union-​led labor regime. Surveys of pre-​1978 national labor organizations note how they galvanized wider levels of protest (Cohen 1974) and link them to the global capitalist and communist country competition for labor allies (Otobo 1986). Enduring cleavages within the union movement have given rise to varying attitudes toward labor militancy and politics (Beckman 1995; Cohen 1974; Hashim 2001; Otobo 1986). Nigeria’s role in a globalizing capitalist economy was reflected in the impact of foreign and domestic macroeconomic shocks that forced drastic changes in labor regimes (Bangura 1987; Beckman 1995; Van Hear 1988). Many works delineate domains of state–​ union conflicts and trace statist controls and union resistance (Fashoyin 1990; Andrae and Beckman 1988; Oyelere 2014). The large industrial relations literature, with its implicit acceptance of the existing labor regime, includes many that illuminate the unsettled strains between labor, capitalism, and the state (Fashoyin 1990; Otobo 1992). Hashim (2001) and Beckman (1995) have assessed the “labor pact” of 1978 where, under state coercion, the unions reorganized themselves. Some works examine specific strikes or strike waves and union political alliances (e.g. Peace 1979; Cohen 1974; Ihonvbere 1997; Beckman 1995; Wynne 2017; Okafor 2009). We will employ the concept of labor regimes to explain the dynamics and nature of the many labor conflicts in which trade unions have challenged both employers and the state continuously. Table 23.1 shows the extraordinary number of general strikes and strike ultimatums which, after 1980, animated nationwide protests. Labor regimes involve “the complex of institutions, rules, and practices through which relations between labor and capital are regulated both at the workplace as well as in society at large” (Beckman and Sachikonye 2001, p. 9). A labor regime includes both the means and practices through which labor, capital, and the state organize their interrelationships. Labor regimes appear at the level of firms, industries, and the national political economy. Labor regimes differ drastically in terms of the means by which capital and states seek to force labor to comply with them, for example, the levels of coercion involved and the extent of hegemony. Ideology and elite-​maintained cultural norms are important for capital and the state in order to elicit subordination from labor. The articulation of counter-​values are crucial for workers and unions to justify the risks and prospects involved in resistance to existing regimes (Beckman and Sachikonye 2001, pp. 10–​12). The state has an overriding interest in maintaining political and social order and economic production. This is not to deny that political leaders mismanage the economy or pursue short-​term unproductive accumulation. Nigeria’s civilian and military leaders have done this regularly in this complex, multiethnic society, run by payoffs to leadership coalitions (Lewis 2007, pp. 125–​79). The state generally enforces capital’s regimens

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    389 Table 23.1 National General Strikes, Strike Threats, and Fuel Subsidy* 1945 June–​July: general strike, WD (36–​47 days) 1964 June: general strike, WD, Morgan Wage Commission report 1971: strike wave, WD after Adebo Wage Commission report 1975: strike wave, WD after Udogi Wage Commission 1979: general strike threat; restoration of canceled civil service benefits and approval of private-​sector agreements 1981: general strike, WD 1983: general strike threat over arrears in wages/​benefits; fear of disruption of 1983 elections 1984: general strike threat over major retrenchments, canceled 1986 June: Mass union rallies against SAP planned, canceled 1987 Dec: NLC organizes mass protests in many areas of country, antiSAP & FPI** 1988 April: general strike, antiSAP & FPI** 1989 Sept.-Nov: NLC general strike ultimatum, WD, FPI** 1993 July 19: 12-​day general strike ultimatum; Aug.: general strike ultimatum, 8/​27 strike, Babangida forced out, 8/​28; Nov. 15: brief general strike, FPI.* NUPENG strike 1994 July: general strike, 3 days, WPI.** Extended NUPENG/​others strike, over 1993 election 1999 Jan.: NLC threatens general strike, 14-​day warning, WD, FPI** 1999 March: PENGASSAN threatens general strike if NNPC is privatized 2000 June: 8-​day general strike, FPI** 2002 Jan.: general strike, 2 days, FPI 2003 April: general strike, WD 2003 June 30–​July 7: 8-​day general strike, FPI** 2003 Oct.: general strike renewal threat, FPI 2004, June: 3-​day general strike. August: strike threat, FPI 2004 Oct.: 4-​day “warning strike” FPI and Labour Bill 2004 Nov.: threatened general strike called off, FPI** 2004 May: general strike threats re. Trade Union (Amendment) Bill 2007 June: 4-​day general strike, WD, FPI** 2010 Nov.: 1-​day general strike, WD, national minimum law 2012 Jan.: general strike ultimatum, 8-​day general strike, FPI** 2013: 5-​month strike of university lecturers, Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) 2016 May: 3-​day general strike FPI. New ULC opposes 2017 general strike threat * Sources: numerous, including Wynne (2017), Beckman (1995), Hashim 2001, and Nigerian daily and weekly press. ** fuel prices increases were reduced/​canceled WD = wage demand issues FPI = fuel price issues SAP = structural adjustment programs

390   Jon Kraus of production through laws, government contracts, organization of markets, coercion, and ideology. Unions exercise their bargaining leverage through workplace militancy and contesting social/​political peace by widening protests. Organized labor may fight for its autonomy, but all organized labor exists within the political space of the state. Labor, capital, and the state are rarely unified actors. State and capital have fundamental interests, invariably, in containing or reducing the bargaining leverage of unions via sanctions and disrupting labor organizations. A major tactic of African authoritarian regimes was to incorporate unions via union–​party linkages, which usually involved state domination of unions, co-​optation of leadership, and crushing workplace protest. Beckman (1995) and Hashim (2001) have referred to the compulsory union reorganization in Nigeria in 1978 as partial incorporation. But in Nigeria, unions experienced dramatic increases in organization, resources, and bargaining leverage; a new labor regime. Conflict in labor regimes occurs when state, capital, or labor, attempts to change important features of the labor regime. Labor regimes exist in economic and political environments. In Nigeria, the volume and price of oil produced and exported completely dominates. Since the late 1960s, the level of exports and of foreign exchange earnings, hence import capacities, taxes the size of the federal government budgets, and thus its capacities to manage the government. The rapid, unanticipated changes in oil prices have led to incredibly sharp changes in economic growth and decline, greatly increased foreign debt, a reduction in workers’ real wages, and mass dismissals. The foreign debts generated the long-​term intervention of global capitalist institutions (IMF, World Bank) and creditor countries, which demanded changes from statist to liberalized economic policies. This forced changes in labor regimes and animated intense labor conflict during 1980s through to the 2000s. Civilian democratic regimes are unlikely to use as much coercion, or as consistently, against labor protests as authoritarian military regimes. The persistence of strong unions with substantial autonomy from the state in Africa was associated, up to 1990, with countries with democratic rule or ones which intermittently had democracies (Kraus 2007, pp. 256–​60). And Nigeria has had a particularly vigorous modern associational life which has fought repressive behavior. This analysis will study the dynamics and conflicts over labor regimes at the national level, the most consequential, largely, since 1977.

Labor Regimes Post-​Independence Labor Regime: 1960–​77 The early post-​independence state strongly sustained a labor regime in which private and government employers remained dominant and shaped laws, regulations, and the Labor Department. It inherited the British tradition of volunteerism in labor relations;

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    391 workers could join unions and, in theory, could engage in collective bargaining, but were small and weak. The state regulated unions, required their registration and submission of union accounts, and intervened in strikes with police to maintain order/​property. The First Republic, with the Northern People’s Congress (NPC) from the Hausa–​Fulani North as hegemonic at the federal level, strongly favored capitalist development. Among Nigerians from all regions there is a strong commercial tradition. Business people and private accumulation of capital/​wealth were widely admired. A growing wage/​salary labor force was a small percent of the labor force, largely centered in growing federal and regional government employment, public utilities, construction, and large British companies. Capitalist firms were differentiated between large British/​foreign capital, medium-​sized Lebanese and Nigerian firms, and many small Nigerian businesses. The latter two were especially averse to unions. There were a hundred trade unions in 1946 with 52,747 members, which had grown to 360 unions with 274,000 members by independence in 1960, and 625 unions with 491,000 members in 1966, when the military seized power (Cohen 1974, p. 262). However, only 45–​46 percent of these unions were industrial or general unions, with the rest guilds and local craft associations (Cohen 1974, pp. 113, 116). In 1966, unions still tended to be small house unions with 18.7 percent under fifty members, 43 percent with 51–​250 members, and 27.3 percent with 251–​1,000 members: a total of 89 percent. The larger unions, though, tended to be in the public services. Government workers (teachers, health, federal, and local government) constituted 31 percent of all members, with those in transport another 19.5  percent, manufacturing 15  percent, and mining/​quarrying 10.8  percent. It was not until after the 1964 general strike that workers in new industries in Lagos felt emboldened to organize local unions, despite populist consciousness. Union dues check-​off was rare and barely tolerated by the state. Amalgamations into larger unions were not facilitated by state or employers. There were four central labor organizations all based in coastal Lagos, the largest of which, in 1968, claimed 240 union affiliates. The next largest had  209  members, though affiliation was often nominal and changeable. But the labor federations did galvanize workers into demanding higher wages and formed a Joint Action Committee (JAC), which forced the reluctant Nigerian government to appoint the Morgan Wage Commission in 1963. The success of the JAC in leading the 1964 general strike against the government became a strong, enduring symbol of the power of labor unity. Although the small size of most unions limited their bargaining leverage, it did facilitate a democratic tradition. All the leaders were elected from one’s workplace (which meant dismissals could discourage unions), and general secretaries were intermittently employed (Peace 1979; Cohen 1974). In Nigeria, the central/​federal government had long been the wage leader, with private-​sector workers seeking the usually higher government wage for their workers. The 1964 strike was joined by an estimated 750,000 workers—in many areas of the country and was supported by mass rallies. It greatly emboldened workers to unionize; membership rose by 46 percent between 1963 and 1964 (see Table 23.2). As Cohen argues (1974, pp. 167–​8), a strike that began with demands of workers for modest wage hikes became a much broader popular movement, widening the scope

392   Jon Kraus Table 23.2 Strikes, Strikers, and Days Lost, Select Years Years

Number of Strikes

1960–​1

69 Independence

-​-​

160.478

1964 general strike year

170+

-​-​

1,300.000

1968 military rule, civil war

Number of Strikers

Days Lost (in thousands)

32

-​-​

46.137

1971

143

-​-​

217.650

1980

185

141,676

1,353.893

1981 general strike

237

359,399

2,617.082

1982

240

1,140,882

9,188.507

1983

154

816,793

7,268.444

1984

68

44,470

29 8.184

1985

56

18,544

317.926

1986

101

28,831

214.606

1987

50

38,648

172.596

1988 general strike

63*

23,789*

124.989*

1989 general strike

89

104,193

1990

126

275,895

1,373.540

1991

125

269,530

2,588.825

1992

187

262,309

118.381

1993 general strike

137

1,112,052

12,908.814

1994 general strike

511.695

156

1,498,287

233,684.771

1995

45

295,690

32.776

1999

52

173,858

3,158.087

2000 general strike

49

344,722

6,287.733

2002 general strike

52

49,155

2,578.692

2003 general strike

77

249,697

5,690.952

189

208,589

2006 Year Average 1970–​4

7,785.993 Average Days Lost (thousands) 106.000

1975–​9

700.000

1980–​4

3,000.000

1985–​9

300.000

1990–​4

48,000.000

1995–​9

1,200.000

2004

4,700.000

2005–​7

6,000.000

2008–​10

4,854.000

2011–​13

6,707.000

Sources: Cohen 1974, p. 194; Wynne 2017, p. 4; ILOStat: 

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    393 of claims and feeding an ideology of resistance among workers, who insistently challenged the recalcitrant national leaders (Peace 1979, pp. 99–​101). The settlement with the federal government then led to a prolonged series of strikes in the private sector to get firms to equal the wage hikes won. This became a standard of what would occur again in 1970–​1 with the Adebo Commission award and in 1975 with the Udogi Commission recommendations. Encouraged by widespread protest, workers in the Kano industrial estate in the north, who had not joined in the 1964 strikes, became quite militant in demanding their “Adebo” award in 1971. The federal military government (FMG) which seized power in 1966 greatly heightened ethnic enmities, which led to civil war (1967–​ 70). It banned strikes in 1967, renewed the ban in 1970, and banned some unions that went on strike. This reinforced state and employer leverage against the unions.

A Quasi-​Corporatist State–​Labor Pact Regime: 1977–​85 Until 1978–​9, the 1964 general strike and the strike waves of 1971 (Adebo) and 1975 (Udogi) were an exception. Most private-sector strikes in the 1960s and 1970s were at single plants or companies, short in duration, and involved relatively few workers. In comparison to the large Adebo strikes, the private-​sector strikes unleashed by the Udogi award in 1975 were higher by 113 percent, the number of strikers up 58 percent, and the number of days lost up by 100 percent (Bagobiri 1992, pp. 164–​5). The tumultuous, sometimes violent, strikes were one of many reasons why yet another coup took place in 1975. During 1976–​7, the Murtala/​Obasanjo military government instituted a dramatically new labor regime. Several factors appear to have animated this decision: (1) the enormous Udogi labor strikes/​protests in 1975, often volatile worker protests from below, spurred the state to rationalize and control the unions; (2) the collapse of labor leaders’ attempts to create a unified Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC) in late 1975; (3) a sharp fall in oil prices and economic activity in 1975, leading state leaders to constrain state economic policies and spending; (4)  the rise of a powerful statist economic nationalism among Nigerian military/​civilian leaders, stoked by the meteoric rise in oil-​based revenues and economic growth in the 1970s, animated among leaders a desire for state-​ led participation in oil resources and economic industrialization and transformation; and (5) a nationalist desire to end foreign funding of (and thus interventions in) Nigeria’s competing labor centers. The military instituted directly interventionist measures to reorganize labor (Decrees 21 and 22 of 1978): (a) it banned existing labor federations and instituted a single NLC to represent all unions, banning the historic labor leaders from future union office; (b) it directed that the 1,000-​plus unions be drastically reduced to forty-​two industrial-​level unions and that dues check-​off be mandatory for all, which vastly increased the unions’ resources; (c) it directed that employers must engage in collective bargaining with unions; and (d) strikes were discouraged and mandatory dispute mechanisms established. This appears to have been a state incorporation and control of the unions. But, in practice, these reforms radically increased the organizational capacities, resources, and bargaining leverage of the unions versus all major employers

394   Jon Kraus and the state. Beckman (1995) and Hashim (2001) refer to this as a state–​labor pact. Senior public and private-​sector workers could organize in eighteen associations; these sometimes joined unions’ strikes. In practice, the state could not control the NLC, though it tried in 1977–​8 to influence elections. The new democratic NLC could not control the industrial unions for the state, since the NLC had vigorous democratic organs and strong collective decision-​making norms (Hashim 2001; Beckman 1995): the Central Working Committee (CWC), which met monthly, and the National Executive Committee (NEC), which met semi-​annually, in which leaders of the member unions dominated. There were frequent debates and divisions within the CWC and NEC. Large CWC delegations negotiated with the government, not individual leaders. Hashim (2001) has argued that the state’s actions did not give the NLC control over the industrial unions (which kept over 90 percent of member dues) or generate bureaucratization (pp. 53–​61). In practice, union leaders and activists had carried out the amalgamations of the unions, happy to strengthen the size and scope of the unions (Hashim 2001, p. 54; Okujeni and Uzegbu 1992, pp. 19–​36.) The state could withdraw recognition from a union or interfere with dues check-​off or simply ban the unions, which they tried. But they could do this anyway, and had done so before 1978. Beckman (1995) discusses the tension between the unions’ tendencies to resist or accommodate the state and employers, arguing that after the “pact” the union movement was stronger and more dependent. Union leaders confront this tension everywhere given state repressive capabilities (Kraus 1979, pp. 259–​64). We can assess the changing balance in leverage between state, capital, and labor by asking two questions. First, did the union reorganization actually weaken or increase the bargaining power of the unions in the labor regime? Second, did the unions and leaders act submissively to the state or contest it strongly? Trade unions’ bargaining leverage was greatly strengthened in size and resources by the reorganization, with forty-​two relatively large industry-​wide unions replacing 1,000-​plus smaller unions. For the first time in the 1980s, collective agreements with employer organizations at the industry level were concluded (e.g. textiles, autos, banks). Andrae and Beckman (1998) delineate how a union-​led labor regime was institutionalized throughout the textile sector, led by factory-​floor militancy, with union leaders consulted regularly on any changes in worker regimens or dismissals. The bargaining leverage of capitalist (and state) firms was reduced because of the legal requirement that they bargain collectively with unions, though employer organizations utilized many means to resist labor gains. Capitalist employers were well represented by the Nigerian Employers’ Consultative Association (NECA), which specialized in labor relations and business associations in commerce and industry. These organizations had access to government leaders with regular consultative meetings during some years (Kraus 2002). They had powerful blocking capabilities on such matters as minimum wage changes; NECA was a constant opponent. The change in bargaining leverage of unions versus private firms can be seen in some strike data. In the three and a half years (1979 to the first half of 1982) after the new union

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    395 structure, private-sector strikes were 60 percent higher, strikers 250 percent greater, and strike days lost 800 percent more than in the two years before the new union structure, 1975–​6 (Bagobiri 1992, p. 165). Even allowing for variance in strike reporting (Adesina 1992), this is a huge difference. It is, however, true that the 1975–​6 period was under military rule, and 1979–​82 under civilian democratic rule, but lengthy strikes also occurred later under military regimes. There were also large differences in the length of strikes and average numbers of workers involved (Bagobiri 1992, p. 167). Strikes now occurred on an industrial sector basis. A forty-​day textile strike in 1978 was settled satisfactorily in part by the threat of sympathy strikes by other branches. The banking union successfully brought reluctant banks to bargain by threat of a country-​wide general strike (Bagobiri 1992, pp. 172–​5). The union movement, despite continuous conflicts, also clearly had more leverage with civilian democratic regimes (1979–​83, 1999–​) and some military regimes than the unions had before 1978, despite the bans on unions in 1988 and on the NLC in 1994–​8. First, almost as soon as the NLC’s new leaders were elected, they threatened a general strike to insist upon the restoration of cancelled civil service benefits and the approval of all private-​sector agreements negotiated. The military conceded most of these claims to avoid a disruption in the democratic transition (Hashim 2001, pp. 55–​6). Then the NLC demanded an increase in the minimum wage; the Shegari government conceded a change from N70 to N100 per month, but the NLC launched a general strike in 1981 to get N125 and a new National Minimum Wage law. Table 23.1 lists the enormous number of general strikes and/​or strike ultimatums unleashed by the NLC and its unions starting in 1979. The conflicts with the military government were particularly intense during 1988–​91 on structural adjustment issues and again during 1993–​4, when the number of strikers and strike-​days lost hit all time highs (see Table 23.2). The NLC and many unions confronted governments continuously with threats to disrupt the economy and demanded that labor’s voice be heard on key economic policies. As the year averages in Table 23.2 indicate, the increases in days lost rise precipitously in 1980–​4 and continue at high levels through 2011–​13, except during 1985–​9, the worst of Nigeria’s recession. Two factors probably reduced the bargaining leverage of the unions versus the state and private sector in 1978–​85 and thereafter. First, the recession that befell Nigeria in 1982–​3 and thereafter, caused by crashing world oil prices, led to massive dismissals and retrenchment of workers in the public and private sectors. Van Hear (1988) has detailed the continuous lay-​offs by private and federal and state governments and the endless protests by tens of thousands of education, health, and local government workers whom the states owed arrears on pay and benefits for six to nine months. Second, there were divisions within the labor movement, which the governments sought to widen in order to weaken the unions. Within each of the forty-​two new industrial unions, many cleavages persisted from the amalgamation of previously separate unions. By 1983, at least a third of the forty-​two unions were involved in factional intra-​union conflicts. In the oil and gas union, NUPENG, local unions in Warri and Port Harcourt, using democratic means, were locked in a conflict with national union leaders in Lagos, who

396   Jon Kraus resisted removal. Endless court litigation and NLC meddling disrupted NUPENG’s efforts (Okujeni and Uzegbu 1992). There were also deep cleavages within the NLC between leaders who were identified as Marxists or progressives and those who called themselves moderates or democrats. Cohen (1974) summarized the key areas of dissensus as involving attitudes/​beliefs about strikes, government, the labor ministry, political parties, and social class. In general, progressives thought: strikes were necessary and important for organizing; government represented Nigeria’s bourgeoisie and foreign interests; the labor ministry was a government tool; parties represented regional/​ethnic interests and elites, not workers; and class conflicts were inevitable (Cohen 1974, p.  103). The democrats/​moderates were more “moderate” in all these areas and had less appetite for conflict. The progressives had won all major NLC national offices except one in the inaugural elections in 1978. A leader of dissident unions contested for NLC president at the 1981 conference, but progressives won all positions. The military and then civilian governments were alarmed at the aggressive new union organization after its strike threats in 1979 and the 1981 general strike, which eight dissident unions opposed. Dissident unions formed an opposition caucus within the NLC and campaigned for changes in the law to eliminate the NLC as the sole federation. They were strongly supported by the employers’ association, NECA. Bills were drafted to change the law and also end mandatory dues check-​off and pay for strike days. The NLC fought this publicly and defeated it (Otobo and Omele 1987, pp. 254–​65). On December 31, 1983, General Muhammed Buhari ousted the flailing democratic government. While Buhari promised to clear the wage/​benefit arrears, his military government clamped down harshly on strikers. The numbers of strikes, strikers, and days lost which had soared to historical highs in 1982–​3 dropped sharply in 1984–​7, because of unprecedented police and military sanctions against unions.

A Quasi-​Corporatist State–​Labor Pact with a Neoliberalizing Military Regime: 1985–​93 This labor regime was distinctive. First, General I.  B. Babangida seized power in September 1985. Under external pressures, he undertook persistent if discontinuous efforts to impose structural adjustment programs (SAPs) with budget cuts, privatization of state firms, currency devaluations, and fuel subsidy reductions. Second, these were measures which the NLC and its unions completely opposed and could contest; they involved consumer price hikes, reduced employment, and an end to government as a producer of jobs. Third, Babangida was a contradictory state actor: he unleashed unprecedented forms of police/​military repression of union initiatives, while he simultaneously acted cleverly to reintroduce civil liberties, offered inducement to many, and mounted an (ultimately abortive) transition to democratic rule, which engaged and distracted Nigerians from the opposition. Fourth, the NLC made a determination to enter the political system directly, which divided the union movement.

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    397 In 1986, Babangida stepped up the government adoption of SAP policies. The NLC organized opposition to SAP policies with rallies, posters, and attacks on the government. Anticipating the government’s fuel subsidy reduction, in fall 1987, the NLC launched major rallies and protests coordinated by state NLC branches. Security forces tried to stop the rallies, but many turbulent protests occurred. The NLC seemed to be representing broader public forces to reflect a social movement which articulated populist protests. But NLC President, Ali Chiroma, had pondered previously “. . . . should the NLC alone constitute itself into an opposition group to champion the cause of all other groups?” (Nigeria 1989, p. 42). A popular groundswell of support for NLC protests led a deeply disturbed state to back down. A  defiant NLC President, Ali Chiroma, argued: “There is no country in the world which has so far succeeded in destroying the trade union movement” (Beckman 1995, 286–​90). But a highly divided NLC met for its delegates’ conference in Benin City in February 1988. A perennial conflict over how many delegates each union should have accentuated the divisions. (The crisis over delegates was partly because the unions did not have accurate membership rolls; the NLC calculated delegates by dividing the total dues remitted to the NLC by the minimum wage, leaving ample room for disputes [Nigeria 1989, pp. 40–​1]). Many unions withdrew to hold a separate delegates’ conference, probably with government financial support. Now there were two sets of elected NLC leaders. The Chiroma-​led conference strongly attacked the whole SAP program as destructive and a source of repression of popular forces (Beckman 1995, p. 292). The Babangida government decried the union chaos and shut down, by decree, the NLC and all unions, appointing state administrators for each union. Agitated by further provocations and a new government increase in fuel prices that raised public transport prices by 50 percent, a month of protests broke out in April escalating into riots and nation-​wide strikes by many unions assisted by NLC state units, as major union leaders were thrown in jail. Police stations and court houses were sacked, workers killed, and university students mobilized. The strategically placed oil union NUPENG facilitated economic disruptions. Babangida backed down again. Union leaders from the progressive camp were brought from jail cells and a truce arranged with government promises of future consultations and wage increases. By December 1988, the NLC reappeared, now with a unanimously elected leadership led by a new president, Pascal Bafyau. However, a seemingly triumphant NLC confronted problems. Babangida’s government felt compelled to proceed with SAP policies as the price for IMF/​World Bank loan renegotiations and new credits. Second, there was an ongoing democratic transition in process. The NLC met and its leaders and activists were strongly divided about the NLC becoming directly engaged in political life. It decided to form a Labour Party. But the electoral commission decided only two parties would be recognized, one to the left, the Social Democratic Party (SDP), and one to the right. Bafyau and others became supporters of the SDP. Labor leaders criticized this diversion from NLC’s anti-​SAP campaign. NLC efforts to raise the minimum wage as Babangida promised were frustrated. By 1990, the energy had ebbed away from the anti-​SAP campaign. Then, Babangida

398   Jon Kraus cancelled the presidential election victory of Abiola (SDP), aborting the already protracted democratic transition. The NLC’s CWC met and condemned the military’s cancellation of the election and arrests of protestors. On July 19, it announced the first of two general strike ultimatums, giving the military until August 27 to quit power. On August 28, Babangida was forced to resign, but appointed an Interim National Government (ING), a military fig leaf. A general strike was launched which, by its third day, paralyzed the economy in the south and northern cities. The CWC was negotiating with the ING when Pascal Bafyau suddenly cancelled this mass strike. Bafyau was widely and publicly castigated for this by many important unions. ING then increased fuel prices from 70 koba to N5, or over 600  percent. The NLC gave ING a seventy-​two-​hour ultimatum to rescind the increase, then declared a general strike on November 15. The strike gathered steam and was widely joined by protestors. But it too was cancelled when General Sani Abacha ousted ING and seized power on November 18 (Ihonvbere 1997, pp. 81–​86; Newswatch November 29, 1993). Why did the NLC not persist in its strikes contesting military rule? First, many unions and labor activists were intensely frustrated as the NLC relaxed its insistent anti-​SAP protests after 1989 and opted for political participation. Second, the union movement was increasingly divided by this; NLC President Bafyau had opposed confrontations with the military regime. Some union leaders thought he had been “settled” or bribed. Third, some major NLC leaders had accepted “accommodation” with Babangida, despite his constant failure to keep negotiated accords. Fourth, a strike on behalf of the SDP presidential candidate could not elicit strong support from northern units of the NLC and its unions.

A Military Despotic Labor Regime: 1993–​8 The Abacha military regime had no intention of permitting democratic processes. In July 1994, NUPENG, supported by some unions, renewed its strike, demanding recognition of the 1993 election. The NLC also called out all its members on July 29, emphasizing fuel price increases. Facing divisions and repression, it ended the strike in three days. The Abacha regime then abolished the NLC executive nationally as well as NUPENG and the oil-​gas senior staff association. During Abacha’s almost five years of power, a central feature of the labor regime became state dominance and repression. First, Abacha’s government underestimated popular rage at the 1993 electoral suppression and the 600 percent fuel price increase. These led to the sustained 1994 strike by NUPENG and the three-​day NLC general strike. These created economic paralysis in the economy for months with 1.498 million workers on strike, 233.6 million days lost in 1994, the largest strike movement ever (see Table 23.2). Repression by security and military forces was unleashed against strikers and protesters: from 1994, strikes fell by 75 percent in 1995, strikers by 80 percent, and days lost dropped to 32,776. This means that on average strikes were suppressed in an

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    399 hour or two (Table 23.2). Some NLC and NUPENG leaders were jailed. Other unions were permitted to function, because the regime wanted to use the unions to control the workers. Elsewhere, political dissent by civilian leaders was harshly suppressed. Abacha used divide-​and-​rule tactics, thuggery and arrests, attempted co-​optation of union leaders, and harsh new “legal” decrees which lodged massive powers of control and sanction in the minister of labor. The harshness was deemed necessary also because Abacha and his state military governors laid off massive numbers of public servants at the federal and state level. In May 1995, for instance, the military governor of Kwara state fired 7,000 civil servants and dissolved their branch union. They went on strike to seek implementation of an accord on increased benefits agreed to by the FMG in 1994 (Newswatch, May 9, 1995). In most such instances, military leaders completely ignored existing civil service rules and procedures regarding termination, repudiating norms of prior labor regimes. Major dismissals of civil servants under Babangida’s and Abacha’s regimes greatly diminished the size of the major public service unions which had long led the NLC (see Table 23.3). In Kaduna, in 1997, 16,000 striking civil servants were at least initially dismissed for failing to return to work (ICFTU 1998, p. 29). Protests by the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) over perennial state failure to fund the

Table 23.3 Estimated Nigerian Trade Unions and Membership* Trade Unions

1988

2005

1. National Union of Pensioners (NUP)

286,000

1,000,000

2. Non-​Academic Staff Union of Education and Associated Institutions (NASUEAI)

260,000

nd

3. Nigeria Union of Teachers (NUT)**

250,000

35,000

4. Nigeria Union of Local Government Employees (NULGE)**

245,000

nd

5. Nigeria Civil Service Union (NCSU)

205,397

100,000

6. Civil Service Technical Workers Union of Nigeria (CSTWUN)**

109,457

85,000***

7. Radio, TV, and Theater Workers Union

80,000

7,000

8. National Union of Banks, Insurance and Financial Institutions Employees (NUBIFEE)**

69,613

80,000 (1993)

9. Nigerian Union of Construction and Civil Engineering Workers

58,644

62,000

10. Agricultural and Allied Workers Union of Nigeria

50,000

nd

11. National Association of Nigeria Nurses and Midwives

50,000

125,000

12. National Union of Food, Beverage and Tobacco Employees (NUFBTE)**

44,405

160,000

13. National Union of Textile, Garment and Tailoring Workers of Nigeria (NUTGTWN)**

41,312

30,000

14. Medical and Health Workers Union of Nigeria (NHWUN)**

41,000

45,000

15. National Union of Hotel and Personal Services Workers

30,000

nd (continued)

400   Jon Kraus Table 23.3 Continued Trade Unions

1988

2005

16. National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW)

30,000

96,000

17. National Union of Postal and Telecommunication Employees (NUPTE)**

29,000

8,000

18. National Union of Public Corporation Employees (NUPE)

26,000

see #6

19. National Union of Gas and Electricity Workers (NUGEW)

25,893

24,000 gas only

20. National Union of Railwaymen**

20,634

nd

21. National Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers (NUPENG)**

13,750

8,000

3,950

35,000

22. Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ) Total membership for top twenty unions (top fifteen in 2005, no data for five unions) Total for eighteen other industrial unions, 1988 (no data on four); Other seven unions, 2005 Total membership unions (2005–​for only twenty-​two unions)

1,952,795 227,168 2,179,963

1,857,000 87,700 1,944,700

+ Academic Staff Union of Universities, which affiliated with NLC, est. 10,000–​20,000. + 18 Senior Staff Associations of management level workers, some quite activist, such as oil workers

PENGASSAN, now all affiliates of Trade Union Congress of Nigeria (TUCN), since 2005. Membership: no data, but many had over 5,000 members. Prior years total union membership: 1960: 274,126 1963: 352,790 1964: 517,911 +46% 1966: 520,164 1971: 655,215 +26.5% over 1966. 2007: Est. by NLC: 4 million members; in Trade Union Congress, 2.5 million in 18 affiliates. * Sources: Nigeria (1988), pp. 151–​2; Oyelere (2014), p. 79; Cohen (1974), pp. 113, 129. ** Highly activists unions in protests/​strikes. *** Amalgamated now with no. 18, NUPE.

universities led to the arrest of ASUU leaders and the banning once again of the ASUU and the nonacademic staff union. In 1996, Abacha’s government signed two new decrees to radically alter existing union law and practice. Trade Union Decree 4 tried to force unions to merge, reducing unions to twenty-​nine; it deregistered twenty-​four existing senior staff associations, denying them union dues check-​off. Decree 26 of 1996 gave the labor minister the right to cancel the registration of unions if he thought their activities conflicted with the national

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    401 interest. To cripple union militancy, it also required that there would be dues check-​off only if unions included a no-​strike clause in all collective agreements; a strike would cancel check-​off (ICFTU 1997, pp. 26–​7). The labor minister used such decrees to bully unions. In 1995, Abacha threatened to restructure the unions around “volunteerism” and tripartism, i.e., recreate their pre-​1978 weaknesses. Abacha warned that the government would no longer accept a politically partisan union movement (Newswatch, May 15, 1995). In 1996, the state cancelled Labor Day. The union movement was undermined by state coercion and nonobservance of union rights. The absence of NLC union coordination on a national basis weakened leverage with the state and employers. The labor minister worked hard to divide the elected leadership of unions against the general secretaries. However, textile union leader Adams Oshiomhole took the lead in successfully organizing seminars of union leaders and activists in different states to resist the punitive Decrees 4 and 18 and to rally union leaders (Andre and Beckman 1998, pp. 291–​2). Although unions were operating, the Abacha-​era labor regime involved a massive shift back in favor of state power. Employers took advantage of this shift. One indicator was Oshiomhole and other leaders felt the need to praise regularly Abacha’s leadership and his phony “transition from military rule” as a way of making union power seem nonthreatening. The labor movement was deeply wounded, its leaders pessimistic, and its members non-​militant.

Unions in a Democratic Neoliberalizing Labor Regime: 1999 to the Present The labor regime was transformed dramatically when Abacha died suddenly in June 1998. His military successor lifted the restrictions on civil liberties, restored union freedoms, and chartered a quick return to civilian democratic rule in 1999. Casting off a nightmare, the NLC elected as president its most vigorous leader, Adams Oshiomhole. It challenged the departing military and new civilian regime with powerful, insistent demands. A critical, but not sufficient, factor in union leverage in a labor regime, is constitutional government, where the state is restrained by law and mass and elite pressures. But, while unions again used protests and strikes as leverage, the new civilian state used the law and police violence to contain union power. The state was intent on market liberalization. It essentially allied itself with international economic institutions, Nigeria’s relatively large, industrious merchant/​entrepreneurial bourgeoisie (Forrest 1995), and ethnic/​regional elite coalitions in Nigeria’s parties. The military and then civilian governments had to confront pent-​up wage/​benefit demands. Strikes, strikers, and days lost soared incredibly in 1999–​2003 (Table 23.2). And, though the NLC led unions to protest new fuel price hikes in January 1999 with a fourteen-​day warning of a general strike, the military and the Obasanjo government were intent on fashioning legal and police weapons to constrict labor’s reassertion of

402   Jon Kraus power. Indeed, the police violence unleashed by Obasanjo and his security apparatus led to more violence against, and deaths of, union activists than under any prior regime. Although the harsh Abacha decrees were modified, the caretaker military retained threatening provisions, e.g. cancelling a union’s registration if it was in the “overriding public interest.” In practice, the government got courts to rule strikes as illegal (no fifteen-​day notice) and frequently employed police to attack strikers and protestors (see ICFTU 2000 to 2006). In January 1999, under international pressures, General Abubakar raised petrol prices from N11 to N25 (127 percent). The NLC strike threat got the price reduced to N20, but food and transport costs had already soared. This was a recurring pattern and the source of harsh government–​union acrimony, because the state rarely enforced the price reduction. The Obasanjo government (1999–​2007) was especially insistent on raising fuel prices and scornfully refusing compromises with the NLC. It was thus confronted with three general strikes in 2003 and another three in 2004, most of these widely supported and disruptive, forcing reductions in fuel prices from the initial increases. These strikes and the NLC’s coalition with the Trade Union Congress of Nigeria (TUCN) and a multitude of civil society groups, formalized in a Labour and Civil Society Coalition, gave NLC strikes and protests the qualities of a social movement for some years. In this labor regime, corporatist ideas and practices ended, market relationships in public and labor policy were emphasized, and legislation to weaken trade union resources and bargaining leverage was passed. Labor force lay-offs and casualization, and employer refusals to bargain, shifted power to the state and employers. Major general strikes hardened union–​state antagonisms, which later governments showed was unnecessary. In April 2003, a brief, widely observed general strike compelled the government to pay a 12.5 percent wage increase already agreed upon. In June, the NLC mobilized a general strike to force down Obasanjo’s 54 percent increase in fuel prices; it lasted eight days, attracted massive support, and was suspended by the NLC because of Obasanjo’s promise to roll the price back to a 31 percent increase, which he did not do. As a consequence the NLC and TUC had to threaten a new strike in October. NLC President Oshiomhole said, “it is unfortunate that the government leads by deceit” (Champion, Oct. 21, 2003). Obasanjo then made a national address and bitterly attacked the NLC as wanting to form “a parallel government.” The Obasanjo government then sought a new labor act which would enfeeble labor. The labor minister argued that the NLC had “ventured into the arena of politics and installed itself as the unofficial opposition party . . .” (Africa News Update September 4, 2004). Provisions of the labor bill included an end to the NLC as the sole labor center. Union membership and dues check-​off would henceforth be voluntary, which not only hurt membership, but effectively ended the corporatist quality of the regime, returning it to pre-​1978 volunteerism. The bill also sought punitive means: “no-​strike” clauses in all collective agreements (a strike would end check-​off); no strikes without fifteen-​days notice; “disputes of rights” (e.g. fuel prices) were illegal; and illegal strikes were subject to fines and prosecution. These were weapons by which courts declared strikes illegal and legitimized state resistance. The union fought this bill throughout

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    403 2004–​5 and influenced the National Assembly to reduce its severity, but not its essence (Okafor 2009). During this period, pressures against unions and private-​sector tactics (casualization of labor, outsourcing) and non-​recognition has increased employer leverage with unions. Unions seem to have lost substantial numbers of members (Table 23.3), notably in public-​sector unions. The union movement has major capacities for struggle. The recognition of the TUC of Nigeria as a separate labor center has, ironically, added to labor’s strength; it represents perhaps hundreds of thousands of senior-​level workers in private and public firms. The TUC has regularly allied itself with the NLC in strikes and protests. Second, the NLC and TUC leaders and workers have clearly not been intimidated. The level of strikes and days lost have been incredible under civilian rule. Governments since Obasanjo’s have been much less hostile. For example, President Yar’Adua helped to settle the 2007 general strike personally and there was almost no violence. Third, the NLC and TUC have long focused on many issues beyond those of immediate worker interest, such as fuel and utility price hikes, the role of the state in the economy, pensioners’ grievances, public corruption, inequality, and government responsiveness. NLC devotion to populist measures affecting vast members of the public has, at times, drawn enormous public (and elite) support for its efforts, greatly enhancing its leverage and policy effectiveness. For instance, in 2014–​17, state governors lobbied the National Assembly intensively to give states shared responsibility for the national minimum wage so governors could reduce state minimum wages below the national minimum. NLC/​TUC pressures have prevented this so far. Still, union leaders clearly distinguish union members’ interests from those of the public. They have sometimes ended widely supported general strikes with compromises, as in 2012, leaving public protesters frustrated. The organization of a Labour Party in 2005 was unsuccessful in attracting much support, except in a few states (Beckman and Lukman 2010). Some union divisions have weakened labor pressures, though, until 2015, they were contained. At the 2015 NLC delegates’ conference, a dispute over delays in the vote count exacerbated leadership competition. The losers in the vote for top offices left and met later with perhaps twenty-​three of the forty-​three unions to form a dissident NLC. Prolonged reconciliation efforts failed. The dissidents formed a new United Labour Congress (ULC) in 2016, led by leaders from some major militant unions. ULC’s failure to support the NLC 2016 general strike against fuel price increases perhaps contributed to the strike’s failure. In conclusion, the union movement’s strengths persist in shaping Nigeria’s labor regime and projecting a vigorous public presence. The wild oil price gyrations are the source of many of labor’s and Nigeria’s distress, as in 2014–​17. They have prompted labor regime conflicts. The robust economic growth—​about 8 percent a year in the decade up to 2013—​is creating a growing wage labor force. But unionization has been vigorously fought in the growing telecommunications and other newer service sectors. The union movement now has deep, multigenerational levels of union leadership experience, which enabled it to withstand the Abacha regime’s repression and

404   Jon Kraus Obasanjo’s efforts to intimidate union activism. It may not possess the strength of the antiSAP, antiliberalization, and antibourgeois sentiments that it did from the 1980s to the early 2000s, but it manifestly embodies the aspirations and interests of the popular classes. Union leadership persists in articulating its combative resistance traditions in defending the interests of workers despite legal constructions erected to contain them. In 2017, the federal labor minister threatened to outlaw “warning strikes,” arguing that the “warning strike is not known to labor laws.” The NLC retorted that, regardless of whether “warning strikes” are a part of Nigerian law, unions under all regimes have used warning strikes to bring recalcitrant employers or governments to negotiations. If strikes are guaranteed by law, we “do not see how warning strikes can be illegal” (NLC 2017).

References Adesina, J. (1992). “Quantitative Alchemy and Strike Trend in Nigeria,” in D. Otobo (ed.), Labor Relations in Nigeria, vol. 1 (pp. 205–​235). Lagos: Malthouse Press. Andrae, G. and Beckman, B. (1998). Union Power in the Nigerian Textile Industry: Labor Regime and Adjustment. Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet. Bagobiri, P. (1992). “Changing Pattern of Private Sector Industrial Action,” in D. Otobo (ed.), Further Readings in Nigerian Industrial Relations (pp. 163–​176). Lagos: Malthouse Press. Bangura, Y. (1987). “The Recession and Workers’ Struggles in the Vehicle Assembly Plants: Steyr-​Nigeria,” Review of African Political Economy 39 (September): 4–​22. Beckman, B. (1995). “The Politics of Labor and Adjustment: The Experience of the Nigeria Labor Congress,” in T. Olukoshi (ed.), Between Liberalization and Oppression: The Politics of Structural Adjustment in Africa (pp. 281–​323). Dakar: CODESRIA. Beckman, B. and Lukman, S. (2010). “The Failure of Nigeria’s Labour Party,” in B. Beckman, S. Buhlungu, and L. Sachikonye (eds), Trade Unions and Party Politics (pp. 59–​84). Cape Town: Human Sciences Research Council. Beckman, B. and Sachikonye, L. M. (2001). “Labor Regimes and Liberalization in Africa,” in B. Beckman and L. M. Sachikonye (eds), Labor Regimes and Liberalization (pp. 1–​22). Harare: University of Zimbabwe Publications. Cohen, R. (1974). Labor and Politics in Nigeria, 1945–​7 1. London:  Heinemann Educational Books. Fashoyin, T. (1990). “Nigerian Labor and the Military: Toward Exclusion?” Labor, Capital and Society 23 (April 1): 12–​37. Forrest, T. (1995). The Makers and Making of Nigerian Private Enterprise. Lagos: Spectrum Books. Freund, B. (1981). Capital and Labor in the Nigerian Tin Mines. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press. Hashim, Y. (2001). “Co-​ Optation, Control, and Resistance,” in B. Beckman and L. M. Sachikonye (eds), Labor Regimes and Liberalization (pp. 49–​7 1). Harare:  University of Zimbabwe Publications. Ihonvbere, J. (1997). “Organized Labor and the Struggle for Democracy in Nigeria,” Journal of Modern African Studies 40 (3): 77–​110. ICFTU (International Confederation of Trade Union) (1994–​2006). Annual Survey(ies) of Violations of Trade Union Rights. Brussels: ICFTU.

The Political Struggles of Nigerian Labor    405 Kraus, J. (1979). “Strikes and Labor Power in Ghana,” Development and Change 10 (April): 259–​286. Kraus, J. (2002). “Capital, Power, and Business Associations in the African Political Economy,” Journal of Modern African Studies 40 (May 3): 1–​42. Kraus, J. (2007). “Conclusions: Trade Unions and Democratization in Africa,” in J. Kraus (ed.), Trade Unions and the Coming of Democracy in Africa (pp. 255–​286). New York: Palgrave/​ Macmillan. Lewis, P. (2007). Growing Apart. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Lubeck, P. (1988). Islam and Urban Labor in Northern Nigeria. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Nigeria (1989). Ogunkoya, M. O. Report of the Administration of the Nigeria Labor Congress, February 29–​December 30, 1988. Lagos: Federal Government Printer. NLC (2017). Press statement. Re:  Warning Strike:  We Are Taken Aback By the Minister’s Outburst. Feb. 2, 2017. accessed February 7, 2017. Okafor, O. (2009). “Remarkable Returns,” Journal of Modern African Studies 47 (2): 241–​266. Okujeni, R. and Uzegbu, R. (1992), Intra-​Union Crisis: The NUPENG Experience. Enugu: Delta Publications. Otobo, Dafe (1986). Foreign Interests and Nigerian Trade Unions. Lagos: Malthouse Press. Otobo, D. (1992). Labor Relations in Nigeria, vol. 1. Lagos: Malthouse Press. Otobo, D. and Omole, M. (eds) (1987). Readings in Industrial Relations in Nigeria. Lagos: Malthouse Press. Oyelere, M. A. (2014). The Impact of Political Action on Labor Movement Strength. New York: Palgrave-​Macmillan. Peace, A. (1979. Choice, Class, and Conflict: A Study of Southern Nigerian Factory Workers. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press. Smock, D. (1969). Conflict and Control in an African Trade Union. Stanford, CA:  Hoover Institution. Van Hear, N. (1988). “Recession, Retrenchment and Military Rule: Nigerian Labor in the 1980s,” in R. Southall (ed.), Trade Unions and the New Industrialization of the Third World (pp. 144–​ 163). London: Zed Books. Waterman, P. (1983). Aristocrats and Plebians in African Trade Unions: Lagos Port and Dock Workers Organization and Struggle. Den Haag: Peter Waterman. Wynne, A. (2017). “Mass Strikes in Nigeria: Is Austerity Taking Its Toll?,” Pambazuka New, January 27, 2017. accessed January 28, 2017.

Chapter 24

In the Tre nc h e s with F e l a Reassessing Protest Political Music Culture before the Fourth Republic Garhe Osiebe

Introduction Political music is music whose message struggles against the state (protest political music), or serves and propagates nationhood (unity political music), or praises political leaders (terrestrial praise political music). Perhaps the most dominant of these forms is protest political music. Protest political songs/​music could be aimed at criticizing the state as constituted by the status quo, or at criticizing the idea of nationhood in its entirety (Osiebe 2016). A basic hypothesis guides this intervention: before the 1999 democratization of political structures in Nigeria, popular musicians possessed sensibilities that produced protest political music whose texts galvanized civil society and have informed political sound bites in the Fourth Republic years. Past Fela—​who is heavily regarded as the sole soldier through his active years and who is the subject of several academic inquiries—​are the works of other popular musicians who made their voices heard, crying foul at the nation’s successive rulers before redemocratization in 1999. This chapter analyzes some of the works of these musicians.

Protest Political Music: From Colonial Drought to Postcolonial Plenty The political history of Nigeria is such that through the postcolonial years, protest political music arose at different times and for various reasons. The history shows that the

In the Trenches with Fela    407 music of the military years remains influential, serving as tropes and tools for politicians and activists to this day. Certain messages recur in the music, providing an overview of popular understandings of—​and complaints about—​politics. Several themes are adopted through the protest political music of the era. These include critiques of colonialism and the struggle against imperialism; co-​optation of the radical power of music; the empty promises, hypocrisy, and inadequate leadership skills of politicians; criticism of elites generally; the need for unity; and the shallowness of divisions. Beyond this, the story of protest political music as transcended from pre-​independence Nigeria to the years after independence can be described as one from a drought into a flowering of several approaches to the art form. As will be seen, illustrating these is the charter of this section: a scrutiny of the literature on colonial struggle music in Africa readily reveals that the abundance of the art in the southern region of the continent is starkly contrasted by a dearth of similar material in West African Nigeria. To properly situate this observation, it is essential to be imbued with some notions from the revolutionary French-​Algerian psychiatrist, Frantz Fanon (1925–​61). In his influential manifesto on decolonization, The Wretched of the Earth (a title derived from the opening lyrics of the leftwing nineteenth-​century anthem, The Internationale), Fanon offers what is in effect a standard staple for understanding how former colonies differed from one another as postcolonies depending on the “violence” or the “negotiations” with which the transition from colony to postcolony transpired. On the efficacy of violence, Fanon suggests, “Colonialism only loosens its hold when the knife is at its throat . . . colonialism is not a machine capable of thinking, a body endowed with reason. It is naked violence and only gives in when confronted with greater violence (Fanon 1961, p. 23). On negotiations, Fanon’s irritability is palpable: From the negotiating table emerges then the political agenda that authorizes Monsieur M’ba, president of the Republic of Gabon, to very solemnly declare on his arrival for an official visit to Paris: “Gabon is an independent country, but nothing has changed between Gabon and France, the status quo continues.” In fact the only change is that Monsieur M’ba is president of the Republic of Gabon, and he is the guest of the president of the French Republic. (Fanon 1961, p. 28)

Very easily and quite accurately, Nigeria and Britain could respectively substitute Gabon and France within Fanon’s foregoing submissions, and Ditto Nnamdi Azikiwe in place of Monsieur M’ba. It is perhaps no coincidence that Gabon, like Nigeria, is a West African nation. The key point to be made is that, in Fanon’s understanding, non-​violent approaches to undoing an otherwise violent colonialism never resulted in a generally beneficial and authentic decolonization because colonialism is only made possible through extreme violence and intimidation. Fanon ridicules the notion of formal independence granted through peaceful handovers: negotiation is no substitute for capitulation, and does not bring about effective decolonization. Indeed, the philosopher observes that the only elements of colonization that change because of the negotiating table are formalities. As is seen, Gabon gained a black, national bourgeois president who was thereafter received as the guest of the president of the French Republic. However, within Gabon,

408   Garhe Osiebe the status quo realized under French colonialism continued (Fanon 1961, p. 28). In such a climate, the national bourgeoisie rather than pursue effective decolonization wished to gain access to the wealth and social status that had previously been commandeered by the colonists. The bourgeoisie was preoccupied with draining the peasant masses and natural resources for their selfish benefit just as the colonizers had done (Fanon 1961, p. 53). This socioeconomic imperative of the national bourgeoisie, who founded the political parties from which sprang the country’s future leaders and those who negotiated the terms of decolonization with the colonists, prevented them from supporting a violent insurrection. The chants and melodies of struggle music which ought to accompany violent insurrection were thus absent. Considering the extremely peaceful nature of Nigeria’s assumption of an ‘independent state’ from Britain, it is little wonder that literature on colonial struggle music in Nigeria is meager. That was to change following independence as Nigeria’s national bourgeoisie and their military accomplices began to implode. In just seven years of self-​governance, a civil war materialized. The nonviolent decolonization was taking its toll as the colonial Frankenstein unleashed violence on its people. The civil war ended in 1970, but self-​rule continued to overwhelm Nigeria. Then, there was protest political music, but only long after other categories of political music. Indeed, while Fela is considered the pioneer of protest political music in Nigeria, he only took to political music through the “Viva Nigeria” (1969)—​a unity political song recorded at the culmination of the civil war aimed at the government’s persuasive propaganda. Meanwhile, the predominance of Pidgin English through national political music texts of postcolonial Nigeria is a marker of the popularity of the language across national life. The corollary is to appeal to as many Nigerians as possible—​be it the powers that be or the governed—​being that Pidgin English is a language understood even when not spoken through different societal segments of postcolonial Nigeria. This in itself emphasizes the need for unity in a seemingly divided nation. Nigeria is the most linguistically diverse country in the world, being home to between 400 and 600 languages. Yet, language anthropologists continue to be concerned about the erosion of many of these languages among major segments of the population. Whereas this is a worthy concern, it is simply incorrect to put the causative as Pidgin English whose usage in Nigeria began at the start of the seventeenth century. This precedes British rule, which began in the twentieth century. Or perhaps this makes it more so the cause of local languages having themselves evolved into a local language with some history.

“Power to the People”: Contributions of Sonny Okosuns Sonny Okosuns is one of the few popular musicians who has recorded several political songs in the English language. Okosuns began his first band, The Postmen, in 1964.

In the Trenches with Fela    409 He then served several years in the group of highlife colossus, Victor Uwaifo, before lauching Paperback Ltd, which was renamed Ozziddi in 1972. Ozziddi’s first few releases, with their catchy, rock-​inflected melodies and topical lyrics were all big hits in Nigeria, but “Fire in Soweto” (1977) put Okosuns on the international map because of the global attention that was being accorded apartheid South Africa at the time. “Papa’s land” (1977) was also of a protest texture wherein Okosuns inquires, “who owns Papa’s land?” in reference to Chinese, Japanese, and Englishmen ruling in China, Japan, and England respectively, yet African nations experiencing styles of political leadership dictated or at least prescribed by foreigners. Land disputes between locals and settlers, particularly in southern Africa, are strong referents for Okosuns “Papa’s land” (1977). Meanwhile, “Power to the people” is the chant slogan of Nigeria’s main opposition party, the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), which was founded in 1998 and was the country’s ruling party between 1999 and 2015. The chant goes: PDP? Power! (2ce) PDP? Power to the people!!!

What is interesting is that the catchphrase, “Power to the people,” doubles as the title to a hit song of Okosuns released in 1979. Okosuns uses the hit’s opening verse to exhaustively define democracy, singing, “Give power to the people”: Democratically, they’re the people for the people; Economically, they’re the people by the people; Spiritually, they’re the people with the people; Politically, they’re the people in the people . . . (Okosuns 1979)

Verse two is delivered as “the voice of the people” and soon it becomes apparent that Okosun’s addressees in the song are not the leaders of Nigeria in particular, but global leaders. He sings: Build a free world; Free from oppression; We should love one another; Build us a free world; Without corruption . . . Free from discrimination . . . Build us a good world; With good resolutions . . . Without inflation . . .Without commotion . . . Will you build us a free world?; Without confusion. (Okosuns 1979)

Verse three completes the melodious song with references to the sun’s light, blowing wind, flowing sea, and the importance of life to hope. In “African Soldiers” (1991), Okosuns elected “to tell out African soldiers who fought for Africa; some are dead, while some are living and still fighting” (Okosuns 1991). Supported by his band’s refrain of “African soldier,” Okosuns calls out the names

410   Garhe Osiebe of various African heroes; in verse one, Shaka Zulu, Haile Selassie, Nnamdi Azikiwe, Kwame Nkrumah, Jomo Kenyatta, Patrice Lumumba, and Marcus Garvey get a mention. In this verse, Okosuns urges: “African soldiers show your power . . . Save your people . . . from economic hazards . . . from political nonsense . . . from economic rubbish . . . from political yabis . . . from economic jargons” (Okosuns 1991). He continues verse two where he left off in verse one: Herbert Macaulay, Ahmadu Bello, Obafemi Awolowo, Steve Biko, Agostinho Neto, Sekou Toure, and Julius Nyerere are each remembered for their roles in fighting for Africa. Verse three is reserved for the African soldier trio of Martin Luther King, Houphouet Boigny, and Robert Mugabe. Indeed, it is plausible that each of the heroes mentioned by Okosuns propagated political values that correlate with Fanon’s on the subject of the violence of (post-​)colonialism. For example, in spite of his age and dwindled reputation, Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe is renowned as being staunchly averse to certain African-​Western “collaborations” in a post-​independence era—​the sort Fanon disapproved of in the Gabon–​France representation.

“I Love my Country”: Contributions of Tunji Oyelana and Wole Soyinka Outside of Okosuns’s critiques of colonialism and the struggle against imperialism, another theme that occupied protest political musicians in post-​independence Nigeria was the twin snags of the empty promises of politicians and, invariably, bad leadership even through the country’s democratic spells. In 1983, the year elections were held following the promulgation of the Second Republic in 1979, the would-​be 1986 Nobel Prize Winner for Literature, Wole Soyinka, teamed up with Tunji Oyelana to record a Nigerian political classic. During and after the scandalous 1983 Nigerian elections, a satirical song by Wole Soyinka became so popular that it could be heard all day long on every southern taxi driver’s cassette player. This song, “Etike Revo Wetin?”, mocked all the populist slogans and meaningless panaceas of the last ten years (i.e. “Our nation must be one,” “Patriotism,” “Green Revolution,” “Operation Feed the Nation,” “Ethical Revolution”), etc. (Barber 1987, p. 2). The foregoing conveys the audience appreciation and approval enjoyed by the song, “I love my Country” (1983). Tunji Oyelana was equal parts singer-​songwriter, actor, bandleader, dramatist, comedian, and academic. Oyelana elevated the realm of pop music by infusing it with the poetic storytelling of Yoruba folklore. Backed by his band, The Benders (named for their ability to traverse and blend a variety of styles), Oyelana blended the fashionable sounds of highlife, Afrobeat, Afrorock, calypso, juju, and reggae, making something utterly unique from these. Oyelana attributes his life as a professional artist to Soyinka who he met in 1960 and commenced a partnership that endured for more than five decades (Olumhense 2004; Abati 2009). Soyinka, Oyelana,

In the Trenches with Fela    411 and The Benders collaborated for the immensely popular yet controversial 1983 album Unlimited Liability Company. The album comprises two pieces whose texts are appraised forthwith. In “I love my country”, Oyelana decried how petty theft attracted jail terms while official corruption resulted in chieftaincies and national honors. He enters a nostalgic time period when the nation stacked “groundnut so high like pyramid, it almost reached the skies/​flowing palm oil/​cassava, plantain/​cocoa/​rosy-​ looking bananas/​yam tubers so big like wrestlers’ thighs/​and excellent quality rice.” He laments the present reality where it took half his budget to eat as food had become so costly like “golden nuggets!” Moving to the “Green Revolution,” Oyelana derides the “most educative” venture as “coincidentally most lucrative,” wherein education alone covered a quarter of the national budget since farmers had to be taught what they’d never forget! He humors the irony of “posters left, right and centre” in an otherwise “green” revolution: where is the “green” while government printers were busy printing green revolution posters? Proceeding to “bottomless pits” projects where a culture of contracts without execution became a source of wealth. Soyinka joins in singing: “vanishing billions in a hole, they rubbish the construction of a new Federal Capital Territory in Abuja.” He cites the plight of the water tap in an average Nigerian home whose water could embark on a month’s vacation! Oyelana turns to electricity with the lesson of “one man’s curse being another’s blessing”; “country seek” (Nigeria) and “country hide” (generator exporter/​tycoon);  “electricity supply is a part-​time vocation for one day’s show is a month’s vacation!” In “Ethical Revolution,” Oyelana is ruthless describing the scheme as a charade aimed at siphoning funds and asks, “ethical revo-​kini/​ethical revo-​how much?” He relates it to a scenario where a thief who stole his own goods made the police report and another wherein a government banned importation, but was run by imported/​luxury goods. He turns to popular registers associated with the Nigerian state and soon wraps up with salient points on the hypocrisy of the ruling class adept in shedding crocodile tears whilst ripping off the populace. On the flip side of the record is the song, “Chairman,” wherein Soyinka and Oyelana focus on the general elections of 1983 (Olumhense 2004), satirically probing the showy lifestyle of Nigerian leaders. Other than “Chairman,” terms like “mobilization fee” and “your excellency” were highlighted by the song. In closing, the duo turns to some realism. The following dialogue is supposed to have transpired between a “chairman” {C} and an ambassador {A} in the country: A: “Mr. Chairman, I’m thinking of sending our Secretary for Agriculture to hold discussions with you over this present food shortage” C: “What food shortage?” A: “It’s in all the papers, and even we feel the effect of it when we go to the market. Hardly anything to buy; and what there is to buy costs the earth” C: “There is no food shortage. It’s all political propaganda. I ask you, have you seen anyone looking in the dustbin for food?” A: “Well . . . ”

412   Garhe Osiebe C: “There you are! What more proof do you need? Tell your people my company is firmly in control. There is absolutely no food shortage.” A: “Mr. Chairman, are you asking me to disbelieve the evidence of my eyes?” C: “On the contrary, Mr. Ambassador, I am asking you to use your eyes. Haba, Mallam, look at me, just look at me. Look at my cheeks. Are they not robust? Do they not look rosy? What more proof do you want? All the members of our company have cheeks exactly like mine: robust!” “Chairman” (1983)

“Where is Survival”: Contributions of the Mandators The hypocrisy, empty promises, and poor leadership skills of pre-​Fourth Republic Nigerian politicians did not constitute an exclusive terrain for Oyelana’s satire. Indeed, Victor Essiet and the Mandators was a reggae group whose music dominated the Nigerian airwaves through the 1980s and 1990s. In 1987, two years into General Babangida’s eight-​year “presidency,” Essiet and the Mandators released the very successful album, Crisis, which comprised several songs protesting the social, political, and economic situation in Nigeria. In “Survival,” Essiet offers that “The strength of currency is the pride of any nation,” (1987) referencing the fall in the value of naira as well as highlighting the unbecoming inflation in the land. The Mandators also recorded “Inflation”: citing the masses and how “the chances for survival were getting slimmer,” the Mandators get into a chorus that repetitively  asks, “Where is survival?” The first verse mocks the various leaders Nigeria has had since the eruption of the First Republic, who enjoyed riding on the idea of being “the saviour” or “a messiah” only to loot the Commonwealth. “Where are we going now? Where are we going Lord?” ask the singers. They continue, “Oh the more you work the less pay you get,” attributing this to the trickery of the political class whom the nation’s “forefathers” had warned, and who “we the children are now warning.” This is followed by an aphorism: “Strong people make strong nation/​Weak people make weak nation.” The duo takes a swipe at the peculiar Nigerian condition wherein climbing higher made life “hotter” rather than “cooler” as obtained outside of Nigeria. The final verse dedicates the piece to “them sufferers in the town; we the street people; and to them sufferers in the city.” The exit of major labels from the country ensured that the group was disbanded and Essiet had to relocate to the U.S.A. from where he spoke to me about some of his political performances: Songs like “Rise to the Top” and “Love your Nation” conveyed lyrics that resonated with the people. As such, there was no need to write fresh lyrics through the MKO Abiola campaign of 1992/​93 where we performed these songs nationwide. The June 12, 1993 election of Chief Abiola was the best election conducted in the country’s history . . . It is only criminal elements that perform or write songs for money. When I performed for Abiola, I did it on a conviction, because I knew the man. I had met

In the Trenches with Fela    413 several beneficiaries of his scholarships and generosity from across the country. There were mosques and churches for which Abiola became the building committee chairman because of his philanthropic work. Because I knew him, campaigning for him was not a function of financial remuneration1.

Essiet’s point is that although his group provided an interlude through Chief M. K. O. Abiola’s presidential campaign bid, it was done at no extra cost to the politician. Per Essiet, the group believed that Abiola’s candidature epitomized the message of the two unity political songs (“Rise to the Top” and “Love your Country”) referenced as having been performed through the campaigns. As such, these songs met the needs of the context. For Essiet, the question of writing a distinct piece tailored to endorse/​praise the politician did not arise. As he put it, “only criminal elements write songs for money.” A scrutiny of the body of work by Victor Essiet and the Mandators shows that “Rise to the Top” and “Love your Country” are moments among songs which belong in the protest political music subgenre. Yet, another protest political song by the group worth assessing is “Injustice” (1987). In this song, the Mandators open by lamenting on behalf of “Our people in the street/​Struggling to earn their daily bread/​Day in and day out” (The Mandators 1987). They continue: Upper classes have squandered and destroyed our riches They want to be millionaires The more they get the more they want . . . Our society has made us the way we are . . .

The chorus follows with an elaborate encore of the words: “No justice no equal rights/​ Injustice in every way.” Soon there’s a similarly repeated interlude to the effect that “What goes around comes around/​what goes up surely comes down,” subtly referencing the inevitability of doomsday for the nation’s exploiters. The Mandators speak of the poor commoners who bear the brunt of the decadent society where “innocent ones are dying” and “guilty ones are going free.” In closing, they turn to the police who “stop [citizens] at the road block asking what2 [they’ve] got for them,” with dire consequences awaiting those who fail to oblige.

“Religion na Politics”: Contributions of Majek Fashek Reggae superstar, Majek Fashek (born Majekodunmi Fasheke), attracted international attention in 1987 when his self-​penned tune, “Send down the Rain” seemed to coax a rain storm that ended one of the worst droughts in Nigeria’s history. Consequently tagged a “prophet,” Fashek went on to become one of Africa’s greatest reggae-​influenced performers. His debut solo album, Prisoner of Conscience, released

414   Garhe Osiebe in 1988, sold more than 200,000 copies in Nigeria alone (Allmusic.com 2017). The album had a total of nine tracks all containing politically poignant material, notable among them: “Africans keep your culture,” “Police brutality,” and “Prisoner of Conscience.” Born in Benin City, once the center of the ancient Sini Kingdom, Fashek inherited his love of music from his mother, an Edo woman who raised him following the death of his father when he was eleven years old. A businesswoman,who supplied concrete to road contractors, she inspired him through her participation in traditional religious ceremonies where the Olokun rhythms were used to accompany worship of the river goddess. As a youngster, Fashek played maracas during the ceremonies (Allmusic.com 2017). While he developed an early interest in the music of Jamaica, Fashek was equally drawn to the music of Indian cinema. He learned to play the guitar while in secondary school, and Fashek soon joined a band, Jah Stix, and began playing in clubs in the then capital city of Lagos. Fashek did enjoy a very close involvement with the late Nigerian drummer and bandleader, Fela Anikulapo Kuti (Allmusic.com 2017.) Fashek’s sophomore album, Spirit of Love (1991), presented Fashek as an accomplished musical maestro of the reggae genre. A deeply conscious album, Spirit of Love shot Fashek to the summit of African music. Of immense impact was the hugely popular hit, “Religion na politics” (1991), wherein Fashek laments how Christians and Muslims could be in a brawl. He surmises this as the trickery of elites who understand the hypnotic role of religion and its accompanying sentimentalism. And so, he cries out: “Religion na politics . . . religion is politics” (Fashek 1991). Referencing the trend of religious divisions where some say they are Christians, some say they are Muslims, some say they are Rastafarians, and others Ogun servers, Fashek is at a loss and sings: “. . . we all are one people . . . Let’s unite and build the nations” (Fashek 1991.). In closing, Fashek provokes his audiences’ thoughts on the senselessness of religious conflicts by subtly equating the banes of tribal and intra-religious conflicts: Religion has caused problem all over the earth, all over the world Christians go dey fight Moslems Iraqi man go dey fight Irani man Indian man go dey fight Kumasi man Yoruba man go dey fight Ibo man Ibo man go dey fight Hausa man

Fashek’s 1997 album was fittingly titled Rainmaker to reference the achievements of “Send down the rain.” The song, “African Unity,” off the Rainmaker album is here discussed. However, “Free Africa, Free Mandela” (1989) was Fashek’s celebrated anti-​ apartheid hit whose intro follows: This song is dedicated to the Prisoner of Conscience, Nelson Mandela And to all the freedom fighters all over the earth Cos Africa must be free

In the Trenches with Fela    415 The opening verse minces no words on the specificities of the songs addressees: Margaret Thatcher and Frederick De Klerk. To the duo, Majek urges, “Free Mandela now, now, now, now” before closing the verse with the implication of a free Africa. The second verse details Nelson Mandela’s travails in an emotionally evocative flair: For 27 years He’s been sleeping at the jail Years gone, he’s still lying at the jail He left his wife, he left his children

The verse continues pleading “for the sake of Africans . . . free Mandela,” this time adding George Bush to his addressees. Verse three mocks the idea of independence in African countries when Africans were still dependent amidst a cocktail of “separation . . . frustration [and] war” (Fashek 1989). And so, he calls on the “colonial masters” to free Mandela and leave Africa truly independent. Fashek employs the fourth and final verse to illustrate his point in the previous verse singing: You see for 29 years, Nigeria got independence But Nigerians are still dependent Frustration in the land Confusion in thy places Poverty stricken . . .

At this point, he calls on Ibrahim Babangida—​the nation’s head of state at the time, pleading with him to “free Nigerians, now, now, now, now” before closing with another call on Frederic De Klerk “to free Mandela and South Africans now, now, now, now.” Yet, “colonial masters, free Africans” is Fashek’s final refrain. “African Unity” (1997) demonstrates Fashek’s pan-​Africanist ethos. Verse one opens with: When will the African people unite? When will the African people come together? European, Americans getting stronger everyday And the disunity among the African people

As if to replicate his message in “Religion na politics” (1991), the second verse centers on a similar theme: When will the Jews and the Moslems unite? When will the Christians and the Moslems come together? Disunity among the people everyday Forcing and fighting The disunity among the Jah Jah people

Fashek’s ultimate message lies in the need for unity and the shallowness of divisions.

416   Garhe Osiebe

“Under Pressure”: Contributions of Ras Kimono Another reggae star of the era worthy of mention is Ras Kimono. Kimono served a long apprenticeship on the Nigerian music circuit, experimenting with several styles, before making his late 1980s breakthrough as a reggae singer. Together with his Massive Dread Reggae Band, Kimono released his debut album, Under Pressure, in 1989. Accompanied by the popular single, “Rum-​Bar Stylee,” this revealed both a Jamaican and native African influence (the latter particularly evident in his “patois” delivery, as frequently employed by Fela Kuti to communicate with the urban underclass). His strongly polemical lyrics produced album sales of over 100,000 copies and a fervent following for his advocacy of social change. His sophomore album, What’s Gwan, proved even more successful, with the topics ranging from the legalization of marijuana to the need for Africans to intellectually repel colonialism and its inherent arbitrary boundaries. Most controversially, he was not averse to naming directly those in power he saw as synonymous with backdoor imperialism (Allmusic.com 2017). The song “Under Pressure” (1988), begins with a sorrowful chorus referencing the message communicated through the verses: Under pressure, we wail, under pressure Under pressure, black people, under pressure Under pressure, Nigerians, under pressure Under pressure, Africans, under pressure No food, in we belly No money, in our pocket No bed, in our we head The people, dem are suffer In a ghetto In a city Everywhere that me go Me see dem Some are cry Some are die Some are weeping Some are wailing Everywhere that me go eh eh.

The second verse takes account of Europeans in the “under pressure” train before Kimono turns his feelings to the youth who have no family or helper. The song ends on a cynical note with Kimono uttering: “I’m a Kimono, me just chatting to you; Chances

In the Trenches with Fela    417 are that me no go chat it again . . .Under pressure, we wail, under pressure . . . Under pressure, Nigerians, under pressure . . .” (Kimono 1989). It is the summation to Fanon’s concerns over the “tabooed-​concept” of a negotiated decolonization that Kimono unravels in “Under Pressure.” Nigeria was (is) under pressure due to some fundamental misgivings, the manner of her peaceful attainment of independence being directly liable; the sufferings and the wailing by the population testament to a nation gone wrong at conception. It is safe on this score to state that Fanon wrote of the past (history), while Kimono sang of the present situation of postcolonial Africa. No one, as yet, has successfully proffered alternatives to the postcolonial quagmire wherein it appears the (ill) deed is done, and there is no way out. Under pressure, Nigeria, under pressure!

“Naija Must Sweet Again”: Contributions of Lagbaja Bisade Ologunde, also known as Lagbaja, or simply as “the masked one,” entered the Nigerian music scene rather uniquely in 1993 with the album Ikira! His was a faceless entry as “somebody, nobody, anybody or everybody” to depict the anonymity of the “common man” with a mask essentially symbolizing the voiceless in African society. Of especial political coloration in the saxophonist’s eight-​track debut album is the song, “Naija Must Sweet Again,” wherein Lagbaja opens by asserting that the country Nigeria belongs to every Nigerian citizen, and that a balancing in the distribution of rights and justice—​such that every citizen is treated equally—​is the key to unity and progress in the country3. After communicating that leadership was no one’s birthright, he proceeds to address the procolonial phantasmagoria (the severer condition of colonial fantasy) prevalent with citizens: he sings that the developed Western countries had not achieved all they had because the citizens had two heads or because they were brainier. Good leadership and effective organization are responsible for the developed condition and attractiveness of Western countries, he opines, before insisting that Nigeria could be just as progressive if the people could find a fit and proper leader. He proceeds to offer that Nigerians who planned to “run off ” to their various Eldorados in the shape of Western countries were mistaken because of sharp cultural differences that made the African feel out of place in these foreign habitats. He insists that illiteracy and poverty aren’t peculiar to Africa, and that every nation had its fair share of problems. He asks: “. . . why can’t we too sit up and do something, wake up let’s make life easy?” He continues urging that the current situation of things was not sustainable as the trend of suffering across generations made no sense; there is sense when a parent suffers so

418   Garhe Osiebe his/​her children don’t. However, the current situation meant that suffering was mostly inherited. “Naija must sweet again” is thus a call on citizens to embrace positive values and virtues indispensable to nation-​building and revival. Following a critically acclaimed debut, Lagbaja returned with a more compelling and successful 1996 album entitled C’est un African Thing, which included the hits “Coolu Temper,” “Africalypso,” “Show Your Colour,” and the satirical effort “Bad Leadership.” In “Bad Leadership,” Lagbaja attempts the analogy of the dreaded HIV/​AIDS with bad leadership, but more so insists that whereas the former was yet to have a cure, bad leadership had remedies which African leaders had failed to apply. He asserts that the biggest disease that could affect a society is bad leadership and that this disease was more terrible than AIDS! He continues his “displeasure and dishonour” of introducing “the extended family of bad leadership” and conceptualizes each of poverty, slavery, economic depression, perpetual hyper-​inflation, corruption, military coups, lack of organization, and illiteracy as diseases all caused by bad leadership. In the following verse, Lagbaja gets more graphic enunciating what is perhaps the nuclear family of bad leadership: . . . Bad leadership is the husband of corruption Corruption, the mother of backwardness Backwardness, brother of poverty Poverty, the sister of squalor Squalor, the king of diseases . . .

He wonders “how come,” despite the continent’s abundance of resources, Africa is locked in “perpetual retrogression”; “a land of great minds and human potentials is led by greedy blind desert animals,” before offering a prayer for Africa.

“June 12”: Contributions of Osayomore Joseph Another protest political musician is “Ambassador” Osayomore Joseph, born in the late 1940s close to Benin City in Edo State, Nigeria. He is an animist with faith in the Benin pantheon spirits. Owing to his courage to speak openly against injustice and the false Nigerian democracy, he is considered somewhat of a successor to Fela. The messages in most of his songs, however, risk being confined to the area of his own ethnic group due to the Edo language he utilizes in singing more often. Joseph has been charged in court and imprisoned severally for issues bordering on his cheeky music renowned for ridiculing the authorities (Afrobeat-​music.blogspot.com.ng 2011). . . . We choose our president, he turn am upside down (2ce) We choose our head-​of-​state, he turn am upside down “Baba Na Wah!” (1996).

In the Trenches with Fela    419 To the Nigerian historian, the annulment of the June 12, 1993 election intended at ushering in the Third Republic president is General Babangida’s greatest undoing as the country’s leader. “Baba Na Wah!” is a mockery of Babangida’s stewardship, delivered mostly in Pidgin English, and released some three years into General Abacha’s five-​year dictatorship. The song clamored for the actualization of the mandate of Chief Abiola who won the annulled June 12 presidential election. Of Babangida, Joseph began: . . . Me I know him face long, long time ago . . . When I sing and cry, nobody care to hear . . . Na now uhna know say na animal in uniform . . .

Before “Baba Na Wah!” Joseph had done songs critical of Babangida, which were barely received. Humoring the masses (audience) for the country’s precarious state, having not heeded his warnings hitherto, thus seemed justified. “Baba Na Wah!” conveyed unprecedented venom and bitterness directed at Babangida. The source of Joseph’s scorn isn’t far-fetched as he utters a veiled threat to the Abacha junta of the day: . . . June 12, 1993 was the day we chose our president June 12 united the whole country Nigeria It is that same June 12 that will scatter Nigeria if the rightful winner is not installed

More than these, “Baba Na Wah!” was a fitting rejoinder to Babangida’s valedictory speech wherein he stated that he was deciding to “. . . voluntarily step aside . . .!” To this, Joseph retorted in the opening verse: . . . Oga dictator! He no want to go again . . . He sit down for power, begin to manipulate He sit down gbe-​gbe-​gbe like say na him father house . . . Offer to step aside like say na him birth right (2ce)

Joseph engages Babangida belligerently, reeling out ill after ill that was associated with the latter’s eight-​year management of government. Joseph details the “freedom of the press” mantra, which ironically entailed the letter-​bomb murder of leading journalist Dele Giwa; the fact that Babangida oversaw the formation of the two political parties—​SDP and NRC—​and “designed their logos and manifestos!” Joseph proceeds by lamenting that Nigerian national football teams never won any international competitions during Babangida’s rule and contrasts this with the quick victories the teams recorded once he left power: the African Nations Cup in 1994 hosted in Tunisia, as well as the football gold medal title at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta. He continues: . . . Oh you father of all disaster It is in your time

420   Garhe Osiebe We witnessed the greatest military air disaster That claimed the lives of our young military officers Leaving their wives to be widows and uncared for today

Joseph decries how Babangida cancelled the “war against indiscipline,” which the preceding Buhari–​Idiagbon regime had inaugurated and pursued. Joseph insists that before Babangida’s forceful ascension, Nigerian streets had no litter just as every household had a culture of planting trees. Christening Babangida “the grandfather of settlement and gross indiscipline,” Joseph ties the closure of schools from elementary to tertiary levels to the ex-​president’s legacy. At this stage, Joseph references the Francis Arthur Nzeribe-​led “Association of Better Nigeria” as “Association of bad and bitter Nigeria” whose charter it was to “destroy our free and fair election/​Won by a great son of this country.” He describes Babangida as the catalyst for the judges’ abuse that came to characterize the judiciary before entering a penultimate theme:  “the devil men” Babangida collected “that helped to destroy Nigeria before.” He lists some of these IBB boys: “Chukwumerije, Akpamgbo, Justice Ikpeme, and Professor Okon Uyah.” The song copiously documents the culture of using “portfolio for settlement” and its strenuous effects on the economy as Babangida’s legacy to Nigeria. Joseph salutes those he considers to “love democracy and peace.” Amongst this group, he mentions Gani Fawehinmi, Femi Falana, and Beko Kuti. He pleads with all those in the struggle for democracy not to tire, before closing by assertively assuring the vice president-​elect of the June 12, 1993 election, Ambassador Babagana Kingibe, that it “is you and no one else.” Joseph had managed to accomplish both “protest” and “praise” music in a single recording scoop—​some feat. Meanwhile, if Joseph’s lampoon was intended as a farewell to Babangida—​who patently left Nigeria far worse off than the country was when he came to power—​the gen­ eral did not heed or he simply did not get the message. In 2006 (preparatory to the 2007 election), Babangida stormed the PDP headquarters in Abuja to purchase the party’s presidential aspirants’ form before withdrawing his application in light of Yar’Adua’s candidature, whom the former had described as his brother. Again, in 2010 (preparatory to the 2011 election), following Yar’Adua’s demise and the zoning arrangement, Babangida declared his presidential ambition amidst amplified pomp and pageantry at the Eagle Square, Abuja. In an apt and illuminating electorally motivated act, on April 14, 2010, “Baba Na Wah!” (1996) was published on the popular website YouTube by anti-​ Babangida-​for-​president concerns with the caption: “Spread this! Babangida is Evil!” (Ikhide4life 2010) accompanying some telling visuals. The airplay for the song at the time generated freshly profound meanings to Joseph’s work, especially from the following wordplay: . . . Babangida nko? He dey for him Minna (2ce) Iminna for Bini, na when you dey dream Na true word be dat o, Babangida dey dream o . . . (2ce) Eh, eh, eh, gida na wah o! Baba na wah . . .

In the Trenches with Fela    421 Assuming the exhumation of “Baba Na Wah!” (1996) in April 2010 was insufficient appeal for Babangida to abandon his 2011 presidential ambition, the NPLF4 spared him the bleak electoral prospect by declaring Atiku Abubakar its consensus candidate in November of 2010.

“Wondering Sorry Tomorrow”: Contributions of Femi Kuti Femi Kuti is the eldest son and undisputed inheritor of the genius of Fela. In present-​day Nigeria, he carries the banner of protest political music, confronting governments, and speaking against societal ills. He continues to play at the shrine as his father did and is currently one of Africa’s most recognizable voices. Femi Kuti holds the world record for the longest note held on a saxophone at forty-​six minutes and forty-​eight seconds (set May 7, 2017). Before democratization in 1999, Femi Kuti had recorded successes with protest political music material, thus making him one of very few Nigerian popular musicians to enjoy relevance across both pre-​1999 and post-​1999 postcolonial Nigeria. Kuti began a diligent apprenticeship when he played as a member of his father’s band as a saxophonist for many years before eventually carving his own, yet evidently connecting niche. Indeed, he played for his father between the years of 1978 and 1989. It was in 1989 that he released his debut album titled No Cause for Alarm? He would go on to release its successor two years later in the shape of Mind Your Own Business (1991). The two albums ensured Kuti was widely regarded in the shadows of his father’s brilliance, prompting the former to take time out to look inwards, subsequently announcing his identity in the eponymous album Femi Kuti in 1995. Released at the heart of General Abacha’s stranglehold of the nation, Femi Kuti (1995) could hardly have been timelier considering the country’s state at the time. In “Wonder, Wonder,” Kuti’s concern is with Kwame Nkrumah’s vision to unite Africa in the “early sixties” in order that the continent be strong, yet Africans have no direction more than thirty years on. In effect, Kuti wonders, “Will Africa ever unite?” which is a query that borders heavily on the continent’s negotiated/​peaceful manner of decolonization. In “Plenty Nonsense,” Kuti lambasts figures including Chief Moshood Abiola over his support for General Babangida’s rule wherein the former enjoyed numerous government contracts. He also lambasts Alhaji Lateef Jakande—​Second Republic Governor of Lagos State considered a democrat who had accepted to serve the Abacha government to the dismay of many, and over the shabby nature of the schools he built as governor. General Babangida, who had by now “stepped aside,” also comes in for criticism over how he brought the country to the brink of collapse. In “Nawa,”5 meanwhile, Kuti takes a swipe at  former heads of state, Alhaji Shehu Shagari and General Obasanjo, over how both men cornered the commonwealth and succeeded in acquiring mega-​sized farms for themselves in the name of the “Green

422   Garhe Osiebe Revolution” and “Operation Feed the Nation” respectively. And so as not to omit the sitting military leader from the album, Kuti reserves mention of General Abacha for the song “Stubborn Problem.” Following his father’s passing in 1997, Kuti signed a deal with MCA, which oversaw the release of Shoki Shoki (1998). The album won him critical acclaim around the world for being much more assured in its focus and delivery of inherent sociopolitical themes. Shoki Shoki included the striking track, “What will Tomorrow Bring?” through which it is evident that Kuti bore a considerable measure of pessimism for the country’s immediate future;  concern perhaps over the General Abdulsalami Abubakar-​ supervised program for the nation’s transition to the Fourth Republic. Hence Kuti’s realism in “. . . tomorrow na result of things wey happen today” [tomorrow is the result of things that happen today] (Kuti 1998). This intrinsic message is perchance amplified in “Sorry Sorry” where Kuti communicates his astonishment about the methods of the Nigerian state, and his sympathy for the long-​suffering people. He begins by humoring the situation wherein “politicians and soldiers make meeting” to repair Nigeria as though both constituencies were unaware they were complicit in destroying the country thus far! Of the masses, he decries how they enjoy a herd (“zombie”) followership of leaders who were, in fact, the people’s enemies. It is striking that Kuti seems to have pioneered popular music criticism of the “herd mentality” of the masses. Before him, other political musicians together with Soyinka appeared fixated on pointing the finger at leadership with too little devoted to self-​(followers’) reflection. Contrastingly, present day (Fourth Republic) political musicians have taken a cue from Kuti as their art is often constituted by critiques on followership. Following the album Shoki Shoki (1998), Femi Kuti returned to the studio after the promulgation of the Fourth Republic to record a fitting sequel in the form of the album Fight to Win (2001). Being Fela’s first son and heir, it is perhaps more apt for Femi than for most political musicians to reiterate that: “[We] need to be aware of the conditions that make it possible for artists to become politically salient figures. The ability to speak politically is partly a matter of genre—​of what the conventions allow you to say, of what the audience expects” (Street 2004, p. 304). So much for being Fela’s first son . . .

Conclusion This chapter has sought to show that before the democratization of political structures in Nigeria in 1999, popular musicians possessed sensibilities to produce protest political music. By engaging in works by some of the era’s protest political musicians (the protest political works of Tera Kotta and Tyna Onwudiwe, for example, are not covered here), the contribution has set the facts straight that pre-​Fourth Republic Nigeria was not all about military might. While Fela certainly took the shine for his confrontational approach and colorful lifestyle, there were other protest political musicians

In the Trenches with Fela    423 all through military-​ ruled and democratic pre-​ Fourth Republic Nigeria whose contributions have made this piece worthwhile. For some of the acts whose works are engaged here, this intervention represents the first academic inquiry into their art. The chapter highlights the reggae slant of most performers of protest political music in the era. Yet, it also makes room for the highlife punctuation by Tunji Oyelana and an accomplice in Soyinka. It accounts for Lagbaja’s Afrocalypso (sometimes Afrobeat), Osayomore Joseph’s peculiarities, and closes with Femi Kuti’s sustenance of his father’s legacy. In the end, dictatorships only loosen their grip when popular music can take them at their illicit acts, for dictatorships by themselves are largely incapable of thinking and/​or reason. Military rule made way for democracy in 1999 thanks to a cumulative effect encompassing the political musicians whose selected works are assessed here. Each of these contributors has played a distinct role in creating the present fashion of protest political music culture wherein almost every popular musician in Fourth Republic Nigeria has recorded a sociopolitical song, irrespective of the artist’s primary genre. There is, invariably, a continual flowering of the category’s postcolonial plenty. This is perhaps a result of the negotiated decolonization that brought about Nigeria’s nationhood and the associated violence on the population—​a violence which may have been deployed fruitfully some six decades ago.

Notes 1. Interview with Victor Essiet (November 2012). 2. Nigerian policemen are renowned for requesting financial inducements (bribes) from motorists. Motorists who fail to part with this “incentive” face brutalization of various degrees. Police highhandedness has been a major sociopolitical challenge through Nigeria’s postcolonial history. 3. The president of Nigeria, Muhammadu Buhari, while speaking at his inauguration on May 29, 2015, had famously remarked that “I belong to everybody, and I  belong to nobody.” Whereas there is no evidence that President Buhari borrowed directly from Lagbaja in the speech, the use of the quoted phrase is arguably demonstrative of the lasting influence of pre-​Fourth Republic popular music in the Fourth Republic. 4. In 2010, the Northern Political Leaders Forum (NPLF) tasked itself with selecting a candidate from the pool of northern aspirants based on its schedule of criteria. At the end of the proceedings, the NPLF reached a decision and anointed Atiku Abubakar as the consensus candidate. 5. “Nawa” is a Pidgin English phrase that translates loosely as “This is pitiable” or “What a pity,” etc.

References Barber, K. (1987). “Popular Arts in Africa,” African Studies Review 30 (3): 1–​78. Fanon, F. (1961). The Wretched of the Earth. London: Penguin Pubs. Olumhense, S. (2004). “The Music of Wole Soyinka,” Guardian August 1, 2004.

424   Garhe Osiebe Osiebe, G. (2016). “The Opportunism of Political Music Culture in Democratic Nigeria,” Journal of African Cultural Studies 28 (1): 13–​27. Street, J. (2004). “The Politics of Popular Culture,” in K. Nash and A. Scott (eds), The Blackwell Companion to Political Sociology. Oxford: Blackwell.

Online Sources Abati, R. (2009). “Duro Onabule and Tunji Oyelana at 70,” Nigeria Village Square accessed March 20, 2017. Afrobeat-​music.blogspot.com.ng (2011). Osayomore Joseph & the Ulele Power Sound accessed November 2016. All music (2017). Various accessed through 2016–​17. Ikhide4life (2010). ‘Babangida Na Wah –​Osayomore Joseph (Spread this! Babangida is Evil)” accessedNovember 22, 2016.

Discography Femi Kuti (1995). Femi Kuti. USA: Motown. Femi Kuti (2001). Fight to Win. USA: MCA Records. Femi Kuti (1998). Shoki Shoki. USA: MCA Records. Lagbaja (1993). Ikira! Lagos: Motherlan’ Music. Majek Fashek (1989). Prisoner of Conscience. Nigeria: Mango. Majek Fashek (1997). Rainmaker. Nigeria: Lightyear. Majek Fashek (1991). Spirit of Love. Nigeria: Interscope. Osayomore Joseph (1996). Baba na wah! Benin City. Ras Kimono (1989). Under Pressure. Lagos. Sonny Okosun (1991). African Soldier. USA: PCD. Sonny Okosun (1980). Fire in Soweto. EMI Nigeria. Sonny Okosun (1979). Power to the people. EMI Nigeria. Victor Essiet and the Mandators (1985). Crisis. Europe: Polygram. Victor Essiet and the Mandators (1988). Rat race. Europe: Polygram. Victor Essiet and the Mandators (1979). Sunrise. Europe: Polygram. Wole Soyinka (1983). Unlimited Liability Company. Ibadan: Ewuro Productions.

Related Personal Interview with Victor Essiet, November 2012. The Copyright Society of Nigeria (COSON) has granted me permission to quote Nigerian popular music texts for research and learning purposes.

Chapter 25

N igeria’s Non-​We st e rn Demo cr ac y A Postcolonial Aspiration and Struggle with Opportunity, Conflict, and Transformation Rita Kiki Edozie

Introduction What does it mean to characterize Nigeria’s postcolonial democratization experience in terms of “non-​Western democracy”? Can such a model of democracy help accelerate the country’s much-​needed political transformation in a contemporary era of confused globalization? A movement for non-​Western democracy is emerging from a world frustrated with the inability of liberal democracy and neoliberal globalization to achieve conflict resolution, economic justice, and cultural consensus especially for developing world contexts. Richard Youngs’s (2015) exploration of non-​Western, nonliberal alternative democratic institutions and values in the developing world includes Nigeria among the cases where non-​Western models can have positive outcomes. He places such democratic experiments among Africa’s decentralized social movements, which have developed consensual democracy mechanisms and models, such as Nigeria’s rotational presidency, as examples of this new democracy movement in a globe that is otherwise characterized by democratic ambiguity, stalemate, and to some extent, decline. Current events in Nigeria speak to such democratic ambiguity. The country celebrated its first-​ever electoral turnover in 2015, when three-​time candidate and long-​ standing opposition leader, Muhammad Buhari and his All Peoples Congress (APC) party won the presidency, the National Assembly, and most states by large majorities. However, by 2017 Nigeria faced familiar sociopolitical and sociocultural challenges thrown up by a myriad of sociocultural and political economic factors. Thus despite a continuous run with electoral, liberal democracy since 1999, the country continues to

426   Rita Kiki Edozie struggle with the “National Question,” referring to the challenge of balancing national unity, cohesion, and national identity in postcolonial contexts of subnational, ethnic, and regional diversity. This is evidenced by agitation in Niger Delta, Boko Haram with roots in a movement for sharia in the north, and more recently, the resuscitation of the country’s secessionist movement for an independent Biafra in the southeast. Chapters by Adunbi, Mohammed, Comolli, and Nwakanma in this volume deal with each of these respective issues in detail. To answer the “National Question,” Nigerians have launched a debate and national movement for restructuring. This implies a loose agreement on unity in diversity, but that the country needs to strengthen its democratic and constitutional structures to increase equality among groups and that leverages the country’s geostrategic position both globally and regionally. This chapter examines the dimensions of the country’s “non-​Western democracy” and the unique postcolonial conditions and sociocultural contexts that have shaped its development. I  contend that the country’s distinctive democratization trajectory lies in understanding ethnic politics as both a sociological and political core structure of the country’s postcolonial democratic experiences. The chapter chroni­cles Nigeria’s evolving and transformational intersection of culture, democracy, and ethnic community in ways that inform a contemporary understanding of the ongoing pressures of ethnic social movements, consociational mechanisms of liberal democracy, cultural consensus models, and the distinctiveness, challenges, and opportunities of the transformations underlying Nigerian democracy. I argue that the current status of Nigeria’s democracy needs to be understood from the perspective of several complex dimensions. It is developmental, experimental, dynamic and thus, both aspirational and transformational, as well as distinctively non-​Western—​ not liberal but not illiberal either. In describing the status of Nigerian democracy this way, it will be revealing to examine democracy through the country’s social structure—​ specifically through the dynamic relations of Nigeria’s deep-​ seated sociocultural movements and ethnic (and religious) and regional identities and tensions. Richard Youngs’s definitional conceptualization of a “non-​ Western democracy” supports the aforementioned themes. He defines this movement as one that acknowledges variation in democratic models that should incorporate local elements of culture, authenticity, economic justice, and community identities. In Africa, organic forms of local democratic representation and accountability were overridden by colonialism and need to be reconsidered. Today, one might observe how local democratic forms function well, even where African democratic regimes may fail by the standard Western measurement of liberal democracy. Examples of local democracy are communalism where communal governance in the form of village councils and assemblies appear to thrive. Wiredu suggests that in multiethnic countries such as Nigeria, an inclination toward consensual models of governance, are needed to temper sectarian partisan politics (Wiredu 1995). In the sections that follow, the chapter will examine Nigeria’s democratic history as an evolving aspiration. The chapter will then examine the dialectical structures of opportunity and conflict that constitute Nigeria’s democracy as both an ethnic federalist

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    427 democracy that is also challenged by the politics of recognition and fragmentation. I consider the country’s recent debates over restructuring, representative of a clamor to save the country’s multinational democracy in unity and diversity. The chapter concludes with some insights on the prospects of sustaining Nigerian democracy.

Structures of Opportunity: The Ethnic Federalist Democracy In the 1990s, even before the transition to Nigeria’s Fourth Republic in 1999, ethno-​linguistic identity was recognized as the main legal basis for governmental institutions and the national question remained a main theme of Nigerian democratization. Nigerians continued to debate three important questions: (1) how would the constituent units of the federation be demarcated and how many of them would there be? (2) What would be the relationship between the government of the federation and the governments of its constituent parts? (3) What would be the relationship between Nigerian citizens and the national government (Sklar 2004)? Drawing from these questions, the National Question continued to be framed around the aspiration of the nation’s ability to achieve national unity out of its deep and divergent cultural diversity. Nigeria is one of the most culturally diverse countries in the world. It consists of a huge population that has fostered the development of a democracy that relies on the distinctive features of consensual politics, consociational democracy, and ethnic federalism. Nigeria is home to over 389 ethnic groups, and the variety of customs, languages, and traditions among these groups gives the country the dynamism and depth of its cultural diversity. Three major ethnic groups—​the Hausa–​Fulani, Yoruba, and the Igbo—​represent 53 percent of Nigeria’s population. The most numerous ethnic groups in the northern two-​thirds of the country are the Hausa and the Fulbe/​Fulani, the overwhelming majority of whom are Muslim. Other major ethnic groups of the north are the Nupe, Tiv, and Kanuri. The Yorubas are the overwhelming majority in the southwest, as well as parts of the northcentral region. Good numbers of Yorubas are Muslims and about 60  percent are Christians. The predominantly Christian Igbo are found in the central parts of the southeast. Roman Catholicism is the largest Christian denomination in Igboland while Anglicanism, Pentecostalism, and other evangelical denominations are strong. The Igbo, Efik, Ibibio, Annang, and Ijaw constitute other southeastern populations. The Urhobo–​Isoko, Edo, and Itsekiri constitute Nigeria’s midwest with the Urhobo standing out as the majority. Nigeria’s relative stability derives from the way that the country’s diversity has been encapsulated into a unique federal structure that has been progressively reconfigured since the 1967–​70 civil war from an unstable union of three unwieldy ethnic regions into a more integrated, thirty-​six state, multiethnic federation. The evolving federal

428   Rita Kiki Edozie system has helped to cross-​cut major ethnic identities from forging contiguous, autonomous ethnic political blocks, to foster interregional integration, to promote intergroup equilibrium, and to generally cauterize potentially destabilizing centrifugal challenges to Nigeria’s continuity and survival as a single national political community (Suberu 2009). To accommodate the challenges of ethnic diversity, Nigeria’s federal structures have transformed and evolved through systemic and territorial state creation, electoral reforms including the concept of “plurality plus,” and the establishment of consensual mechanisms in the country’s politics of identity and ethnicity including federalism and federal character principle, zoning and rotational presidency, and Big Tent parties. The evolution of federalism and the ongoing clamor for state creation has been an important factor in the experimental development of democracy in the country. As a result, the country’s territorial boundaries have been severally transformed. The agitation for states in Nigeria predates the 1914 amalgamation whose act to forge unity culminated in the demands for separate regions by the country’s minority ethnic groups through to pre-​independence culminating in the Henry Willink Minorities Commission of 1957. The commission was constituted with the objective of examining the fears expressed by Nigeria’s ethnic minorities and allaying such fears through constitutional measures such as a minority bill of rights. Needless to say, however, ten years later, a series of state-​creation exercises brought about a federation of twelve states in 1967; nineteen states in 1976; twenty-​one states in 1987; thirty states in 1991; and thirty-​six states in 1996. Nigeria currently has a thirty-​six-​state federal structure, but the demands for the creation of additional states have continued because of the sustained competition among the federating major ethnic groups in Nigeria for political resources, such as power, influence, authority, leadership positions, representativeness, economic goods and services, decision-​making autonomy, security, cultural autonomy, and categorical or relative group equality (Anise 1979). This is what Rotimi Suberu has referred to as “distributive pressures [that] lie at the root of the clamor for new subnational units in Nigeria” (Suberu 1998). Suberu argues that this system explicitly legitimates and accommodates sectional-​territorial constituencies, and thus “provides the structural and institutional framework for the organization and mediation of the ethnic competition for public resources in Nigeria” (Suberu 1998). However, in addition to its political-​economic dimension, Nigerian federalism has introduced a dimension that is also equivalent to the politics of recognition or identity politics referred to in the country as the “Federal Character Principle.” Enshrined in the Constitution since 1979, it seeks to ensure that appointments to public service institutions fairly reflect the linguistic, ethnic, religious, and geographic diversity of the country. Specifically: The composition of the Government of the Federation or any of its agencies and the conduct of its affairs shall be carried out in such a manner as to reflect the federal character of Nigeria and the need to promote national unity, and also to command national loyalty, thereby ensuring that there shall be no predominance of persons

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    429 from a few States or from a few ethnic or other sectional groups in that Government or any of its agencies. (Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria: Section 14, Subsection 3)

Another distinctive mechanism developed as a result of Nigeria’s evolving, “non-​ Western democracy” has been the country’s experimentation with Alternative Voting (AV) systems such as the “Plurality Plus” voter mechanism. Nigerians designed AV during the country’s constitutional conventions in preparing Nigeria for its Second Republic. The Plurality Plus distribution method requires a federal arrangement that fragments groups in ethnic states or provinces. Politicians must win at least 25 percent in two-​thirds of the states. Plurality Plus provides incentives to foster interethnic cooperation and national cohesiveness in Nigeria. The mechanism seeks to protect minority rights and combat the kind of ethnic voting that destabilized and ultimately led to the collapse of the country’s First Republic. With its formula for winning votes beyond a candidate’s ethnic region, Plurality Plus acted as a compromise solution to renegade “ethnic tyranny of majoritarianism” in a first-past-the-post (FPTP), winner takes all, electoral system. That corrosive system had been a distinguishing factor when a single party, rooted in the north, was able to exercise ethno-​hegemonic dominance, as detailed in the chapter by Fashagba in this volume. Instead, Plurality Plus produced the People’s Democratic Party’s (PDP) multiethnic coalition genre of “dominance” which was at least culturally a more ethnically inclusive manifestation of national democratic control and stability since 1999. The development of Big Tent parties such as the Second Republic’s NPN (National Party of Nigeria) and the PDP until 2015 have also become features of Nigeria’s non-​ Western democracy that have fostered opportunity for the nation’s multiethnic politics. Nigeria’s Big Tent parties strive to be national parties that have developed a technique for positively engaging the country’s National Question. Nigeria’s Big Tent parties are multiethnic coalitional representations of the nation’s diverse ethnic elite whose political strategies have been to build multiethnic alliances on the basis of informal bargains and accommodations for the country’s ethnic representation and inclusion. The parties strategically use Plurality Plus and presidential zoning as ethnic balancing formulas to produce incentives for national reach and multinational representation (Kendhammer 2010, pp. 48–​7 1). The PDP, for example, in 1999 represented a new national elite coalition emerging from two sectional parties—​the emirate-​based All Peoples’ Party (APP) and the southwestern Alliance for Democracy (AD). The PDP’s electoral slogan was “power shift” which called for the next president to be chosen from the southern part of the country in order to dispel a widespread belief that leaders of the northern emirate were unwilling to relinquish their control of federal executive power. The party presented southwestern Yoruba Christian Olusegun Obasanjo, a former general and military leader of Nigeria, as the national consensus candidate who would please all three ethnic regions given his centrist, nationalist, and pan-​Africanist worldview. In addition to winning 63 percent of the total vote, Obasanjo easily exceeded the breadth requirement of 25 percent of the

430   Rita Kiki Edozie vote in at least two-​thirds of the states and the federal capital territory by winning thirty-​ two of thirty-​six states. Big Tent strategic multiethnic balancing crystallized its success at winning national elections when in 2015, Nigerians convened an opposition party—​All People’s Congress (APC)—​lead by Muhammadu Buhari to defeat the by then increasingly de jure one-​ party dominance of the PDP. The APC merger had been convened on the basis of a multiethnic coalition of smaller parties that involved the Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN) led by Nigeria’s former anticorruption chief Nuhu Ribadu, the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC) headed by Muhammadu Buhari, the All Nigeria People’s Party (ANPP), and the All Progressive Grand Alliance (APGA). This time the Big Tent party’s multiethnic national strategy would be to return executive power to the north, but to premise the coalition on strong support from the core north and the southwest. Big Tent parties have developed informal mechanisms to achieve multiethnic representation and inclusion. Zoning and the rotational presidency among the country’s six geopolitical zones represent opportunistic ways that the country’s democracy attempts to achieve these goals (Akinola 1996). In its original iteration, the rotational presidency concept calls for the presidency to alternate between the north and south, and within each of those among informal geoethnic zones in alphabetical order preferably for a six-​year single term or alternatively for an eight-​year double term. As well, the rule recommends that the vice president must come from a zone that is different from the president. The 1999 Constitution provides for one four-​year term, renewable through re-​election only once. The APC benefited from an opportunistic combination, including the idea that the election of Buhari would shift power back to the north and thus honor the informal practices of rotation. The choice of a charismatic Christian from the southwest as vice president, Yemi Osibanjo, also fulfilled expectations of ethnic balancing. The 2015 presidential election became the first time that Buhari—​a three-​time presidential candidate—​won in states outside northern Nigeria, winning all of the southwestern states except Ekiti.

Structures of Conflict: The Politics of Recognition and Resource Competition Nigeria’s “non-​Western democracy” may have evolved a distinctive style of democracy for the country that has fostered a level of nationalism (evidenced in the country’s Nollywood and Naija Diasporic inclination), which has to date tenuously held the country’s diverse constituencies together. Like India, Nigeria’s non-​Western democratic features of federalism, consociationalism, and crossethnic consensus-​building to accommodate deep and diverse ethnic interests are important dimensions that have facilitated the country’s stability, even if tenuous. At the same time, however, democracy

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    431 and democratization have also led to sustained conflict, violence, and division for the country that tends to detract from the country’s model as an alternative to Western democracy. Within months of the historic transition in 1999, the Obasanjo regime was confronted by the emergence of an array of ethnic militant groups speaking the language of self-​ determination, local autonomy, and “resource control” (meaning a greater share of federally allocated oil revenues). To this end, the ethnic diversity that underlies the country’s progressive democratic liberalism has simultaneously fueled local-​ level antagonisms, strained national unity, and fostered democratic decline and collapse in many of the country’s regions. In the north, the election of Obasanjo was immediately followed by the emergence of northern ethnic democratic nationalism:  the sharia movement, which some say ushered in the seeds of violent Boko Haram’s terrorism. To this end, the country’s democratic aspirations and institutions triggered popular movements that pursued sharia (Islamic law) and other Islamic legal reforms to expand the role of religion in public and political life. The sharia controversy provided a key case for understanding the politics of ethno-​religious recognition for the country’s new democracy (Kendhammer 2013). In a four-​year period following Nigeria’s 1999 transition, the democratically elected governments of twelve Muslim-​majority states in northern Nigeria incorporated sharia into their state’s criminal law and launched extensive Islamic social and economic reforms. Many Nigerian Christians interpreted sharia implementation as a political and cultural provocation of Nigeria’s evolving crossethnic nationalism. Shariaization was seen as Islamization of a secular country and it set off a chain reaction of political conflict and crisis for a sustained period of sectarian violence in spite of democratic transition (Kendhammer 2013). The sharia movement also emerged as a result of contradictions in Nigeria’s model of ethnic federalism triggering a religious north (predominantly Muslim) versus south (predominantly Christian) deepening regional division. Especially within multireligious Nigerian states such as Kaduna State, a crisis of secular citizenship between those  characterized as “Muslim indigenes” and Christian national citizens emerged as the implementation of sharia laws within these states signaled the country’s movement away from the separation of religion from state. The adoption of sharia by twelve northern states appeared to violate the new Nigerian democratic constitution, particularly Section 10 which affirmed the secularity of the Nigerian state in a clause that read, “The Government of the Federation or of a State shall not adopt any religion as State religion.” The Constitution also proscribed any state religion causing critics of sharia law to decry the unconstitutionality of sharia law establishment in Nigeria’s northern states. Nevertheless, some northern conservative state politicians argued that, sharia, as a law made by God, should override the Constitution, which is man-​made (Agbiboa 2013) The adoption of stringent sharia codes in Nigeria reflected the contradictions of democracy and democratic struggle as they were established in a return to a liberal democratic regime. Nevertheless, their adoption in some northern states

432   Rita Kiki Edozie represented a victory after nearly four decades of Muslim pressures for expanded accommodation of sharia within the judicature and general constitutional architecture of the Nigerian federation. Sharia represented a democratic movement as northern Nigerian grassroots movements believed that sharia would be a panacea for the country’s problems, particularly where they could address the country’s growing problems with corruption and lawlessness (Agbiboa 2013). Sharia implementation also unraveled the negative consequences of consociational ethnic democracy as it was considered some elements of the north’s grassroots reactionary response to the election of Olusegun Obasanjo, a Christian southerner, whose election and reinforced the perception that the “Muslim” north was conceding power to the “Christian” south (Agbiboa 2013). Sharia laws also introduced violence into northern Nigeria given the rise of the hisba (vigilante groups) who operated primarily in the cities against individuals or groups who were deemed to violate sharia law. To this end, the sharia movement laid the groundwork for the establishment of Jama’at ahl al-​sunna li-​da’wa wa-​l-​jihad otherwise known as Boko Haram. The Islamist militant group that has killed thousands of Nigerians since 2009 has stated that its jihadist goal is to wrest control from the Nigerian government and create an Islamic State of Nigeria (Agbiboa 2013). The group is opposed to what it perceives as a Western-​based incursion that erodes traditional values, beliefs, and customs among Muslim communities. Not only could Boko Haram be seen as the underbelly of democracy in its creation of a space for violent, militant, ethnic nationalism; the militant jihadist organization’s dominance by 2012 also illustrates the continuing challenges to Nigeria’s ethno-​religious and regional diversity. For example, one leader of Boko Haram, Abubakar Shekau, demonstrated the anti-​Western democratic ideals of the group when he noted that “The Quran teaches that we must shun democracy, we must shun the constitution, [and] we must shun Western education” (Agbiboa 2013). What’s more, if one sees the sharia movement as a legitimate northern, ethno-​cultural constitutional movement to achieve fuller recognition and representation for northern Muslim Nigerians in Nigeria’s democracy,  the movement’s metamorphosis to Boko Haram illustrates how democratic opportunity for self-​determination has evolved into a violent international terrorist group ravaging death and destruction on the lives of Nigerians. In this regard, Boko Haram represents the violent escalation along ethno-​ religious lines as the group pushes for the full implementation of sharia not only in the north but in the whole country (Agbiboa 2013). In terms of managing the confluence of democracy and federalism, we see how it is that the 1999 Constitution did not resolve the paradox of the institutional forces of democracy and federalism in extending sharia to the penal codes (Bolaji 2013). In the south, by the 1990s, Nigeria had an infamous reputation for having a political economy dominated by a predatory, rentier state bedeviled by ethnic resource competition. The previously tripartite regional ethnic political structure had given way to an emergent fourth ethno-​regional political bloc—​the South-​South—​that some in the region would call the Niger Delta Nation. Liberal democracy within this

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    433 new context of oil resource wars in the Niger Delta oil-​producing states contributed to the emergence of gangs and violent youth movements who committed crimes of kidnapping, hostage-​taking, abduction, and extrajudicial killings. Unfortunately, while South-​South, Niger Delta nationalism emerged as an outgrowth of the country’s multiethnic democratization, the flip side of this opportunity was that the region also became a breeding ground for militant and “impoverished ethnic groups” involved in numerous terrorist acts. What explained this democratic opportunity turned into conflict? The Niger Delta crisis continued as a dominant challenge for Nigeria’s evolving multiethnic democracy. The recommendations of the Willink Commission of 1957 whereby Nigeria’s minority ethnic groups expressed fear of future domination and exploitation by the majority ethnic groups in an independent Nigeria had not been assuaged by the Fourth Republic. While successive Nigerian constitutions guaranteed the rights of minority ethnicities, in the Niger Delta, the bedrock of Nigeria’s economic wealth, fears continued around the argument that the proceeds earned from oil production and natural resources generated from the region were not being channeled to the development of the region. Niger Delta militants justified their violence around the arguments that not only are the peoples of the Niger Delta faced with economic marginalization by the dominant ethnic groups, but that before the election of former President Goodluck Jonathan who was a native of the region, the South-​South had not had the opportunity of ruling Nigeria at the federal level, an opportunity that all other regions had enjoyed. Also in the south, not too long after the assumption of the Obasanjo transition to democracy, in the southeast an Igbo insurgency erupted claiming that the Nigerian state and its functionaries had systematically oppressed the Igbo since the end of the civil war. This movement sought to secure Igbo self-​determination by resuscitating the Republic of Biafra, whose bid to secede from the federation had already been crushed by Nigerian troops in 1970. The re-​establishment of Biafra secessionist nationalism was launched soon after the Fourth Republic had been established—​ as early as November 1, 1999 when the “Biafra bill of rights” was submitted to the United Nations. The bill of rights resolution sought the actualization of the sovereign State of Biafra on the grounds that before the advent of British colonialism, Igboland was a distinct race east of the Niger. The resolution also stipulated that the Igbo were regarded as enemies and treated as slaves among other nationalities in Nigeria. The resolution put in motion the movement for the self-​determination of Biafra. The Biafra bill of rights occurred as the culmination of several meetings of Igbo young men drawn largely from the Lagos commercial class shortly after Olusegun Obasanjo took office as president in May 1999 on the platform of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). The authors of the resolution had previously been connected to an Igbo faction within the PDP and had defined the loss of their candidate, the Second Republic Igbo vice president, Dr. Ekweume, to General Obasanjo in the Fourth Republic, in ethnic terms as a sign of Igbo marginalization. In September of that year, these meetings gave

434   Rita Kiki Edozie birth to the Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB), an ethnic militia advocating secession, with Ralph Uwazurike, also the author of the Biafra Bill of Rights, as MASSOB’s leader. The Biafra movement grew transnationally and globally. On September 29, 2001, MASSOB, working with the Biafra Foundation, a coalition of Igbos resident in the U.S., performed the dedication of a building in Washington, DC, which they named “Biafra House” and launched Biafra Radio, a shortwave broadcasting station modeled on civil war Radio Biafra. MASSOB’s message that Nigeria was a failed project and that “all true Igbo” should rally behind the new Biafra flag struck a chord with the swelling tribe of unemployed urban youth in Igbo cities. By September 2003, MASSOB, despite a continuing brutal security crackdown and the killing of many of its members by anti-​riot police and soldiers, was sufficiently strong to convene an international conference on Biafra in Maryland, U.S.A., and threatened in the conference communiqué´ “to explore the possibilities of forming a government in exile.” Ralph Uwazurike was imprisoned in 2005, precisely when the Obasanjo regime convened a national conference to address the grievances of the various ethnic groups. Confronted with the task of discharging the burden of civil war memory, the young men of MASSOB sought to mobilize history, ethnicity, and a parlous economic present to press their claims on Nigeria’s evolving tenuous “non-​Western democracy” now rocked by ethnic conflict. The 2015 election of a northern Muslim, Muhammadu Buhari as president, along with his running mate from the Yoruba southwest provoked new sparks of Igbo marginalization. This time, an Igbo charismatic leader, Nnamdi Kanu, reignited the call for a Biafra renaissance when he formed the Indigenous People of Biafra movement (IPOB). Kanu justified his new Biafra movement on the grounds that Christians from the south no longer had the opportunity to exercise freedom of religion in the mostly Muslim north. He also blamed the Hausa–​Fulani northern dominance on Nigeria’s economic decline stating, “Those that run Nigeria, mostly the Hausa and Fulani from the north, do not know how to marry the forces of production to give us the type of economic society that can accommodate the wishes and aspirations of everyone” (Nnamdi Kanu quoted by Katrin Gansler 2017). On September 5, 2015, Nnamdi Kanu was a guest speaker at the World Igbo Congress held in Los Angeles, California. Kanu told his audience that “we need guns and we need bullets.” In an interview in June 2017, Kanu explained his call for violence dismissing the statement as a demand for bullets and guns from a group of U.S.-​based Nigerians for self-​defense against the incessant attacks on Igbos by Fulani herdsmen (Jannah 2017). Following Kanu’s flirtation with antistate violence, the Nigerian government accused him of state conspiracy and labeled IPOB a terrorist and criminal organization. He was arrested on treason charges in Lagos on October 14, 2015 and was detained in a Nigerian jail without trial for more than a year-​and-​a-​half, despite various court orders that ruled for his release. Upon releasing Kanu to await trial, the Nigerian government sent security forces to the region in a move generally seen as an attempt to clamp down on the tensions in the region.

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    435

Restructuring Nigeria’s Non-​Western Democracy Given the stalemated state of affairs of Nigerian democracy where the country’s ethnic histories foster both structures of opportunity and conflict, we return to our opening question, can Nigeria’s “non-​Western democracy” indeed be advanced to provide a path and trajectory for the country’s stability, peace, economic prowess, and democratic deepening in an era of global uncertainty? Contemporary clamor for restructuring may serve as an initial answer to this question. Restructuring has been a recurrent theme of Nigeria’s evolving postcolonial democratization. In order to engage democratic struggles that have emerged from the country’s civil societies and ethnic communities, democratic regimes have convened quite a number of national conferences to identify, debate, deliberate, and draw policy decisions on the country’s political-​economic challenges. Namely, there were the 1994–​5 Constitutional Conference (CC) convoked by late head of state, Sani Abacha, and the National Political Reform Conference (NPRC), convoked by former president, Olusegun Obasanjo. As well, former president, Goodluck Jonathan convoked a National Conference on March 17, 2014, and it convened about 492 delegates that represented a cross-section of Nigerians including the professional bodies. The regime’s National Conference was headed by retired judge, Idris Kutigi who witnessed plenary sessions that lasted weeks as the panels of discussants were broken into twenty committees that included public finance and revenue-​sharing, devolution of powers, political restructuring, and other critical issues of national value. The general recommendations for restructuring drawn from the National Conference have been for the creation of new states, resource control/​derivation, public finance/​revenue allocation, advocacy for the creation of a home-​made model of government that effectively combined the presidential and parliamentary systems of government, and for the formalization of power-​sharing and rotation, among other recommendations. To see Nigerians grapple with their evolving “non-​Western democracy” through these national conference dialogues reinforced their importance to the country’s attempts to engage and reconcile its democratic contradictions of conflict and opportunity. President Goodluck Jonathan’s justification for convening his conference is telling as follows: Dear Compatriots, my administration is convening this National Conference today because we believe that we must assume responsibility for ensuring that the long-​ running national debate on the best way forward for our country is not in vain. It is our expectation that participants in this conference will patriotically articulate and synthesis our peoples’ thoughts, views and recommendations for a stronger, more united, peaceful and politically stable Nigeria, forge the broadest possible national consensus in support of those recommendations, and strive to ensure that they are

436   Rita Kiki Edozie given the legal and constitutional backing to shape the present and the future of our beloved fatherland. In inaugurating this national conference today, we are not unmindful of the argument of those who say that we do not need such a conference since we already have an elected Parliament and an elected government in place. As cogent as that argument may sound, I have chosen to act on the sincere conviction that in the truly democratic nation we are striving to build, we must never ignore the loudly expressed views of the majority of ordinary Nigerians. (President Goodluck Jonathan quoted in Korede Ogunbunmi (2014), National Conference opens in Abuja, Radio Nigeria Lagos Operations, May 2014)

While many civil societal groups justify restructuring on economic grounds pointing to lack of economic opportunity as the root of Nigeria’s challenges, it is important to understand restructuring’s more persuasive rationale in democratically deliberating and recommending policy solutions to the unresolved contradictions with an evolving multiethnic democracy. When Nigerians claim, for example, that the primary reason for revived secessionist movements and clamor for restructuring has more to do with political marginalization, they are advocating that Nigerian democratic regimes find equitable and fair political solutions by instituting constitutional reforms which will make every section of the country feel that they have a stake in the Nigerian federation at all times. Many civil societal groups—​Save Nigeria and the Federalist Movement of Nigeria (FMN) are two cases in point—​have emerged to advocate for this rationale for contemporary restructuring. The FMN is a body of concerned Nigerians in pursuit of a Nigerian state that satisfies the aspirations and expectations of its people. The group believes that Nigeria needs to recognize its ethnic and cultural diversity by deepening its federal practice such that greater resource and enterprise control can be retained by the constituent ethnic and community units and not by the central government. For this group, restructuring would stimulate national development and reduce ethnic tension as well as enlighten Nigerians on the adoption of a bottom-​up true federal system. The Nigerian Federalists are among a cohort of Nigerians who are calling for restructuring as a means to progressively deepen Nigerian federalism. The group’s philosophy stems from the argument that Nigerian federalism is jurisdictional in name only while the democracy is in reality unitary in practice. As such, restructuring would entail reforming the Nigerian Constitution to enact the full devolution of powers to the extent that more responsibilities be given to the states while the federal government is vested with the responsibility to oversee foreign policy, defense, and national and global economy (Babangida 2017). There is a fiscal and economic dimension to this argument whereby many feel that the thirty-​six gubernatorial states of Nigeria are not viable without federal support. As such, there are calls to find creative ways to make Nigerian states fiscally viable in a changed federal system. To achieve this, there have been calls to change the distribution of budget allocations and revenues to states referred to as “Derivation Formula Policy” or defined as Nigeria’s political economy of federalism. In 1946 the derivation formula

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    437 for the three ethnic regions was 100 percent, while in 1951 the British recommended 50 percent derivation. The 50 percent derivation continued from 1960 at independence up to 1970 when former military Nigerian leader, General Yakubu Gowon reduced the derivation formula to 45 percent, and by 1975 it had been reduced to 25 percent. In the first coming of General Muhammadu Buhari, derivation policy had crashed to 1.5 percent, but General Babangida raised it to 3 percent and thereafter it moved to its current rate at 13 percent. Restructuring advocates have also recommended reforms in federalism by way of a new regionalism. These advocates want a federation with independent, self-​sustaining federating units, which they feel will help foster more effective economic development in the country’s local regions. In this context Nigeria’s new regionalists are also calling for a strengthening of Nigeria’s existing geopolitical zones. It is recommended that six to eight regions would enable ethnic groups to exercise the functions presently being exercised by the federal government in the various states and coordinate such functions to utilize economies of scale. Each region should be at liberty to create more states in their region as their constitution stipulates. In such a restructured model, minority rights would be entrenched in the federal constitution to both protect minorities while also helping them to create their own states. A regional assembly would replace the current bicameral National Assembly. The new regionalists insist that “rotation” and “zoning” must be fully established in the Nigerian Constitution. Rotation of the presidency, vice presidency, Senate president, speaker of the House of Representatives, secretary of the federal government, and president’s chief of staff among the six geopolitical zones is recommended to ensure fair and equitable distribution of power among all political zones. Doing so will give the country’s geopolitical zones a sense of belonging and a stake in an administration’s tenure. Each zone should produce a presidential candidate for two terms of four years each. Instead of the current system that allows a president to serve two consecutive terms, each zone would produce the president for two consecutive terms. All political parties will be mandated to choose their presidential candidate from a designated zone for two terms (Egbosiuba 2011). The new regionalists recommend that such a model would restructure the country from its existing liberal American presidential model to a truly Nigerian derivative consensus-​oriented, consociational “non-​Western democracy.” Restructuring is not universally acclaimed in Nigeria. Critics on the left reject statist convened national conferences and instead call for a sovereign national conference of non-​statist actors to dialog and resolve Nigeria’s challenges. For the sovereign national conference advocates, this is a more democratic option for restructuring. Critics of the right, including the current president, Muhammadu Buhari, reject the restructuring movement while assigning the role to discuss Nigerian challenges to the existing democratic institutions of the National Assembly and the National Council of State, stating that they are the “legitimate and appropriate bodies for national discourse.” While acknowledging Nigeria’s challenges, the president also presumes existing Nigerian unity, which he sees as nonnegotiable.

438   Rita Kiki Edozie

Conclusion Nigeria’s two public holidays—​October 1, Independence Day, and May 29, Democracy Day—​perhaps represent both the dynamics and dialectics of Nigeria’s “non-​Western democracy” as being caught between structures of opportunity and structures of conflict discussed and examined in the current chapter. Independence Day represents Nigeria’s postcolonial transition to a liberal democratic institutional framework imposed on an array of precolonial nations and nationalities forging a new nation in 1960. Nigerians invented a different marker for celebrating their postcolonial transition in establishing Democracy Day, to celebrate the transition that took place thirty-​nine years later—​a public holiday that commemorates the restoration of democracy after over sixteen years of military rule. Independence Day and Democracy Day signify both the challenges and opportunities for the postcolonial Nigerian nation. On the one hand, President Buhari’s remarks on the Independence Day celebrations in 2017 reminded the nation: October 1 remains a special date for all Nigerians as this marks the day when we attained one of the most precious of human desires—​freedom . . . It is also a day for remembrance. We should remind ourselves of the recent journey from 1999 . . . when our country happily returned to democratic rule. (Buhari, Independence Day Speech, October 2017)

On the other hand, representing advancements made in democratization, earlier in the year marking seventeen years of uninterrupted democracy in Nigeria, the vice president delivered the presidential speech to the nation on Democracy Day. The vice president stated: “The old Nigeria is slowly but surely disappearing, and a new era is rising.” Revealing the intricate ways that democracy and independence intersect for the postcolonial democracy, Osibanjo warned Nigerians against actions capable of undermining the sovereignty of Nigeria, saying that the country “belongs to all of us”: No one person or group of persons is more important or more entitled than the other in this space that we all call home. And we have a responsibility to live in peace and harmony with one another, to seek peaceful and constitutional means of expressing our wishes and desires, and to resist all who might seek to sow confusion and hatred for their own selfish interests. (Osibanjo, Democracy Day Speech, May 29, 2017)

Again illustrating the complex nature of Nigeria’s democratic evolution, in his October 1 speech, President Buhari noted that Nigerians now had complete freedom to associate, as well as to hold and disseminate opinions attesting to the country’s growing political development. The president went on to suggest, however, that like all freedoms [freedom] is open to abuse as recent calls for restructuring, while acceptable in a legitimate debate, had let in certain ethnic groups to call for dismemberment of the country:

Nigeria’s Non-Western Democracy    439 As a young army officer, I took part from the beginning to the end in our tragic civil war costing about two million lives, resulting in fearful destruction and untold suffering. Those who are agitating for a rerun were not born by 1967 and have no idea of the horrendous consequences of the civil conflict that we went through. (Buhari 2017)

Both the president and vice president who shepherd Nigeria’s “non-​Western democracy” (2015 to present) to reconcile its ethnic divisions and its ethnic diversity echo what has been the main point of the current chapter—​that Nigeria’s “non-​Western democracy” is riddled with problems while also being blessed with opportunities. We conclude then in support of Richard Youngs’s claim that non-​Western structures and traditions can help to foster a more sustainable democracy for countries like Nigeria whereby local-​level deliberative forums and ethnic decision-​making networks of dispute resolution mechanisms are commonplace. Paradoxically, perhaps it is Nigeria’s “non-​ Western democracy” that will eventually lead to its progressive, positive democratic and political-​economic transformation.

References Agbiboa, D. E. (2014). “No Retreat, No Surrender: Understanding the Religious Terrorism of Boko Haram in Nigeria,” African Study Monograph 34 (2): 65–​84. Akali, Abdul-​ Majeed (2007). “Federalism and the Creation of Sub-​ national States in Nigeria:  Appraising the State-​Creation Exercise under Babangida Administration,” IOSR Journal of Humanities and Social Science (IOSR–​JHSS) 22 (1): Ver. 5 (January). Akinola, Anthony (1996). “The Concept of a Rotational Presidency in Nigeria,” The Round Table, Commonwealth Journal of International Affairs 85 (337): 13–​24. Anise, Ladun (1979). “Confrontation Politics and Crisis Management:  Nigerian University Students and Public Policy: A Social Commentary,” Journal of Opinion 9 (1/​2): 73–​82. Babangida, General Ibrahim (2017). https://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2017/​06/​nigeria-​what-​is-​ restructuring/​2017 Bolaji, Mohammed H. A. (2013). ‘Between Democracy and Federalism: Shari’ah in Northern Nigeria and the Paradox of Institutional Impetuses,’ Africa Today 59 (4): 93–​117. Chijioke, Jannah (2017). “Biafra: Why I Asked for Guns from US-​based Nigerians—​Nnamdi Kanu,” Daily Post, June 27. Egbosiuba, Michael (2011). “Political Solution for Marginalization, Restructure and Secession Movement,” May 14. http://​AllThingsNigeria.com Gansler, Katrin (2017). “Biafra: Dreaming of a New State,” DW, May 30. Kendhammer, Brandon (2013). “The Sharia Controversy in Northern Nigeria and the Politics of Islamic Law in New and Uncertain Democracies,” Comparative Politics 45 (3): 291–​311. Osibanjo, Yemi (2017). “Full text of Ag. President Yemi Osinbajo’s Democracy Day speech on May 29,” Vanguard, May 29. https://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2017/​05/​full-​text-​of-​ag​president-​yemi-​osinbajo-​democracy-​day-​speech/​ Sklar, Richard (2004). “Unity or Regionalism: The Nationalities Question,” in Robert I. Rotberg (ed.), Crafting the New Nigeria: Confronting the Challenges (pp. 39–​59). Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers.

440   Rita Kiki Edozie Suberu, Rotimi (1996). “Nigeria: In Search of Leadership,” African Affairs 95 (379): April. DOI 10.1093/​oxfordjournals.afraf.a007724. Suberu, Rotimi (2009). “Federalism in Africa:  The Nigerian Experience in Comparative Perspective”, Ethnopolitics 8 (1): 67–​87. Wiredu, Kwasi (1995). “Democracy and Consensus in African Traditional Politics: A Plea for a Non-​Party Polity,” Centennial Review 39 (1). Youngs, Richard (2015). The Puzzle of Non-​Western Democracy. Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for National Peace.

Chapter 26

Women’s C ont e mp ora ry St ruggles for Ri g h ts and Represe ntat i on Cheryl O’Brien

Introduction Although the number of women in government has increased since independence, a large gap exists between men’s and women’s representation and rights in Nigeria today. Despite women’s activism in Nigeria, substantial barriers impede women’s representation at all levels of governance (George et al. 2016; Olayode 2016, p. 168). Even current President Buhari has been criticized for his sexist remarks on women’s roles; in 2016, he said, “I don’t know which party my wife belongs to, but she belongs to my kitchen and my living room and the other room” (Bekele 2016; BBC 2016). Further, women’s rights have been strongly opposed by Nigerian political elites who argue against gender equality, despite a federal commitment to this principle. For example, Christian and Muslim senators who opposed the 2016 Gender Parity and Prohibition of Violence against Women Bill argued that gender equality runs counter to the tenets of their religion and/​or sharia law (Oshi 2016; LawPavilion 2016). The following two-​fold argument contributes to the dialogue on government responsiveness and civil society activism toward improving the state of women’s rights in Nigeria today. In this chapter, I  first argue that a “gender policy trifecta” (Rincker 2017)  at the subnational and national levels of governance is necessary to improve women’s representation and deepen Nigeria’s democracy. Second, I argue that more focus on the subnational level by women’s rights activists and allies in comparison to the national level is needed to improve women’s representation in the context of Nigeria’s federalism. In line with this argument, I propose that Nigeria’s women’s movements and feminist allies in civil society and government focus on achieving an effective gender policy trifecta across and within Nigeria’s thirty-​seven subnational units (the thirty-​six states and

442   Cheryl O’Brien the Federal Capital Territory, FCT). This decentralized approach of targeting Nigeria’s subnational level should improve women’s descriptive and substantive representation at the national level as well as strengthen Nigeria’s national and local women’s movements and improve subnational policy responsiveness.

Argument One In her groundbreaking book Empowered by Design, Meg Rincker coins the term “gender policy trifecta” and finds through quantitative and qualitative research that “overall, where gender policy trifectas are created, the highest levels of women’s representation and feminist policy result” (Rincker 2017, p. 29). The gender policy trifecta in decentralization includes these three nodes: (1) “Electoral gender quotas to open subnational legislative offices to women and engender political decentralization”; (2)  “Gender mainstreaming enforced by [meso-​level (i.e. subnational) women’s policy agencies] MWPAs, which constitute a bureaucratic home for gendered analysis of all public policy issues”; and (3) “Gender-​responsive budgeting, which requires that taxing and spending policies incorporate the views of both male and female citizens and those of women’s organization leaders” (Rincker 2017, p. 139). These three nodes engender legislative, administrative, and fiscal decisions at the subnational level. Nigeria lacks these three nodes required for the subnational gender policy trifecta. The first node of the gender policy trifecta, electoral gender quotas at the subnational level would deepen democracy by improving women’s descriptive representation (i.e. the numbers of women elected in government) and potentially women’s substantive representation (i.e. the quality of women’s representation, for example, through women’s rights policy adoption). Electoral gender quotas assist with increasing the number of women elected. Theoretically, one may expect increased descriptive representation to improve substantive representation for women, but there are mixed results depending on the system (Rincker 2017; Bauer and Britton 2006; Jones 2006). As such, the gender policy trifecta is a three-​pronged tool that, if implemented, would effectively improve both women’s descriptive and substantive representation across and within Nigeria’s subnational governments. Regarding the second node of the gender policy trifecta, although Nigeria has subnational or meso-​level women’s policy agencies (MWPAs), gender mainstreaming is not enforced. In Nigeria, MWPAs need to be empowered to analyze and report on the (lack of) gender mainstreaming in all subnational ministries as well as all government agencies and programs working at or impacting the subnational level. Jones’s (2006) study on postauthoritarian South Korea also supports findings on improved women’s representation through both quotas and women’s policy agencies (WPMs). For the third and final node of the gender policy trifecta, gender-​responsive budgeting promotes gender equality as a “logic of appropriateness” or norm (Rincker 2017, p. 147; Chappell 2006). Monitoring funding allocation to hold all government agencies and programs accountable to a norm of gender equality is necessary. Enforcement

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    443 mechanisms would need to be adopted and implemented for all three nodes of the gender policy trifecta. The gender policy trifecta supports Nigeria’s national commitments—​ namely its Constitution and National Gender Policy—​and its alignment with gender equality norms espoused by its supranational membership in the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), the African Union (AU), and the United Nations (UN), as these supranational organizations are committed to gender equality, including calls for quotas to improve women’s representation in government (Obamamoye 2016; Oluyemi 2016). Women’s representation would be improved through an effective gender policy trifecta at the subnational level, with women’s descriptive representation increasing through electoral gender quotas and substantive representation improving through gender-​mainstreaming and gender-​responsive budgeting that includes input from local women’s diverse voices and that strengthens local women’s organizations. Such inclusivity is a kind of “constituency-​based politics” that enhances local women’s representation and avoids pushing gender equality issues into a technical policymaking bureaucracy with “hierarchies and systemic blockages” that hinder local women’s inclusion and impact through “bottom-​up politics” (Hassim 2006, pp.  177–​8). Quotas alone are insufficient to improve women’s representation, as Hassim (2006, pp.  179, 183–​4) stresses “transformatory feminism” and the “collective mobilization of women and the building of electoral constituencies as the undergirding of representational politics” to counter elite-​based politics. As noted later in this chapter, elite-​based politics is problematic for women’s rights in Nigeria. Going beyond quotas alone, Rincker’s (2017) gender policy trifecta, which calls for input from and strengthening of a diverse range of local women’s voices and local women’s organizations, arguably is a promising tool to improve women’s representation and rights across and within Nigeria’s thirty-​seven subnational units. I stress that an improvement in women’s representation is tied to feminist inclusion in all three nodes of a gender policy trifecta, including from within the MWPAs, as feminist activism has been widely documented in the gender and politics literature as an important factor for improving women’s rights and representation. If feminists are excluded from within one of the three nodes of a gender policy trifecta, then local women’s organizations and women’s movements will likely be blocked from influencing the bureaucracy (see Banaszak et al. 2003, p. 6, cited by Hassim 2006, pp. 177–​8). Further, a feminist agenda is important for women’s policy agencies to institutionalize gender equality and collaborate with women’s movements; otherwise, gender machineries amount to insincere symbols of gender equality efforts that espouse mistrust by key civil society actors. For example, the “lack of a feminist agenda” in South Africa’s national gender machinery contributed “to mistrust on the part of women in civil society and women’s organizations” (Gouws 2008, pp. 25–​6; see also Tripp’s [2006, p. 260] caution of “symbolic” “pro-​ women policies”). Activists, civil society organizations, and government officials who promote gender equality are tied to a feminist agenda. In Nigeria, I find that where antifeminists have been appointed to MWPA ministerial positions, women’s organizations have faced obstacles for engaging with their

444   Cheryl O’Brien subnational government. During interviews I conducted in 2008 and 2011 in Nigeria, staff (mostly directors) of several women’s organizations in different states expressed these concerns with MWPAs and MWPAs’ ministers: MWPAs are the least funded government ministries, but MWPAs are expected to work on a wide range of issues so “they are set up for failure”; staff of women’s organizations cannot meet with their MWPA’s minister, as she or he will not meet with them even if they wait at the ministry with an appointment; their MWPA’s minister does not show up to local meetings with women’s organizations; their MWPA’s minister lacks experience working on women’s rights or with women’s organizations, but was appointed as a “political” favor; and their MWPA’s minister is antifeminist. Some Nigerian government officials confirmed these concerns, and a few Nigerian activists also questioned why men have been appointed as ministers of women’s policy agencies (interviews by author 2008, 2011). The appointment of antifeminist ministers—​whether male or female—​in Nigeria is particularly alarming, as antifeminists oppose women’s rights policy changes, and gender equality is both a feminist goal and a part of Nigeria’s national policy. Further, Rincker (2017) finds that feminists are important within the gender policy trifecta, which needs feminist bureaucrats (or “femocrats”) as well as an open collaboration with feminist women’s organizations in civil society. The aforementioned concerns of Nigerian women’s organizations showcase the need for MWPA ministers who are responsive to local women’s organizations. Various studies find that feminist bureaucrats, legislators, activists, and movements are critical for achieving women’s rights and representation worldwide (Htun and Weldon 2012; Jones 2006). Thus, it is uninformed at best and misogynist at worst to appoint an antifeminist (whether a man or a woman) as minister of a women’s policy agency that is tasked with helping to improve the lives of citizens, including women. Antifeminists are the least favorable government bureaucrats and politicians for women’s rights and representation. It is important to stress that the gender policy trifecta’s MWPAs conduct gendered analysis of all policy issues and consider policy implications for both male and female citizens (Rincker 2017). Even if one wrongly assumes that only females benefit from a women’s policy agency, at least the agency should be given its best chance to serve that roughly 50 percent of the citizenry by appointing ministers who support feminist goals or identify as feminist. Despite the pushback that feminism and feminists receive in Nigeria as elsewhere, feminist efforts deepen democracy by challenging hegemonic masculinities and patriarchal institutions that do not improve women’s substantive representation. Even along a spectrum with antifeminist being the far opposite of feminist policy approaches, nonfeminist (as opposed to antifeminist) approaches are insufficient. Nonfeminist approaches do not (consistently) challenge gender hierarchies or shine a light on patriarchal exertion of power and control over women’s bodies. For example, nonfeminists may prefer to discuss family values and family violence, a discourse that degenders violence against women and girls that often differs from violence against males in families—​“violence against women and girls” refers to gendered phenomena that targets female bodies precisely because they are female, not because they happen to be a family member on par with men and boys. As such, “family violence” laws in various

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    445 countries across regions have espoused antifeminist goals, such as mandating family counseling between an abuser and the abused (most often a husband who has abused a wife) (Hunnicutt 2009; Boesten 2006, 2012). A nonfeminist approach includes gender-​ neutrality (e.g. claiming that violence in families is gender-​neutral), while a feminist approach values gender analysis across issues and aims to better address the gendered dynamics involved in different types of violence rather than homogenizing acts of violence, victims, and perpetrators as if gender has no role. Feminist agendas in Nigeria’s MPWAs are important to address local types of violence against women and girls, especially given the diverse customary and religious laws at the subnational level. In sum, women’s substantive representation in Nigeria demands localized feminist agendas in government, particularly in the MWPAs, to achieve a gender policy trifecta and to fulfill government commitments to address gender inequalities. In this section, I  have argued that a “gender policy trifecta” (Rincker 2017)  at the subnational and national levels of governance is necessary to improve women’s representation and deepen Nigeria’s democracy. The inclusion of feminists within each node of a gender policy trifecta is necessary for improved women’s representation. Antifeminists should never be appointed as ministers of MWPAs if a subnational government is following Nigeria’s national policy. However, such appointments have been made in Nigeria, and this disavowal of Nigeria’s national policy and other commitments to address gender inequality brings us to this chapter’s second argument.

Argument Two Given the context of Nigeria’s federalism, I argue that more focus on the subnational level by women’s rights activists and allies in comparison to the national level is needed to improve women’s representation in Nigeria for two reasons: (1) the interpretation of Nigeria’s “federal principle” that “enables ethno-​religious claims to trump gender claims despite the letter and spirit of the Constitution” (Obiora and Toomey 2010, pp.  223, 224); and (2) more favorable political opportunities at the subnational level than the national level. First, through their use of the “federal principle,” Nigeria’s elites have mobilized political support through “ethno-​religious tensions that constitute the main dynamics of Nigerian federal politics” and power struggles “threaten to make subnational governance an unredeemed bastion of male dominance” (Obiora and Toomey 2010, p. 222). Safir and Alam (2015, p. 2) note that Nigeria’s “elite” men as well as a “climate of sociocultural and religious conservatism” impede women’s representation in formal politics. Nigeria’s governments have resisted adopting and implementing international norms on women’s rights, often claiming that the subnational governments should decide women’s rights and, in practice, allowing religion (and fundamentalist interpretations of religion) to serve as a valid excuse to maintain or adopt laws that counter the sex discrimination clause in the Constitution as well as international norms on women’s rights, as evidenced by the resistance of ethno-​religious elites to legislative bills outlawing child

446   Cheryl O’Brien marriage (O’Brien 2015). Obiora and Toomey (2010, p. 223) explain: “The replication of global policy innovations, for example by the introduction of gender equality provisions in Nigeria’s Constitution and other initiatives to promote gender equity, has not been sufficient to reconcile conflicts between gender and religion.” Despite the separation of religion and state in Nigeria’s constitution and the ideals of democracy and representation, twelve northern states adopted sharia law in 1999 and have excluded non-​Muslims in debates over sharia (Obiora and Toomey 2010, p. 223; Kendhammer 2016). The central state did not defend the Constitution in this matter, and Nigeria’s federalism includes a “political Islam” in northern Nigeria (Mahmud 2013). In addition to an extension of sharia law into criminal areas and “in violation of the Constitution,” the interpretation of Nigeria’s “federal principle” led to “religious quotas in federal offices,” and “religion increasingly plays a determining role in who gets power and resources” (Obiora and Toomey 2010, pp. 222–​3; Aka 2014, p. 38; Ibrahim 2016). Further, Nigeria’s “New Shariah” that began in 1999 contradicts international conventions and sometimes “binding international treaties” (Ibrahim 2016, p. 71). In Nigeria, subnational elites have benefited from a weak state and a unique interpretation of federalism to secure their version of patriarchal dominance and resist the Constitution’s gender provisions and international norms on women’s rights and representation. To be clear, fundamentalist interpretations of religions as a tool to mobilize political support and decrease the level of feminist policy achievements in a country is evidenced globally and across various religions (Mazur 2002, p. 189; Kang 2014; O’Brien 2015). Oluyemi (2016) states that patriarchal interpretations of both major religions in Nigeria are “religious and cultural barriers” for women’s rights and representation:  “Both Christianity and Islam do not accord women much role in public life . . .” in Nigeria’s conservative religious–​cultural context. Despite this chapter’s discussion of sharia law, religion or Islam itself does not cause women’s exclusion in politics. The fundamentalist interpretations of religion and the use of religious identities as a political tool by elites, however, have hindered women’s representation and rights in Nigeria as elsewhere. Nigeria’s federalism reflects a weak state where subnational elites (throughout Nigeria) have mobilized political support through ethno-​religious representation that favors patriarchal, antifeminist norms at the expense of gender equality. Nigeria’s federal government has allowed ethno-​religious representation, especially through fundamentalist religious elements, to trump gender equality. Women’s rights are often deferred to the subnational level without federal judicial oversight and review of the Constitution, which demands nondiscrimination on the basis of sex (Obiora and Toomey 2010). Second, I further argue that more focus on the subnational level to improve women’s representation is needed, because there are more favorable political opportunities for adopting women’s rights laws at the subnational level compared to the national level due in part to the interpretation of Nigeria’s federal principle. I contend that the subnational level overall has a more favorable political opportunity structure (POS) in Nigeria, as evidenced by the aforementioned federal judiciary’s failure to stop the expansion of sharia law and the central state’s kowtowing to an ethno-​religious interpretation of the

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    447 “federal principle” in disregard of the Constitution’s sex discrimination clause and national commitments to gender equality—​these reflect a weak central state, especially on women’s rights. Relatedly, the subnational level offers a more favorable POS for achieving women’s rights policy changes as evidenced by the laggard policy responsiveness to women’s rights by the federal legislature since the 1999 democratic transition. In comparison to other transitioning democracies, Nigeria’s national government has been a laggard on improving women’s representation, descriptive and substantive (O’Brien and Wallace 2018; Oluyemi 2016; see also Jones 2006 on women’s representation in postauthoritarian rule, political opportunities, POSs, and the importance of the judiciary and femocrats for standing up for women’s rights). The national government has deferred to the subnational governments or has weakened the women’s movement’s original policy proposals. For example, the national women’s movement worked very hard for more than a decade to achieve a national law on violence against women, and in the end, the national government passed a law that largely degendered the policy outcome with the Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act (VAPP). While the VAPP, which was signed into law on May 25, 2015, is an accomplishment, it is noteworthy that a coalition of women’s rights organizations had been trying to pass a national law against violence against women and girls since 2001 and the movement received much backlash and a lack of support by national legislators (including some women) for more than a decade of trying to pass legislation to ameliorate violence against women and girls (interviews by author 2008 and 2011 in Nigeria). Passing a bill on a seemingly noncontroversial issue such as violence against women and girls was difficult precisely because the women’s movement had made gender—​which shines a light on patriarchal norms and gender inequalities—​central to their efforts. Legislating against violence against women and children challenges patriarchal norms (O’Brien 2015). Notably, the previous violence against women bills—​even when near passage in Nigeria’s national legislature—​did not receive support from all women legislators at the national level due to religious–​political loyalties that trumped any previous support of the bill(s) proposed by women’s rights organizations and feminist allies (interviews by author 2008 and 2011 in Nigeria). In comparison, at the subnational level, women’s rights activists and allies have achieved quicker (and more) legislative successes on violence against women, albeit implementation remains a problem (as it does globally) (O’Brien 2015). While there are ethno-​religious politics trumping women’s rights and gender equality at the subnational level, Nigeria’s subnational legislatures have been more progressive overall than the federal legislature for the adoption of laws against violence against women and girls (O’Brien 2015). In Nigeria, the subnational level has a more favorable POS for transnational feminist networks (TFNs) of domestic and international actors who support domestic women’s movements and women’s rights organizations, and the subnational level is important for translating international norms on women’s rights to local leaders, including religious leaders, without facing the problem of nation state sovereignty. TFNs are key actors for increasing the likelihood of women’s rights policy changes in Nigeria and elsewhere

448   Cheryl O’Brien (O’Brien 2015). Beyond the national level of governance, TFNs can have the indirect effect of connecting subnational leaders to women’s human rights feminist discourse or international norms on women’s rights (i.e. gender equality norms) that can contribute to local policy change. Merry (2006) discusses the “localization of transnational knowl­ edge . . . by national and local actors who . . . [also] contribute local knowledge to transnational settings. They provide a critical link in localizing human rights” (Merry 2006, p. 20; see also Keck and Sikkink 1998). Connecting the subnational to an international discourse or norm on women’s rights through TFNs is evidenced in Merry’s findings on Hong Kong: Expatriates were clearly oriented toward transnational human rights perspectives. They played a critical role in bringing the female inheritance issue to prominence [in Hong Kong] and framing it in rights terms . . . [T]‌hey published news stories in both the Chinese and English press . . . This group of expatriates was made up mostly of either academics or lawyers, several of whom dealt with international law professionally. They were mostly from the United States, UK, or Australia and spoke English fluently . . . On a local-​global continuum, they were undeniably global. (Merry 2006, pp. 204–​5)

Transnational coalition-​building can have positive effects for the passage of laws in favor of women’s rights, as they can facilitate educational workshops and forums to increase awareness about the need for laws among political elites, policy experts, and the general public (Albuja 2008). Coalitions can also increase awareness about international tools or lessons from other countries (including sample laws) to local activists and communities. In this vein, TFNs can have an indirect effect of initiating or inspiring laws; this may also be evidenced in the direct effect of a TFN initiating a law, but here I focus on the indirect effect of initiating or inspiring a law. In Ecuador, Albuja (2008, p. 90) finds that there are “domestic laws that are . . . inspired and motivated by the work of international organizations and regimes,” specifically global movement activism carried out by “INGO, IGO, and its highly professionalized, technical networks” of activists, “technicians and politicians.” TFNs can assist local actors at the subnational level, for example, by providing models of laws from one country to subnational leaders, as evidenced in Nigeria when subnational activists received and adapted a copy of U.S. subnational antidomestic violence legislation for their subnational state (O’Brien 2015). This is similar to what Merry (2006) calls “transnational program transplants,” one strategy or mechanism used by TFNs that she finds in her study on five countries: Social service programs and legal innovations created in one society are transplanted into another . . . In addition to promoting . . . new laws for domestic violence and rape, they conducted surveys on the incidence of domestic violence and developed public education programs . . . Most of the activists who transplanted programs were connected to an international network that shares ideas through academic and professional research and publications, international conferences, and academic and activist meetings. (Merry 2006, p. 19)

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    449 Indirect effects of TFN activism on the subnational level include raised awareness among the general public and policymakers about violence against women and other issues as policy problems and what reforms are demanded by feminist activism. In addition, TFN activists can translate gender equality norms and women’s human rights to local religious leaders, who in turn, can increase awareness and understanding of gender equality and feminist policy proposals with the public and policymakers who attend religious services or who use religion as a political tool. Given the importance of the subnational level for ethno-​religious mobilization, international norms (and Nigeria’s constitution and national commitments to) women’s rights need more local translation, including with religious leaders. In Nigeria as elsewhere, religious–​ cultural norms are not set in stone, and they vary over time and place. Through political opportunities at the subnational level, TFNs may achieve the effect of raised awareness through various actions, such as lobbying government officials in their offices or at events, sharing information and resources with TFN members and nonmembers at conferences, or speaking with the media about proposed legislation and best practices for legal reforms. Activists, scholars, lawyers, domestic NGO staff, and government officials attending women’s or human rights conferences benefit from the sharing of knowledge and technical expertise offered by members of TFNs. Some politicians attending conferences may bring back sample women’s rights legislation even without self-​identifying as feminist. For example, examining the human rights movement on citizen access to information, Albuja (2008) finds that an Ecuadorian politician who did not internalize the norm of citizen access to information, nonetheless, brought back sample subnational legislation from a conference in Mexico and presented the idea in his locality to improve his likelihood of re-​election. As such, regardless of the internalization of a feminist norm on gender equality, a subnational politician in Nigeria may also benefit from raised awareness of legal reform via TFN activism/​education at conferences or other venues, and then promote or support policy adoption on women’s rights at the local level. Not only might politicians support passing legislation on women’s rights as a result of raised awareness by TFNs, they may internalize the values or principles underlying the international norms on women’s rights as a result of TFN activism. Policymakers who internalize a norm of gender equality are more likely to actively promote feminist legislation against violence against women and girls as well as other women’s rights legislation than policymakers who have not internalized the norm. The socialization or internationalization of international norms on women’s rights is important for the adoption of laws to improve women’s human rights. Merry states: [T]‌he human rights perspective offers a new cultural framework that breaks with past ways of understanding behavior. Such a break is critical in changing behavior such as wife battering that was long accepted as normal but must be redefined as offensive in order to diminish its frequency. This is a process of appropriation rather than imposition. It suggests that these ideas have legitimacy for at least some local and national groups. (Merry 2006, p. 227)

450   Cheryl O’Brien Socialization or internalization of a norm against wife battery, for instance, is important, because some policymakers may admit to committing and accepting wife battery (as one Lagos, Nigeria politician stated on the floor of Congress as he opposed a domestic violence bill) and others may quietly oppose any state intervention regarding wife battery or other types of gender-​based violence (author interviews, Nigeria, 2008). While TFNs are not the only actors working on the ground to promote women’s rights, TFNs can have important indirect effects on the policy process to improve women’s rights in line with Nigeria’s commitments to gender equality. As a result of TFN tactics of persuasion and socialization, policymakers who become socialized to view (or who have internalized a view of) violence against women as a legitimate policy problem, for example, should be more likely to support legislation against such violence than those who have not been educated to view it as a legitimate policy problem. In sum, TFNs have a more favorable POS at Nigeria’s subnational level than at the at national level, and the subnational level is particularly important for translating gender equality norms so that religious leaders and political elites address a localized feminist agenda at Nigeria’s level of governance where laws (e.g. violence against women laws) often matter the most for women’s daily lives. Nigeria’s subnational level is the best target to achieve improved policy responsiveness on women’s representation and to translate feminist norms across the states and onward to the national level. At the national level, there is the problem of nation-​state sovereignty and accusations of feminist proposals as being Western. While such accusations occur at the subnational level (interviews by author 2008 and 2011 in Nigeria), the national level has been a laggard in comparison to the subnational level for policy responsiveness to seemingly noncontroversial issues such as violence against women and girls, a human rights issue that impacts the quality of democracy and women’s participation in development and democratization (Walsh 2010; Safir and Alam 2015). The passage of an antitrafficking law even occurred at the subnational level prior to the national level, where much women’s rights activism had to first occur and the then-​president of Nigeria—​showing the antifeminist climate that Nigerian women’s rights activists face—​suggested that the law did not result from their activism (author interviews with activists and politicians, 2008, Nigeria).

Recommendations and Conclusion In line with the two main arguments put forth in this chapter, I propose that Nigeria’s national and local women’s movements and feminist allies in civil society and government take more of a decentralized approach by focusing on achieving an effective gender policy trifecta across and within Nigeria’s thirty-​seven subnational units. An approach of targeting Nigeria’s subnational level should improve women’s descriptive and substantive representation at the subnational level as well as at the national level over time. For descriptive representation, electoral gender quotas (node one of the gender policy

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    451 trifecta) would increase the number of women in office at the subnational level, and women elected at the subnational level could themselves later campaign for a national level position. Improved subnational descriptive representation for women would also increase the number of role models for young women, thereby likely increasing the number of women who would run for office over time at the subnational/​national levels. Addressing gender inequalities, a gender policy trifecta should also lead to women’s improved education and leadership skills (from inside and outside of the MWPAs), and more women would then be better positioned to run for elected office. A caution with descriptive representation is the remaining need for substantive changes to assist women in government who face gender inequalities, including in the household, that impact their time in government (see, for example, Ibrahim 2016). A  second caution for descriptive representation is that nonfeminist or antifeminist women in government do not support substantive changes for women’s rights as feminists (whether male or female) in government. Subnational governments must be monitored and held accountable if they appoint antifeminists as ministers of MWPAs or as key staff in MWPAs. Informed citizens should not accept a racist being appointed to head a government commission to analyze racial inequalities, nor should one accept an antifeminist to head a government agency tasked with addressing gender inequalities based on the aforementioned research. As explained previously, feminists value gender analysis, which is required for a gender policy trifecta and Nigeria’s commitments to address gender inequalities. Regarding substantive representation, policy responsiveness at the subnational level would be improved with a gender policy trifecta and increased focus on the subnational level in Nigeria by women’s movements and feminist allies. For example, the subnational level is important for redressing various types of violence against women (e.g. domestic violence), which primarily falls under subnational rather than national law if a crime victim seeks redress through the judicial system. Further, Nigeria’s national and local women’s movements will be strengthened, because a gender policy trifecta would contribute to the empowerment of local women’s organizations by granting them (greater) opportunities to inform local government policies, as envisioned by Nigeria’s gender equality commitments. A gender policy trifecta would itself be a POS to enable feminist Nigerian translations of women’s rights/​gender equality norms to the local level, and this localized feminist discourse would lead to a wider base of solidarity among diverse groups of women (and men) for supporting the national women’s movement. Here I provide some cautions and recommendations regarding substantive representation given this chapter’s points on the importance of feminists/​feminism for women’s rights/​representation in Nigeria as well as the subnational political opportunities for TFNs and international allies of feminist movements. First, in my own fieldwork in Nigeria (O’Brien 2015), women’s rights leaders in Nigeria’s north have stated that while they do feminist work or identify as feminist, they cannot call themselves feminists in public or openly associate with known feminist organizations/​networks due to a very antifeminist climate, which falsely claims that feminist goals are purely “Western” as if local Nigerian women themselves do not initiate (and have not initiated) efforts

452   Cheryl O’Brien to improve women’s (and men’s and children’s) lives by putting a spotlight on gender. Ignoring the agency of Nigerian women, antifeminists in Nigeria often claim that Nigerian feminisms or feminist expressions reflect international interference by the West. Hypocritically, these antifeminists have not critiqued international support or influences that fit their own agendas. For example, antifeminists in northern states have not critiqued Saudi Arabian encouragement of the “sharianization” and its influence on the expansion of sharia law in northern Nigeria (interviews by author, 2008 and 2011, Nigeria; see also Thurston 2009 on northern Nigeria’s transnational connections with the Arab region). In Saudi Arabia, religious nationalism has trumped women’s rights, and an authoritarian regime deliberately divides “its public along regional, tribal, sectarian, and gender lines” (Al-​Rasheed 2013, p. 293). (For more on Nigeria’s sharia in relation to women’s representation/​rights, see Mama 1997; Imam 2003, 2005.) As in Saudi Arabia, Nigerian women need “to move beyond state-​sponsored feminism” and mobilize across social groups and with men to achieve full citizenship and gender equality and to avoid the state co-​opting gender equality (Al-​Rasheed 2013). To accomplish this mobilization beyond the state and as envisioned by Rincker (2017), a gender policy trifecta should incorporate an intersectional approach. Nigeria has a very diverse population, and representing diverse interests across gender, ethnicity, class, religion, geography (urban/​rural/​other), and additional social group categories has been difficult for national policymakers to represent constituent demands across Nigeria’s thirty-​seven subnational units, particularly given elites’ use of the federal principle as a politically divisive tool for their own interests. An intersectional feminist approach, however, “requires a structural approach to gender analysis” (Weldon 2006, p.  246). Explaining intersectionality (coined by Crenshaw 1991)  in gender analysis, Weldon writes: In order to illuminate the various ways that women and men are advantaged and disadvantaged as women and men, gender analysis must incorporate analysis of race, class, sexuality, and other axes of disadvantage, and explore interactions among them . . . This type of analysis thereby denaturalizes and politicizes gender, racial/​ethnic, and class relations (among others). (Weldon 2006, p. 236)

A gender policy trifecta demands gender analysis, which should take an intersectional approach to understanding and addressing inequalities across and within social groups. In relation to descriptive and substantive representation, Mügge and Erzeel (2016, p. 499) note in a special issue on intersectionality and political representation that “intersections of age, religion, gender, sexuality, ability, nationality, generation and ethnicity influence entrance to elected office and the power elected officials eventually wield.” In sum: Approaching representation as a process influenced by intersectionality reveals that interacting mechanisms do not work in similar ways for different “women” and “ethnic minorities” . . .The intersectional lens to political representation thus challenges the widespread tendency in the literature to approach identifiable groups

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    453 in society—​women and men, religious and ethnic minorities, class, age and ability groups—​as uniform entities. To better understand how and why some people are included and some are excluded from politics, we need to consider differences both between and within groups and across contexts. (Mügge and Erzeel 2016, 508)

In Nigeria’s federalism, ethno-​religious cleavages—​used by elites—​have hampered solidarity for national women’s rights bills, as discussed earlier and evidenced by women politicians favoring religious over gender interests. A  strong intersectional approach across subnational MWPAs and women’s movements should improve the strength and solidarity of women’s movements (and potentially other progressive civil society movements that address systemic social group disadvantages) at both the subnational and national levels. As Collins (2009) states, “while individual empowerment is key, only collective action can effectively generate lasting social transformation of political and economic institutions.” This leads to a final recommendation and caution regarding the subnational political opportunities for TFNs to support women’s rights/​representation in Nigeria. A scholar of African women’s representation and rights, Tripp (2006, p. 260) urges, “more needs to be done to pressure foundations and government funding agencies and universities to facilitate more [transnational] exchange and global dialogue.” TFNs and feminist allies, including international donors, should increase funding and support for local women’s organizations, feminist networking (to connect the local to national and transnational feminist networks to support local substantive changes for women’s rights), and gender trainings/​workshops for males and females across the states of Nigeria at the local level (to challenge harmful gender norms and dialogue about feminism[s]‌and its benefits for women, girls, men, and boys). (For examples of local gender trainings, see Mukhopadhyay et al. 2006. For challenging patriarchal gender norms in Nigeria, see Denny and Nwankwo 2015.) To be most effective given Nigeria’s federalism and elites’ use of anti-​Western rhetoric against Nigerian feminists, TFNs and feminist-​friendly donors must focus on supporting and highlighting local feminisms, local women’s movements, and local feminist leaders even where they have faced repression at the local level. TFNs can have both indirect and direct effects for subnational policy changes, but most preferred is for a TFN to support as requested by local NGOs, activists, scholars, and feminist or feminist-​friendly policy proponents. Further, given the pushback from antifeminists who use religion to trump gender equality, feminist (male and female) scholars of Islam and Christianity and feminist or feminist-​friendly religious leaders should be funded to participate in the recommended gender trainings/​ workshops to counter conservative transnational support of antifeminists and to ensure that religion is not (continued to be) interpreted as a way to undermine gender equality at the local level by workshop participants/​trainees. Religious leaders can hinder women’s representation if they are not educated on women’s rights as nonthreatening and in line with their faith (with the exception of those fundamentalists who remain doggedly opposed to women’s rights

454   Cheryl O’Brien even in the face of faith-​based, feminist-​friendly interpretations of a religion and feminist or feminist-​friendly religious scholarship). In sum, this chapter first argued that a gender policy trifecta at the subnational level (if implemented) would improve women’s descriptive and substantive representation in Nigeria, with feminists as critical actors to include in government efforts for gender equality. Second, Nigeria’s subnational level offers a more favorable POS for improved women’s representation and women’s rights than the federal level due to the context of Nigeria’s federalism, so Nigeria’s thirty-​seven subnational units are particularly useful targets for TFNs to better help improve women’s daily lives. To deepen Nigeria’s democracy, an intersectional approach is needed to ensure that diverse social groups are represented and to strengthen Nigeria’s women’s (and other progressive) social movements. Finally, to counter the divisiveness of elite ethno-​religious politics and antifeminist discourse, TFNs and international supporters of Nigerian feminisms should focus on supporting local women’s mobilization efforts and support the inclusion of feminist(-​friendly) religious leaders/​scholars in local gender trainings/​workshops with men and women.

References Aka, P. C. (2014). “Judicial Independence under Nigeria’s Fourth Republic:  Problems and Prospects,” California Western International Law Journal 45: 2–​79. Albuja, S. (2008). Law Without Borders:  Global Socialization and the Adoption of Policy Frameworks in Ecuador. Boston: Northeastern University. Al-​Rasheed, M. (2013). A Most Masculine State: Gender, Politics and Religion in Saudi Arabia, New York: Cambridge University Press. Banaszak, L. A., Beckwith, K., and Rucht, D. (eds) (2003). Women’s Movements Facing the Reconfigured State. New York: Cambridge University Press. Bauer, G. and Britton, H. E. (eds) (2006). Women in African Parliaments. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. BBC (2016). “Nigeria’s President Buhari: My Wife Belongs in the Kitchen,” BBC News Africa, Oct. 14, 2016. http://​www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​africa-​37659863 accessed August 20, 2017. Bekele, D. (2016). “Nigeria’s President Buhari Owes an Apology, Sexist Remarks Are No Joke,” Africa Advocacy. Human Rights Watch, Oct. 14, 2016. https://​www.hrw.org/​news/​2016/​10/​ 14/​nigerias-​president-​buhari-​owes-​apology accessed August 20, 2017. Boesten, J. (2006). “Pushing Back the Boundaries:  Social Policy, Domestic Violence and Women’s Organisations in Peru,” Journal of Latin American Studies 38 (2): 355–​378. Boesten, J. (2012). “The State and Violence Against Women in Peru: Intersecting Inequalities and Patriarchal Rule,” Social Politics: International Studies in Gender, State & Society 19 (3): 361–​382. Chappell, L. (2006). “Comparing Political Institutions:  Revealing the Gendered ‘Logic of Appropriateness’,” Politics & Gender 2 (2): 223–​235. Collins, P. H. (2009). “‘Black Feminist Thought in the Matrix of Domination,’ Turning the Tide: Nonviolent Power for Social Change, training 2009,” in P. H. Collins (1990), Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment (pp. 221–​238). Boston: Unwin Hyman.

Women’s Contemporary Struggles for Rights and Representation    455 Crenshaw, K. (1991). “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence Against Women of Color,” Stanford Law Review 43 (6): 1241–​1299. Denny, E. K. and Nwankwo, E. (2015). Attitudes, Practice, and Social Norms:  Key Gender Equality Issues in Selected Nigerian States. Quantitative and Qualitative Findings from the “Voices for Change Baseline Study 2015”. Voices for Change, Abuja, Nigeria, September 2015. accessed August 20, 2017. George, T. O., Adetunde, C. O., Ijagbemi, O., and Udume, M. (2016). “Overcoming the Challenges of Women in Politics:  Lesson for and from Nigeria,” The Nigerian Journal of Sociology and Anthropology 14 (1): 145–​165. Gouws, A. (2008). “Obstacles for Women in Leadership Positions: The Case of South Africa,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 34 (1): 21–​27. Hassim, S. (2006). “The Virtuous Circle of Representation: Women in African Parliaments,” in G. Bauer and H. E. Britton (eds), Women in African Parliaments. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Htun, Mala and Weldon, S. L. (2012). “The Civic Origins of Progressive Policy Change: Combating Violence against Women in Global Perspective, 1975–​2005,” American Political Science Review 106 (3): 548–​569. Hunnicutt, G. (2009). “Varieties of Patriarchy and Violence against Women:  Resurrecting ‘Patriarchy’ as a Theoretical Tool,” Violence Against Women 15 (5): 553–​73. Ibrahim, H. (2016). “Nigeria:  Women Judges Enhancing the Judiciary,” in G. Bauer and J. Dawuni (eds), Gender and the Judiciary in Africa: From Obscurity to Parity? (pp. 67–​79). New York: Routledge. Imam, A. (2003). “Working within Nigeria’s Sharia Courts: An Interview with Ayesha Imam,” Human Rights Dialogue 2 (10): 22–​24. Imam, A. (2005). “Women’s Reproductive and Sexual Rights and the Offense of Zina in Muslim Laws in Nigeria,” in W. Chavkin and E. Chesler (eds), Where Human Rights Begin: Health, Sexuality, and Women in the New Millennium (pp. 65–​94). New Brunswick, NJ:  Rutgers University Press. Jones, N. (2016). Gender and the Political Opportunities of Democratization in South Korea. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Kang, A. (2014). “How Civil Society Represents Women:  Feminists, Catholics, and Mobilization Strategies in Africa,” in M. C. Escobar-​Lemmon and M. M. Taylor-​Robinson (eds), Representation: The Case of Women (pp. 137–​157). New York: Oxford University Press. Keck, M. and Sikkink, K. (1998). Activists Beyond Borders: Transnational Activist Networks in International Politics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kendhammer, B. (2016). Muslims Talking Politics:  Framing Islam, Democracy, and Law in Northern Nigeria. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. LawPavilion (2016). “Gender Parity and Prohibition of Violence against Women Bill,” March 21, 2016. http://​lawpavilion.com/​blog/​gender-​parity-​and-​prohibition-​of-​violence-​against-​ women-​bill/​ accessed August 20, 2017. Mahmud, S. S. (2013). Sharia or Shura: Contending Approaches to Muslim Politics in Nigeria and Senegal. New York: Lexington Books. Mama, A. 1997. “Sheroes and Villains: Conceptualizing Colonial and Contemporary Violence Against Women in Africa,” in M. J. Alexander and C. T. Mohanty (eds), Feminist Genealogies, Colonial Legacies, Democratic Futures (pp. 46–​62). New York: Routledge. Mazur, A. G. (2002). Theorizing Feminist Policy. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

456   Cheryl O’Brien Merry, S. E. (2006). Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Mügge, L. M. and Erzeel, S. (2016). “Double Jeopardy or Multiple Advantage? Intersectionality and Political Representation.” Parliamentary Affairs 69 (3): 499–​511. Mukhopadhyay, M., Steehouwer, G., and Wong, F. (2006). Politics of the Possible:  Gender Mainstreaming and Organizational Change. Oxford:  Oxfam. http://​www.bibalex.org/​ Search4Dev/​files/​281637/​113579.pdf accessed August 20, 2017. Obamamoye, B. F. (2016). “ECOWAS and Women Representation in West Africa,” Journal of Political Sciences & Public Affairs 4 (3): 215. O’Brien, C. (2015). “Transnational Issue-​Specific Expert Networking:  A Pathway to Local Policy Change,” Social Science & Medicine 146: 285–​291. O’Brien, C. and A. Wallace (2018). “Women, Inclusive Citizenship, and the African State,” in K. Kalu, O. Yacob-​Haliso, and T. Falola (eds), Africa’s Big Men: Predatory State-​Society Relations in Africa. New York: Routledge. Obiora, L. A. and Toomey, S. (2010). “Federalism and Gender Politics in Nigeria,” in M. Haussman, M. Sawer, and J. Vickers (eds), Federalism, Feminism and Multilevel Governance. Surrey: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. Olayode, K. O. (2016). “Women’s Participation and Gender Issues in Local Governance in Nigeria,” AFRREV LALIGENS: An International Journal of Language, Literature and Gender Studies 5 (2): 159–​172. Oluyemi, O. (2016). “Monitoring Participation of Women in Politics in Nigeria,” National Bureau of Statistics, Abuja, Nigeria. Paper Presentation on October 25, 2016. Presented at the Sixth Global Forum on Gender Statistics, Helsinki, Finland, October 24–​26, 2016. https://​ unstats.un.org/​unsd/​gender/​Finland_​Oct2016/​Documents/​Nigeria_​paper.pdf accessed August 20, 2017. Oshi, T. (2016). “Nigerian Senate Rejects Bill Seeking Gender Equality in Marriage,” March 15, 2016. http://​www.premiumtimesng.com/​news/​top-​news/​200202-​nigerian-​senate-​rejects-​ bill-​seeking-​gender-​equality-​marriage.html accessed August 20, 2017. Rincker, M. (2017). Empowered by Design:  Decentralization and the Gender Policy Trifecta. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Safir, A. Z. and Alam, M. (2015). “Special Report: The 2015 Nigeria Elections & Violence Against Women in Politics,” April 1, 2015. Washington, DC: Georgetown Institute for Women, Peace and Security. Thurston, A. (2009). Interactions between Northern Nigeria and the Arab World in the Twentieth Century. Washington, DC: Georgetown University. Tripp, A. M. (2006). “Why so slow? The Challenges of Gendering Comparative Politics,” Politics & Gender 2 (2): 249–​263. Walsh, D. M. (2010). Women’s Rights in Democratizing States: Just Debate and Gender Justice in the Public Sphere. New York: Cambridge University Press. Weldon, S. L. (2006). “The Structure of Intersectionality: A Comparative Politics of Gender,” Politics & Gender 2 (2): 235–​248.

Chapter 27

Hum an Rights Stat u s i n Nigeria Since Obas a nj o ’ s Sec ond C omi ng Idayat Hassan

Introduction Nigeria returned to democracy on May 29, 1999 following the successful inauguration of former president, Chief Olusegun Obasanjo as the first elected president of the Fourth Republic. Preceding this was over sixteen years of military rule following the ousting of former president, Shehu Shagari in the military coup of 1983. The ensuing military era was fraught with the use of brute force occasioning serious human rights violations. The patterns of human rights violations in the military era included the promulgation of obnoxious decrees, such as the notorious Decree No. 2 of 1984, permitting indefinite detention without trial, and the infamous Decree No. 4 of 19841, punishing free speech which led to the imprisonment of two Guardian journalists, Tunde Thompson and Nduka Iraboh, for writing an article that “embarrassed” a public officer. The military junta was not comfortable with the article for exposing incidents of unlawful imprisonment and execution, violations of free speech, and environmental degradation, etc. The incarceration of journalists and other forms of human rights abuse were remarkable throughout the military era until its departure in 1999, when Nigerians began to have hopes of relief as democracy was introduced. In a bid to address the human rights violations on assumption of office in 1999, Olusegun Obasanjo set up the Human Rights Violations Investigation Commission (HRVIC) popularly called the Oputa Panel2. The commission was established by the Statutory Instrument No. 8 of 1999 with the mandate to establish causes of all gross human rights violations perpetrated between January 15, 1966 and May 28, 19993. It was equally mandated to identify perpetrators and make recommendations, inter alia. The

458   Idayat Hassan commission received over 10,000 submissions and eventually listened to just over 2004 cases publicly. However, the commission, which sat from June 1999 to May 2002, faced several challenges: the first challenge being the legislation establishing it, followed by the lack of political will, and the use of the judiciary by alleged perpetrators to stonewall the work of the court, as well as the panel’s interpretation of its duties. The report of the panel was never publicly released due to the judgment of the court in Fawehinmi vs. Babangida.5 The Obasanjo administration, however, took some laudable steps toward national healing including the release of the remains of the late Ken Saro-​Wiwa and his eight kinsmen who had been executed and buried in secret graves by General Sani Abacha’s junta following a flawed judicial process. The initial belief was that the exit of the military from the political scene would usher in the end of horrific human rights violations in Nigeria. This widely articulated paradigm was based on the assumption that the end of the military administration meant the end of significant violations of human rights and the emergence of a new, relatively harmonious Nigeria. However, this has not happened. Nigeria may be taking giant strides in economic development since its return to democracy in 1999; however, a gross militarization of the state with pervasive human rights violations is being experienced. Human rights challenges in the country stem from lack of political will, poor training for the security agencies, low levels of trust in the system, and an inept conflict-​resolution mechanism that allows conflict to snowball into crises, thereby fueling instability. The pattern of human rights violations cuts across group and individual rights. Some of the notable human rights violations since the return to democracy have manifested through Zaki Ibiam killings, Choba rape, Odi massacre, Boko Haram insurgency, Alu River killings, the killing of Occupy Nigeria protesters, the 2015 Zaria Shi’ite killings, summary executions, willful destruction of property, detentions without trials, abuses against women, persons with disability, and the LGBTI community.

Normative Framework Protecting Human Rights in Nigeria The 1999 Constitution of Nigeria as amended provides for the protection of human rights. Chapters 2 and 4 of the Constitution provide for economic and fundamental human rights respectively. Chapter  4 of the Constitution embodies the basic fundamental rights, i.e. civil and political rights of the citizens. These include the right to life, right to dignity of (the) human person, personal liberty, fair hearing, family life, freedoms of thought, conscience, and religion; freedom of expression and of the press; peaceful assembly and association; freedom of movement; freedom from discrimination; and the right to acquire and own immovable property anywhere in Nigeria. However, these rights are subjected to permissible derogations under the same chapter. The country is also a signatory to many international instruments protecting human

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    459 rights. To further guarantee the protection of human rights, Nigeria established the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) in 1995 as a mechanism to safeguard the human rights of Nigeria.

Patterns and Trend of Human Rights Violations in Nigeria Unlawful Detention—​Section 35 of the 1999 Constitution of Nigeria as amended— guarantees the right to personal liberty of all Nigerians and goes on to provide under Subsection 5 that an accused person arrested on suspicion of having committed an offense must be charged in court within twenty-​four hours where a court of competent jurisdiction is located within a radius of 40 km from the police station. In the absence of a court within the 40 km radius, it should be done within forty-​eight hours. However, these are being observed more in breach. Citizens continue to be unlawfully detained under harrowing pretrial detention for years without formal charges being brought against them6. Another very disturbing pattern of unlawful detention since the return to democracy is the use of the Police, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) and similar law enforcement agencies to retrieve debts/​loans. This practice is not restricted to individuals, but businesses, in particular financial institutions, are now in the habit of utilizing law enforcement agencies to arrest and detain in an attempt to retrieve debts. The court had, on several occasions, ruled that the law enforcement agencies are not debt-​recovery agents7.

Torture The use of torture as a means of extracting confessions and information is rampant in Nigeria, largely amongst the law enforcement agencies (Nigerian Police, military, Department of State Services (DSS) etc., and the vigilante groups). While prohibited under the Constitution as violating the rights to life, and respect for the dignity of the person8, security officials and nonstate actors continue to inflict torture on suspects using a range of methods including electric irons, hanging, beating, and insertion of bottles into private parts of suspects. An example of torture by nonstate actors is the Ejigbo Pepper Sodomy case. The victims, comprising a mother and two girls were sodomized with pepper by men of the Odua Peoples’ Congress (OPC) in Ejigbo Market, Lagos State (Human Rights Watch 2003). One of the sodomized victims, Juliana died weeks after in Cotonou, Benin Republic. Amnesty International also released a report detailing the extreme use of torture in the ongoing war against the Boko Haram insurgents by the security forces in northeast Nigeria.

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Right to Assemble The right to congregate, assemble, and promote ideas are recognized under the Nigerian Constitution, but on several occasions since the return to democracy, civil protests have been dispersed by successive governments. An attempt to disperse the defunct All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP) rally in Kano Stadium led to the death of former Senate president, Chuba Okadigbo. Okadigbo died from complications arising from inhaled tear gas fired by the police on him, retired General Muhammadu Buhari, and other party stalwarts in an attempt to break up the rally.

Religious Freedom On the basis of law, Nigeria is a multireligious state and nobody shall be discriminated upon based on religion. All these and more are enshrined in the 1999 Constitution as amended. However, while there is no official state religion, the adoption of sharia by the twelve states in the north, the extrajudicial killings of the Shi’ite worshippers in several states in northern Nigeria, the initial targeting of Christians by Boko Haram insurgents in the northeast as well as several clashes between Muslims and Christians largely in the northern parts of the country have led to several deaths, loss of property, and means of livelihood since the return to democracy in 1999. It is, however, sad to report that there is no visible accountability measure in place for perpetrators nor discernible protection for victims. The trend has been such that investigations were completely avoided with the government making do with setting up lame-​duck investigative panels or tribunals without any implementation of reports.

Freedom of Press and Expression Freedom of the press is guaranteed by the Nigerian Constitution and by several international human rights instruments to which the country subscribes. The media landscape is very vibrant and particularly characterized by the proliferation of online newspapers, citizen journalists’ activities, and the impact of social media in recent years. However, challenges of intimidation, censorship, draconian legislations, assaults and assassination of journalists, and impunity for crimes committed against journalists still abound. Some of these infractions are also committed against the press by criminal groups and individuals. For instance, Boko Haram insurgents bombed the This Day newspaper houses in Abuja and Kaduna killing at least eleven people in the two offices. The insurgents, in claiming the bombing, said the attack was to “send a strong message to the media that it would no longer condone reports misrepresenting it in the press, or blaming it for acts it knows nothing about” (Nkanga 2013).

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    461

Human Rights under President Olusegun Obasanjo 1999–​2007 Barely six months into our nascent democracy, the government of erstwhile President Olusegun Obasanjo on November 20, 1999 launched Operation Hakuri 11 against the inhabitants of Odi Community in Bayelsa State. Their offense was the killing of twelve members of the police force by armed gangs clamoring for resource control. President Obasanjo requested Governor Diepreye Alamieyeseigha of Bayelsa State to, within two weeks, apprehend those responsible for the killings or a state of emergency would be declared in the state. Before the deadline could expire, soldiers from the Nigerian army moved into Odi (statement read read during the CSOs press conference). At the end of their operation, an estimated 2,483 people had been killed including men, women, and children (Nigeria: Odi Massacre Statements 1999). The whole community was razed with the exception of the Anglican Church, the bank, and the health centers; the entire community was punished for a crime committed by a few criminal elements. But in the words of the then Minister for Defense, retired General T. Y. Danjuma, “Operation Hakuri II was initiated with the mandate of protecting lives and property, particularly the oil platforms flow stations, operating rig terminals and pipelines, refineries and power installation in the Niger Delta” (Environmental Right Action 1991). However, the soldiers were accused of painting graffiti all over the town with inscriptions such as: “We go kill all the Ijaw people with our guns,” “Come to Odi and learn a lesson,” “Ijaw face, monkey face,” “Government has given us power to kill,” “Odi is for soldiers not for Ijaws,” and “Bayelsa will remain sorrowful forever,” among others. The court, fourteen years after the Odi massacre awarded 37.618 billion naira damages to the victims (Nwisi 2013). The Nigerian military was also accused of killing four people and raping around sixty women in Choba, Rivers State in 2009. The incident occurred in the course of the military trying to maintain law and order between the residents of Choba and Wilbros Nigeria Ltd. Wilbros is a subsidiary of an American contractor to the oil and gas industry, based in Oklahoma, U.S.A. The human rights violation generated a huge outcry when photographs showing soldiers assaulting women emerged in the press. The federal government of Nigeria in dismissing the reports claimed that the photographs were fake and stage managed. But investigations by several rights groups confirmed it (Human Rights Watch 1999). According to the victims, the issues are beyond the killing, rape, or violations of human rights, but importantly the violation of their cultural rights, making it a double jeopardy as it is a taboo to rape married women. “It is a taboo to rape a married woman or to make love on the bare floor, Until the gods are appeased, these women cannot sleep with their husbands and cannot cook for them” (Okpowo 1999). Reminiscent of the November 1999 Odi massacre in Balyesa State, Zaki Ibiam in Benue State also serves as an example of gross human rights violations by the state and its security agents to avenge the abduction and murder of nineteen soldiers. The

462   Idayat Hassan soldiers were on a mission to restore peace in the conflict between the Tiv and the Junkun. The soldiers were abducted and their mutilated bodies retrieved in the village of Zaki-​Biam on October 12, 2001. In retaliation for the killings, Nigerian troops on the order of the presidency invaded Tiv villages in Benue State killing over 200 people, including women and children, while causing the displacement of thousands, with some inflicted with permanent injuries. According to a victim’s recount of his ordeal: (pointing to his genital area) “they have killed me alive by cutting off my genital organ. I cannot marry nor have children. I cannot even urinate like a normal man. I can only do this through the tube passed into my body” (Ogundele 2013). Another woman also had her private parts scraped off and her hands yanked off by the soldiers (Ogundele 2013). In the aftermath of the Zaki Biam killings, the soldiers were also accused of ill-​treatment, harassment, rape, and extortion of citizens with the sole purpose of humiliating and intimidating the people (Human Rights Watch 2002). In a suit brought before the federal High Court by fourteen of the victims, the court ordered the federal government to pay the victims of Zaki Biam 41.8 billion naira in compensation. However to date, the judgment of the court has yet to be implemented (Ogundele 2013). The TOR Tiv recently called for the payment of the compensation during the burial of the late General Victor Malu9. There has been no serious attempt by the government to institute an independent inquiry and hold the perpetrators accountable for any of these abuses. In 1999, Zamfara State introduced the application of strict sharia law10. Previously, sharia law applied only as a Muslim personal law. Following on the heels of Zamfara, eleven11 other northern states have included criminal law in the jurisdiction of sharia law. While the introduction of sharia was welcomed by the citizens of these states, the manner in which sharia had been implemented continues to generate human rights concerns. The challenges include lack of due process, the use of the death penalty, meting out inhuman treatments such as amputation, flogging, and the high-​handedness of the hisbah otherwise known as the sharia implementation committee, etc. The cases of Safiya Huseini and Amina are the most prominent examples of sharia implementation, both women were convicted of adultery and sentenced to death by stoning for having a child out of wedlock. Both men in these cases were released for lack of evidence. Against local and international uproar, the judgments were upturned on appeal and the women freed (Sengupta 2003). In another instance, Buba Jangebe was the first man to have his hand amputated for stealing a cow under the sharia law (Olukoya 2002). Mr. Jangebe, who had a thirty-​day window to appeal, did not exercise his right of appeal before the amputation. In most of the sharia cases, victims did not have legal representation (Human Rights Watch 2004). Violent clashes and the orgy of killings that took place were as terrifying as they were widespread from Kaduna to other parts of the country. Thousands of lives were lost and properties amounting to millions of naira destroyed as a result of religious

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    463 clashes between Christians and Muslims over the imposition of sharia as the fundamental laws of the state. More so, the arrest, trial, conviction, and amputation of an alleged cow thief, Buba Jangedi, by the Zamfara State government under sharia law without option of judicial appeal presented another clear case of infringement on the fundamental rights of a Nigerian citizen supposedly protected by the constitution of the federation of Nigeria. State-​ordered incursions into federating states as a means of stemming violence has not abated from the ordeals recounted from the 1999 Odi and 2001 Zaki Ibiam massacres. Apart from President Obasanjo’s recent visit to these troubled spots, the government has not taken any concrete step to ascertain the remote and immediate causes of ethnic outbursts in the country. Most times, the government adopts ad hoc measures which, rather than check these conflicts, escalate them by employing force of arms rather than using advanced conflict resolution skills to calm frayed nerves and douse the embers of war. During the period under review, there were also allegations of media clampdowns made against the Obasanjo government. For instance, a photo journalist with the Daily Independent newspaper, Akintunde Akinleye, was brutalized by security details of the then vice president, Atiku Abubakar, during the coronation of Oba of Lagos, Oba Rilwan Akiolu. He was later compensated with the sum of $1,900 and another N56,000. The $1,900 was for the replacement of Akinleye’s damaged digital camera while N56,287 was for the cost of his treatment. There were also several cases of arrests and torture of human rights defenders. These included the threats, detention, intimidation, and prevention from traveling abroad. One of the notable cases during the Obasanjo era was the seizure of passports of several members of the Nigeria Human Rights Community, thereby preventing them from traveling abroad. The then chairman of the Centre for Democracy and Development (CDD) and the secretary general of  the Pan-​African Movement, Tajudeen Abdul Raheem, was not allowed to travel to London on December 3, 2002. The police told him that his name was on their watch list. Other activists whose passports were seized included Jiti Ogunye, secretary of the National Association of Democratic Lawyers, and Iheoma Obibi, director of Alliances of Africa (Marus 2004). Yet another major form of human rights violations in the period under review was politically motivated assassination. Notable killings in that period included the murder of former attorney general of the federation, Bola Ige and Chief Aminasoari Dikibo, former deputy national chairman of the  People’s Democratic Party South-​ South Geopolitical zone. The pattern of human rights violations includes also the detention, arbitrary arrest, and extrajudicial killing of real or suspected members of the ethnic determination groups, in particular, the Odua Peoples’ Congress (OPC) and the Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) (Human Rights Watch 2005).

464   Idayat Hassan

Human Rights under Yar’Ardua/​ Jonathan Administration 2007–​11 Since the return to democracy in 1999 and renewed civil insecurity, the operations of security forces have been characterized by human rights violations in all the geopolitical zones of the country. The pattern of state use of security forces to quell violence substantially accounted for violence. For instance, the order given by the late president, Umaru Yar’Adua, to contain the Boko Haram crisis12 in the geopolitical zones of the northeast and northwest on his way to Brazil in 2009 led to the extrajudicial murder of an estimated 800 people including the leader of the Boko Haram sect, Mohammad Yusuf and his associates, Buji Foi and Baba Fugu13. Unlawful killings by security agencies continued to trail the Nigerian state in all of its geopolitical zones, almost eighteen years into its democracy. Patterns of rights violations vary from violations of group rights to individual rights. Plateau State in the north central part of the country is a hotbed of violence committed by the ethnic Berom and Hausa–​Fulani, both parties having consistently accused security agents of being responsible for many of the killings in the area. However, following the disputed local government elections in Jos North in 2008, Nigerian police and armed forces were implicated in more than ninety arbitrary killings in responding to intercommunal violence between Christian and Muslim mobs in Jos, on November 28 and 29, 2008. The attack, according, to Human Rights Watch, targeted largely Muslim men and boys (Human Rights Watch 2008). The southwest was rather notable for summary execution, forced disappearances of armed robbery suspects, detention without trial, and police brutality. However, the alleged killings of 185 people in Baga, Bornu State, when security forces raided the community in search of those suspected to be Boko Haram fighters led to significant levels of protests locally and internationally.

Human Rights Violations during Goodluck Jonathan’s Tenure as Nigerian President (2011–​15) The clampdown on the Occupy Nigeria Protest occurred when in response to the removal of the fuel subsidy by citizens, a protest commenced in Lagos from January 2, 2012 spreading to other major cities including Abuja, Ibadan, Sokoto, Kano, Ilorin, Benin, Kaduna, Makurdi, and Oshogbo. Nigerians from across the country trooped into the street to demand that the government rescind its decision. In response, the government

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    465 deployed the police and military in all the cities where protests raged, firing tear gas, arresting protesters, injuring many, and killing many. About seventeen protesters were reportedly killed by security officials during the protest (Emmanuel and Exeamalu 2013). Another instance of a government clampdown on freedom of assembly manifested with the BringBackOurGirls (BBOG) movement. The movement is an ad hoc one, which arose in reaction to the abduction of over 276 girls from the Government Girls Secondary School, Chibok in Borno State by Boko Haram insurgents. BBOG emerged as a pressure group to advocate for government action in rescuing the girls. The group was once banned from holding daily sit-​ins at the Unity Fountain by the then police commissioner for the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja, Joseph Mbu, for posing a security threat to citizens in the capital city (Abubakar 2014). The Jonathan administration also criminalized same-​sex relations with the signing into law of the Same-​Sex Marriage Prohibition Act on January 7, 2014. The act punishes same-​sex marriage by a fourteen-​year prison term and further goes on to criminalize the right to privacy and association. According to the Act: “Any person who registers, operates or participates in gay clubs, societies and organisations or directly or indirectly makes a public show of same-​sex amorous relationship in Nigeria commits an offence and shall each be liable, on conviction, to a term of 10 years in prison.” The passage of the law led to a rise in vigilante justice against the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community, both online and offline. For instance, in Geshiri town, Abuja, a mob reportedly dragged a number of suspected gay men from their beds in the middle of the night, in house-​to-​house raids. The victims were beaten up and handed over to the police. Members of the mob were shouting that they were “cleansing the community” of gays and “we are working for Jonathan” (News Nigeria 2014). The Jonathan administration on several occasions clamped down on the media. For instance, an award-​winning documentary film highlighting corruption in the management of oil resources, Fuelling Poverty was banned by the administration on the whimsical excuse that it was likely to incite or encourage public disorder and undermine national security (PM News 2014). In June 2014, the Nigerian army also organized a clampdown on newspaper houses in Lagos and Abuja. Newspapers were confiscated, delivery vans detained, and some of the staff of the media houses assaulted. The affected media houses included publishers of Daily Trust, Leadership, and the Nation. According to the military, they were acting on an intelligence report on the possibility of some elements within society using such vehicles to convey materials with grave security implications across the country. In fact, during the Jonathan administration, Nigeria made it into the list of the “worst nations in the world for deadly, unpunished violence against the press.” According to the Commission for the Protection of Journalists (CPJ), in 2012, some 143 attacks on the press were recorded in Nigeria, with government and security forces being responsible for 79 percent of the cases, while Boko Haram militants were behind with only 16 percent. The unprecedented, wanton, and inhumane activities of Boko Haram insurgents led to the establishment and deployment of the Joint Task Force, codenamed JTF Operation

466   Idayat Hassan Restore Order I,  on June 12, 2011. JTF then comprised personnel from the Nigerian Armed Forces, the Nigeria Police Force (NPF), the Department of State Security (DSS), the Nigerian Customs Service (NCS), the Nigeria Immigration Service (NIS), and the Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA). The ignoble disposition of the members of the JTF contradicted the internationally recognized and time-​honored responsibility of the security agencies in the protection and preservation of the rights of the citizenry. This was typified in the recurring incidents of human rights violations credited to the JTF. The force has been implicated in detention-​related abuses, extrajudicial killings, and torture. Accordingly, Human Rights Watch reports that: during raids in communities, often in the aftermath of Boko Haram attacks, members of the security forces have executed men in front of their families; arbitrarily arrested or beaten members of the community; burned houses, shops, and cars; stolen money while searching homes; and raped women. Government security agencies routinely hold suspects incommunicado without charge or trial in secret detention facilities and have subjected detainees to torture or other physical abuse. (Human Rights Watch 2012, p. 58)

The above report has also been corroborated by the National Human Rights Commission14. In the north central geopolitical zone of the country, following peaceful protests over lack of water and power outages by Nassarawa State University students, the military and police were invited to quell the protest. The heavy-​handedness of the security men eventually led to the deaths of four students, with several others being injured (Ibeh 2013). In the southeast geopolitical zone of the country, security agencies continue to unlawfully arrest and execute Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) members. The group members are routinely rounded up in their locations, imprisoned without trial, and summarily executed. The Ezu River horror is an example. On January 19, 2013, residents of Amansea in Anambra State went to the Ezu River to bathe, fetch water, and wash, only to discover that the river was bobbing with numerous bloated corpses. MASSOB claimed that many of the corpses belonged to their members, who were rounded up at their security office in Onitsha by a combined team of security agents (army, police, and State Security Service (SSS)) on November 9, 2012. Some of the corpses are said to belong to armed robbery and kidnap suspects. The police forces have refuted these allegations of extrajudicial killings15. It appears that excesses by security agencies also had a negative impact on the security agencies themselves, with the forces recording heavy causalities through targeted attacks by criminal groups. An example is the killing of an estimated one hundred security operatives, including police and SSS, sent to arrest the chief priest of the Ombatse cult in Nassarawa Eggon. In the same vein, suspected Niger Delta militants under the aegis of the Movement for the Emancipation of Niger Delta (MEND) were reported to have killed at least twelve policemen in Bayelsa State16.

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    467

Human Rights under President Buhari President Muhammad Buhari has constantly reiterated his commitment to human rights. The former military ruler during his campaign and since assuming office has maintained he is a reformed democrat and will respect human rights. However, there seems to be a flagrant disregard for human rights and rule of law by the administration. This is reflected in the present ranking of the country as “Partially Free” on the Freedom in the World Index 2017. The country is plagued with several challenges, crises-crossing infringements on religious freedom, privacy, right to life, and freedom of assembly and expression, etc. Religious freedom came under attack following the inauguration of the administration. For instance, the largest Shi’ite movement, the Islamic Movement of Nigeria (IMN), had its activities banned in Yobe, Kano, and Kastina. The ban was triggered by the group’s proscription in Kaduna State in October 2016. Since then, Shi’a religious activities have been met with mob and police violence, leading to the death of scores of IMN members in Kaduna, Kano, Katsina, Plateau, Sokoto, and Yobe States. The conduct of the security agencies in quelling conflicts has not improved but rather taken a turn for the worse since the coming into office of the Buhari administration. In December 2015, following clashes between men of the Nigerian army and Members of the Islamic Movement in Nigeria (IMN) led by Sheik Ibrahim El-​Zakzaky, more than 350 people are believed to have been unlawfully killed by the military between December 12 and 14, 2015. The Judicial Commission of Inquiry set up by the Kaduna State government to investigate the causes of the incident recommended the prosecution of soldiers involved in the killing of 347 members of the IMN. However, there is no evidence suggesting the implementation of the commission’s recommendations. The IMN leader, Sheik Ibrahim Zakzaky, is reported to have lost an eye and has been in detention since December 2015, despite several court rulings ordering his release. The Amnesty International Report, Nigeria (2016) Bullets Were Raining Everywhere, reveals the arbitrary arrests and detentions of pro-​Biafra supporters in southeast Nigeria. The report further alleges that at least 150 peaceful pro-​Biafra protesters were murdered by the soldiers (Amnesty International 2016). No security official has been held accountable for any of these egregious human rights violations (KDSG 2016). Nigeria is presently witnessing a flagrant disregard for the rule of law and due process. Since the inception of the Buhari administration, there has been a growing impunity by the government especially in its refusal to obey court orders. For instance, the former National Security adviser, retired Colonel Sambo Dasuki, has been in detention since December 2015 despite being granted bail by six different courts (Buharimeter Mid-​ Term Report 2017). Dasuki is standing trial for diverting and embezzling over $2.2 billion dollars meant for arms procurement. Nigeria recorded a decline in the 2017 World Press Freedom report as the country moved down the ladder from 116 in 2016 to 122 in 2017. According to the report, “it is

468   Idayat Hassan nearly impossible to cover stories involving politics, terrorism, or financial embezzlement in Nigeria following exposure of journalists to physical violence, or the denial of access to information by government officials, police, and sometimes the public itself.” Journalists and bloggers are now routinely arrested and intimidated, this trend is even more prevalent at the state level, where the opinions expressed on Facebook have led to the arrest and prosecution of many. Danjuma Katsina was detained for an alleged “injurious comment” posted on Facebook against a newly elected member of Nigeria’s House of Representatives, Mansur Mashi (Abdulaziz 2017). It is also important to point out that the Cyber Crimes Act (2015) has become an ominous legislation in the hands of the security forces in arbitrarily arresting and intimidating bloggers and citizens. It is important to also point out that there have been some attempts at reforms. The Nigerian army has established a human rights office to receive complaints of abuses against civilians. The government of Nigeria has also set up a judicial panel of inquiry headed by Justice Biobele A. George to investigate alleged rights abuses by the military.

Conclusion On return to democracy in 1999, there was palpable excitement and optimism that human rights violations were finally going to be a thing of the past; however, eighteen years after, it is not yet Uhuru for Nigerians. Human rights violations remain rife; particularly worrying is the security sector abuse of rights and its attendant victims from the Zaki Ibiam massacre to the just-​concluded Operation Python Dance in the southeast of Nigeria. What exactly is the minimum force needed to quell violent conflicts is a question still begging for answers, particularly in a system where there are no clear rules of engagement for the forces. There are concordant opinions that the state counterterrorism responses have been counterproductive and ineffective. Indeed, such is the extent, that the civilian population has been alienated from the security agencies; they are more afraid of the security agencies than the criminals. Security agencies have been severally accused of extensive human rights abuses and extrajudicial killings. These accusations have placed on the table the question of the nature of the rules of engagement and application of international conventions subscribed to by security agencies during conflicts involving civilian populations. It is even more ominous when the demand of Boko Haram insurgents at one point in time included holding accountable the members of the security agencies who extrajudicially killed their members. The question of accountability of security agencies in all these violent conflicts has become an issue, as there has been no prosecution of the numerous reported cases of extrajudicial killings in the country.

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    469 The lack of trust in judicial and law enforcement agencies has led to a rise in vigilantism. The continuous lynching of suspected gays and lesbians, suspected kidnappers and armed robbers are just a few examples. While human rights are protected as inalienable rights by the provisions of the Nigerian Constitution and other international instruments the country subscribes to, there is utter disregard for all these even as government agencies are quick to take advantage of the same law when it suits them. For instance, the Terrorism Prevention Act was invoked by the Nigerian military to declare Nigerian journalist Ahmad Salkhida, who had covered the Boko Haram insurgents since the early 2000s, a wanted man in 2016. Salkhida has cooperated with several government agencies in an attempt to resolve the Boko Haram insurgency. The failure of the Buhari administration to constitute the board of the National Human Rights Commission in Nigeria itself is a challenge to actualizing the protection of human rights in Nigeria. There is still more to do in the country to make human rights begin to wear the toga of inalienable rights itself.

Notes 1. Of March 29, 1984. 2. Named after the chairman of the commission,Justice Chukwudifu Oputa. 3. Amended Statutory Instrument No. 13 of 1999; the initial mandate was to investigate violations committed between 1983 and 1999. 4. The decision to entertain 200 cases was the result of finances, manpower, and classification of petitions that were considered as addressing gross violations of human rights in line with the mandate. The remaining submissions were forwarded to experts to study. 5. Fawehinmi vs. Babangida (2003) 12 WRN 1; (2003) NWLR (PT 808)  604. The Supreme Court in that case held that under the 1999 Constitution, the federal government of Nigeria had no power to set up a tribunal of inquiry as the power was now under the residual legislative list exercisable by states only and not the federal government, unlike the 1966 Constitution which made provision for such. 6. See the case of Alade vs. the Federal Republic of Nigeria, where the ECOWAS Community Court of Justice found the prolonged detention of Alade for nine years unlawful, and violating both the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights and the 2005 ECOWAS Protocol. 7. See the case of Ikechukwu Amaefula vs. Fortis Microfinance Bank Plc and others. 8. See Sections 33, 34, and 35 of the 1999 Constitution as amended. 9. Tor Tiv wants compensation for the 2001 Zaki Biam invasion (Agency Report, 2017). 10. Governor Sani Yerima introduced sharia on October 27, 1999, but it came into force on January 27, 2000 11. They are Bauchi, Borno, Gombe, Jigawa, Kaduna, Kano, Katsina, Kebbi, Niger, Sokoto, Yobe, and Zamfara. 12. Bearing in mind that the 2009 uprising came on the heels of the shooting of seventeen members of the sect by men of Operation Flush for failing to wear helmets on its way to bury their sect members who died in a road accident. This in itself represents the excesses of human rights abuses by the security forces with impunity.

470   Idayat Hassan 13. In a BBC interview, then information minister, Prof. Dora Akunyili was quoted as saying “Mohammed Yusuf ’s extrajudicial murder was ‘positive’ for Nigeria!” see http://​ nigeriavillagesquare.com/​articles/​reuben-​abati/​boko-​haram-​matters-​arising-​by-​reuben-​ abati.html 14. Nigeria government watchdog says it has credible reports of army abuses (Reuters 2013). 15. According to an interview from one of the leaders of Ombatse on the BBC, the group acted in self-​ defense (http://​leadership.ng/​news/​230513/​nasarawa-​killings-​my-​god-​ killed-​policemen-​ombatse-​leader). The group had also earlier accused the security agencies of desecrating Ombatse Shrine in December 2012. According to Chief Zachary: “I can’t still imagine how armed security agents numbering forty invaded a shrine, shooting sporadically to kill. It brings doubt to our minds whether or not the security agents are the Boko Haram we hear about. And when they got to the shrine, what did they see to show that we are a militia group? When they got there, they ordered all of us to kneel down and we all obeyed as law-​abiding people. They even went ahead to use our microphones to make announcement. What did they see that makes us look like we are militia?” 16. MEND claims it killed fifteen police officers in the Bayelsa boat attack (Udo 2013).

References Abdulaziz, A. (2017). “Police Detain Nigerian Journalist Over Facebook Post,” Premium Times. https://​www.premiumtimesng.com/​regional/​nwest/​237044-​police-​detain-​nigerian-​ journalist-​facebook-​post.html accessed November 6, 2017. Abubakar, A. (2014). “Protests for Kidnapped Girls Banned in Nigerian Capital,” CNN. http:// ​ w ww.cnn.com/ ​ 2 014/ ​ 0 6/ ​ 0 2/ ​ w orld/ ​ a frica/ ​ n igeria- ​ p rotests- ​ b an/ ​ i ndex.html accessed November 5, 2017. Agency Report (2017). “Tor Tiv Wants Compensation for 2001 Zaki Biam Invasion,” https://​ www.premiumtimesng.com/​news/​more-​news/​247545-​tor-​tiv-​wants-​compensation-​2001-​ zaki-​biam-​invasion.html accessed October 27, 2017. Amnesty International (2016). “Bullets Were Raining Everywhere: Deadly Repression of Pro-​ Biafra Activists.” https://​www.amnestyusa.org/​reports/​bullets-​were-​raining-​everywhere-​ deadly-​repression-​of-​pro-​biafra-​activists/​ accessed May 23, 2018. Buharimeter Mid-​ Term Report (2017). http://​www.buharimeter.ng/​wp-​content/​uploads/​ 2017/​07/​Final-​Buharimeter-​2-​years-​Report-​1.pdf accessed October 14, 2017. Emmanuel, O. and Ezeamalu, B. (2013). “#OccupyNigeria:  One Year Later, the Gains, the Losses,” Premium Times. https://​www.premiumtimesng.com/​news/​114890-​occupynigeria-​ one-​year-​later-​the-​gains-​the-​losses.html accessed November 5, 2017. Environmental Rights Action (1991). “Hakuri II: Operation Genocide Stop This War!,” Press statement, December 6, 1999. http://​www.essentialaction.org/​shell/​era/​Press_​odi.html accessed November 5, 2017. Human Rights Watch (1999). “Nigerian Army Accused of Excessive Force, Rape in Niger Delta, 22 December, 1999.” https://​www.hrw.org/​news/​1999/​12/​22/​nigerian-​army-​accused-​excessive-​force-​rape-​niger-​delta accessed November 5, 2017. Human Rights Watch (2002). “Nigeria Military Revenge in Benue: A Population under Attack.” https://​www.hrw.org/​reports/​2002/​nigeria/​ accessed November 5, 2017.

Human Rights Status in Nigeria Since Obasanjo’s Second Coming    471 Human Rights Watch (2003). “The O’odua People’s Congress:  Fighting Violence with Violence.” https://​www.hrw.org/​news/​2003/​02/​28/​nigeria-​opc-​continuing-​threat-​security accessed November 5, 2017. Human Rights Watch (2004). “Political Sharia, Human Rights and Islamic law in Nigeria and Islamic Law in Northern Nigeria.” https://​www.hrw.org/​report/​2004/​09/​21/​political-​sharia/​ human-​rights-​and-​islamic-​law-​northern-​nigeria accessed November 5, 2017. Human Rights Watch (2005). “Crackdown on Freedom of Expression.” https://​www.hrw.org/​ reports/​2005/​nigeria0705/​6.htm accessed November 5, 2017. Human Rights Watch (2008). “Nigeria: Arbitrary Killings by Security Forces in Jos.” https://​ www.hrw.org/​news/​2008/​12/​19/​nigeria-​arbitrary-​killings-​s ecurity-​forces-​jos accessed November 5, 2017. Human Rights Watch (2012). “World Report 2012.” https://​www.hrw.org/​world-​report/​2012 accessed November 5, 2017. Ibeh, N. (2013). “Nigeria Police, Nasarawa Government Fail to Identify Killers of Protesting University Students Three Months After,” Premium Times Nigeria. https://​ www.premiumtimesng.com/ ​ n ews/ ​ 1 36199- ​ n igeria- ​ p olice- ​ n asarawa- ​ g overnment-​ fail-​to-​i dentify-​k illers-​of-​protesting-​u niversity-​students-​t hree-​months-​after.html#. WiJmTSpfpGI.twitter. KDSG (2016). “Report of the Judicial Commission of Inquiry into the Zaria Clashes between Nigerian Army and the Islamic Movement in Nigeria.” http://​kdsg.gov.ng/​wp-​content/​ uploads/​2016/​08/​Report-​of-​the-​Judicial-​Commission-​of-​Inquiry-​into-​the-​Zaria-​Clashes1. pdf accessed November 5, 2017. Markus, B. (2004). “Obasanjo’s Government Violates Human Rights,” The Caravan. http://​ www.thecaravan.org/​node/​150 accessed November 5, 2017. News Nigeria (2014). “Mob Attacks Suspected Gays in Abuja.” http://​www.pmnewsnigeria. com/​2014/​02/​16/​reports-​mob-​attacks-​suspected-​gays-​in-​abuja accessed July 19, 2017. Nigeria:  Odi Massacre Statements (December 23, 1999). https://​www.africa.upenn.edu/​ Urgent_​Action/​apic_​122399.html accessed November 1, 2017. Nkanga, P. (2013). “CPJ Nigeria’s Impunity Ranking:  The Facts Don’t Lie,” Premium Times. https://​www.premiumtimesng.com/​opinion/​132623-​nigerias-​impunity-​ranking-​the-​facts-​ dont-​lie-​by-​peter-​nkanga.html accessed November 5, 2017. Nossiter, A. (2014). “Nigeria Tries to ‘Sanitize’ Itself of Gays,” New York Times. https://​www. nytimes.com/​2014/​02/​09/​world/​africa/​nigeria-​uses-​law-​and-​whip-​to-​sanitize-​gays.html accessed November 5, 2017. Nwisi, R. (2013). “Federal Govt to Pay N37.6b Damages for Odi Massacre,” The Nation. http://​ thenationonlineng.net/​federal-​govt-​to-​pay-​n37-​6b-​damages-​for-​odi-​massacre/​ accessed November 6, 2017. Ogundele, K. (2013). “Our Ordeal, by Victims of Zaki-​Biam Invasion,” The Nation, March 15, 2013. http://​thenationonlineng.net/​new/​news/​our-​ordeal-​by-​victims-​of-​zaki-​biam-​invasion, accessed November 6, 2017. Okpowo, B. (1999). “CHOBA:  Rape Victims in a  Fresh Dilemma,” Saturday Vanguard, December 4, 1999. http://​www.waado.org/​Environment/​FedGovt_​NigerDelta/​BayelsaInvasion/​ ResponsesFromHumaRights/​RapeInChoba.html accessed November 5, 2017. Olukoya, S. (2002). “Eyewitness: Nigeria’s Sharia Amputees,” BBC News, December 19, 2002, 09:41 GMT. http://​news.bbc.co.uk/​2/​hi/​africa/​2587039.stm accessed November 5, 2017. PM News (2014). “Nigerian Military Clamps Down on Media,” PM News, June 6, 2014.

472   Idayat Hassan Reporters Without Borders (2016). World Press Freedom Index: Nigeria, Climate of Permanent Violence. https://​rsf.org/​en/​nigeria accessed November 5, 2017. Reuters (2013). Nigeria Government Watchdog Says Has Credible Reports of Army Abuses. https://​www.reuters.com/​article/​us-​nigeria-​violence/​nigeria-​government-​watchdog-​says-​ has-​credible-​reports-​of-​army-​abuses-​idUSBRE96018120130701 accessed November 5, 2017. Sengupta, S. (2003). “Facing Death for Adultery, Nigerian Woman Is Acquitted,” New York Times. http://​www.nytimes.com/​2003/​09/​26/​world/​facing-​death-​for-​adultery-​nigerian-​ woman-​is-​acquitted.html accessed November 4, 2017. Udo, B. (2013). “MEND Claims It Killed 15 Police Officers in Bayelsa Boat Attack,” https://​www. premiumtimesng.com/​news/​128543-​mend-​claims-​it-​killed-​15-​police-​officers-​in-​bayelsa-​ boat-​attack.html.

Chapter 28

Revenue a nd Representat i on The Political Economy of Public Participation Oliver Owen

Introduction Taxation and revenue lie at the heart of the whole political economy of the Nigerian state, in the logic which underpins how the polity has been shaped. It is not too much of an exaggeration to say that revenue is why Nigeria was first created, out of initially separate British colonies. From its improvised beginnings, revenue has also been implicated in the historic critical junctures around which the Nigerian state was recreated since independence. From a three-​region structure in which a weak center, paid for by external revenues such as customs, coordinated the activities of three regional governments, each with their own solid revenue base, Nigeria has moved in stages to a situation half a century later in which thirty-​six states survive overwhelmingly on their slice of oil-​ backed federal allocation amid a still-​unresolved debate about “fiscal federalism.” In the postcolonial era, revenues, especially those from oil, have been central to the terms on which Nigeria has maintained its statehood and the tensions this both generated and absorbed; oil both paid for postwar reconstruction and the continental hegemonic ambitions of Nigerian foreign policy in the 1970s and 1980s, and enabled kleptocracy on an eyewatering scale. At the same time, the country’s revenue governance became “delocalized” with oil revenues losing their linkage with derivation, and local-​ level fee and tax revenues being largely abandoned to become the plaything of officials’ semiprivatized activities. Moreover, the subject of tax and revenue shines a light on the long-​standing disconnect between the state and its citizens, a political economy with implications for the consolidation of democracy and everyday accountability. Today, a consolidating democracy and an oil crunch offer the promise of an organic reconnection of citizen and state through a social contract, but this is counterbalanced by a

474   Oliver Owen political structure which offers ruling elites other options in the form of debt and continued outward and upward accountability; and it reveals a Nigeria which, if thrown back on states’ own internal resources, is profoundly uneven.

Colonialism on a Tight Budget Nigeria was born into a revenue generation imperative, due to the clear colonial office doctrine that Britain’s African colonies should be able to bear the cost of their own administration and development projects. By 1906, it was already evident that Lord Lugard’s new model Northern Nigeria Protectorate cost Britain money—​in fact it had to be given twice as much from London as it earned in revenue (£315,000 grant compared to £150,000 revenues) in comparison with Southern Nigeria’s booming revenues (£1  million in that year) (Nicolson 1969, p.  105). Between 1912 and 1916, while the European continent tipped into war, Lugard solved the financial problem (Nicolson 1969, p. 194) by amalgamating the two colonial administrations and their finances into the new colony of Nigeria. Colonial fiscal policies were reliant on trade taxes and customs, but also locally generated revenue. In Lugard’s Northern Nigeria, the failure of attempted plantation schemes left the administration reliant on an economic base of peasant agriculture for its income, which immediately raised the question of how to tax that kind of economy. It is worth reiterating that tax for the colonial rulers was never solely a fiscal imperative. Tax payment, within a framework of Victorian Protestant economic morality, was seen as a disciplining moral good in itself, stimulating productivity and development and acting as a modernizing imperative. The foundation of bureaucratic rationality, tax was the handmaiden of other vectors of modernization such as education, hygiene (Ahire 1991), and monotheism. Yet in precolonial Nigerian polities, what might be recognized as taxes covered a range of social, economic, and political payments, sometimes in the idiom of tribute, sometimes seen as fines, or levied as tolls on roads, or on goods traded. In centralized polities, this also took place within a context where rulers were themselves traders using state and household assets as capital—​(Clapperton 1827 [2005]), and also amid a context where people were extensively commodified, in slavery, household labor, marriage, and reproduction. Even where Islamic constitutions provided a clear separation of taxation from other forms of payment and wealth accumulation, a plethora of taxes and tributes governed property, produce, and economic activity (Hill 1972).

Of Indirect Rule and Revenue In the established emirate city-​states of Hausa-​speaking northern Nigeria, the Islamic blueprints of feudal rule and justice provided a take-​off point for taxation via the Treasury of the Native Authority. The colonial system co-​opted and coordinated the

Revenue and Representation    475 collection of government taxes as Haraji (head or poll tax, from the Arabic kharàj) and Jangali (cattle tax) due to their alignment with indigenous concepts in Muslim-​ dominated areas (Umar 2006, p. 32). This was intended to be set at one-​tenth of gross incomes, but in reality as there was little or no way of measuring incomes accurately, it instead functioned as a presumptive system, which led to a variety of outcomes: sometimes the evolution of a manageable, intelligible, negotiable, and fair tax burden via Native Authorities with local legitimacy; sometimes direct administration which intervened intermittently and capriciously in reaction to suspected evasion (Niven 1982, p. 209); or equally sometimes as a means for local intermediaries to extend and deepen their extractive rule over subordinate populations (Pierce 2006). In the noncentralized communities of the Middle Belt, however, where such ready-​made blueprints and intermediaries were lacking and had to be invented from scratch, virtually the whole history of the institutions of state rule from their colonial beginnings have roots in the problem of taxation. The new version of Akiga Sai’s history of the Tiv (Fardon 2015) shows clearly that for not only Tiv people, but also for the first British colonizers, taxation, administration, confiscation, fines, and violent punishment formed a part of the same contiguous complex of domination, and even later, when systematized, threw up new formations of power. The British first experimented with indirect rule based on family compounds, but discarded that in favor of inventing chiefships; today, the foundational grade of traditional rulership in Tiv areas is still known as Tor Kpande (the head of tax) though the function no longer corresponds1. In the former Southern Nigeria, taxation did not perhaps have as obviously a transformational effect on sociopolitical structures, with the notable exception of acephalous communities in the South-​East, where tax and related administrative issues caused recurrent problems which came to a head in the “Women’s War” of 1929, a series of protests, riots, and mass shootings in reaction by colonial authorities. Significantly, as Bastian el al. (2012) record, the episode was fueled by the perceived illegitimacy of taxing women as well as men, and besides the material grievance, the information-​ gathering aspect of taxation also had an alienating effect, with the different cultural meanings of enumeration causing misunderstanding and offense. Even at the time, colonial public enquiries determined the roots of the problem in the mutual illegibility of the cultures of rulers and ruled, with Secretary of State Lord Passfield writing in 1929 that it was “injudicious [ . . . ] to introduce into these Provinces a system of direct taxation without first completing a more intensive study of their social organization” (quoted in Basu 2015). More widely, however, the import and consumption taxes predominant in Southern Nigeria made their enduring mark on public culture nonetheless, in creating understandings of legitimate and illicit categories which persist to this day. Rather than being celebrated as iconic national products as in many countries, for instance, locally made alcoholic spirits (“ogogoro”) remain a byword for illegality as a result of colonial bans on distillation in order to keep up duties from imported schnapps and gin, which made up a full 60 percent of the revenue of Southern Nigeria in 1906 (Nicolson 1969; see Heap 2008 for the history of subverting this). Another

476   Oliver Owen byproduct was that the Nigeria Customs Service, founded in 1891, was set up to acquire a powerful historic position. Yet, at the same time, the coercive, imposed, and often arbitrary nature of colonial taxation did not prevent it becoming a source of legitimacy; many Nigerians, especially male household heads of the era, displayed pride in their citizenship status as taxpayers and predicated political demands specifically upon it, clearly expecting to be heard by government in those terms. An example of this can be found in the controversial 1951 election when the leftwing political activist Aminu Kano protested in writing to the senior resident of Kano that “A mass rally of over 15,000 souls (taxpayers)2 . . . adopted some very strong resolutions . . . declaring the last stage of the election null and void” (Feinstein 1987, p. 154).

Independence and Taxing the Productive Economy By independence in 1960, taxation systems had become widespread and systematized, and equally, had become more naturalized as part of the citizenship nexus, especially for men. In Benue, where imposing tax had proved such a problem, by this period household heads in public meetings would claim their right to voice on the basis of their taxpayer status. When tax collectors used their discretion to strike older and economically inactive men off the collection lists, some even complained as they felt it constituted being consigned to social irrelevance. Yet, at the same time, this was within a system which remained highly coercive, in which nonpayers could be beaten, detained, forced into debt, or made to sell assets or marry off daughters to meet tax obligations. Equally, from the outset, more localized systems of taxation were beset by problems of entrenchment, intensified by the recurrent rearrangements of local governance which took place before, during, and after independence, as Guyer (1992) traces for the period 1952–​90 in Oyo State. Eight legislative changes in that thirty-​eight-​year period not only continually cut the income entitlements of the most localized level of administration, but also (according to Olowu 1990)  left local revenue governance in the region in a state of perennial confusion. The underlying wealth that was thus taxed, however, remained primarily agricultural across all three devolved regions of Nigeria, with the north being built on the peasant cultivation of groundnuts, the southeast and Delta on palm oil, and the southwest on cocoa. The marketing of products such as cocoa took place through marketing boards, which offered the initial promise of streamlined marketing and price stabilization but which have been criticized, as elsewhere, for functioning more as value-​extraction mechanisms that effectively overtaxed agriculture to subsidize the modernization project (Bates 1981; Iweze 2014)3.

Revenue and Representation    477

Oil, Modernity, and Pathologies of Abundance This path, however, is a truncated story because at the same time as independence another powerful influence was already waiting in the wings—​the oil that was discovered at Oloibiri in present-​day Bayelsa in 1956. Following commercial export in 1958, oil quickly became the fiscal bedrock of the Nigerian state, via oil taxes but predominantly via government shares in output. The fiscal pathologies that Nigeria developed in the height of the 1970s oil boom included most of the classic features now enumerated in literature on the “resource curse.” “Dutch disease,” the appreciation of the oil-​backed currency made agricultural and manufacturing exports uncompetitive, at the same time as Nigerians increased their consumption of imported luxuries and basic inputs alike. Similarly, the expansion of the state made government jobs such an attractive career option, especially after the huge backdated pay rises of the inflation-​boosting 1975 Udoji Award, that educated human resources abandoned the private sector. Oil also had its aesthetic and cultural effects in a social psychology of abundance combined with transience (Apter 1999). Whereas most of the literature on resource curses represents this complex of traits as a systemic logic without authorship, it is important that we remember Nigeria’s oil-​ based fiscal reconstruction was not just an organic process but a designed one. For political actors interested in social justice, oil-​backed modernization also seemed to offer the poorest a liberation from the oppressive burdens of taxation. When the leftwing populist People’s Redemption Party (PRP) candidate Balarabe Musa won the governorship of Kaduna State in 1979, the party set about abolishing the burdensome Haraji and Jangali “because these taxes were the major pillars of feudal and colonial oppression” (Musa 1982, p. 17), and later were proud to note that states run by the nationally ruling National Party of Nigeria and its allies had been forced to follow suit in order to retain popularity in the states they ruled. As well as distorting the fiscal state and its incentives, we should also remember that oil revenue allowed huge infrastructural investment, especially in Lagos. Several consecutive national development plans funded both hard-​and soft-​ power foreign policy initiatives, such as the creation of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), some of Nigeria’s financial support to the antiapartheid struggle, and the 1977 Festival of Arts and Culture (FESTAC), which allowed Nigeria to claim a position as a leader not only in Africa but as a voice in the black world globally (Apter 2005). Meanwhile, on an individual level, oil paid for a huge expansion in both overseas and domestic education, from which many benefited. It is worth noting that the consumption boom meant that external revenues remained not only significant but potentially lucrative; employment in the customs service remained a popular career path for the aspirational, and more than one significant public figure began a political career after beginning in this branch. At the same time, however, the logics of oil revenue went further and deeper than in many natural-​resource-​reliant states, shaping the very constitution of the country itself. Whereas Nigeria on independence had been composed of three largely autonomous

478   Oliver Owen Table 28.1 Share of Resource Revenues Allocated to States on Derivation Principle Year

Producing State (Region) (%)

Distribution Pool (Federation Account) (%)

1960–9

50

50

1960–​71

45

55

1971–​5

45 (minus offshore)

55 (plus offshore)

1975–​9

20 (minus offshore)

80 (plus offshore)

1979–​81

0

100

1982–​92

1.5

98.5

1992–​9

3

97

1999–​2004

13

87

2004–​present

13 (including offshore)

87 (of onshore and offshore)

Source: Chukwuoonte (2015); updated by author.

regions which remitted a certain proportion of their common wealth to the national center, the increasing dominance of oil revenue saw the Constitution gradually shift to one shaped around the logics of distribution from a central pot. As Suberu (2001) charts, oil revenue drove state expansion and state creation on an unsustainable basis, with each multiplication paradoxically fueling further demands for subdivision in order to create more government jobs and spending streams. And, at the same time, Nigeria saw a gradual but firm centralization of control over oil revenue and the means of production (see Table 28.1), with successive legal changes meaning less and less revenue retained by oil-​producing regions and more and more going straight to the center, peaking at 100 percent retained by the federal government in 1979–​81. The 1978 Land Use Decree promulgated by the military government of the day assisted the process by putting all rights to subsurface minerals in the hands of government itself, thereby sidelining the role of land-​occupying citizens in the revenue nexus. The “unearned” nature of oil revenues, too, fed a discourse that government money was nobody’s money, which underpinned a hands-​off attitude to corruption and misspending under a military government which had no particular disposition to accountability in any case. The social contract thus created was essentially negative, especially after the structural adjustment decimated government services and made many Nigerian households self-​reliant in spheres such as healthcare, education, power generation, water provision, and security. On one hand, government made few demands on citizens in terms of taxation, active statecentric citizenship, or ideological obedience, but, on the other hand, citizens were expected to make only minimal demands on government in terms of accountability and spending on services. In fact, in the institutional crumbling and political crises of the poststructural adjustment era, no one was talking about tax in Nigeria or indeed the wider African continent. Guyer (1992) was one of the few to note this gap at the time, and it is noteworthy that she referenced instead the

Revenue and Representation    479 60

45

30

15

0 1970 1973 1976 1979 1982 1985 1988 1991 1994 1997 2000 2003 2006 2009 2012 2015 Oil revenue (U.S.$b)

Non-oil revenue (U.S.$b)

Figure 28.1  Graphic Realities: Nigeria’s Oil and Non-​oil Revenue Profile Over Time. (Source: Data from Central Bank of Nigeria. Figures are given in U.S.$ to adjust for steep periodic changes in naira value through 1980s–​1990s. 2016 figures are incomplete at time of publication.)

then-​current idea that social contracts should be framed primarily about service delivery rather than tax payment.

Democratization, Federalism, and Resource Control Postmilitary Nigeria has been in constant conversation between centralist and devolutionist (in Nigeria often called federalist) visions of the country’s future, and revenue has played a central part in this. The transition to an elected government in 1999 was presaged by citizen resistance and civil society revolts, and it is pertinent to remember that the most high-​profile of these was staged essentially over the social contract around oil resources. The 1995 execution of Ken Saro-​Wiwa and the Ogoni Nine by Abacha’s government for protesting the underdevelopment of the region from which the nation’s wealth was extracted made Nigeria a pariah in the international community and focused the minds of even the ruling elite on how unsustainable was the path chosen by the leadership. It also reminded citizens of the oil-​producing Delta region that far from being “nobody’s money,” oil revenues could be seen as their particular regional endowment birthright (Okonta 2008). This became a pressing issue for the incoming People’s Democratic Party (PDP) government of President Olusegun Obasanjo. The 1999 Constitution allowed for 13 percent of mineral revenues to be remitted back to oil-​ producing areas, but in an era when increasing amounts of oil were coming from offshore wells, this still led to a further political campaign for “resource control” embraced

480   Oliver Owen by governors of oil-​producing states4, which resulted in the 2004 law recognizing offshore wells of up to the 200-​metre depth mark as being part of states for derivation purposes. At a stroke, this made states such as Akwa Ibom new regional centers of oil wealth5. Yet, as this was happening, Nigeria’s real economy was moving further and further away from the oil to which revenue patterns remained wedded. Between 2005 and 2008, oil revenues averaged 82 percent of government revenues, but during the same period never exceeded 34 percent of GDP and may have been considerably lower in reality6. Since Nigeria’s constitution gives the right to personal income taxes and some other internally generated revenue (IGR) sources including property taxes to the states, a big prize was now on offer to those positioned and politically willing to engage with the challenge. Lagos, the country’s commercial capital, was the first to take the opportunity. Post-​1999, Governor Bola Ahmed Tinubu, advised by a core team of financial-​sector technocrats7, began a series of reforms which moved away from the piecemeal use of consultants with wide powers of discretion which fostered corruption and low collection rates, to a professionalized Lagos Internal Revenue Service (LIRS), which partnered with private-​sector firms and banks to streamline collection. De Gramont (2015) documents the evolving implementation in which political interests worked hand-​in-​ hand with technology intermediaries, but crucially also linked closely with infrastructural development, public service delivery, and a strong and highly mediatized public communications component, including TV and radio, labeling and signage, songs, drama, and “tax walks.”8 The biggest showcase of the relationship between party politics, political economy, and revenue came in 2004, when Lagos, which was then the only opposition-​run state in the southwest, created thirty-​seven new local government areas. The federal government contested this as counter to the 1999 Constitution which lists the 774 recognized local governments in Nigeria, and in reaction then-​President Obasanjo overruled the constitutional formula for disbursing revenue and cut off funding for the operation of Lagos State’s existing twenty local governments. The PDP president seems to have calculated that suddenly placing the huge burden of civil servants’ and teachers’ payroll on Lagos State’s treasury would force Tinubu to back down. Instead, the opposite happened, and Lagos was able to maintain its position and pay its bills using IGR alone until subsequent President Yar’Adua reconciled the row in 2007, with Lagos quietly allowed to keep the new entities as extraconstitutional “Local Council Development Areas.” The graph in Figure 28.2 illustrates the fiscal situation which underpinned this showdown; of all the states in Nigeria, Lagos was the only one that brought in more from IGR than it gained from its share of the federal allocation of oil revenues. The city’s income was further boosted after LIRS was made autonomous of the civil service in 2006, under Tunde Fowler, a former banker who became executive chair (and who later went on to be appointed chair of the Federal Inland Revenue Service in 2015). Babatunde Raji Fashola, Lagos governor from 2007 to 2015, backed further expansion of revenue collection, widening the tax net beyond the lucrative

Revenue and Representation    481 100%

75%

50%

25%

0%

Abia

Akwa Ibom

Beune

Ekiti

Kano

Federal Budget Allocation (FBA)

Niger

Osun

Plateau

Yobe

Internally Generated Revenue (IGR)

Figure 28.2  Internally Generated Revenue by State, as of 2011. The IGR situation in 2011 illustrated the gap between Lagos and the rest (LIRS/​Gatt and Owen 2018).

base of payrolls of formal companies to include informal-​sector workers (Gatt and Owen 2018)9 and centralizing control over property taxes which had been collected by local governments, and which were now also linked to the administration of property rights (Goodfellow and Owen 2018a). A number of other states followed suit; both those allied with Lagos in the southwestern-​based opposition Action Congress (AC, later APC) and further afield. Tax revenues allowed them not only to raise spending on cash income, but to improve their creditworthiness with an eye to importing future income into the present via debt issued on the capital markets; between 2011 and 2015, fifteen states issued bonds, according to Nigeria’s Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). Yet, at the same time, other administrations took other choices, preferring to preserve situations of delicate local political consensus by remaining reliant on federal allocations which incurred less public scrutiny or resistance than taxation. Many states made their own attempts to diversify revenue sources, and the federal government also tried to incentivize it by reflecting efforts at IGR in the formula used to allocate federal income to states by the Revenue Mobilisation and Fiscal Allocation Commission (RMFAC), alongside material factors such as land area and the ever-​ controversial population figures. The national conversation about revenue was also embedded within a wider ongoing conversation about devolution and constitutional reform:While the thirty-​six states, led by the most economically dynamic, largely adopted a mantra of demanding “fiscal federalism” or more state-​based control of revenues, this was also critiqued as “feeding-​bottle federalism” by commentators who noted that states were also more than willing to run to Abuja every time their finances were stressed. That structural weakness made it possible for the Jonathan administration

482   Oliver Owen to manufacture significant political consensus by means of regular disbursement from the supposedly rainy-​day Excess Crude Account to the point where the fund nearly vanished. At the same time, attempts to maximize nonoil revenue at the federal level were impeded by politicization—​while the customs service, for instance, benefited from new technologies and several technical assistance programs, its continuing autonomy was demonstrated by the fact that its income did not appear in the 2015 budget despite it being supervised by the federal Ministry of Finance supervised by the powerful Coordinating Minister of the Economy Ngozi Okonjo-​Iweala10. In addition, Nigeria’s ability to maximize customs revenue during this period was impacted by import bans which were completely undermined by politicians’ granting of selective import waivers, turning a well-​intentioned protectionist strategy into a way of creating monopoly income streams for patronage purposes.

Oil Cash to Oil Crash It can be argued that the most important political event in Nigeria’s recent history is not the landmark 2015 elections which ushered in a former opposition party in perhaps the most free election in the country’s history, but something that occurred offstage and began more than a year previously. This was the slow but sustained downward slide in the price of oil. More than a decade of record high oil prices (peaking in June 2008 at U.S.$156 per barrel) had created extremely conducive conditions for Nigeria’s economy and government incomes, as well as being a forgiving environment for the many slippages and missed opportunities in economic management (Villafuerte and Lopez-​Murphy 2010). Much of the decade’s dividends went into private pockets, either directly or indirectly. Although nontransparency of oil revenues was a subject of debate throughout the Obasanjo and Yar’Adua administrations, it hit its most notorious note in February 2014 when the Central Bank of Nigeria Governor Sanusi Lamido Sanusi alleged in a letter to Nigeria’s Senate that up to U.S.$21 billion had gone missing from the Nigeria National Petroleum Corporation’s due remittances to the Central Bank between July 2012 and January 2013. The increased statutory allocation of oil revenues to all states also made it possible for Nigeria’s governors to become significant players at the national level, and in concert with the oil boom, the Nigeria Governors’ Forum (technically a representative NGO with no constitutional mandate) became a significant voice in the country’s politics. What revenues were not used for was pump-​priming development by filling the infrastructure or services gaps, within a rationalized and planned structure; most major new initiatives were structured around headline announcements with insufficient plans for follow-​up. The 2010 Presidential Advisory Council headed by T. Y. Danjuma reportedly found that Nigeria’s oil revenues would be consumed by completing already-​committed projects eight years into the future. This situation set Nigeria up for a painful hangover when global oil prices began their sustained slide from mid-​2014. The low tide of the oil downturn revealed the

Revenue and Representation    483 structural weaknesses in harsh daylight. As oil revenues remitted to the thirty-​six states halved from N3,093.1 billion in 2013 to N1,618.8 in 201611, many states went into fiscal meltdown, unable to pay salaries and developing arrears to public employees of up to ten months. Despite two federal government bailouts, some remained in huge arrears by mid-​201712. This also affected the balance of sovereignty between the center and the thirty-​six states—​placing the federal government once again in the key position as effective underwriter of last resort. In April 2017, Finance Minister Kemi Adeosun put the country’s tax-​to-​GDP ratio at just 6 percent, one of the lowest in the world13. The figure is even lower if oil taxes are removed from the picture, just 4.6 percent of GDP in nonoil sectors14. Meanwhile, as incomes dipped, the burden of debt rose—​figures from the Nigeria Governors’ Forum, based on Debt Management Office data, suggest that in 2013 all states had either a low or medium-​risk debt burden, but by 2016 only three could be said to be low-​risk, while three states could be described as “in distress.” A number of states’ incomes were damaged by their very success in attracting lending in the previous dispensation, as repayments on finance are often a first-​line charge on states’ share of the federal allocation, leaving little cash for current needs.

Revenue and Nigeria’s Future The sudden fall-​off of oil incomes, coupled with an incoming government ideologically disinclined to renew previous practices of governance by overt patronage have therefore given birth to a number of dynamics. Prime among these is a search for other sources of revenue; a redoubling of the efforts of state revenue bodies supported by the FIRS saw registered taxpayer numbers grow from 10 million to 13.4 million in 2016, with Kano State alone adding nearly a million individuals15. This policy has taken place in tandem with a political emphasis on the diversification of growth into underexploited areas of potential such as agriculture and solid minerals, but has sometimes risked losing sight of the wider policy side effects of taxation in the drive to maximize revenue levels, or the limited benefits possible from higher tax collection without changes to other fiscal governance processes, a risk previously noted in a 2002 World Bank report (Eifert et al. 2002). Second though, it has revealed a huge degree of unevenness, lack of capacity, and sometimes lack of will to change direction at the heart of the state apparatus, with superficial reforms in some locations rehabilitating long-​established patterns of political patronage under new guises. Third, where tax reform has been taken on seriously, it has involved interesting new transformations of state institutions, logics, and practices, as varied as technologization, new alliances based on outsourcing, innovation, the creation of new forms of data, enumeration of people, households, lands and buildings, and even new kinds of street-​naming in the cause of making registration and tax collection simpler. Furthermore, it has entailed the state extensively reconnecting with the informal sector, and with the groupings through which the informal economy is

484   Oliver Owen organized, in order to engage with and tax it, a kind of twenty-​first-​century reinvention of indirect rule. Research has indicated both the productive potential of such relationships (Ayee and Joshi 2008), but also the possibilities of their reinforcing existing inequities or redirecting the accountability of such formations (Meagher 2013), or again the delicate balance which allows such organizations to leverage their gatekeeping roles (Gatt and Owen 2018). The search for revenue has also entailed revisiting the relationships between the national, subnational, and even international spheres. While some states continue to centralize revenue powers previously held by local governments, the local governments themselves have allied with national-​level legislators to try and pry the states’ fingers off local government federal allocations, which they contend should be remitted directly to them rather than via the treasuries of state capitals which allocate it at their own discretion. Meanwhile, the federal government’s own emergency bailouts to states include twenty-​two conditions for further assistance, including raising levels of IGR. And at the other end of the scale, international donor and multilateral assistance to help Nigeria manage the fiscal crisis has also entailed donor attention to tax-​revenue management at the local level. In the street, however, taxation practices evolve as part of a complex governance mix in which they interact with other salient issues such as citizenship (Meagher 2013). Moreover, as much as new social contracts are visibly emergent, so are new practices which reinvent tax reform in a manner that goes with the grain of patronage politics, such as the plentiful localized contracting of “tax consultants” on collection contracts which to some extent replace procurement contracts as political pork in this era of much-​reduced capital spending. Finally, since the limited reach and technical capacity of the Nigerian state means that citizens have plenty of scope for exit, voice, or loyalty, much of the energy of both tax professionals in Nigeria and those who study them has been concentrated on “quasi-​voluntary compliance” and the study of how to persuade an unwilling public to actually want to pay (Cheeseman 2011). Cheeseman and De Gramont (2017) suggest that the conditions that made this nexus work so effectively in Lagos are not to be found everywhere. Bodea and Lebas (2016) explored the dynamics of tax in conjunction with service delivery, but also found that contrary to conventional literature on state-​building, tax, and social contract, a sense of political legitimacy may be a prerequisite for, rather than a product of, new taxation initiatives. Therefore, there seems to be a clear connection with elections and other forms of direct political accountability; new possibilities for the tax-​and-​social-​contract nexus may have been opened up by the reformed electoral administration embedded in 2015, which gave the emergent administration increased legitimacy from the outset. At the same time, there is another emergent tax-​and-​politics nexus, one in which the politics underpinning the use of consultants in tax administration highlights a shift away from patterns of disbursing contracts via government spending, towards new forms more aligned with delivering gains to the public purse while remaining patrimonialist in logic. Overall, the story of tax in present-​day Nigeria seems to be the fiscal version of the grand project of re-​engaging the public, which the Nigerian state seems to have been

Revenue and Representation    485 gradually building since 1999. But that overlies deep regional variations—​while some states have been making greater efforts at IGR collection than others, not all have the same potential, and there are parts of Nigeria which will be reliant on federal allocation for a generation to come. The need to continue funding them will have to be balanced with the push for increased autonomy by those who feel themselves to be footing the bill—​not only Niger Delta oil states but also states such as Lagos, whose Senator Remi Tinubu (wife of the former governor) in 2016 launched an attempt to reserve additional funds from VAT for Lagos on the principle of derivation16. Though defeated, this is not likely to be the last of such political gambits. In the year since 2014 (see Figure 28.1), the revenues from oil and non-​oil sources have been converging. In 2016, according to CBN figures, Nigeria is likely to have quietly passed a historic milestone. For the first time since 1977, the country once again will probably have earned more in tax revenue from non-​oil sources than from oil. The future will depend on whether, and how, this new political economy is sustained.

Notes 1. Violent, as well as passive, resistance to taxation continued in some parts of central Nigeria until well into the colonial period; District Officer Barlow of Shendam was killed by Plateau villagers resisting taxation in 1930 (Niven 1982, p. 102). 2. The emphasis is Kano’s original. 3. In 1986 Nigeria dissolved its cocoa marketing board as part of liberalization reforms. 4. See http://​www.waado.org/​nigerdelta/​essays/​resourcecontrol/​Dafinone.html 5. Allocation of Revenue (Abolition of Dichotomy in the Application of the Principle of Derivation) Act 2004 http://​www.lawnigeria.com/​LawsoftheFederation/​ALLOCATION% 20OF%20REVENUE%20(ABOLITION%20OF%20DICHOTOMY%20IN%20THE%20 APPLICATION%20OF%20THE%20PRINCIPLE%20OF%20DERIVATION).html accessed August 2, 2017. 6. This figure should be taken with caveats on the methodology used to calculate GDP, noting that in 2014 when Nigeria recalculated its GDP with 2010 replacing 1990 as the base year, taking into account new sectors of the economy, the real share of oil in GDP was shown to have been 14.4 percent for 2013 rather than the 32.4 percent previously calculated. See https://​www.ft.com/​content/​70b594fe-​bd94-​11e3-​a5ba-​00144feabdc0 7. Such as Commissioner for Finance Wale Edun and Commissioner for Budget and Planning Yemi Cardoso. 8. Forms of public mobilization and sensitization themselves modeled on party-​political street campaigning. 9. The number of registered individual taxpayers in Lagos grew from 262,700 in 2001 to 3,133,800 in 2012 according to LIRS figures. 10. The original budget documents are unavailable online but the source material can be downloaded at https://​www.premiumtimesng.com/​news/​headlines/​177004-​download-​ nigeria-​2015-​budget-​proposal-​the-​jonathan-​govt-​does-​not-​want-​nigerians-​to-​see.html accessed October 5, 2017. This situation seems to have changed since the advent of the Buhari administration and the appointment of a new head of Customs, close to the president, with customs revenue figures being regularly published in the media.

486   Oliver Owen 11. According to 2017 figures from Nigeria’s Office of the Accountant-​General (OAGF) and Joint Tax Board (JTB). 12. The second bailout was conditional on twenty-​two reforms, including biometric capture of civil servants, audit reforms, and increased IGR effort. Although all states made efforts in at least some of these directions, the unevenness in performance shows the wide range of localized conditions and political will. 13. https://​www.thisdaylive.com/​index.php/​2017/​04/​23/​adeosun-​nigerias-​tax-​to-​gdp-​ratio-​ among-​lowest-​in-​the-​world/​ accessed August 7, 2017. 14. Taiwo Oyedele/​PWC. http://​www.pwc.com/​ng/​en/​publications/​gross-​domestic-​product-​ does-​size-​really-​matter.html accessed August 7, 2017. 15. Premium Times, November 29, 2016, quoting FIRS press release. http://​www. premiumtimesng.com/​news/​top-​news/​216644-​nigeria-​taxpayers-​hit-​13-​4-​million.html accessed August 11, 2017. Former Lagos revenue boss Tunde Fowler was appointed to head FIRS by the Buhari government. 16. Pulse Nigeria. accessed October 5, 2017.

References Ahire, P. T. (1991). Imperial Policing –​The Emergence and Role of the Police in Colonial Nigeria 1860–​1960. Buckingham: Open University Press. Apter, A. (1999). “IBB=419: Nigerian Democracy and the Politics of Illusion,” in Comaroff and Comaroff (eds), Civil Society and the Political Imagination in Africa: Critical Perspectives. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Apter, A. (2005). The Pan-​African Nation: Oil and the Spectacle of Culture in Nigeria. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Ayee, J. and Joshi, A. (2008). “Associational Taxation: A Pathway into the Informal Sector?” in D. Brautigam, O. Fjeldstad, and M. Moore (eds), Taxation and State-​Building in Developing Countries. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bastian, M. L., Kent, S. K., and Matera, M. (2012). The Women’s War of 1929:  Gender and Violence in Colonial Nigeria. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Basu, P. (2015). “N. W. Thomas and Colonial Anthropology in British West Africa: Reappraising a Cautionary Tale,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.) 22: 84–​107. Bates, R. H. (1981). Markets and States in Tropical Africa: The Political Basis of Agricultural Policies, updated and expanded with a new preface. Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press. Bodea, C. and LeBas, A. (2016). “The Origins of Voluntary Compliance:  Attitudes toward Taxation in Urban Nigeria,” British Journal of Political Science 46 (1): 215–​238. Cheeseman, N. (2011). Raising Revenue to Reduce Poverty. Improving Institutions for Pro-​ Poor Growth Briefing paper 16. http://​www.iig.ox.ac.uk/​output/​briefingpapers/​pdfs/​iig-​ briefingpaper-​16-​raising-​revenue-​to-​reduce-​poverty.pdf Cheeseman, N. and De Gramont, D. (2017). “Managing a Mega-​City: Learning The Lessons From Lagos,” Oxford Review of Economic Policy 33 (3). Clapperton, H. (2005 [1827]). Hugh Clapperton into the Interior of Africa: Records of the Second Expedition 1825–​1827, J. Lockhart and P. Lovejoy (eds). Leiden: Brill.

Revenue and Representation    487 De Gramont, D. (2015). “Governing Lagos: Unlocking the Politics of Reform,” Carnegie Paper, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Fardon, R. (2015).“‘Do You Hear Me? It Is Me, Akiga’ Akiga’s Story and Akiga Sai’s History,” Africa 85 (4): 572–​598. Eifert, B., Gelb, A., and Tallroth, B. N. (2002). The Political Economy of Fiscal Policy and Economic Management in Oil-​Exporting Countries. Washington, DC:  World Bank Policy Research Working Papers. Feinstein, A. (1987). African Revolutionary:  The Life and Times of Nigeria’s Aminu Kano. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Gatt, L. and Owen, O. (2018). “The Impact of Direct Taxation on State-​Society Relations in Lagos, Nigeria,” Development and Change. Goodfellow, T. and Owen, O. (2018). Taxation, property rights and the social contract in Lagos, ICTD Working Paper, Institute of Development Studies, Sussex. Guyer, Jane I. (1992). “Representation without Taxation:  An Essay on Democracy in Rural Nigeria, 1952–​1990,” African Studies Review 35 (1): 41–​79. Heap, S. (2008). “‘Those That Are Cooking the Gins’:  The Business of Ogogoro in Nigeria During the 1930s,” Contemporary Drug Problems 35 (4): 573–​611. Hill, Polly (1972). Rural Hausa: A Village and a Setting. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Iweze, D. O. (2014) “A Critique of the Establishment of the Marketing Boards in Nigeria in the 1940s,” Journal of History and Diplomatic Studies 10 (1). Meagher, K. (2013). “Taxing Times: Religious Conflict, Taxation and the Informal Economy in Northern Nigeria,” ASA 2013 Annual Meeting Paper. Available at SSRN https://​ssrn.com/​abstract=2237142 accessed June 11, 2018. Musa, M. (1982). Balarabe Musa: Struggle for Social and Economic Change. Zaria: Northern Nigerian Publishing Company. Nicolson, I. F. (1969). The Administration of Nigeria 1900–​1960:  Men, Methods and Myths. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Niven, R. (1982). Nigerian Kaleidoscope: Memoirs of a Colonial Civil Servant. London: Hurst. Okonta, Ike (2008). When Citizens Revolt: Nigerian Elites, Big Oil and the Ogoni Struggle for Self-​Determination. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Olowu, D. (1990). “Achievements and Problems of Federal and State Transfers to Local Governments in Nigeria Since Independence,” in L. Adamolekun, R. Robert, and M. Laleye (eds), Decentralization Policies and Socio-​Economic Development in Sub-​Saharan Africa (pp. 116–​156). Washington, DC: World Bank. Pierce, S. (2006). “Looking like a State:  Colonialism and the Discourse of Corruption in Northern Nigeria,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 48 (4): 887–​914. Suberu, R. (2001). Federalism and Ethnic Conflict in Nigeria. Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press. Umar, M. S. (2006). Islam and Colonialism: Intellectual responses of Muslims of northern Nigeria to British colonial rule. Leiden/​Boston, MA: Brill. Villafuerte, M. and Lopez-​Murphy, P. (2010). “Fiscal Policy in Oil Producing Countries During the Recent Oil Price Cycle,” IMF working paper WP/​10/​28. Washington DC: International Monetary Fund, in M. de Wit and D. Crookes, Oil Shock Vulnerabilities and Impacts: Nigeria Case Study (2013), U.K. Department for International Development.

PA RT   I V

E C ON OM IC A N D S O C IA L SE C TOR S Policies and Peoples

Chapter 29

F is cal P olic y du ri ng B o om and  Bu st Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili

Introduction Fiscal policy in Nigeria has been symptomatic of a resource dependent economy. Although policy debates on optimal tax rates and spending are important, the fiscal policy space has been dominated by the effect of crude oil revenue and the subsequent volatility that has brought. Oil revenue windfalls have led to rapidly expanded government services which have led to crises when oil revenues collapse. The boom-​and-​bust cycles have led to a series of fiscal and debt crises, and a number of strategies have been implemented to try to mitigate the effects of the cycle. This chapter explores the history and dynamics of fiscal policy in Nigeria and explores the lessons, policy successes, and failures since independence, as well as the risks for the future. The chapter is structured as follows: the first section gives a brief theoretical overview of fiscal policy focusing on taxation and spending, as well as debt, savings, fiscal revenue in resource countries, and the interaction with monetary policy. The second section discusses the history of fiscal policy in Nigeria, with individual focus on specific eras in fiscal policy. The third section discusses the risks and challenges for fiscal policy in Nigeria going forward and the fourth and final section draws some conclusions.

Theoretical Overview of Fiscal Policy The entirety of fiscal policy is driven by the rationale for the government. On this there are a wide range of opinions and debates on what exactly the rationale for government is. What role does the government play in an optimally functioning society? What limits should the government have? Market-​based states tend to think of

492    Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili government as a public goods provider, or a solver of problems that cannot be solved, or in which less than best outcomes are reached, by individuals pursing their private interests. Alternative views of government exist, such as those in more centrally planned economies. In this view, the government is not just a provider of public goods but also an allocator of goods and services, setter of broad societal goals, and socially desirable outcomes. Most countries fall somewhere in between the spectrum with a joint broad goal of maximizing public welfare, although with different paths towards achieving those goals. Where a given country falls typically depends on its history, social attitudes, and a variety of other factors. However, regardless of the choices on the role of the state, distinctions have to be made between ideas on what the role of the state should be, commonly referred to as the normative view, and what the role of the state actually is, the positive view(Tanzi 1997)1. The policy challenge therefore involves bringing the two views closer together. Given the goals for government set out by society, fiscal policy is focused on how the actualization of those goals are financed. Fiscal policy can technically be defined as the use of government spending and taxation to achieve desired outcomes. Revenue is generated for the government by levying taxes on different kinds of economic activity, and this revenue is spent on various spending programs. The questions that arise once fiscal policy is thought of in this much-​simplified manner center on how to raise money and how to spend it. What would be the effect of raising or lowering taxes? What types of economic activity should be taxed. Would implementing a particular tax plan improve or reduce social welfare. What is the most effective and efficient way to spend tax money? Should tax money be spent on healthcare projects or on salaries for civil servants? What types of spending have the most impact on economic activity. As with most questions on economic issues, there are debates on what the answers are to these questions. However, a common theme is the goal for improving public welfare, with welfare as defined by society. Fiscal policy in its simplified form deals with how taxes and spending, and changes in taxes and spending, improve public welfare, and how to achieve the best welfare outcomes given the constraints imposed by limited tax revenue.

Public Debt and Savings Governments, however, do not exist in vacuums, and fiscal policy does not only apply to particular points in time. Governments make policy decisions every period and as expected, consider impacts both immediate and into the future. Given that public spending can have positive effects on the economy, and governments feasibly care about present and future outcomes, the question of public debt becomes relevant. The logic of debt is very simple. If spending on a particular public good increases economic activity or public welfare now and in the future, then spending on that public good now, even if resources are not available and borrowing is needed, can lead to a better outcome than the alternative of not spending.

Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust    493 Expanding potential outcomes is but one reason why governments take on public debt. In practice, there are a variety of reasons why governments would take on debt. Public debt could be incurred to deal with temporary shortfalls in government revenues, or to deal with emergency situations. The flip side to public debt is public savings. Governments sometimes get unexpected windfalls, perhaps from resource revenues, or from excess tax revenues. Governments also have to think about dealing with unexpected windfalls. The introduction of public debt and windfalls adds layers of complexity to the plethora of policy choices that governments must make to achieve optimal public welfare, both in the present and sustainably into the future. Public debt, although increasing the potential for welfare gains, also carries with it significant risks.

Fiscal Policy in Resource-​Intensive Poor Countries Fiscal policy in general focuses on government spending and taxation. In general, governments levy taxes on various economic activities. The policy questions then are how much taxes to collect. Issues such as increasing or reducing the tax rate, or adjusting the types of economic activity that are taxed, are some of the types of questions that are debated. However, it is often the case that tax revenue is acquired, not directly from economic activity, but from natural resources. This changes the dynamics of fiscal policy because the questions switch from the effects of policy changes on economic activity, to issues such as mitigating the risks of revenue collapses, macroeconomic imbalances, and environmental issues. Fiscal policy gets even more peculiar in natural resource-​rich but poor countries. In countries where resource revenues make up the bulk of government revenues, the fiscal policy options and debates are different, too. Questions such as the optimal VAT rate, or whether personal income taxes should be raised or lowered take a back seat to issues such as mitigating the risks of natural resource price shocks, diversifying government revenue sources, and preventing some of the nefarious effects of resource windfalls.

Fiscal Policy and its Interaction with Monetary Policy Although fiscal policy tends to focus on the direct financial activities of governments, it is useful to append the relationship with monetary policy. In many developing countries, monetary policy and fiscal policy tend to be under the direct or indirection control of governments. Even in countries with central bank independence, governments still have tremendous influence on monetary policy. Monetary policy also influences the options faced by the fiscal authorities. Macroeconomic factors such as rates of inflation, exchange rate policies, and interest rate changes, directly influence the policy options of fiscal authorities. It is therefore

494    Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili very useful to discuss fiscal policy not completely in isolation, but taking into account the macroeconomic policy environment. In the next section, we discuss the history of fiscal policy in Nigeria since independence in 1960.

History of Fiscal Policy in Nigeria The story of Nigeria’s fiscal policy since independence is similar to that of a classic relatively underdeveloped country discovering significant amounts of natural resources. Those resources come to dominate government finances, leading to optimism about the future and massive expansion of government spending. However, because commodity prices are volatile and largely unpredictable, the impact of revenue shocks leads to serious imbalances and fiscal problems. In this section we summarize policies in Nigeria, moving from the increasing importance of oil revenues in the 1960s, to the revenue and debt crisis of the 1980s, the stagnation of the 1990s, and the stabilization polices in the 2000s. Finally, we will conclude with a short discussion of the current fiscal situation as well as the attendant risks going forward.

Fiscal Policy from 1960 to 1979 The fiscal situation in Nigeria at independence was what could only be described as precarious. Nigeria was described as a going concern both economically and politically (Stolper 1963)2. However, it is important to understand the context in which the Nigeria was administratively governed. At independence Nigeria inherited a federal system of governance, similar to that practiced in Britain. The federation was organized with a central government and three regional governments, with the regional governments further subdivided into local governments. Although an extra region—​the Mid-​West—​ was created in 1973, the structure remained the same until 1967, during the period of military rule. The duplication of administrative authority means that discussing fiscal policy in the early years is a bit complex as each region technically had its own fiscal policy, which was influential enough to impact the country. However, in broad terms the patterns over time were similar. In the 1960–​1 fiscal year the combined revenue of the central and regional governments stood at just over GB£151 million, with expenditures at GB£146 million (Stolper 1963)3, a budget surplus. A large share of revenues was financed by export of commodities and taxes on international trade. Although crude oil exports were not yet dominant at the time, in 1960, 847,000 tonnes of “mineral oils” were exported. To put that in context, today Nigeria exports almost 100 million tonnes of crude oil per year. However, due to the grand developmental plans of the central and regional governments, spending expanded rapidly over the next decade and budget deficits began to appear. By 1965 there was a budget deficit equivalent to N48 million, increasing

Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust    495 to N226 million by 1970 (Olaloku, 1975)4. The bulk of the deficit was financed by internal sources, with domestic borrowing financing 79 percent of the deficit between 1965 and 1970. The expansion of the deficit was driven largely by the expectation of revenue from crude oil sales. Although revenue increased due to crude oil, spending increased more than revenue. The federal government’s revenue was estimated to have doubled between 1965 and 1970 (Niven 1969)5. However, at the same time it ran down its foreign reserves, with it dropping from £200 million in 1965 to £36 million in 1970 (Niven 1969)6, although the civil war between 1967 and 1970 probably had some impact on that. The fiscal expansion by the government continued unabated and was supported by expanding oil production and increases in the oil price. The two factors saw Nigeria collect record revenues from oil sales, with it dwarfing most other revenue sources. In 1970, Nigeria exported roughly $1 billion worth of oil. This expanded to about $25 billion by 1980 (Mosley 1992)7, with oil production climbing from 8.1 percent of GDP in 1970 to 26.3 percent of GDP in 1979 (Pinto 1987)8. The government did not treat the increased revenues as a windfall but at a permanent increase in revenue, with the expectation that it would continue indefinitely. In spite of the increased revenue, the federal government ran a budget deficit for seven of the ten years between 1970 and 1980. To put the expansion of government in context, the deficit for the 1970–​1 budget year was N188.8 million equivalent to about 1.6 percent of GDP. By the 1977–​8 budget year it had risen to N2.13 billion equivalent to about 6.7 percent of GDP. The summary of fiscal policy between independence in 1960 and the first oil crash in 1979 was an expansion in revenue driven by oil production and oil prices, but an in even larger expansion in government spending. The result was that by the time the oil prices crashed in late 1979, the government was in a perilous fiscal position.

Fiscal Policy from 1979 to 1999 The price of crude oil, Nigeria’s major export by 1980, started falling. The average price of crude in oil in 1980 was about $37.42 a barrel. It dropped to $31.83 per barrel in 1982, $28.75 in 1984, and bottomed out at $14.44 in 1986. The consequences for Nigeria’s fiscal policy were dire. Between 1980 and 1986 the value of oil exports collapsed from $25 billionn to $6 billion (Mosley 1992)9, with government revenue collapsing as well. Government spending, however, could not be slowed that quickly. As a result, the budget deficits expanded rapidly. Although the deficit had started to reduce in the late years of the oil boom, by 1981 is had doubled its previous peak to N4.7 billion, or about 8.9 percent of GDP. The ballooning deficit continued to N6.6 billion in 1983, which was roughly 11 percent of GDP. The collapsed revenue, combined with government spending that could not easily adjust, implied that the expanding deficits had to be financed by debt. In theory, public debt is a good tool for stabilization and mitigation of shocks. The rule, however, implies that public debt be increased in lean years and paid off in boom years. Instead, Nigeria expanded public debt in the boom years, and even more so in the lean years. Public debt

496    Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili increased from $836 million in 1970 to $6.2 billion by the time of the oil price shock in 1979. Due to the ever-​expanding government deficit, public debt continued to rise reaching $17.6 billion in 1983 and $22 billion before the structural adjustment program in 1986, and to $33 billion in 1990 where it remained until the early 2000s. The government’s fiscal position was not the only thing that suffered from the oil price crash. The economy suffered as well with contractions of GDP in every year from 1979 through 1986. The untenable situation with the economy and government finances led to the implementation of the structural adjustment program (SAP) in 1986. To summarize, the program was designed to reform Nigeria’s foreign exchange system, trade policies, and business and agricultural regulations. From a fiscal policy perspective, the policy plan in SAP was designed to bring government spending under control and narrow the budget deficit. SAP recommended budgetary restraint, encouraging limited wage increases, reduced government support for parastatals, curtailed spending for all but the most important uncompleted projects, and a reduction in subsidies. SAP also encouraged a relatively open and predictable trade policy regime. The polices recommended by SAP were implemented haphazardly at best. The currency devaluation between 1986 and 1987 increased naira-​denominated government revenue, and further devaluations meant that by 1990 naira-​denominated government revenue had tripled. However, government revenue also continued to expand. In spite of the increased naira revenue, the government deficit continued to expand. The deficit hovered between 2.7 and 9.5 percent of GDP from the implementation of SAP in 1986 through 1992, with the actual deficit rising from N2.4 billion in 1986 to N47.8 billion in 1992. The increased spending was also partially driven by the debt overhang from debt accumulated prior to 1986. In 1986 interest payments accounted for 26 percent of all government expenditure. This jumped to 55 percent in 1987 when the federal government assumed liability for state and local government debt. The effect of interest payments on the budget remain relatively steady through 1990 before dropping to 40 percent in 1992. The increased spending was also driven by particular spending items which the government was unwilling to reform due to political reasons. Chief of these was the fuel subsidy. Refined fuels were imported but priced in naira and the devaluations implied that fuel and other subsidized prices should have adjusted as well. However, the government retained control of prices, against the SAP recommendations. Although there were some price increases, the price differential between domestic prices and international prices continued to rise. It rose from 56 percent in 1987 to 86 percent in 1992. The price differential had serious implication for fiscal policy as the government had to continue footing the bill. The summary of fiscal policy in the two decades between 1979 and 1999 was one of debt accumulation, driven by expanded government spending and a failure of that spending to react to the oil-​price-​induced collapse in government revenue. The debt overhang, combined with other spending patterns limited the scope of fiscal policy until the debt forgiveness of 2005.

Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust    497

Fiscal Policy from 1999 to 2010 The year 1999 saw the transition from military dictatorship to a democracy. The transition also brought with it some significant improvements and transparency in the government budgeting cycle and fiscal policy. In 1999, the government’s fiscal position was still relatively precarious. The debt stock was still roughly $30 billion although it had stopped increasing. Interests payments had also dropped to 22 percent of the budget in 1999. The fiscal position was also buoyed by an increase to crude oil prices. Crude oil prices increased from an average $16.56 per barrel in 1998 to $18.64 in 1999, and to $27.39 in 2000. The expanded space for fiscal policy meant the government had some flexibility. However, fiscal policy over the period was signified by two key events. The first of these was the debt forgiveness in 2005. A majority of the debt stock built up after the oil crash in in the 1980s, to the return to democracy in 1999 was external. This had the benefit of being available at a lower cost, in terms of interest payments, however, it carried with it a currency risk. Devaluations of the naira implies that the burden on the budget would increase. The debt overhang was a burden on fiscal policy throughout the period to 1999. It was therefore important that the new democratic government tackle the debt problem. In 2005 Nigeria was reclassified as an “IDA10-​only” country, a status that would allow it to seek debt relief. In 2006 a debt relief deal was finalized with the Paris club, to whom the majority of debt was owed, canceling $18 billion worth of debt, and the remaining $12 billion paid in full. As a result of the deal, interest payments on debt dropped to 11.2 percent in 2006 and to 8.7 percent in 2007 (IMF 2010)11. The debt cancellation deal created fiscal space for the federal government to implement its various programs, a situation which had been absent since the oil crisis in 1980. The second major policy innovation of the period focused on dealing with the volatility of oil revenue. Since the expansion of oil production in the 1970s, oil revenue had become a major part of government revenue. However, as was experienced during the stagnant decades from 1980 to 1999, the consequences of oil price shocks could be dire for fiscal policy and the economy at large. The challenge, therefore was how to mitigate the risk of oil prices volatility and smooth government revenue and expected government revenue. To this end, the federal government implemented an oil-​price fiscal policy rule to insulate the economy from volatility in the oil market. The rule was introduced in 2004 and was a political agreement among all tiers of government for the allocation of oil revenues based on a relatively certain budget of oil price and volume of production. In the event that actual oil revenue was higher than projected, the excess would be pooled into a “rainy day” fund, referred to as the excess crude account. The account was only drawn from if actual revenues fall below budget expectations. The oil-​price based rule essentially acted as a savings account for the government with the budget benchmark prices typically set below the actual oil prices. The result was that between 2004, when the rule was implemented, to 2008, when the next oil price shock occurred, the account accrued about $18 billion.

498    Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili The two major fiscal innovations, combined with other supportive monetary policy, implied much improved fiscal policy for the government, with the attendant effects on the rest of the economy. The debt forgiveness deal freed up revenues for spending focused on development, and the oil-​price rule ensured that buffers were in place in the event of a downturn in oil revenue. However, this was also aided by a continuous increase in the price of oil. From a low of $11.91 per barrel in 1998, the oil price increased almost every year, hitting $91 per barrel in 2008. As a result of these policies, the shocks to production due to the militancy in the Niger Delta from 2004 to 2009, and the oil-​ price crash in 2009 did not impact the government’s revenue, or the economy, as similar shocks did in the past. The fiscal policy environment was not without its issues though. The debt stock continued to rise, in spite of higher-​than-​budgeted oil prices. The debt stock doubled in four years between the debt forgiveness deal in 2006 to 2010, rising from $9.6 billion to $15.9 billion. However, most of this debt was domestic, and spoke to what was a continuing trend of rapidly expanding government spending in spite of the oil-​price rule. The expansion was driven partly by the continuation of a trend on price fixing. As was the case with the fertilizer and fuel subsidies in the 1970s and 1980s, subsidies continued to account for an increased share of government spending. Fuel subsidies, for instance rose from N4 billion in 2006 to an estimated N146 billion in 2009, rising from less than 1 percent of the budget to almost 2 percent of the budget. The implicit fuel subsidies were more than double the explicit subsidy in each of the years (IMF 2010)12. Despite the relative stability, the worrying trends set the tone for the next period of fiscal policy.

Fiscal Policy since 2010 Fiscal policy between 2010 and the present is in many ways reminiscent of fiscal policy in the years leading up to 1980 and the half a decade afterwards. It was epitomized by ever-​expanding government spending in spite of record oil revenue, combined with an expansion in debt. The 2009 oil-​price crash meant that the excess crude account was drawn down as was expected. Recall that the goal of the oil-​price rule was to create fiscal buffers that could be used in the event of a collapse in oil revenue. The excess crude account was drawn down from its peak of $18 billion in 2008 to $13.6 billion in 2009, and then to about $4.3 billion in 201013. However, while the oil price recovered to $71 per barrel in 2010 and continued to rise through 2014, the oil-​price rule was not implemented. The excess crude account contained only about $3 billion by the time the 2014 oil price crash hit. The fiscal buffers which were put in place to mitigate the effect of oil-​price volatility were virtually abandoned. Although there was an attempt to set up a sovereign wealth fund with stronger legal backing, as at 2014 the fund had accrued only about $1 billion.

Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust    499 The collapse of the oil-​price rule was accompanied by a rapid expansion in government spending. Total expenditure by the federal government continued its increasing trend jumping from N1.7 trillion to N2.6 trillion between 2008 and 2010, and increasing further to N4 trillion in 2014. The problem was not the absolute amount of spending per say, as at N4 trillion in 2014 it was equivalent to only about 4.6 percent of GDP. However, it was expanding rapidly and faster than revenues were expanding in spite of record oil prices. The result of the rapid expansion of government spending was a consistent budget deficit. The 2008 budget was the last on record to have an actual budget surplus of N380 billion. Since then the deficits have been high continuously year on year. The 2010 budget had a deficit of N1.79 trillion, with budget deficits above N1 trillion every year until 2014, with a deficit of N816 million that year. The deficits were financed mostly by domestic debt, with the debt stock rising from N5.3 trillion in 2010 to N9.5 trillion in 2014. In general, the fiscal space was eerily similar to that in the run-​up to the oil-​price crash of 1980. Expanding crude oil revenue was accompanied by government spending that expanded even faster, with the attendant accumulation of debt. The lack of significant oil savings also implied that the government was vulnerable to oil price shocks. The oil price began its descent in 2014, falling from a peak of $114 per barrel, to $29 per barrel at the beginning of 2016. This implied a serious drop in government revenue, and the threat of widening deficits. The response to this drop in revenue also mimicked the response in the 1980s. In response to collapsing revenues and the lack of fiscal buffers, the government opted to continue the expansion of government spending and turned to debt to fill the gaps. In 2015, the government proposed a deficit of N755 billion but the actual deficit was N2.25 trillion (IMF 2016)14. The projected deficits as per the budgets for 2016 and 2017 were N2.2 trillion and N2.36 trillion respectively, although it is not clear what the actual deficit would be. As was the case in the 1980s the continuous record deficits has led to a rapid expansion in the debt stock. The total debt stock has increased from N8.5 trillion as at the end of 2013 to N16 trillion as at the June 201715. Of this debt, the external component has increased from $8.8 billion to $13.8 billion. The expanding debt has put even more pressure on the fiscal space with debt servicing costs increasing from 33 percent of actual revenue in 2015, to 59 percent in 2016. The federal government has hinged its debt management strategy on increased tax revenues. Given that Nigeria has a relatively low tax to GDP ratio, the federal government hopes that increased tax revenues would go some way to reducing the debt burden. It is not clear, however, if tax revenues can increase quickly enough. The fiscal situation as at 2017 is remarkably similar to that at the beginning of the debt problems in the early 1980s. A sudden collapse in government revenue due to a fall in crude oil prices has led to the government raising significant foreign debt with the hope that increased future revenues will keep the government financially viable. It remains to be seen if the situation this time around will turn out differently.

500    Kingsley Moghalu and Nonso Obikili

Challenges for the Future The summary of fiscal policy in Nigeria since independence has been about the expansion of oil revenues and its subsequent impact on government spending. Increased oil revenue and the expectation of permanent increases has led to a seemingly nonstop expansion in government spending. This expansion has been, in many instances, faster than the expansion of revenue itself. However, the expansion of oil revenue and the volatility in oil prices have led to frequent periods of fiscal stress. This fiscal stress has limited the capacity of government to implement its development agenda, and has had further consequences for the rest of the economy. In the near term, given the collapse in revenue in 2014 and the expansion of debt, the major question for fiscal policy is limiting the potential of a debt crisis. Without some change in direction, the county is almost certainly heading for a prolonged fiscal crunch in which the majority of government revenue will be used to simply service the debt, a scenario that was witnessed from the mid-​1980s through the 1990s. To this, the current strategy is focused on increasing tax revenue from other sources, but it is not clear if this can be successful given the reality of politics. Regardless of the success of that strategy, it must go hand-​in-​hand with slowing the expansion of government and repurposing government spending towards more efficient and impactful areas. In the long term, two strategies have to be implemented to prevent another episode of boom and bust to government revenue. First, an oil-​price fiscal rule needs to be implemented and enforced—a rule that limits the effects of volatility in oil prices. Second, efforts have to be made to diversify government revenue sources away from volatile commodities, to a basket of sources that will prove to be more resilient to downturns.

Conclusion This chapter discusses the history of fiscal policy in Nigeria since independence. It details the expansion and eventual domination of oil revenues from independence which led to a relatively faster expansion of government spending. The collapse in the price of oil in the early 1980s, however, had serious consequences for fiscal policy. The inability of government revenues to slow led to a rapid expansion in debt which went on to hobble the activities of government for the next two decades. The return of democracy in 1999 saw the implementation of various policies to mitigate the impact of oil-​revenue volatility, specifically the oil-​price rule. The period also saw a deal to cancel most of the legacy debt with the balance repaid, freeing the balance sheet of government, and giving it room to implement its development agenda. Recent times have, however, seen the collapse of the oil-​price rule and the continued expansion of government with the racking up of debt as a consequence. The collapse in

Fiscal Policy during Boom and Bust    501 the price of crude oil and the subsequent decrease in government revenues has created the potential for another debt crisis. The challenge to fiscal policy rests on how to mitigate the effects of volatility to oil revenues and how to diversify government revenues away from oil. Preventing the expansion of government beyond the revenue capacity of the state also remains a challenge.

Notes 1. M. V. Tanzi (1997). “The changing role of the state in the economy: a historical perspective” (No. 97–​114). International Monetary Fund. 2. Wolfgang F. Stopler (1963). “Economic Development in Nigeria.” 3. Wolfgang F. Stopler (1963). “Economic Development in Nigeria.” 4. F. Akin Olaloku (1975). “Deficit Financing in Nigeria.” 5. Rex Niven (1969). “Modern Nigeria.” 6. Rex Niven (1969). “Modern Nigeria.” 7. Paul Mosley (1992). “Policy-​Making without Facts: A Note on the Assessment of Structural Adjustment Policies in Nigeria, 1985–​1990,” African Affairs, 91 (363) (Apr. 1992): 227–​240. 8. Brian Pinto (1987). “Nigeria During and After the Oil Boom: A Policy Comparison with Indonesia,” World Bank Economic Review 1 (3): 419–​445. 9. Paul Mosley (1992). “Policy-​Making without Facts.” 10. International Development Association (IDA). 11. 2010 IMF Article IV Report. 12. 2010 IMF Article IV Report. 13. https://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2010/​05/​excess-​crude-​account-​depleted-​to-​4-​393-​billion/​ 14. IMF Article IV report 2016. 15. March 2017 Debt Profile—​Debt management office.

References IMF, P. (2010). “Staff Report for the 2009 Article IV Consultation,” International Monetary Fund, Washington, DC. IMF, P. (2016). “Staff Report for the 2009 Article IV Consultation,” International Monetary Fund, Washington, DC. Mosley, P. (1992). “Policy-​Making without Facts:  A Note on the Assessment of Structural Adjustment Policies in Nigeria, 1985–​1990,” African Affairs 91 (363): 227–​240. Niven, R. (1969). “Modern Nigeria,” Journal of the Royal Society of Arts 118 (5161): 34–​42. Olaloku, F. A. (1975). “Deficit Financing in Nigeria, 1965–​70,” Journal of Modern African Studies 13 (1): 140–​147. Pinto, B. (1987). “Nigeria During and After the Oil Boom:  A Policy Comparison with Indonesia,” The World Bank Economic Review 1 (3): 419–​445. Stolper, W. F. (1963). “Economic Development in Nigeria,” Journal of Economic History 23 (4): 391–​413. Tanzi, M. V. (1997). “The Changing Role of the State in the Economy: A Historical Perspective” (No. 97–​114). International Monetary Fund.

Chapter 30

Nigeria ’ s Petroleum   B o oms A Changing Political Economy Peter M. Lewis

Introduction Through most of its postcolonial history, Nigeria’s political economy has been shaped by the petroleum sector. Oil production began in 1958, just two years before independence, and accelerated rapidly after the conclusion of the 1967–​70 civil war. By the middle of the 1970s crude oil furnished 93  percent of export proceeds and 80 percent of government revenues, proportions that have barely shifted since that time. The dominance of the petroleum monoculture has led many observers to regard Nigeria as a “petrostate” (Karl 1997). Petroleum has altered the structure of the economy, political institutions, and the constellation of interests. Distributional politics have converged around state control of resource rents, and elite bargains have focused on access to centrally mediated revenues. Resilient features of production and resource allocation have been accompanied by an equally compelling political logic of distribution. A good deal of analysis emphasizes the adverse influences of petroleum wealth on economic growth and output, governance, political accountability, and domestic security. The literature on the “resource curse” highlights powerful structural factors that lead to consistently poor outcomes. However, changes in markets, institutions, and social formations may alter the context of the petrostate and the petroleum complex. In Nigeria, democratization and aspects of economic globalization have shifted elite incentives and economic policy. Nigeria’s first petroleum cycle began in 1970, with a major windfall arriving in the first five years of the cycle, followed by volatility, and then revenue contraction from 1981–​5. The “boom” era gave way to an equally precipitous “bust” leading to sustained

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    503 economic decline and stagnation. The initial windfall also spurred rapid growth of the central state and ambitious programs for industrialization. Through much of the cycle, military rulers articulated a structure of patronage, though a civilian interregnum under the Second Republic (1979–​83) witnessed grand corruption and turbulent contention for rents. The legacy of faltering development and political instability cemented a narrative around the perverse consequences of oil wealth. A second long cycle arrived in 2002 with a steady rise in oil prices, the expansion of deep-​water crude oil production, and the growth of natural gas processing. The country realized unprecedented revenues during a sustained period of civilian electoral rule. Revenues briefly dropped during the global economic downturn of 2009, then recovered until the sustained price decline from 2014 forward. The ensuing recession prompted austerity and popular hardship, though the economy showed signs of modest recovery by the end of 2017 (World Bank 2017. Moreover, the non-​ oil economy was buoyed by rising new sectors along with resilience in agriculture, which helped to offset the large deficits in the petroleum sector. The second petroleum cycle did not match the model of contraction and crisis seen in the wake of the earlier boom. This chapter argues that political regimes and economic integration substantially affect the paths of petrostates such as Nigeria, and that powerful structural dynamics can be reshaped by political change. A comparison of Nigeria’s first and second petroleum cycles reveals different approaches to managing windfalls, negotiating distributional pacts, and coping with revenue shocks. This is not to argue that an effective developmental logic has emerged, but that electoral politics has significantly altered distributional bargains, with implications for growth and diversification. While recognizing the resilient features of the political economy, I emphasize a dynamic view of the country’s developmental path, emphasizing possible inflection points. The following section reviews theories of the political economy of natural resources, sketching a profile of the “resource curse” in its economic, political, and security dimensions. The next sections trace successive petroleum cycles and their outcomes. I  then examine the changing political context of economic management, concluding with observations on political reform and the mutability of the petrostate.

Natural Resources and Development Countries with exceptional natural resource wealth reflect a vivid paradox, as they often experience developmental paths that are inferior to comparable states with fewer endowments (Auty and Gelb 2004). In attempting to explain the contradiction, literature on the “resource curse” has focused on economic factors, institutional deficits, governance failures, and insecurity (Rosser 2006). Natural resource wealth, rather than delivering benefits from a revenue windfall, is typically associated with erratic growth,

504   Peter M. Lewis chronic poverty, heightened inequality, endemic corruption, communal tension, and autocratic rule. There is considerable debate over the causal features of this syndrome, but a number of mechanisms are evident in Nigeria’s experience. Economists have drawn attention to the “Dutch disease” as an explanation for economic stagnation in the wake of natural resource growth (Gelb 1988). Named for the Netherlands’ weak export performance after the discovery of gas deposits, the syndrome reflects a series of price distortions that lead to erosion in non-​oil productive activities. The revenue windfall from petroleum leads to a rapid influx of foreign currency, causing an appreciation of the real exchange rate. An overvalued currency cheapens imports and discourages export activities in agriculture and manufacturing. Another mechanism sees a diversion of factors to less productive sectors, as urban services and construction (nontradables) draw labor and investment from tradable activities in cash crops or industrial exports. Through either pathway, non-​oil production is overshadowed by the dominant resource sector, and the economy becomes heavily reliant on a single source of revenue. Since petroleum markets are unreliable, this export monoculture aggravates economic volatility and impedes economic diversification. In addition, governments tend to mismanage resource windfalls through weak forecasting, procyclical budgeting, boondoggle projects, and rising corruption (Joseph 1978). A parallel line of argument points to a “political resource curse” with various aspects (Ross 2013). Since petroleum rents accrue directly to the central government, state revenues become separated from the general economy and officials are less inclined to tax citizens or domestic firms. This gives rise to a “rentier state” that wields large amounts of discretionary resources without direct accountability to an electorate (Auty and Gelb 2004). Such regimes can use patronage to secure popular acceptance, and may bolster their repressive capabilities to contain dissent. Without a revenue imperative linked to the real economy, officials frequently neglect institutions that would foster investment in broad production, favoring instead a narrow set of extractive institutions. Property rights are weakened, as government-​ mediated rents become the key source of accumulation. As discussed in the chapter by Owen in this volume, revenue collection may atrophy, therefore undermining any social contract between citizens and the state. Moreover, the concentration of fiscal and political authority fosters intense competition over access to the state as the locus of distribution. This “honeypot” effect may prompt military coups, electoral violence and misconduct, pervasive corruption, or rebellion by marginalized groups. Resource wealth has been a driver of political instability and conflict (Collier and Hoeffler 2012). The chapter by Adunbi in this volume vividly illustrates this logic in the Nigerian case. There is considerable debate about the empirical foundations and causal relationships among these different models. A large amount of empirical work supports the idea that resource wealth carries particular liabilities, and these findings correspond with most analyses of Nigeria.

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    505

The First Petroleum Cycle 1970–​85 Emergence of the Petroleum Economy At independence in 1960, Nigeria contained a relatively diversified economy organized around agriculture, solid minerals, and nascent manufacturing. Under the federal structure inherited from colonial rule, three regional governments, each with different export profiles, were able to retain half the revenue derived from their local output in cocoa, palm oil, cotton, groundnuts, and such minerals as limestone, tin, and coal. Oil was discovered in commercially viable quantities in the Niger Delta by Royal Dutch Shell in 1956. By the mid-​1960s oil provided more than a third of total export revenues (Pearson 1970). Soon after independence, regional and communal strains proved destabilizing to Nigeria’s fledgling parliamentary system. Locally dominant ethno-​regional political parties controlled each of the three regions. The Northern People’s Congress (NPC), with the largest regional voting base, was best positioned to attain control of the federal government. Southern parties, however, resented perceived northern dominance and jockeyed for position through unstable coalitions. Following a cumulative series of tensions over regional divisions and elections, the First Republic was overthrown by the military in January 1966, with a countercoup following in July of that year (Osaghae 1998). Ethnic violence and polarization prompted the Eastern Region to attempt secession under the banner of Biafra, leading to civil war (1967–​70). The emerging oil industry, located mostly in the southeast, was virtually halted by the war. Although petroleum was not initially a driver of the rebellion, both parties to the conflict were cognizant that the abundant resource wealth in the southeastern coastal area could be vital either to the federation, or to a breakaway state (Soares de Oliveira 2007). With the decisive federal victory at the beginning of 1970, commercial production rapidly doubled to more than 1 million barrels per day. By 1973, output exceeded 2 million barrels daily, while OPEC-​induced price increases raised the price per barrel more than four-​fold, over $14.

Oil Windfall and State Response Burgeoning oil production inspired resource nationalism, as leaders sought greater control over the petroleum value chain and pushed for higher returns (Kirk-​Greene and Rimmer 1981). The Nigerian National Oil Corporation (NNOC) was established in 1971, the same year that Nigeria joined the Organization of Petroleum Exporting States (OPEC). In 1977, the NNOC was incorporated into the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC). In addition to extending the scope of the national oil company, officials reformed the fiscal regime to expand the state’s revenue take.

506   Peter M. Lewis Proceeds from crude oil quickly overshadowed all other export earnings, accounting for more than 95 percent of foreign exchange and 85 percent of government revenue by the end of the decade. The windfall generated steep growth of the economy and government spending. The gross domestic product tripled during the period 1972–​8, while the federal budget grew seven-​fold during the same period. The federal civil service proliferated from about 45,000 at the conclusion of the civil war to more than 250,000 by 1981 (Okotoni 2003). In addition, the federal and state governments created hundreds of state-​owned enterprises in manufacturing, mining, agriculture, finance, construction, and various services, while expanding parastatals for public utilities, shipping and transport, banking, and finance. During the first oil boom, an elite bargain based on distributional politics emerged. Former civilian politicians and technocrats played significant policy and advisory roles in military governments, but the armed forces controlled fiscal, legal, and administrative structures (Bienen 1985). Military officials articulated patronage structures through key ministries and parastatals, while military governors created virtual fiefdoms in most of the states. As officers gained significant control over land, procurement, finance, and other assets, alliances with civilian business operators furnished strategic outlets for accumulation. In the wake of civil war, military rulers were intent on consolidating the peace and promoting national accommodation. The emerging elite bargain focused on the allotment of resource revenues and corresponding access to scarcity rents (Lewis 2007). Leaders presumed that oil wealth would readily translate into development through a combination of economic planning, state projects, and private investment (Forrest 1995). Ultimately, however, growth and investment took a back seat to clientelism, often delivered through new administrative units or fiscal formulas.

Mechanisms of Distribution Federalism was renegotiated through the formation of new states and local governments (Suberu 2001). Military leaders sought to divide large ethnic blocks and to provide additional representation for minorities. Four regions were replaced with twelve states under the military regime of General Yakubu Gowon. Following the 1975 coup, the new regime of General Murtala Muhammed added seven new states and associated local governments. Each of the states had a claim on central oil revenues, as well as autonomy in creating administrative posts, parastatals enterprises, and development programs. The revenue allocation formula was another policy for sharing petroleum rents. The federal government captured the bulk of oil proceeds by directly taking a substantial portion of oil revenue and reducing state shares. Revenue was channeled to the Distributable Pool Account and then circulated among the states according to a formula that accounted for population and relative need. The equation was readjusted across five reviews during the first petroleum cycle.

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    507 The spending priorities and programs of national development plans defined a third pathway of distribution (Rimmer 1981). These documents mirrored the spectacular growth of revenues and the broadening ambitions of leaders. The Second Development Plan (1970–​4), focusing on postwar reconstruction, was initially budgeted at N3.6 billion and then increased to N5.7 billion after the 1973 oil price increase. The Third Plan for 1975–​80 originally targeted N30 billion in spending, and was later increased to N43 billion. The Fourth National Development Plan (1981–​5) projected exponential growth to N82 billion in capital investment. In nearly all cases the plans proved mainly to be aspirational, as unfavorable revenue shocks fostered weak implementation. Nonetheless, development planning was a central vehicle for distributional politics during the initial boom era. Expansive schemes of industrialization included petroleum refining, petrochemicals, fertilizer, steel, metallurgy, machine tools, automobiles, and cement. Irrigation schemes and agricultural projects covered broad swathes of the country (Watts 1987). Railway expansion, road construction, and the extension of electricity and telecommunications were all stated priorities. The plans also targeted patronage by strategically locating projects such as refineries, steel mills, and irrigation schemes in different regions. Finally, the Indigenization program sought to transfer substantial assets in the private sector from “foreign” control to Nigerian hands (Forrest 1995). Through two military decrees in 1972 and 1977, transnational corporations and local Levantine-​owned enterprises in selected sectors were directed to transfer equity and managerial posts to Nigerians. While many firms complied formally with the decrees, managerial “fronting” by Nigerians with little substantive role, and shadow holdings by foreign and immigrant owners often skirted the regulations. The Indigenization program did little to develop local skills or financial depth, though it transferred significant assets to Nigerian proxies.

Strategies of Growth and Distribution From the 1970s, governments pursued an agenda of state-​led economic development with strong nationalist and redistributive elements. In accord with many developing countries of the era, Nigerian officials had substantial commitments to directing the development process, and they stressed the necessity for state action to overcome market failures and deficiencies in the private sector. In addition to emphases on planning, public investment, and ownership, the legal and regulatory framework focused on protecting and nurturing domestic enterprise. A strategy of import-​substituting industrialization (ISI) was central to this vision (Forrest 1995). Government used state ownership, joint ventures with foreign firms, and domestic subsidies and finance for Nigerian private investors to promote a diversified manufacturing sector, extending from finished consumer products to intermediate and capital goods. The key policy instruments included high tariffs and nontariff barriers, an overvalued naira, public enterprises, selective licenses and contracts for domestic producers, and directed finance through public and commercial banks. Governments

508   Peter M. Lewis could also utilize selected ISI policies to deliver patronage and regional redistribution. Underdevelopment in northern states prompted strong distributional demands to remedy colonial-​era disparities. Policymakers also adopted populist measures such as exchange rate management to cheapen imports, especially consumer goods and food (Watts 1987). Governments slated housing schemes, primary education programs, university expansion, and growth in public employment. Second Republic politicians used these policies to bolster their electoral coalitions. During the oil boom, ethnically defined clientelist networks were invigorated and redefined through the expansion of public spending (Joseph 1987). Popular groups also shaped distributional politics. As discussed in the chapter by Kraus, organized labor remained active under military rule and pressed for gains during a period of rapid industrial growth and foreign investment. Civil servants formed a distinct lobby recognized in the 1974 “Udoji” awards (named for a government review commission), which conferred a large, retroactive salary increase across the public sector. The Nigerian private sector sought new outlets through public projects and indigenization policies. Emerging entrepreneurial groups were reliant on state finance, contracts, and regulatory support. Organized business groups lobbied for special protection and subsidies, while individual business operators cultivated alliances with officials.

Macroeconomic Management During the 1970s, leaders favored a managed exchange rate, expansionary fiscal and monetary policies, capital controls, and close regulation of trade and investment. This led to accelerating inflation as oil revenues were fully monetized and the government injected a strong fiscal stimulus to the economy. Policies also tended to be strongly cyclical, with rapid expansion during windfall years and reactive austerity during downturns. Efforts at contraction, however, were sharply limited by the growth of recurrent spending throughout the large public sector, as well as political demands to sustain subsidies and project spending (Rimmer 1981). Consequently, the momentum of spending persisted through revenue declines, as debt and arrears financed the gaps. The petroleum boom posed challenges for peak economic institutions including the central bank, the ministries of finance and planning, and the national petroleum corporation. Technocratic roles in the economic bureaucracy were not well established, especially after 1975 when General Murtala Muhammed removed several key “super” permanent secretaries (Permsecs) amidst a wide-​ranging purge of more than 10,000 public-sector staff (Osaghae 1998). Policymakers had weak forecasting tools and contended with strong pressures for spending and discretionary allocations. Economic stability was also undermined by grand corruption. The flood of new revenues, reflected in the spending goals of the national development plans and mounting annual budgets, eclipsed any efforts at monitoring and control. Project spending, procurement, and recurrent commitments offered ample outlets for the

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    509 diversion of rents. Widespread collusion between public officials and private interests fostered misallocation of resources, illustrated vividly in the “cement armada” of 1975, when officers in the Ministry of Defense procured several times the needed volume of cement for public projects, acquiring kickbacks and surplus for sale.

From Military Rule to the Second Republic When General Murtala Muhammed deposed General Yakubu Gowon in a largely peaceful coup in 1975, the new regime presented a reformist and nationalist agenda. It promised a transition to civilian rule, new states, and a purge of the corrupt public sector (Kirk-​Green and Rimmer 1981). The government sought to manage deficits arising from a downturn of oil revenue while remaining committed to the industrialization goals of the Third Development Plan. Murtala was assassinated in a failed coup attempt in 1976, but his colleague, General Olusegun Obasanjo, assumed power and carried forward the government’s core programs, including a handover to civilians in 1979. The Second Republic took power in markedly different circumstances from its predecessor. The winning National Party of Nigeria (NPN) had a broader geographic appeal, and the Constitution provided for a presidential system with a bicameral National Assembly. These changes fostered new patterns of distributional politics and new interethnic elite coalitions. Points of access to public resources were dispersed among thousands of politicians and party operatives, looking to provide for constituents and bolster political fortunes (Joseph 1987). The sprawling, decentralized bargaining among this “political class” constituted an arena of clientelism during a period of pronounced political crisis, economic austerity, and institutional decline. The second civilian regime was ultimately a casualty of failing democratic institutions and norms, along with an economic collapse aggravated by the contentious struggle for political spoils (Osaghae 1998). After cresting in 1980 in the wake of the Iranian Revolution, oil markets began to decline in 1981, leading to reduced exports at dramatically lower prices. Shrinking revenues quickly fostered growing deficits, import compression, and escalating debt. Unable to manage expenditures or to address the balance of payments, the government of President Shehu Shagari found itself enmeshed in a broad failure of the economy. Initial responses to the downturn included ad hoc budget cuts, delayed spending, short-​ term borrowing, and administrative restrictions on foreign exchange and imports. These measures fueled corruption and were sporadically enforced. Austerity measures in 1982 further diminished public expenditures and programs, leading to salary arrears for civil servants and widespread breakdown in public services. Escalating levels of grand corruption were vividly displayed by the regular scandals reported in the press, and a string of arsons in major public buildings aimed at avoiding investigations. The tumultuous 1983 elections were held in an atmosphere of economic and political crisis. The stark decline of the economy added to the sense of unraveling and

510   Peter M. Lewis drift, especially as the NPN government had no evident plan for addressing the emergency (Forrest 1995). Discussions initiated with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank were inconclusive as the government would not agree to currency devaluation, liberalization of trade, or removal of the subsidies on petroleum. Between the politically unpopular prescriptions of the multilateral financial institutions and the bankruptcy of government, economic policy seemed at an impasse. Meanwhile, a predatory political class seemed intent on seizing public resources. The military staged a coup just three months after the elections. Major-​General Muhammadu Buhari launched a “corrective” regime focused on stemming corruption and restoring order to the state. Buhari favored a domestically driven austerity program and rejected the policy package of the multilateral institutions (Olukoshi 1991). While restraining spending, cutting the public service, suspending some projects, and tightening controls on currency and trade, the regime sustained most subsidies and maintained support for large public enterprises. These policies failed to stabilize the economy, which declined at an average rate of 3.6 percent between 1981 and 1986.

Legacy of the First Petroleum Cycle The first petroleum cycle was a study in contrasts: between boom and bust; dizzying growth and sudden contraction; developmental ambition and inertia; concentrated wealth and widespread poverty; windfalls and scarcity; possibility and corruption. The boom era spurred ambitious development blueprints that suffered from deficient implementation. Elites from the military, the political class, and sectional groups established workable bargains around the distribution of petroleum rents, and sought national stability after a cataclysmic civil conflict. They also aimed to build public legitimacy through populist programs and nationalist symbols. However, a syndrome of policy failure, economic distortions, and state incapacity led eventually to systemic failure. The era crystallized a narrative about the perverse effects of oil wealth, and the obdurate effects of the “curse.” Economic volatility was a chronic feature of the petroleum era. Moreover, the abrupt shift to an oil export monoculture led to the atrophy of export agriculture and a brief but unsustainable manufacturing bubble (Joseph 1978). Successive regimes failed to implement an effective developmental agenda. Prevailing government approaches could not translate natural resource rents into productive capital formation or economic diversification. Resource wealth was also strongly associated with worsening inequality and the persistence of mass poverty (Bienen 1981). The petroleum era became related in the public mind with the deterioration of a social contract, as state elites focused on access to state-​mediated resources and popular groups had few effective claims for public goods or services.

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    511

Interlude: Failed Reform and Stagnation Economic stagnation and autocratic rule soon eroded the legitimacy of General Buhari’s government, leading rival officers to stage a countercoup in 1985. General Ibrahim Babangida took power, pledging economic reform and democratization. In a deft political maneuver, he rejected an IMF loan and unveiled an domestic “alternative” known as the Structural Adjustment Program (SAP), which essentially matched the terms of the Fund and the World Bank. The program included devaluation of the naira, broad liberalization of trade, subsidy reductions, removal of agricultural marketing boards, cutbacks in the public sector, and privatization of more than a hundred state enterprises (Olukoshi 1993). The SAP yielded short-​term stabilization of the economy but did not foster sustained recovery (Lewis 2007). Macroeconomic oversight was inconsistent and the Babangida government lacked a group of capable managers in peak economic institutions. Many elements of the SAP were also counterproductive or poorly sequenced. Devaluation raised inflation in the import-​dependent economy, abrupt trade liberalization served to accelerate the decline of import-​competing manufacturing, and the contraction of the public sector undermined key public services including education and health. Nigeria experienced a short windfall from 1990–​1, when oil prices spiked in the wake of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. The revenue bounty appeared shortly after a failed coup against Babangida, leading to a spate of political spending to shore up the regime. Budget oversight and monetary controls were largely discarded, and a public deal to reduce external debt proved largely fictional, as officials sidetracked funds intended for repayment. Babangida’s regime embarked on an era of economic predation that would last for nearly a decade under two autocrats (Lewis 2007). Subsequent investigations revealed that more than twelve billion dollars of the Gulf windfall were diverted to opaque “special” accounts. After multiple deferrals, the regime convened elections in June 1993 for the presidency of a Third Republic. Babangida annulled the polls, but then bowed to pressure and transferred power to a civilian caretaker committee. The defense minister, General Sani Abacha, quickly seized power.

Descent to Pure Predation The dictatorships of the 1990s represented a new phase in the pathology of the petrostate. Factions of the military gained predatory control, starkly demonstrating the temptations of resource rents. Under the dictatorships of Babangida and Abacha (1985–​ 98), economic targets and development goals were largely disregarded. GDP growth

512   Peter M. Lewis averaged just 2 percent, while in per capita terms wealth diminished by half a percent a year. These tendencies were concentrated most forcefully under General Abacha, who personalized repressive autocratic rule to an unprecedented degree. His regime appropriated as much as a quarter of the nation’s scarce export revenues in the pursuit of regime preservation. His government attempted a brief return to populist policies and administrative controls before resuming engagement with the multilateral institutions. Despite some cosmetic efforts at stabilizing the economy, stagnation and capital flight were the visible trends. By 1995, the proportion of Nigerians living below the poverty measure of $1.25 per day was over 70 percent, a doubling of this rate in just fifteen years (Lewis 2007). Abacha violently suppressed opposition voices and laid the groundwork to perpetuate his rule through staged elections. His unexpected death in mid-​1998 was quickly followed by a reformist initiative under the new executive, General Abulsalami Abubaker. Political rights were quickly restored, new parties registered, and elections held at the beginning of 1999. Olusegun Obasanjo, who had ruled Nigeria as a general in the 1970s, returned as a civilian to gain victory as the presidential candidate of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). The Fourth Republic was launched.

The Second Petroleum Cycle 2002–​17 A petroleum windfall arrived in the 2000s during a moment of nascent democratic government. The newly elected administration sought to consolidate civilian government and demonstrate quick dividends from political reform. The reopening of political space provided a broader arena for independent media, civil society organizations, and the reassertion of organized interests such as labor, business, law, and academics. In addition, international advocacy movements fostered new pressures for transparency of financial relations, embodied most prominently in the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI). The era of opaque relations between authoritarian rulers and international oil companies (IOCs) was coming under challenge. The central question is whether these changes in politics, markets, and norms, quite different form the 1970s boom, would substantially affect the powerful structural influences of the petrostate. Could elections, political competition, civic participation, and pressures for transparency lead to better developmental outcomes? Alternatively, would elite networks simply appropriate a new windfall in a cartelized, dominant-​party system? This analysis argues that democratic politics and international norms altered economic policy and distributional strategies. Administrations under the Fourth Republic responded to the second petroleum cycle in different ways than their predecessors. Electoral pressures, popular participation, and social protest have shaped policy responses and institutional change. This is reflected in more effective macroeconomic

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    513 management, steps toward financial transparency, and initiatives to change the organization of the petroleum industry. While the two petroleum cycles show important differences, the contrast should not be overdrawn. Defining features of the stylized “petrostate” are still quite evident, including a revenue monoculture, limited diversification, and a political arena shaped by clientelism and bargaining over rent distribution. Regardless of policy changes, there has not been a tangible movement toward concerted developmental outcomes (Soares de Oliveira 2007). Political change has attenuated the dilemmas of resource wealth, yet without transformative effects.

The Fourth Republic and the Second Boom The new government faced multiple political, economic, and security challenges. Stabilizing the new democratic system, managing the military, and handling a spate of communal and local violence all contended with the need to revive a flagging economy. Decades of weak growth and deindustrialization had undermined credibility among investors, creditors, and the Nigerian public. President Obasanjo looked toward a “democracy dividend” in the form of debt cancellation, but met with a cool reception from the multilateral financial institutions and the Paris Club of bilateral creditors (Callaghy 2009). At the time of the political transition, the Heavily Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) Initiative was in the early stages of implementation, promising large external debt write-​ offs for countries that sustained policy reform. Nigerian leaders hoped that they could be included in the program. The Obasanjo government signed a standby agreement with the IMF in 2000, once again eschewing a formal loan. Problems soon arose over key targets such as inflation and exchange rates, leading to adjournment of the program until the 2003 elections and the risk of a political budget cycle were past. Beginning in 2002 international petroleum markets heated up, propelled by growth in Asia and other emerging markets, along with a generally strong global economy. Nigeria was positioned to benefit from these trends. During the late 1990s international oil companies (IOCs) made investments in offshore production, substantially expanding capacity and enabling them to avoid many of the risks of onshore operations. Moreover, militants in the Niger Delta, a leading source of insecurity, reduced their activities in anticipation of development initiatives from the new government. Further, Royal Dutch Shell had committed heavily to a liquefied natural gas (LNG) facility in the Delta region, enabling Nigeria for the first time to monetize enormous gas reserves that had previously been flared. The commodity boom had a rapid impact on the Nigerian economy, which registered 10 percent GDP growth in 2003 and averaged 8.3 percent for the twelve years through 2014. This rate of growth significantly exceeded the average of 6.8 percent in the first decade after the 1970 oil boom. Initially, the new windfall supported unconstrained political spending, along with budget commitments to the legislature and a host of other

514   Peter M. Lewis lobbies. Fiscal transfers to the states also comprised major claims on the budget, especially after the government expanded to 13 percent the derivation proportion of the Niger Delta states.

Changing Policies and Coalitions Obasanjo initially signaled a desire to improve economic governance and oversight of the natural resource sector. The administration revoked the award of numerous oil blocks made to military officers by the preceding regime, and took steps to reform procurement and budget oversight. The executive also sought to rein in corruption by establishing the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC), though it lacked sufficient force and scope to make a significant impact. The IMF standby agreement signaled a desire to gain policy credibility with multilateral financial institutions and donor countries. The return to electoral government reshaped the politics of distribution (Kew and Lewis 2018).. As in the Second Republic, thousands of politicians channeled resources and developed clientelist networks. The National Assembly formed an especially powerful lobby, with the capacity to earmark and control its own budget. Thirty-​six state governors created additional power centers, gaining leverage for extracting allocations, controlling political networks, and influencing party leaders. In the civic domain, the organized private sector and an array of professional associations also mobilized around economic issues. A rising middle class was evident in public discourse and growing consumer demand. The ruling People’s Democratic Party was a multiethnic umbrella drawn from elite factions across different segments of the country. Party elites fostered a political cartel that balanced distributional pressures among major factions and networks. While the cartel did not behave as a rigid oligarchy, the bargaining arena was regulated and delimited. The need for political resources overshadowed pressures for economic change. Facing internal party dissension, the incumbent administration deployed resources to secure re-​election and enhance the position of the ruling party.

A New Reform Episode Following the erratic reform efforts of Obasanjo’s first term, several individuals and initiatives coalesced in the second administration to promote policy change. This effort was driven primarily by the president’s continuing goal of debt reduction. Immediately after the 2003 election, Obasanjo’s government brought together a group of reform-​minded figures in the Finance ministry, the Central Bank, and several other key agencies. Finance Minister Ngozi Okonjo-​Iweala, a former World Bank vice president, led a team arrayed across several ministries, departments, and the Central Bank of Nigeria (Okonjo-​Iweala 2012). A new anticorruption unit, the Economic and Financial

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    515 Crimes Commission (EFCC) was created with wider powers of investigation, arrest, and forfeiture, under strongly committed leadership. These policy entrepreneurs, by training and experience, constituted an unprecedented technocratic cluster in Nigeria. The centerpiece of their efforts was the National Economic Empowerment and Development Strategy (NEEDS), a comprehensive set of policies affecting macroeconomic management, sector-​level reforms, and institutional changes affecting the public service and key markets. The core package was complemented by assertive efforts on the part of Nuhu Ribadu’s EFCC, and the establishment of a Nigerian Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (NEITI) to provide a degree of transparency in the country’s oil accounts. The finance minister negotiated with the IMF for the application of a new Policy Support Instrument (PSI) that would allow the Fund to certify Nigeria’s policy performance without undertaking a formal loan. The PSI allowed the government to avoid politically risky engagement with the Fund while also securing support from the Paris Club of bilateral creditors (Callaghy 2009). This culminated with a 2005 deal that cancelled more than $18 billion in external debt, along with a buyback and settlement of arrears totaling about $12 billion. In all, the settlement retired about 83 percent of Nigeria’s foreign debt, yielding a major policy achievement for the Obasanjo government. The government quickly retreated from this assertive reform cycle after the debt deal was concluded in 2006. Members of the economic team were reassigned to other portfolios as political priorities once again eclipsed economic goals. Obasanjo’s inner circle initiated a campaign to extend his tenure for a third term. After this met with public and legislative opposition, Obasanjo advanced Umaru Yar’Adua, a little-​known northern governor, as the PDP presidential candidate. The mobilization of party resources increased the need for discretion over public funds. The 2007 polls were marked by widespread fraud, misconduct, and violence, although the results were publically accepted and affirmed by the courts.

Uncertainty and Conflict Yar’Adua’s brief administration was marked by turbulence arising from the president’s poor health and rising conflict in the Niger Delta. While the president signaled continuity in economic policy, the technocratic cluster that had guided policy for several years had dispersed. Economic pressures intensified as militant groups in the Niger Delta escalated their activities, increasing the scale of oil theft and limiting production. The loss of output became critical in 2009, when the global economic downturn led to a rapid drop in petroleum prices. The government responded with an offensive against key bases and safe havens of the militias. In the wake of military action, the administration offered an amnesty to militants in the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND). Most commanders accepted the government’s offer and more than 25,000 fighters

516   Peter M. Lewis participated in a demobilization program. Oil and gas production recovered and prices gradually increased. As the president’s health worsened, Vice President Goodluck Jonathan struggled to assert his constitutional authority as members of the president’s inner circle sought to retain leverage over revenues and deals in the oil and gas sector. With legislative support, he gained executive powers and then formally succeeded upon Yar’Adua’s death in May of 2009. Jonathan stood for election as president in 2011 and won a substantial majority.

Diverging Paths, Popular Protest President Jonathan brought Ngozi Okonjo-​Iweala back as Minister of Finance and flagged other economic appointments. The administration quickly faced a policy crisis at the beginning of 2012 when the president announced the removal of fuel subsidies, more than doubling the pump price overnight (Kew and Lewis 2018). The increase cascaded through the economy, creating popular dissension and prompting large street protests that extended for weeks. After negotiations with the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), prices were reduced and the subsidy partially restored, as demonstrations subsided. Troops were called to Lagos and Abuja to subdue the remaining protests. The fuel subsidy upheaval highlighted fundamental contradictions in the government’s approach to the petroleum economy. Public mobilization quickly focused on patterns of fraud, inequality, and elite rent distribution. Many protesters acknowledged the need to reduce costly subsidies but rejected the government’s claim that savings would be dedicated to social programs. In social media and the press, observers offered forensic analyses of the oil accounts, concluding that systemic corruption and misallocation of revenues were far greater liabilities than subsidy payments. The policy change was effectively challenged through broad civic activism. The episode also revealed deeper issues in the oversight of the natural resource sector. Although some fiscal and monetary agencies were placed under technocratic management, the petroleum economy was politically captured by the executive and networks in the ruling party. Minister of Petroleum Diezani Alison-​Madueke, a close associate of the president, headed the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation and controlled the system of fuel importers and reimbursing agencies. In the aftermath of the subsidy protests, presidential commissions, legislative committees, and executives in the central bank conducted investigations. Collectively, they alleged mismanagement or diversion of petroleum funds running to tens of billions of dollars. Alongside popular indignation about the inequities in the petroleum economy, the escalating insurgency by the jihadist group Boko Haram in northeastern Nigeria further undermined support for Jonathan’s presidency. Perceptions of a national security crisis merged with concerns over economic management to foster a decisive shift in the popular mood away from the ruling PDP. A perennial political challenger, the former military ruler Muhammadu Buhari, campaigned on the platform of the All Progressives

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    517 Congress (APC), a merger of several parties with a national spread. Declining petroleum prices in late 2014 added to economic malaise, providing an electoral boost to the opposition. Buhari won a decisive victory in the 2015 election, which also relegated the PDP to minority status at all levels.

Factionalism and Recession While Buhari’s administration has not yet run its course, some defining features can be highlighted (Kew and Lewis 2018). Macroeconomic management has clearly faltered. Despite clear signals of unfavorable petroleum markets, the new president took nearly six months to name a cabinet, staffed mainly with politicians from contending party networks. Inconsistent fiscal policy and uneven exchange rate management have aggravated the recession. The president also suffered bouts of poor health, leading him to delegate economic management to Vice President Yemi Osinbajo. The vice president has substantially improved economic supervision, leading to a more stable outlook. With a modest recovery of oil revenues, economic growth was modestly positive in 2017 and likely to increase the following year. Party factionalism is shaping distributional struggles. The APC was an expedient coalition of several opposition parties, with different elements contending over policy and resources. A  southwestern segment of the party, led by former Lagos governor Bola Tinubu, has vied with Buhari’s northern faction over political appointments and patronage. Despite the president’s reputation for personal integrity, many northern politicians have maneuvered for advantage. Fissures in the ruling party and growing disenchantment with presidential leadership open the possibility of major defections from the party. Buhari retained the Ministry of Petroleum portfolio and appointed a reformist head of the NNPC, yet the sprawling oil infrastructure has resisted oversight. The National Assembly has been a major site of contention, as a Petroleum Industry Bill meandered its way through the legislative process for several years. While sectional politicians pressed for different revenue shares and regulations, IOCs held off needed upgrading and potential new production. Even with the passage of a partial bill in 2016, the sector has lost capacity that will be difficult to recover. Nigeria’s two petroleum cycles have displayed much continuity. Both concluded with limited economic diversification, large swathes of poverty, and a highly skewed distribution of income. There has also been clear evidence of massive diversions of revenue to political purposes and allocations to client networks (Soares de Oliveira 2007). However, the Fourth Republic has reflected different incentives and policies. Executives have been concerned about popular reaction to economic management. Governors have made claims for sectional interests and distributional balance. Legislators have often responded to constituent pressures, and have brought to light some abuses through the investigative function. A vocal middle class, mobilized civic organizations, and an assertive media have been voices of transparency and advocates of accountability. Electoral

518   Peter M. Lewis democracy, while hardly a panacea for the resource syndrome, has also attenuated some of the distortions and abuses of the petrostate.

Conclusion Since the 1970s, petroleum has been the driving element in Nigeria’s political economy, giving rise to a syndrome that largely corresponds with the comparative literature on the “resource curse.” This matrix includes a revenue monoculture; policy distortions in fiscal, monetary, and sectoral domains; endemic corruption; political instability and authoritarian rule; accentuated communalism and sectional conflict; and a weak domestic private sector. Nigeria’s oil wealth syndrome is organized around shifting elite bargains for the mediation of state-​controlled rents. As a political settlement, these bargains may provide stability, but in the long run they foster consumption, inequality, and slow growth rather than capital formation or inclusive development. The model of the resource curse points to structural continuity, yet the syndrome is not immutable. Political interests and institutions can shape the boundaries of elite bargaining and may lead to significantly different outcomes. Nigeria’s two petroleum booms illustrate the influence of political factors. Both episodes were framed by abrupt windfalls, volatility, and equally sudden declines in revenue. However, the first boom culminated in prolonged economic decline and shrinking production, while the second has been followed by transient recession and resilient performance in non-​oil segments of the economy. Electoral politics and civic participation have shifted elite incentives toward more stable and responsive policies. Electoral politics, however, has clearly been insufficient to shift the political settlement toward an inclusive developmental model. Rent distribution and near-​term bargains remain the dominant features of Nigeria’s petro-​state. Economically, the country has yet to break out from petroleum dependence and to generate increasing gains for agricultural producers and urban workers. Nigeria still awaits the prospect of a developmental regime, as the country is suspended between self-​dealing elite bargains and aspirational pressures for inclusion and economic transformation.

References Auty, Richard M. and Alan H. Gelb (2004). “Political Economy of Resource-​Abundant States,” in Richard Auty (ed.), Resource Abundance and Economic Development. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Bienen, Henry (1985). “Oil Revenues and Policy Choice in Nigeria,” in Henry Bienen (ed.), Political Conflict and Economic Change in Nigeria. London: Frank Cass. Callaghy, Thomas M. (2009). Anatomy of a 2005 Debt Deal: Nigeria and the Paris Club, Working Paper, University of Pennsylvania, 2009. https://​www.sas.upenn.edu/​polisci/​sites/​www.sas. upenn.edu.polisci/​files/​TC_​Nigeria_​long.pdf accessed January 31, 2018.

Nigeria’s Petroleum Booms    519 Collier, Paul and Anke Hoeffler (2012). “High-​Value Natural Resources, Development, and Conflict: Channels of Causation,” in P. Lujala and S. A. Rustad (eds), High-​Value Natural Resources and Post-​Conflict Peacebuilding. Abingdon: Routledge. Forrest, Tom (1995). Politics and Economic Development in Nigeria, 2nd edn. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Gelb, Alan (1988). Oil Windfalls: Blessing or Curse? Oxford: Oxford University Press (for the World Bank). Joseph, Richard A. (1978). “Affluence and Underdevelopment:  The Nigerian Experience,” Journal of Modern African Studies 16 (2): 221–​240. Joseph, Richard A. (1987). Democracy and Prebendal Politics in Nigeria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Karl, Terry Lynn (1997). The Paradox of Plenty:  Oil Booms and Petro-​ States. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kew, Darren and Lewis, Peter M. (2018). “Nigeria,” in Mark Kesselman, Joel Krieger, and William A. Joseph (eds), Introduction to Comparative Politics:  Political Challenges and Changing Agendas. Boston, MA: Wadsworth Publishing. Lewis, Peter M. (2007). Growing Apart: Oil, Politics, and Economic Change in Indonesia and Nigeria. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Okonjo-​Iweala, Ngozi (2012). Reforming the Unreformable: Lessons from Nigeria. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Okotoni, Olu (2003). “Personnel Deployment in the Nigerian Federal Civil Service,” Journal of Social Sciences 7 (1). Olukoshi, Adebayo (ed.) (1991). Crisis and Adjustment in the Nigerian Economy. Lagos: JAD Publishers. Olukoshi, Adebayo (ed.) (1993). The Politics of Structural Adjustment in Nigeria. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Osaghae, Eghosa (1998). Crippled Giant: Nigeria Since Independence. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Pearson, Scott R. (1970). Petroleum and the Nigerian Economy. Stanford, CA:  Stanford University Press. Rimmer, Douglas (1981). “Development in Nigeria: An Overview,” in Henry Bienen and V. P. Diejomaoh (eds), The Political Economy of Income Distribution in Nigeria. New York: Holmes and Meier. Ross, Michael L. (2013). The Oil Curse:  How Petroleum Wealth Shapes the Development of Nations. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rosser, Andrew (2006). The Political Economy of the Resource Curse: A Literature Survey, IDS Working Paper 268, April 2006. http://​www.ids.ac.uk/​publication/​the-​political-​economy-​ of-​the-​resource-​curse-​a-​literature-​survey accessed January 31, 2018. Soares de Oliveira, Ricardo (2007). Oil and Politics in the Gulf of Guinea. New York: Columbia University Press. Suberu, Rotimi (2001). Federalism and Ethnic Conflict in Nigeria. Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press. Watts, Michael (ed.) (1987). State, Oil and Agriculture in Nigeria. Berkeley, CA: Institute of International Studies. World Bank (2017). Nigeria–​Bi-​Annual Economic Update 2017: Fragile Recovery. Washington, DC: World Bank.

Chapter 31

The “Resourc e C u rse ” and the C on st ra i nts on Reform ing Ni g e ria ’ s Oil Sector Zainab Usman

Introduction Nigeria’s oil sector is known worldwide for its size, potential, and for its dysfunction. On one hand, it is Africa’s largest oil producer and is the world’s fourth-​largest exporter of liquefied natural gas (LNG) (EIA 2016, p. 1). Nigeria’s status as a veteran oil exporter is informed by decades of oil production since the 1950s, its membership of OPEC, the cartel of oil exporters, and the quality of its oil, mostly light, low sulfur crude oil exported to global markets. The scale of these hydrocarbon resources is reinforced by the country’s status as Africa’s most populous country and as its largest economy. On the other hand, this oil and gas industry is infamous for its dysfunction. In actual production, there is stagnation and decline rather than growth, infrastructure modernization, and diversification. Immense leakages of oil and gas receipts and in revenue management frequently place Nigeria in the lowest rankings in corruption and governance indices. Most devastatingly, these hydrocarbons have strong impacts on Nigeria’s wider non-​oil economy. Despite GDP diversification, the oil and gas sector is central to Nigeria’s foreign exchange earnings and government revenue. Thus economic growth is vulnerable to rapid international oil price swings, windfalls, and sudden decline in oil exports receipts. These dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil sector are generally framed as problems of corruption and the “resource curse.” This emphasis on corruption is, however, a partial assessment, which does not sufficiently capture the institutional and political constraints to reforming Nigeria’s oil and gas sector. These constraints are the competitive,

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    521 distributional, and fiscal constraints from key stakeholders pressuring Nigeria’s ruling elite towards suboptimal policy choices for the sector. Through a political economy lens, this chapter unveils these stakeholders, their interests across horizontal, vertical, and external spheres of constraints, and the suboptimal policy implications for the oil sector. The chapter outlines what the dysfunction of Nigeria’s oil sector entails. It then reviews the literature explaining developmental challenges of resource-​rich countries or the “resource curse.” The chapter discusses the inadequacies of the resource curse thesis, especially its commodity determinism and argues for a political economy approach for a more accurate understanding of political constraints to reforms. Using a political settlements framework outlined in Usman (2018) drawing on the emerging political settlements literature, this chapter argues that the horizontal, vertical, and external constraints on Nigeria’s successive ruling elites generate specific policy responses, which engender the dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil industry. The chapter then examines, within all three levels of constraints, these competitive, distributive, and fiscal pressures and their implications for the oil sector. The analysis here covers the twenty-​first century, from 1999 when Nigeria transitioned to electoral democracy. Before proceeding, it is essential to define and disambiguate some key terms. This chapter uses the terms “oil sector” and “oil industry” interchangeably to refer to the sum total of oil and gas resources or hydrocarbons, the infrastructure, and the activities involved in their production. Oil and gas resources are a subset of mineral resources including precious metals, industrial metals, rocks and gemstones. These mineral resources are, in turn, a subset of natural resources, which include water, land, forests, flora, and fauna. The mineral resources are also referred to as “extractives industries,” referring to the minerals, processes, and infrastructure involved in their extraction from nature. The terms “oil rents” and “oil earnings” are also used interchangeably, to refer to the actual economic benefit derived from trading in oil resources. An “oil producer” is a nation state with oil resources, which are commercially exploited. This is used interchangeably with the term “oil exporter.” A “ruling elite” refers to a group of powerful actors who possess and exercise decision-​making power by virtue of their positions in public authority. A “ruling coalition,” however, constitutes the ruling elites as well as other individuals and groups behind the rise of ruling elites, who sustain them in power1.

The Dysfunctions of Nigeria’s Oil Sector The dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil sector have at least three dimensions discussed here. One, in production there is stagnation and decline rather than growth, modernization, and diversification. Two, in oil revenue receipts and management there are immense leakages and corruption. Three, the oil and gas sector affects the wider non-​oil Nigerian economy. These are examined in detail.

522   Zainab Usman

Stagnation and Decline in Oil Production Since the turn of the century, Nigeria’s oil sector has been on a downward trajectory of stagnation and decline rather than growth, modernization, and diversification. Three critical indicators of this stagnation and decline are discussed, including decline in oil production output, decline in the oil sector’s contribution to GDP, and a weak investment and regulatory regime. The first indicator of stagnation and decline is the absolute decline in crude oil production. Production averages slightly below 1.9 million barrels per day (bbl/​d) far below the peak capacity of 2.4 million barrels per day (bbl/​d) in 2005, and its target of 4 million bbl/​d (EIA 2013; CBN 2013). As Figure 31.1 shows, production has been on a downward trajectory, although these are very generous average estimates. During periods of persist­ent supply disruptions, output in Angola, Africa’s second largest oil producer at around 1.7–​1.8 million bbl/​d overtakes Nigeria’s2. Nigeria’s proven reserves have similarly been stagnant at 37.2 billion barrels despite stated aims of increasing reserves to 40 billion barrels (EIA 2013). Exploration activities in the onshore Niger Delta in southern Nigeria have decreased because of the rising security problems related to oil theft and pipeline sabotage (EIA 2016, p.  4), although there is also ongoing exploration onshore in northeast Nigeria, within the Chad basin. An underlying reason for this decline is the supply disruptions of up to 500,000 bbl/​d (EIA 2016, p.  1). These disruptions are due to attacks on oil infrastructure by local

2.55

2.49

2.52 2.45 2.38

Barrels of Crude Oil (Millions)

2.40

2.37 2.33

2.25

2.20

2.19 2.10

2.10

2.19 2.12

2.14

1.95

1.80

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

Figure 31.1  Average Daily Oil Production (Millions of Barrels) 2004–​15.

2013

2014

2015

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    523 56.3 48.8996 41.4979

37.5

37.2245

34.582 32.8369

36.2802

38.7717

37.6143 36.4667

37.445

33.7358

29.9188

23.9 17.5283

18.8

15.3861

11.1291 5.2326 0.4742

0.0

10.3542

3.3

15.778

4.2793

–5.7067

–4.5382 –4.512

12.8555

10.7998 6.363

5.3944 6.3097

3.4447

5.3181 4.4111 0.4974

–7.5

–18.8

3.7846

8.211 6.8284 7.8397 4.8874 6.2703 6.9344

–1.3329

0.85 2.3321

–6.1878

–1.3155

2.79 –5.45

–4.9471 –13.0667

1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 Oil and Gas Share of GDP (%)

Oil and Gas Sector Growth Rate

GDP Growth Rate

Figure 31.2  Oil and Gas, and GDP Growth Rates (1999–​2015).

militant groups. Oil theft not only disrupts supply, but damages pipelines causing loss of production, pollution, and forcing companies to shut down production (EIA 2016, p. 2). It is important to note that these figures are estimates because there are no accurate figures on actual oil output. This is because successive Nigerian policymakers have been unable to install an effective metering system at the well-​end to measure oil production (Usman 2017, p. 203). The second dimension is the steady decline of the oil and gas sector as a share of GDP. It grew at an average of 1.3 percent between 1999 and 2009, and –4.5 percent between 2010 and 2015 despite high total GDP growth within this period as Figure 31.2 shows. Despite being Nigeria’s primary export, the oil and gas GDP steadily declined from a peak of 48.9 percent in 1999, to 6.4 percent in 2015. An important contributor to this is the GDP revisions. In 2010, Nigeria rebased its GDP to include new economic sectors, expanding from thirty-​three to forty-​six economic sectors (NBS 2014). These were mostly in the services sector. As Figure 31.3 shows, in 2010, oil and gas GDP steeply declined while services rose sharply. However, even from old GDP series between 1999 and 2009, there was an evident decline. The third dimension is the investment and regulatory uncertainties surrounding the Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB). The PIB is a framework for the organizational structure, fiscal terms, and regulation of the oil and gas industry. It aims to harmonize into one law, nineteen hitherto separate legislations. However, it has stalled for almost two decades, creating regulatory uncertainty and resulting in fewer investments in new oil and gas projects. For example, there has been no new licensing round of oil and gas fields since 2007. Consequently, there is a lack of new investments to modernize aging oil infrastructure and fully develop a domestic gas market for power generation. According to Shell, one of the largest gas producers in the country, one of the impediments to decreasing

524   Zainab Usman 62.5 48.8996

50.0

41.4979 37.2245

36.2802

37.5

38.7717

37.445

36.4667

34.582

32.8369

40.2922

37.6143

34.7295 33.4787

36.5609 37.8802

34.7078 29.9188

25.0

17.5283

12.5

8.6858

8.0571 7.0062

0.0

9.3003

12.116

11.0961

8.8685 10.9256

11.5461

12.5304

15.3861

15.778

11.4653

12.8555 10.7998

6.363

1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 Oil and Share of GDP (%)

Services of Share of GDP (%)

Figure 31.3  Oil and Gas, and Services’ share of GDP (1999–​2015).

gas flaring is the lack of partner funding that has slowed progress on projects to capture associated gas (EIA 2016, pp. 14–​15). Thus, Nigeria loses an estimated $15 billion every year from not passing the PIB (EIA 2016, p. 4). Consequently, the oil and gas sector is in steady decline. Since 2012, the sector’s GDP share has dropped by 6 percentage points from 17.5 percent in 2011 to 6.4 percent in 2014.

Leakages and Corruption in Oil Payments and Revenue In receipts and revenue management, oil earnings routinely disappear through massive leakages across the oil industry value chain. While figures are hard to come by, Nigeria lost $217.7 billion from 1970 to 2008 according to a report by the African Union and UNECA (2014, pp. 93, 99), and $20 billion between 2010 and 2012 according to former Central Bank Governor Sanusi (2014). These leakages were so severe that they had a ripple effect on monetary stability between 2011 and 2014, resulting in high interest rates, low external reserves, high inflation, and financial instability (Sanusi 2014, p. 3). These revenue leakages are extensive across the entire oil industry value chain: upstream, midstream, and downstream. According to a World Bank paper, “every institution along the extractive industries value chain that potentially could prevent fraud is weak. Although these weaknesses allow for manipulation, it is clear that the necessary underlying conditions for . . . best practice in petroleum governance are not in place. The responsibility is political” (Gboyega et al. 2011, p. 15). In upstream activities of actual production, corruption in the award of oil licenses and joint ventures leads to the appropriation of their proceeds such as signature bonuses. The opacity of the national oil corporation, the NNPC, is central here. According to a

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    525 report by the Natural Resources Governance Institute (Sayne et al. 2015, p. 2), NNPC’s suboptimal oil sales arrangements and discretionary revenue withholdings are to blame for declining treasury receipts of oil sales during the oil boom between 2009 and 2014. In 2013, Nigeria’s treasury received only 58 percent of NNPC’s oil sales worth $16.8 billion from the Domestic Crude Allocation, partly due to the corporation’s discretionary spending without any authorization (Sayne et al. 2015, p. 3). This averaged $6 billion a year between 2010 and 2013. In the midstream activities of transportation, the persistence of oil theft, already discussed, from pipelines, export terminals, and tankers deprives the country of revenue. In downstream activities of oil refining and trade, the most notable cases of corruption and fraud have occurred in the importation of refined petroleum. Nigeria relies on imported refined petroleum because its four refineries operate at under 20 percent of their capacity of 445,000 bbl/​d (see NNPC 2015, p. 40) which would otherwise meet domestic demand averaging 270,000 bbl/​d. As such, the NNPC engages in opaque oil-​ for-​product swap agreements, which exchanges some of its Domestic Crude Allocation for refined petroleum with high-​risk private firms. In 2015, Nigeria lost up to $381 million from just three of these poorly structured crude swap agreements (Sayne et al. 2015, pp. 6–​7). In addition, domestic importers and marketers of this refined petroleum often exploit Nigeria’s fuel subsidy regime by charging the Nigerian government for petroleum that it did not import and diverting some of the petroleum that is imported to neighboring countries (Sanusi 2014; EIA 2016).

The Impact of the Oil Sector on Nigeria’s Non-​Oil Economy The oil sector is central to Nigeria’s economic performance. Despite GDP diversification, the entire economy is vulnerable to rapid commodity price swings for at least three reasons discussed here. One, oil rents account for the bulk of export earnings and foreign exchange. Two, oil earnings account for the bulk of fiscal revenue for national and subnational governments. Three, oil export earnings affect the broader economy through government spending and the financial sector. On the first point, Nigeria’s GDP diversification has not translated into exports diversification. In 1999, the oil and gas sector constituted 32.8 percent of GDP and 98.4 percent of export earnings. A decade later in 2009, it had declined to 15.4 percent of GDP but still contributed 94.2 percent of export earnings as Figure 31.3 shows. After the statistical revisions of Nigeria’s GDP for 2010 onwards, the disconnect in this structural change became more evident. As Figure 31.4 shows, oil and gas declined from 15.4 percent in 2010 to 6.4 percent in 2015. Export earnings, however, remained constant at 94.1 percent in 2010 and 92.5 percent in 2015. As output in the oil sector declined, the GDP revisions also captured rapidly growing new economic activities, mostly in the services sector. Most importantly, there is also a weak translation of these increasingly diversified economic activities into international trade to generate foreign exchange.

526   Zainab Usman

75.0

71.072

4

8 92. 642

92. 530

9

7

92. 594

79.8695 73.8819

85.8477 77.9207

76.3202

94. 191

5

83.0169

94. 004

7

3 94. 081

94. 180

94. 937

97. 602 1

8

88.6417

85.5707

80.5516

98. 176 1

2

98. 537

97. 538

7

76.5174

96. 930 7

6 94. 568

2

83.5017

98. 500

5

98. 724

100.0

98. 360

125.0

75.3276

69.7682

65.8866

67.4727

55.4083

50.0 34.1134

28.928

25.0

23.6798

23.4567

0.0

14.4293

24.6724

44.5918

30.2318

14.1523 16.4983

32.5273 26.1181

22.0794

19.4484

16.9832

20.1305

11.3583

1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 Oil Exports (%)

Oil Revenue (%)

Non-Oil Revenue

Figure 31.4  Oil and Gas Share of Exports and Government Revenue (1999–​2015).

Second, oil earnings similarly constitute the bulk of fiscal revenue for Nigeria’s national and subnational governments. At the federal level, oil revenue accounted for 76.3 percent in 1999, 79.9 percent in 2011 and kept declining afterwards, as Figure 31.4 shows. A gradual increase in the share of non-​oil revenue from 24.7 percent (2012), to 30.2 percent (2013), and to 44.6 percent (2015), indicates some diversification towards non-​oil sources of fiscal revenue. This rise in non-​oil revenue reflected enhanced tax collection and a decline in oil receipts due to the disruption of oil production through oil theft and militancy (CBN 2013, pp. 154–​5). The dependence of oil rents is more acute at the subnational level of government, the states. The monthly fiscal disbursal of oil revenue from the federal government is the primary source of finance for Nigeria’s thirty-​six states. With the exception of Lagos, every state has depended on federal revenue transfers for more than 50 percent of its annual budget since the late 1970s. Even large states, regional hubs generate less than 50 percent of their budgetary revenues internally, from non-​oil sources. It is worth noting the significant variation in the states’ dependence on these federal disbursements, especially between regional economic hubs such as Kano, Rivers, and Ogun and the smaller states. As Figure 31.5 shows, while Lagos state generated 53 percent of its revenue from internal sources in 2013, states like Benue, Bayelsa, and Jigawa generated only 1.9 percent, 2.7 percent , and 3.7 percent respectively from internal non-​oil sources. With oil accounting for up to 70 percent of government revenues, Nigeria is a rentier state. As defined by Mahdavy (1970) and Beblawi (1987, pp. 51–​2), a rentier state derives more than 4 percent of fiscal revenue from external rents, for which the government is the main recipient. However, Nigeria does not have a “rentier economy” as defined by the criteria of oil constituting 60–​80 percent of GDP, because it is just 9.6 percent of the country’s GDP.

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    527 Lagos 34.7464 Kano 31.0795 Ogun 25.5765 Rivers 19.379 Edo 19.1704 Oyo 18.1948 Cross River Sokoto 15.9836 Bauchi 15.9119 15.2 Gombe Abia 14.7945 13.17 Yobe FCT 12.6292 Osun 12.5997 Plateau 11.5869 Kwara 11.183 Anambra 10.7193 Ebonyi 10.7143 Taraba 9.8413 Imo 9.6179 Adamawa 9.4697 Ekiti 9.2982 Katsina 8.8803 Nassarawa 8.813 Kogi 8.2171 Ondo 7.8838 Enugu 7.2727 Kebbi 7.0465 Delta 6.5593 Niger 5.9889 Kaduna 4.9745 Zamfara 4.6281 Akwa Ibom 3.9834 Jigawa 3.7092 Borno 3.6313 Bayelsa 2.7217 Benue 1.8547 0.0 25.0

46.9835 53.0165

50.0

65.2536 68.9205 74.4235 80.621 80.8296 81.8052 84.0164 84.0881 84.8 85.2055 86.83 87.3708 87.4003 88.4131 88.817 89.2807 89.2857 90.1587 90.3821 90.5303 90.7018 91.1197 91.1871 91.7829 92.1162 92.7273 92.9535 93.4407 94.0111 95.0255 95.3719 96.0166 96.2908 96.3687 97.2783 98.1453

% Internally Generated Revenue

75.0

100.0

125.0

% Federal Revenue Allocation

Figure 31.5  State Governments’ Revenue (%) in descending order of internal revenue, 2013.

Third, this export and revenue dependence on oil rents makes the Nigerian economy highly vulnerable to oil price swings. Since Nigeria’s fiscal and external accounts are dependent on oil receipts, oil prices determine aggregate demand from the public sector and affect growth in the non-​oil sector through consumption, investment, asset prices, and cost channels (IMF 2016, p. 4). In addition, the supply of foreign exchange directly affects corporate and banking sector activities, which trickle down to informal credit and trading activities. In other words, the oil and gas sector greatly affects the growth of the non-​oil economy. Most recently, the collapse of oil prices from mid-​2014 and the reduction in output slowed growth and led to macroeconomic imbalances. Growth slowed from 6.3 percent in 2014 to 2.8 percent in 2015, and the economy contracted for the first time in two decades, by –0.36 percent in the fourth quarter of 2015 (IMF 2016, p. 4; NBS 2016). As oil GDP growth declined from –1.3 percent in 2014 to –5.4 percent in 2015, total

528   Zainab Usman exports growth fell from –13.3 percent in 2014 to –40.7 percent in 2015 and non-​oil GDP growth from 7.3 percent to 3.6 percent. This led to shortfalls in non-​oil revenue, a fall in international reserves, and disruptions in private-sector activity due to constraints on foreign exchange (IMF 2016). Thus, the contraction of the non-​oil economy is indicative of the endogeneity of the economy to the oil sector.

The Inadequacies of the “Resource Curse” Thesis in Explaining Nigeria’s Oil Sector For decades, these dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil sector have been analyzed through the lens of the “resource curse” thesis. At its most basic, the resource curse thesis attribute to the minerals, economic, political, social, and environmental ills. This section reviews this literature, its inadequacies especially its commodity determinism, and argues for a political economy approach for a more encompassing understanding of political constraints to reforming Nigeria’s oil sector. Since the extractive industry is strategic on so many fronts, the literature straddles both the academic and policy divide. The robust literature on the resource curse aims to explain why resource-​rich countries have not benefited from their oil and mineral resources3. The direction of causality is generally one way, with the minerals seen to cause problems in developing countries. The resource curse thesis thus has economic, political, social, and environmental dimensions straddling economics, political science, and sociology. The economic dimensions of the resource curse are the enclave nature of resource extraction, the resulting weak economic growth, and economic dependence on the mineral resource. The geographic isolation of a specialized work force, processes, and infrastructure for the extraction of this commodity creates an enclave economy detached from the rest of the economy (Hirschman 1958; Singer 1975). The “Dutch Disease” strand argues that oil and mineral extraction crowd out tradeable non-​oil sectors, especially agriculture, manufacturing, and industry, while services, retail, construction, and other non-​tradeables sectors grow faster (Economist 1977; Corden and Neary 1982; van Wijnberg 1984; Auty 1993, 1995; Sachs and Warner 1995; Collier 2008). The economic “curse” operates through the mechanism of an overvalued exchange rate which makes imports cheaper, and exports of tradeable goods uncompetitive. The dependence on these mineral resources also make government budgets vulnerable to volatile commodity price fluctuations (Gelb 1988; Ross 2012). The political dimension of the resource curse thesis posits that mineral resources undermine governance, political stability, and democracy. This is because the resources undermine democracy (Ross 2001), weaken institutions, and induce corruption (Karl 1997; Sala-​i-​Martin and Subramanian 2003; Ahmad and Singh 2003)  and induce

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    529 violent political competition, conflict, and civil war in the race to capture resource rents (Le Billion 2001; Ross 2004; Collier and Hoeffler 2004; Collier 2008). Oil and mineral rents therefore distort, weaken, and undermine institutions broadly, and the administrative capacity of the state to manage these resources. Although Ross (2012, p. 215) concludes that resources do not weaken institutions, but merely demand stronger ones. Thus, mineral resources skew incentives of bureaucrats, political elites, business, and wider society to focus on the management and distribution of oil wealth rather than on actual entrepreneurial and industrial activities. To address these political dimensions of the resource curse, an offshoot policy-​ orientated literature emerged4. The most prominent are the transparency and accountability initiatives in mineral production largely led by NGOs such as Global Witness and the U.K. government, to address corruption and governance challenges in extractives industries. These initiatives aim to give host countries a stronger negotiation position with multinational oil and mining companies, enforce the disclosure of payments between companies and governments, and to empower citizens to scrutinize the resource deals struck between their leaders and the multinationals (Kolstad and Wiig 2009; Corrigan 2014; GIZ 2016). These transparency initiatives, it is believed, would reduce political leaders’ opportunities to ask for personal bribes and embezzle the proceeds, and would make them more accountable. They culminated in the Extractives Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI), which established global reporting standards for extractives payments and revenues (Short 2014). Although there has been some criticism of the emphasis on revenues rather than expenditure management (Kolstad and Wiig 2009). In the United States, legislation has complemented the EITI. The Dodd-​ Frank Act of 2010 mandates mining companies listed on the U.S. Stock Exchange to disclose payments to host governments. Most recently, the emphasis has been on combating illicit financial flows from resource-​rich countries especially in Africa, as part of a broader movement against tax avoidance and transfer pricing by multinationals (AfDB and GFI, 2013). The social dimensions of the resource curse thesis highlight rising inequality, poverty, and human development challenges despite huge inflows of mineral wealth. Scholars (such as Gylfason 2001; Ross 2003, 2007; Fum and Hodler 2010) draw attention to the massive inequalities that arise from mineral extraction especially in ethnically diverse countries. Oil wealth, they argue, often directly accrues to a tiny economic and political elite while the majority of people, especially outside the Gulf Arab countries, are mired in poverty. Thus, mineral-​rich countries such as Nigeria, Angola, Equatorial Guinea, and the DRC may have high per capita incomes, but equally have high poverty rates. Scholars such as Ross (2008, 2012) also show that the resource curse undermines women’s economic empowerment by narrowing opportunities for their entry into the labor force (low-​wage manufacturing in particular). This is most evident in the Gulf Arab countries. Importantly, as these resources transform the state to a rentier state preoccupied with consumption rather than wealth creation (Mahdavy 1970; Beblawi and Luciani 1987), society’s incentives are skewed towards the management and distribution of oil wealth, rather than human development.

530   Zainab Usman The environmental dimensions of the resource curse have drawn attention to the negative externalities of mineral extraction in pollution and environmental degradation. These include oil spills, destruction of flora, fauna, and aquatic resources, and air pollution (Maass 2009, Aragon and Rud 2012, Malakov 2014). Within Nigeria, the work of Niger Delta environmental activists such as Okonta and Douglas (2003) emphasize the exploits of international oil companies in oil extraction, environmental pollution in collusion with the Nigerian government and domestic political elites. Worth noting is that some of these scholars reject the commodity-​centric nature of the resource curse thesis. They point rather, to the marginalization, oppression, and degradation of oil-​producing communities by a coalition of local and transnational actors, which transformed peaceful protest of communities to violent militancy in the oil-​rich region (Obi 1999, 2010, 2011; Nwajiaku-​Dohu 2012). However, the rapid growth of resource-​ rich countries from the early 2000s, contradicts these deterministic slow-​growth claims of resource curse theories. The resource curse is also deterministic in assuming natural resource abundance can only lead to economic and political dysfunction (Usman 2018). Some high income and industrialized countries including Australia, Canada, and the U.S.A. were similarly oil and mineral rich. Beyond the qualities of specific commodities, resource curse theories rarely considered history, the short-​sightedness of policymakers, power relations, and other underlying institutional underpinnings. Therefore, these theories miss the vital fact that in many developing countries, the vicious scramble for political power could be traced to the early stages of state-​building, predating the onset of a resource windfall (Karl 1997; Soares de Oliveira 2007, pp. 7–​11, 50). The environmental dimensions of the resource curse are similarly commodity-​deterministic, in neglecting non-​oil producing regions or the non-​oil segments of the economy. Broadly, the resource curse thesis does not sufficiently account for variation among resource-​rich countries. This includes variation in outcomes in economic performance, governance and institutional capacities, human development, and environmental standards in oil and other extractive industries. This variation is informed by factors such as regional location, between Gulf countries and African countries, for example, rents per capita, type and quality of oil and mineral resources etc. To address these gaps in resource curse theories and their prescriptions, political economy frameworks are of increasing importance. The political settlements theory in particular is proving to be a more useful framework. At its most basic, the political settlement is the distribution of power in a society among the elite and other contending societal groups and within institutions (Usman 2018). The conceptual foundations of political settlements theory emerged from a critique of the emphasis by the New Institutional Economics (NIE) on the primacy of formal institutions for growth and economic prosperity (Williamson 1985; North 1990; Acemoglu and Robinson 2008, 2012). NIE aimed to identify how property rights, regulatory, contractual and democratic institutions could explain economic performance and why dysfunctional institutions could continue to persist in some societies. They identify informal institutions (which

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    531 could generate rents and rent-​seeking) and the weak cognitive capabilities of societies slow to adapt working institutions as the geneses of the problems of creating and enforcing formal institutions (Khan 2010, pp.12–​13). In Mushtaq Khan’s critique, he argues that the organization of power, rather than informal institutions, accounts for differences in the costs of creating and enforcing institutions, thereby explaining the failure of growth-​enhancing institutions to emerge in some developing countries. For instance rents are not always distortionary and negative, but that their impact on economic outcomes is determined by the distribution of power and political coalitions (Khan 1995, 2000). Political settlements theory therefore provides a framework for incorporating the missing link of power in institutional analysis, to explain the dynamic interaction between formal and informal institutions and their growth outcomes. It fills an important analytical gap in institutional economics on how the distribution of benefits among winners and losers of reforms result in the enforcement costs of institutional reforms. Thus, if the distribution of net benefits supported by an institution is consistent with the overall distribution of power, there will be minimal contestation from powerful groups, and enforcement costs are likely to be low (Khan 2010). There is an emerging literature on political settlements, but there is no consensus on all its precepts. At least four key approaches are identifiable. Khan’s approach focuses on the distribution of power among powerful groups and the extent to which this configuration sustains itself (Khan 2010, p. 20; Khan 2017; Behuria et al. 2017). The “elite bargain” approach regards political settlements as outcomes of negotiations among contending elites on the distribution of power and resources in society (Di John and Putzel 2009; Parks and Cole 2010; Laws 2012; Menocal 2015). The “elaborated political settlements approach” sees the balance of power between political elites, government bureaucrats, and the business class as the determinant of how economic resources are allocated for productive or predatory purposes for the survival of ruling elites (Whitfield et al. 2015). Finally, the political settlement can also be employed in relation to violence especially during moments of attempted transitions at critical junctures (Tadros and Allouche 2017). The common starting points among all these approaches are: that political settlements influence the performance of formal institutions; that powerful actors shape and are constrained by institutions; and there are multiple levels of analyzing the distribution of power and resources among these actors. Political settlements theory therefore systematically sheds light on this distribution of power in society among actors and institutions and how this affects economic performance. There is the horizontal distribution of power among elites within and outside a ruling coalition; the vertical distribution of power among non-​elite groups such as low-​ level members of a ruling party, trade unions, armed groups etc.; and the relative power of entrepreneurs or productive groups. Thus, identifying these actors, their interests, their resources, and their scope of influence is crucial to understanding policy choices and economic outcomes. It is within this tradition of political economy that the analysis of Nigeria’s oil sector in this chapter is located.

532   Zainab Usman

External

External Environment: foreign aggressors, donor partners, and global oil market

Vertical

Vertical-Wider Society: balance of power between ruling coalition and ethnic, regional, and religious groups, Unions, militant groups, and other interests in society

Horizontal

Horizontal-Ruling Coalition: balance of power among political elite, and between political elite and business elite

Figure 31.6  Sources of Institutional Constraints.

In resource rich countries thus, the constraints on a ruling elite shape the policies they are likely to adopt at a particular time. Each policy choice has various implications for economic performance. Usman (2018) defines these constraints as: (1) the nature of specific threats, to ruling elites’ resource base and political survival and; (2) the political and technical capacity of ruling elites to respond to threats based on their degree of fragmentation or cohesion, and their access to financial and technical resources5. In Nigeria, these constraints and the policy responses they generate occur at three levels:  horizontal, vertical, and external. This is illustrated in Figure 31.6. The horizontal level of constraint is determined by the extent to which the ruling coalition is cohesive or fragmented. With a fragmented elite, the constraint comes from the threat of a “palace coup” by a powerful rival or excluded faction. Reforms are likely to focus on political inclusion or pacification through political reforms, government contracts etc. Within a cohesive ruling coalition, a powerful business elite can exert pressure for or block sector-​specific reforms of their interest, the outcomes of which could be extractive or growth enhancing. The vertical level of constraint is defined by the interests of non-​elite societal groups over welfare and economic redistribution. When these groups are dissatisfied with the distribution of resources, they can contest it by withdrawing support for the ruling coalition say during elections, by using violence or through mass action. Ruling elites are likely to respond with economic redistribution such as petroleum subsidies or payments to armed groups. At the external level, the external environment constrains ruling elites through the boom and bust cycle of global commodity prices. When prices collapse, the resulting fiscal pressures can create the impetus for economic restructuring, while windfalls can lead to an expansion in spending, consumption and an anti-​reform impulse. The combination of constraints that exert the most pressure at any point in time determine the likelihood of certain policies being implemented over others. The attendant economic outcomes of these policy responses could be: growth-​enhancing or extractive-​predatory economic restructuring, economic redistribution among elites for political pacification and among wider societal groups or rising inequalities. The manner in which these constraints engender dysfunctions in Nigeria’s oil and gas sector is discussed later.

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    533

Political Constraints on Reforming Nigeria’s Oil Sector To understand the political roots of the dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil sector, the political settlements framework is employed. As outlined in Usman (2018), I argue that the dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil sector are consequences of policy choices by successive ruling elites constrained at three levels. Despite GDP diversification, the oil sector remains Nigeria’s foremost foreign exchange earner. Its centrality to economic accumulation places it at the heart of the country’s horizontal-​elite competition, vertical-​societal redistribution demands, and vulnerabilities to external shocks. There is an intense competition by a range of actors with divergent interests for access to petrodollars accruing to the state. The competition generates distributional pressures detrimental to the oil industry rather than a growth-​orientated policy response to fiscal pressures. To understand these competitive, distributional, and fiscal pressures and their policy implications, it is necessary to identify the actors, their interests, and influence on policy. A starting point is the delineation of the horizontal, vertical, and external spheres of constraints and mapping the stakeholders involved in oil production, distribution, and management to demarcate the fault lines of contestation. This is illustrated in Figure 31.7. I now examine how specific competitive, distributive, and fiscal pressures across all three levels of constraints as discussed in Usman (2018), directly account for stagnation and decline, revenue leakages, and economic dependence on the oil sector.

HORIZONTAL SPHERE • National Executive: President, Ministry of Petroleum, NNPC and Allied Agencies, EFCC, Revenue Mobilization Allocation and Fiscal Commission, Federal Inland Revenue Service, NEITI, National Planning Commission, Ministry of Finance and Central Bank. • Subnational Executive: Governors of Oil-Producing States, Governors of Non-Oil Producing States, Nigerian Governors’ Forum (NGF) and Local Government Councils. • Business: Indigenous Operators, Ruling Party Business Interests. • Other Government Arms: National Assembly and Judiciary. VERTICAL SPHERE • Unions: PENGASSAN & NUPENG in the oil sector, Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC) and Trade Union Congress (TUC) • Civil Society: Militant Youth, CBOs, Traditional Councils and Chiefs. • Oil Communities: Western IOCs (Oil Producers Trade Section) and Eastern SOEs EXTERNAL SPHERE • IOCs: Western IOCs (Oil Producers Trade Section) and Eastern SOEs • Development Partners: Bilateral and Multilateral Institutions.

Figure 31.7  Stakeholder Map of Key Oil-​Sector Actors.

534   Zainab Usman

Horizontal-​Elite Competitive and Distributional Pressures on the Oil Sector Within the horizontal sphere of elite competition, at least three factors impede a growth agenda in the oil industry. These are within the executive, from the ruling party, and the business class. First, within the national executive, there are tensions over the distribution of oil revenues between subnational and federal executives. State governors are distrustful of the opaquely run state oil corporation, the NNPC, the Ministry of Petroleum Resources, and oil sector agencies. These subnational executives challenge the fiscal buffer instruments, the Excess Crude Account (ECA) and the Sovereign Wealth Fund, as unconstitutional deductions of their share of oil earnings. While the Nigerian Constitution stipulates the distribution of oil revenues among federal, state, and local governments in a 52:27:21 ratio6, the ECA in particular is enabled not by the Constitution, but by an informal consensus between the federal and state executives, built on trust. However, there is very little subnational trust in federal executives’ supervision of the oil industry. The core of this opacity is the state oil corporation, the NNPC. In contrast to Saudi Arabia’s Aramco whose insulation made it a rare enclave of bureaucratic efficiency (Hertog 2010), the NNPC’s opacity perpetuates inefficiencies. Across a range of government agencies including the Central Bank, the Ministry of Finance, and the Ministry of Petroleum Resources, there is no accurate data on the exact volume of oil production (Usman 2018). Available figures are estimates from the oil at export terminals rather than from the well-​end as is the global best practice. This distrust of nontransparent federal agencies in oil industry management, exacerbates intergovernmental distributional pressures on oil receipts. Second, within the ruling party, the deployment of oil sector instruments to pacify aggrieved factions contributes to a countervailing agenda to growth. This has been evident in the use of import licenses, oil blocks, and crude lifting contracts by the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), the ruling party from 1999 to 2015. As the PDP began fragmenting in 2011 after President Goodluck Jonathan (2010–​15) who is from southern Nigeria, defied his party’s elite consensus of power rotation to the North7, there was a need to pacify the political opposition within his unstable party. The fraud within the fuel subsidy regime is a notable illustration of the dispensation of oil sector patronage for the ruling elite’s political security. In 2012 alone, the federal government spent $14.6 billion on subsidies for importing refined petroleum, of which about $6 billion was lost to false claims, fraud, and inefficiencies (Usman 2018). A probe by the House of Representatives (2012) revealed that the number of oil marketers grew from forty-​five in 2009 to 128 by 2011, many of whom were political cronies. The actual expenditure on subsidies skyrocketed by 800 percent, from N295.5 billion in 2006–​8 to N1.7 trillion in 2011, and N1.5 trillion in 2012–​013 (Sanusi 2014, pp. 9–​10). The list of oil marketers investigated by the anticorruption agency, the EFCC, included the sons of two former PDP chairmen, Senator Ahmadu Ali and Bamanga Tukur as beneficiaries

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    535 of fraudulent subsidy claims. This came at a time when the northern caucus of the party, most opposed to Jonathan’s candidacy as president, was vociferous8. Evidently, revenue leakages and fraud escalated to unprecedented levels in pacifying aggrieved members of the PDP ruling coalition for the president’s political security. Interestingly, even under a new administration from 2015 and a new ruling party, the All Progressives Congress (APC), the issue of fuel subsidies remains debilitating. Third, the empowerment of a business class allied to the ruling coalition has varying consequences on the oil industry. In particular, local content policies, the Nigeria Local Content Act 2010, have empowered indigenous oil firms9. The divestment of some onshore oil assets by Shell, ExxonMobil, and other IOCs to technically competent domestic firms such as Oando Plc and Seplat, whose shareholders have deep ties to both the PDP and the APC, has been beneficial to local industry. For instance, Oando is Nigeria’s largest indigenous integrated energy group, employs over 1,000 people and is listed on both the Nigerian and Johannesburg stock exchanges. Seplat is similarly a market leader10. Concurrently, some other domestic beneficiaries of local content are high-​risk firms with limited competence and predatory intent. One notable instance of this predatory cronyism is the case of Kola Aluko, a close business partner of former petroleum Minister, Diezani Allison-​Madueke (2010–​15). Aluko’s firms, Fossil Resources and Atlantic Energy, in controversial circumstances acquired assets divested by Shell, through questionable Strategic Alliance Agreements (SAA). Up to $7 billion of income was lost between January 2012 and July 2013 by signing SAA’s with Aluko and others who had neither the technical expertise nor the capital (Sanusi 2014, pp. 13–​14). While local content policies are diversifying ownership from IOCs, not all indigenous firms possess the requisite financial and technical capacity, thereby contributing to fraud and revenue losses in the sector. These horizontal constraints from within the executive, the ruling party, and allied business elites result in inefficiencies, revenue losses, and inertia for reforming the oil and gas sector.

Societal Demands for Redistribution by CSOs and Oil-​Producing Communities Within the vertical sphere of societal demands for redistribution, at least two distributional pressures on the ruling elites inhibit a growth agenda in the oil sector. These include pressures by trade unions and civil society on one hand, and oil-​producing communities on the other. In the first place, the vociferous agitation by trade unions11 and civil society for the retention of petroleum subsidies inhibits a growth agenda. This advocacy is driven by concerns about the rising cost of living for ordinary Nigerians and non-​existent welfare policies. However, it often translates into hostility to the deregulation of the downstream sector to address Nigeria’s dependence on refined petroleum imports. For instance,

536   Zainab Usman strikes and industrial action accompanied the six separate increases in petroleum prices during President Olusegun Obasanjo’s eight years in office (1999–​2007). The amount spent on petroleum subsidies rose by 800 percent in 2011, and in January 2012, they were partially removed to tackle the grand corruption in the subsidy regime (Usman 2018). The ensuing wave of protests by youth and labor movements tagged “Occupy Nigeria” led to a partial restoration of these expensive subsidies. Within oil-​producing communities in the Niger Delta, the vociferous advocacy for redistribution of oil rents and full subnational resource control leads to policy gridlock. There are legitimate advocacies by activists, community-​based organizations, and traditional councils. But there is also the violent criminal enterprise of armed groups. In the case of the former, advocacy has focused on direct payments from the government and compensation by oil companies for frequent oil spillages damaging soil, land, water, and fish stocks. For instance, in 2014 alone, Royal Dutch Shell and ENI admitted to 550 oil spills according to Amnesty International (2015). This advocacy led to an inclusion of 13 percent derivation for the region in the Constitution in 1999, the creation of Ministry of the Niger Delta, the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), and other dedicated agencies; an amnesty to armed groups who renounced violence accompanied by cash payments and training programs12. Recently, oil-​producing communities advocate for a receipt of 10 percent of IOC monthly net profits (EIA 2013) to compensate communities hosting oil equipment. The contention over these disproportionate resource transfers to the Niger Delta have delayed the PIB. While governors of oil-​ producing states advocate for total control of the region’s oil resources, governors of non-​oil-​producing states argue it is “unfair” that since 2002, oil extracted offshore in the high seas, is included in the 13 percent derivation to the Niger Delta (Usman 2018). Although armed groups emerged from these historic advocacies against the Niger Delta’s economic marginalization, some of their activities eventually veered towards criminality. These armed groups include the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND), the Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force (NDPVF), and the Niger Delta Avengers (NDA). Their use of violence in the destruction of oil facilities, abduction of IOC workers, piracy, illicit arms trade, and oil theft leads to oil spillages, reduces production output, and drives onshore divestments by IOCs due to high overhead costs (Usman 2018). In particular, the return to democracy and the Amnesty program from 2008, enabled “repentant militants” to move from armed resistance to crude oil theft, piracy, and organized crime, although oil theft was started in the 1970s by top military officers (Katsouris and Sayne 2013). It is worth noting though, that these armed groups are just one of many actors involved in oil theft. Other participants include government officials, military officers, corrupt bankers, local Niger Delta elite, organized criminal groups in the Gulf of Guinea, and individuals within IOCs. Thus, existence of legitimate community grievances alongside collusion by official actors undermines concerted action by local and federal authorities in effectively addressing it. These distributional pressures by civil society on one hand, but also by oil-​producing communities and armed groups on the other undermine a reform agenda in the oil sector.

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    537

External Constraints of IOCs and Export Markets Within the external sphere, I identify two factors affecting the volume of Nigeria’s oil exports, oil earnings, and the sector’s growth. These include the role of IOCs and the destination for Nigeria’s crude oil. On the first constraint, the main area of contention with IOCs is the country’s fiscal regime, which determines the country’s oil output and earnings. The NNPC has Joint Venture (JV) arrangements and/​or Production Sharing Contracts (PSCs,) with Shell, ExxonMobil, Chevron, Total, and Eni13. The government seeks to increase its share of oil revenues while IOCs push back since the Nigerian government’s take is already one of the highest in the world14. With rising insecurity in the Niger Delta, IOCs, particularly Shell, Total, Eni, Chevron, and ConocoPhillips, have been divesting their onshore assets to Nigerian companies and smaller IOCs. The oil majors are rather, focusing their investments on deep offshore projects and onshore natural gas projects under PSCs where the government take is less than the onshore JVs (Sanusi 2014, p. 1, EIA 2016, p. 3). The revision of the PSCs terms, defined during low oil prices in the 1990s, is one contentious area the PIB seeks to address (EIA 2013; Heilbrunn 2014, p. 98) and a major reason for the legislative stasis. According to IOCs, the proposals in the PIB for renegotiation of contracts, changes in tax and royalty structures, would increase the government’s take on JVs from 82 percent to 91 percent and PSCs to 89 percent, a level that is likely to deter investment15 by making offshore projects commercially unviable. By attaching these fiscal provisions to the PIB, the Nigerian government pitched the IOCs, in opposition to the bill’s passage. The IOCs bargain for neutral tax instruments to ensure they would make profits and use hedging strategies to offset losses (Heilbrunn 2014, p. 98; Frestad 2010, p. 459). Through transfer pricing, deferred revenue from oil theft and tax avoidance, some IOCs reduce Nigeria’s oil earnings. While figures are hard to come by, a report by the African Development Bank and the Global Financial Integrity revealed that Nigeria has the highest volume of illicit financial flows from Africa, losing almost $250 billion between 2000 and 2009 (AfDB and GFI 2013, p. 26) largely in the oil sector, and up to $5 billion in 2011 to transfer pricing (PWC 2011, p. 5). In the context of the national executive inertia to strengthen regulatory and legal frameworks, the IOCs employ these hedging strategies to profit from a weak institutional environment. There have been no new investments for over a decade while oil majors are moving offshore where they are liable to less tax under the PSCs. Consequently, growth has stagnated, aging pipelines and infrastructure result in frequent oil spills, and the government earns less oil revenue than it should. The second external constraint is the international oil market, where the price of oil is central to Nigeria’s export earnings, fiscal revenue, and economic growth. The global oil boom-​and-​bust cycle driven by the commodity super cycle16, China’s

538   Zainab Usman rebalancing towards domestic consumption, the global financial crisis, the Iraq War, the U.S. shale oil and gas revolution, and new oil producers across Africa, has a volatile effect on the economic agenda of the ruling coalition. Downturns create an impetus to pursue a growth agenda. Economic and governance reforms under Nigeria’s Economic Empowerment Development Strategy (NEEDS) and more recently, the Nigeria Economic Recovery and Growth Plan were pursued during a period of low oil prices in the early 2000s and from 2015 respectively. During boom times, efforts are concentrated on managing the intense local scramble for visibly high oil earnings. The most egregious cases of fraud, mismanagement, and corruption in the postmilitary period occurred between 2010 and 2014, when oil prices were at a historic high of over $100 per barrel.

Conclusion This chapter has examined the dysfunctions of Nigeria’s oil sector, especially the stagnation and decline of oil production, revenue leakages, and the oil sector’s impact on the non-​oil economy. In this process, it has shown how the resource curse thesis provides an inadequate and partial explanation. Its commodity determinism does not capture the political constraints to reforming Nigeria’s oil sector. Using a political settlements framework, the chapter argues that the horizontal-​elite, vertical-​societal, and external constraints on successive ruling elites generate suboptimal policy choices for the oil sector. These constraints generate competitive, distributional, and fiscal pressures from key stakeholders on Nigeria’s ruling elite towards these suboptimal policy choices. The key to effective and sustainable reforms of Africa’s largest oil industry may actually lie in differentiating and unraveling these three layers of constraints. Recently, the Nigerian government appears to be adopting such a systematic and layered approach to the PIB by splitting it into several pieces of legislation. These include the Petroleum Industry Governance Bill (PIGB) which deals with policy and regulation of the industry; the Petroleum Industry Fiscal Bill on the fiscal regime, and the Host Community Bill regarding the oil-​producing communities17. Importantly, each of these three bills directly addresses aspects of the three political constraints identified in this chapter: intergovernmental coordination within the executive at the horizontal level in the PIGB; contention over the fiscal regimes with IOCs at the external level in the Petroleum Industry Fiscal Bill; and vertical pressures by the oil-​producing communities in the Host Community Bill. In May 2017, the Nigerian Senate passed the first of these bills, the PIGB, and awaits to be passed by the lower chamber, the House of Representatives, and assented to by the president before it becomes law. This is the most progress on oil-​sector legislation since the transition to democracy in 1999, largely attributed to splitting the previously cumbersome PIB into smaller components addressing specific constraints and contentious aspects of the oil industry.

“Resource Curse” and Constraints on Nigeria’s Oil Sector    539

Notes 1. Definition of “ruling coalition” adapted from Whitfield et al. (2015). 2. See for instance, news reports by Reuters (2008), “Angola Surpasses Nigeria as Top Africa Oil Producer” http://​www.reuters.com/​article/​opec-​africa-​idUSL1590863520080515 and Ejoh (2016), “Nigeria: Oil Crash –​Angola Overtakes Nigeria in Crude Oil Production” http://​allafrica.com/​stories/​201604150084.html 3. For a useful review of this literature, see GIZ (2016). 4. See GIZ (2016, p. 49) for a useful review of the policy literature on addressing the “resource curse.” It identifies three policy approaches to counter the resource curse: transparency and accountability, barter deals and direct cash transfers. 5. On threats to elite survival, see Lewis (2007, pp. 15–​16) and Whitfield and Therkildsen (2011, p.  19). On policy responses, see Kang (2004, p.  7) on business–​state coalitions, Doner et al. (2005, p. 356) on public–​private linkages, Booth and Cammack (2013) on the resolution of collective action problems, etc. 6. See Ahmad and Singh (2003) for a historical analysis of Nigeria’s revenue-​sharing formulas. 7. Since the return to democratic rule in 1999, the PDP instituted a “zoning” principle of power rotation. It aimed to reconcile Nigeria’s competing regional elites through the periodic rotation of party and public elective offices, particularly the presidential seat between the north and the south. However, when President Umaru Yar’adua, a northerner, died in his third year in office in 2010, Jonathan, his erstwhile vice president, defied this principle to the consternation of his party to run for office in 2011. 8. See Owen and Usman (2015) for an analysis of the PDP’s fragmentation and the defection of veto players which contributed to its electoral defeat 2015. 9. The full name of the legislation is the Nigerian Oil and Gas Industry Content Development Act of 2010. See Ovadia (2013) for an assessment of the legislation’s implications for indigenous capital accumulation. 10. Oando website: http://​www.oandoplc.com/​investor-​relations/​financial-​profile/​ 11. In the oil sector, the Petroleum and Natural Gas Senior Staff Association (PENGASSAN) and the Nigerian Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers (NUPENG) are the key unions which represent the white-​collar and blue-​collar workers respectively. 12. The Amnesty program aimed to prepare repentant militants for reintegration into society. It was expected that sustainable peace would reduce oil supply disruptions and create the possibility for economic development in the Niger Delta. For assessments of the Amnesty Program, see Aghedo (2012, p.  273); Ogege (2011); Davidheiser and Nyiayaana (2011). 13. Other companies active in Nigeria’s oil and natural gas industry are Addax Petroleum, Statoil, and several Nigerian companies (EIA 2016, p. 3). 14. U.S. Embassy Abuja, Wikileaks Cables #1365386. 15. U.S. Embassy Abuja, Wikileaks Cables #1365386. 16. Taylor (2014, pp. 139–​141) argues that the growth in African economies has coincided with a boom in commodity prices over the past decade, which in turn is attributed to growing resource demand from China, India, and other emerging powers. 17. See KPMG (2017), “The Petroleum Industry Governance Bill,” Newsletter. https://​home. kpmg.com/​ng/​en/​home/​insights/​2017/​05/​the-​petroleum-​industry-​governance-​bill.html

540   Zainab Usman

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Chapter 32

Nigeria’s Resp onse to the HIV Epi de mi c Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki

Introduction Nigeria, the most populous country in sub-​Saharan Africa, is home to one in every five Africans. Therefore, it may come as no surprise that the story of the HIV epidemic in Nigeria can be told through numbers of great magnitude. Perhaps most telling is the fact that the number of Nigerians infected with HIV—​estimated at over three million—​is greater than the population of some African nations. Despite a nationwide prevalence of 3 percent, which is low in comparison to many East and South African countries, due to its large population, Nigeria still has the second-​largest burden of HIV infection worldwide (UNAIDS 2016). Nigeria’s first AIDS case was diagnosed in 1986, in a young woman in Lagos (Nasidi et al. 1986), followed by a period of denial in the midst of confusion and scarce human and financial resources to combat the fledging epidemic. There was a late response, as in many other African countries. The association of HIV/​AIDS with sex, disease, and death-fueled initial reactions of denial and fear, and bred stigmatization and discrimination (Barnett and Whiteside 2002). Marked stigma and discrimination led to hiding of symptoms, silent deaths, and abandonment of “victims” even by close family members (Jegede 2006; Ahamefule 2005). The fear of contagion was rife as there was little or no knowledge of means of transmission; it was a period of gloom and helplessness. Nigeria was faced with “a number of challenges in its efforts to control the HIV/​AIDS epidemic, including widespread poverty, a large and youthful population, extensive variations in epidemic trends, and viral heterogeneity” (Kanki and Adeyi 2006, p. 9). After the first AIDS cases were recognized, the first notable response to control of HIV/​AIDS was a medical one, directed at diagnosis of HIV and safe blood

546    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki transfusion (FMOH 1987); this was followed by a civil society response of awareness creation and health education; and lastly, the building of institutions for the control of HIV/​AIDS (Odutolu et al. 2006). Beginning in 1991, Nigeria instituted and maintained a national sentinel surveillance system, later augmented with biological and behavioral surveillance of high-​risk groups such as commercial sex workers, men having sex with men, and intravenous drug-​users. The national response has been synchronized with global efforts as coordinated by UNAIDS with the National Agency for the Control of AIDS (NACA) providing leadership and promoting ownership (NACA 2015). More recently, Nigeria has committed to achieving Universal Health Coverage, which includes the effective coverage of all the people with essential health services, and the avoidance of financial hardship because of payments at the point of service delivery (Okpani and Abimbola 2015). This raises the question of the sources, adequacy, equity, efficiency, and sustainability of financing for essential health services, including those for HIV/​AIDS services. In this chapter, we summarize the key historical features of Nigeria’s response to the HIV epidemic over the past three decades (Adeyi et al. 2006). The latter part of the chapter examines the sources, adequacy, and sustainability of financing. A detailed exploration of equity and efficiency of expenditures on HIV/​AIDS is outside the scope of the current discussion. We also examine the contributions of HIV programming to building public institutions and resilient partnerships, development of the private-sector and civil society organizations, and strengthening of the health systems.

History Nigeria recognized its first cases of AIDS in 1986 (Nasidi et al. 1986). That year, under the leadership of the minister of health, the late Professor Olikoye Ransome-​Kuti, the Nigerian government officially acknowledged the first HIV infection in the country (Raufu 2003). As a result of persistent advocacy by a number of expert virologists and physicians, the Nigerian government formed the first National Expert Advisory Committee on AIDS in 1986. HIV infection and AIDS cases continued to be identified in the late 1980s throughout the country. In late 1987, the Federal Ministry of Health, with technical assistance from the Overseas Development Administration of the United Kingdom and the World Health Organization, sought to ensure transfusion safety by establishing HIV antibody testing in the blood banks and transfusions centers of thirteen teaching hospitals throughout the country (Schneider 2013). The number of such HIV screening centers would later increase to cover more hospitals. The results of HIV testing in the first 2,000 blood units were negative. To some extent, these early data led to an optimistic view that Nigeria would be spared from the epidemic and this may have lured government officials into a false sense of complacency.

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    547 In 1988, the National AIDS and STDs Control Program (NASCP) replaced the earlier national committee. Coordinated by the Federal Ministry of Health, NASCP continues to be responsible for the Nigerian health sector component of the response to HIV/​AIDS, developing guidelines on key interventions, supporting the monitoring and surveillance of the epidemic, and coordinating HIV treatment and care efforts across the nation. The first national HIV sentinel surveillance survey for Nigeria, conducted in 1991 among pregnant women attending antenatal clinics, revealed the country’s HIV prevalence rate to be 1.8 percent (FMOH 1991). Nigeria was under military rule during the 1990s, a period marked by coups, fraudulent and postponed elections, a devastated economy, and civil unrest. Democracy was restored in 1999 with the election of President Olusegun Obasanjo, who presided for eight years during a period of rebuilding. He established a presidential committee on AIDS and a National Action Committee on AIDS (NACA). A  three-​year HIV/​ AIDS Emergency Action Plan was developed in 2001 with assistance from UNAIDS and other international development groups. During his tenure, the international development community began to return to Nigeria and initiate aid programs, many of these addressing the HIV/​AIDS epidemic. The World Bank initiated the Multicountry HIV/​AIDS Program, to fund national HIV prevention, treatment, and care in a number of African countries; Nigeria received U.S.$100  million. In late 2000, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation announced a U.S.$25 million grant to the Harvard School of Public Health to create the AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria (APIN) (Kanki 2009). In 2004, Nigeria successfully applied for funds from the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria and received support from the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, or PEPFAR. Nigeria was one of the first fifteen countries targeted by the PEPFAR program for support. At the same time, the government, local professionals, and civil society groups, inspired by the increased resources, strengthened their own commitments to the prevention, treatment, and care of HIV/​AIDS. By 2001, the national median HIV seroprevalence increased to its highest at 5.8 percent and has hovered around 3 percent from 2012 to 2016 (FMOH 2001–​16). However, there is a tremendous range in infection rates amongst the thirty-​six states, with some states as high as 15 percent and some lower than 1 percent (see Figure 32.1). Differences among geopolitical zones, ethnic traditions, religious practices, and sexual networking habits are among the many possible factors that may have contributed to the disparities in HIV infection. As HIV has continued its spread across Nigeria, it has become increasingly apparent that the epidemic does not follow the same course in different geographic locales or among various population subgroups (see Figure 32.1). At the outset, the impact of the AIDS epidemic fell on the Nigerian health sector, as the disease was viewed solely as a health problem. As the epidemic evolved, however, the sentinel surveys demonstrated significant HIV infection and disease in young men and women who constituted the mainstay of agriculture, education, commerce, and industry. By 2000, Nigerian government officials recognized that the impact of the epidemic had transcended the health sector to also include the socioeconomic and developmental sectors. HIV/​AIDS thus became the most important health and

548    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki

SOKOTO STATE

KATSINA STATE

JIGAWA STATE

ZAMFARA STATE

KEBBI STATE

YOBE STATE

KANO STATE

BAUCHI STATE

KADUNA STATE

GOMBE STATE

NIGER STATE FCT STATE

KWARA STATE OYO STATE OSHUN STATE OGUN STATE AGOS STATE

EKITI STATE

ONDO STATE

DELTA STATE BAYELSA STATE

NASSARAWA STATE TARABA STATE BENUE STATE

ENUGU STATE EBONY ANAMBRA STATE STATE IMO ABIA STATE STATE RIVERS STATE

ADAMAWA STATE

PLATEAU STATE

KOGI STATE

EDO STATE

BORNO STATE

CROSS RIVER STATE

KEY >8.0% 6.1%–8.0% 4.1%–6.0% 2.1%–4.0% 1.0%–2.0%

AKWA IBOM STATE

Figure 32.1  HIV Prevalence by State in Nigeria, 2012.

developmental problem in Nigeria, requiring an immediate response. This underscored the fact that despite all the preventive interventions available, the need to mount an expanded program for care and support of the millions already living with HIV/​AIDS had grown urgent. The situation called for an expanded multisectoral national response to the epidemic. In the mid 1990s, HIV-​infected individuals in Nigeria in need of antiretroviral therapy (ART) purchased expensive antiretrovirals in Europe or the United States. Nigeria’s elite teaching hospitals—​such as Lagos University Teaching Hospital, Jos University Teaching Hospital, 68 Military Hospital, and the University College Hospital in Ibadan—​were among the first Nigerian hospitals to monitor AIDS patients who had purchased drugs with their own money. Consequently, even before the national ART program began, some physicians were gaining experience in treating AIDS patients. Even so, these physicians were hampered in their efforts to provide optimal care because their hospitals lacked the laboratory tests needed to monitor patients on ART, which was standard care in the developed world. As a result, early ART experience heavily depended on the patient’s willingness and ability to spend significant funds on both drugs and laboratory tests.

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    549 In April 2001, President Obasanjo had served as host to the first African Summit on HIV/​AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Other Related Infectious Diseases on behalf of the Heads of State and Government of the Organisation of African Unity. There he reminded participants that AIDS had killed 11.6 million Africans in the previous fifteen years. He called on other African nations to commit more resources to the pandemic; Nigeria had already increased its annual AIDS spending from U.S.$100,000 to U.S.$20 million. “We are an endangered continent,” President Obasanjo declared. “The sad reality is we are a dying continent and it will be a challenge to prevent a monumental catastrophe” (Donnelly 2001). In addition to his strong advocacy at that summit for continued support for HIV/​AIDS programs in Africa, President Obasanjo announced the initiation of the Nigerian National Antiretroviral Therapy Program and the purchase of antiretroviral drugs for 10,000 adults and 5,000 children, at an annual cost of 500 million naira, or U.S.$3.7 million (Kanki 2009). The purchase of these drugs from the Indian generic drug manufacturer Cipla was facilitated by the company’s lowering of the drug cocktail price from U.S.$600 to U.S.$350 per patient per year. Cipla was willing to cover the discounted price to any African nation that would provide the drug to eligible patients for free. Nigeria was the first African nation to make such a large purchase of such drugs (U.S.$3.5 million). In order for patients to qualify to receive these free drugs, they needed to demonstrate that their CD4+ T-​cells were below 200 cells/​mm3. The cost of this laboratory test at the time was approximately 9,000 naira or U.S.$30 and this was cost-​prohibitive for many patients (FMOH 2004). As a result it is estimated that only 6,000 Nigerian patients were ultimately treated with these drugs. The federal Ministry of Health designated the Nigeria National ART Committee, which drafted the original guidelines for the provision of ART (FMOH 2001). This technical advisory body included a number of ART center directors, donor partners, and representatives from the Federal Ministry of Health, the National Food and Drug Administration and Control, UNAIDS, and the Global Fund Country Coordinating Mechanism. Professor John Idoko from Jos University Teaching Hospital chaired the committee (Idoko 2012). The Nigerian ART guidelines largely followed the World Health Organization guidelines with respect to ART eligibility, diagnosis, monitoring criteria, and first-​line regimen recommendations. Patient management recommendations and toxicity guidelines were included to help guide physicians and nurses. At the same time, the Federal Ministry of Health issued guidelines for voluntary counseling and testing and prevention of mother-​to-​child transmission (PMTCT) (FMOH 2001; 2002). These represented critical entry points for ART programs as well as important opportunities for providing prevention messages and the guidelines assisted healthcare providers in proper counseling and HIV testing methods. The Nigerian PMTCT program began in 2001 with the establishment of seven federal PMTCT centers. These centers provided HIV testing to pregnant women and single-​dose nevirapine (NVP) to HIV-​infected women and their babies, the drug provided by UNICEF. Since this program also identified pregnant women in need of complete ART, a particularly important patient population, it was integral to the national ART program. The PMTCT program

550    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki also allowed for the follow-​up of HIV-​infected pregnant women after their delivery to determine whether exposed infants were infected and in need of care and treatment. The Nigerian National ART program, which began in February 2002, designated twenty-​five treatment centers distributed across the country’s six geopolitical zones. Treatment slots were allocated to each of the centers with provision of twelve months of drugs for a total of 625 eligible adult patients. In the first year, more than 6,000 adults were treated with a combination of the generic brands of ART. Under the Nigerian national program, the monthly cost of treatment was 1,000 naira (equivalent to approximately U.S.$7); the government highly subsidized the remaining drug costs. As described, the cost of laboratory tests required to qualify for the program and for continual monitoring was borne by the patient. Most HIV/​AIDS services are provided in the public sector, supported by a significant fraction of Nigeria’s dedicated resources and qualified staff. Nigeria has been very fortunate; despite the deterioration of the education and health sector that resulted from its long military rule, Nigeria was able to maintain its strengths in educating healthcare workers. Nigeria’s professional schools annually graduate thousands of physicians, nurses, laboratory technicians, and social workers. Unlike many other African nations, Nigeria’s educated and skilled workforce has been able to provide an important foundation for HIV/​AIDS prevention, treatment, and care programs, although there is still disparity in the distribution of trained healthcare workers to rural settings where the need is the highest. In addition, Nigerian physicians, nurses, and other healthcare workers often represent a significant proportion of the healthcare workforce in the treatment and care programs of other African countries, resulting in a “brain drain” for the country. Nigeria is served by a variety of public and private health facilities. Private health institutions include a network of private for-​profit entities, nongovernmental organizations, and faith-​based organizations that provide healthcare to millions of Nigerians (FMOH 2004). There are limited formal linkages between private and the public-​sector ART programs, except for the referral of patients for drugs and other laboratory-​related services. In 2004, per patient costs in the public sector was estimated at U.S.$913 per year. The largest components of this cost were:  staff salaries (U.S.$336); generic antiretrovirals (U.S.$300); and laboratory monitoring tests (U.S.$204). Smaller costs included laboratory equipment, patient and drug transportation, and staff training. An analysis of treatment costs in the private sector revealed a much higher per patient cost of U.S.$2,263, with 60 percent of the cost for antiretrovirals, as indicated in Figure 32.2. (FMOH 2004). The UNAIDS launched the Drug Access Initiative (1997–​2003) which was evaluated in Chile, Côte d’Ivoire, Uganda, Vietnam, and Senegal. These pilot programs explored the feasibility of structured introduction of price-​reduced ARV therapy, measured short-​term clinical outcomes with a final goal of understanding the infrastructure and procedural requirements to sustained ARV provision (Katzenstein et al. AIDS 2003). In 2005, the AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria, or APIN, provided the first evidence of the success of the Nigerian ART program, laying to rest the uncertainty about

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    551 Costs of ART Provision—Public vs. Private Sector ($USD) $2,500 Monitoring tests Patient transport Drug transport Lab equipment Training Staff salaries ARV drugs

$2,000 $1,500 $1,000 $500 $0

Public Sector

Private Sector

Figure 32.2  Costs of ART Provision in the Public and Private Sectors.

whether the requirements of ART and monitoring could be met in developing countries. APIN researchers found a 75 percent efficacy rate among the first fifty patients enrolled at the National Institute of Medical Research who had received generic antiretrovirals from the Nigerian government. This efficacy rate was comparable to those in U.S.-​and European-​based trial data for branded antiretrovirals (Idigbe et al. 2005). In late 2003, President George W. Bush launched the U.S. President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, or PEPFAR, to provide prevention, care, and treatment to fifteen focus countries (PEPFAR 2017). The legislation authorized U.S.$15 billion to a comprehensive program to combat HIV/​AIDS in partner countries in southern Africa, East Africa, West Africa, the Caribbean, and Asia. Nigeria was one of two West African countries selected. The following year, the Harvard School of Public Health and the AIDS Relief Consortium initiated PEPFAR-​funded HIV treatment and care programs in Nigeria (Kanki 2009). The program provided funding for all aspects of treatment and care following the Nigerian ART guidelines for eligibility, drug regimens, and monitoring. In collaboration with the Nigerian National ART Program, which had initiated treatment for 13,000 patients by mid-​2004, PEPFAR-​funded clinics provided free treatment and care to an additional 8,000 patients during the first year of the program. Given that the estimated burden of disease was at least 3 million people, this represented less than 1 percent of the AIDS burden in the country. The Nigeria PEPFAR grew substantially over the next four years (Kanki 2009). Family Health International, the University of Maryland, and Columbia University’s Mailman School of Public Health initiated treatment and care programs at various sites across the country. Annual PEPFAR funding increases enabled a rise in the number of patients on ART, the addition of new sites, the training of personnel, and the development of infrastructure and capacity-​building critical to meeting programmatic goals. By the end of 2005, nearly 50,000 Nigerians with HIV were receiving free ART.

552    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki In 2004, Nigeria received more than U.S.$28 million in the first round of funding by the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria. These funds, largely granted to the National Action Committee on AIDS, provided substantial support for HIV prevention efforts. In 2007, the Nigerian government received a fifth-​round award of more than U.S.$46 million to help provide direct support for antiretroviral treatment and care (Global Fund 2008). The Clinton Foundation, active in supporting HIV/​AIDS treatment programs in Africa, also provided funding for the Nigerian ART program in 2006–​7. Through an established collaboration with the government of Nigeria, the Clinton HIV/​ AIDS Initiative organized for the donation and distribution of antiretrovirals for pediatric patients and certain second-​line drugs for adults to ART sites across the country. The donation of these drugs and laboratory test reagents meant that the estimated per-​ patient costs of ART provision for both adults and pediatric patients were reduced by 20 percent (Clinton HIV/​AIDS Initiative 2008).

Current Situational Analysis Estimates show that new infections have declined from an estimated 316,733 in 2003 to 239,155 a decade later in 2013 to a current estimate of 250,000 In 2016 (UNIADS 2016). A total of 180,000 died from AIDS-​related cases in 2015, which is lower than 210,031 people in 2013. Figure 32.3 shows that there are marked variations in the prevalence of HIV across states. Nigeria’s HIV epidemic is mixed, and most of the new infections are attributable to high-​risk subpopulations. The national Mode of Transmission Study 2010 (NACA 2010)  attributed 40  percent of new infections occurring in the country to Most At Risk Populations (MARPS) and their clients even though this subpopulation group constitutes only 4  percent of the adult population in the country. Thus, prevention efforts have been concentrated geographically in states and communities with the greatest burden of HIV, and amongst this subpopulation of MARPS. With the aid of the World Bank-​supported HIV/​AIDS Program Development Project, over 500 community service organizations utilized the combination prevention approach as outlined in

Nigeria (2015) 3.5 million people living with HIV 3.1% adult HIV prevalence 250,000 new HIV infections 180,000 AIDS-related deaths 24% adults on antiretroviral treatment

Figure 32.3  Overall HIV Infection Rate. (UNAIDS Gap Report 2016.)

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    553 the national HIV Prevention plan in many communities across the country with very good measurable impact. In 2015, UNAIDS developed a set of ambitious but achievable targets of interrupting the Global AIDS epidemic called the 90–​90–​90 targets (UNAIDS 2016) These include: By 2020, 90 percent of all people living with HIV will know their HIV status. By 2020, 90 percent of all people with diagnosed HIV infection will receive sustained antiretroviral therapy. By 2020, 90 percent of all people receiving antiretroviral therapy will have durable viral suppression. The recent Nigerian National ART guidelines (FMOH 2016), which aim to maximize the therapeutic and preventive benefits of ART, have increased the estimated number of people eligible for ART from roughly 2 million to 3 million in Nigeria. With almost 1 million people on treatment now, that leaves about 2 million people living with HIV in need of these life-​saving drugs. However, in order to identify those in need of drugs, Nigeria must deliver on the First 90—​ensuring that 90 percent of people living with HIV know their HIV status and get linked to treatment. This has posed a huge challenge, as the number of people testing for HIV even though rising has been consistently low. The number of women and men aged 15 years or more who have received HIV counseling and testing (HCT) has increased from 3.5 million in 2013 to 12.7 million in 2015. Also the number of HIV testing sites in the same period has increased from 2,600 to over 7,000 (FMOH 2016). In spite of these increases, the proportion of the general population accessing HIV testing and counseling remains low and far from reaching the national targets of the First 90. Challenges to scaling up testing include shortage of HIV test kits, weak supply-​chain management, low-​risk perception, and stigma associated with HIV infection. Some measures that have been recently put in place to address these challenges include ensuring the provision of several models of delivering and optimizing counseling and testing people close to their homes. In addition, couples counseling and using contact tracing to test sexual partners and family members have strengthened the national HCT program. Other innovations that have been employed include the use of self-​testing and providing HCT as a component of multidisease campaigns in various communities across the country. Measures have also been put in place to strengthen the supply chain management of HIV commodities by establishing a common National Procurement Supply Chain Management Program. The number of sites providing ART has risen to more than 1,000 across the country (FMOH 2016)  but this is far from meeting the demands of the Second 90 target. Additionally, decentralization of PMTCT services has contributed to increasing the number of sites providing PMTCT services to 6,548 in 2014. The number of pregnant women who were counseled, tested, and received results almost doubled from 1,706,524 in 2013 to 3,067,514 in 2014. This represents 30 percent of all pregnant women in the country.

554    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki

Expenditures and Financing There have been historical challenges in compiling comprehensive data on sources and aggregate expenditures on HIV/​AIDS, their composition, and trends in Nigeria. An early exploration concluded, inter alia, that: HIV was imposing a significant financial burden on Nigerian households; extending treatment to everyone who needed it would impose a significant financial burden on the government; there was significant external funding, with the caveat that since development aid was not guaranteed forever, Nigeria would face an even greater financial burden as aid agencies withdrew (Canning et al. 2006). Against this background, this section presents estimates of total expenditures on HIV/​AIDS programs in Nigeria for 2010–​14 (Figure 32.4) from government ministries, firms, insurance agencies, non-​profit NGOs, firms, and others. Figure 32.4 shows that Nigeria spent between $0.9 to $1.8 billion per annum between 2010 and 2014 on HIV and AIDS prevention, treatment, and care. The expenditure increased by about 40 percent in 2014 compared to 2010. Total HIV/​AIDS expenditure was about 9.3 percent of total health expenditure in 2014 (Federal Ministry of Health 2016)  Government health expenditure, at 8  percent of total government expenditure (WHO Global Health Expenditure Database), was far below the Abuja target of 15 percent. Donor contributions increased by 350  percent over the same period; this can be attributed mostly to investments from the United States PEPFAR, Global Fund, and the World Bank-​funded Multicountry AIDS Project (MAP2). Domestic funding from government expenditure on HIV dipped to a low of $125 million in 2012 but rose again to almost double of the funding for 2010 by 2014. Household expenditures remained

Aggregate spending on HIV/AIDS in Nigeria, 2010-2014 (U.S.$ millions) 2000 1500 1000 500 0

2010

2011

2012

Government ministries Donors

2013 Firms (for profit) Households

Figure 32.4  Aggregate spending on HIV/​AIDS in Nigeria, 2010–​14.

2014

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    555 substantial during the period. Donor contribution to HIV programming in Nigeria is substantial, at about a third of all spending on HIV. More than 50 percent of the PEPFAR and Global Fund funding went to the treatment and care program (Schneider MT et al. 2016). The total health expenditure increased during the same period on an annual basis, to almost double from $10.08 billion in 2010 to $19.75 billion in 2014 (NACA 2015). But the total health expenditure as a percentage of GDP remained around 3.5 per cent. This figure is lower than the sub-​Saharan Africa average of 5.5 percent. The total expenditure on HIV as percentage of total health expenditure ranges between 5.67 and 16.7 percent and was 9.31 percent in 2014. In summary, with the second-​largest global burden of HIV and AIDS, Nigeria is underspending on HIV and AIDS prevention, treatment, and care compared to the average of 19.2 percent for sub-​Saharan Africa (Amico et al. 2010). There are wide variations among countries, but the burden of disease also varies significantly. The percentage of HIV spending is a useful indicator for better understanding healthcare resources and their allocation patterns. The expenditure on HIV is not broken down into the categories of major interventions for HIV prevention, treatment, and care, but some donor expenditures are disaggregated. For example, data for the U.S. PEPFAR program in 2008 shows that treatment received more than half of the entire budget at $212.8 million, care received nearly 30 percent ($106 million), and prevention received 16.5 percent ($63 million). Similarly, the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria expended $276.6 million on treatment, care, and support between 2010 and 2014 through the grant to Nigeria—​to reduce morbidity and mortality from HIV and AIDS in the country. Nigeria’s National Agency for the Control of AIDS (NACA) is the principal recipient for the grant. Another overlapping grant is the Health Systems and Community Strengthening grant of $73.6 between 2006 and 2015. Most of these grants were for treatment, care, and support, including voluntary counseling and testing and the prevention of mother-​to-​child transmission of HIV. But the $225 million World Bank-​financed HIV Program Development Project II, which was implemented within the same period, focused on stewardship, voluntary counseling and testing, and engagement of civil society organizations for prevention activities. The project supported the promotion of behavior change, condom promotion, prevention of stigma and discrimination, and strengthening transparency and accountability of the NACA and State Agencies for the Control of AIDS (SACAs) through capacity-​building for public procurement, and public financial management system. In summary, the substantial external financing of HIV/​AIDS programs in Nigeria have occurred in a broader context of low total health expenditures relative to GDP, and high out-​of-​pocket (OOP) expenditure by households. Crosscountry studies provide more information on challenges faced by countries, including Nigeria, in ensuring adequate domestic funding for health services, including those for HIV/​AIDS, in an era in which there is declining or shaky support for externally funded HIV/​AIDS programs (Hecht et al. 2010; Resch et al. 2015). Given the continuing need to treat those currently on ART and anticipated additions to those needing treatment, the financial sustainability of HIV/​AIDS program is precarious.

556    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki Prior work indicated that ART subsidization was not enough to eliminate the economic burden of treatment on HIV patients. Service decentralization to reduce travel costs, and subsidy on other components of HIV treatment services were suggested as measures to eliminate inequities in effective coverage of ART services. Finally, the authors recommended the inclusion of ART services within the benefit package of the National Health Insurance Scheme (Etiaba et al. 2016). In the foregoing context, current health financing policy and practices in Nigeria do not enable the sustainable financing of ART services. Out-​of-​pocket expenditures remain high (FMOH 2017), and the government is yet to translate from paper to reality the provisions of the National Health Act of 2014, central to which is the establishment of the Basic Health Care Provision Fund to be funded from a federal government annual grant of not less than 1 percent of its Consolidated Revenue Fund, grants by international donor partners, and funds from other sources. Doing so would make it possible for the country to get an overarching grip on progress toward universal health coverage (Adeyi 2016), including ART services.

Health System Development and Service Delivery Investments in Nigeria’s health services and systems over the past several decades have yielded mixed results. The infant and under-​five mortality rates have fallen, but not fast enough for Nigeria to meet the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs). The maternal mortality ratio, although much reduced from levels seen in the 1990s, has hovered around 576 deaths per 100,000 births during the past decade. There has also been no significant change in childhood stunting in the last ten years (NPC and ICF 2014). The health system is weak (Adeyi 2016), with underlying systemic failures: fragmentation and poor coordination; lack of accountability; and poor incentives and gross inefficiency in the face of poor public financial management system. All these are reflected in service delivery, where many of the indicators have stagnated in the last thirty years. There are also wide variations in service coverage across regions and income groups; the southern parts of country generally outperform the northern parts, and people in higher income quintiles fair better than those in the lower income quintiles. On the other hand, there has been progress in HIV prevention, treatment, and care, with one of the greatest achievement being in HIV prevalence, which has fallen to 3 percent in 2012 from the highest point of 5.8 percent in 2001 (FMOH 2012). This progress is plausibly due to the combination of large investments and efforts to ensure marked improvements in effective implementation of programs covering prevention, treatment, and care (NACA 2015), but increased spending alone does not necessarily improve overall performance (Berman and Bitran 2011). A more likely case is that increases in resources and massive institutional and health-​system strengthening

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    557 efforts around HIV/​AIDS programs contributed to improved results. The national HIV prevalence average dropped by almost 20 percent between 2007 and 2012 from 3.6 percent to 3.0 percent. There was similar reduction in prevalence in five geopolitical zones of the country while in the south-​south zone there was an increase of 3.5 percent to 5.5 percent. However, four states have the highest prevalence: Rivers (15.2 percent), Taraba (10.5 percent ), Kaduna (9.2 percent ), and Nasarawa (8.1 percent ) respectively. High risk groups also show a decrease in HIV prevalence between 2007 and 2010—​for nonbrothel-​based sex workers from 37.4 percent to 27.4 percent ; for brothel-​based sex workers from 30.2 percent to 21.7 percent and for intravenous drug-​users 5.6 percent to 4.2 percent . But there was an increase in prevalence among men having sex with men (MSM) from 13.5 percent to 17.2 percent . The reduction in prevalence in these high-​risk groups might be due to better targeting and more confidence of the high-​risk communities on the nongovernmental organizations working with them and the wider system in general. The ultimate indicators of health-​system performance are health status, financial protection, and customer satisfaction (Roberts et al. 2004). These goals also align with the principles of universal health coverage (World Bank 2015; Kutzin 2012) which emphasizes coverage with quality healthcare and financial protection. Ceteris paribus, if coverage with HIV/​AIDS services improve and if those services are of good quality, HIV/​AIDS programs will have positive effects on individual and aggregate health status. Customer satisfaction studies shows mixed results across the board depending on where the services were provided; available supporting care; and reduction in stigma and discrimination (NACA 2015b).

The Intermediate Indicators of Coverage, Quality and Efficiency are also Very Important On coverage, while the success of the treatment program is remarkable there are still many people left behind because of lack of adequate human and financial resources to put them on treatment program and there have been several modifications of policies of the CD4 count threshold to enroll people living with HIV. It is estimated that a total of 1,665,403 (1,454,565 adults and 210,838 children) required antiretroviral drugs (ARV) in 2014 (UNAIDS and NACA 2014) but only 747,387 adults were on ART that year. ART coverage for children aged less than fifteen years has witnessed some improvement but remains low at less than 12 percent. PMTCT coverage has also improved but is still low at 30 percent (NACA 2014). Quality of HIV/​AIDS care has improved, based on the predictors of perceived quality of care for the Nigeria program: which are patients who adhered to hospital appointment; the punctuality of providers on scheduled clinic days; patients with easy access to a facility; and patients with improvement in CD4+ T-​cell count (NACA 2015) The improvement in CD4 was the strongest predictor of quality of care followed by adherence to

558    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki appointment and easily accessible facility. But as treatment, care, and support are scaled up to primary health centers there is the need for more vigilance and augmentation of quality of care at the lower levels of care. Regarding efficiency, there is no definitive evidence of the efficiency of the program, but there are plausible efficiency gains from pooled procurement of test kits and condoms through the World Bank HIV Program Development Project, the U.S. Government private-​sector-​led logistic and supply-​chain management, intensive use of private-sector savvy implementation planners, and the use of data for policies and program management (USG 2010).

Multisectoral Systems Developed and Their Future Utility NACA has the mandate to provide overall coordination of the national response through providing an enabling environment and stable ongoing proactive multisectoral planning, coordinated implementation, monitoring, and evaluation of HIV/​AIDS prevention, and impact mitigation activities in Nigeria. At the states and local government authority levels, State Agencies for Control of AIDS (SACAs) and Local Agencies for Control of AIDS (LACAs) provide similar overall coordination. The Federal and State Ministries of Health are responsible for the health sector component of the response while other line ministries (women’s affairs, youths, information, etc.) are responsible for coordination of other interrelated thematic areas. Nonstate actors, nongovernmental, faith-​based and community service organizations, and private sector) are involved in key aspects of the response including resource mobilization, advocacy, demand creation, and community interventions. NACA interfaces with representation from key stakeholders to broaden the coordination reach and effectiveness. These cooperating stakeholders include NACA–​SACA, NACA–​CSO, NACA–​Private Sector, NACA–​Public Sector, NACA–​Development Partners, and NACA–​Technical Working Groups. These coordination roles of NACA, SACAs, and LACAs have improved over the period of the last two National Strategic Frame Works (NSF 2004–​9; 2010–​15), and the current one (2016–​20) with resources from the government of Nigeria and development partners, particularly the World Bank, Global Fund, and PEPFAR. Capacity has been built across nontraditional line ministries such as education, labor, women’s affairs, justice, etc., that have taken HIV programs out of the traditional ministry of health. It has also been built at the decentralized levels of state and local government and this has strengthened ownership and sustainability of the HIV response at those levels. Particularly where Nigeria excelled most is with civil society organizations across the country. Many of these NGOs participated in the HIV/​AIDS Fund, where through World Bank assistance, they were trained in project management, monitoring and evaluation, and behavior-​change communication. The private sector through the Nigeria

Nigeria’s Response to the HIV Epidemic    559 Business Coalition against AIDS (NIBUCAA) has established a private-​sector response to HIV/​AIDS with proactive prevention activities in several industries and special programs against stigma and discrimination. Other activities include peer education and mentoring; workplace HIV policy development, provision of high-quality voluntary counseling and testing.

Conclusion: the Unfinished Agenda Our conclusion is that Nigeria has made significant progress in containing the scourge of HIV, but more efforts and resources are needed for the country to attain the UNAIDS 90–​90–​90 targets by 2020. Sustained progress in Nigeria’s response to HIV/​AIDS requires improvements in the effective coverage of services along the spectrum of prevention, treatment, care, and support for those infected. As part of addressing the scaling-​up of the ART coverage in Nigeria, the National Agency for Control of AIDS (NACA) and the Federal Ministry of Health (FMOH) in collaboration with all the major stakeholders have put in place the country’s strategic plan/​framework for 2016–​20 and the key strategies for ramping up the coverage of ART in the country include: • Working with the development partners (PEPFAR, Global Fund, World Bank) and local organizations to create political pressure to mobilize government at all levels, private sector, and CSOs around the country’s 90–​90–​90 targets. • Focus efforts on and fund strategies that work for patients and bring better outcomes—​saturating high burdened states, LGAs, and communities with high-​ impact interventions and implementing treatment for all HIV-​positive people including all HIV positive pregnant women. • Integrate HIV services with other services (TB, Malaria, MNCH/​SRH, NCD). • Address stigma and discrimination, educate patients on HIV and ART, and promote human rights. • Implement task-​shifting and task-​sharing, including training and support for nurses and lay counselors • Employ community-​based models of treatment and care to rapidly increase ART uptake and improve adherence and retention. • Strengthen the National Procurement and Supply Chain Program and ensure commodities reach patients thereby eliminating drug and commodity stock outs. • Ensure that key populations and vulnerable populations (adolescents, girls and women) are not left behind. Financing remains challenging. Prior research on domestic spending in low-​and middle-​income countries established that Nigeria was spending less than expected on HIV/​AIDS (Resch and others 2015). Nigeria’s total health expenditure of $118 per capita

560    Olusoji Adeyi, Oluwole Odutolu, John Idoko, and Phyllis Kanki in 2014 was 0.7 percent of GDP and 2.2 percent of government expenditure. Of the total health expenditure, 25 percent was general government health expenditure and 72 percent was private out-​of-​pocket, the latter being among the highest in the world (World Health Organization 2014). The combination of low public spending on health in gen­ eral and high out-​of-​pocket spending leads to a straightforward conclusion: there is a pressing need to increase public spending on health in general, and to devise pooled financing options that reduce out-​of-​pocket expenditures, since the latter cause financial hardships for individuals and households. A continuation of significant reliance on development assistance for HIV/​AIDS programs is neither feasible nor prudent. Switching largely to domestic financing will not be easy, but there are a number of concurrent measures available to the country. One is to implement the National Health Act of 2014, central to which is the establishment of the Basic Health Care Provision Fund to be funded from a federal government annual grant of not less than 1 percent of its Consolidated Revenue Fund in addition to grants from international donor partners. The other is to recognize that in very resource-​constrained contexts, the achievement of Universal Health Coverage, including effective coverage of services in HIV/​AIDS programs, is more likely to be achieved through gradual improvements than through massive gains in the short term (Ly and others 2017). Rigorous monitoring and evaluation are needed to inform progress along the way.

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PA RT   V

I DE N T I T Y A N D I N SE C U R I T Y

Chapter 33

Isl am ic S o c ia l Movements an d P ol i t i c a l Unrest in N i g e ria n History Abimbola O. Adesoji

Introduction The pervasive influence of religion on Nigerians irrespective of their ethnicity or location cannot be overemphasized. But unlike the liberality that characterized religion and religious practices in the south and dating back to the period of the introduction of Christianity in the country, the north has been characterized by intense religiosity that bordered mostly on extremism. The attendant violent crises aided by the manipulation of ethnic differences, growing illiteracy, unemployment, and abject poverty have raised the stakes, resulted in increased ethno-​religious consciousness and militated against the nation-​building process. The literature on social movements helps illuminate historical lineages that contributed to extremism, as well as explain the levels of extremism manifest in contemporary Islamic movements in Nigeria. Little et al. (2013) define social movements as purposeful, organized groups striving to work toward a common goal which could involve creating change, resisting change, or providing a political voice to those otherwise disenfranchised, and in the process creating social change. For Della Porta and Diani (2006), social movements could be thought of as organized yet informal social entities that are engaged in extrainstitutional conflict that is oriented towards a goal which could either be aimed at a specific and narrow policy or more broadly at cultural change. Characteristically, they could be involved in conflictual relations with clearly identified opponents, linked by dense informal networks and sharing a distinct collective identity. Della Porta and Diani (2006) categorize four stages that social movements

568   Abimbola O. Adesoji go through as:  “social ferment,” “popular excitement,” “formalization,” and “institutionalization,” which were previously categorized by scholars such as Miller (1999) and Macionis (2001) as emergence, coalescence, bureaucratization, and decline. Decline in this sense is measured by success, organizational failure, co-​optation, repression, or establishment within mainstream society. Moghadam (2009) sees Islamism as a “movement of movements” whose overarching common goal is the establishment or reinforcement of Islamic laws and norms as the solution to economic, political, and cultural crises. He sees them as heterogeneous and diverse groups that evince different tactics and strategies in achieving their goals. This structural feature is in keeping with the segmentary, polycentric, and reticulate (SPR) character of social movement. According to Gerlach (1999), social movements are “segmentary, polycentric, and reticulate.” Illustrating his “SPR thesis” by way of the environmental movement, he shows that social movements have many, sometimes competing, organizations and groups (segmentary); multiple and sometimes competing leaders (polycentric); and loose networks that link to each other (reticulate). Despite the segmentation, however, there is a shared opposition and ideology. Generally, Islamic movements have been grouped into moderates, extremists and radical Islamists. Moderates engage in nonviolent organizing and advocacy in civil society. They form or join political parties and field candidates in parliamentary elections, even though they may be critical of existing political arrangements. Extremists on the other hand, call for the violent overthrow of political systems they regard as anti-​Islamic, Westernized, and dictatorial. They operate clandestinely, form networks and cells across countries, and may engage in spectacular forms of violence. They brand as unIslamic any participation in electoral politics. In between the two are groups that could be called radical Islamists, inasmuch as they call for Islamization of their societies and often engage in fiery rhetoric (for example, calling for executions of apostates or infidels, jihad against oppressors, and so on) but may not themselves engage in violent acts (Moghadam 2009). Islamism, which Wiktorowicz refers to as “Islamic activism,” is defined as “the mobilization of contention to support Muslim causes”(Wiktorowicz 2004, p.  2). This definition would include both Islamic fundamentalism and political Islam, whether in their moderate or radical tendencies. Wiktorowicz maintains that “Islamists are Muslims who feel compelled to act on the belief that Islam demands social and political activism, either to establish an Islamic state, to proselytize to reinvigorate the faithful, or to create a separate union for Muslim communities”(Wiktorowicz 2004, p.  2). He argues, as does Mohammed Hafez (2003), that Islamist rebellions arise from state repression. Citing Sadik Al-​Azm, Moghadam (2009) defines Islamism as a highly militant mobilizing ideology selectively developed out of Islam’s scriptures, texts, legends, historical precedents, organizations, and present-​day grievances, all as a defensive reaction against the long-​term erosion of Islam’s primacy over the public, institutional, economic, social, and cultural life of Muslim societies in the twentieth century. The ideology is put in practice by resurrecting the early concept of Islamic jihad in its most violent and aggressive forms against an environing world of paganism, polytheism, idolatry, godlessness, infidelity, atheism, apostasy, and unbelief known

Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest    569 to that ideology as the Jahiliyya of the twentieth century. Whereas, for Amin (2007), Islamist movements should be understood as politically and culturally right-​wing, for Moghadam (2009), the motivation for Islamic movement goes beyond state repression to social psychological explanations, including the role of masculine identities and religiously informed “heroic masculinities.” Moghadam (2009) locates the origins of contemporary Islamist movements in the history and theology of Islam with the emphasis of jihadists in particular on the doctrinal obligation of Muslims to defend the faith when Islam is deemed to be under threat. Jihadists, according to Moghadam (2009), often point out that the Prophet Muhammad and his companions engaged in battle to defend themselves and spread the faith, and interpret Koranic verses in particular ways to justify attacks on “apostates” and “infidels.” In contrast, moderate and liberal Muslims emphasize the “inner struggle” that Muslims are called on to perform, in order to strengthen their faith. Applying a historical perspective, they note that in early Islam, apostasy was equivalent to the modern concept of treason; hence in an era of modern nation states, changing one’s religion cannot be considered a treasonous, capital offense. As far as Islamic fundamentalism and political Islam are concerned, Moghadam (2009) establishes a linkage between structural strain and Islamic movement contention exacerbated by global processes of which the Muslim societies were a part. He explains that the Islamist message came to resonate largely with young men confronting socioeconomic difficulties and cultural changes that provoked feelings of anxiety, alienation, and anger. Islam thus became the source of a mobilizing ideology and of organizational resources used to combat domestic injustices, cultural imperialism, and changes to traditional notions of the family. Islamic fundamentalism characterized by violence is mostly restricted to northern Nigeria. Although this could be explained in terms of the dominance of Islam and its adherents in the region, it could imply the prevalence of factors and circumstances that made the region prone to extremism. Among such factors and circumstances are poverty and illiteracy, the existence and seeming proliferation of radical Islamic groups, and recurrent violent religious crises. Poor or inadequate access to quality education, obviously a product of the obsession with Islamic education, and the restriction of access to Western education, produced a situation where a preponderance of the northern youths were not adequately prepared for technical and bureaucratic positions (Lubeck 2011). Therefore, northern states are the poorest in Nigeria with a very high level of youth unemployment (Lubeck 2003). Beyond transforming the character of youth in the north, it increases the risk of belonging or associating with radical or fundamental movements, more so as it provides opportunities to strike against the secular federal state which has “denied” them opportunities ab initio. Although the problem of unemployment is not restricted to the north given Nigeria’s anemic economy, its impact is much felt in northern Nigeria. Most of the unemployed and mostly unemployable youths therefore find themselves in the employ of gangsters, thugs, and politicians (Okafor 2011). Whereas, poverty was pervasive in the north, its pervasiveness varied across the region, the same way fundamentalism gained ground in different parts.

570   Abimbola O. Adesoji The next section examines the debate over the causes of fundamentalism, highlighting racial distinctions as one of the little noticed sources. It also analyzes various lasting impacts of the nineteenth-​century jihad in what is today northern Nigeria. A major argument running through the analysis is the case for continuity despite the gap in time among the major developments and the seeming diversity of traditions of the groups involved.

Displacing the Old Order, Enthroning the New: The Usman Dan Fodio Jihad The Usman Dan Fodio jihad was a significant milestone in the history of Islam in Nigeria. Otherwise referred to as the Sokoto Jihad or the 1804 Jihad, its influence and legacy remain reference points in the history of the growth and spread of Islamic influence in Nigeria. Pertinent to the outbreak of the jihad was the motivation received by the leader of the movement, Usman Dan Fodio, in his interactions with Islamic scholars including his father and uncles, under whom he studied Islamic sciences. Hisket (1973) considers important the decisive influence exercised on him by Shaikh Uthman Bunduri. Bunduri, reputed as a learned and pious cleric, provided leadership and mentorship for Fodio for the two years that he accompanied him. Pertinent also was his being a mystic in addition to being a scholar and teacher, having belonged to the Quadriyya Brotherhood, named after its founder, Abd al-​Qadir, a twelfth-​century saint of Baghdad. Having allegedly received a vision instructing him to unsheathe the sword of truth, at the mystic age of forty, Fodio began to preach that the preparation of arms is a Sunna (Hunwick 1971). There was also the inspiration and influence that the success of previous reform movements in the Islamic world, particularly in such places as Futa Djallon in 1725, Futa Bondu and Futa Toro in 1768 gave to the jihad. Contrary to the dominant theme in many of the published works on the causes of the jihad which portrayed it as racial conflicts between the Hausa and the Fulbe (Fulani), Mahadi (1985) sees it differently. The racial dimension focused on such assertions as: (i) the Fulbe seized power in order to participate in the affairs of the states; (ii) the Fulbe “literate” employed in the government of the Hausa states were either jealous or contemptuous of the supposedly illiterate Hausa rulers; (iii) the conflict arose because of the constant disputes between the Hausa peasants and Fulbe nomads over grazing land or waterholes. On the contrary, Mahadi (1985) challenges Johnston (1967), Last (1967), Adeleye (1971), and Hodgkins (1975), insisting that the Fulani participated actively and played important roles in the political and military life of Hausa states, and that many of the Hausa rulers were literate and the relationship between the nomads and the peasants was properly regulated1. Consequently, the intensified dynastic struggles among the princes which resulted in their neglect of the affairs of society, the increased demand

Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest    571 for revenue to sustain the luxurious lifestyle of the rulers, and the irreligious practices which were sponsored or encouraged by the state sharpened the contradiction between the rulers and the other members of society. In particular, the forcible payment of all sorts of mostly illegal taxes by peasants, conduct of raids into the countryside for the acquisition of slaves, seizure of private property, forceful abduction of girls and women for marriage, as well as other exploitative and tyrannical measures widened the gulf between the ruling class and other members of the society. The literates therefore found it easy to mobilize the people including the Hausa population against their rulers. Evident therefore was that many of those who joined the jihad did so not because of religious motivation but due to their desire to overthrow the regime which they hated. On this basis, Anjorin (1970) sees the jihad as a contest between the pious but poor Fulani literate and nomads, the Hausa literates and peasants and other dominated groups on one hand and the Hausa, Fulani, and Arab nobility and other rich merchants on the other hand. This was the case before the elements of opportunism, motivated by the hope for offices, and parochialism set in. This explanation, presented as class struggle by Johnston (1967), was seen to have provided an impulse to the Fulani and was the cause of tension within the society between the devout and lax Muslims, having united the Fulani and the Hausa against the pagan tribe particularly in such places as Bauchi, Adamawa, and elsewhere outside Bornu and Hausaland. In exploring the need for the purification of Islam as the major factor for the 1804 jihad, the racial dimension was still imputed into it. Trimingham (1962) perceives the jihad as warfare between the Muslims and the pagans in which the Fulani were seen as the vanguard of the Muslim group given their long history of Islamization. In particular, the decline of Islam as a universal religion in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries arising from the Moroccan invasion of Songhai in 1591, led to the revival of local cults and the weakening of Islamic challenge to African ways of life. The jihad in a sense therefore was a response of the militant Ulama against syncretism or pollution of Islam. Further underscoring the racial dimension but viewed mostly as a political dynamics was the alleged domination of the jihad by the Fulani in their quest at changing the existing status quo in which the Hausa rulers dominated. For one thing, Last (1967) postulates that the tyrannical rule of the Hausa called for a change of government from the Hausa overlords. Besides, the bulk of the jihad leaders were Fulani except for the likes of Abdulsalami, Yakubu, and Jaltan Sarkin Zazzau who were not considered sufficiently strong to constitute a major threat to Fulani rule2. This notwithstanding, the perception of the jihad as a religious war aimed at establishing a purer form of Islam in a predominantly decadent pagan society is pertinent. The sincerity of Fodio in reviving the practice of pure Islam given the growing polytheism and the prevalence of unIslamic practices in Hausaland was the explanation offered by Hunwick (1971), Adeleye (1971), Crowder (1978), and Milsome (1979) for the outbreak of the jihad. Such unIslamic practices included the banning of women from wearing the veil, veneration of rocks and trees, consultation with magicians and soothsayers, and offering of sacrifices to such deities as goddesses of hunting and of agriculture. The jihad was therefore a product of the tension that Muslims’ opposition to these practices generated. The Sarkin Gobir, in

572   Abimbola O. Adesoji whose domain the jihad was incubated and hatched, was often accused of deliberately discouraging people from observing their religion. Beyond other consideration, Smith (1961; 1979) argues that the jihad was motivated by the desire to build an ideal society. Usman Dan Fodio’s position therefore primarily as a teacher, a student, and not as a tribalist, warrior, or politician was informed by these ideals. This, Smith (1961; 1979) contends, informed Fodio’s preoccupation with setting the intellectual tone of the jihad and laying a firm foundation for the way the established caliphate should be administered by writing extensively rather than engaging himself in the day-​to-​day running of the caliphate. Generally underlying the jihad, according to Afigbo (1966), was the tension which had existed in the Sudanic society for some time before the nineteenth-​century jihad. The conflict in most Sudanic communities between Islam and the traditional religions of the people arose from the inability of Islam to displace the traditional cults. Whereas orthodox Islamic doctrine emphasizes the teaching of Prophet Muhammad as the only way to a good life in this world and to salvation in afterlife, the age-​long tension manifested in the conflict between the Muslim clerical class and their pagan or nominal Muslim neighbors. Whatever reasons, whether singly or in combination, are adduced for the outbreak of the jihad, what is apparent is the inability to discern or separate the hidden or private motive of the jihadists from the acknowledged or public factors for its outbreak By far the greatest impact of the jihad was the emergence of the Sokoto Caliphate, described by Crowder and Abdullahi (1979) as the largest single political entity and covering most of the Hausa states, parts of the Bornu Empire which became the emirates of Gombe, Hadejia, and Katagum, Nupe and Ilorin. It is estimated by Fage (1988) to have covered about 180,000 square miles, had a population of about ten million people, and was organized and administered largely as a federal state. Apparently, a clear displacement of the old order dominated by competing Hausa states where Habe rulers held sway, it provided a basis for the British takeover of Nigeria’s Northern Region in 1900. Last (1967) sees the successful jihad of Usman Dan Fodio which ensured a massive conversion and transformed a substantial part of northern Nigeria to a caliphate, as the height of Islamic influence in Nigeria. Following the British conquest of the caliphate, the original hostility of the Muslims informed by the fear of losing their political hold eventually waned. Their ambivalent attitude notwithstanding, the British colonial officers according to Falola (1998) were firm in their belief that any irrational treatment of the Muslims would stand in the way of colonial objectives. The Muslim elite were regarded as being more intelligent, civilized, and preferred above Western-​ educated elite who were regarded as arrogant and impatient. Thus, the British promoted the cause of Islam and its elite as a way of minimizing the influence of the Western-​ oriented elite. Specifically, rather than antagonize the emirs and the political class in the north, they were assured that there would be no colonial interference with Islam. Falola (1998) contends further that the cautious attitude of the British also informed its decision not to press hard for the introduction of Western education in the North. Thus at the end of colonial rule in 1960, Muslim elites were well poised to have a disproportionate influence on the future of the newly independent polity. With the consolidation

Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest    573 of Islam during the period of colonial rule, the end of colonial rule in 1960 strengthened the Muslim elite’s hand in creating an Islamic identity for modern Nigeria. The creation of a Muslim umma (community) united by religion was further consolidated according to Ibrahim (1997) and Falola (1998) by the creation in 1961 of the Jama’atu Nasril Islammiya (“Society for the Victory of Islam”) whose influence extended to the south from 1970. Meanwhile, the acceptance of a community by a majority of moderate Muslims did not preclude the existence or emergence of other associations and groups, while different brands of Islam had also spread with some of them assuming fanatical or fundamentalist position in their relationship with other Muslims in particular and the Nigerian state generally. Pertinent were the clashes between the Quadriyya and Tijaniyya brotherhoods which continued in different forms until the 1980s. The increasing politicization of religion that started in the colonial era generated conflict and controversies and this effectively polarized the country along religious lines. Ibrahim (1997) lists the sharia debate in the Constituent Assemblies in 1978 and 1988 as well as the controversy over Nigeria’s membership of the Organization of Islamic Conference in 1986 as some of the controversies. But in what appeared as a continuation of the displacement of the established order, Mahdism, a movement formed around the Mahdi, the “rightly guided one,” emerged. Mahdism in Nigeria is related to Mahdism in the Sudan, which perhaps was the most political of all the Mahdist movements. Although the expectations of al-​Mahdi predate the jihad, it became a problem only during the last two decades of the nineteenth century. Abubakar (1980) sees Mahdism becoming a serious problem following the emigration of Hayat b. Said, a great-​grandson of Usman Dan Fodio from Sokoto to Fombina in 1878 and his subsequent acceptance of Mohammed Ahmad, the leader of the theocratic state of Sudan as the Mahdi. This was followed by strenuous efforts to spread the movement to all parts of the Sokoto Caliphate by Hayat as the deputy of the Mahdi in the Western Sudan. Although his efforts to spread his beliefs and emigrate eastward were put off by the death of Muhammad Ahmad in 1885, Njeuma (1971) explains that he still attracted to Balda in the northeast of Fombina, dissidents, malcontents, and Islamic fanatics. He thus became a threat to the Lamido and a source of anxiety to the Sokoto Caliphate, particularly with the establishment of a nucleus of the Mahdist Caliphate through local campaigns. Even when Balda, the Mahdist base was destroyed in 1892, Hayat emigrated to join Rabih b.  Fadlallah at Manjaffa. Although this removed the threats posed by Mahdism within Fombina, the fear of Hayat combining with Rabih to invade the emirate persisted down to the end of the nineteenth century when Hayat became a victim of conspiracy with his death at the hands of Rabih’s men in 1897. Abubakar (1980) maintains that the authorities in the caliphate did not eliminate Mahdism, rather it survived and became a serious menace to the colonial administration at the beginning of the twentieth century. Beyond the Sultan Attahiru resistance of 1903, there was also the Satiru rebellion of 1905–​6. The revolt which Lovejoy and Hogendorn (1990) see as apparently drawing inspiration from a similar one led by Saybu Dan Makafo, a blind Zarma cleric at Kobkitanda in French Niger between December 1905 and January 1906, broke out

574   Abimbola O. Adesoji in Satiru on February 13, 1906 following the relocation of Dan Makafo to the place for refuge. Although the rebellion was eventually quelled with the defeat of the Satirawa and the public execution of Dan Makafo and four other subordinates in March 1906, it did not result in an outcome similar to the emergence of Mai Rigan Karfe in 1916. But the Mahdist rebellion of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries proved unsuccessful because it lacked the support of the sultan and some emirs, although some emirs were sympathetic to the rebellion. With the crushing of the Satiru rebellion, Mahdism was stopped for over a decade until 1916 when a local Mahdi styled “Mai Rigan Karfe” (the man with the chain armor) arose in the middle Benue area to lead the fight against the Europeans (Abubakar 1980). Abubakar sees the Mahdist uprising of the twentieth century as a protest not only against the hardship and insecurity following the extension of the Europeans’ war into the borderland area but also against the undermining of Muslim hegemony in the region. From their center at Nukko, the Mahdists, after attacking some villages, threatened the British at Donga but were eventually defeated at Nukko Hill and their leader was captured, subsequently tried, and sentenced to death by execution in 1917. Whereas the 1804 jihad altered the political and religious landscape of northern Nigeria in particular, Mahdism and Mahdist protests apparently prepared the ground for the recurring religious fundamentalism in the region. These developments left a lasting legacy in the form of entrenchment of Islam until the approach of political independence. Significantly, it was a factor in the emergence of hardline religious groups such as the Maitatsine and Boko Haram.

Between Sustaining a Tradition and Obfuscating it: Muhammadu Marwa and the Maitatsine Movement Despite the wide gap in time between the occurrence of Mahdism in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and the occurrence of Maitatsine and the Boko Haram problems in the late twentieth and early twenty-​first centuries, most of the features that characterized Mahdism are clearly evident in the latter movements, thereby establishing some sort of pattern. The likelihood of the latter movements drawing inspiration from the early movement, and more importantly, the prevalence of those circumstances and situations that warranted the emergence of a Mahdi in the contemporary period could explain this. Essentially, the Maitatsine Movement sustained a tradition of violent protest while deviating from the principles and practices meant as genuine purification of Islam. The Maitatsine movement, led by Muhammadu Marwa, a Cameroonian with a long period of residence in Kano, had as its professed objective the purification of Islam. Falola (1998) posits that Maitatsine is a Hausa word meaning “the one who damns”; it

Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest    575 is derived from the regular cursing or swearing of Marwa and alluded to his frequent, bitter public condemnation of the Nigerian state. Like Muhammad Ahmad proclaimed himself the Mahdi, Muhammadu Marwa proclaimed himself as Mujaddid or more explicitly as a prophet and even attempted to mutilate the Koran replacing the name of the Prophet Muhammad with his own name (Albert 1999). This development distinguishes Marwa from the tradition established by early reformers such as Fodio and others who came before him. Besides, the unIslamic practices that Marwa was allegedly involved in, such as the use of human organs for the manufacture of charms and drinking human blood, while differentiating the movement, make its categorization difficult. While Isichei (1987) sees the Maitatsine movement as one of different militant Muslim movements in northern Nigeria, both Hickey (1984) and Clarke (1987) see Maitatsine as specifically belonging to the Mahdi tradition, whose major centers in Nigeria are Kano and Borno. Meanwhile, the followers of Maitatsine popularly referred to as “Yan Tatsine,” which apparently inherited the Mahdist tradition are known as Kalo Kato or Yan Kala Kato, meaning “Those who say, ‘A mere man said it’,” in apparent reference to Marwa’s teaching that the Prophet’s dicta were of human, and not divine, origin. The centrality of economic factors in the outbreak of the Maitatsine uprisings is obvious although emphases differ. Lubeck (1985) explains the discontent in terms of economic dislocation, deprivation, and income inequalities, but with links to Islam; he sees the Yan Tatsine, the followers of Marwa, as belonging to the traditional Hausa class known in Kano as Gardawa. These were supposedly students or disciples of the Mallams, who teach, preach, and officiate to perpetuate the traditional northern Nigerian societal expression of Islam, characterized by the availability of Koranic teachers, whose teaching and followership are expected to strengthen and promote the spread of Islam and sustain its hold on society. These Gardawa, according to him, were mainly seasonal migrants from the countryside into the urban centers, where they pursued part-​time elementary Koranic studies under the tuition of their chosen Mallams, but at the same time were available as seasonal labor in such traditional urban occupations as dyeing, cap-​ making, embroidering, market-​ portering, and mud-​ building, and repairing3. While these migrations relieved the strain on village grain supplies, these Mallams—​ knowledgeable middlemen—​who understood the interplay of supply and demand for labor in the big cities, made use of the migrants in addition to teaching them. This pattern continued after political independence, until the period of the oil boom, when the delicate balance of traditional supply and demand in the petty mercantile and craft economy was devastated by bloated consumption, against a background of inflation. This resulted in the translation of the Gardawa from the respected status of recipients of Muslim charity in recognition of their spiritual worth into that of vagabonds, nuisances, and potential thieves. Thus, the oil boom and the new industrial capitalism it created bred the Yan Tatsine. But as Hiskett (1987) rightly observed, attaching such central importance merely to the economic distress of the discontents amounts to overemphasis. Economic deprivation, rather than being its genesis, could only have intensified their alienation, whether they were Gardawa or Yan-​ci-​rani (those who “eat” or use or exploit the dry season).

576   Abimbola O. Adesoji Isichei (1987) argues that the economic ills within which the movement flourished were in part the result of the profligate politics of the Second Republic and the indebtedness thus engendered, in part the consequence of world recession, and in part the consequence of the rapacity of the lenders, manifested in high charges for servicing debts. Added to this was the peculiar situation of the northern states, where the movement flourished, troubled, as it were, by local disasters such as desert encroachment, drought, and a rinderpest pandemic. While acknowledging poverty as the driving force among many young men for whom Maitatsine became a focus, Clarke (1987) argues that the exclusion of the group from Nigeria prepared it to eliminate pagans considered as their enemies and saw in all who were Westernized, an evil force to be fought. The poor people, who, according to Hickey (1984) had not benefited from the oil boom, and whose distress was increasing with the rate of inflation, were victims of the confrontation with the Nigerian state and were particularly attracted to Marwa, with his condemnation of the hypocrisy and ostentation of the nouveau riche and the promise of redemption to God’s righteous people. Hickey (1984) also locates the cause of the Maitatsine risings in the rejection of the secularity of the Nigerian state by the fanatical groups within Islam to which Marwa belongs. Whereas the 1979 and subsequent constitutions had defined the secularity of the state, extremists in the Shi’ite movement, Izala movement, the Muslim Students Society, and other organizations had consistently rejected the Constitution, and openly advocated the establishment of an Islamic state. Implicitly, the Shi’ite movement, like others, provided a breeding ground and a profound source of inspiration for latter groups, such as the Maitatsine and the Boko Haram, having existed much earlier and having held strong views, which the latter movement popularized to the extreme. Pertinent also is the failure of governance and its labeling as a tyranny that must be discarded, prompting the leadership and members of the movements to risk death to pursue what they considered the path to Islamic justice (Danjibo 2009). Aiding governance failure is the role of partisan politics and political patronage in the sustenance of violent religious movements. When it is considered that the Maitatsine riots first broke out during the tenure of a civilian president in 1980, the thesis that politicians who patronized religious leaders for support or protective charms used them as a tool and later discarded them or unleashed them on innocent people best could be better understood and appreciated (Adam al-​Ilory 2009). It goes along with the explanation by Muogbo (2009) that politicians were mostly the backers of the fundamentalist groups who needed the group members’ violent disposition to achieve their political and, by extension, economic ends. The patronage of religion by the political elite could explain the situation where the elite in government vacillate in making decisions or are indecisive on issues that require prompt action. In contrast, the state’s failure to check the growth of Marwa’s movement and arrest Marwa owed to political laxity and power rivalries among politicians and security agents. Rivalry between Kano State, controlled by the People’s Redemption Party (PRP), and the federal government, led by the National Party of Nigeria (NPN) and for which Marwa became a useful pawn, contributed to the dimensions and outcome of the Maitatsine crisis in Kano. The desire by NPN to take

Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest    577 over Kano led it to attempt unorthodox means to portray the PRP government as incompetent and weak, as well as create credibility problems for it. Marwa fit into this plan and enjoyed heavy patronage from the NPN. Beyond the initial reluctance of the federal police force to check the menace that Marwa’s group represented, political interference with the inquiry into the Maitatsine crisis in Kano by both the federal and state government marred its credibility (Falola 1998). Beyond the persistence of aggression which obviously was evidence of their elaborate planning and organization, characterizing the Maitatsine Movement was its gallantry and stubbornness. The willingness and determination to destroy or be destroyed explains the convergence of members sometimes with their families on their major centers, once a jihad was to be launched. The outbreak of the Maitatsine crisis, first in 1980 in Kano, and subsequently in 1982 in Kaduna and Bulumkutu, in 1984 in Yola, and 1985 in Bauchi, according to Imo (1995), Ibrahim (1997), and Williams (1997), was significant in that it resulted in wanton destruction of lives and property, took religion to a far greater dimension in terms of its intensity, and sowed the seeds of more volatile future crises as seen in the outbreak of the Boko Haram insurgency beginning from 2009 and the Kala Kato riot of December 2009.

Islamic Movements and the Nigerian State Ethnic division across modern state boundaries, a legacy of colonial rule, aided by the porosity of the Nigerian borders has made it possible for foreigners who share ethnic and religious affinities with Nigerians to slip into the country and enlist or otherwise join the fanatics’ army. As posited by Kazah-​Toure (2001), a Hausa man from Niger Republic carrying a Nigerian passport and illegally settled in Katsina State is considered a better indigene than an Igbo man born, bred, working, and paying tax in the same state. Obviously, ethnic, linguistic, and religious affinities that cut across national boundaries breed unity among the Hausa on the one hand and explain the difference with the Igbo on the other. Consequently, the preponderance of foreign elements among relatively large followings of the group, apparently a product of cross-border mingling characterized the groups. These foreign elements, mostly from Chad and Niger, together with other members, could have had their interest sustained by their commitment to the groups’ cause, belief in a righteous heavenly reward for their zeal, as well in the leadership. While pointing to the inability to properly define identity in the north, the involvement of foreign elements indicates the extent to which militants could go to recruit followers. Pertinent also were religious-​induced migrations across state boundaries apparently for the purpose of fraternizing with other Muslims, the border barrier notwithstanding, and more plausibly to create or recreate the feelings of the old Ottoman Caliphate which

578   Abimbola O. Adesoji the old Bornu identified with at different times in its history. Of particular relevance as noted by Kukah (1993) and Enwerem (1999) was the romance of Sir Ahmadu Bello, the great-​grandson of Usmanu Dan Fodio and the first premier of the old Northern Region, with Islamic countries across the world especially in the Middle East and Asia in Nigeria’s First Republic. The desire to identify with the Muslim umma in the region, seek support for the spread of Islam in Nigeria, and promote the establishment of a global Islamic umma with the intent to rule the largest Islamic state in Black Africa, explain these romances (Kukah 1993; Enwerem 1999). Beginning with the importation of Mahdism from the Sudan in the late nineteenth century through the collaboration of Hayat b. Said, Islamic jihadists had operated across borders given their interest in the promotion and sustenance of hardline religious beliefs willy-​nilly. Following the suppression of Sultan Attahiru I’s resistance to the imposition of British rule, the survivors continued the hijra eastward and eventually settled at Mai Wurno in Sudan (Lovejoy and Hogendorn 1990). Similarly, Saybu Dan Makafo, the blind Zarma cleric who led the Mahdist rebellion in Kobkitanda, French Niger, beginning from December 1905 finally sought refuge in Satiru, southwest of Sokoto in 1906, having inspired or engineered similar revolts in such places as Karma, Torodi, and Tera. Whereas the revolt centered on the necessity for rebellion given the prevailing situation of stress and the expectation of a Mahdi, the support of Dan Makafo aided it (Lovejoy and Hogendorn 1990). Like it was with Mahdism, the leader of the Maitatsine movement, Muhammadu Marwa was a Cameroonian who propagated fundamentalist ideas. After preaching in Kano, he was deported to Cameroon in 1962 but found his way back to Kano where he was imprisoned in 1973 but eventually started a revolt that ultimately spread to five states in the north over a five-​year period (Albert 1999). Thus what apparently started as a local movement though with latent foreign influence in 1804, metamorphosed into bigger and wider Mahdist and Maitatsine movements in which foreigners claiming affinities with Nigerians played a major part.

Conclusion Beyond being mere protest and/​or resistance groups, these movements are products of desire to create new centers of power and/​or attempts to recreate or re-​establish the old order. Although the 1804 jihad looked like a genuine attempt to purify the practice of Islam, the establishment of a caliphate and its overwhelming influence since its foundation points to the strong link between the spread or growth of Islam and its link with political power on one hand, and the imposition of ideology or way of life championed by movements on the other hand. Despite the convergence of goals on the pursuit or defense of Islam, reactions to those movements ranged from support to direct challenges. Whereas, the level of persuasion, commitment, and acceptance of the ideological leanings of the movements by members are pertinent, it also meant

Islamic Social Movements and Political Unrest    579 that Islamic movements are not monolithic. This calls to question the seemingly unifying goal of the movements on one hand and their capability to reinvent themselves depending on dispensations, locations, and personalities involved. From all indications and as far as the Nigerian situation is concerned, the reinvention has seen Mahdism apparently reincarnating in Maitatsine, and Maitatsine reincarnating in Boko Haram and Kala Kato. Broadly categorized, all of these fall into extremist social movements but the 1804 jihad was still moderate though not strictly while Mahdism was radical. Perhaps the serious resistance to Mahdism arisies from widespread reservations about it, its improper coordination, and the inability to sustain it did not allow it to graduate to an extremist movement. This contrasted with Maitatsine, which started as an extremist group. In the same vein, the contemporary division of the north into geopolitical zones notwithstanding, what is apparent is that religious issues such as poverty and unemployment among others cut across the entire region. Its lasting impact or severity only depends on the forces behind it, its accommodation or rejection, and its sustenance. There is no guarantee or assurance that this legacy of fundamentalism would not be sustained given the prevailing factors, not minding the time gap among the movements and given that the seed sown in the nineteenth century has grown over two centuries and the fruits are manifesting in diverse forms.

Notes 1. Although no clearcut conclusion could be made of the racial groupings of the jihad from their works, Johnston appears to have favored the racial dimension among the three schools of thought on the causes of the jihad. H. A. S. Johnston (1967), The Fulani Empire of Sokoto (Oxford University Press), pp. 51–​52, 54, 58, 70, 82, 95–​102. 2. Hodgkins also linked the jihad to religious impulses of two antagonistic races though with a tint of politics. Thomas Hodgkins (1975), Nigerian Perspectives, An Historical Anthology (Oxford University Press). 3. Gardawa in Kano usage are adult students or grown-​up disciples of town-​dwelling Mallams who, though they may once have been Almajirai, are no longer seasonal migrants. Their status is thought of as an intermediate one between that of Almajiri, the beginner in elementary Koran studies, and that of fully fledged Mallam. Paul M. Lubeck (1985). “Islamic Protest under Semi-​Industrial Capitalism: ‘Yan Tatsine Explained” in J. D. Y. Peel and C. C. Stewart (eds), Popular Islam South of the Sahara (Manchester:  Manchester University Press), pp. 369–​390.

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582   Abimbola O. Adesoji Smith, Abdullahi (1961). “A Neglected Theme of West African History: The Islamic Revolution of the 19th Century,” Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria 2: 169–​185. Smith, A. (1979). “The Contemporary Significance of the Academic Ideals of the Sokoto Jihad”, in Y. B. Usman (ed.), Studies in the History of Sokoto Caliphate (pp. 242–​257). Zaria: Ahmadu Bello University. Trimingham, J. S. (1962). A History of Islam in West Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wiktorowicz, Quintan (2004). “Introduction: Islamic Activism and Social Movement Theory,” in Q. Wiktorowicz (ed.), Islamic Activism: A Social Movement Theory Approach (pp. 1–​36). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Williams, Pat Ama Tokunbo (1997). “Religion, Violence and Displacement in Nigeria,” Journal of Asian and African Studies 32: 33–​49.

Chapter 34

The Ori g i ns of B oko Ha ra m Kyari Mohammed

Introduction Nigeria is a regional power in West Africa and a major contributor to multilateral peacekeeping operations since the 1960s. The Boko Haram insurgency in its northeastern backwaters and the military’s struggle to keep it at bay raised serious concerns about its standing which was dented by decades of military rule and corruption. Nigeria is an ethnically and religiously diverse country, with a history of occasional violent eruptions along these fault lines, but the violence and destruction caused by Boko Haram is unprecedented. Initially localized to the northeast, it spread to some Nigerian urban centers and crossed the borders into neighboring Niger, Chad, and Cameroon republics. It is one of Nigeria’s most deadly postcolonial conflicts, second only to the civil war (1967–​70) in terms of fatalities, economic losses, internal displacement, human suffering, loss of livelihoods, and fractured social relations. The emergence of Boko Haram (“Western education is forbidden”) or Jama’atu Ahlis Sunnah Liddawa’ati wal Jihad (“People Committed to the Propagation of the Prophet’s Teaching and jihad”) as it prefers to be called, dates back to 2002 (Mohammed 2014, p. 10; ICG 2014, p. 7; Montclos 2014a, p. 2). However, the ideological foment underpinning the group’s rejection of Western education and modernity go further back to the cataclysmic social changes brought about by the insidious impact of British colonial rule on Muslim areas of northern Nigeria at the turn of the twentieth century. This deep-​rooted historical aversion to European influences has combined with the recent rise of Salafi and Wahhabi influences to create a distinctly violent jihadi group. In a single decade, this group metamorphosed from a tiny group of religiously inspired young people seeking to avoid the decay and sleaze of the urban

584   Kyari Mohammed areas to a community of believers in rural Kanamma in 2003, to a highly sophisticated fighting force capable of challenging the sovereignty of the Nigerian state and laying claim to parts of its territory. Boko Haram is best understood as a local grievance-​ driven movement deeply influenced by external developments (Mohammed 2014; Thurston 2016, p. 196). Boko Haram has gained international notoriety because of its mounting violence, alleged links to international terror networks, and growing Western interest in terrorism, thereby attracting considerable interest from a wide range of writers, ranging from journalists to academics. Literature on the subject is gradually building. The recent history of the movement has been rendered fairly accurately, not unexpectedly, with a few inconsistencies in Mohammed (2014, pp. 9–​32), Montclos (2014b), Mustapha (2014, pp.  147–​98), and Higazi (2013). Some international organizations with focus on their specialized mandates have added to studies in the field. The International Crisis Group (2014), Amnesty International (2012), and Human Rights Watch (2012) clearly stand out in their documentation of different aspects of Boko Haram violence or the state’s counter insurgency. Not all of these works are accurate representations. Some of the writings are clearly biased as they view Boko Haram through the prism of security analysis giving undue credence to the threat of Islamist terrorism without recognizing local dynamics. Some of these claims are preposterous. Abdul Raufu Mustapha (Mustapha 2014, p. 147) criticized such apocryphal accounts where some foreign journalists speculate, without any evidence, about Boko Haram’s involvement in piracy along the Atlantic shores of Nigeria to fund its activities in the hinterland (see Lah and Johnson 2014). Similarly, Jacob Zenn (2014a; 2014b) has also been mining the Internet for snippets of information in an attempt to link Boko Haram to international jihadi networks, obsessed by an “excessively Western security mindset” (Mustapha 2014, p. 148). Boko Haram is a multifaceted phenomenon amenable to different categorizations and interpretations. It has been variously described in religious terms as a “sect,” “Salafis,” or “Wahhabis”; in political terms as a “movement,” and in military and security terms as “guerrillas,” “insurgents,” “terrorists,” and “jihadists.” This raises questions about who does the categorization and for what ends. Most importantly, it is a reflection of the group’s evident lack of homogeneity, its evolving nature, changing narratives as well as tactics. This chapter attempts to outline the historical evolution of the group, delineating its major phases, narratives, and influences. Divided into three sections, the first section provides an outline of the religious complexity of Nigeria, especially the Northern Region, as a prelude to understanding the development of Boko Haram. The second accounts for the growth of a Salafi community that challenged established Sufi groups, and the doctrine upon which these were based. The third section accounts for the transformation of the sect from a band of Salafi preachers to violent extremists inclined towards terrorism.

The Origins of Boko Haram    585

The Religious Landscape in Northern Nigeria Nigeria is a multiethnic and multireligious country where these cleavages intersect with politics often with deleterious consequences. Boko Haram activities are localized to northern parts of Nigeria even though its impact is national and international. We therefore begin with an outline of the religious geography of the country with particular emphasis on northern Nigeria as a backdrop to the emergence and fluorescence of Boko Haram. With an estimated population of 180 million inhabitants almost equally divided between Muslims and Christians, Nigeria ranks as not only Africa’s most populous country but also as the continent’s largest Muslims population. Nigeria has the world’s sixth-​largest Muslim population ahead of Muslim-​majority countries such as Egypt and Morocco (Pew Center 2010; Thurston 2016, p. 20). Most of Nigeria’s Muslims are found in northern Nigeria while the southern part is predominantly Christian, with a substantial and vibrant minority of the other in each. This Muslim north and Christian south binary division is historical but with serious implications for nation-​building and contemporary politics. The south is Christian as a result of early, long, and continuous contact with Europe, the activities of early Christian churches and a relatively longer period of colonial rule. The north’s contact with these influences was much shorter and less intense. Besides the British colonial state insulated the Muslim north from Christian proselytizing activities. This is in contrast to the long and continuous contact with the Muslim world through the trans-​Saharan trade, continuous influx of Islamic scholarship, pilgrimage to Mecca, and the religious and theological influences of the Sufi orders. The Kanem–​Borno Empire, the birthplace of Boko Haram, was the first polity to be Islamized in the Lake Chad basin as early as the eleventh century. The other polities in the area that later became northern Nigeria including the Hausa states accepted Islam between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. The jihad led by Usman Dan Fodio in the nineteenth century brought the region firmly within the orbit of Islam and ensured Islamic dominance of the area. The caliphate that emerged as a consequence of the jihad was conquered by the British during its centenary anniversary in 1903. The sixty years of colonial rule, the period Ade Ajayi (1962) refers to as an episode in Nigeria’s history, led to a domestication of Islam stripping it of its Islamicity (Umar 2005) and the emergence of a hybrid legal system based on a stripped-​down version of sharia devoid of those features that the British conceived as repugnant to natural justice such as flagellation, amputation, and stoning to death (Mohammed 2005). This uneasy cohabitation between sharia and the British legal system detailed in the chapter by Vaughan in this volume, settled upon the adoption of a penal code for northern Nigeria that continues to be contested (Laitin 1982; Ibrahim 1991; Mohammed 2005). Since the

586   Kyari Mohammed return to civil rule in 1999 religion has been politicized and nearly every issue is viewed through the prism of religion. With the political space dominated by Muslims, Christian organizations, especially the umbrella Christian Organization of Nigeria (CAN), have since the Babangida military regime (1985–​93) viewed all government policies as geared towards the Islamization of Nigeria. All Muslim groups, mainstream or fringe, have advocated for some form of sharia law at one time or another. Most have done this through the extant political system and constitutional process such as the 1977, 1987, and 1994 constitutional conferences convoked to discuss Nigeria’s future in a new democracy. Northern politicians used the imprecise wordings of the 1999 Constitution that says the country shall not adopt a state religion, to proclaim sharia insisting that the act does not amount to adopting a religion. Zamfara State in the northwest set the ball rolling in 2000 with eleven other states following suit with different degrees of implementation. Other groups such as Boko Haram have demanded full-​blown sharia as distinct from the hybridized Zamfara model. This renewed sharia campaign was to provide ammunition and egg on Boko Haram to insist on its demand for full sharia. The dominant Islamic influences in northern Nigeria are the Sufi orders of Qadiriyyah and Tijaniyyah since the eighteenth century. This Sufi hegemony was contested by the emergent Salafi organization inspired by Shaykh Mahmud Abubakar Gumi (1922–​92), Jama’atul Izalatul Bidia wa Ikhamatul Sunnah (“Society for the Removal of Heretical Innovation and the Establishment of the Prophetic Model,” hereafter Izala) since the late 1970s. The next section accounts for the various fringe Islamic groups that preceded and in a way cleared the path for Boko Haram. There were other Islam-​based movements with a history of violence that preceded Boko Haram, however, there is no evidence that they influenced its development or accelerated its emergence and growth. If anything, Mohammed Yusuf (1970–​2009), the leader and ideologue of Boko Haram between 2005 and 2009, had dissociated his sect from earlier fringe groups such as the Maitatsine of Muhammadu Marwa or the Shi’ites (Yusuf 2009, p. 16). In the early years of colonial rule, the millenarian Mahdist movement violently rejected both British imperialism and the British-​installed Sultan of Sokoto, by taking up arms against both, at the village of Satiru near Sokoto in 1906. At the Mahdist commune of Burmi near Gombe further east, Caliph Attahirun Ahmadu of Sokoto when fleeing the British invaders was given sanctuary. He died along with his defenders in July 1903. The Mahdist movement was closely monitored and its leaders persecuted throughout the colonial period as exemplified by the imprisonment of Shaikh Sai’d Ibn Hayat for more than thirty years (Saeed 1992, p. 223; Lethem and Tomlinson 1927). Mahdism is an established strand within mainstream Islam but it was adjudged heretical and fought by the sultans of Sokoto (sultan is the head of the Sokoto Caliphate) and the colonial state. Mahdism was the first open manifestation of Muslim rejection of colonial rule (Al-​Hajj 1973; Saeed 1992). Politically it provided a platform for early rejection of both colonial rule and Muslim leaders who had collaborated with the colonial state. The approach of the colonial state to the Mahdist movement was similar in many respects to the current attitude of the Nigerian state to Boko Haram.

The Origins of Boko Haram    587 Apart from the orthodox Sufi groups and the Salafi Izala referred to earlier, there also exists unorthodox fringe sects such as the Maitatsine, Kala Kato/​Quraniyyun, and Darul Islam. This sectarianism within Nigerian Islam does not resonate with everyday Muslims who do not identify with any of the sects but simply see themselves as Muslims (Birai 1993, p. 195; Mustapha 2014, p. 5). This schism and acrimonious splintering within Islam, the contest for religious space between Muslims and Christians, and the deployment of religion for political ends has contributed to religious disharmony and violence. The Kala Kato and Quraniyyun—​being different names for the same group—​believe the Koran alone without recourse to the sayings and actions of the Prophet referred to as hadith, provides sufficient guidance for their worship. Their rejection of the hadith as word of mouth rather than God’s words is their defining feature. Darul Islam, a nascent millenarian community around Mokwa in Niger State was dispersed after Boko Haram became a national threat. This sect shares many of the puritanical beliefs and practices of the early Boko Haram at Kanamma. They engaged in rural seclusion in order to avoid mixing with sinners and equally loathe Western education because it is corrupting and sinful (Anon 2012, p. 120). In the 1980s the Maitatsine sect led by Muhammadu Marwa caused massive loss of lives and destruction across several northern states. This sect believed its leader to be a prophet thus questioning a fundamental tenet of Islam, the oneness of Allah and the Islamic belief that Muhammad is the seal of prophets. It was vehemently opposed to modernity, antistate, and angry at a society that excluded them (Lubeck 1985; Christellow 1985; Isichei 1987). All of these groups are similar in their rejection of orthodoxy, opposition to the state, and rejection of modernity including aspects of Western education either totally or at some point in the development of their thought. All of these are similar to Boko Haram in many respects but reject association with it following its violence and ostracism from state and society. Mohammed Yusuf had earlier repudiated any theological, ideological, or organizational ties to Maitatsine, Shi’ism, or Kharijism (Yusuf 2009, p. 9). The Darul Islam also dissociated itself from Boko Haram (Anon 2012, p. 120). In spite of these denials the post-​2009 Boko Haram has shown signs of degeneration towards Maitatsine-​style rituals with discovery of human blood in containers and blood-​related rituals at Ngarannam suburb of Maiduguri and beyond. This becomes plausible as Abdullahi Damasak, a veteran commander was renowned for his “strong fetish powers” (ICG 2014, 21fn; Monguno and Umara 2014; Higazi 2015, p.  41). The movement, desperate and in disarray and constantly harassed by the Nigerian military, may have resorted to preIslamic practices. The Islamic Movement of Nigeria, the only openly Shi’a group in Nigeria was heavily influenced by the Iranian revolution and aspired to Iranian-​style theocracy to be achieved by revolutionary means. It equally rejected aspects of Western education at the early stages of its development before it had a change of heart and embraced it. Interestingly, the Islamic Movement of Nigeria and Boko Haram were the only Islamic groups that rejected the model of sharia introduced by Zamfara State and adopted by eleven other northern states since 2000 as a sham and untenable. Both believe sharia is incompatible with, and cannot be practiced under Nigeria’s secular constitution.

588   Kyari Mohammed This wholesale rejection of secularism, antipathy to the state and commitment to enthroning sharia define them, though the Shi’a and Boko Haram have obvious doctrinal differences. Moreover, they are not on the same page when it comes to how to accomplish these. Besides, the Islamic Movement of Nigeria has embraced Western education as most of its leaders are college-​educated and encouraged its members to occupy strategic positions in Nigeria’s public bureaucracy. As these developments were taking place within the Islamic religious space in postcolonial Nigeria, similar changes were taking place within Christianity with the steep rise of Pentecostalism in the 1970s. Unlike their Muslim counterparts, Nigerian Christian groups rarely question the secularity of the state even though they see themselves in a three-​way competition with Muslims, orthodox churches, and believers in traditional religion (Mohammed 2005, p. 154; Ibrahim 1991, p. 121; Haynes 1996 p. 219; Peel 2016). This mutual suspicion between Muslims and Christians led to growing intolerance and the politicization of religion as the country transited to the Third Republic in 1999. Christians came to consider that northern Muslim politicians, military or civilian, had for long dominated the political space, overcentralized power at the center, and used it to advance their narrow ethno-​religious and sectional interests. Christian fears of domination and Islamization of the country were some of the reasons for the formation of the Christian Association of Nigeria (Enwerem 1995, p. 88). Sharia implementation in northern Nigeria induced fear and inflamed passions among Christians in a country with a history of religious violence. The politics of sharia emboldened groups such as Boko Haram into demanding implementation of full-​fledged sharia with the complete range of criminal punishments and not just aspects of family law. Mohammed Yusuf had earlier served as member of the Borno State sharia implementation committee during the tenure of Mala Kachallah as governor (1999–​2003) but later withdrew accusing the government of insincerity and dilatoriness in implementing sharia (ICG 2014, 7fn). Insistence on sharia is a clear indication of what Anon (2012, pp. 126–​35) calls the “will to power” or commitment to politics and power (Montclos 2014b, p. 8). Boko Haram and the IMN had never disguised their fascination with power or hidden their desire to achieve it by all means including violence to enthrone a theocratic state. Unlike the Islamic Movement of Nigeria that showcases the Iranian model, Boko Haram has no blueprint for the type of Islamic sharia it hopes to enthrone. In areas where it attempted to experiment with some form of “state” between 2014 and 2015, it could not establish any recognizable model of Islamic system based on sharia. Several factors account for this. First, the movement, in spite of all its pretenses to puritan Islam, was not a scholastic community, it did not have learned clerics in the mold of nineteenth-​century Sokoto. Even Mohammed Yusuf was himself adjudged to be not well grounded in the Islamic sciences. Other than mouthing commitments to sharia as an alternative to the secular state, the movement had no template for an Islamic state. Sharia was at best an aspiration for which no blueprint had been developed. Second, several of the early ideologues of the movement including Yusuf were killed in the July 2009 uprising thus depriving it of its most committed members. Third, Abubakar Shekau emerged as leader of the movement and gradually shifted it from its Salafi canons to what Alex Thurston (2016, p. 214)

The Origins of Boko Haram    589 calls a “stripped-​down, propagandistic style of jihadism.” This move placed emphasis on propaganda and polemics rather than theology and ideology (Apard 2015). Fourth, Shekau became increasingly authoritarian and not amenable to advice leading to a final break with the Abu Musab al-​Barnawi group led by Mamman Nur in 2015.

The Kanamma Commune and the Failure of Jihad, 2002–​4 The Kanamma commune represents Boko Haram’s first attempt at building a community of believers based on the prophetic tradition of hijra—​emigration. This tiny group of religious zealots decided to live a puritan lifestyle devoid of the sin and unbelief of the wider society at rural Kanamma on the Nigeria–​Niger border in 2003. Referred to as “Nigerian Taliban” by the local press, this group was led by Mohammed Ali, a Nigerian radicalized by jihadi literature in Saudi Arabia in the 1990s. Ali was at this time a student of the University of Khartoum, regularly commuting between Sudan and Nigeria (ICG 2014, p. 23). It is not clear what organization Ali was working for or his sources of funds, but he had some money with which to support the nascent group. Ali was also desperately trying to recruit well-​known Islamic clerics to their jihadi cause in order to give it legitimacy, name recognition, and help spread their ideology (Interview, Ibrahim Isa 2015). The twin doctrines of opposition to Western education and secular authority which were to define the later Boko Haram had not yet developed. However, the antipathy to the state and the desire to overthrow it by force and enthrone sharia had been clearly articulated. The movement also anathemized the rest of society, thus pushing it towards developing its puritanical, exclusivist, and takfiri ideology. Takfir is an ideology associated with extremist groups where an individual or group of Muslims apostatizes another and excommunicates that person or group from the religion. This is often used to justify the killing of an individual or extermination of a group. Mohammed Ali was instrumental to the recruitment and radicalization of Mohammed Yusuf. Attempts to recruit more knowledgeable scholars such as Shaykh Ibrahim Isa Ali Pantami and Shaykh Bello Doma of Gombe in the mid-​1990s proved abortive (Interview, Ibrahim Isa 2015). Ja’afar Adam’s statement that Boko Haram was a contract which they had been offered but refused to accept and whose details he was ready to expose, supports this assertion. Adam was killed within a week of this statement, probably by Boko Haram (Brigaglia 2012). The Kanamma group was small but very militant and committed to jihad. The site of Kanamma was carefully chosen for its defensibility and inaccessibility. The camp was established in a forested area between two bodies of water. In order to strengthen its defense, trenches were dug and camouflaged across its only two access points—​the one approaching it from Kanamma and the rear exit into Maine Soroa in Niger. Sandbags

590   Kyari Mohammed were added to secure the defenses (Mohammed 2014). These defenses had been put in place before the hostilities with neighboring communities over fishing rights led to open confrontation, an indication of readiness for war either with the communities, the state, or both. When attempts at amicable resolution of this dispute failed and involved police intervention, they resorted to self-​help by attacking and sacking police stations and government buildings in Yobe State’s northernmost local government areas of Yunusari, Tarmuwa, Borsari, Geidam, and Damaturu between December 2003 and January 2004. Dislodged from Kanamma, the movement continued its violent spree with the state between January and December 2004 further south at Damboa, Bama, and Gwoza in Borno State. They continued to ransack police stations to arm themselves with stolen armaments and arsenal. Mohammed Ali died at Sandia of wounds sustained in these battles early in 2004. Remnants of the militants took refuge in the difficult terrain of the Mandara Mountains around Gwoza from whence they were expelled by the military in October 2004. Apart from its leader Mohammed Ali, this commune had very prominent actors including Abu Umar, Ibrahim Abdulganiyu, and three children of Alhaji Kambar Adam including Abubakar Kambar Adam, labeled by the U.S. government as a specially designated global terrorist (SDGT) along with Shekau and Khalid al-​Barnawi (Decker 2014, p. 60). The commune was diverse including several Yoruba-​speaking militants such as Ibrahim Abdulganiyu with their wives, apparently from Kogi State where Boko Haram subsequently retained a presence. Mohammed Yusuf was a member of the group but did not emigrate to Kanamma due to an acrimonious disagreement with Ali over timing and necessity of the jihad at that point in time. Yusuf fled to Saudi Arabia after threats to his life by Ali. Ahmad Salkida, a journalist who had covered the sect closely at this time, makes references to the disagreement (Salkida 2013) but not the threat on Yusuf ’s life (Interview, Ibrahim Isa 2015). The failure at Kanamma was a vindication for Yusuf who had opposed the idea from the beginning. It provided him with a desperately needed alibi to proclaim his innocence, which no one believed, yet no one could prove following his confirmed absence from the country. This absence, a plea of innocence with a firm promise not to espouse any such violent ideology, and the combined weight of Deputy Governor Adamu Dibal and Ja’afar Adam helped Yusuf negotiate his return from Saudi Arabia in 2005. The greatest influence upon Yusuf was not Mohammed Ali but Ja’afar Adam who schooled him in Salafism but could not control or moderate his beliefs—​as Yusuf was not well educated. He had no Western education of any sort and his Islamic education was equally poor. However, his oratorical skills and ability to argue persuasively were remarkable. The fall of Kanamma, death of Mohammed Ali and several key commanders, and the capture of many commanders created a leadership vacuum in the movement. Yusuf returned from exile, reconciled with former adversaries, and took on the leadership of the movement, which he gradually steered from violent jihadism to militant Salafism, but resorted to even more violence as from 2009.

The Origins of Boko Haram    591

The Development of a Salafi Community,  2005–​9 Mohammed Yusuf returned to Maiduguri and continued operating under the tutelage of Adam. The remnants of Kanamma joined him as he developed a distinctly extremist version of Salafism that specifically railed against the government of Borno state under Ali Modu Sheriff and occasionally the far-​off central government in Abuja. Yusuf ’s fearlessness and direct affront on the state impressed many young people who flocked to listen to his sermons. Since it was still a nascent community, activities of the sect were conducted at Yusuf ’s Mafoni residence, Shekau’s Daifatul Mansura mosque, and open-​ air sermons across the state (Salkida 2013). Yusuf the leader was supported by Mamman Nur and Abubakar Shekau, without clear designation as to who was deputy. Mamman Nur recruited Shekau and was the man for very difficult tasks that required organizational skills while Shekau was the chief of doctrine. He was referred to as Darul Tawhid (abode of monotheism) (Salkida 2013). This period was devoted to intensive proselytization, recruitment, indoctrination, and building a community of adherents. All the debates with opposing scholars, both with Salafi and Sufi were done at this time. The main doctrine of the movement was developed, disseminated, and crystallized during this phase of the movement’s evolution. So, what did Boko Haram stand for? And how did that differ from mainstream Islam? These issues will be addressed in the next section. The message of Boko Haram continuously changed as the sect evolved with the claim to Salafism being its defining element. Boko Haram is on the extreme end of the spectrum within Salafism where other Muslims that do not share their conceptions of Islam are easily excommunicated for apostasy. The main defining elements of Salafism are exclusivism, scriptural literalism, and puritanism (Thurston 2016, pp. 5–​11)1. The sect’s doctrines were clearly outlined and developed under Yusuf in his various sermons and in writing. The main message of Boko Haram as outlined by Mohammed Yusuf are basically contained in audio tapes and CDs openly sold across northern Nigeria prior to 2009 and his only book Hadzihi Aqeedatuna wa Manhaju Da’awatina (This is our Belief and Method of Preaching) published in 2009. Mohammed Yusuf concentrated on four key issues in his messages. First, the concept of taghut (idolatry) or belief in any deity other than Allah. By this he means secularism and democracy, arguing that any system of government that derives its sovereignty from the people and not sharia as decreed by Allah amounts to idolatry. This rejection of secularism derives from political Islam’s vehement opposition to secular governments. The theological source for this reasoning goes back to Ahmad Ibn Taymiyyah, but in modern times given political expression by the Egyptian Brotherhood ideologues Hassan al-​Banna and Sayed Qutb (Mohammed 2014, p. 16). The second key issue is the opposition to Muslims serving a secular government especially in the coercive arms of

592   Kyari Mohammed the state. For the same reason that government not based on sharia is deemed illegal, serving such a government is also anathema. According to Yusuf (2009, p.  11) “our call refuses employment under a government which does not rule by what Allah revealed . . . Or any other constitution or system that goes against the teachings of Islam and negates the Quran and Sunnah.” The third issue is that Western education is sinful and Muslims should distance themselves from it. The fourth is the rejection of supposedly heretical beliefs such as Maitatsine, Quraniyyun, Shi’ite, and khawarij tendencies. These come out clearly in the Aqeedatuna as well as in the several open sermons. Yusuf rejected Salafi accusations against his sect of heresy, and made this a motive for writing his manifesto. He says “when I saw some people talking about our call and attempting to relate us to some beliefs—​which Allah knows we are innocent of—​such as al-​khawarij, Shi’ite, Quraniyyun, or some secret groups . . . I set out to explain our beliefs” (Yusuf 2009, p. 10). The main issues that defined Boko Haram were the twin deligitimation for Muslims of pursuing Western education and serving secular governments. The context was important in messaging for Yusuf as different audiences were given discordant messages. In the open sermons delivered to his followers at mosques, the rejection of Western education and government employment were total and unconditional. But in the debates with fellow Salafis where evidence for his extreme positions were required he qualified the objections (Anon 2012, pp. 124–​5). Regarding Western education, he now emphasized aspects of it that were at variance with Islam such as Darwinian evolutionary theory, the Big Bang theory or that the earth is spherical and not flat. The debate on employment in secular service was also subtle. He reckoned engagement with some services such as security, judicial, and legislative are clearly forbidden but not working in social services such as health provision. The message of Boko Haram was heavily influenced by developments outside Nigeria. Reference has already been made to the heavy doses of Ibn Taymiyyah, but aspects of opposition to Western education and democracy were derived from Saudi Arabian established scholars’ discomfort with liberal democracy and the liberating effects of modern education. Ibn Taymiyyah had given rulings on the centrality of jihad in Islamic belief, he had declared as illegitimate any government or authority not based on the Islamic sharia thereby delegitimizing secular democratic governments such as those of Nigeria. Prominent Salafi cum Wahhabi Saudi scholars such as Shaykh Abdul Aziz Ibn Abdallah Ibn Baaz (1910–​99) and Shaykh Bakr Ibn Abdallah Abu Zaid (1944–​2008) were critics of democracy and aspects of foreign school system in their native Saudi Arabia. Abu Zaid (2006) in his book Al-​Madaris Al-​Alamiyyah outlined his opposition to the Westernizing influences of international schools on Saudi children and urged his compatriots to build schools suitable for their religion and culture to roll back these influences. This book provided much-​needed ammunition to Boko Haram’s opposition to Western education. Opposition to Western education within Islamic political discourse is not new, however, the resort to violence to enforce this rejection is a new development. For Mohammed Yusuf, the Christian missionary and colonial origins of education, and some aspects of its teaching such as theories of Darwinism as well as the coeducational schools—​where male

The Origins of Boko Haram    593 and female students coexist, all count for lack of purity if not outright unbelief. Some scholars have argued that Yusuf ’s reading of Abu Zaid was completely wrong. First, that Abu Zaid was not wholly opposed to Western education but to unregulated imparting of education on Saudi children by foreign schools. These had the effect of changing the attitudes and worldview of their young children. Second, they point out that Abu Zaid was himself well-​educated as were all of his children (Da’wah 2017, p. 3). Mohammed Yusuf ’s profile continued to rise and he was widely perceived as heir-​ apparent to Ja’afar Adam in Borno, until their doctrinal differences widened and became irreconcilable. Following the failure of several attempts at rapprochement between these erstwhile allies, Yusuf and his followers were banned from the Indimi mosque in 2007 thereby completing the break with his former master and other mainstream Salafi scholars. Sufi scholars remained aloof and did not participate in what was clearly an intra-​Salafi feud but they foresaw the ominous signs and warned the traditional and secular authorities to no avail (Abulfathi nd, c.2016). This period marked Yusuf ’s surreptitious rise to fame as he continued to draw his following from various discontented youth “in search of an Islamic solution to the problems of life” (Mustapha 2014, p. 148). This break from Adam indicated the emergence of the Yusufiyya (“followers of Yusuf ”). Salafism or open opposition to Sufi theology and practices was not common in Borno before the 1990s. Islam in the community was largely pacifist and individualized and heavily suffused with cultural practices. From the 1970s until his death in 2009, a local Borno scholar Shaykh Muhammad Abba-​Aji (1942–​2009), had preached doctrines similar to Salafism that questioned the dominant Sufi influences and shocked the local Islamic clerics (ulama) and society. Himself a product of the Sufi tradition but Western-​ educated, he had trodden with caution but succeeded in both shocking and inoculating the society before the firebrand Adam started his annual Ramadan exegesis in 1995. Abba-​Aji clearly espoused Salafi doctrines long before Adam and the Izala appeared on the scene. However, Abba-​Aji, aware of the cultural sensitivity and long-​entrenched practices which the Salafi abhorred, was measured and very adept at proselytizing without raising intrareligious and interreligious tensions. Ja’afar Adam’s preaching style contrasted with that of Abba-​Aji. Adam was controversial with both Muslims and Christians. His attack on Sufi practices in Borno was direct and hurt the clerics. He debated well-​established Sufi scholars including Shaykh Sharif Ibrahim Saleh al-​Husayn of the Tijaniyyah as to whether God’s throne (Koran 9) is literally a throne or allegorical. According to Khalifa Aliyu Abulfathi, son and successor to the late Shaikh Ahmad Abulfathi, a foremost Tijaniyyah scholar, the Borno religious establishment had officially complained in writing to the government of Borno State about the dangerous message contained in Adam’s preaching, advising the state preaching board to debar him as “he lacked the basic knowledge” (Abulfathi nd c.2016). An accusation of insufficient knowledge against Ja’afar Adam could not fly and this perhaps explains the state’s unwillingness to heed this clearly sectarian call. This new Salafi cum Wahhabi cleric continued to wax stronger garnering local support among young people, the educated elite, and some prominent and powerful patrons such as a serving deputy governor of Borno State.

594   Kyari Mohammed Christians were not happy with Ja’afar Adam either. Christian evangelists interviewed by Adam Higazi accused him of intolerance and stoking the embers of hate between Muslims and Christians in a hitherto peaceful Borno State. Reverend Aaron Ndirmbita, a prominent pastor from the Chibok community who had evangelized with the Church of Christ in Nigeria (COCIN), reckons Ja’afar Adam was “one of those persons who influenced or brought religious fanaticism and disharmony in (sic) Maiduguri” (as cited in Higazi 2015, p. 28). Mohammed Yusuf sharpened his ideas and enjoyed his newfound stardom, often punching above his weight by sparring with Salafi as well as Sufi clerics on the propriety or otherwise of Muslims acquiring Western education or serving in secular government. He engaged Salafi clerics Abdul Aziz Bauchi and Ibrahim Isa Ali Pantami as well as Tijanniyah scholar Shettima El-​Miskin at this time (Mohammed 2014). These debates clearly establish Yusuf ’s limited knowledge and folly as his opponents thrashed his positions on the basis of evidence. However, branding a system that excludes the vast majority of citizens, Muslims and nonMuslims alike as unGodly and calling for its overthrow seemed to resonate with the populace. This period firmly established Yusuf as a radical and fearless scholar willing to take head on the religious as well as political establishment. This image emboldened his followers and raised his status and set him on the road to premature martyrdom, which he anticipated (Mohammed 2014, p. 15). This newfound stardom and the perception by a conservative Borno society of Yusuf ’s vituperations as an intraSalafi conflict in which they were not eager to get entrapped accelerated the descent into violence. While the better-documented and exotic debates with the Salafi clerics mentioned earlier are well known, the most virulent critics of Yusuf were Borno locals and former Salafi comrades such as Bashir Kashara’a who declared Yusuf ’s position as khawarij heresy and called for their extermination before they become a security threat. The khawarij (anglicized as kharijites) refers to a sect of early dissenters in Islam reputed for easily declaring other Muslims as unbelievers and thus justifying their killing for the slightest transgression. Ja’afar equally made a similar call earlier. Bashir Kashara’a openly and consistently taunted and attacked Boko Haram, and was not unexpectedly killed in October 2010 becoming the first prominent Salafi cleric to be killed by the sect in Maiduguri (Mohammed 2014, p. 19). Other clerics who criticized or posed a challenge to the sect were targeted. Shaykh Pantami went into exile ostensibly to study while Shaykh Abubakar Kyari went into hiding within Nigeria. Shaikh Ja’afar Adam and Mohammad Awwal Adam aka Albani were both believed to have been killed by Boko Haram in 2007 and 2014 respectively. Responsibility for Albani’s death was claimed by Shekau (Mustapha 2014, p. 82).

From Preachers to Warriors, Boko Haram after 2010 The military defeat of Boko Haram and destruction of its headquarters, the Markaz Ibn Taymiyyah (Ibn Taymiyyah Center), and the extrajudicial killing of its members

The Origins of Boko Haram    595 including Mohammed Yusuf, Buji Foi, and Yusuf ’s father-​in-​law Baba Fugu Mohammed in July 2009 was a major blow as well as a turning point in its evolving history. The July uprising led to about 800 recorded deaths in Maiduguri alone (Galtimari 2009). Thereafter the leadership went underground and resurfaced in September 2010 with a commando-​style prison break at Bauchi, where 721 prisoners including over 170 of its members were freed (ICG 2014). The prison break also became a source of recruitment as some prisoners serving long sentences ended up joining the insurgents rather than risk being recaptured. This phase in the development of the movement was characterized by urban warfare, targeted retaliatory attacks on individuals and organizations they perceived to have directly or indirectly harmed them. They carefully chose their targets for assassination at this time. These included security agents, traditional rulers, government officials, and politicians linked to the ruling All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP) government of Borno State. Conversely, politicians associated with the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) government of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua at the center, who authorized the military crackdown on Boko Haram, were not targeted for assassination. This not only indicates that vengeance was directed at local enemies within range but also gave credence to those speculating that local partisan politics had fueled the insurgency and state response (Mustapha 2014, pp. 158–​66). It was at this period that the movement further splintered leading to the emergence of Jama’atul Ansaru Muslimina fi Biladis Sudan (“Vanguard for the Protection of Muslims in Black Africa,” hereafter Ansaru). Boko Haram sought national and international visibility by attacking the Nigerian police headquarters and UN building in Abuja in June and July 2011 respectively. It now engaged the military in asymmetric warfare in the streets of Maiduguri, Potiskum, and Damaturu. The sect’s violence increased proportionately to the military repression and it became less discerning and more brutal. Its targets now included schools, telecommunications infrastructure, and it even killed public health officials on routine vaccination exercises. The level of violence increased substantially and the local community was defenseless and cowed into submission by Boko Haram. There were noticeable differences between tactics adopted by the insurgents and those of the military with the former attempting to placate the local population. The military established an ad hoc unit—​comprising of several security agencies but led by the army—​called Joint Task Force–​Operation Restore Order (JTF–​ORO) to combat the insurgents. Unable to distinguish between unarmed civilians and the insurgents, and continuously harangued by Boko Haram, the JTF resorted to oppressive tactics that antagonized the local population. These include dragnet arrests, extrajudicial killings, long detention without trial (AI 2012; HRW 2012). By 2013 the military had completely lost the hearts and minds of the populace and the Borno Elders forum and other organizations called publicly for the military to withdraw. Angered by these calls President Goodluck Jonathan, during his only visit to Maiduguri in May 2013 accused the forum of being sponsors and sympathizers of Boko Haram (Abdul 2013). Relations between the military and Borno community had deteriorated badly since 2010 and the president’s visit was expected to calm frayed nerves but only exacerbated

596   Kyari Mohammed the situation. The community had accused the military with some verifiable evidence of extrajudicial killings, rape, theft, and collective punishment (Mohammed 2014; AI 2012; HRW 2012). The military had also, like its commander-​in-​chief, earlier accused the community of “backing” Boko Haram (Nairaland 2011). These accusations and counteraccusations between the military and community indicated a lack of trust born out of a perception of collective punishment of the community by the central government for several reasons. First, the north–​south and Muslim–​Christian fault lines in Nigeria came to play. Goodluck Jonathan, an ethnic minority Christian from the south was believed to be punishing an exclusively Muslim northern community that had voted against him in the 2011 presidential elections. That these communities had consistently voted against his predecessors—​Olusegun Obasanjo (1999–​2007) and Umaru Yar’Adua (2007–​10) did not matter. Besides the first JTF commander, Major General Jack Okechukwu Nwaogbo, was said to have made derogatory statements against civil war veterans such as retired Major-​General Mamman Shuwa. That since the likes of General Shuwa had participated in killing his brethren it was now their turn to revenge. These statements cannot be verified and may not have been uttered; but against the background of a southern president and an equally southern chief of army staff (Lieutenant General Azubuike Ihejerika) it sounded plausible. It created a feeling of victimhood and persecution in the community. These fitted very well into Nigeria’s contemporary history of ethnic, regional, and religious tensions. Second, the regional politics that accompanied Jonathan’s ascension to power following the death of his processor in office, and the remarks by northern politicians within his political party to the effect that they were going to make the country ungovernable should power elude them, created the impression that Boko Haram was a northern agenda to achieve this. Within the Borno community on the other hand, the feeling that: “we are being targeted for extermination” for not supporting the PDP central government was widespread (Interview, Gaji Galtimari and Gambo Gubio 2014). Some of the conspiracy theories surrounding Boko Haram have been addressed in detail by Mustapha (2014, pp. 157–​66) and Montclos (2014a; 2014b), and therefore, need not detain us here. By July 2013 in the midst of the unceasing collective punishment meted out to the host communities, emerged the civilian defense forces referred to as Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) that helped in expelling the insurgents from Maiduguri, Damaturu, Bama, and other urban centers. The initial CJTF was drawn from repentant Boko Haram members recruited at the military’s Giwa Barracks detention facility in Maiduguri, before other enthusiastic youths enrolled, fed up with the unceasing violence. The CJTF worked under close supervision of the military and was structured along military lines into “sectors” under “sector commanders” just like the JTF. It was hailed by the federal government as a good example of community resilience. The CJTF also had its own problems. First, like the military it also engaged in human rights abuses. In Bama2 for instance, residents were gathered in the town square and subjected to degrading treatment as the military watched early in 2014. Second, Boko Haram became even more vicious and violent against communities that had raised the CJTF. Members of these communities were specifically targeted and killed in the most

The Origins of Boko Haram    597 gruesome manner, sometimes using chain saws while others were killed with guns. Residents of Maiduguri, Bama, Benisheikh, and Dikwa suffered these humiliations. Third, the military also punished communities that refused to organize the CJTF out of fear of Boko Haram. Such communities were burnt down completely by the military after been dubbed as Boko Haram supporters or sympathizers. The emergence of the CJTF undoubtedly led to an escalation of violence. Fourth, many members of the volunteer CJTF were also ambushed and killed by the insurgents especially in battles. When the military tactically retreated in order to reorganize and fight the insurgents, the untrained CJTF saw that as weakness and advanced, often with fatal consequences. In its efforts to stem the insurgency, the federal government imposed emergency rule in selected local government areas of the affected states, first in 2012 and subsequently in 2013. These emergency powers enabled the military to commit more atrocities without legal encumbrances. The massive deployment in urban areas coupled with activities of the CJTF had the unintended and unforeseen effect of exporting Boko Haram violence to the rural areas, where there was no security presence at all. Officials saddled with responsibility of governing these areas abandoned posts and took refuge in the relative safety of Maiduguri (Mohammed 2014, pp. 27–​8). This was the beginning of Boko Haram’s complete takeover of large swathes of territory in Borno, Yobe, and Adamawa States. Schools and other infrastructure were now deliberately targeted in retaliation or revenge. Schools were targeted not as symbols of government or Western education, both of which they loathed, but as retaliation for military attacks on madrasa-​style Islamic schools. Boko Haram spokesman Abu Qaqa says they deliberately decided to torch these schools at night “because we don’t want to kill innocent pupils” (Daily Trust, February 29, 2012; Amnesty International 2012, p. 17). The attack on schools became frequent and deadly in subsequent years. Telecommunication facilities and publishing houses were targeted, the former for being used to track their locations and the latter for adverse news coverage. Journalists and newspaper houses were also targeted both for their newsworthiness as well as in retaliation for perceived ill treatment or negative coverage. In October 2011, Zakariya Isa of the Nigerian Television Authority in Maiduguri was killed by Boko Haram, becoming its first press victim. He was killed “for working against the interest of the sect.” In the January 2012 attack on Kano Channels, photojournalist Enenche Akogwu was killed in the course of duty. In July 2015, Adeola Akinremi, a journalist working for the ThisDay newspaper was threatened for unfair reportage of the sect (Cable 2015). In April 2012, ThisDay’s offices in Kaduna and Abuja were attacked while the Sun newspaper’s office was also targeted. Boko Haram spokesman Abul Qaqa says: “we will hit the media houses hard since they have refused to listen to our plea for them to be fair in their reportage” (Kolawole 2012). Boko Haram attacked both Muslims and Christians that do not subscribe to their worldview. But it had legitimated attack on Christians and their places of worship as part of a grand plan to instigate a Muslim–​Christian interreligious feud by attacking Christian churches in areas with a history of interreligious violence such as the Jos

598   Kyari Mohammed Plateau. This ploy did not succeed in setting up a religious conflagration but it did politicize the insurgency and Christian response in some circles. The leadership of CAN under Ayo Oritsejeafor, either out of ignorance or believing that Boko Haram is a Muslim agenda to Islamize the polity, took the Boko Haram bait. However, the more restrained Catholic Church segment of CAN resisted, leading to its temporary withdrawal from the body (Mohammed 2014, pp. 20–​1). The emergence of Ansaru was an ideological shift arising from tactical differences between Shekau and malcontents fed up with the movement’s increasing violence on unarmed civilians and noncombatants. This occurred at two levels. First, the dissenters were concerned about increasing violence against dissenting members such as the eleven members slaughtered at the Kawar-​Maila area of Maiduguri in January 2012, for allegedly giving information on sect members to security agencies. Second, Ansaru was worried by the spiraling violence such as the attack on Kano on January 20, 2012 which led to the death of 180 people, mostly civilians. Ansaru’s formation was announced only one week later on January 26 (Vanguard, February 1, 2012). Led by Mohammed Awwal Gombe, the focus of this incipient group transcended Boko Haram’s narrow localized focus on northeast Nigeria to include the rest of sub-​Saharan Africa. Like “Al-​Qaeda in the lands Beyond the Sahel” before it, this group was international in its outlook and was committed to focusing on foreign interests including kidnapping foreign nationals. Ansaru claimed responsibility for the kidnapping and killing of seven foreign construction workers at Jama’are in Bauchi State in retaliation for European involvement in Mali and Afghanistan. The Ansaru challenge was short-​lived but called attention of the main Boko Haram to the utility of kidnapping without dissuading it from attacking noncombatants. Awwal Gombe and Abubakar Kambar Adam were the main forces behind Ansaru. Both were killed shortly after Ansaru was established: the former by Shekau and the latter by Nigerian military. The emasculation of Ansaru and the loss of its main commanders strengthened Shekau’s grip on Boko Haram and the violence which Ansaru despised increased. The dislodgement of Boko Haram from urban areas made the outlying areas increasingly vulnerable to depredations and insurgent misrule consequent on lack of security presence. This led to the establishment of three major Boko Haram camps in Borno State. These were located in the Sambisa Forest on the southern edge of the Chad Basin National Park, with Gwoza at its headquarters. Along the shores of the Lake Chad emerged the Kirenowa camp to the east, and the Abadam camp further north. Though Sambisa was the better known of the camps, the insurgents’ attention was mostly in the north where their activities were not closely watched. It was from this base that Boko Haram expanded its activities to northern Adamawa State overrunning Madagali, Michika, Mubi, Maiha, and Hong local government areas (LGAs) by August 2014. They used this period to recruit, mostly forcefully and a few voluntarily. The Buduma, an aquatic group living on the islands and islets of the Lake Chad, joined Boko Haram in large numbers and became its ardent fighters in northern Borno (Nigeria) and in the Diffa Province of Niger Republic. In Yobe State, Gujba was the major base from where the insurgents extended their reach to neighboring Gombe State.

The Origins of Boko Haram    599 Boko Haram had always attacked schools and abducted girls but the abduction of 276 school girls at a secondary school in Chibok brought international attention and outcry. Fifty-​seven of the girls escaped while being transported out while 219 were successfully taken into captivity. Shekau’s pronouncement that he was going to sell them into slavery further angered the world. Several girls had been abducted at secondary schools and in their communities at Konduga, Bulabulin Ngarannam, and Damasak among other places, but the international campaign around the Chibok girls caught and put the Nigerian government under tremendous pressure. This led to the negotiated release of two batches of twenty-​one and eighty-​two girls in October 2016 and May 2017. Details of the negotiation are not available but it was believed to involve the release of Boko Haram commanders in prison and payment of money. By January 2015 at least twenty-​seven local government areas (LGAs) in the three worst affected states of Borno, Yobe, and Adamawa—​out of Nigeria’s 774 LGAs—​were under Boko Haram control. These affected LGAs were mostly located along the porous borders with Niger, Chad, and Cameroon, making it easy for insurgents to freely roam between these countries. This near-​total control of vast areas emboldened Boko Haram towards declaring its own Islamic State/​Caliphate at Gwoza, renaming the town Darul Hikima in August 2014. In March 2015, Shekau pledged allegiance to Abubakr al-​Baghdadi of Islamic State of Iraq and Shams (ISIS). Although there is no evidence of organizational links or funding from ISIS, there are similarities in their doctrines, methods, and tactics. Shekau increasingly gravitated towards al-​Baghdadi at this period. It was in this state of animated suspense that the Nigerian military started reversing the gains made by Boko Haram. In the runup to the 2015 general elections President Goodluck Jonathan increasingly directed his attention at ending the insurgency to shore up his electoral chances. The abduction of the Chibok girls, the government’s inability to roll back the insurgency and gain territories lost to them, and the threat Boko Haram posed not only to the region but to foreign interests cast the serving president as weak and ineffective. This forced the government to seek to end the insurgency desperately by engaging mercenaries from a South African security firm (Freeman 2015; Smith 2015). Working with the Nigerian military before the Nigerian elections, they retook many of the towns that Boko Haram had captured, including Gwoza. In the light of Boko Haram having become a potent danger to the region, Nigeria encouraged its neighbors to restore the Multi-​National Joint Task Force (MNJTF), set up in 1998 to check banditry along their insecure and porous borders. Boko Haram activities in Nigeria had affected the flow of trade between these countries leading to rising food prices in parts of these countries adjoining northeastern Nigeria. Ndjamena the Chadian capital was especially affected as all routes leading to it directly from Maiduguri through Ngala and the one passing through the short strip of Cameroonian territory were blocked. The revamped MNJTF led to the direct involvement of Nigerien and Chadian soldiers in fighting Boko Haram on Nigerian soil in January 2015. This helped Nigeria retake areas it had lost to the insurgents since 2014. This regional coalition turned the tide against Boko Haram by blocking its supply routes, seizing its armaments, and substantially degrading its military capacity. Nigeria’s refusal to allow

600   Kyari Mohammed the Chadian and Nigerien troops to fight deep inside its territory, consigning it to the border areas, prolonged the Boko Haram war. As a result of their direct military fight against Boko Haram, the insurgents now extended the war to these countries. In April 2015, Nigeria elected President Muhammadu Buhari who had campaigned on the platform of fighting corruption and ending insecurity. The new president, who is himself a retired military general, reorganized the military, changed its leadership accused of corruption, relocated the command headquarters to the theater of conflict, and tasked it with ending the insurgency. The acrimonious interservice rivalry, lack of coordination between the various security services, and demoralized troops gave way to improved synergy resulting in a more effective fighting force. Complaints of human rights abuses on civilian population reduced but was not completely eliminated. By December 2016 the government had declared Boko Haram technically defeated but it still has shown tremendous capacity to hit soft targets especially by the deployment of young girls as suicide bombers. As the movement became degraded, female involvement as fighters increased. In 2009, women and children were locked up and therefore did not directly participate in the fighting. Since 2013, women and young girls were used as couriers to transport guns and ammunition as shown by several arrests by the CJTF. Most recent suicide bombs were carried by young girls and boys believed to have been coerced into doing so.

Conclusion This work has shown that Boko Haram emerged and thrived as a tendency within Salafism in northeastern Nigeria. The movement underwent discernible changes in its messages, methods, and tactics as it adapted to its precarious situation in the course of its checkered history. Boko Haram is not a homogeneous movement but a loosely organized one that splintered and factionalized based on doctrinal, tactical, and operational differences. However, its opposition to the state and Western education, the twin issues that defined it, remained constant. The movement’s ability to survive the continuous onslaught of the Nigerian state indicates its resilience, commitment, and adaptive capacity. The dislodgement from urban to less-​defended and more vulnerable rural areas ensured its continued survival with adverse consequences for rural inhabitants. As a result of the unceasing military onslaught by the Nigerian state, participation of regional military alliances, and local support through the civilian defense forces, Boko Haram has been severely degraded but not completely routed, as it still has the capacity to cause severe harm to vulnerable targets especially with the deployment of suicide attacks. The massive loss of lives, consequent humanitarian emergency, huge infrastructural damage, and the loss of livelihoods wrought by the insurgency will require decades to rebuild once the insurgency is finally defeated. Avoiding another Boko Haram-​style

The Origins of Boko Haram    601 insurgency will require addressing the underlying challenges that contributed to its emergence.

Notes 1. Alex Thurston provides an elaborate two-​part definition of Salafism as:  first, “a set of theological prepositions within Sunni Islam. These include:  exclusive, literalist and exoterically-​minded readings of the Quran and the hadith; emphasis on the non-​allegorical nature of God’s attributes and the uncreatedness of the Quran; and rejection of speculative theological discourse and any practices that suggest a role for human, non-​ prophetic intermediaries in believers’ relationship with God. Second, Salafism involves intensive engagement with a canon that includes both classical and contemporary authors” (2015, fn). 2. Bama, the second-​largest town in Borno State, lies close to the edge of the Sambisa Forest where Boko Haram had established its main base. Boko Haram destroyed the town in September 2014 but it was recaptured by the Nigerian military in March 2015.

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602   Kyari Mohammed Cable (2015). “Boko Haram Threatens to Kill Thisday Journalist,” The Cable, July 7, 2015. www. thecable.ng/​boko-​haram-​theatens-​thisday-​journalist. accessed May 2016. Christellow, A. (1985). “The Yan Tatsine Disturbances in Kano: A Search for Perspective,” The Muslim World 75: 69–​84. Daily Trust (2012). February 29, 2012, Abuja. Da’wah Institute of Nigeria (2017). What Is Boko Haram? Responses to 35 Commonly Raised Arguments Against Conventional Western Education. Minna: Islamic Education Trust. Decker, Eileen M. (2014). “The Enemies List:  The Foreign Terrorist Organization List and its Role in Defining Terrorism,” unpublished MA thesis, Naval Postgraduate College, California. http://​www.hsdl.org/​?view&did=753810 accessed September 2017. Enwerem, I. M. (1995). A Dangerous Awakening:  The Politicization of Religion in Nigeria. Ibadan: IFRA. Freeman, C. (2015). “South African Mercenaries Secret War on Boko Haram,” The Telegraph. www.telegraph.co.uk/​news/​worldnews/​africaandindianocean/​nigeria/​11596210/​S outh-​ African-​mercenaries-​secret-​war-​on-​Boko-​Haram.html accessed September 2017. Galtimari, U. G. (2009). “Report of the Administrative Committee of Inquiry into the Boko Haram Insurgency in Borno State,” Main Report, Borno State Government, Maiduguri. October, 5 vols. Haynes, J. (1996). Religion and Politics in Africa. London: Zed Books. Higazi, A. (2013). “Les Origins et la Transformation de l’Insurrection de Boko Haram dans le Nord Nigeria,” Politique Africaine 130: 137–​164. (Trans. “The Origins and Transformation of Boko Haram Insurgency in Northern Nigeria.” I am grateful to the author for his kind gesture of providing me with the English version.) Higazi, A. (2015). “Mobilisation into and Against Boko Haram in North-​East Nigeria,” K. Tall, M.-​E. Pommerolle, and M. Cahen (eds), Collective Mobilisation in Africa (pp. 305–​358). Leiden: Brill. Human Rights Watch (HRW) (2012). Spiraling Violence:  Boko Haram Attacks and Security Force Abuses in Nigeria. Chicago, IL:  Human Rights Watch. https://​www.hrw.org/​.../​ spiraling-​violence/​boko-​haram-​attacks-​and-​security-​force-​abu... accessed September 2017. Ibrahim, J. (1991). “Religion and Political Turbulence in Nigeria,” Journal of Modern African Studies 29 (1): 115–​136. International Crisis Group (ICG) (2014). “Curbing Violence in Nigeria (II): The Boko Haram Insurgency,” Africa Report No. 216. https://​www.crisisgroup.org/​.../​nigeria/​curbing-​ violence-​nigeria-​ii-​boko-​haram-​insurg... accessed September 2017. Isichei, E. (1987). “The Maitatsine Uprisings in Nigeria 1980–​85: A Revolt of the Disinherited,” Journal of Religion in Africa 17 (3): 195–​205. Kolawole, Oladapo (2012). “Exclusive:  Boko Haram Speaks; Why We Attacked Thisday,” Premium Times. http://​oladapokolawole.com/​2012/​04/​27/​premium-​times-​exclusive-​boko-​ haram-​speaks-​why-​we-​attacked-​thisday/​April 27 accessed July 2016. Lah, K. and Johnson, K. (2014). “Kidnapped Ship’s Captain told Ransoms May be Funneled to Boko Haram,” CNN Investigates, June 25, 2014. http://​edition.cnn.com/​2014/​06/​24/​world/​ Africa/​nigeria/​-​kidnapped-​captain/​index.html accessed July 2016. Laitin, D. (1982). “The Shari’a Debate and the Origins of Nigeria’s Second Republic,” Journal of Modern African Studies 20 (3): 411–​420. Lethem, G. J. F. and Tomlinson, G. J. F. (1927). History of Islamic Political Propaganda in Nigeria, 2 vols. London: Colonial Office. Lubeck, P. M. (1985).“Islamic Protest under Semi-​ Industrial Capitalism:  Yan Tatsine Explained,” Africa 55 (4): 369–​389.

The Origins of Boko Haram    603 Mohammed, K. (2005). “Religion, Federalism and the Shari’a Project in Northern Nigeria,” in Ebere Onwudiwe and Rotimi Suberu (eds), Nigerian Federalism in Crisis (pp. 147–​164). Ibadan: John Archers. Mohammed, K. (2014). “The Message and Methods of Boko Haram,” in Marc-​Antoine Perouse de Montclos (ed.), Boko Haram: Islamism, Politics, Security and the State in Nigeria (pp. 9–​32). Leiden:  IFRA–​Nigeria. horizon.documentation.ird.fr/​exl-​doc/​pleins_​textes/​ divers15-​04/​010064362.pdf accessed September 2017. Monguno, A. K. and Bagu, C. (2017), “The Geography and Historical Phases of the Boko Haram Insurgency,” in J. Ibrahim, C. Bagu, and Y. Z. Ya’u (eds), Understanding Community Resilience in the Context of Boko Haram Insurgency (pp. 33–​54). Kano: CITAD. Monguno, A. K. and Umara, Ibrahim (2014). “Why Borno? History, Geography and society in Islamic Radicalization,” Research Report on Radicalization, Counter Radicalization and De-​Radicalization in Nigeria. Submitted to Nigeria Stability and Reconciliation Program of the UK DFID, Abuja, August. Montclos, M.-​A. Perouse de (ed.) (2014a). Boko Haram: Islamism, Politics, Security and the State in Nigeria. Leiden:  IFRA–​Nigeria. horizon.documentation.ird.fr/​exl-​doc/​pleins_​ textes/​divers15-​04/​010064362.pdf accessed September 2017. Montclos, M.-​A. Perouse de (2014b). Nigeria’s Interminable Insurgency? Addressing the Boko Haram Crisis. London: Chatham House. https://​www.chathamhouse.org/​.../​20140901Boko HaramPerousedeMontclos_​0.pdf accessed September 2017. Nairaland (2011). “JTF Accuses Borno Elders of Backing Boko Haram –​Politics,” Nairaland, July 15, 2011. www.nairaland.com/​713753/​jtf-​acuses-​borno-​elders-​backing accessed June 2013. Peel, J. D. Y. (2016). Christianity, Islam, and Orisa Religion: Three Traditions in Comparison and Interaction. California: University of California Press. Pew Center (2010). “Tolerance and Tension: Islam and Christianity in Sub-​Saharan Africa.” www.pewforum.org/​2010/​.../​executive-​summary-​islam-​and-​christianity-​in-​sub-​sahara... accessed April 2015. Saeed, A. G. (1992). “A Biographical Study of Shaykh Sa’id b. Hayat (1887–​1978) and British Policy Towards the Mahdiyya in Northern Nigeria, 1900–​ 1960,” PhD thesis, Bayero University, Kano. Salkida, A. (2013). “Genesis and Consequences of Boko Haram Crisis,” Nairaland. www.nairaland. com/​1206498/​genesis-​consequences-​boko-​haram-​crisis accessed September 14, 2017. Smith, D. (2015). “South Africa’s Ageing White Mercenaries Who Helped Turn the Tide on Boko Haram,” Guardian, April 14, 2015. www.google.com.ng/​amps/​s/​amps.theguardian. com/​world/​2015/​apr/​14/​south-​africa’s-​ageing-​white-​mercenaries-​who-​helped-​turn-​tide-​ on-​boko-​haram accessed September 2017. Thurston, A. (2015). “Nigeria’s Mainstream Salafis Between Boko Haram and the State,” Islamic Africa 6 (1–​2): 109–​134. Thurston, A. (2016). Salafism in Nigeria: Islam, Preaching and Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Umar, M. S. (2005). Islam and Colonialism:  Intellectual Responses of Muslims of Northern Nigeria to Colonial Rule. Leiden: Brill. Vanguard (2012). Vanguard Newspaper, Lagos, February 1. Yusuf, M. (2009). Hadzihi Aqeedatuna wa Minhaju Dawa’atuna (“This is our Belief and Method of Preaching”). Maiduguri: np. Zenn, Jacob (2014a). “Nigerian Al-​Qaedaism,” Hudson Institute, Washington DC. www. hudson.org/​research/​10172-​nigerian-​alqaedaism accessed July 2016.

604   Kyari Mohammed Zenn, Jacob (2014b). “Exposing and Defeating Boko Haram: Why the West Must Unite to Help Nigeria Defeat Boko Haram Terrorism.” www.bowgroup.org/​sites/​bowgroup.uat. pleasetest.co.uk/​files/​Jacob%20Zenn%20Bow%20Group%20Report%20for%2022.7.14.pdf accessed December 2015.

Interviews Gaji Galtimari and Gambo Gubio, 2014, Maiduguri. Mallam Ibrahim Isa, 2015, Abuja.

Chapter 35

B oko Ha ra m Indigeneity, Internationalism, and Insurgency Virginia Comolli

Introduction Jama’atu Ahlis Sunnah Lidda’awati w’al Jihad, commonly known as Boko Haram, is a violent jihadist group that has been waging an insurgency campaign against the Nigeria government since 2009–​10 with the ultimate aim of Islamizing the country. Established as an isolated community based on ultra-​salafist principles and aspiring to the societal model of the Taliban, Boko Haram graduated from low-​level activity to suicide attacks, mass abductions, and a fully fledged insurgency spilling into neighboring Niger, Chad, and Cameroon. Over time, Boko Haram has made connections with al-​Qaeda in Pakistan and built relations with al-​Qaeda in the Maghreb (AQIM) (and possibly al-​Shabaab) from which it received weapons, funding, and training. Leader Abubakar Shekau has often praised foreign jihadi groups and threatened Western and other foreign leaders in his statements. Following what had become an international pattern, in 2015 the group pledged allegiance to the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) becoming ISIS’s West African Province (ISWAP). Notwithstanding these developments which, at first sight, point to the internationalization of Boko Haram, the ensuing pages argue that indigenous dynamics are the prime drivers of Boko Haram’s actions and that the group has in the main remained an inward-​ looking movement with a domestic/​regional agenda that, at times is at odds—​rather than in line—​with that of a global jihadi movement. In so doing, this analysis benefits from the discussion presented in the previous chapter that highlights the existence of similar Nigerian grassroots movements in the colonial and immediate postcolonial period that may have influenced the emergence of Boko Haram and the evolution of its discourse. The concluding section of this chapter explores the issue of international involvement in dealing with the Boko Haram crisis and its regional repercussions.

606   Virginia Comolli

Regional Expansion From its very early days at the beginning of the 2000s Boko Haram has attracted recruits from often drought-​affected areas in Niger, Chad, and Cameroon who would cross into Nigeria to listen to Mohamed Yusuf, the group’s leader and a wealthy charismatic preacher. From this point onwards, Boko Haram has succeeded in exploiting the cultural, ethnic, and religious ties that Chad, Niger, and Cameroon share with northern Nigeria for its own purposes. These have included the smuggling of weapons, the recruiting of fighters, and allowing personnel flows between Boko Haram in Nigeria and their Hausa, Kanuri, and Muslim kin in Niger, Chad, and Cameroon (Comolli 2015a, pp. 86–​92). In spite of these ongoing activities, areas along national borders were considered as precious safe havens and, therefore, were largely spared from attacks possibly for fear of retaliation by local authorities (with the exception perhaps of abductions of foreign nationals in Cameroon in 2013). In other words, although in those countries the group managed to exert significant ideological influence, operationally, leader Abubakar Shekau had assumed a non-​confrontational stance towards the governments of Niger, Chad, and Cameroon. In turn, the leaders of those countries were reluctant to launch a major crackdown against Boko Haram possibly for fear of retaliation and, more concretely, owing to their limited capabilities. In so doing they attracted criticism and frustration on the part of the Nigerians. These sentiments were reciprocal. By late 2014–​early 2015 Shakau’s approach had changed: Niger, Chad, and Cameroon had become part of Boko Haram’s fighting ground witnessing attacks, skirmishes with local forces, and abductions. As a result, and partly in a vicious action–​reaction dynamic, 2014–​15 saw growing cooperation among regional countries prompted by growing Boko Haram’s incursions beyond Nigeria and, in turn, resulting in retaliatory attacks by the militants. Nigeria’s neighbors eventually became more involved in the fight against Boko Haram in both military and nonmilitary terms. President Deby of Chad, for instance, brokered failed negotiations between Nigeria and Boko Haram (Soyombo 2014). In 2014 a more concerted effort was embraced through the establishment of a regional force by the Lake Chad Basin Commission:  at a summit in London, Nigeria, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon pledged to jointly deploy 2,800 troops to the region. The directors-​general of external intelligence services of Nigeria, Benin, Cameroon, Chad, and Niger, alongside France, also signed a deal to increase border policing, coordination, and intelligence-​sharing (Owete 2015). In that vein, in 2015 the African Union (AU) endorsed a plan for a Multinational Joint Task Force (MNJFT) of up to 10,000 troops from Nigeria, Niger, Chad, Cameroon, and Benin—​an effort that continues to date. Nevertheless, while greater multinational cooperation to tackle what had now become a regional threat was welcome, challenges have remained, including mistrust,

Boko Haram   607 resource availability, zones of deployment, varying military skills and capabilities, Boko Haram’s resilience, and the role of public opinion (Comolli 2015b). Despite the spread of violence and increased regional military involvement in the counterinsurgency operations, one should be careful in equating Boko Haram’s cross-​ border actions to ambitions of regional expansion. Significantly, national borders are unlikely to hold much meaning for Shekau, especially in view of the close kinship, ethnic, and family ties across communities in the Lake Chad Basin. Therefore it can be argued that the move beyond Nigeria does not translate into a genuine effort towards regionalization. Boko Haram retains a rather domestic agenda and its goal remains one that involves Islamizing Nigeria rather than the whole of West Africa. Moreover, this approach appears consistent with Boko Haram’s Islamic revivalist drive, specifically with the intent to recreate the ancient Kanuri-​led Kanem-​Borno Empire (700–​ 1900), which spanned what are now the national borders of Nigeria, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon. Most members, including Boko Haram’s leadership, are Kanuri. Even taking into account the more international outlook of some of Boko Haram’s factions—​such as Ansaru1, which was believed to enjoy a close connection with AQIM and to have joined forces with local al-​Qaeda factions active in Mali in 2012–​13—​and the seemingly game-​ changing entry into ISIS’s caliphate, the Nigerian group appears to remain motivated by a domestic and localized agenda rather than being part of a global jihadi movement or harboring regional or pan-​African ambitions.

Apparent Internationalization The rapid evolution in Boko Haram’s tactics proves that the group has benefited from exposure to more sophisticated outfits such as AQIM and there is little doubt that Shekau has drawn inspiration from the actions of others—​as exemplified by the declaration of an “Islamic state” in northern Nigeria shortly after ISIS had established its own “Islamic state” in 2014. Yet, opportunism in the pursuit of domestic priorities, including in the form of alliances with outside groups, appears to be the most plausible driver behind interactions with al-​Qaeda affiliates and ISIS. Notably, the inability to attract foreign fighters from outside the immediate region indicates the little international appeal, owing to its narrowly focused agenda, that is enjoyed by Boko Haram. From this standpoint Boko Haram is not dissimilar from other jihadi movements active around the world that in the post-​Osama bin Laden period and certainly at least until 2014, had established pockets of regional jihad in antithesis to bin Laden’s plan for a global caliphate. Those groups emerged out of local priorities and grievances in a number of developing regions from the Middle East to Africa, Central and South Asia. Their agendas, as a result, were domestic in spite of ad hoc collaborations with foreign groups such as al-​Qaeda branches and affiliates. Boko Haram fell within this category (Comolli 2015a, pp. 96–​8).

608   Virginia Comolli

The Boko Haram–​al-​Qaeda Connection The domestically focused groups alluded to earlier have not been completely detached from foreign and more internationalized outfits, and although formal partnerships were not always on the cards, various forms of cooperation have had significant implications on the ground. This was particularly evident in the case of Boko Haram and, more specifically, in the tactical sphere with the adoption of more sophisticated techniques such as hitherto absent suicide attacks from 2011 onward (Tran 2011; Walker 2016). Boko Haram had made contact with al-​Qaeda outside the African continent early in its history. Through the 2006 arrest of suspected Nigerian Taliban2 from Kano, Mallam Mohammed Ashafa, it became possible to collect evidence of funds from al-​Qaeda in Lahore, Pakistan, making their way into Nigeria to support the planning and execution of Boko Haram attacks against Americans in the country. Ashafa was also charged with recruiting fighters to be sent to training camps run by the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC, as AQIM was previously known) in Agwan, Niger (Ajani 2012). Evidence was not always conclusive (Perouse de Montclos 2014, p. 140). Further intelligence pointed to training received in Mauritania and suggested that Shekau had been interacting with al-​Qaida in Saudi Arabia in 2010–​11 (Comolli 2015a, pp. 100–​1; Mark 2012). It was at around this time that links between Boko Haram and AQIM became more evident and culminated in the participation of Boko Haram and, in larger numbers, its offshoot Ansaru, in the conflict in northern Mali in 2012–​13. Here militants fought in support of AQIM and its local affiliates Ansar al-​Dine and the Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa (MUJWA). The partnership with AQIM, in which Boko Haram had a somewhat subordinate position, facilitated the flow of funds, weapons, and knowledge, for example, in bomb-​ making that propelled Boko Haram into a new phase. Exposure to AQIM also led to the adoption of kidnaps-​for ransoms by Ansaru first, and later by Boko Haram itself. In order to clarify further the concept of internationalism (and with that the al-​Qaeda connection) in so far as it pertains Boko Haram’s nature, it is worth pondering on the genesis and character of Ansaru. Indeed, it is this faction that appeared to represent the more internationally minded current within the Nigerian insurgency. At the same time it was likely to be less preoccupied with the establishment of an Islamic state in the north of the country (Pantucci and Jesperson 2015, p. 28). Internal fractures along ethnic tensions and disagreement over the redistribution of ransom money have been identified as possible motivations behind the decision of some Boko Haram elements to break away. The indiscriminate targeting of Muslims perpetrated by Boko Haram was also a likely reason behind the splintering (Comolli 2015a, pp. 65–​7; Zenn et al. 2013). Indeed, Ansaru has been known for distributing leaflets condemning Boko Haram’s indiscriminate killings of locals and preferring to target foreigners. A greater closeness between Ansaru and AQIM can also be deduced from the individual experience of senior elements within the group. Ansaru’s leader, Khalid al-​ Barnawi, was believed not only to have trained with AQIM but also to have fought

Boko Haram   609 under the leadership of prominent AQIM Commander Mokhtar Belmokhtar in the mid-​2000s in Mauritania and Algeria (Comolli 2015a, p. 104). In one of the highest-​ profile terrorism trials in Nigeria, in March 2017 he was charged with the abduction and murder of ten foreigners (Vanguard 2017). One could speculate that whereas Shekau has frequently praised al-​Qaeda, as indicated in a number of videos issued by the group (Reuters 2010; Roggio 2012), opportunism and the desire to acquire additional skills and funds, rather than a true alignment of narratives, were guiding interactions between the two groups. AQIM and its affiliates in Mali came under significant pressure following French-​led operation Serval (January 2013) and subsequent international counterterrorism efforts in the Sahel. At this point they found themselves in a less favorable position to provide support for the likes of Boko Haram. At the same time, Boko Haram had become more self-​sufficient: efforts to diversify its funding base through a variety of criminal activities greatly reduced Shekau’s need for AQIM’s support. In this context of opportunism, ISIS’s appeal stemmed partly from the significant gains in Iraq and Syria that gave ISIS global fame and standing among jihadists. From Boko Haram’s perspective an alignment to such a successful group would likely increase prestige and might open new opportunities and facilitate the acquisition of resources.

The Boko Haram Caliphate and ISIS Like other groups that had hitherto indicated their support for al-​Qaeda ideology (albeit not being part of the formal franchise) Boko Haram has turned to, and drawn inspiration from, ISIS, including vis-​à-​vis the establishment of a “state” or caliphate. Territorial control and governance by sharia had been central to Boko Haram’s ideology since its emergence in in the early 2000s. “An Islamic system of government should be established in Nigeria, and if possible all over the world, but through dialogue,” had stated the group’s founder and former leader Mohammed Yusuf (Goujon and Abubakar 2006). And whereas Boko Haram’s tactics have become increasingly violent—​largely in response to the extrajudicial killing of Yusuf in police custody in 2009—​a sharia society stayed at the core of its ideology. Similarly to Yusuf, the current leader Abubakar Shekau aims to create, or rather revive, an Islamist state in the north (International Crisis Group 2014, p. 9; Walker 2012, p. 9). In summer 2014 Boko Haram acted on its statements. The timing of Shekau’s caliphate announcement suggests that ISIS’s recent successes in Iraq and Syria had catalyzed this shift. Boko Haram’s grab for territory has been compared to ISIS’s capture of Tikrit, Mosul, and other Sunni towns and cities (Moore 2014). Observed use of the black and white rayat al-​uqab flag is another common feature of both groups (Zenn 2014). While not necessarily indicative of a strategic relationship, Shekau’s stated support for Abu Bakr al-​Baghdadi in a video of July 2014 suggested that ISIS’s successes in the Middle East may have spurred Nigerian militants into action (Vanguard 2014).

610   Virginia Comolli As already indicated, the context of the Boko Haram–​al-​Qaeda connection, this is not the first time that Boko Haram’s choice of tactics has been influenced by another terrorist organization. The Nigerian Islamist group has previously imitated the activities of other groups when they are operationally effective elsewhere such as kidnaps for ransoms (Sahara Reporters 2012).

Possible Explanations behind Boko Haram–​ISIS Convergence Beside from the security concerns that the alignment between Boko Haram and ISIS may have caused given the deadliness and brutality that have characterized both groups, it is valuable to reflect on the motivations that may have driven both sides to come together in order to shed further light on any possible or alleged Boko Haram’s international ambitions. One could speculate that from the point of view of al-​Baghdadi, Shekau’s pledge contributed to increase ISIS’s global profile at a time when the group’s momentum appeared to have come under threat (Tisdall 2015). Indeed, upon accepting Boko Haram’s bay’ah, ISIS had experienced several major setbacks in Syria (Kobani) and Iraq (Tikrit) (Karmon 2015, p. 75). Also, this development represented the opportunity for ISIS to establish its first foothold in sub-​Saharan Africa—​an important step towards fulfilling al-​Baghdadi’s goal to establish a global caliphate by exporting its pan-​Islamic ideology of holy jihad to the second most populous Muslim country in the continent (after Egypt) (Al Jazeera 2015; Weeraratne 2017, p. 614). Equally, Shekau’s pledge of allegiance was issued at a time when the group was experiencing some operational weakness (Karmon 2015, p. 75). Specifically, the intensification of attacks in and outside Nigeria had prompted a stronger military response in the form of the MNJTF. Alongside private security contractors hired by Nigeria in January 2015 (amid controversy), troops proved capable of driving militants from northeastern territories that they had controlled since mid-​2014 and forced them to retreat to the Sambisa Forest, one of its last major hideouts (Chandler 2015). It is as a result of this context that it can be speculated that Shekau sought ISIS’s support in order to regain operational momentum (Karmon 2015; Chandler 2015). Taking a more nuance approach, one would note that this pledge was indeed more than a mere sign of desperation and Boko Haram’s alignment to ISIS was unlikely to simply be a reaction to the more aggressive and fairly successful military push against the Nigerians. Rather this development should be seen as the result of a process lasting several months. Shekau had already pledged support for al-​Baghdadi and his caliphate in June 2014, when Boko Haram was far from being cornered. In so doing, he was setting the bases for a future alliance at a time when Boko Haram was most likely experiencing its operational peak (Ewi 2015). Furthermore, whereas Boko Haram is facing the toughest challenge of its seven-​year insurgency and in late 2016 President Muhammadu Buhari declared the group “technically defeated,” the MNJTF is yet to secure a decisive victory. Nigerian troops are attempting to penetrate the mine-​infested Sambisa Forest,

Boko Haram   611 terrain that is much better understood by their opponents (Oladipo 2015). Attacks have also continued unabated, including female suicide attacks, abductions, and bombings infamously disrupting the Eid al-​Fitr celebrations in Maiduguri in 2017 (Kazeem 2017). In the first half of 2017, some 200 civilians were killed in northeast Nigeria alone (SMB Intel 2017) while violence continued in Niger and Chad and Cameroon (Al Jazeera 2017; Ayeko-​Kümmeth 2017). All countries in the Lake Chad Basin are struggling to deal with the refugee crisis generated by the conflict (United Nations 2017). An alternative explanation for Shekau’s bay’ah can be found, once again, in Boko Haram’s opportunism. Following in the footsteps of over thirty jihadi groups worldwide (IntelCenter 2015), Boko Haram’s declaration of support for al-​Baghdadi’s caliphate might have been prompted by the operational benefits that such an alliance could generate. It has been speculated that Shekau was seeking funding, weapons, and even foreign fighters through closer alignment with al-​Baghdadi (Tisdall 2015; Campbell 2015). None of the above reflections points to a possible desire to turn Boko Haram into a truly international group. On the contrary, whatever prestige or resources Shekau wished to obtain from the alignment to al-​Baghdadi appeared to be driven by local ambitions which, among others, represent some marked differences between the two jihadi groups as the following section illustrates.

Boko Haram and ISIS: Two Different Actors Notwithstanding the connection between Boko Haram and ISIS, the rebranding of Boko Haram into ISWAP, and the August 2016 rift within the group producing, essentially, two main factions—​“traditional” Boko Haram under Shakeu’s leadership and ISWAP led by Yusuf ’s son Abu Musab al-​Barnawi—​one should resist the temptation to see Boko Haram and ISIS as two sides of the same coin and instead acknowledge that differences remain. Specifically, whereas both entities have skillfully exploited socioeconomic and political grievances and share a similar ideological outlook, their goals, tactics, and capabilities differ. Assessing them reinforces the argument of a localized Boko Haram/​ISWAP that while taking a broader international outlook, has retained a domestic identity. In autumn 2014 the group began attacking Cameroon before turning to Niger and Chad in February 2015. Suddenly, countries that had been previously regarded by Boko Haram as safe havens had become part of the battleground and targeted for inclusion into Shekau’s “state,” Yet, as already mentioned, rather than trying to capture foreign countries, Shekau’s attempted move into Niger, Chad, and Cameroon was most likely prompted by the desire to take control over communities across national borders with shared ethnic and religious identities and, in particular, those within the ancient Kanem-​Borno Empire (Barkindo 2016). In other words, it seems unlikely that Boko Haram planned to expand beyond those territories in an attempt to control other African countries (Comolli 2015a, pp. 162–​3)—​an approach that seems at odds with al-​Baghadi’s.

612   Virginia Comolli The two groups’ ability to establish semifunctioning “states” has varied considerably. In the Nigerian case the planning for such a state appears to have failed to feature in Shekau’s strategy (Comolli and Robertson 2015). Despite its brutality, ISIS has demonstrated both the intent and capability to impose sharia law and order in its captured territories (Huffington Post 2014; Cordall 2014). In Nigeria, it is unclear whether Boko Haram had the ability or desire to govern its northeastern territories. The clearest indication of attempted governance by sharia law was the introduction of emirs in its captured areas (Bwala 2014; Sahara Reporters 2014b; Reuters 2015; Moore 2014; Sahara Reporters 2014a; Fulani 2014). Yet, it appeared that the only service promised by Boko Haram to locals was security provision (Akinwumi et al. 2014; Campbell 2014). Even in this context, however, Boko Haram seemed to operate at lowered standards compared to ISIS. Reports indicate that whereas brutality and disproportionate punishments remained behind the façade of bureaucracy and infrastructure built by ISIS, by assuming monopoly over violence ISIS prompted a decrease in banditry and other forms of criminality. Conversely, the establishment of the Boko Haram “state” in Nigeria only increased fear among the local population and generated chaos and displacement (Fromson and Simon 2015, pp. 39–​40; Mbaiorem and Caux 2014; Mahmood 2014; Nigeria Security Network 2014). ISIS and Boko Haram share some similarities on the economic front that include involvement in criminal activities. Yet again the two groups operate on very different levels. This is partly a by-​product of different circumstances, e.g. the presence of oil fields in ISIS-​ controlled territories in contrast to northeastern Nigeria, an area with very limited economic opportunities. In addition, although Shekau has increased Boko Haram’s riches through robberies, kidnaps for ransom, and extortions, these activities have had little or no impact in terms of imposing governance and running a state (Comolli and Robertson 2015). Of greater relevance to this chapter’s argument, ISIS relies on international (and diverse) funding sources that go well beyond the Middle East. Boko Haram, with the exception of some earlier injections of funds from more established groups, has shown its domestic identity even in its financing which has been in the main local, including through local financiers (in its early days), robberies, extortions, and kidnappings (Antwi-​Boateng 2017, pp. 35–​6). Lastly, but crucially, unlike ISIS, Boko Haram has been unable to recruit from outside the region. This is both the by-​product of and the reason for the group’s indigenous character. It can be argued that a pan-​Islamic outlook, as opposed to Boko Haram/​ISWAP’s focus on the Islamization of Nigeria and the Lake Chad Basin would have contributed to raising the group’s international appeal and the recruitment of foreign fighters—​including some with a broader skillset who could have contributed to Boko Haram’s sophistication (Antwi-​Boateng 2017, p. 33)3.

International Involvement The violence of Boko Haram, and now ISWAP, have attracted international attention which, short of making the Nigerian insurgency an international phenomenon, has

Boko Haram   613 prompted countries and organizations beyond the immediate neighborhood to intervene to varying degrees. Owing to historical and modern-​day ties, among Western partners the United States and Britain have been the ones with the closest relationships with Nigeria. Yet, those bilateral relations have not been without controversy and certainly in both cases have experienced some ups and downs, particularly during the Goodluck Jonathan administration (Comolli 2015a, pp. 142–​52). The mass abduction of the Chibok girls in April 2014 resulted in renewed interest—​thanks also to an international social media campaign demanding prompt actions to secure the girls’ rescue. Interestingly, beside the two more traditional partners of Washington and London, Beijing, Tel Aviv, Ottawa, and Paris, among others, pledged various forms of support. The French, traditionally focused on francophone Africa and already involved in live conflict situations in Mali and the Central African Republic, hosted a regional security summit in Paris in the aftermath of the Chibok incident and have demonstrated a renewed interest in the Boko Haram crisis as former colonies Niger, Chad, and Cameroon experience attacks by the Nigerian group. It is particularly on the humanitarian intervention front—​which far from being challenge-​free is arguably less controversial than military involvement—​that the international community has become involved in responding to the Boko Haram crisis as it has expanded from a local to a regional problem.

Regional Humanitarian Repercussions As of 2017, Boko Haram/​ISWAP, and an often-​problematic counterinsurgency campaign marred by human rights violations, have disrupted the entire spectrum of human activities in the affected areas impacting the lives of some 17 million civilians in the Lake Chad Basin (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017c). Thus, when debating possible international dimensions of the group it becomes inevitable to reflect on the repercussions beyond Nigeria’s borders. Indeed, the magnitude of the regional crisis and of human suffering warrant attention. Security-​ wise the implications speak for themselves with widespread killings, abductions, instances of sexual violence, and significant infrastructural destruction forcing millions to flee their homes becoming internally displaced or refugees. The violence had also brought economic activities to a halt. For a long time people had been too scared to go to markets and often national borders have been closed to prevent the movement of militants resulting in the suspension of cross-border trade in a region already affected by widespread poverty and limited economic options. In an unfortunate domino effect this also meant that the availably of goods has declined and food has become scarce in a region already suffering from droughts and other adverse by-​products of climate change.

614   Virginia Comolli The severity of the situation was powerfully depicted by Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussein (2015), United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, as he reported on the situation in July 2015: Moreover in most of the towns and villages that have recently been recaptured by the regional forces Boko Haram fighters reportedly looted and burned down houses, shops and schools; destroyed hospitals and health centers and smashed water points and water systems. In several cases they methodically destroyed bridges and other infrastructure vital to people’s lives and livelihoods. Coupled with the massive displacement generated by this movement this destruction has had a major impact on the economy of the region [emphasis added]; there are now severe food shortages in a region that has traditionally produced crops for trade across the Sahel. (Al Hussein 2015)

As of early 2017, the Lake Chad Basin faced a complex humanitarian emergency. Eleven million people were in need of humanitarian assistance, 8.5 million of whom humanitarian agencies and NGOs aim to reach in the course of the year (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017a). The continuation of violence, however, together with financial constraints, had made it harder to reach those in need. Furthermore, parts of Chad and Niger in particular suffer from chronic crises that predate Boko Haram and related flows of refugees and Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs): local communities have long been in need of humanitarian assistance. The arrival of those fleeing the conflict has put additional strains on limited resources such as food, shelter, land, and health/​sanitation often leading to intercommunal tensions such as those witnessed in the Chadian region of Lac. This is a common scenario: most IDPs/​refugees in the Lake Chad Basin live in local communities rather than in camps. Restrictions over the movement of people and the state of emergency have further worsened the local economy suggesting that a joint humanitarian–​ development strategy is needed (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017a, p. 9). Cameroon was also struggling. The Boko Haram crisis caused a 25 percent decrease in cereal production in 2016 in the Far North Region compared to the previous year. The risk of being killed or kidnapped had deterred farmers from going to the fields with fewer crops being planted than in the pre-​Boko Haram era. This was particularly evident in the regions of the North, the Far North, and Adamaoua (Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations 2016, pp.  4–​5). In the latter, food insecurity increased from 19 percent in early 2016 to 39 percent a year later (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017b). Some 65,000 Cameroonian children under the age of five are expected to suffer from severe malnutrition (Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations 2016, pp. 4–​5). In Nigeria, the number of those exposed to food insecurity doubled since March 2016 (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017a, p.  17). Persistent insecurity makes it likely for people to retain the status of IDP for

Boko Haram   615 years. Although they might gradually move closer to home, there are already people who have been displaced for two or three years turning the IDP problem into a chronic rather than an emergency one. Their vulnerable status, both in camps and among local communities, makes them easy targets of further violence, extortion, and sexual/​gender violence. Local governments, international organizations, and foreign partners have devised a Humanitarian Response Plan for 2017 for the four Lake Chad Basin countries. The ambitious plan requires $1.5 billion in funding which, at the time of writing, remain largely unmet (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017c). At the Oslo Humanitarian Conference on Nigeria and the Lake Chad Region in February 2017, Nigeria, Chad, Cameroon, Niger, and foreign donors pledged $458 million for relief in 2017 and an additional $214 million for 2018 (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2017d). At the same time, humanitarian agencies agreed to step up their operations especially to help those suffering the most from food scarcity4. Yet, at current funding levels and in light of the practical constraints in reaching civilians owning to the ongoing violence, some argue that this is too little too late and that the worsening of the humanitarian situation in this fragile region is in sight (Byanyima and Egeland 2017).

Conclusions The existence of a fertile environment and the skillful exploitation of indigenous grievances together with a climate of marginalization and underdevelopment had allowed for the emergence and expansion of violent Islamist group Boko Haram in northern Nigeria and other Lake Chad Basin countries. As the evidence discussed in this chapter indicates, the group has developed international connections regardless of the unlikelihood of it harboring any pan-​Islamic ambitions. The group’s leadership has adopted a primarily opportunistic approach: closeness to established international jihadi movements would serve Boko Haram in the pursuit of its domestic and regional agenda. The crisis resulting from Boko Haram’s actions has taken a regional dimension that, as such, requires a broader approach both in terms of types of intervention (military, humanitarian, development) and of the actors involved. As for the latter, the response has been of an international nature including African players, nations from outside the continent, and international organizations. Yet, it is to be highlighted that it was not a genuine concern with Boko Haram’s potential international reach that prompted such widespread involvement. Rather, the destabilizing impact of the insurgency at the local level and resulting humanitarian crisis—​the most severe in the continent according to the United Nations—​have been the drivers behind concerted international efforts.

616   Virginia Comolli

Notes 1. Also known as Jamaatu Ansarul Muslimina Fi Biladissudan, Vanguard for the Aid of Muslims in Black Africa. 2. “Nigerian Taliban” was one of the early names of Boko Haram. 3. This is not to imply that Boko Haram’s tactics had not become more sophisticated over time. On the contrary, the group has acquired bomb-​making skills, has introduced suicide attacks for the first time in Nigeria (2011), and has been quick to adapt to changing circumstances. 4. Pledges were announced by the European Commission, Norway, Germany, Japan, Sweden, Switzerland, France, Italy, Ireland, Finland, Denmark, Luxembourg, Netherlands, and Republic of Korea (OCHA, Oslo humanitarian conference for Nigeria and the Lake Chad region raises $672 million to help people in need).

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Boko Haram   617 Chandler, A. (2015). “The Islamic State of Boko Haram?,” The Atlantic March 9, 2015. https://​ www.theatlantic.com/​international/​archive/​2015/​03/​b oko-​haram-​pledges-​a llegiance-​ islamic-​state/​387235/​ Comolli, V. (2015a). Boko Haram: Nigeria’s Islamist Insurgency. London: Hurst Publishers. Comolli, V. (2015b). “The Regional Problem of Boko Haram,” Survival 57 (4): 109–​117. Comolli, V. and Robertson, K. (2015). “Boko Haram (ISWAP) and ISIS:  Two of a Kind?” Terrorism Research & Analysis Consortium (TRAC) July 2015. http://​www.trackingterrorism. org/​article/​boko-​haram-​iswap-​and-​isis-​two-​kind Cordall, S. P. (2014). “How ISIS Governs Its Caliphate,” Newsweek December 2, 2014. http://​ www.newsweek.com/​2014/​12/​12/​how-​isis-​governs-​its-​caliphate-​288517.html Ewi, M. (2015). “What Does the Boko Haram–​ ISIS Alliance Mean for Terrorism in Africa?” Institute for Security Studies March 17, 2015. https://​issafrica.org/​iss-​today/​ what-​does-​the-​boko-​haram-​isis-​alliance-​mean-​for-​terrorism-​in-​africa Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (2017). “Food Security and Humanitarian Implications in West Africa and the Sahel–​Report No. 80,” Reliefweb February 9, 2017. http://​ reliefweb.int/​report/​nigeria/​food-​security-​and-​humanitarian-​implications-​west-​africa-​and-​ sahel-​n-​80-​december-​2016 Fromson, J. and Simon, S. (2015). “ISIS: The Dubious Paradise of Apocalypse Now,” Survival 57 (3): 7–​56. Fulani, I. D. (2014). “Nigerian Troops, Mobile Police Unit Advance Towards Mubi to Flush Out Boko Haram,” Premium Times November 6, 2014. http://​www.premiumtimesng.com/​news/​ top-​news/​170715-​nigerian-​troops-​mobile-​police-​unit-​advance-​towards-​mubi-​to-​flush-​ out-​boko-​haram.html Goujon, E. and Abubakar, A. (2006). “Nigeria’s “Taliban” Plot Comeback from City Hideouts,” Mail & Guardian January 11, 2006. https://​mg.co.za/​article/​2006-​01-​11-​nigerias-​ taliban-​plot-​comeback-​from-​hideouts Huffington Post (2014). “Islamic State Take on Charles Darwin Banning Evolution from Curriculum in Iraq,” Huffington Post September 16, 2014. http://​www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/​ 2014/​09/​16/​islamic-​state-​ban-​evolution_​n_​5829410.html IntelCenter (2015). “Islamic State’s 35 Global Affiliates Interactive World Map,” IntelCenter. https://​intelcenter.com/​maps/​is-​affiliates-​map.html#gs.Wq8lS0o International Crisis Group (ICG) (2014). Curbing Violence in Nigeria (II): The Boko Haram Insurgency. Brussels: International Crisis Group. Karmon, E. (2015). “Islamic State and al-​Qa’ida Competing for Hearts & Minds,” Perspectives on Terrorism 9 (2): 71–​79. Kazeem, Y. (2017). “Nigeria Keeps Saying It Has Defeated Boko Haram Against All Evidence,” Quartz Africa July 10, 2017. accessed July 10, 2017. Mahmood, O. (2014). “Nigeria:  Boko Haram’s Gwoza ‘Caliphate’ Demonstrates Group’s Increasing Power,” African Argument September 10, 2014. http://​africanarguments.org/​2014/​ 09/​10/​boko-​harams-​g woza-​caliphate-​demonstrates-​groups-​increasing-​power-​by-​omar-​ mahmood/​ Mark, M. (2012). “Boko Haram Vows to Fight Until Nigeria Establishes Sharia Law,” Guardian January 27, 2012. https://​www.theguardian.com/​world/​2012/​jan/​27/​boko-​haram-​nigeria-​sharia-​law Mbaiorem, D. and Caux, H. (2014). “More Than 10,000 People Flee Fresh Attacks in Nigeria, Seek Shelter in Cameroon and Niger,” United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees September 2, 2014. http://​www.unhcr.org/​uk/​news/​latest/​2014/​9/​5405b86d6/​10000-​people-​ flee-​fresh-​attacks-​nigeria-​seek-​shelter-​cameroon-​niger.html

618   Virginia Comolli Moore, J. (2014). “Boko Haram Receives Strategic Advice from ISIS as Caliphate Dream Grows,” International Business Times September 9, 2014. http://​www.ibtimes.co.uk/​ boko-​haram-​receives-​strategic-​advice-​isis-​caliphate-​dream-​grows-​1464639 Nigeria Security Network (2014). “Special Report: North East Nigeria on the Brink,” Nigeria Security Report September 2, 2014. https://​nigeriasecuritynetwork.files.wordpress.com/​ 2014/​09/​ne-​on-​the-​brink-​special-​report.pdf Oladipo, T. (2015). “Islamic State Strengthens Ties with Boko Haram,” BBC News, April 24, 2015. http://​www.bbc.co.uk/​news/​world-​africa-​32435614 Owete, F. (2015). “Exclusive: Nigeria, France, Cameroon, Three Other Countries Sign Deal on Massive, Joint Offensive Against Boko Haram,” Premium Times March 18, 2015. http://​www. premiumtimesng.com/​news/​156947-​exclusive-​nigeria-​f rance-​cameroon-​t hree-​other-​ countries-​sign-​deal-​on-​massive-​joint-​offensive-​against-​boko-​haram.html Pantucci, R. and Jesperson, S. (2015). “From Boko Haram to Ansaru, The Evolution of Nigerian Jihad,” RUSI Occasional Paper. London: Royal United Services Institute. Pérouse de Montclos, M. A. (2014). “‘Boko Haram and Politics: From Insurgency to Terrorism,” in M. A. Pérouse (ed.), Boko Haram: Islamism, politics, security and the state in Nigeria (pp. 136–​157). Leiden: African Studies Centre. Reuters (2010). “Nigerian Sect Leader Praises Al Qa’ida, Warns U.S.,” Reuters, July 13, 2010. http://​www.reuters.com/​article/​us-​nigeria-​sect-​idUSTRE66C5PK20100713 Reuters (2015). “Chad Troops Seize Nigerian Town of Dikwa from Boko Haram,” Reuters, March 2, 2015. http://​www.reuters.com/​article/​us-​nigeria-​violence-​chad-​idUSKBN0LY2FY20150302 Roggio, Bill (2012). “Boko Haram Emir Praises Al Qa’ida,” The Long War Journal November 30, 2012. http://​www.longwarjournal.org/​archives/​2012/​11/​boko_​haram_​emir_​prai.php Sahara Reporters (2012). “Boko Haram Denies Kidnapping and Killing European Citizens Involved in Botched Rescue,” Sahara Reporters March 9, 2012. http://​saharareporters.com/​ 2012/​03/​09/​b oko-​haram-​denies-​kidnapping-​and-​killing-​european-​citizens-​involved-​ botched-​rescue Sahara Reporters (2014a). “Boko Haram Has Taken Over Most Parts of Borno–​SSG,” Sahara Reporters September 8, 2014. http://​saharareporters.com/​2014/​09/​08/​boko-​haram-​has-​ taken-​over-​most-​parts-​borno-​%E2%80%93-​ssg Sahara Reporters (2014b). “Nigerian Army Repels Boko Haram, Kills Hundreds of Militants in Konduga,” Sahara Reporters September 17, 2014. http://​saharareporters.com/​2014/​09/​17/​ nigerian-​army-​repels-​boko-​haram-​kills-​hundreds-​militants-​konduga SMB Intel (2017). “With Continuing Boko Haram Attacks What Is the State of the North East?,” SBM Intel July 2017. http://​sbmintel.com/​wp-​content/​uploads/​2016/​03/​201707_​NE-​sitrep.pdf Soyombo, F. (2014). “Nigeria’s ‘Fake’ Ceasefire with Boko Haram,” Al Jazeera, November 11, 2014. http://​www.aljazeera.com/​indepth/​opinion/​2014/​11/​nigeria-​fake-​ceasefire-​with-​b-​ 20141111103442243308.html Tisdall, S. (2015). “Boko Haram–​ISIS Alliance is Nothing but Superficial Propaganda,” Guardian March 8, 2015. https://​www.theguardian.com/​world/​2015/​mar/​08/​boko-​haram-​isis-​alliance​is-​nothing-​but-​superficial-​propaganda Tran, M. (2011). “Nigeria Attack:  Islamist Militants Claim Responsibility for UN Building Blast,” Guardian August 26, 2011. https://​www.theguardian.com/​world/​2011/​aug/​26/​ nigeria-​attack-​islamists-​claim-​responsibility United Nations (2017). “Boko Haram Still Threatens Civilians in Lake Chad Basin, Officials Warn Security Council, Urging United Front to Repair Material, Social Damage,” United Nations, January 12, 2017. https://​www.un.org/​press/​en/​2017/​sc12679.doc.htm

Boko Haram   619 United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (2017a). “Lake Chad Basin Emergency Humanitarian Needs and Requirement Overview,” Reliefweb February 14, 2917. http://​reliefweb.int/​report/​nigeria/​lake-​chad-​basin-​emergency-​humanitarian-​needs-​and-​ requirement-​overview-​february-​2017 United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (2017b). “Cameroon: Food Security and Malnutrition,” Reliefweb March 1, 2017. http://​reliefweb.int/​report/​cameroon/​ cameroon-​food-​security-​and-​malnutrition-​01-​march-​2017 United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (2017c). “Lake Chad Basin:  Crisis Overview,” Reliefweb May 4, 2017. http://​reliefweb.int/​report/​nigeria/​ lake-​chad-​basin-​crisis-​overview-​04-​may-​2017 United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (2017d). “Oslo Humanitarian Conference for Nigeria and the Lake Chad Region Raises $672  Million to Help People in Need,” Reliefweb February 24 2017. http://​reliefweb.int/​report/​nigeria/​ oslo-​humanitarian-​conference-​nigeria-​and-​lake-​chad-​region-​raises-​672-​million-​help Vanguard (2014). “Boko Haram Voices Support for Islamic State’s Baghdadi, Al-​Qaeda,” Vanguard July 13, 2014. http://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2014/​07/​boko-​haram-​voices-​support-​ islamic-​states-​baghdadi-​al-​qaeda/​ Vanguard (2017). “Boko Haram Splinter Group Head Charged with Foreign Kidnappings, Murders,” Vanguard March 14, 2017. http://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2017/​03/​boko-​haram​splinter-​group-​head-​charged-​foreign-​kidnappings-​murders/​ Walker, A. (2016). “Join Us or Die: The Birth of Boko Haram,” Guardian February 4, 2016. https://​www.theguardian.com/​world/​2016/​feb/​04/​join-​us-​or-​die-​birth-​of-​boko-​haram Walker, A. (2012). What is Boko Haram? Washington, DC: United States Institute for Peace. Weeraratne, S. (2017). “Theorizing the Expansion of the Boko Haram Insurgency in Nigeria,” Terrorism and Political Violence 29 (4): 610–​634. Zenn, J. (2014). “Boko Haram Opens New Fronts in Lagos and Nigeria’s Middle Belt,” Terrorism Monitor 12 (15): 6–​8. Zenn, J., Barkindo, A., and Heras, N. (2013). “The Ideological Evolution of Boko Haram in Nigeria,” RUSI Journal 158 (4): 46–​53.

Chapter 36

The Nigeria n C i v i l Wa r and th e Bia fra n Secessionist Rev i va l Obi Nwakanma

Introduction On May 30, 1967, Lieutenant-​Colonel Chukwuemeka Odumegwu-​Ojukwu, military governor of the Eastern Region, declared the independence of the East from the federation of Nigeria, and proclaimed the new republic of Biafra. This was a culmination of a series of events, starting arguably from the first coup, the January 15 coup of 1966 and subsequently, the second coup, often called the “retaliation coup” of July 29, 1966. The first coup had been staged by predominantly middle-​career officers, mostly of Igbo origin. Although that coup had since been called the “Nzeogwu coup,” primarily because it was the voice of the charismatic Major Patrick Chukwuma “Kaduna” Nzeogwu who was heard from Kaduna in the North announcing and outlining the goals of the coup, but it was a plot actually forged and led by another charismatic military officer, Emmanuel Arinze Ifeajuna, with a small coterie of his peers whom the eminent historian Godfrey N. Uzoigwe (1966) has described as “some radical officers of the Nigerian armed forces” (Uzoigwe 1966, p. 1). At that point Major Ifeajuna had been a nationally celebrated star athlete who had won a gold medal in the high jump at the Commonwealth Games in Vancouver in 1954, the same year he was admitted to the then elite University College Ibadan. He graduated with a science degree from Ibadan where he also achieved renown as a formidable leader of the university’s students’ union. He moved in the elegant circle of poets and intellectuals, counting among his closest friends the poets Christopher Okigbo and J. P. Clark. After Ibadan, Ifeajuna taught briefly at the Ebenezer Anglican Grammar school, a secondary school in Abeokuta before enlisting as one of the very early, few university-​educated officers in the Nigerian Army. Ifeajuna’s celebrity status and organizing acumen as a former student leader not only thrust the leadership

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    621 of the January coup on him, but he was also, as Brigade Major of the Lagos Garrison Command, the man with the actual troops to deploy in that coup. He was also an officer whose capabilities, experience, and leadership was much trusted by the garrison commander, Brigadier Zakari Maimalari to whom he was a close confidante.

A Coup Before the Coup The January 15, 1966 coup, it has often been hinted in some critical circles, was a coup that anticipated another major coup billed for Monday, January 17, by a group allegedly led by Brigadier Maimalari himself, who had allegedly used the dinner party in his Ikoyi, Lagos home, as a cover for a last operational meeting for that coup. Ifeajuna, apparently also playing a double role in that plot, participated in the final operational briefing of January 14, and by that midnight issued orders for the commencement of the coup which failed, perhaps because of the suddenness and the exigency that compelled it. Many analysts have suggested that the January 15, 1966 coup was easily quelled because it failed to mobilize the full logistical parts necessary to hold down the coup and contain counteraction in the national capital, Lagos. Although Ifeajuna completed his assigned task, which was to arrest the prime minister, Sir Abubakar, Major John Obienu’s tank battalion, crucial for securing the city for the coup plotters failed to show up from Abeokuta. Major Obienu, it has been said, had either been too drunk from the party at Maimalari’s house, or had developed cold feet, but he chose to sleep it off at his girlfriend’s house in the Palmgrove area of Lagos. The events of that night and the next morning changed the course of Nigerian history fundamentally. Ifeajuna lost grip of Lagos, but not before the abduction of the prime minister, who was later found dead inside a cocoa plantation on the old road to Abeokuta towards Ibadan. The powerful minister of finance, the colorful Festus Okotie-​Eboh had also been abducted and killed. When the body count was taken, fifteen high-​value casualties lay dead. Key army officers such as Brigadier Zak Maimalari, Colonel Abogo Largema, Colonel Kur Muhammed, Lieutenant-​Colonel James Y.  Pam, and Lieutenant-​Colonel Chinyere Arthur Unegbe were killed in Lagos. Northwards in Kaduna, led that night by Major Chukwuma Nzeogwu, soldiers stormed the premier’s lodge and killed the powerful premier of the North, Sir Ahmadu Bello with one of his wives who tried to shield him from his assailants. In the army, Brigadier Sam Ademulegun and his wife were both killed, as was Colonel Ralph Shodeinde. In Ibadan, the controversial premier, Ladoke Akintola, who exchanged fire with the soldiers who came to arrest him, was killed. In the East and Midwest, the premiers Dr. Michael Okpara and Denis Osadebe, both Igbo, were unharmed. The president, Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe was abroad on a medical vacation from late November. The general officer commanding the Nigerian army, Major-​General Aguiyi-​ Ironsi, escaped execution, from a timely call made to him by Colonel Pam. The fatality index weighed more heavily on the North, and it seemed that the coup had all but wiped out the most senior military officers from the North and two of their leading politicians.

622   Obi Nwakanma Two leading Yoruba military officers and the Yoruba premier of the West were also recorded casualties, along with one leading politician of the Midwest, a known ally of the North, and only one very senior Igbo military officer, the army’s Quartermaster-​ General. This scenario was enough to lead to the easy conclusion that the January 15, 1966 coup was an “Igbo coup” or plot to wrest power and dominate Nigeria’s political life. Although two of the active participants in this plot, Major Adewale Ademoyega in Why We Struck (1981) and Ben Gbulie in Nigeria and the Five Majors (1981) wrote to dispel this charge, those sentiments, however, laid the grounds for what would later be described as the “retaliatory coup.” The continued suppression of Ifeajuna’s manuscript written in his brief exile in Ghana, where he clearly outlined the basis of the coup did not help resolve questions about the leadership, and above all, the purpose of the coup in the wider Nigerian imagination. But of that coup, Ben Gbulie (1981) wrote: The truth of the matter, of course, was that the January coup was a coup of the progressive elements of the Nigerian Armed Forces—​an intervention necessitated by the breakdown of law and order in the country. It was therefore neither an “Igbo affair” nor, for that matter the affair of any other ethnic group connected to it. (Gbulie 1981, p. 152)

The “breakdown of law and order” in Nigeria, in some very fundamental, but not well examined way, had its roots in the discontent of a generation of Nigerians, who had become politically conscious and “conscientized” by the anti-​colonialist nationalist movement. This generation felt a powerful dismay over the conduct of the politics of the new nation and the outcome of the process of decolonization. There was skepticism about British “shenanigans” through the period of decolonization that moderated these outcomes, because it basically subverted and forced upon the new nation a provincial and conservative leadership, by consciously sabotaging the ascendancy of a progressive government led by the nationalist party which was compelled to play second fiddle by entering into a controversial and ultimately futile coalition government. It was the kind of discontent expressed in the felt anguish in the voice and dismay of the lines of the last movement of Christopher Okigbo’s “Silences” written in the period: For the far removed there is wailing: For the far removed; For the Distant . . . The wailing is for the fields of crop: The drums lament is: They grow not . . . The wailing is for the fields of men: For the barren wedded ones; For perishing children . . . The wailing is for the Great River: Her pot-​bellied watchers Despoil her . . . . (Okigbo, Labyrinths 1971, p. 50)

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    623 The mood of this poem transmits powerfully, the conversations in Nigeria, particularly in the West of Nigeria where the political situation had rapidly degenerated in the period following a series of political events that came to be known as the “Western Nigerian crisis.” This example of Okigbo’s use of the mode of the “public elegy” and its trope of mourning invoked by the “drum’s lament” and its articulation of the situation of public alienation, political disaster, and elite corruption in the emerging years of early postcolonial Nigeria is an important presage to the shape of things to come not long down the road. It registers the kind of prescience for which Okigbo, arguably Nigeria’s national poet of the postcolonial period, has been described as a “prophetic voice.”

Contextualizing the Coup I should here, contextualize this with a little background to these claims: by the end of Second World War, it became clear that the British colonial enterprise must come to an end. Through forceful challenges from the interwar years to the years following the end of the war, for a reconsideration of the spirit and letters of the “Atlantic Charter,” the nationalist leader, Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, leading other nationalist forces had pressured the Americans and forced the British to accept the imperatives of decolonization in Africa and elsewhere. Zik pressed for the necessity in the particular case of Nigeria for a ten-​year transition program. By 1947, various British colonial administrations realizing that they needed to establish an exit strategy that would involve the security of British interests in Nigeria, and considering the nationalists as adversaries, began to actively subvert them, including actively infiltrating the “Zikist Movement,” the militant wing of the Nationalist party, the NCNC, and recruiting what it termed “moderates” whom it could support in the quest for power in the decolonizing process. In fact Harold Cooper’s letter to K.  W. Blackburne in 1947, outlines this operation1. Between 1947 and 1957, the British supervised, and manipulated the process of the transfer of power, leading first to home rule for the Eastern and Western Regions in 1957, the appointment of the first government by the British under Balewa, and the constitutional conferences in London in 1957 and 1958. Independence followed in 1960 after the 1959 elections. The nationalist party, the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC) decided to form a coalition government with the Northern Peoples Congress (NPC), and that government, a marriage of strange bedfellows at best, had as much as collapsed by 19642. Between 1960 and 1966, Nigeria witnessed a number of political crises, from the outrage over the proposed security partnership with Britain, a protest led by a Nigerian student at the University College Ibadan in 1960, in which Ifeajuna had been a leading organizer, to the Action Group Party crisis, the imposition of emergency rule in Western Nigeria in 1962. It also witnessed the subsequent arrest and imprisonment of Obafemi Awolowo and some of his party lieutenants on the charges of criminal sedition and a plot to overthrow the federal government; the fallout from the 1964 federal census, the Labor crisis;

624   Obi Nwakanma the violent suppression of the Tiv riots in the north, and the disagreements over the federal elections, with accusations of vote suppression levied against the NPC in the north, and their new coalition allies in the west. The final result was the resistance to election rigging in the Western regional elections of December 1965, resulting in the “wetie” violence of what became generally known as the “wild, wild west”—​riots that began to spill into Lagos, the federal capital, by that January of 1966. Nigeria was thus a cauldron of fierce animosities that seemed to engulf the new nation, and had become the basis of the disorder that compelled the army to strike. The politicians seemed to have lost their grip. The army was also increasingly divided and politicized along regional and political lines, even more so with the appointment of Major-​General Ironsi, an apolitical and professional soldier, trained in British regimental ways, as GOC after the British GOC, Sir Christopher Welby-​Everard left in 1965. It was only a question of who would strike first. But this was the material situation in Nigeria the morning of January 15, 1966. That evening the coup failed, when General Ironsi, who had escaped the cordon, mobilized and seized the initiative, and put down the coup. After meetings with the acting president, Dr. Nwafor Orizu and the rump of the cabinet of the old government, Ironsi was mandated with the authority to quell the disturbances, and restore the restive republic. He assumed the office of the Supreme Commander and Military Head of State, and governed with a Supreme Military Council, that included Lieutenant-​Colonel Emeka Odumegwu-​Ojukwu, whom he had appointed military governor of the Eastern Region, as a member. Lieutenant-​Colonel Yakubu “Jack” Gowon was appointed his Chief of Army Staff and also a member of the Supreme Military Council. On July 29, 1966, however, after only six months at the helm, Ironsi and his host, Lieutenant-​Colonel Francis Adekunle Fajuyi, were abducted from the Governors Lodge in Ibadan and executed on the road to Iwo, in a coup by officers from Northern Nigeria, at the head of which was Ironsi’s Chief of Staff, Yakubu Gowon, Murtala R. Muhammed, Theophilius Danjuma, Martin Adamu, William Walbe, Nuhu Nathan, and other officers. Northern officers and subalterns ransacked the barracks and staged a violent and systematic purge of their fellow Igbo officers across Nigeria, starting with the killings at the Abeokuta barracks which was the trigger for the coup. The July 29 coup, however, failed in Enugu, where Ojukwu and Colonel David Ogunewe had managed to contain matters. The effect of the failure of the coup in Enugu was chilling. It ensured a stalemate, even as events began to evolve rapidly in the North, the West, and the capital Lagos. When Gowon assumed power on August 4, 1966, Ojukwu refused to recognize him, and basically insisted on two conditions: an accounting for the whereabouts of the missing body of General Ironsi; and a return to the ordered hierarchy of military succession in order to preserve the discipline and routine of the army. As the intrigues played out in the deepest circles of government, the streets had also become corrosive with organized killings nation-​wide of Southerners, particularly the Igbo. The pogrom culminated in the return of the famous headless body and disemboweled pregnant women in one of the death trains bringing numerous Easterners fleeing from the violence that was much, much worse and organized in the north. The mood was

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    625 powerfully captured by Colin Legum in his London Observer newspaper report that October: While the Hausa in each town and village in the north know what happened in their own localities, only the Ibo know the whole terrible story from 600,000 or so refugees who have fled to safety the Eastern region—​hacked, slashed, mangled, stripped naked, and robbed of their whole possession; the orphans; the widows, the traumatized. A woman, mute and dazed, arrived back in her village after traveling for five days with only a bowl in her lap. She held her child’s head, which was severed before her eyes. Men, women, and children arrived with arms and legs broken, hands hacked off, mouths split open. Pregnant women were cut open and their unborn children killed. The total casualties are unknown. The number of injured who have arrived in the East run into thousands. After a fortnight the scene in the Eastern Region continues to be reminiscent of the ingathering of exiles into Israel after the end of the last war. The parallel is not fanciful. (Legum 1966)

As a matter of fact, the novelist Chinua Achebe writes very poignantly of this time in his last memoir, There was a Country, with authoritative and penetrating insight, perhaps only possible because of his privileged location in the evolving conflict. He writes: What terrified me about the massacres in Nigeria was this: if it was only a question of rioting on the streets, and so on, that would be bad enough, but it could be explained. It happens everywhere in the world. But in this particular case a detailed plan for mass killing was implemented by the government—​the army, the police—​the very people who were to protect life and property. Not a single person has been punished for these crimes. It was not just human nature, a case of someone hating his neighbor and chopping off his head. It was something far more devastating, because it was a premediated plan that involved careful coordination, awaiting only the right spark. (Achebe 2012, p. 82)

The first seeds of Biafra were sown in those moments and with those cruel images sown in the minds and consciousness of the East. However, between August 4, 1966 and May 29, 1967 when the republic of Biafra was proclaimed, a series of moves were made to resolve what had ballooned into a major national crisis resulting in a civil war which Odumegwu-​Ojukwu would describe years later as the “longest resistance to a military coup.” There were a series of abortive conferences aimed at staving off the conflict, the most important of these was at Aburi in Ghana, which produced what became generally known as the “Aburi Accord.” Aburi was a last-​ditch effort to avoid a potential confrontation, and establish a bilateral compromise that would restore both confidence in the political leadership about the continued viability of the nation, and allay the fears and vulnerabilities of the East in its relationship with the rest of Nigeria. There is evidence of British involvement in initiating and brokering the grounds for both the conference and the compromise through Malcolm MacDonald, son of Britain’s first Labour prime minister,

626   Obi Nwakanma Ramsay MacDonald, who himself had been the last British Governor of Kenya, and its High Commissioner after independence in 1963. MacDonald had proposed the idea of a meeting of the four regional governors and members of the Supreme Military Council on the guarantees of his personal close relationship with General Ankrah of Ghana. Years later, the British High Commissioner to Nigeria at the time, Sir Francis Cumming-​Bruce  said: I invited Malcolm MacDonald over to Lagos, in the guise of a holiday, but of course in reality he acted as my emissary, keeping the doors open, in an attempt at trying to stop hostilities breaking out between the opposing parties. He traveled extensively between Lagos, Enugu and Kaduna. Of course the whole idea was to uphold the unity of Nigeria. (quoted in Gould 2012, p. 48)

As reported by the Daily Times in Lagos on January 5, 1967, the Aburi conference was held in a “cordial atmosphere” under the mediatory guidance of Ghana’s General J. A. Ankrah. The East led by Ojukwu and the federal delegation led by Gowon, the Daily Times reported, agreed on some wide-​ranging principles: These included a declaration renouncing the use of force as a means of settling the present crisis in Nigeria and holding themselves in honour bound by the declaration. They also reaffirmed their faith in discussions and negotiation as the only peaceful way of resolving the Nigerian crisis. (Daily Times 1967)

For a very brief moment, it did seem that the Aburi agreements would resolve the matter and guarantee a new sense of coherence for Nigeria governed under the “confederal” principle. Indeed, an elated Malcolm MacDonald, basking in the apparent success of his efforts, told Sir David Hunt, the incoming replacement of Cumming-​Bruce as British High Commissioner in Lagos, that the merit of the agreement was its simplicity: the constitution is to be further amended to give each region almost total autonomy and in return the East acknowledges the unity of Nigeria and recognizes the Federal Military Government with Gowon as its head. (Gould 2012, p. 48)

It does appear that factors, deeply personal and public, converged to thwart this effort. Very clearly, on arriving in Lagos, Yakubu Gowon came under intense pressure from three fronts—​his top bureaucrats, leaders of the minority ethnic groups, and emirs of the North—​on revising the very basis of the Aburi agreements. This led to what amounted to a reneging on the principles already negotiated to accommodate the East’s position within the nation, and consequently pushed the Eastern administration to maintain what it saw as a principled position, by insisting on the implementation of the Aburi agreement. It led to Ojukwu’s famous declaration, “on Aburi we stand.” Ignoring all of Aburi, the Lagos administration went further by dismantling the Eastern government, by announcing on May 27, 1967, with neither consultation with the East nor referendum, the creation of twelve states, three of which were in the Eastern Region. It turned out to

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    627 be a preemptive masterstroke by Gowon and Lagos. Already under pressure by the representatives of the East, Governor Ojukwu countered Yakubu Gowon on May 29, 1967, by announcing secession from Nigeria and proclaiming the new republic of Biafra as an independent nation after securing the mandate of the Eastern Consultative Assembly.

The Commencement of Civil War And so on July 6, 1967, the first shots rang out from Garkem and Nsukka, on the Northern fronts of the new nation of Biafra, thus commencing what became three years of brutal civil war with the federal army which first announced the war as a “police action.” The federal army made quick gains; it sacked the university town of Nsukka and was on its way to the Biafran capital in Enugu, just miles away. The Biafrans on their part responded with a brilliant expedition and incursion through the Midwest, and were billeted at Ore, ready with only a small push to get them into Lagos, where a panicky federal capital was threatened and reportedly on the verge of evacuation. That campaign was mismanaged, however, subverted by a concert of British diplomatic moves and the ambivalence of the military leaders of that campaign called the “Liberation Army.” These were Colonel Victor Banjo and Major Emmanuel Ifeajuna who were stymied in Benin, and were later to be executed alongside the diplomat Sam Agbam and the radical labor leader Philip Alale, on charges of treason, just before Enugu, the Biafran capital fell to the Federal forces in October 1967. Thereafter Biafra fought a defensive war. For close to three years, the Biafrans resisted and fought until they lost all but a slice of their territory to the federal army, and thus encircled and exhausted, were compelled to seek a cessation of conflict, and negotiate an end to the war on January 15, 1970. The war had roused world opinion in ways made possible only by the power of the new medium, television, which transmitted images of starving Biafran children suffering from kwashiorkor to a global audience. The reports by valiant international journalists began to draw attention to the carnage; the massacres, particularly in Asaba, the Igbo town nestling by the lordly Niger on the western side of the great Igbo market town Onitsha; the bombing of civilian places—​churches, schools, hospitals, and such atrocities. As the federal forces advanced into the Igbo heartland, the possibility of genocide, given the war practices and aims of the federal army, became the worry for many international observers and aid workers. By late 1969, however, the series of diplomatic and strategic moves, both internationally and within Biafra itself led by Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, resulted in the possibility of the negotiated terms that ended Biafra, and provoked Gowon’s official declaration of a “No victor, no vanquished” principle. On January 10, General Odumegwu-​Ojukwu was forced out of Biafra, and the rump of the Biafran leadership reached out to the leadership of the Third Marine Commando fighting from Port Harcourt under the command of Colonel Olusegun Obasanjo, already at the edges of the last major Biafran city, Owerri, and offered an olive branch. Meeting finally at Amichi, a small Igbo town only a few miles from Orlu, the Biafrans and the officers of the Third Marine Commando

628   Obi Nwakanma hammered out agreements to end of war. On January 15, Major-​General Philip Effiong, leading a delegation of Biafrans finally met with General Gowon and his federal executive council at Dodan Barracks, to formally end the civil war.

The Aftermath The war and its outcome, however, clearly redefined the Igbo position within the federation of Nigeria. It also marked the end of the old federation as well as the formal end of an organic Eastern Nigerian union. The consequent rupturing of old personal affiliations of former Easterners who had been in Biafra, and the confusions which all that entailed, is captured eloquently in the words of Michael J. C. Echeruo recalling the “dire comradeship” with the poet Gabriel Okara, “at Ogwa in the last days of the war.” Echeruo writes: Okara, I recall, was at that point a doubly defeated man. He had fought and lost the war against a formidable army; he was then about to lose a war against metaphysical injustice. After our surrender we were all asked to report to our former stations. For Okara, that should have meant returning to his previous posting at Enugu, the capital of the old Eastern Region. No, Okara was told. He had to report to Port Harcourt, where he had been declared a saboteur and traitor to the cause of Rivers state; and there he did go, exhausted, clutching a few scrap of innocuous papers and hardly any of the many fine poems he had written during and about the war; including one poem that would have served as the Biafran National anthem had Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe’s offer of Claude McKay’s “If we must Die,” set to the tune of Sibelius, not been imposed at midnight. (Echeruo 1992, p. 456)

Here was a new structure of the nation by war’s end: from four regions, two of which formerly had Igbo premiers, the Eastern region and the Midwestern region, the Igbo were basically quarantined or sequestered into one out of the twelve postwar states—​the East Central State—​under the administration of an Igbo intellectual, Anthony Ukpabi Asika, who had been on the federal side and was regarded in large part by the Igbo as something of a “sabo” or sell-​out. Vast parts of the Igbo were made minorities in Southeastern State, Rivers State, and Bendel State. In fact, in Bendel State, the old Midwest, the Igbo became far less prominent than had been the case before the war. Although no Nuremberg-​style trials took place in 1970, Eastern Nigerian military officers, police, and the top civil servants were purged from the Nigerian service, and to compound it all, the twenty pounds policy was put in place3. This policy, alongside the loss of the city of Port Harcourt and the seizure of their property in that city as “abandoned property,” would come to signify for the Igbo in the long run, the very basis of their new situation as they perceived it in the postwar era in Nigeria. If we have to look for the true inspiration for the resurgence of Biafra, we are compelled to see it in the unresolved questions of the status of the Igbo within the nation. And in this, the persistence of the narrative of Igbo

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    629 marginality and the sharp sense of injustice preserved, particularly in the abandoned property issue and the twenty-​pounds policy that the Igbo continue to see as directed against their survival, and aimed to permanently injure their economic interests and impoverish them as a consequence of their resistance. It is a narrative that has turned the “no victor, no vanquished” policy into no more than sloganeering. But these feelings of Igbo ethnic marginality have been incremental, and must be seen not only in the outcomes of the war, but also in the aftereffects of what many of their former adversaries came also to perceive as “Igbo resurgence” in the affairs of the nation. The 1970s were fortunate years and a providential decade for postwar Nigeria. The “oil boom,” the result of the Middle East oil crisis, bolstered Nigeria’s finances; flush with new petrodollars, Nigeria was saved from the bitter consequences of a postwar financial slump. Rather, with new oil revenue filling Nigeria’s coffers, Yakubu Gowon was to declare in one moment of elation that the problem with Nigeria was not so much lack of money but how to spend it. It was in the backdrop of new national wealth that young and mid-​career Igbo went back to work and were absorbed in the new economy. New wealth meant new tastes and new desires, and taking hold of the opportunity, many Igbo fanned out again in great numbers back to Nigeria where they found new work in construction, in trade, and in business, taking advantage in ironic ways of the opportunities to fill gaps left in the economy to build new enterprises. Beneath the flush of new wealth, however, there were clear, emerging signals that the Igbo were treated differently in terms of recruitment and positioning in the prestige jobs in the federal government. Many Igbo who returned to the federal workforce lost their seniority; many began to notice the application of a discriminatory “quota system” which sometimes promoted junior colleagues by many years from other regions to senior positions ahead of more experienced Igbo in the federal service in the name of “balancing. “New federal recruitments also seemed increasingly to reserve and tilt more prestige jobs in the foreign service, in defense, in public finance, and the lucrative corporations; young Igbo graduates were more likely to be posted not to administration in the education services, but as teachers in the new federal government colleges, and this was to have ironic effects years later. But in the main, there were jobs to be had; new desires to be filled with new wealth, and many Igbo chose to go into trade and business when they could not secure the kinds of jobs they wanted. Oil wealth mitigated the consequences of the end of the war, and in many instances, obscured the emerging contradictions that would rise to the surface soon enough. It is enough to say here that because they were quickly absorbed by the booming economy of the 1970s, the Igbo seemed to have returned to Nigeria quickly, and that there was a sense of “true reconciliation” with Nigeria, and a restoration of the compact of nation was only possible because the economic pressure was modulated by oil wealth. But there was also a sense, even in the 1970s, that although the Gowon administration promised the three Rs—​Reconstruction, Reconciliation, and Rehabilitation—​the execution of the policy was half-​hearted, particularly the aspect of “Reconstruction,” as there was very little evidence of the reconstruction of the infrastructure damaged in the war in the East, although the Gowon government had established a program for that purpose under the supervision of Obasanjo and Professor

630   Obi Nwakanma Adedeji. The East, particularly the Igbo heartland, continued to bear the burden of damaged infrastructure—​the power stations, the water works, the once-​beautiful road networks that crisscrossed the Eastern Region; the bombed-​out schools, hospitals, and markets, and much of the city utilities and public works equipment that were neither replaced nor upgraded, and that remained unreconstructed and unrehabilitated to date. That decade of the 1970s ended with the transition of power from military rule to civil rule, and there was in that momentary interlude of national history, a sense for the Igbo, even with the clear limitations of that transition to power, of the possibility of a new beginning with the nation. Nigeria’s political transition was part of the agreements reached for the end of war, and it was to culminate in the transfer of power by 1976. However, by 1974, General Gowon announced that the transition program by 1976 was unrealistic, and it became increasingly uncertain whether it would happen. As the Nigerian journalist Ray Ekpu notes: When Gen. Yakubu Gowon said in 1974 that his promise to return the country to civilian rule in 1976 was no longer realistic, Nigerians thought it was a sit-​tight ploy by the military, which had been in power for eight years. When General Gowon was overthrown in July 1975, the new military leaders cited his failure to keep promises as one of his cardinal sins. (Ekpu 1987)

Murtala Muhammed, who took over from Gowon, quickly put a transition program in place and even his assassination on February 13, 1976 did not deter his successor Olusegun Obasanjo from concluding the transfer of power on October 1, 1979. In a sense, democratic rule restored full democratic hope for the Igbo in their relationship with Nigeria. Furthermore, as a group, they were active participants in the transitional process towards a new republic. Sir Louis Mbanefo, for former Chief Justice of the Eastern Region and Biafra had been designated the Chairman of the Constituent Assembly, until he died suddenly in March 1977. The symbolism should not be lost here—​the fact that the judge, a former central figure of the Biafran secession—​was to be at the center of shaping the new constitution that would construct the new republic. Of the Nigerian elections and the return to democracy and party politics in 1979, Keith Panter-​Brick has noted that the design for the Second Republic rested on four conscious paradigms or factors “ensuring that those who contest elections pay due regard to the overriding requirements of national unity and democratic practice” that would reduce the “cut-​throat competitions” which hobbled the First Republic and apparently watered the grounds for the civil war: In the hope of avoiding a return to that kind of cut-​throat competition, the Nigerians have put their trust (tempered with varying degree of scepticism) in four factors. These range from the very general presumptions to quite specific legal requirements. The first of these is the assertion that the 1967–​70 civil war, far from intensifying internal divisions, brought about greater national integration. The war was fought and won in the name of national unity, a cause with which all are said to have become

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    631 identified; including even in the end the defeated Ibos, to whom the victorious federalist forces held out the hand of reconciliation. (Panter-​Brick 1979, p. 318)

And so, at the onset of party politics from 1977, only seven years after the civil war, the Igbo and former Biafrans were psychologically integrated and emotionally resolved enough to participate vigorously in national politics and in the transition process with optimism. All the parties seemed to have actively courted the Igbo and it is notable that all the registered parties for national elections in 1979 nominated and fielded Igbo politicians as their vice presidents, except the NPP, which had fielded the old nationalist leader, Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, whom they had convinced and cajoled out of political retirement to provide a rallying force for a much more than symbolic stake for the Igbo in national politics in the postwar era. Azikiwe had fielded the respected Northern (Hausa) intellectual, Dr. Ishaya Audu as his vice president. When the NPN, a broad-​ based party of wealthy business interests across Nigeria won with Shehu Shagari as president, and Dr. Alex Ekwueme, then a not-​too-​well known but wealthy Igbo architect and businessman, as vice president, it invited Dr. Azikiwe’s NPP into a coalition government, primarily, to secure its tenure in government. The NPN–​NPP accord had the direct effect of returning the Igbo to government. For the first time since the end of the civil war, the Igbo became visible in the affairs of the government of Nigeria; many former Biafrans became prominent in the federal government, and by 1982, the leader of the Biafran rebellion himself, General Emeka Odumegwu-​Ojukwu had been granted a full pardon for his role in Biafra by President Shagari and he returned to a tumultuous welcome. Augustine Udo identifies another important dimension, a mitigating factor, which might equally explain the dampening of  “the cleavages” of national politics up to that point, which made the Igbo sense of slow reintegration possible at that point: The arresting of tensions brought about by competition for access to state coffer was aided by the coincidence of the military handover with a period in which Nigerian oil revenues were at their peak. The relative abundance of oil money reduced the accent placed on volatile communal partisanship as the basis for appropriation of national wealth since for the first time in modern Nigerian history, real opportunities existed for the development of a broad-​based business class free from government patronage for its survival. (Panter-​Brick 1979, p. 331)

The Igbo thrived under this condition. Rebuilding of the East was apparent especially in the new projects embarked upon by the elected NPP governments, and the growing benefits from promises of new infrastructural investment delivered from the alliances forged with the central government. When President Shagari visited Imo state in 1981, Governor Sam Mbakwe secured a promise from the president to site the planned multimillion naira Nigerian Petrochemical Plant in Ohaji, in Imo state. That same year, a new Federal University of Technology was built in Owerri, relieving years of pressure for another institution of higher learning in the Eastern areas with its very high numbers

632   Obi Nwakanma of high school graduates. And so, in spite of the numerous flaws of the Second Republic under President Shagari, there was a higher sense of optimism and well-​being among the Igbo, amplified particularly with the return of electoral politics and democracy. But at the same time, worrying developments were surfacing. The slump in oil prices, the result of the global oil glut in 1980, forced Shagari to announce an austerity measure in 1981, and by 1983, the economic pressures had begun to unravel many questions about revenue allocation, access to import licensing and foreign exchange, and access to opportunities. The abundance of oil revenue that dampened the cleavages, also began to surface in a different direction, with decline in revenue, and the slow return of the “cut-​ throat competition” for state resources. This was the situation when the election of 1983 came with its shocking outcomes signified by the awe of the announcements of “Verdict 83” on the National Television, the NTA. The elections had been massively rigged and Shehu Shagari had been returned to power against all odds. The economic condition and the brazen rigging of the elections provided the excuse for the military, which had only four years previously assisted in the political transition to elected government, to return to power through a coup on December 31, 1983. The leaders of the coup were mostly the young field officers who had fought the war in Biafra, and who were now the senior officers of the Nigerian military. There had been rumblings among them as the army withdrew to the barracks during democratization, about how their senior commanders had all grown wealthy with their forays in government, leaving them, former junior officers in the lurch with the transition to civil rule. Many also felt deep anger about the return of former Biafrans to prominence. The prospects of a possible Ekwueme presidency in 1987 was, as relayed to S. G. Ikoku, an important impetus for that late December coup that returned the soldiers to power. Needless to say, at this point the grounds for the resurgence of the new Biafra movement was cleared from that moment. The return of the military in 1983, now under the rule of those who had been the younger officers of the last war, and who thus fought with greater adversarial feelings for the former Biafrans must account for this new Biafran movement in a number of ways. First, it quickly alienated the Igbo from the coverage of democratic representation; second, it dredged up old animosities and memories buried by the pattern of slow inclusion from the 1970s, and third, it drove the Igbo to new modes of self-​representation by an increasingly powerful disarticulation of the idea of a Nigerian nation, or any metaphysical affiliation to national identity in ways that produced what Claude Ake would call “political anxiety” (Ake 1973, p. 347). Buhari’s military regime from January 1984 to August 1985, for instance, did not have a single prominent Igbo officer represented in the new polity. A new Igbo sense of alienation began to emerge and was only mildly assuaged with the overthrow of the Muhammadu Buhari regime in August 1985 by General Ibrahim Babangida, who then appointed a senior Igbo naval officer, Commodore Ebitu Ukiwe as the Chief of General Staff—​basically the military vice president of that regime. But one year later, in 1986, Ukiwe was relieved of his position in very controversial circumstances, following disagreements with Babangida on the question of Nigeria’s membership of the Organization of Islamic States (OIC) into which Babangida had unilaterally committed Nigeria. There are two

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    633 dimensions to this question of Igbo nationalist resurgence—​one political and the other religious—​but all tied together in a profoundly complex and problematic identity question. The OIC issue and Ukiwe’s removal from government was a hot button issue, largely for its symbolism of Igbo loss of power and effective representation at the center of contemporary Nigerian politics, but more so for the intensified Christian–​Muslim divide into which Nigeria, still purporting to be a secular state, was thrown. Religion has increasingly become the basis of contemporary Nigerian identity politics. In this sense, it has added dimensions of conflict to the daily reality in which the Igbo continued to view the civil war as a Muslim “jihad” with the stated objective of Islamizing the “Christian South” of which the Igbo constitute the bulk.

Conclusion The specter of Islamization and its resistance, in other words, constitutes an important aspect in the shaping of the new Biafra consciousness, which with territoriality and ethnocentrisms, or territorial ethnocentrism, constitutes increasing zones of difference in the definitions of the identity of groups in the modern Nigerian state. Territorial ethnocentrism feeds from the complicated “indigeneship” or “state of origin” requirement in the Nigerian Constitution which seems to have rendered the provision of citizenship in that same constitution obscure in the Nigerian context—​and has given rise to the kind of ethnic consciousness which Nsemba E. Lenshie has discerned as defining the “in-​group, out-​group relations” (Lenshie 2014, p. 156) that has increasingly marked Nigerian national culture. The years of the interregnum of military rule, from 1983 to 1999 were the years that the Igbo as a group experienced its most intense sense of a loss of power or place in Nigeria. As a group, the Igbo have grown increasingly sensitive to what they feel to be a deliberate, strategic reduction of its place as an ethnic majority group in Nigeria by government policies. Access to the kinds of opportunities determined by inclusion and participation in power have been denied them. This—​the sense among a young generation of institutionalized and systemic discrimination and “marginalization”—has fueled a sense of powerful discontent that has spiraled into a new movement for self-​determination. The collapse of the Nigerian economy from the middle of the 1980s with the introduction of austerity measures and the structural distortions of the Structural Adjustment Program (SAP), introduced by the military administration of Babangida by 1987, with its consequence of radical deindustrialization and its shrinking of the public system, made very certain that young Igbo school leavers and university graduates could no longer easily find employment either in the public system or in industry. The shrinking of Igbo power in the political system also made certain that the Igbo were the greater losers in the fierce competition for state resources once mitigated by a surfeit of petrodollars. Accounting for about 57 percent of total new university and polytechnic graduates in various fields, these young educated Igbo, were also the likeliest to be denied increasingly scarce and competitive jobs, sometimes to the benefits of

634   Obi Nwakanma candidates from other parts of the nation, who had better access to political representation. Many of these young Igbo went into learning new trades after graduation and became entrepreneurs, a majority were jobless with an abundance of skills as engineers, scientists, artists, business managers, and so on. A great number of these young Igbo began to “escape” or migrate and settle, some at great risk, in Europe and America, and indeed across the world, forming within the last thirty years, a great and embittered diaspora, whose experience and relationship with Nigeria as a homeland has become increasingly ambivalent. A great wave of these young Igbo also dispersed across Nigeria, and especially in major Nigerian cities, where they formed new ghettoes of urban discontent, where many were forced to live on their wit, but where there also came to exist, discourse communities with increasingly irredentist colorations. The return of democracy in 1999 reduced the pressure, but also amplified Igbo discontent with the experience of Dr. Alex Ekwueme in the PDP, and what increasingly became for these Igbo a clear demonstration by the rest of Nigeria of a continued hostility and distrust of the Igbo at the center of power. As a matter of fact, the Movement for the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB), the first of these new Biafra organizations, with Ralph Uwazurike as its leaders, emerged in response to this moment—​Ekwueme’s loss at the Jos conventions of the PDP. The new movement, the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), an outgrowth of the Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB), has been given new energy by the return of Muhammadu Buhari to power. One of the driving impulses seems to be a memory of Buhari’s own treatment and his restated attitude to the Igbo, in his policies that comprehensively isolated them in the formation of his new government in 2015. In sum therefore, the new Biafra movement is in many ways a reactionary movement, doubtless. But it is a movement that has taken into account the fatalities of Nigeria’s failed federation. It has been inspired by the discontent and conditioning of a young Igbo diaspora who sense the loss of a “patria” which they wish to reconstitute in a new space of the “homeland,” called Biafra. It is also driven by an alienated generation of young Igbo in Nigeria, who have been buoyed to new ethnic consciousness by a sense of loss of power, as well as a powerful nostalgia for a nation which their own parents dreamed of, mythologized, and romanticized as the powerful alternative to a Nigeria drifting beyond any resolve. It is the product of what Marxists would call a false consciousness, and what Ukoha Ukiwo would describe as “a cumulatively reawakened persecution complex” (Ukiwo 2009, p. 27) among the new Igbo.

Notes 1. See Cooper, Harold. Public Relations Officer. Letter to K. W. Blackburne, Colonial Office, October 13, 1947, Enclosure 1, CO 537/​5133. 2. The Nationalist party, Dr.  Azikiwe’s NCNC (National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons) with a vast national spread won the plurality of votes nationwide with a total of 2,592,629 votes accounting for 36 percent of votes, with the Sarduana of Sokoto, Sir Ahmadu Bello-​led NPC (Northern Peoples Congress) winning 2,027,194, accounting for 28.21 percent of total votes cast, and the AG (Action Group) of Mr. Awolowo, winning 1,986,839 or

The Nigerian Civil War and the Biafran Secessionist Revival    635 27.65 percent of the votes. But according to the delineation of the constituencies conducted by the British, the NPC won 139 seats allowing them a majority of the seats to form a government, the NCNC 89, and the AG 73 seats. After a meeting of the NCNC, the party, although Leftist in orientation, accepted to go into a coalition government with the conservative NPC rather than the centerist Action Group, to forestall the North’s threat of secession, and guarantee the unity of the Nigerian federation. See data in Nohlen, D., Krennerich, M., and Thibaut, B. (1999), Elections in Africa: A Data Handbook (OUP), p. 707. 3. At the end of the civil war, Obafemi Awolowo, as Federal Commissioner of Finance and Deputy Chairman of the Federal Executive Council, formulated and directed a policy that paid a flat £20 to Igbo bank depositors irrespective of the original amount in their accounts. This has been seen as a key means of disempowering the Igbo, particularly their businessmen at the end of the war. It was significant, more so, because it was in the period when the policy of indigenization permitted Nigerians to buy shares in foreign controlled businesses. The Igbo were far too financially strapped as a result of this policy to participate, and have felt ever since a massive sense of expropriation, particularly in places where they once held sway.

References Achebe, Chinua (2012). There Was A Country: A Personal History of Biafra. New York: Penguin. Ake, Claude (1973). “Explaining Political Instability in New States,” Journal of Modern African Studies 11 (3): 347–​359. Cumming-​Bruce, Francis (2012). “Interview,” in Michael Gould, The Struggle for Modern Nigeria: The Biafran War 1967–​1970. London: I. B. Tauris. Daily Times (1967). “Talks Held in Cordial Atmosphere,” Daily Times, January 5, 1967. Echeruo, M. J. C. (1992). “Gabriel Okara: a Poet and his Season,” World Literature Today 66 (3): 454–​456. Ekpu, Ray (1987). “A Voice from Nigeria: Waiting, Once Again, for Democracy,” New York Times, July 26, 1987. Gbulie, Ben (1981). Nigeria’s Five Major, Coup d’état of 15 January 1966, First Inside Account. Onitsha: African Educational Publisher Ltd. Gould, Michael (2012). The Struggle for Modern Nigeria: The Biafran War 1967–​1970. London: I. B. Tauris. Legum, Colin (1966). Observer (London), October 16, 1966. Lenshie, Nsemba E. (2014). “Ties that Bind and Differences that Divide:  Exploring the Resurgence of Ethno-​Cultural Identity in Nigeria,” Africa Development 39 (2): 153–​212. Okigbo, Christopher (1971). “Silences,” in Labyrinths with Path of Thunder. London: Heinemann. Panter-​Brick, Keith (1979). “Nigeria: The 1979 Elections,” African Spectrum 14 (3): 317–​335. Ukiwo, Ukoha (2009). “Violence, Identity, Mobilization and the Reimagining of Biafra,” Africa Development 34 (1): 9–​30. Uzoigwe, Godfrey N. “The Igbo Genocide, 1966:  Where is the Outrage,” http://​www. genocidescholars.org/ ​ s ites/ ​ d efault/ ​ f iles/ ​ d ocument%09%5Bcurrent- ​ p age%3A1%5D/​ documents/​IAGS%202011%20GODFREY%20UZOIGWE.pdf

Chapter 37

T he Rise and De c l i ne ( and Rise) of t h e Ni g e r Delta Reb e l l i on Omolade Adunbi

Introduction This chapter maps three moments in the politics of oil in the Niger Delta in particular, and Nigeria in general. The chapter draws a correlation between the emergence of protest movements and the resultant rise of insurgency groups against oil corporations and the state. My argument is that an oil economy and the politics associated with it have aided the production of three interrelated moments for the Niger Delta and Nigeria. These three moments are all rooted in a particular practice that privileges the state and multinational oil corporations over local communities where the oil resources are located and exploited. This privileging has aided, and continues to aid, a form of political claim-​making that is embedded in notions of ownership centered on communal landholding and ancestral promise of wealth. In 2016, a group known as the Niger Delta Avengers (NDA) announced its formation and immediately embarked on a new form of insurgency against the federal government of Nigeria. In a statement signed by its spokesperson “Colonel” Murdock Agbinigbo, the group claimed to have the capacity to cripple the economy of Nigeria1. The group, in several other public news releases, including through its website, stated its mission as secession from Nigeria and actualization of the sovereign Niger Delta Republic, where the region’s oil would be solely used for the benefit of the entire Niger Delta. The new militant group stated: “We shall no longer sacrifice oil to feed all, nor are we willing to subject our environment to pollution while the proceeds are used to beautify [non] now [sic] oil producing states.”2 In the last two decades, the struggles to control the oil resources of the Niger Delta have continued to be defining moments of political organizing in Nigeria. Multinational

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    637 corporations such as Chevron, Shell, and Mobil, as well as the Nigerian state, engage in practices that result in the production of centralized power to strengthen the state’s hold on oil resources. However, local-​level citizens and groups increasingly challenge the marginalization of their oil-​producing communities. As their human and environmental rights are suppressed, they adopt alternative means of negotiating survival and other forms of power to assert communal control of their land and resources. In many communities across the Niger Delta region, state control of natural resources has led to the complete erosion of customs, traditions, and cultures around which the people of the region once organized their lives. Sacred sites designated as religious worship centers have been relocated to new sites or destroyed to give way to oil platforms, flow stations, and pipelines. To many Niger Delta communities, these examples of oil infrastructure represent an impending wealth (Adunbi 2015). Since the discovery of oil in 1956, this impending wealth has resulted in different contestations that sometimes pitted many communities against each other in claims about ownership of oil, or oftentimes led to an insurgency against multinational corporations and the Nigerian state. Today, legal institutions of the state have transferred ownership of land and resources to the government. Many community members therefore turn to rebellion in order to reclaim the land and resources they feel have been taken from them. The first moment of political claim-​making came with the first oil insurgency led by Isaac Jasper Adaka Boro. The rebellion by Boro, who has been transformed into an iconic figure and a martyr by several subsequent rebel movements in the Niger Delta, marked the beginning of a long process of ownership claims to oil resources by the people of the Niger Delta. The second moment produced another iconic figure, Ken Saro-​Wiwa, who projected himself as a nonviolent agitator and used his local and international influence to rally the Ogonis, a section of the Niger Delta, against the activities of the Nigerian state and its multinational oil collaborators, such as Shell. I argue that these two moments, though different in approach, have helped a great deal in producing the current third moment in the organization of rebellion against the state and oil corporations. Oil extraction has transformed oil from a mere commodity of international value, to a national treasure jealously guarded by the national government and embedded in the legalism of the state. Where this clashes with notions of property as communal and ancestrally derived, communities turn to protest, increasingly combining it with armed insurgency. This new form of rebellion reshapes and reproduces the return to what I call an iconic past, defined by insurrection against oil corporations and the state. State violence is a key trigger for armed rebellion, a pattern emerges over time in the realignment and reorganization of rebellion such that it produces a process I call restrategization. This creates a new form and pattern of organizing against the state, defined by the renegotiation of benefits and the realignment of old and new forces. In what follows, I show how rebellion, protests, and again rebellion have created an unending cycle of violence embedded in oil politics in the Niger Delta in particular and Nigeria as a whole.

638   Omolade ADUNBI

Oil Extraction and the Construction of a National Treasure Commercial oil exports began in 1956 with discoveries in Oloibiri, yielding about 5,000 barrels daily, and this gradually increasing to the current 2.5 million. Contestation over its ownership started with an insurrection led by Isaac Adaka Boro (1938–​68), a young Ijaw from Oloibiri. On February 23, 1966, Boro proclaimed himself head of state of the Niger Delta People’s Republic and led his 159-​member Niger Delta Volunteers Force in an armed rebellion against the Nigerian government for twelve days. The rebellion was to be later known as the Twelve-​day Revolution, and a book with a similar title was also published (Adunbi 2015; Boro 1982). Boro was arrested and then released from prison and given a state pardon in exchange for his enlistment in the Nigerian military. He was killed in 1968. Today, Boro is considered a hero of the Niger Delta struggle, and militants who have abandoned nonviolence often invoke his name (Watts 1992, 2003, 2004; Apter 2005; Okonta 2008; Smith 2007). Since Boro’s death, new laws were enacted (Decrees 11 and 13 of 1970 and 1971, and the Petroleum Act of 1969)  that transferred ownership of land, water, and resources as well as absolute control of the oil industry to the federal government of Nigeria (Adunbi 2015; Apter 2005). This transition has completely transformed the social landscape of the country from an economy that was dependent on peasant agricultural production based on regional specialization—​cocoa in the west, peanuts in the north and palm oil in the east—​to one dependent on oil. Oil wealth, as described by Michael Watts (1992) is producing two important outcomes for Nigeria: (1) by virtue of being an internationalized commodity, it is entwining Nigeria within global circuits of transnational capital; and (2) it is transforming the class character of the Nigerian state from one of dependence on peasant surplus, to one of a rentier state where oil rents are redistributed through an expanded and highly centralized bureaucracy. As a transnational commodity around which the state bureaucratic process is centralized, oil is transformed into a national treasure that must be protected and fought for. The transformation of oil from a mere commodity to a national treasure has generated a situation where oil, consumption, and capitalism mix and produce an explosive outcome (Leonard 2016; Adunbi 2015; Watts 2004). Complex actors—​those who act on the impulse of the value of oil—​organize in a variety of ways that include: rebellion against the state and corporations, advocacy through nonviolent means, and cooperation with the state and corporations. The complex actors who act against the state and corporations contest the transformation of oil from local property into a national treas­ ure that benefits the state while depriving communities of their livelihood. This contestation generates violence against the state and corporations—​a form of violence that is intertwined with communal ownership claims over designated state property. Thus, in making oil a national treasure, the state transforms the landscape of the Niger Delta into an extractive enclave whose revenue generation capacity can be used by the state to

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    639 further its insatiable consumption appetite, while at the same time using the commodity to produce what the state considers a national culture. Hence, Apter (2005) suggests that oil serves two purposes, namely: conversion into money, and conversion into culture. Both are intended to produce a nation. Culture, thus, becomes commodified and fetishized to such an extent that it is turned into an object of national value by the state. Oil and its fluctuating circles, Apter argues, transform the shape of the state and the character of the Nigerian class system such that cultural practices come to “represent an idealized vision of ethnic equality in Nigeria and beyond” (Apter 2005, p. 9). While the state projects oil as a national treasure and the revenue it generates as an object of unification, the conditions of environmental degradation within these enclaves that produce the wealth are completely masked. In the following section, I look into the emergence of the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP), as one of the contemporary movements that shaped community response to ecological destruction and denial of access to land and livelihood by the state and corporations in Nigeria.

Ken Saro-​Wiwa, Nonviolent Rebels, and the King’s Henchmen At the same time as oil exports from Oloibiri started in 1958, Shell Petroleum Development Company began oil extraction in the ethnic Ogoni homeland (Apter 1998, 2005; Watts 2003; Okonta 2008). Until then, fishing, carpentry, and farming were the major occupations in the four local government areas of Rivers State that made up Ogoniland—​Khana, Gohkana, Tai, and Eleme. Oil soon destroyed the region’s ecological system and the surrounding local economies. Between 1970 and 1982, 1,581 oil spills were recorded in Nigeria. From 1982 to 1992, 1,626,000 gallons were spilled from Shell operations. Of the number of spills attributed to Shell worldwide, 40 percent were in Nigeria (ICE Case Studies 1997). Polluted soil and water devastated fishing and farming. In addition, Ogonis estimated in November 1990 that 30 billion U.S.$ worth of oil had been extracted from Ogoniland (Ogoni Bill of Rights 1990). While the Nigerian state, in partnership with oil companies such as Shell, benefited from these profits, many Ogoni communities lacked even basic amenities (Okonta and Douglas 2003; Apter 1998; Okonta 2008). Ogonis, like many other Niger Delta communities, saw oil as their rightful prop­ erty, forcefully taken away by the state in collusion with corporations. The Ogonis saw land, rivers, and other natural resources not only as property, but as a spiritual inheritance from their ancestors (Saro-​Wiwa 1992; Adunbi 2013, 2015). The notion that oil represents ancestral property unjustly appropriated by the state inspired the formation of the Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP) and the adoption of its Ogoni Bill of Rights in 1990. MOSOP demanded “the right to the control and use of a

640   Omolade ADUNBI fair proportion of Ogoni economic resources for Ogoni development,” “the right to protect the Ogoni environment and ecology from further degradation,” and “the full development of Ogoni Culture . . . and languages” (Ogoni Bill of Rights 1990). In mobilizing Ogonis and constructing a narrative of ownership, MOSOP blended the rhetoric of human and environmental rights with a powerful narrative blaming the state for environmental and economic violence deployed against a nonviolent population. Ken Saro-​Wiwa (1941–​95), leader of MOSOP, framed the Ogoni struggle as opposition to “ecological war [which has been] highly lethal . . . supported by all the traditional instruments ancillary to warfare—​propaganda, money, and deceit” by the Nigerian state and corporations against the Ogoni people (Saro-​Wiwa 1995). Categorizing environmental degradation as violence helped reinforce the fact that the Ogoni human rights and survival were being threatened. Similarly, Saro-​Wiwa pointed the finger at the government and Shell for economic violence that denied the Ogoni people meaningful employment, political representation, and oil wealth. Both “are violent institutions and depend heavily on violence to control those areas of Nigeria in which oil is found” (Saro-​ Wiwa 1995). He also categorized government neglect as violence: “Looking the other way while multinational oil giants . . . devastate the environment is violence” (Saro-​ Wiwa 1995). By extending the definition of violence to economics, Saro-​Wiwa was able to highlight the government’s role in Ogoni oppression. What made MOSOP’s struggle significant and compelling was their use of nonviolent tactics in the face of these various forms of violence. These tactics and rhetoric also distinguish MOSOP from other Niger Delta struggles that followed, particularly in the early 2000s. MOSOP knew the capabilities of violent techniques in political negotiations and economic disruption. However, they chose the route of nonviolence because of its broader implications for human and environmental rights. Saro-​Wiwa explained why nonviolence was chosen over violence: MOSOP was intent on breaking new ground in the struggle for democracy and political, economic, social and environmental rights in Africa. We believe that mass-​ based, disciplined organizations can successfully re-​ vitalize moribund societies . . . and peacefully challenge tyrannical governments. (Saro-​Wiwa 1995)

This rhetoric mobilized Ogoni communities and was converse to the rhetoric of violence used to define the roles of Shell and the government. On January 4, 1993, MOSOP organized a mass demonstration to celebrate its declaration of Ogoni Day, and capitalizing on the UN declaring it the Year of Indigenous People. In the morning of January 4, 1993, over 300,000 Ogonis marched peacefully across Ogoniland. At the end of the march, they converged for an address by Ken Saro-​ Wiwa, president of MSOSOP. This day, which became known as The First Ogoni Day, was to become the largest demonstration against an oil company in Nigeria’s history (All for Shell 2005; Okonta and Douglas 2003; Okonta 2008). Demanding human rights, environmental respect, and control of Ogoni resources, The First Ogoni Day was a catalyst

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    641 for continued mobilization. Over the next month, Shell temporarily pulled out of the region. When Shell pulled out, it demonstrated the effectiveness of social action in engendering change in a resource-​rich but economically and politically challenged enclave such as Ogoniland. What made the Ogoni protests against the Nigerian state and Shell effective was the ability of MOSOP leaders such as Ken Saro-​Wiwa to connect land and environmental rights to notions of ancestral promise, spirituality of resources, and denial of access to livelihood. MOSOP also mobilized frustrated Ogonis by threatening to shut down Shell’s flow stations and oil wells in Ogoniland through nonviolent means. This immediately transformed MOSOP into a serious threat to Shell and the federal government of Nigeria, which depends on oil for revenue. This nonviolent threat resonates with what Mitchell (2013) calls the “act of sabotage” which, when deployed through “interrupting or reducing the supply of oil could become an instrument to be used for larger political purposes” (Mitchell 2013, p. 144). This strategy of sabotage is closely linked to what Naomi Klein (2014) calls “Blockadia.” She notes that it is not NGOs or “typical activists” on the front lines against extractive corporations, but the indigenous and local communities who reside there. Whether they are motivated by ancestral promise, preservation of environment, or basic human rights, these groups use the tactic of blocking the flow of natural resources to stand up to corporations. Klein argues that these movements, many of them indigenous, will continue to grow and will be effective forms of opposition to exploitative corporations. In response to these events, in April 1993, soldiers killed ten protestors during a demonstration in which over 10,000 Ogoni people participated (Okonta 2008; Corby 2011). In December 1993, Port Harcourt was raided and many Ogonis and their leaders were arrested. Thus began the system of repression that would later end the life of Ken Saro-​Wiwa and change the dynamic of struggle for environmental and political rights in the Niger Delta. By the middle of 1994, thirty Ogoni villages had been raided by the military, leaving approximately 700 dead and 30,000 homeless (Corby 2011). In addition to these raids, Ken Saro-​Wiwa was arrested multiple times and, although there was no evidence against him, was framed for murder and sentenced to death on October 31, 1995. Saro-​Wiwa and eight other Ogoni activists were hanged on November 10, 1995. According to Apter, the government saw the Ogoni as “the saboteurs of the economy. Eliminate the Ogoni problem, and oil could flow freely again” (Apter 2005, p. 271). Oil stopped flowing from Ogoniland until recently, but the Ogoni crisis showed the importance of resources to the state and resource enclaves. As Saro-​Wiwa said just before he was executed by the Nigerian state: “the ashes shall rise again” (Adunbi 2015); and rise again they did, as protests in the Niger Delta took a new turn with the meshing of protests with violence. Violence by the state was soon met with violence from insurgents, who planned to put an end to the notion of oil as a national property and national treasure.

642   Omolade ADUNBI

Protests, Violence, and the Making of an Insurgency Besides economic and environmental deprivation in the Niger Delta, a variety of factors are responsible for the recent rise of rebellion in the region. Such factors include the emergence of MOSOP as a protest organization culminating in the execution of Saro-​ Wiwa in 1995, the rise of new groups including the Chikoko Movement, the Ijaw Youth Council (IYC), and the return to democratic rule in 1999. One of the cardinal principles of MOSOP’s mobilization strategy was the recognition of centrality of oil as a communal property to how the Niger Delta people are organized and mobilized. From the start, Saro-​Wiwa sought to form an alliance with other ethnic nationalities including Ijaws, Ikwerres, Itsekiris, and Orons, that would make the Niger Delta the centerpiece of political action against corporations and the state. Saro-​Wiwa actively encouraged many activists from the Niger Delta to form organizations similar to MOSOP. Saro-​Wiwa and other Ogoni leaders also joined forces with the larger pro-​ democracy groups within and outside Nigeria. However, the government’s killing of Saro-​Wiwa in 1995 dramatically changed the political and environmental landscape, as well as the ways groups mobilized and organized. In August 1997, over a thousand activists gathered in Oloibiri, Bayelsa State to launch a pan-​Niger Delta movement named Chikoko (Manby 1999; Okonta 2008; Ukiwo 2007, 2009). Chikoko, in Ijaw language, means “the Wetland.” By naming the new movement Chikoko, Niger Delta activists conjured an image of a serene landscape like that which existed prior to the discovery of oil. The process of the formation of Chikoko, as described to me by many informants, involved an extensive consultation that began in November 1995, culminating in its launch in August 1997. The Chikoko Movement was envisaged, as I was told, as a framework to mobilize the people of the Niger Delta, and to link local issues to a broader national and global democratic agenda that made environmental issues the center of the struggle for a democratic Nigeria. Chikoko consisted of a collection of activists from different nationalities in the Niger Delta, hence its conception as a pan-​Niger Delta coalition. By 1998, however, Chikoko Movement had given way to a more ethnic-​based youth movement, the Ijaw Youth Council (IYC). Unlike the Chikoko Movement, which embraced all organizations working for economic and environmental justice in the Niger Delta as a pan-​Niger Delta coalition, IYC was formed as a platform to mobilize ethnic Ijaws against the state and oil corporations. It was formed at an all-​Ijaw youth conference organized on December 11, 1998, where the popular Kaiama Declaration was debated, adopted, and proclaimed as the manifesto of the Ijaw nation. As the birthplace of Isaac Adaka Boro, launching the organization in Kaiama invoked an iconic figure for many Niger Delta activists. The Kaiama Declaration, fashioned after the Ogoni Bill of Rights, included a list of demands from the Nigerian state as well as all oil corporations operating in the Niger Delta (for details of the demands, see Kaiama Declaration 1998).

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    643 The formation of the Ijaw Youth Council marked a turning point in the struggle for the actualization of economic and environmental justice, self-​determination, and the establishment of new spaces in the Niger Delta. The IYC was conceived to reclaim spaces considered to have been lost to the British colonial authorities, Nigerian state, and oil corporations. In mobilizing against the state and corporations, the IYC brought under its umbrella community networks and organizations such as the Menbutu Boys, the Movement for Reparation to Ogbia People (MORETO), and the Engene Youth Assembly. Categorizing Ijaw land as having been “lost” to the triumvirate of colonial government, national government, and oil corporations serves to construct a narrative in which the land was once a serene environment prior to colonialism. Thus, reclaiming the landscape becomes a way of giving hope to the people who seek to reclaim their livelihoods as well. This struggle further implied that sacrifices were necessary, following the examples of Isaac Adaka Boro and Ken Saro-​Wiwa. By invoking these names, the IYC established a link to past struggles and the present need to continue the work of their heroes. Boro and Saro-​Wiwa became mobilization tools for the establishment of new spaces aimed at reclaiming land and resources considered the property of the communities. On December 31, 1998, young men and women in all Ijaw communities across the Niger Delta embarked on a major procession to town centers protesting the “occupation” of their land by the state and multinational corporations. These protests crossed many Ijaw communities in the Niger Delta and climaxed with a rally in the town of Kaiama, where the IYC demanded that oil corporations and the Nigerian state negotiate with the Niger Delta people or quit their land. Couched in the rhetoric of human and environmental rights and self-​determination, the Kaiama Declaration became a document of intent on the part of the IYC to challenge not only the Nigerian state, but also the multinational corporations extracting oil resources in the region. This challenge, in part, was to produce an Ijaw personhood as a marked difference from the Nigerian state and the multinational corporations, which become the “other.” Portraying the Nigerian state as the “other” enabled a process that established the notion of land and all resources therein as the property of the Ijaws and the people of the Niger Delta, as opposed to the legal institutions of the state that made property ownership exclusive to the state. “[W]‌e cease to recognize all undemocratic decrees that rob our peoples/​communities of the right to ownership and control of our lives and resources, which were enacted without our participation and consent,” the Declaration stated (Kaiama Declaration 1998). This declaration created a new space for the IYC to legitimize itself as an organization that fights for the rights of the Ijaws and the entire Niger Delta for self-​determination and control of oil resources. Such nuance enabled the categorization of the Nigerian state and the multinational corporations as the “other,” no different from the British colonial authorities that the state replaced. Through this document, the state and multinational corporations are therefore seen as intruders into the communities’ spatiality who introduced impediments disrupting the wheels of harmony created by many years of peaceful living.

644   Omolade ADUNBI The peaceful procession suddenly turned violent when soldiers attached to the government of Yenagoa, the capital city of Bayelsa State (a few miles from Kaiama), opened fire on those in the procession. This shooting of protesters became a transformative moment within the larger struggle, shaping how Niger Delta activists have responded to oil corporations and the Nigerian state ever since. The incident attracted global media attention, and it provoked spontaneous protests across the Niger Delta, especially within the Ijaw communities. Fears of a repeat performance of a past history (for example, Odi in 2000, Ilaje in 1998, and Umuechem in 1990) where the soldiers of the Nigerian state massacred protesters against multinational oil corporations such as Shell and Chevron became a possibility (Okonta 2008). The question then becomes:  how can protests be so transformative as to produce an armed rebellion? Once again, I turn to the iconic representation of Boro as the symbol of the struggle to reclaim land and livelihood in the Delta. By continually invoking Boro’s 1966 rebellion against Nigeria’s newly established ownership of oil resources, new movements in Nigeria have become part of a continuous process. This process started with Boro in the 1960s, reaching a peak with the various militant groups such as Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND), Niger Delta Vigilantes Movement (NDVM), and the Niger Delta Peoples Volunteer Force (NDPVF) in the early to late 2000s. In 2016, the process has re-​emerged again through the Niger Delta Avengers.

Resistance, Militancy, and the Production of Complex Actors To oil corporations and the Nigerian state, these various militant groups are merely bandits and social miscreants who profit from the misery of the Niger Delta people by engaging in the theft of crude oil from pipelines and flow stations (Adunbi 2015; Watts 2005; Ukeje 2001). However, as Eric Hobsbawn (1969) reminds us, “when banditry merges into a larger movement, it becomes part of a force which can and does change society.” The question then becomes whether the Niger Delta militants are bandits or social reformers. If they are social reformers, can their actions be categorized as capable of creating spaces that reconfigure and decenter power? How does that happen, and in what form? As Achille Mbembe (2005) reminds us, we are witnessing the emergence of different imaginaries of sovereignty, which are governed by two logics of expenditure: destruction of things and people; and self-​sacrifice, which, as he says, must be seen in the context of democratization, state decay, and social fragmentation, which has led to new forms of identities and subjectivities. Thus, in the Nigerian context, we see a state that engages in a form of extractive practice that denies people living within enclaves of extraction access to their land and livelihood. It is this denial of access that has led to the production of new spaces, creating

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    645 complex actors (Adunbi 2015) who are reminded of the futility of nonviolence. These groups, as I will show later, can sometimes compete, collaborate, cooperate, and oppose the state and oil corporations in making claims about ownership of the property called oil. The complexity of these spaces produces militant groups such as Movement for the Emancipation of Niger Delta (MEND), Niger Delta Peoples Volunteer Force (NDPVF), Martyrs Brigade, Niger Delta Vigilante Movement (NDVM), and the new Niger Delta Avengers. Reminded of the futility of peaceful protest as a mode of organizing against the state and corporations, as remembered through the failures of Boro, MOSOP and IYC, many Niger Delta groups have emerged to take up arms in the struggle for the reclamation of land and livelihood in the Delta (Adunbi 2015, 2011; Apter 2005; Smith 2007; Watts 2007; Okonta 2008). Other factors explain the emergence of armed rebellion in the Niger Delta. Some of the groups that emerged in the region in the late 1990s and early 2000s can be traced to the proliferation of underground social groups and organizations, which themselves had roots in the military autocratic rule of the 1980s and 1990s. In the 1980s and 1990s, for example, as a result of the clampdown on democratic student activities in Nigerian universities, many students gravitated towards gaining membership in fraternities known as cult groups, many of which became violent and operated mainly underground (Momoh and Ajetumoi 1999). By the time Nigeria transitioned to democratic rule in 1999, a culture of violence had already been established. This culture of violence permeated the politics of the transition period, thereby making the electoral process violent and elections a win-​or-​die affair. Since access to political power is one of the few ways the elite participate in national resource distribution, winning elections often becomes a life-​or-​death matter among the Nigerian elite. Such was the case during the 2003 election, especially in the Niger Delta. Recognizing the consequences of political exclusion, politicians recruited youth from their underground fraternities to import arms and ammunitions and protect their electoral interest. Once power was won, that army of unemployed youth were dismissed from their dubious political roles and left to return to their villages, while holding on to their weapons (Ukeje 2001, 2011; Watts 2005, 2007; Adunbi 2015; Oriola 2016). These weapons, combined with human and environmental rights rhetoric and mobilization skills acquired in many of the protests groups such as IYC, Chikoko Movement, MORETO, and others to proclaim themselves liberators (Ukeje 2011; Adunbi 2015). This process produced militant leaders such as Alhaji Mujahideen Asari Dokubo who, taking a cue from Isaac Adaka Boro, formed the Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force. It also produced Government Ekpemupolo, alias “Tompolo,” who later became the leader of MEND. Dokubo, who claimed to have been trained in Libya, often bedecked himself in shirts with an emblazoned picture of Isaac Adaka Boro, the first known Ijaw “revolutionary” leader. Other new militant leaders, such as Ateke Tom, formed the Niger Delta Vigilante Movement. Later, as these groups gained power and influence, they declared war on the state and demanded that the multinational corporations operating in the region either quit or

646   Omolade ADUNBI negotiate with them. The groups took control of the creeks, using additional weapons purchased from eastern European and Asian arms dealers, financed with crude oil purloined from pipelines and offshore barges. The militants also acquired supplies through coordinated attacks against the Nigerian military, and from the politicians and businessmen who acted as their patrons, benefiting from the conflict because it has become profitable to own an armed group. The arrest and subsequent detention of Mujahideen Asari Dokubo in 2005 by the federal government redefined militancy in the Niger Delta region. Dokubo’s group and others went into alliance and formed the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) with Government Ekpemupolo (Tompolo) as the General Officer Commanding. After the formation of the MEND coalition, a new operational strategy for the prosecution of the war against multinational oil corporations and the state was deployed, using human and environmental rights rhetoric. This rhetoric emphasized the denial of access to land and resources, pollution of the environment, and destruction of villages and communities by soldiers of the Nigerian Joint Military Task Force (codenamed Operation Restore Hope). The Task Force was set up by the Olusegun Obasanjo administration to mitigate violence against oil corporations in the Delta. MEND became the face of the Niger Delta struggle, led by three generals: Tompolo, Ateke Tom and another commander by the name of Boyloaf. MEND carried out its activities through the kidnapping of expatriate oil workers, attacks on oil infrastructure, and occasional attacks on military formations (Oriola 2016; Adunbi 2015). The structure of MEND, a coalition of many Niger Delta groups, is such that it maintains various military camps in many of the over 1,000 creeks that crisscross the landscape of the Niger Delta. Basically, each of the coalition members, including Ateke Tom, Boyloaf, Tompolo, and others, turned their camps into military barracks for MEND. The creeks symbolize affluence because the people have relied on them for generations, fishing, brewing “ogogoro,”3 farming, and trading. These livelihoods helped them achieve wealth and national and global acclaim during the precolonial period. The creeks also symbolize affliction, because of the negative impact of oil exploration in the form of oil spills, dead fish, and toxic soils. Eventually, with the drastic reduction in daily oil production and the decline in revenue generation for the state, the federal government negotiated an amnesty deal with the militants in 2009. The amnesty deal put a temporary pause on militancy in the Delta, with the main beneficiaries of the deal being the top leaders of MEND. An amnesty office under a cabinet-​level special adviser was set up to cater to the needs of the militants, some of whom were put on a monthly stipend. Leaders such as Tompolo, Ateke Tom, and Boyloaf were awarded lucrative contracts. As I have argued elsewhere (Adunbi 2015), the amnesty program created three processes: co-​optation, dispersal, and incapacitation. The amnesty program introduced in 2009 as a temporary program was crafted, recrafted, and recalibrated to become a permanent feature in the Jonathan administration as an answer to what the state perceived as an impediment to the activities of corporations in the Niger Delta. With over 20,000 participants, the amnesty program acquired new meanings in terms of its agenda, embedded in the

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    647 co-​optation of important militant figures into state apparatuses. This process echoes what Dezalay and Garth (2002) describe as the connection between “technopols” and power elite, where NGOs become partners of institutions such as the World Bank and IMF in ways that shift the focus of the NGOs from being highly critical of these institutions to engaging in collaborative work. Thus, the objectives of NGOs, the “technopols,” and the power elite are not different because they all aim to “increase their power and influence in their own national fields of political power” (Dezalay and Garth 2002, p. 194). The space of the Niger Delta, I argue, also becomes a field of political power where militant leaders, having been co-​opted by the state, become partners of the state and corporations in continuing the depredation of various Niger Delta communities. However, the election of the current president, Muhammadu Buhari, a self-​styled anticorruption campaigner, changed the dynamic of the amnesty program as well as the Niger Delta struggle. The pay-​out by the amnesty office suddenly stopped and some of the former militants such as Tompolo were declared wanted on corruption allegations. Their sympathizers, such as Patrick Akpolobokemi—​managing director of the Nigerian Maritime Agency under the Jonathan administration who gave Tom Polo a contract worth $100 million—​were charged with corruption in court. The response of the Buhari administration to the Niger Delta conflict triggered a process of restrategization that produces a new militant movement called the Niger Delta Avengers (NDA) in early 2016.

Unending Rebellion and the Reshaping of Resistance The Niger Delta Avengers (NDA) operate primarily out of Warri, Delta State, the same area where MEND had its operational headquarters. The NDA arose during a time of political upheaval, when Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari replaced former President Goodluck Jonathon in 2015. A  Muslim from the north, Buhari represents a threat to the shaky peace achieved in the Delta since 2009 because of his anticorruption stance and the fear that he may not continue with the amnesty program. According to the EU-​based consultancy Risk Intelligence (2016), the NDA has the following stated objectives: to cripple the Nigerian economy through operation “Red Economy”; to force the government to negotiate with their demands in a “sovereign national conference”; to reallocate Nigerian ownership of oil blocs in favor of the people of the Niger Delta; and to obtain autonomy and self-​determination for the Niger Delta people. The stated objectives of the NDA continue in the tradition of many of its predecessors, such as MOSOP, IYC, NDPLF, and MEND. To achieve these ends, the NDA has staged numerous attacks on oil and gas infrastructure throughout the Niger Delta. As of May 2016, the NDA had claimed responsibility for twelve out of sixteen pipeline attacks, resulting in the loss of approximately 0.8 million barrels of

648   Omolade ADUNBI oil (Risk Intelligence 2016). The Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC) reports that about 300,000 barrels per day (bpd) of revenue from crude oil sales have been lost as a result of the activities of the NDA (DiChristopher 2016). This has once again forced the Nigerian state to start negotiating with new militant groups. Also like MEND, groups that had previously operated as independent rebel groups became part of a coalition. While negotiation is still ongoing, what has become clear is the fact that another amnesty program that fails to address all the underlying issues confronting the Niger Delta—​issues such as environmental pollution, access to farmland, infrastructural deficit—​would only end up reproducing the process of continual violence in the future. The NDA exists concurrently within a complicated web of other armed youth groups, political activists, rebels, and other antigovernmental organizations. Some even suggest that the NDA is merely a “mouthpiece” for a much larger group of so-​far disorganized activists (Onuoha 2016). Several smaller groups, including the Red Egbesu Water Lions (REWL) and the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) have claimed connections to the NDA (Onuoha 2016). Using low-​intensity warfare strategies, NDA had succeeded in cutting state revenue, especially when the country is in a recession as a result of the downward slide in the price of oil on the international market. When underwater pipelines are attacked, oil companies often repair them quickly so as not to jeopardize the flow of oil and revenue that flows from them. The strategy of attack-​and-​repair seems not to have been successful, since NDA consistently targets repaired pipelines in their operations as a way of crippling the economy and forcing the state to negotiate with the group. As DiChristopher reported for the CNBC in November 2016, the NDA claims:  “When we warn that there should be no repairs pending negotiation/​dialogue with the people of the Niger Delta, it means there should be no repairs.” This strategy seems to have worked—​the Nigerian state had to start a process of negotiation to stem the downward slide in the flow of oil revenue for the state. Once again, this is a clear indication of the circularity of oil politics in the Niger Delta. Whether it is the Ijaw Youth Council, Movement for the Emancipation of Niger Delta, Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force, Niger Delta Vigilante Movement, MOSOP, or NDA, there is a common thread that creates a linkage among all these groups. The common trait is the fact that they all claim to represent the people of the Niger Delta, who, for over fifty years, have continued to suffer environmental degradation, denial of access to their land, and the lack of infrastructure in their region. Denial of access to a property many claim to own—​oil resources—​has established a constant circulation of individuals and activists, sometimes violent and sometimes nonviolent, all attempting to reclaim their land and resources. This form of circulation has also meant the acquisition of certain forms of symbolic capital such as human and environmental rights rhetoric that, in itself, helps establish linkages with a transnational network that sympathizes with (or despises) the struggle of the Niger Delta. Sympathies have often come from the larger environmental rights network, while derision has emerged from transnational oil corporations and their state partners.

The Rise and Decline (and Rise) of the Niger Delta Rebellion    649 Navigating these critical spaces of engagement and violence produces outcomes such as the 2009 amnesty program that co-​opted, while at the same time interrupting temporarily, the march towards violence for the reclamation of land and resources. Making claims to ownership of oil as a community property enables the participants not only to legitimize their claims to ownership of those spaces, but also to devise means of engaging with the state and corporations in ways that may benefit the individuals involved in the struggle of the Niger Delta people. At the heart of the contestations discussed in this chapter are the enormous natural resources located in these enclaves. Reclaiming land and control of resources located in these enclaves is central to the overall struggle of many of the groups that claim to represent the Niger Delta people. This long history of contestation has enabled the emergence of a form of resource politics that continues to define and redefine the relationship of the local people to the land, oil, and political configurations within and outside Nigeria, since the time of Isaac Adaka Boro, continuing through the time of Ken Saro-​Wiwa, and now to the period of armed rebellion by MEND and NDA.

Notes 1. For more on this, see for example, Emma Amaizie and Perez Brisibe, “Who are the Niger Delta Avengers,” Vanguard Newspapers, May 15, 2016. http://​www.vanguardngr.com/​2016/​ 05/​niger-​delta-​avengers/​ accessed April 12, 2017. 2. See for example, http://​www.nigerdeltaavengers.org/​2016/​02/​we-​shall-​no-​longer-​sacrifice-​ for-​peace_​12.html accessed April 12, 2017. 3. Local gin that is highly popular in the Niger Delta.

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650   Omolade ADUNBI Dezalay, Y. and Garth, B. G. (2002). The Internationalization of Palace Wars: Lawyers, Economists, and the Contest to Transform Latin American States. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. DiChristopher, T. (2016). “The ‘Niger Delta Avengers’ Have a Message for Big Oil,” CNBC. http://​w ww.cnbc.com/​2016/​11/​03/​niger-​delta-​avengers-​and-​insurgents-​turn-​up-​t he-​ pressure-​on-​nigerias-​buhari-​and-​big-​oil.html accessed May 10, 2017. Hobsbawm, E. (1969). Bandits. London: Abacus. ICE Case Studies (1997). “Ogoni and Nigeria Conflict Over Oil,” Jim Lee, Kerstin Moesinger, and Amy Maglio. http://​www1.american.edu/​ted/​ice/​ogonioil.htm accessed March 11, 2017. Klein, Naomi (2014). This Changes Everything: Capitalism Vs. the Climate. New York: Simon and Schuster Paperbacks. Leonard, L. (2016). Life in the Time of Oil:  A Pipeline and Poverty in Chad. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Manby, Bronwen (1999). The Price of Oil: Corporate Responsibility and Human Rights Violations in Nigeria’s Oil Producing Communities. New York: Human Rights Watch. Mbembe, J. A. (2003). “Necropolitics,” (trans. L. Meintjes) Public Culture 15 (1): 11–​40. Mitchell, T. (2013). Carbon Democracy:  Political Power in the Age of Oil (2nd edn). London: Verso Books. Momoh, A. and Adejumobi, S. (1999). The Nigerian Military and the Crisis of Democratic Transition: A Study in the Monopoly of Power. Lagos: Civil Liberties Organisation. MOSOP (1990). “Ogoni Bill of Rights,” Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People. http://​ www.waado.org/​nigerdelta/​RightsDeclaration/​Ogoni.html accessed February 3, 2017 from the Urhobo Historical Society. MOSOP (2015). “Ogoni Ethnic Nationality,” Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP). http://​mosop.org/​2015/​10/​10/​ogoni-​ethnic-​nationality/​ accessed March 26, 2017. Okonta, I. (2008). When Citizens Revolt: Nigerian Elites, Big Oil, and the Ogoni Struggle for Self-​ Determination. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Okonta, I. and Douglas, O. (2003). Where Vultures Feast: Shell, Human Rights, and Oil in the Niger Delta. London: Verso. Onuoha, F. C. (2016). “The Resurgence of Militancy in Nigeria’s Oil-​rich Niger Delta and the Dangers of Militarisation,” Al Jazeera Centre for Studies Report 8. Oriola, T. B. (2016). Criminal Resistance? The Politics of Kidnapping Oil Workers. New York: Routledge. Price of Oil (2005). “All for Shell: A Brief History of the Struggle for Justice in the Niger Delta,” Remember Saro-​Wiwa Project. http://​priceofoil.org/​content/​uploads/​2006/​05/​ALL_​FOR_​ SHELL_​2005_​pdf accessed February 8, 2017. Risk Intelligence N.a. (2016). “A Guide to Militant, Ex-​Militant, and Activist Groups in the Niger Delta.” https://​www.norclub.no/​assets/​ArticleFiles/​08-​June-​2016-​Guide-​to-​Niger-​ Delta-​Groups-​2016.pdf accessed Aril 24, 2017. Saro-​Wiwa, K. (1995). “Complete Statement by Ken Saro-​Wiwa to Ogoni Civil Disturbances Tribunal.” https://​ratical.org/​corporations/​KSWstmt.html accessed April 7, 2017. Saro-​Wiwa, K. (1992). Genocide in Nigeria: The Ogoni Tragedy. London: Saros International. Smith, D. J. (2007). A Culture of Corruption. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Ukeje, C. (2011). “Changing the Paradigm of Pacification:  Oil and Militarization in Nigeria’s Delta Region,” in Z. Obi and S. A. Rustaad (eds), Oil and Insurgency in the Niger Delta: Managing the Complex Politics of Petro-​Violence (pp. 83–​98). London: Zed Books. Ukeje, C. (2001). “Youths, Violence and the Collapse of Public Order in the Niger Delta of Nigeria,” Africa Development/​Afrique et Développement 26 (1/​2): 337–​366.

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Chapter 38

Crim e, Cults , a nd Informal Se c u ri t y ‘Kemi Okenyodo

Introduction The upsurge in crime and conflict since the return to democracy in 1999 has led to an upsurge in the proliferation of both formal and informal security actors in Nigeria. The country is plagued with perennial ethno-​religious conflicts, but in recent times new types of crimes have evolved such as kidnapping for ransom (previously kidnapping was synonymous with ritual killings), cattle rustling, illegal oil bunkering, oil pipeline vandalization, etc. However, common petty crimes such as theft of mobile phones, stealing, house breaking/​burglary continues. The security challenge in certain parts of the country, for example, the Niger Delta (south-​south region) and the northeast region has further exacerbated the matter. In a mere seven years, the Boko Haram insurgency led to the loss of an estimated 20,000 lives and more than 2.6 million displaced persons (Fulton and Nickels 2017). Peace, safety, and security are all necessary and indispensable requirements for development and attainment of a good quality of life for any human society. They provide the requisite enabling environment for citizens o live and work towards the social, economic, and political development of the society (Groenewald and Peake 2004). By this same token, their absence stifles the human capacity to develop and heavily compromises the dignity and quality of life of both individuals and society. Delivery of safety and security is considered a justifiable public good and the very essence of the state. There have been various arguments that explain the evolution of informal policing or security organizations. Four in particular warrant attention: (1) they exist as a result of the inefficiency of the formal security agencies; (2) they provide a means for disadvantaged citizens to access security services as engaging the formal security agencies is too expensive; (3) they are part of the traditional forms of policing that did not go away with

Crime, Cults, and Informal Security    653 colonialism; or (4) it is a hybrid of all three. This chapter demonstrates that informal groups complement the inadequacies of state institutions in security provisioning. The inadequacies of the formal security institutions, particularly the Nigeria police, are linked to corruption, being under-​resourced both materially and otherwise; the training competence and technical capabilities leave little to be admired. All of this puts the Nigerian police at a disadvantaged position when carrying out the routine responsibility of policing the people and the country. This chapter attempts to examine the roots of modern informal policing groups to identify the existing gaps within the country’s policing system which it seeks to fill, and explains how the informal policing system can be a bridge to a community policing system which is emerging in the country.

Traditional Policing In Nigeria Research shows that the presence of nonstate security actors is widespread across the country. These groups are recognized and enjoy community-​level legitimacy amidst rising insecurity with crimes and violence. The research also found that the nonstate security actors were involved in the day-​to-​day provision of security and safety. In the northeast, for example, the emergence of the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) is largely the result of community resilience against Boko Haram.

Membership and Recruitment Process The membership and recruitment process for the informal security actors is based on volunteerism. The inherent advantage in volunteerism is that the group attracts individuals at little or no cost. However, the disadvantage is the unpredictability and fluctuation in membership size. Individuals can willfully join or disengage from the group on very short notice. Related to this challenge is the recruitment process. There is usually no modern standard, codified criterion for assessing prospective individuals for recruitment into the groups. Although due consideration is often given to qualities such as honesty, integrity, bravery, and commitment, the lack of standard criteria makes it difficult to have a reasonable degree of convergence in terms of the strength or weakness of the group. Thus, there is the evident wide disparity in the skills and qualifications of the members. Assessment of these groups shows that there is a strong influence of traditional strands of policing, particularly a metaphysical element. This means it would not be out of place to find that there is a process of oath-​taking during the recruitment and/​or promotion process within the groups. The patriarchal system in the society also features prominently in the recruitment process as is evident from male dominance within the groups. Young boys are the foot soldiers and the older ones are in control of the groups. They determine how and where the groups operate; in most cases they are the formal authority

654   ‘Kemi Okenyodo within the groups. Recruitment typically draws from the community or neighborhood where they operate. For example, when the Abia State Vigilante Services was revived in May 2016, the governor instructed “all traditional rulers in the state to put forward names of ten youth from their communities to be enlisted into the AVS,” This process of recruitment allows the community to know the people who are being deployed for law enforcement duties. It also allows for a process whereby the law enforcement officers are familiar with the environment in which they are working. This is a sharp contrast from what exists with the Nigeria Police Force, where officers are recruited based on the quota system and are deployed across the country.

Legal Framework for Informal Security Actors Most of the groups evolved outside a legal framework, their legitimacy is usually drawn from the community they serve. However, the trend emerging in the country is that some states have adopted legal frameworks to regulate the activities of these groups, thus legitimizing their existence beyond communal endorsement. The argument for adopting a legal framework hinges upon the fact that it is important to ensure that groups are properly regulated and held accountable. But even in some states such as Enugu, Plateau, Lagos, and Kano, which have enacted legal frameworks, their laws circumscribed only one out of many informal security actors that exist in their territory. (See Table 38.1) For instance, apart from Operation Rainbow in Plateau State that was established through an Act of Parliament at the state level, most of the informal security actors in the north central zone operate without a concrete legal framework. Similarly, there is a lack of legal framework for regulating informal security actors in states in the northeast

Table 38.1 Informal Security Actors and their Locations Number Name of informal Security Organization

Spread Across the State

1

Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN)

Operates in all states of the federation

2

Peace Corps of Nigeria

Operates in all states of the federation

3

Civilian Joint Task Force

Plateau, Borno, Kaduna, Adamawa, Yobe

4

Neighborhood Watch

Plateau, Enugu, Ebonyi

5

Enyindudu Community Vigilante Group, Ali Sokoto Group

Kogi State—​only in the rural areas

6

Sarasuka group/​Vigilante Group of Wuntil

Bauchi State

7

Hunters Association

Adamawa and Yobe States

8

Kalare Youth Group

Gombe State—​within the state capital

9

Yan Banga (Night Watch), Operation Rainbow

Plateau State—​across all the local governments

Source: Partners West Africa–​Nigeria, 2017.

Crime, Cults, and Informal Security    655 zone. In the northwest zone, the Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN) in Kano operates under clear legal framework but some other informal security actors in the zone do not have legal frameworks to guide their existence and operation. In the southeast zone, Enugu is the only state that has adopted a legal framework to regulate the activities of Neighborhood Watch. However, states such as Abia and Ebonyi are presently working towards developing legal frameworks to regulate the activities of informal security actors operating as vigilante groups. In spite of the positive contribution of nonstate security actors to public security and safety, most of these groups continue to operate under a regime of weak regulation that is also plagued by violation of the rights of the people they are meant to protect; this is evident in frequent harassments of citizens and the imposition of “jungle justice” (Partners West Africa Nigeria 2017)

Sources of Funding for Informal Security Actors Reliable funding is one key challenge that confronts almost all the informal security actors in the country except for those supported by state governments. The source of funding for informal security actors is not statutory; thus, most of them depend on donations or financial support from local communities, wealthy people, politicians, or a few philanthropic individuals to meet their operational or logistic needs. In some states, for instance, the state government has supported informal security actors with modest financial assistance at some point, while in others such support has not been forthcoming. In most cases, these actors have not received appreciable financial assistance from the local government authority despite their existence and contributions being largely located within local communities. In the absence of a more structured and reliable source of funding, the sustainability and future trajectory of these actors becomes difficult to predict. In the event that their funding declines significantly or dries up due to a depressed economy, the tendency for these groups to be manipulated for selfish purposes by donors such as politicians becomes high. There is anecdotal evidence which shows that politicians have taken advantage of these groups and manipulated them for their selfish purposes. A good example that readily comes to mind is the Economic Community of West African States Monitoring Group (ECOMOG) group in Borno State and other similar groups across the country that are used by politicians before, during and after elections. These groups of young men accompany the politicians during the campaigns, rallies, primaries, etc. They carry out nefarious acts including assaults, murder, snatching of ballot boxes, and disrupting of public rallies.

Mode of Operation of Informal Security Actors Despite criticisms or reservations at the federal level about the activities of informal security actors which could be linked to the country’s legal framework (particularly the

656   ‘Kemi Okenyodo Constitution which sets up the security architecture of the country), the security architecture is centrally focused on the police and the military. The centralization of security contributed to the first coup d’état in July 1966, discussed by Osaghae's chapter in this volume. After the coup, Nigeria operated a decentralized policing system, however, the regional police authorities were influenced by the politicians and became a tool in their hands. They perpetrated some atrocities under the command of the politicians. Based on this history, recent attempts at coming up with policy frameworks, for example, the National Security Strategy and the National Counter Terrorism Strategy (NACTEST) to address some of the recent security challenges does not acknowledge the existence or relevance of the informal security actors (Office of the National Security Adviser 2014). The scenario is different in the states where the formal security actors (military, police, NSCDC) work closely with the informal security actors. For example, there are joint operational patrols, information, and intelligence-​sharing. The formal security actors are usually quick to agree that the informal security actors have in-​depth knowledge of the local communities where they operate and are usually first responders to security threats in their communities. The closeness to their communities gives them the advantage of collating intelligence that aid the formal security agencies in their work. Despite the seemingly positive relationship highlighted here, there are some instances of tension and mutual suspicion between informal security actors and the formal security agencies. In recent times, there have been allegations on the part of the Nigeria military against the Civilian Joint Task Force which is linked to the devolution of sensitive information with unauthorized sources (Oduah 2016). Generally, there are allegations of human rights violations against the informal security actors. This is linked to the fact that they utilize extrajudicial means including torture, harassment, and undue use of force while carrying out their duties. There are allegations of similar human rights violations against the formal security actors too. Even though such oversight structures exist, the process of holding them accountable, is not effective because of various challenges which include a culture of impunity and disregard for the rule of law (Etannibi, Alemika, and Chukwuma 2009). It would not be too far from the truth to say that the informal security actors “mirror” the formal security actors. The human rights compliance and accountability level of the formal security actors have to increase so as to raise the bar for the informal security actors in the country. The informal security actors across the country, to some extent, are plagued with internal rancor which at times is linked to the struggle for control of the organizations. This was seen within the Odua Peoples’ Congress in the late 1990s, which led to the Odua Peoples’ Congress having two factions, namely those whose allegiance was to Chief Frederick Fasehun and the other with allegiance to Chief Ganiyu Adams. Within the VGN groups in Kaduna and Ekiti, this is also the case and it seems that VGN is prone to factionalization. When factionalization takes place, it undermines the operational effectiveness of the organizations.

Crime, Cults, and Informal Security    657

Gender Representation The level of women’s participation is extremely low, due essentially to the character of the formation of these groups as well as the long-​standing cultural tradition that reinforces patriarchy in Nigeria. However, the need to ensure or promote better gender representation cannot be overemphasized, especially in relation to the gendered nature of victimization in some communities. In the recently concluded mapping by Partners West Africa–​Nigeria, very few of the informal security actors have women as members. This corroborates the earlier notion that the informal security actors mirror the formal security actors—​women’s representation continues to be a challenge within the formal security agencies too. The process of recruitment, retention, and posting is not sensitive to the needs of women who might be interested in being part of the groups. For the informal security actors, depending on their scope of operations, some of the identified funding sources have been linked to daily contributions by market traders (which includes women). In Lagos State, under the recently concluded Justice 4 All program, at the inception of the project the role of women within the informal security actors’ framework was not clearly defined. In the course of the program, it was discovered that women shy away from being openly associated with the activities of the groups, however, they provide information because they have access to primary sources of information in their environments. They also provide support resources such as food, drinks, money, and moral support to the men who are operating1. Anecdotal evidence has shown over time that women have been involved in activities of informal security actors from this point of view. Historically, looking at the traditional system of policing there are similarities in the sphere of engagement of women within the space. There have been few exceptions to the general rule (the same with the informal security actors). The women section of the civilian joint task force in Borno provides a good example. The evolution of the women’s wing of the civilian joint task force can also be said to be organic. Boko Haram was constantly changing tactics, one of which was to dress up as women to ensure ease of passage; later they used women embedded in their midst as “transporters.” These women carried arms among other things under their veils or hijabs. Finally, we started seeing women and young girls as suicide bombers (Okenyodo 2016). The informal security sector’s response to Boko Harm in Borno, where most of Boko Haram’s violence takes place, is shaped by the state’s enactment of some civil components of sharia law in 2000, which include prohibitions on men conducting searches or entering into private premises of women. The women’s wing of the civilian joint task force was an obvious response to this gap. These young women, who joined voluntarily (against much opposition because the types of duties were not seen as “fitting” for decent young women by their communities. It would involve working in close contact with men and other young men who were not members of their families.)

658   ‘Kemi Okenyodo In recent times, we continue to see some progress in having women lead some of the informal security actors groups. In Ekiti State, southwest region of Nigeria, the head of the VGN in the state is a woman. There are also groups in Bayelsa and Rivers that are headed by women. Clearly there is a need to promote greater inclusiveness in both the state and informal security organizations in the country.

Citizen’s Engagement in Traditional and Contemporary Policing As indicated earlier, before the colonization of Nigeria, different ethnic nationalities which presently constitute Nigeria today had their traditional social control mechanisms. These indigenous social control systems performed modern police functions. These systems of social control were deeply rooted in the community and closely interlinked with the social and religious structures. Agencies, such as age grades (formal organization whose membership is based on predetermined age range), secret societies, and hunters etc. through the indigenous crime control systems, were able to maintain law and order without the use of violence. In contemporary Nigeria some variety of these indigenous social systems still exist, with  these alternative social control systems now represented in different forms or structures such as Ali Sokoto Group, Eniyindudu Community vigilante group in Kogi State, Odua Peoples’ Congress (OPC) in the southwest, Bakassi Boys in the southeast, Egbesu Boys in the south, Kalare Youth in Gombe State. The way these groups have evolved to some extent shows a correlation across individual states, ethnic or religious groups, and in some cases across the region with commonalities. The guiding principle of these indigenous systems is derived from the norms and values of indigenous people. Apart from the largely coordinated and well-​organized indigenous organizations (the likes of Bakassi Boys, Hisbah, OPC, and in recent times the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF), and Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN)), there are numerous other indigenous watch organization or vigilante groups that guarantee community security in Nigeria.These groups, which are usually dominated by young men, work more at night and they are supported by their communities either in cash or in kind. They carry out their tasks through the use of readily available weapons in their environments. It is instructive to note that traditional policing and vigilantism are widely accepted in Nigeria by citizens. Comparatively, the principles and personnel of the indigenous social control systems are products of the people, and as such they command acceptability more than their police counterparts. Also of critical importance is the fact that most Nigerians lack trust and confidence in the official police simply because they consider them to be “alien” agents of the government who are equally perceived as being corrupt and unfair. The majority of Nigerians presently consider the police response to crime as grossly inadequate. The Native Authority Police (which was a colonial agency) had its peculiar problems even though it was effective because its members had knowledge of the culture and

Crime, Cults, and Informal Security    659 norms of the people. The traditional form of policing reduced fear in the community, people had trust in those whot acted as police agents within the community. The Authority was also able to use the talent and resources available to it at that time. The problems traditional policing faced was a lack of adequate resources and lack of skilled or trained personnel. Resources used for policing duties were provided by the community and by those individuals who were carrying out the functions. This means that personal resources were utilized to ensure that their responsibilities were met. One key lessons to be learned from the traditional policing system which has evolved into the informal policing system is that the people involved in policing were effective because they were familiar with the area being policed (Oghi 2013). This has been the basis for ongoing advocacy on the typology of community policing to be practiced in Nigeria. This gap between the police and the community seems to widen periodically, and the endemic distrust seems not to go away. The adoption of community policing as the policing philosophy has been embraced, however, the country continues to suffer from noncrystallization of the model of community policing. The process of the traditional policing system provides a template for the model which could be adopted. What Opportunities Exist Going Forward? The link between the traditional policing system and the informal security architecture cannot be overlooked. They are organic in nature which means they respond to the immediate needs of the people to whom they are providing services. This has a way of bringing to life an adage popular today in Nigeria’s public space: “security is everybody’s business.” Informal security architecture to a reasonable extent provides a role for every member of the community to be either an active or passive participant. In states or geopolitical regions where these groups have been effective, the reasons for their emergence in the first place are varied and complex. Nigeria being a federal entity seems to have refused to discuss or proactively engage in determining what “federalism” means from the point of view of governance and this ambiguity has crept into its security space. Local government is the third layer of government and is the closest to the people in terms of providing public services. The continued evolution of informal security or policing organizations could simply be a function of the failure of government to provide public safety. Even when there are attempts by the state governments (and not the federal government) to legitimize some of the informal security organizations by providing legal frameworks to regulate them (this has been done in Abia State with Bakassi Boys who are not Abia State Vigilante Services, OPC in Lagos which evolved into Neighborhood Watch Group, Hisbah in Kano, BOYES in Borno State) new groups emerge at the community level. This shows that when there is a lack of provisioning of services at the community level by the state, this is filled almost immediately by the community. Lagos State government in recent times passed the Neighborhood Safety Corp Agency Bill into law in November 2016. The law has assisted in providing solutions to a major challenges and concern sof active voluntary policing groups (informal policing groups) which came to the forefront under the implementation of the Justice 4 All program, which was lack of recognition and support from the state. The new law encourages all

660   ‘Kemi Okenyodo local government/​local council development areas (LCDAs) in the state to absorb and take responsibilities of all eligible “Watchers” into the corps. This extends to cover the trained VPS groups under the VPS project in Lagos. The first quarter of 2017 saw the recruitment of 5,700 members into the Neighborhood Safety Corp and provision of necessary equipment and logistics by the Lagos state government to aid the agency to effectively provide the complementary support to the police in crime-​prevention and fighting. In compliance with the provisions of the law, members from the VPS groups were also employed in the Neighborhood Safety Corp Agency. The passage of the new law overrides the previous Neighborhood Watch law in Lagos State. The recent step taken by the Lagos State government points to two things, namely the model of community policing to be practiced in Nigeria cannot leave out the informal security actors. They have a role to play, they are vehicles that can be used to provide services needed in respect of safety and security at the micro level. The type of safety and security provisions needed at the micro level differs essentially with what is needed at the state and federal level. Little wonder that the state apparatuses set up by the government are unable to provide for the people’s safety. Secondly, the evolution and adoption of the informal security actors across the country by state governments can also be seen as a precursor to eventual state policing in Nigeria. In order to mitigate the possible challenges that might exist between the federal and state governments, there is a need for the federal government to come up with a regulatory mechanism. The Vigilante Services Bill, which is presently before the House of Representatives at the National Assembly could be an attempt by the parliament to regulate the activities of the informal security actors. The Bill seeks to centralize the activities of the informal security actors from the national to the local government level. This might not be the ideal way to go about the regulation particularly as it seeks to over-​formalize and centralize these actors. It is expected that if these actors take up this proposed structure they would become one of the many paramilitary structures which the country has. Presently, there are challenges of funding, once these actors take up the proposed structure by the parliament, there is the likelihood that they would see themselves more responsive to the government and not the community which they serve and the support from the community in terms of local level contributions would stop completely. If this happens, there is the likelihood that other groups would emerge from the communities aimed at serving them and providing for their needs. The vicious cycle would start all over again. There are existing platforms which can be utilized at the federal level to regulate the activities of the informal security actors. The Ministry of Interior presently has limited supervisory oversight on the Nigeria Police Force and complete supervisory oversight on the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps. Within the same Ministry of Interior, there is a Services Department which has a subunit called the Community Policing Unit. There is the opportunity for the ministry to take up the responsibility of working with civil society organizations (which are representatives of the local community).

Crime, Cults, and Informal Security    661 The discussions and regulations of informal security actors cannot be completed without having a political platform that brings key actors together to discuss these issues. A very obvious platform that could do this is the Nigeria Police Council. The membership is made up of the president, state governors, and the Inspector General of Police. The Nigeria Police Council has the responsibility of formulating policies that can make the police more effective. A lot can be achieved under this mandate. There are some reservations about the membership structure of the police council—​the minister supervising the police is not represented and presently that is the minister of interior. This is important particularly since the agencies responsible for internal security are under his supervision; similarly the Attorney General of the Federation who is the law officer of the country. The restructuring of the Council coupled with an assessment of what it would take to make it effective which should include a vibrant and dynamic secretariat that interfaces with civil society so that the agenda of the Council is set in real time; and having a periodic meeting time for the council to sit and deliberate, which is far from what obtains presently.

Conclusion The existence and activities of informal security actors cannot be wished away. The system of centralizing policing initiatives from the top to the bottom is not so ideal for a country like Nigeria, which is dynamic and made up of different ethnic groups. The Biafra agitation which led to the civil war that engulfed the country between 1967 and 1970 is still very fresh in the memory of the country, which makes adoption of state policing challenging in Nigeria. All geopolitical zones, states, and local communities have their own challenges with policing. The top down approach to responding to these issues is not working, and has simulated organic responses from the grassroots. It is within the context of the development of the federal system that the continued existence of informal security actors should be placed. It could be an opportunity for a unique community policing model linked to job creation for the large youth population that is looking for gainful employment. The federal structure now comes in to regulate, to ensure that there is uniformity of purpose, and the overarching policy and political framework is set by the Nigeria Police Council. This provides a framework whereby the governors, president, and other members of the Police Council will provide a higher level of civilian control and oversight of the Nigeria Police Force and the policing environment in the country.

Note 1. See https://​www.britishcouncil.org.ng/​justice-​for-​all-​nigeria

662   ‘Kemi Okenyodo

References Bamgbose, O. (2002). “Teenage Prostitution and the Future of the Female Adolescent in Nigeria,” International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative Criminology 46 (5): 569–​585. Etannibi, E. O., Alemika, E. E., and Innocent, C. C. (2004). Informal Policing Project. The CLEEN Foundation Report:  Justice Sector Platform  –​Nigeria. Lagos:  Centre for Law Enforcement Education (CLEEN). Falola, T. (2009). Colonialism and Violence in Nigeria. Indiana: Indiana University Press. Federal Republic of Nigeria, Office of the National Security Adviser (2014). National Security Strategy. accessed May 27, 2018. Fulton, K. and Nickels, B. (2017). “Africa’s Pastoralists: A New Battleground for Terrorism,” ACSS Spotlight, January 11, 2017. http://​africacenter.org/​spotlight/​africa-​pastoralists-​ battleground-​terrorism accessed May 27, 2018. Groenewald, H. and Peake, G. (2004). “Police Reform Through Community–​ Based Policing:  Philosophy and Guidelines for Implementation.” Policy Paper, September 2004 file://​/​C:/​Users/​PWA%20NIG%202/​Downloads/​police%20reform%20(1).pdf accessed June 2, 2018. Ikuteyiyo, L. Rotimi, K. (2010). Community Partnership in Policing: The Nigeria Experience. Ile-​ Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University. Iyang, J. D. and Abraham, U. V. (2013). “Policing Nigeria:  A Case for Partnership between Formal and Informal Police Institution,” Merit Research Journal of Art, Social Science and Humanities 1 (4): 53–​58. Office of the National Security Adviser (2014). National Counter Terrorism Strategy. Oduah, C. (2016). “Nigeria Vigilantes Ponder Future After Fighting Boko Haram,” VOA News July 5, 2016. https://​www.voanews.com/​a/​what-​next-​for-​the-​nigeria-​vigilantes-​fighting-​ boko-​haram/​3405851.html Okeke, V. O.  S (2013). “Community Policing, Vigilante Security Apparatus and Security Challenges in Nigeria:  A Lesson from Britain and Igbo Traditional Society of Nigeria,” British Journal of Arts and Social Sciences 14 (11): 307–​316. Okenyodo, K. (2016). “The Role of Women in Preventing, Mitigating and Responding to Violence and Violent Extremism in Nigeria,” in N. C. Fink, S. Zeiger, and R. Bhulai (eds), A Man’s world? Exploring the Roles of Women in Counter Terrorism and Violent Extremism (pp. 100–​117). Hedeyah and The Global Center on Cooperative Security Partners West Africa Nigeria (2017). “Non-​State Security Providers in Nigeria: Opportunities and Challenges,” Partners West Africa Nigeria Accountability Brief, September 18, 2017. accessed May 27, 2018. Rosenbaun, P. (1989). “Community Crime Prevention: A Review of What Is Known,” in Dennis Jay Kenney (ed.), Police and Policing: Contemporary Issues. New York: Praeger. Sargent, R. A (1988). “Dynastic History and a Face of the Nation,” in I. K. Sidney (ed.), West African Masks and Cultural System (pp. 42–​53). Tervuren:  Musee Royal de L’Afrique Centraleages. Tamuno, T. (1993). “Crime and Security in Pre-​Colonial Nigeria,” in T. Tamuno et al. (eds), Policing Nigeria: Past, Present and Future. Lagos: Malthouse press limited.

Crime, Cults, and Informal Security    663 Tamuno, T. (2003). “The Nigeria Police Force and Public Security and Safety,” in L. Fourchard and I. O. Albert (eds), Security, Crime and Segregation in West African Cities since the Nineteenth Century. Paris/​Ibadan: Karthala and IFRA. Ugwu, C. O. T. (2007). “Continuity of the Ritual Process: Children in Masquerade Tradition among Nsukka Northern Igbo People,” Nigerian Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences 2007: 1–​11. Nsukka: Great AP Express Publishers. Zems, M. (2015). “Dane Gun –​Machine Gun Nexus: The Local Hunter Strategy as a Tool for Modern Security Provision in Communities in Nigeria,” International Journal of Social Science and Humanities Research 3 (4): 125–​137. Zumve, S. (2012). “Community Policing in Contemporary Nigeria: A Synthesis of Models,” Journal of Educational and Social Research 2 (9): 132–​139.

Chapter 39

L and, Citi z e nsh i p, and the L aws of Di senfranch i se me nt Victor Adefemi Isumonah

Introduction Citizenship has been and will continue to be contested. It is an issue in one form or the other in traditional and modern societies, developing and developed societies, transitional and advanced democracies. Even where citizenship as legal status is settled in favor of an individual, there is no guarantee that its entitlements (rights) that are not a subject of contestation today will remain free of contestation. Both citizenship as legal status and citizenship as duties (practice) are issues that keep occurring. But citizenship as legal status is more contested than citizenship as duties because of its loaded baggage of “eligibility, costs, and benefits” (Lonsdale 2016, p. 17). There is no doubt that citizenship is determined by the political economy of the day. However, the denial of cultural nationalism, conceived as an integral part of political economy, an independent status in citizenship determination (see Lonsdale 2016), is erroneous. Cultural nationalism may swing with political and economic context, but has proven independent of political economy in the determination of citizenship. Cultural nationalism has been able to project itself invariably under changing—​favorable and unfavorable—​political and economic conditions. It has proven, in some circumstances, to be independent of political economy in the development of citizenship. The independent power of cultural nationalism in every context or locality is evident from the role of the concept of citizenship of the dominant opinion in the determination of inclusion or exclusion. This opinion holds sway in the definition of citizenship even if it or its justification is false. For example, a certain concept of universality by early American republicans excluded “red and black peoples” from American citizenship. This was the viewpoint or general will, which the excluded were judged to be incapable

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    665 of adopting. Although exclusion was not the innate incapacity to espouse or embrace the public realm defined as a place “of manly virtue and citizenship as independence, and dispassionate reason,” the opinion that gave rise to it prevailed (Young 1995, p. 179). Cultural nationalism’s independent causal power is also evident from different choices between inclusive citizenship and exclusive citizenship under the same or similar economic factors as clearly illustrated by the different electoral outcomes of recent political contests in advanced democracies. Thus, the June 23, 2016 U.K. Brexit referendum, the November 8, 2016 American presidential election, the March 16, 2017 Dutch general elections, and the April 23 and May 7, 2017 French presidential elections were dominated by the tension between nationalism and universalism. In all history, the existing outcome of this tension “is the present state of society, viewed at any level, community, nation-​state or the world,” at war or peace (Isumonah 2016b, p. 10; Wallensteen 1984; Dunhua 2009). Specifically, the clamor for a return to nationalism by some leading contestants boomed during those contests. This nationalism or what Hayes (1964, p. 52) refers to as “integral nationalism,” which he defines as the “exclusive pursuit of national policies, the absolute maintenance of national integrity, and the steady increase in national power—​ for a nation,” is hostile to internationalism. Generally, integral nationalism in those political contests was a call for “my country or people first.” Its specific manifestations were anti-​immigration, unilateralism against multilateralism in trade negotiations and deals, and outright withdrawal from economic and quasi-​political multinational organizations, such as Britain’s withdrawal from the European Union or reduction in the commitment to these organizations (i.e. the tepid attitude of the U.S. to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and the 2016 Paris Agreement on Climate Change under President Donald Trump). In the United Kingdom, where integral nationalism first appeared in recent times, it won with the Brexit vote. It gained another victory when Mr. Donald Trump won the U.S. 2016 presidential election. The result of the Dutch general elections, which were speculated to follow the cues of integral nationalism’s victories in the U.K. and U.S. a few months before, delivered a choke to it while the defeat of its French champion, Marine Le Pen has halted it. Even Trump’s America has been forced out of its integral nationalist shell as in the responses to the use of chemical weapons by the Assad regime to kill and maim fellow Syrians and the perceived threat of nuclear war by North Korea’s continuing effort to develop nuclear capabilities. In many African countries, the contention is currently not between integral nationalism and internationalism. It is between integral nationalism and ethnic nationalism or subnationalism. In Nigeria, where ethnic questions continue to be posed as the principal contradiction, beginning from the period of struggle for political independence, cultural nationalism retains independence of, and supremacy over, political economy in the determination of citizenship. Thus, the national question is framed around group rights and hardly as deprivation of the individual as citizenship continues to be posed as an ethnic question (Isumonah and Agbaje 2015). Citizenship rights are cast as ethnic justice; as the right to oil revenues by ethnic groups, whether oil is exploited in their

666   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah homeland or not. Ethnic justice assumes that respect for group rights is a guarantee for individual rights by equating ethnic group rights with social justice, the individual focused distributive system. So, even with Nigerian nationality by birth, individuals are confronted with the citizenship question outside their paternally determined ethno-​ territory within Nigeria. In other words, Nigerian nationality may automatically confer the status of citizen on the individual; it does not guarantee citizenship status outside of the autochthonous home (Isumonah 2016a). How citizenship as legal status remains the primary contention of citizenship in Nigeria is the focus of this chapter. Given its foundational role, colonialism is examined first. This is followed by the section on postcolonial state policies and actions. The last section demonstrates the directive principle of citizenship and franchise that indigeneity has become, followed by concluding remarks.

Development of Indigeneity under Colonial Rule Colonial and postcolonial state formation or state-​building processes reveal the development of indigeneity. That Nigeria is a creation of colonial power is no news. Its state formation processes and their impact on intergroup relations are the more relevant information items. Migration had been stimulated by the development of roads, railways, postal communications, and other media of communication. During the early part of migration, interactions between indigenes and migrants were reported to be positive even culminating in intergroup marriages. “However, when migrants became many and socioeconomic competition with the hosts became more distinct, relations were strained. In reaction, the migrants and hosts organized themselves along communal lines to safeguard their interests and struggle for unequally distributed and scarce resources” (Nnoli 1978, p. 97). By the 1920s, communal unions sprawled in major Nigerian towns. The account continues: Since the migrants were too poorly educated to compete against the British for socioeconomic resources, they turned their competitive energies against fellow Nigerians. The resultant struggle produced frustrations. The unsuccessful competitors found it easy and convenient to blame their plight on advantages possessed by members of other groups. (Nnoli 1978, p. 98)

With the simultaneous accentuation of deprivation by falling commodity prices during the Great Depression and Second World War in the years between 1928 and 1948, on the one hand, and sustained tax burden on the other, people found refuge in communal unions, which swelled both in membership and numbers across Nigeria. The development of ethnicity in Nigeria, then, is bound up with welfare-​seeking by individuals who turn to communal associations when their welfare is threatened. In this

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    667 regard, one agrees with Hale (2008) who rejects ethnicity-​as-​conflictual and ethnicity-​ as-​epiphenomenal theories and instead proposes a theory of ethnicity based on social relations. His “relational theory of ethnicity posits that uncertainty reduction drives ethnic identification, but that what people do with their identities depends on other motivations. It does not specify what these motivations are, though it does argue that there are no inherently ‘ethnic’ motivations” (Hale 2008, p. 62). The key assumption of this theory is that “people primarily seek to increase their life chances, the opportunity individuals have to pursue whatever it is that they desire” (Hale 2008, p. 62). As part of its divide-​and-​rule tactic for endless political control and maximum economic gains, British colonialism in Nigeria encouraged separateness of peoples of different cultures territorially. It “instituted a policy of dual development” that ensured that contacts between northerners and southerners were kept at the “absolute minimum” (Ayoade 1998, p. 102). This policy trickled down to the separate quarters for migrants from the south in the north and vice versa. Retaliatory discrimination over time by a cultural group as reaction to initial discrimination against them turns cultural identity into a new logic of social relations, and indigeneity in Nigeria’s case, as the overarching factor in citizenship determination.

Centralization and Decentralization under the Postcolonial State The Nigerian postcolonial state has impacted citizenship through state creation, land tenure and use, and policies such as federal character principle and power of resource allocation and redistribution. The institutional structure of the politics of distribution, governed by decentralized ethnic principle, is centralization. Nigeria witnessed unprecedented centralization under the Murtala/​Obasanjo administration, 1975–​9 with the takeover by the central government of universities and news media, regrouping of trade unions, as well as the introduction of a uniform local government system (Dudley 1982). The overriding concern with distribution reflects in concentration of powers at the center by the powerful ethnic groups, which they have exercised to their advantage. Such is the advantage of control of political power at the center that Muslim northern states have more local governments which, like states, are used for the distribution of resources appropriated to the center. Thus, southern and northern states with roughly equal populations by official census have different numbers of local governments. For example, Lagos and Kano have twenty and forty-​four local government areas respectively, and Anambra and Jigawa twenty-​one and twenty-​seven respectively. The advantage this powerful part of the north enjoys from centralization and distribution, based mainly on the principles of equality of states and local governments, and population through states and local governments, explains the north’s position in the raging debate on Nigeria’s political structure. As Malam Tanko Yakassai, founding member of Arewa

668   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah Consultative Forum (ACF) recently put it unpretentiously, “the idea behind the agitation for restructuring is to demolish those two advantages that are naturally due to the north in terms of representation and revenue sharing” (Guardian, Lagos, May 22, 2017, pp. 1, 6). The dominance of distribution reflects in the tension between centralization and decentralization. Centralization shows preference for central control of major economic resources by the Constitution and legislations for distribution to the diverse geoethnic groups and regions. On the other hand, decentralization shows preference for the use of regional structures (states and local governments) for resource allocation and the distribution of government benefits (admission into federal schools, political and administrative appointments). The operative citizenship principle for distribution of benefits to individuals is based on belonging to an indigenous territory in a local government or state. Along with the creation of more states, the federal character principle was intended to deflect block loyalty from the regions and big ethnic groups to the new states, being smaller geopolitical units. By becoming important instruments of access to federally collected and distributed resources, states have also become assets and channels of loyalty to the regions and ethnic groups. This means that the higher number of states an ethnic group has, the more entitlements including franchise that ethnic group will have in the federation. It cannot be put better than Igbo leaders, including two former state governors, Sam Mbakwe and Christian C. Onoh, in an advertised memorandum during the moves towards the creation of more states in 1991. States are, inter alia, bases for revenue allocation, representation in the Nigerian Senate, National Council of State, Federal Executive Council, Federal Agencies, and Parastatals, Industrial and Agricultural settings, and even in the military (Guardian, Lagos, April 12, 1991, p. 6). Another advertorial by seven other Igbo leaders put it pointedly that the denial of more states to the Igbo amounted “electorally to disenfranchisement” (Guardian, Lagos, April 12, 1991, p. 6). So, the federal character principle falters on many fronts, the worst being its failure in its main intent of forging national unity and a sense of belonging by whittling down ethnic loyalties (Ekeh 1989). As Ekeh (1989) puts it, the principle has assumed a “permanent solution to what ought to be and may well turn out to be, a temporary problem of ethnicity,” and has turned ethnicity into a permanent problem, “deepening and extending its reach and ravages” (original emphasis, Ekeh 1989, p. 34). It has become the constitutional seal for dichotomizing between Nigerian citizenship and nativity in the various Nigerian political communities similar to the categorization of migrant Nigerians as native foreigners by the colonial regime; tying citizenship rights, not to birthplace as Ayoade (1998) construes it, but to paternal ancestry (Isumonah 2016a). The federal character principle was historically not the first of its kind in Nigeria’s politics. The application of quota principle in recruitment into the army was practiced by the British colonial regime, which created the Nigerian state. This was continued by pre-​and postindependence indigenous political authorities at various times and at different levels of recruitment into the military (Adekanye 1989). As Ekeh (1989) has

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    669 shown, the principle is rooted in the history and sociology of Nigeria. First, with its suggestion of parity, is the North–​South dichotomy. Second, the evolution through devolution of federalism centered on what the units will benefit from being part of the Nigerian federal union. Third, is the influence of ethnicity, which is more salient in the political mobilization of the south than in the north where sharing of federal benefits has transcended ethnic identity and is more equitable, a legacy of the northernization policy. In Ekeh’s (1989) view, the federal character principle was constructed particularly from the centrality of distribution in Nigeria’s federal politics for organizing the distribution of benefits and to prevent the struggle by ethnic groups for “federal wealth” from becoming rancorous. Adekanye (1989) outlines and discusses many consequences of recruitment into the army through quota, from which federal character principle derives its generic existence. Of note and particular relevance is its impact on ethnic consciousness. The implication of ethnic identity in all government recruitments continues to shadow individual beneficiaries who rely on it for advancement. Hence, the concern of highly mobilized ethnic groups, and there are numerous such groups in Nigeria, is whether their persons made the list of every set of federal appointments. For example, the Urhobo argued their own should be appointed Managing Director of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) as compensation for scanty consideration in the appointments made by the new presidency of Olusegun Obasanjo in late 1999/​early 2000. In a memorandum to the president, Senate president, and speaker of the House of Representatives, they argued that out of over 100 ministerial, special adviser, and ambassadorial appointments, only one Urhobo person was appointed, namely, the ambassador to the Philippines, even though they are the fifth-​largest ethnic group in Nigeria (Guardian, Lagos, February 7, 2000, pp. 62–​3). In expressing similar neglect and political marginalization, the Isoko, an  Urhobo neighboring ethnic group, demanded their own be appointed managing director of NDDC. Through their mouthpiece, the Isoko Development Union (IDU), they averred, “only by giving Isoko a chance that our sons and daughters can understand the call of the elders and our Royal fathers on them to cooperate fully with the government of Mr. President” (Guardian, Lagos, February 18, 2000, p. 46). The carrot of cooperation was a reference to the desire of President Obasanjo to end what he described as mini wars in the Niger Delta at the time (Isumonah 2015). As Welch Jr. (1995, p. 636) has written, “persons outside the privileged inner circles turn to kinship networks and emphasize personal ties, because the public sector appears to reward the private interests of those who control it.” The federal character principle has promoted bifurcated citizenship and invariably reinforced ethnic identity and solidarity. Land tenure and land use are another means by which the Nigerian postcolonial state has impacted redistribution and citizenship. Land tenure and land use are about ownership and use of land respectively; both affect citizenship. In particular, land tenure or is, land ownership, defines some as indigenes and others as non-​indigenes or settlers. Where land tenure permits permanent acquisition of land, there is the prospect of integration and admission into citizenship of strangers in the community as

670   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah Isumonah (2003a, pp. 8–​9) shows with examples from southwestern and northwestern Nigeria. Individualization of ownership away from communal ownership of land facilitates permanent transfer and integration of strangers. Thus, if land is seen as a communal asset to be “held in trust for the unborn as well as the living” (Kenyatta 1975, p. 31) or “family property in perpetuity” (Price 1933, p. 6), that is, acquired strictly by inheritance, what the Hausa call Gado, and thus cannot be transferred as gift or purchase, migrants have absolutely no chance of cultural assimilation leading to citizenship. The Land Use Act “was promulgated in 1978 to nationalize all lands in the country, purportedly due to the increasing difficulty experienced by private and government institutions in acquiring land for development,” but actually intended to vest control of oil resources in the federal government for easy access of the major groups to the detriment of minor groups of the oil-​producing areas (Ako 2009, p. 294). While the federal government has been able to assert ownership of major natural resources, particularly crude oil, through the Act, the demand for land for private uses is still subject to customary law.

The Indigene/​Non-​indigene Dichotomy According to Dunn (2009, p. 121), autochthony is the “claim to have been in a certain space first.” Keller’s description of indigeneity as a group’s claim of “primordial rights to a particular geographic location and arrogation of the right to determine who is a citizen of that place” (Keller 2014, p. 58) shows that it conveys the same meaning as autochthony. What perhaps needs to be pointed out is that the space or geographic location of their reference is part of a sovereign territory and that both have implications for citizenship and franchise. The claim to a part of a territory is the concept of indigeneity that is prevalent in Nigeria. As such, territorial claims by indigeneity have become numerous as there are Nigerians, varying from village, town, city, local government to state territory. This is the concept of indigeneity employed in the demand for a share of resources—​scholarships, government jobs, admission into schools, appointed and elected offices. Implementation of state policies, such as quota and federal character principle derived from this concept, reinforces indigeneity with the requirement of proof of state, or local government of origin, or certification of a village head for individual access to government privileges. This concept promotes individual rights through its emphasis on group rights. A quest for personal benefits with the ethnic or group language of rights has given rise to indigeneity-​citizenship questions (Jinadu 1994). But there is another concept of indigeneity that is exerting horrific influence on Nigeria. This is the claim to the right to rule Nigeria by the North, to be specific, the Muslim North, which stems from the rejection of the secular state as enunciated by Uthman dan Fodio. According to Uthman, “the status of a town is the status of its

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    671 ruler: if he be Muslim, the town belongs to Islam; but if he be heathen the town is a town of heathendom” (quoted in Ekeh 1997, p. 88). The claim to rule by the Muslim north invariably means ownership of Nigeria though a republic. It is expressed in the belief that the Koran and hadith should provide the tenets for building a constitution on the basis of which the Hausa–​Fulani power elite, who emerged from Islam and jihad in the nineteenth century, has made “claims to power, excluded others and challenged rivals.” The concentration of this stratum of elite in the North Western Region means that the claim to power is for the Hausa–​Fulani (Falola 1997). There are both emblematic and political expressions of entire Nigeria ownership claims. As the highest currency of Nigeria, the 20 naira note bore the emblem of the Sokoto Caliphate, the administrative headquarters of the Muslim North. The claim to the right to rule Nigeria by the Muslim North finds expression in the belief that it would have created Nigeria under its political control without an external intervention. As the second member for the North in the Legislative Council, then Malam Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, “threatened that if the South did not desist from its attacks on the North, the North would be forced to continue its ‘interrupted conquest to the sea’, that is, to the South” (Dudley 1968, p. 22). The claim led to the adoption of the “Northernization Policy,” the political mobilization of the north as one interest group, “one north for all northerners,” superintended by “closed politics,” where the “social basis of political activity was dynastic though not exclusively so” during the decolonizing and early postindependence years (Dudley 1968, p. 252). Northern solidarity was resorted to for political access by Hausa–​Fulani when it became clear to them that if the British, as they were planning, allocated resources on universal principle, they would lose out (Young 1976). The Northernization policy’s real intent can be seen from the reservation of the core position for the Fulani through the discrimination against other groups in employment and placement in public schools, as well as the imposition of the culture of the dominant Hausa–​Fulani group on other nationalities in southern Kaduna (Madaki 1999). The first political expression of the second indigeneity concept is the claim and actual control of power at the center by the Muslim-​dominated North. With the support of the departing British colonial power and on the basis of population, the Muslim North won equal representation with southern Nigeria such that the control of political power at the center would always remain in its hands, especially in the context of ethnic politics. With a British-​assisted head start in political leverage at the center, the Muslim North embarked on the project of control of the armed forces which it foresaw as crucial to the future political control of Nigeria. The late Alhaji Maitama Sule, a first generation northern political leader, narrates the armed forces control project in the following words: Indeed, a directive was issued to all the ministers in Sardauna’s Cabinet that each time any of them was on tour they were to ensure that they visit schools and recruit people [young boys] into the military. Traditional rulers were also mobilized to undertake

672   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah visits within their domains to enlist young boys into the military. (Nigerian Tribune, Ibadan, November 23, 1993, p. 8)

Such recruits were to serve as champions of northern interests. Although the ethnic language of campaign did not significantly swing the voting decision of Yardaji in northern Nigeria in the 1983 presidential election for him, President Shehu Shagari’s use of this language there and in other parts of the north indicates its perceived utility in the struggle for access or control of central political power. He projected other political parties as “anti-​Islam.” In a campaign in Yardaji, he declared: This will be an election from Lagos to kongolam (i.e. the length of the country), and will be held all in one day. If those in the South elect the one they want, the North will not be electing the one they want. Inevitably, the Southerners will then rule. Because of this, everyone should come out and vote. If Igbos and Yorubas come out and vote, they will elect their man. If Hausas, and Fulanis, don’t vote, then necessarily the Igbos or Yorubas will rule. This is why everyone should come out, to vote for the one who is close to him. (Miles 1988, pp. 91–​2)

The Emir of Daura indicates that this language of campaign came from a union of traditional and political, and indeed, core northern interests in a comment on Shagari’s campaign: “He is touring everywhere . . . to deliver this talk. People should know that he is doing it with authorization (umurni), and that it was not his idea alone” (Miles 1988, p.  91). His military officers/officials, Generals Ibrahim Babangida and Sani Abacha, who did not need ethnic language of mobilization, employed blackmail and sponsored solidarity rallies to maintain their hold on political power on behalf of the Muslim North. While inaugurating his appointed Armed Forces Consultative Assembly in 1989, General Babangida warned the military to beware of the attempt of civilians to discredit them with anti-​Structural Adjustment Program riots. On the other hand, General Abacha organized solidarity rallies, which were usually addressed by his appointed military administrators while forbidding rallies by civil society groups opposed to his impulses (Guardian, Lagos, June 23, 1989, p. 1). Thus, the center was under the control of the Muslim-​dominated north from pre-​ independence to early independence years when it was interrupted by the January 15, 1966 military coup d’état. Although the May 29, 1966 countercoup installed a northern minority Christian, General Yakubu Gowon, as head of state, the exercise of political power at the center continued in the image of the Muslim North. The control of political power by the Muslim North was restored with the 1975 military coup that installed General Murtala Muhammed. The Muslim North’s control was interrupted by the assassination of General Muhammed in February 1976 with the ascension of General Olusegun Obasanjo, a Christian of the Yoruba ethnic group of southern Nigeria. The Muslim North resumed control of political power at the center in 1979 when Alhaji Shehu Shagari emerged as president in controversial elections and held on to it with successive military rulers, beginning with General Muhammadu Buhari who

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    673 overthrew him on December 31, 1983. So, in all the years of Nigerian military rule from 1983 to 1999, the Muslim North ensured that only adherents to the Islamic religion and also of the Hausa–​Fulani ethnic group, namely, Generals Muhammadu Buhari, Ibrahim Babangida, Sani Abacha, and Abdulsalami Abubakar were installed as head of state. The concluding part of military rule saw the “deepening of the primacy of the northern region in Nigerian politics” (Joseph 1999, p. 360). Alhaji Ahmadu Abubakar, a Fulani from Nassarawa, puts the political primacy of the Muslim North during the period more scathingly: In those years, the north simply went berserk in terms of appropriation of government machinery for itself. It was so clear and brazen. We had a situation where the head of state and all his principal officers, the military, the parastatals and key organs of government were dominated by the North. (Quoted in Isumonah 2003b, p. 118)

The second political expression of the inclusive concept of indigeneity by the Muslim North is veto power over eligibility for presidential office. Thus, the highest ranking assigned Muslim northern part of Nigeria over southern regions by the British colonial power has since been consolidated into a veto power in the contest for presidential power. As Alex Gboyega (1997, p. 150) put it, “electoral victories are only expected to confirm the North’s predetermined right to rule, and if they do not, they are treated as illegitimate and subject to reversal.” A detailed recollection of the evidence of the claim to the ownership and the right to rule Nigeria by the Muslim North by no means implies that political office seekers of other ethnic groups do not use ethnic language in political mobilization. An example suffices: during his 1993 presidential campaign, Chief Moshood Abiola on an occasion admonished his Yoruba voters not to be complacent. They should deliver the votes of his Ogun state of origin, “if possible, 100 per cent.” Thus, southern political elites also deploy ethnic language in their campaigns. The detailed recollection of the Muslim North’s use of ethnic language for political mobilization is warranted by their claim to ownership and right to rule Nigeria in perpetuity. Since the Fourth Republic, inaugurated in May 1999, two southerners have occupied the presidential office. This is not gratuitous on the Muslim North’s part. The Muslim North allowed Chief Obasanjo (a southerner) to assume office as president to appease his Yoruba (southwest) ethnic group for the annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election, presumably won by his kin, Chief Moshood Abiola. Chief Abiola’s imminent assumption of presidential power was an unplanned outcome of General Ibrahim Babangida’s tactics to keep federal power in the hands of the Muslim North (Isumonah 2003). Dr.  Goodluck Jonathan’s rise to presidential office was an accident of history created by the death of President Umar Musa Yar’Adua two and half years into his four-​year term in office. But his choice as vice-​presidential running mate to President Yar’Adua, which positioned Jonathan for the occupation of presidential office, was not an accident of history since it was forced by the Ijaw youth militancy that was crippling Nigeria’s mono-​economy (Isumonah 2015).

674   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah The indigeneity claim by the Afizere, Anaguta, and Berom over various parts of Plateau State against the migrant Hausa and Fulani, which took a violent turn when the former perceived that the creation of the Jos North Local Government Area in 1991 by the General Ibrahim Babangida Administration was going to give the latter political leverage, has continued with occasional violent bursts (Best and Hoomlong 2011). The force of indigeneity is also evident from the failure of the National Assembly to correct the flaws of the Land Use Act. In recent times, there has been perhaps no greater audacity of indigeneity in the determination of citizenship than the quit notice in June 2017 issued  by a coalition of northern youth organizations (Arewa Citizens Action for Change, Arewa Youth Consultative Forum, Arewa Youth Development Foundation, Arewa Students Forum, Northern Emancipation Network, and Northern Youth Vanguard) to all Igbos resident in the northern part of Nigeria to leave by October 1, 2017. Following the quit notice, the governors of the core Muslim northern states of Kano and Kaduna announced that their governments would no longer regard any Nigerian nationals as non-​indigenes. This means that Igbos and other Nigerians who had lived in their states for five years and above would thenceforth be treated as indigenes (read citizens). The governors of the southern states of Lagos and Rivers, Mr. Raji Fashola and Rotimi Amaechi, had made a similar declaration by 2015. From the cultural theory of citizenship, the dominant attitude of indigenous claimants of a homeland or political community, its nationality and citizenship, determines the indigeneity (nationality) and citizenship of immigrants or later settlers. In the cultural determination of citizenship, which recognizes the dynamism of culture, for instance, amenability of culture to political influence, government policy or action in favor of citizenship for immigrants in their place of residence is important but not enough (Isumonah 2003a; 2016a; 2016b). Not for its trueness, but for the sectional advantage it confers, indigeneity is exercising a powerful influence on the determination of citizenship in many parts of Africa. In Nigeria’s case, indigeneity advantage covers resource allocation, popular democracy, political participation, and participation in economic activities. Hence, the importance of indigeneity pervades all aspects of social and political life and holds the key to citizenship as status with rights. As discussed earlier, indigeneity claims in Nigeria are at two levels, that is, claim to a part and entire Nigeria. Indigeneity may then be seen as the claim to the ownership of a part of the Nigerian territory and to entire Nigeria to the exclusion of Nigerians of other cultures. The latter ownership of Nigeria claim, which the Muslim North thinks entitles it to the permanent political control of Nigeria has been mistaken for the objective conditions for its strategies for actualizing the claim. Thus, Osaghae (1994) explains northernization policy of the Muslim North with a commitment to discrimination against other Nigerians in terms of resource poverty and other disadvantages. Coleman (1958) outlines these and other reasons for northern fear and northernization policy as:

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    675 The gross disparities in the level of development in all fields; the heavy concentration of educated southerners at strategic points of control in the administrative, commercial, and transportation sectors of northern society; the condescending and exploitative attitudes and behaviour attributed to southerners living and working in the north; and the leveling and disorganizing impact of southern ideologies and patterns of politics on the highly stratified and aristocratic northern social system. (Coleman 1958, p. 400)

The focus on objective conditions leads to the thinking that the Muslim North’s quest for political power is merely for self-​preservation. This focus explains away the fact that the Muslim North’s objective conditions that have purportedly given rise to its quest for permanent control of federal power are not unique. All other Nigerian ethnic groups have been driven by fear of ethnic domination of another at one time or the other. A few examples suffice: the Igbo were first driven to ethnic political solidarity by the denial of Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe to a platform of the Western Region by Action Group to seek election for the Federal House of Representatives. Later, “by devious but legal methods a Yoruba-​dominated university council replaced an Ibo, Dr. Eni Njoku with a Yoruba, Saburi O. Biobaku, who had already agreed to become the first Vice-​Chancellor of the University of Zambia” (O’Connell 1970, p. 1029). Old Eastern Regions’ minorities were, in turn, aggrieved against the Igbo for the displacement of their folk, Professor Eyo Ita as its premier by Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe. The Yoruba were, for their part, driven to ethnic political mobilization because of the fear of Igbo domination (Ige 1995). The political survival sought through ethnic political mobilization of these other groups has not culminated in the entitlement to rule Nigeria as a permanent right. The Muslim North’s successful claim to federal power comes not from these objective conditions, but from a philosophy of state power. So, the quest for federal power for self-​preservation by the Muslim North perspective is simplistic. It explains away the entitlement to federal power claimed by the Muslim North. It cannot explain the veto power over Nigeria claimed by the Muslim North and the way in which it is the foundation for oligarchic rules of eligibility for elected office and disenfranchisement of whole groups with regards to political representation at the highest levels. Given what is now mutual discrimination of both the advantaged and disadvantaged in Nigeria, it is the overriding preference for distribution over production by the dominant political groups on the ascendancy of crude oil as the major revenue earner that offers a better understanding of indigeneity and disenfranchisement. This preference, originated in the north, has blinded discriminators into seeing the discriminated as a liability. In the game of mutual discrimination driven by distribution, the core of each cultural group is unable to perceive the advantage of inclusive citizenship and cannot see the excluded (individuals of other cultural groups) as manpower assets. Development is invariably not a core concern. The role of production, which is essential to development, as a core concern in the shaping of

676   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah citizenship can be seen from the defeat of integral nationalism through the Dutch and French elections and the ongoing anti-​immigration struggles in the U.S. In the U.S., for instance, the perception of immigrants as productive assets has obstructed President Donald Trump’s anti-​immigration policy.

Conclusion Both partial and inclusive concepts of indigeneity disenfranchise some Nigerian nationals or citizens. The partial concept disenfranchises on a small scale in local and smaller constituencies—​House of Assembly, House of Representatives, senatorial and governorship—​because those defined non-​indigenes even if permanent residents or born and raised in the constituency cannot aspire nor contest elected office by default or declaration (Isumonah 2006; 2015; 2016). The inclusive concept disenfranchises on a bigger scale by denying several groups access to presidential office, effectively watering down Nigeria’s constitutional status as a republic. The Muslim North’s overriding preference for equivalent modes of political incorporation, society “constituted as a consociation of complementary or equivalent but mutually exclusive, corporate divisions, membership in one of which is prerequisite for citizenship in the wider unit” (Smith 1969, p. 435), sowed the seed for the framing of the federal character principle as the inclusive model of constitutional engineering by the 1975 Constitution Drafting Committee. Invariably, it became the main frame of the Nigerian Constitution and, in turn, the directive principle of citizenship practice in Nigeria. It is not surprising that careers in almost all government establishments such as the military, police, civil service, etc., have increasingly come to depend on ethnic identity. This shows the high premium that is being placed on it. Indigeneity has a lot of stock because it gives access, through centralization, to the benefits of oil rents, which Ake (1993, p. 21) perceptively noted, are “the web of Nigeria’s mercenary unity.” Government functionaries use indigeneity as a cloak for their failure, primitive accumulation, and thus, inability to use governmental power for taxation. Thus, the indigeneity–​citizenship issue will persist unless its underlying political system is modified. Following Canadian former Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s recommendation of use of national image, Soyinka (2001) proposes “the protection of options of productive strategies, equality of access to national opportunities, the right to decisions in the priorities of development, an equitable policy of revenue derivation and allocation” as the solution. The viability of this solution depends on a new cultural outlook disposed to inclusive citizenship and able to see individuals of other cultures as manpower assets. A bold resolution of the indigeneity–​citizenship issue will facilitate many other afflictions of Nigeria such as the unnecessary expansion of responsibilities of the center, politicization of population census, and resentment to mobility of human and material assets, and more important, political and economic participation and the impact of government on the people.

Land, Citizenship, and the Laws of Disenfranchisement    677

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678   VICTOR Adefemi Isumonah Isumonah, V. Adefemi (2015). “Minority Political Mobilization in the Struggle for Resource Control in Nigeria,” The Extractive Industries and Society 2 (2015): 645–​653. Isumonah, V. Adefemi (2016a). “The Ethnic Language of Rights and the Nigerian Political Community,” in Emma Hunter (ed.), Citizenship, Belonging and Political Community in Africa: Dialogues Between Past and Present (pp. 211–​238). Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Isumonah, V. Adefemi (2016b). Universalism and Political Mobilization, an inaugural lecture delivered March 31, 2016, University of Ibadan. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press. Isumonah, V. Adefemi and Adigun Agbaje (2015). “The National Question,” in J. A. A. Ayoade, A. Akinsanya, and J. B. Ojo (eds), The National Question for Nigeria: Descent into Anarchy? (pp. 94–​106). Ibadan: John Archers. Jinadu, Adele (1994). “Addressing the Indigineship-​ Citizenship Question in Nigeria,” unpublished paper. Joseph, Richard (1999). “Autocracy, Violence and Ethnomilitary Rule in Nigeria,” in Richard Joseph (ed.), State, Conflict, and Democracy in Africa (pp. 359–​ 373). Boulder, CO/​ London: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Keller, Edmond J. (2014). Identity, Citizenship, and Political Conflict in Africa. Bloomington/​ Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press. Kenyatta, Jomo (1975). “The Gikuyu System of Government,” in Gideon-​Cyrus M. Mutiso and S. W. Rohio (eds), Readings in African Political Thought (pp. 19–​34). London: Heinemann. Lonsdale, John (2016). “Unhelpful Pasts and a Provisional Present,” in Emma Hunter (ed.), Citizenship, Belonging and Political Community in Africa: Dialogues between past and present (pp. 17–​20). Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Madaki, Yohanna A. (1999). “The Future of Nigerian Federalism,” a paper presented at the International Conference organized by the African Centre for Democratic Governance, Abuja, March 14–​18, 1999. Miles, William F. S. (1988). Elections in Nigeria: A Grassroots Perspective. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Nnoli, Okwudiba (1978). Ethnic Politics in Nigeria. Enugu: Fourth Dimension Press. O’Connell, James O. (1970). “The Fragility of Stability:  The Fall of the Nigerian Federal Government,” in Robert I. Rothberg and Ali A. Mazrui (eds), Protest and Power in Black Africa (pp. 1021–​1030). New York: Oxford University Press. Osaghae, Eghosa E. (1994). “Interstate Relations in Nigeria,” Publius 24 (4): 83–​98. Price, Ward H. L. (1933). “Land Tenure in the Yoruba Provinces,” National Archives, Ibadan, No.  RG/​P9. Smith, M. G. (1969). “Some Developments in the Analytic Framework of Pluralism,” in Leo Kuper and M. G. Smith (eds), Pluralism in Africa ( pp. 415–​458). Berkeley/​Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Soyinka, Wole (2001). “Centralism and Alienation,” in International Social Science Journal, UNESCO 53 (167): 13–​18. The News (2001). Lagos, 17 (20): December 10, 2001, p. 26. Young, Crawford (1976). The Politics of Cultural Pluralism. Madison, WI:  University of Wisconsin Press. Young, Iris Marion (1989). “Polity and Group Difference: A Critique of the Ideal of Universal Citizenship,” Ethics 99 (2): 250–​274. Welch Jr., Claude E. (1995). “The Ogoni and Self-​Determination:  Increasing Violence in Nigeria,” Journal of Modern African Studies 33 (4): 635–​650. Wallensteen, Peter (1984). “Universalism vs. Particularism:  On the Limits of Major Power Order,” Journal of Peace Research 21 (3): 243–​257.

Chapter 40

Pastoralism , Et h ni c i t y, a nd Subnat i ona l C on flict Resolu t i on i n the M iddl e   Be lt Laura Thaut Vinson

Introduction Since the 1980s, communal violence has been an increasing concern in Nigeria’s Middle Belt states, despite the return to civilian rule in 1999. The recurring bouts of intergroup violence take two primary forms—​conflicts between pastoralists or Fulani cattle herders and indigenous farmers, and ethnic conflicts characterized by an ethno-​tribal and/​or ethno-​religious dimension. Indeed, there is considerable concern about the increase in pastoralist–​farmer clashes in the past few years, with more than forty pastoralist–​farmer clashes since 2011 alone, killing hundreds and displacing many more1. These clashes are primarily associated with issues of land encroachment, competing land claims, access to resources, and cattle thieving. The Middle Belt states, particularly Kaduna and Plateau, have also become infamous for frequent inter-​religious violence since the 1980s. More recently, in 2011, three days of intense rioting across northern Nigeria following the announcement of the presidential election results led to an estimated 800 deaths, 65,000 displaced, and hundreds of churches and mosques burned (Human Rights Watch 2011; Lewis 2011). The number of deaths and the level of property destruction vary depending on the particular incident, from clashes involving a handful of deaths in isolated villages to those involving more than a thousand in more urban areas. Although the Nigerian government has struggled to respond effectively or generate policy solutions, the clashes have been a significant security concern for the Nigerian state. Depending on the conflict type in question, the approaches to peacekeeping and conflict resolution have

680   Laura Thaut Vinson involved top-​down and/​or bottom-​up attempts, including military involvement, national policy proposals, local commissions and investigations, and community early warning and peacebuilding efforts. This chapter provides an overview of the rise of pastoralist and ethnic conflict in the Middle Belt since the 1980s, arguing that resource pressures, the sacralization of politics, and contestation over local political representation and categories of belonging have been central to the violence. It then discusses the significant destabilizing effects and costs of the violence for Nigerian communities and the security of the Nigerian state as a whole. The chapter then explores the various measures that the national government, states, and local communities have pursued in attempt to address these conflicts, ultimately arguing that any approach to conflict mitigation and resolution must be multipronged and involve coordinated efforts with stakeholders across all levels—​by no means a small challenge.

Types of Middle-Belt Conflict The communal violence in the Middle Belt can be loosely placed in three categories: pastoralist, ethno-​tribal, and ethno-​religious. However, the identity dimensions in these cases are often overlapping, dividing groups based on both religious and tribal identity, and the saliency or influence of identity difference may vary depending on the particular community. Pastoralist–​farmer conflicts also tap into identity divisions, as they mainly pit local ethnic groups against Fulani cattle herders, contributing to identity-​ based grievances. Treating these categories loosely, therefore, this section discusses the broader sociocultural, economic, and political changes that have contributed to the rise of Middle Belt pastoralist and ethnic violence.

Pastoralist–​Farmer Conflict Pastoralist conflicts refer to incidents in which farmers and cattle herders clash over control of or access to resources, pitting Fulani cattle herders against indigenous farmers. The commonly cited issues driving clashes between Middle Belt pastoralists and farmers are the decline in grazing land in northern Nigeria and expansion of farmland onto land designated as cattle routes. This phenomenon is, in large part, attributed to environmental changes. The decline in rainfall and expansion of the Sahara Desert has reduced the availability of grassland for cattle, reinforcing a southward migration of pastoralists whose livelihoods are dependent on the ability to graze open land or land along riverways (Blench 2004; Abbass 2012; Odoh and Chigozie 2012; Fasona and Omojola 2005; Milligan and Binns 2007, p. 143). While seasonal migration along cattle-​ grazing routes is not abnormal, instead of migration to the south being a temporary phenomenon during the drier season, it has become more permanent, as many pastoralists

Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution    681 are “now found permanently settled or roaming within the Guinea savannah and rainforest belt” of Nigeria (Fasona and Omojola 2005, p. 17). The reduction in arable land available for cultivation has increased economic insecurity and resource competition between pastoralists and farmers, sparking numerous clashes leading to the loss of life but also destruction of farmland, villages, and cattle (Abbass 2012, p. 338; Blench 2004; Higazi and Lar 2015, p. 114; Higazi 2016, p. 374). Consequently, “[p]‌astoralists and farmers are typically perceived as both agents and victims of the crises” (Milligan and Binns 2007, p. 146). Additionally, the livelihoods of pastoralists in northern Nigeria have become increasingly threatened by the massive increase in cattle thievery or rustling, which, with the proliferation of small arms across the region, has become a lucrative criminal enterprise and threat to the lives and property of pastoralists (Olaniyan and Yahaya 2016). Even if not associated with the farmer–​pastoralist conflict groups, such incidents can compound accusations and tensions between communities, and it has also compounded the Nigerian security forces’ challenge of providing effective security in the north. Additionally, the identity dimensions can intensify pastoralist resource-​ related conflicts, with clashes pitting Muslim Fulani pastoralists against indigenous Christian farming communities (Abbass 2012). Commenting on cycles of retaliation between pastoralists and farmers in the Middle Belt, a Mercy Corps (2015a, p. 3) report notes that retaliation on the basis of broader religious and ethnic identities expands the boundaries (and devastation) of communal violence. For example, while clashes in Tafawa Balewa in Bauchi State—​the site of recurring violence since the 1990s between Muslim Hausas and Christian Sayawa—​are associated with disputes over rule or representation, the rural iterations of these conflicts pit Muslim Fulani cattle herders and Sayawa farmers against one another in solidarity with their co-​religionists (Higazi and Lar 2015, pp. 120–​1). In short the tensions can tap into issues of indigineity, religious belonging, and a rights narrative that go beyond or complicate issues of land access and economic livelihoods.

Ethno-​religious Conflict Religious identity has also become an important cleavage in national and local politics. States such as Kaduna, Plateau, and Bauchi have been particularly hard hit by inter-​ religious violence since the 1980s. The 1987 Muslim–​Christian violence in Kafanchan in Kaduna State in 1987, which quickly spread to other parts of Kaduna State, is often cited as the first major incident of inter-​religious violence in the Middle Belt (Osaghae and Suberu 2005, p. 16; Falola 1998, p. 179). In Jos, which has seen a series of major communal clashes since 2001, Christian indigenes and Muslim Hausa–​Fulani have come to blows, resulting in significant loss of life, property destruction, and displacement (Human Rights Watch 2001; 2010). Further, the adoption of sharia in twelve northern states between 1999 and 2001 sparked protests and deadly riots that killed hundreds (Falola and Heaton 2008, p. 205; Paden 2008, p. 58; Harnischfeger 2008; Suberu 2009;

682   Laura Thaut Vinson Gwamna 2010, p. 32; Laremont 2011, pp. 178–​81; Campbell 2011, p. 53; Kendhammer 2013). While there is significant variation in where such incidents have occurred, they tend to be precipitated by an event of religious significance—​such as an attack on co-​ religionists elsewhere, acts of defamation or desecration, or other religiously symbolic events. An important backdrop to the story of religious conflict and identity politics in the Middle Belt is Nigeria’s religious change over the past thirty or forty years. The rapid growth of Christianity in Nigeria in the postcolonial period, particularly the rapid growth of evangelical or Pentecostal-​Charismatic Christianity since the 1970s, produced a newly engaged and politically active Christian population advocating Christian participation in and transformation of Nigerian politics (Marshall 2009; Ojo and Lateju 2010). For example, since the 1970s, the Christian Association of Nigeria has advocated on behalf of Christian interests, particularly Christian minorities in the Middle Belt (Gaiya 2004, p. 369; Paden 2008, p. 45; Falola and Heaton 2008, pp. 221–​2). Similarly, the moderate Jama’atu Nasril Islam organization advocates on behalf of Muslim communities and interests. The mobilization of Muslim and Christian organizations in civil society and among students—​some more extreme in their rhetoric than others—​ helped facilitate the sense of religious competition in the country (Paden 2005; 2008; Ojo and Lateju 2010). The emergence of Islamic extremist groups, such as Izala and the Maitatsine movement in the north in the 1970s and 1980s, also contributed to the sense of religious competition (Ojo and Lateju 2010, p. 33; Falola 1998). Further, a number of religio-​political issues polarized Muslims and Christians from the 1970s forward and fueled the flames of religious competition, including debates over the adoption of sharia law and Nigeria’s status as a secular country (Ojo and Lateju 2010). Muslim–​Christian clashes can be particularly deadly or destructive when tapping into shared grievances or perceived offenses. That is, while Middle Belt states are home to many admixtures of ethno-​tribal groups, religious identity transcends other ethnic cleavages and can therefore mobilize co-​religionists elsewhere. Hence, Muslim–​ Christian violence in Kafanchan in 1987, Tafawa Balewa in 1991, and Shendam in 2004 sparked retaliation much further afield than it otherwise might have (Falola 1998, pp. 179–​205; Best 2011, p. 33; Human Rights Watch 2005; Hoomlong 2008). As the following discussion highlights, however, the identity dimensions of ethno-​ religious and ethno-​tribal conflicts are often overlapping, reinforcing one another. Further, the discussion of intra-​religious violence does not presume that the underlying causes are fundamentally a problem of religious indivisibility. Rather, ethnic conflicts are associated more broadly with underlying political and socioeconomic grievances and disputes, which become mapped onto identity cleavages and narratives.

Ethno-​tribal or Indigenous versus Settler Conflict Ethno-​tribal conflict, or what some call “sons of the soil” conflict, refers generally to communal violence rooted in disputes over belonging and the right to political control

Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution    683 or “ownership” of an area. In these cases, communities draw on claims to indigenous status (e.g. original ancestral ties to a territory) to justify political dominance in a local government area or to deny minorities certain rights (see Isumonah’s chapter within this volume for more detailed discussion of indigeneity in Nigerian national politics). The Middle Belt is no stranger to such disputes centered on competing claims to indigeneity (Osaghae and Suberu 2005, p. 8). Those considered by a local government administration as merely settlers—​those who cannot presumably trace back their lineage or ancestral heritage to the locale in which they live—​can face significant disadvantages in access to employment, education, services, and political representation. As Sayne (2012, p. 2) notes, however, the recognition of indigenous or settler status is rarely clear cut, as the determination is largely the prerogative of states and local governments, and these bodies have considerable latitude in giving “indigenes preferential access over settlers to land, education, public infrastructure, and government jobs.” While the Constitution recognizes indigenous status, its vagueness and the arbitrary nature with which many local governments make the determination of indigenous versus settler status renders the politics of the issue contentious (Sayne 2012, p. 3; Osaghae and Suberu 2005, p. 21). Groups that have lived generations in a particular local government area may not be recognized as indigenous, and proof of who settled an area first often, as in the case of Jos and Tafawa Balewa, becomes a contentious game of historical claims and counterclaims (Higazi and Lar 2015, pp. 122–​3). The intensity of such disputes can have significant ramifications for intergroup relations, as those who are considered merely settlers may lack the status to make significant political or socioeconomic claims on their host community, even if they have lived in an area for generations. Local government administrations vary, however, in the generosity of the designation and the degree of discrimination that the issue of indigenous and settler status incurs. The contentiousness of indigenous and settler status became all the more pronounced and politically significant in local politics following decentralization reforms in 1976. The decentralization of power, further enumerated in the 1979 Constitution, shifted responsibilities of governance to the state and local level, intending to give states and newly created local government councils greater say in local development (Cheeseman 2015; Suberu 2001; Osaghae 1998). The reforms were intended to disrupt political competition at the center by distributing powers of governance more broadly under a three-​ tiered federal system (Suberu 2001; Osaghae and Suberu 2005; Ukiwo 2006; Galadima 2009; Sayne 2012; Akpan and Ekanem 2013). However, the reforms also created a new locus of political contestation and conflict over local resources and allocated national government revenue. Consequently, disagreements about who constitutes a “son of the soil” or an original settler of an area took on new political significance. The incentives for groups to mobilize around group identities to demand local political autonomy is evidenced in the proliferation of local government areas from 301 in 1976 to nearly 800 by the beginning of 1980, with the national government finally imposing a cap on the number of local government areas or councils at 774 in the 1999 Constitution (Ukiwo 2006; Galadima 2009; Suberu 2001; Osaghae 1998; Akpasubi 1990).

684   Laura Thaut Vinson Hence, although the creation of local governments “liberated [minorities] from majority domination,” it also encouraged a proliferation of claims to local autonomy and self-​governance at the subnational level on the basis of ethnicity (Osaghae 1998, p.  11). Further, because Muslim and Christian identities often map onto indigenous and nonindigenous status in the pluralistic Middle Belt region, perceived religious differences or fears have also exacerbated communal tensions or disputes. It is for this reason that Sayne (2012, p. 4) emphasizes the importance of a series of measures to address indigenous versus settler inequalities, such as equalizing university admissions for both categories, awarding indigenous status to those born in the area, removing barriers to local political representation and office on the basis of indigeneity, and clarifying the issue in the Constitution (or removing the reference to indigeneity). While various groups or actors have proposed policies to address the issue, little progress has been made, and local governments continue to pursue varying strategies, for better or worse. As this section highlighted, the Middle Belt has seen various identity-​related communal clashes since the early 1980s. While clashes often take an identity dimension, this does not mean that identity is the key driver of conflict or that there is anything particularly conflict-​prone about identity in Nigeria. Rather, economic or resource disputes and political inequalities interact with the politics of identity to shape grievances and political competition. Additionally, states and local government areas vary in the degree to which they are prone to pastoralist or ethnic violence (Vinson 2017). The following section addresses the broader effects of these types of violence and their implications for the security and stability of the Nigerian state.

Broader Implications and Challenges While Nigeria has gained unfortunate notoriety for its struggle to stem Boko Haram violence and for the 2014 kidnapping of 276 young girls in the village of Chibok in northeast Nigeria, pastoralist and broader ethnic violence has taken a more considerable toll on the broader Middle Belt region of Nigeria over the past twenty to thirty years (Milligan and Binns 2007). Many have lost their lives, been displaced, or lost their livelihoods as a result. A brief survey of the extent of the violence and its implications is, therefore, important and places the violence in its broader context. First, while Nigeria has avoided a resurgence of major civil conflict since the 1967–​ 70 Biafran civil war, various forms of subnational violence have threatened the state’s stability and capacity to respond effectively to internal security problems. The security challenges include violence carried out against the state by Niger Delta armed groups aggrieved at the effects of oil extraction and lack of regional development, intra-​ religious violence in the early 1980s with the rise of religious extremist factions such as Maitatsine, ethno-​tribal and ethno-​religious violence since the 1980s, major Boko Haram violence since 2011, and the recent surge in clashes between pastoralists and farmers in the Middle Belt as well as in the south of Nigeria. Violence associated with all

Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution    685 of these different types of conflict increases the sense of insecurity and instability, calling into question the effectiveness of Nigeria’s security apparatus and its responses. Second, these conflicts have resulted in significant loss of life. The Nigeria Conflict Tracker estimates that, between May 2011 and January 2017, more than 25,000 people were victims of Boko Haram violence, with victims concentrated in the far northeast of Nigeria but with some attacks occurring in Middle Belt states. Yet, as John Campbell (2012) notes, ethnic conflict, “often dismissed as a permanent feature of rural Nigerian life, results in a high number of deaths that rivals or exceeds those attributed to Boko Haram.” Indeed, there have been well over 400 incidents of pastoralist or interethnic communal violence in the Middle Belt and far north alone since the early 1980s (Vinson 2017). While there are no precise numbers, Human Rights Watch (2010) estimated that ethnic conflicts in northern Nigeria since 1999 alone have killed over 13,000 people, with Plateau State and Kaduna State particularly hard hit (see also Sayne 2012 and Chukwuma 2009). More recently, reports refer to the loss of at least 6,500 lives in farmer–​pastoralist violence between 2010 and 2015 alone (Wilkie 2015) The toll extends beyond loss of life, with massive internal displacement resulting from violence and destruction of homes and villages. In cases such as Jos in Plateau State, while an incident may kill a few hundred, the number of people displaced often runs into the thousands. Sayne (2012, p. 2) cites 2006 national government data noting that “fighting displaced over six million in six years.” This displacement, even if temporary, gives rise to and reinforces a climate of fear and mistrust. In some cities, such as Kaduna and Jos—​the capitals of Kaduna State and Plateau State, respectively—​communities have segregated along Muslim–​Christian lines (Human Rights Watch 2010, p.  128; Krause 2011). The challenges of peacebuilding and communal reconciliation are by no means insignificant in such contexts, with grassroots and international peacebuilding initiatives working against the grain to rebuild intercommunal trust and understanding. Finally, the costs to economies in affected communities and states, as well as the costs of efforts to restore peace through the deployment of security personnel, are by no means insignificant. Although difficult to conclude with any certainty what the economic performance of affected states would have been sans conflict, Mercy Corps (2015b, pp. 5–​6) estimates that the combined loss of revenue from pastoralist–​farmer violence in four Middle Belt states (Benue, Plateau, Nasarawa, and Kaduna) may amount to as much as U.S.$2.3 million, while the reverberations across the Nigerian economy as a whole have reduced GDP growth by as much as 2.79 percent or by U.S.$13.7 billion annually. Households also come under severe strain when their livelihoods are wiped out very quickly in attacks or clashes—​whether in the form of farmers’ harvests destroyed by cattle grazing, or pastoralists’ cattle killed in the violence or stolen by cattle rustlers (Mercy Corps 2015b, pp. 3, 6–​7). The effects of the destruction of personal wealth in such violence, therefore, are clearly not merely confined to the affected households or communities, as they have reverberations throughout the broader Nigerian economy and security apparatus and considerably delay or paralyze development. In short, this discussion emphasizes the importance of developing strategies of conflict prevention and peacebuilding at various levels, as the intergroup violence is not

686   Laura Thaut Vinson merely a regional or local phenomenon or problem; it calls into question the strength of Nigeria’s democracy and the degree to which people can trust their government institutions to mediate and prevent conflicts. The following section turns to the question of how communities and different levels of government have attempted to address these problems and foster peace.

Conflict Prevention and Resolution Pastoralist and ethnic clashes are not the bane of all Middle Belt communities affected by land pressures or ethnic cleavages. Noting common narratives about pastoralist conflicts being inevitable, Milligan and Binn’s (2007, p. 148) study found that “respondents indicated that alliances and friendships do exist and are actively maintained, both across the supposed community divide and behind the public façade of disputes, conflict, and even violence.” There exist, then, communities that are actively and effectively resisting communal conflict. This raises the question: what national, state, and local level approaches have actors pursued to prevent or ameliorate communal violence? Why are some areas better able to manage these tensions than others? This section explores some of the policies and methods pursued from the national to the local level, with comments on their varying success.

National Mechanisms: Grazing Routes and Reserves While Fulani pastoralists vary in their degree of nomadism, the contributing confluence of land pressure factors previously discussed—​e.g. population growth, climate pressures, shortage of grazing land—​ have propelled pastoralists from traditional grazing routes in the north to seek suitable land deeper and for more sustained periods into the Middle Belt and south. Since 2016, in particular, the federal government, in coordination with state governments, has placed a new emphasis on grazing routes and allocation of grazing reserves within affected states. These efforts, however, have produced considerable recent debate and contention. The establishment of grazing reserves to enable pastoralists to maintain their livelihoods is not new to Nigeria. Grazing reserves were enshrined in the Grazing Reserves Law of 1965, which “Empowered the Ministry of Animal and Forestry Resources and the Native authorities to acquire ‘native’ land and to reserve it specifically for grazing” (Milligan and Binns 2007, p. 150). In addition to setting aside land for grazing, the purpose of the 1965 law was also to encourage development of more sedentary agricultural practices in conjunction with cattle grazing to ensure more sustainable livelihoods among pastoralists in the Middle Belt and north (Abdullahi, Daneyel, and Aliyara 2015, p. 138). Yet, about half of the land set aside for grazing reserves was never fully commissioned and only about half of the grazing reserves were brought

Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution    687 under cultivation, according to Abbas (2012, p. 337). Consequently, the “[m]‌ajority of the proposed grazing reserve[s] in the country are in the stage of survey and planning and many of them are severely affected by farming encroachment” (Abdullahi, Daneyel, and Aliyara 2015, p. 139). In recent years, the government has further demarcated grazing routes in a number of states across the Middle Belt or north of Nigeria to prevent pastoralist–​farmer conflicts (Abbass 2012, p. 337). The announcement by the federal government in June 2016 that eleven states agreed to demarcate 5,000 hectares of land for grazing reserves or “ranches” to reduce cattle incursions on farmland ultimately heightened the contentiousness of the issue. In Plateau State, youth took to the streets in peaceful protests in reaction to news that the Plateau State governor agreed to participate in the scheme (Okafor et al. 2016; Joseph 2016). In August 2016, communities in Sanga and  local government in Kaduna State protested the government’s failure to protect communities from raids by pastoralists and also the confiscation of land by the state government for cattle reserves (Binniyat 2016). Constituents argue that the plan would unfairly expropriate farmer’s lands and livelihoods, potentially sparking further violence. The alternative is unclear, however, and the national government is pushing ahead with these plans. In 2017, the government also proposed the allocation of land to new cattle routes—​or cattle routes that were never fully commissioned (Premium Times 2017). In short, while demarcation of grazing routes and reserves is meant to quell the problem of pastoralist–​farmer clashes and grievances, the perception that state governors are signing away land that belongs to indigenous communities is creating new grievances and potential for volatility, especially in communities already worn thin from previous communal violence.

State-​Level Initiatives: Judicial Commissions of Inquiry A common step taken by state governments following major clashes is to establish judicial commissions of inquiry to investigate the causes of violence and those responsible. At least six such commissions were set up for Plateau State in the aftermath of violence (NSRP 2014). The purpose of these commissions is for the state to formally investigate the causes of violence in a particular community, identify the perpetrators, and offer recommendations for immediate action to provide justice and ensure such conflict does not recur. However, these commissions are often beset by many problems, rendering them little more than token attempts to reinforce the appearance of proactive state governments. The failure of some commissions to ever publish their findings, or to do so very slowly, is one clear shortcoming (Human Rights Watch 2005, p.  53; International Crisis Group 2012, p. 20; Krause 2011, p. 58). In other cases, the state government and security forces rarely follow up on the commission recommendations for arrests (NSRP 2014; Human Rights Watch 2013). As there have been few prosecutions of perpetrators of violence, Human Rights Watch (2013) harshly criticizes Plateau State and Kaduna State governments and their police forces for failing to protect communities or bring

688   Laura Thaut Vinson perpetrators to justice, ultimately giving communities incentives to seek revenge (see also Agbese 2017; Higazi and Lar 2015, p. 124). Also, nonindigenous groups may reject the authority of the commissions due to perceived favoritism of the indigenous Christian population (Human Rights Watch 2013). As Sayne (2012, p. 7) notes, “Findings can be openly partisan, and officials seldom publish, adopt, or act on reports.” Hence, although peace summits and dialogue with high-​level officials may follow the commission investigations, the commissions are critiqued for failing to produce or lead to real change.

Local Government-​Level Mechanisms: Power-​Sharing and Inclusion Considering the significant variation in the politics of local government areas from one locality to the next in the Middle Belt, the local government level is an important arena of conflict mitigation and resolution. Exploring the structure of local politics and how communities navigate differences between groups at this level is, therefore, important for understanding conflict patterns in the Middle Belt. Policies of inclusion are a key mechanism for avoiding the politicization of ethnic identities and resource conflict. Inclusion can take various forms. For example, addressing the variation in ethnic conflicts in Gombe State and Bauchi State, Higazi and Lar (2015) find that, despite their geographic and historic similarities, as well as ethnic pluralism, Gombe communities have been less prone to the violent politicization of ethnic identities due to the broader inclusion of groups in local-​and state-​level government and administration. In contrast, regarding the political interests of the Christian Sayawa population in Bauchi State, Higazi and Lar (2015, p. 119) note that “The Sayawa accuse the state government of religious bias and discrimination in appointments and promotions, and of giving preferential treatment to less qualified Muslims,” and, consequently, overlooking Christian areas in towns such as Tafawa Balewa in “the allocation of physical infrastructure and social services.” In line with these observations, scholars find that local governments in Kaduna State and Plateau State that have adopted informal policies of local government power-​sharing have also avoided politicization of religious identity, averting violence and providing a foundation for broader interethnic cooperation and trust (Vinson and Bunte 2016; Vinson 2017). In a context where having your co-​ethnic in a position of local government leadership can bring significant advantages to your community, broader ethnic inclusion avoids perceptions of ethnic discrimination. Similarly, Abbas (2012, pp. 342–​3) highlights the importance of communal strategies and local government efforts for addressing conflicts between pastoralists and local indigenous groups. Further, as Milligan and Binns (2007, p. 148) observe, “the emergence of the police and local governments, as alternative institutions for supposed conflict management, is probably a more significant change to rural society than any alleged weakening of customary institutions.” Hence, local policies of inclusion or exclusion

Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution    689 can be either a source of peacebuilding or conflict, depending on their degree of inclusion or power-​sharing.

Community-​Level Mechanisms Grassroots peacebuilding efforts constitute the first of several important tools at the community level seeking to address conflict.While the ability of formal national government measures to address pastoralist–​farmer conflict is contentious, one should not overlook efforts at the local level to address community grievances. Grassroots efforts led by local elders, religious leaders, and NGOs are common, as leaders seek to promote dialogue and bring together pastoralists and leaders of affected villages to discuss the grievances of both sides. In local government areas such as Barkin Ladi and Riyom in Plateau State, particularly hard hit by pastoralist–​farmer conflicts, the Plateau State government, security forces, and NGOs have sought to promote exchange and understanding by drawing leaders from the warring communities together to discuss their grievances (Alao 2015; Higazi 2011). The success of such efforts requires further study, but it shows concerted effort on the part of community leaders to solve local disputes independent of, or in spite of, contentious efforts by the federal government. Traditional leaders also play an important role in conflict resolution at the community level. Recognition of their role in conflict prevention should not go overlooked. First, granting minorities the right to establish a system of traditional rulers or chiefdom can help stabilize communities. For example, preventing recurring violence in Gombe State, Higazi and Lar (2015, p. 127) note that “minority groups have benefited from the state government’s patronage through the granting of chiefdoms; this is seen as being bestowed with independence of sorts, and there are references to being ‘emancipated’.” In other cases, ethnic minorities, such as those in southern Kaduna State, have struggled to achieve their demands for the recognition or selection of their own chiefdoms, creating significant local tension (Egwu 1998; Mustapha 2003; Vinson 2017). Second, traditional rulers or chiefs can serve a useful peacebuilding role as arbiters or mediators in disputes. Although traditional rulers do not serve the same political role they did prior to the 1976 reforms, they are still respected local leaders and can serve a stabilizing and coordinating role in pluralistic communities, particularly as District Heads. Milligan and Binns (2017, p. 149) observe from their research that customary institutions are still an important part of communal life in Nigeria, as “evidence revealed that such institutions are still regularly mobilized to intervene in conflicts” (Milligan and Binns 2007, p. 149). Further, as Higazi and Lar (2015, p. 127) note, “Traditional rulers, by virtue of occupying an important bridge between state and society, emerge as critical and symbolic figures for the groups and territories they represent,” providing groups with respect and “belonging.” While the 1976 reforms to local government reduced the role of chiefs or traditional leaders in local politics, the informal recognition of chiefdom rights is important to local communities, and respected traditional leaders can help to mediate local conflicts. The extent to which local leaders serve a conflict-​mediating role,

690   Laura Thaut Vinson however, depends on the community in question and the willingness of those leaders (on both sides of the dispute) to pursue resolution; in this sense, merely emphasizing the potential role of local leaders does not represent a comprehensive strategy for conflict resolution (Mercy Corps 2015a, p. 5). A third source of conflict resolution, on a more informal level, community vigilante groups or “mixed youth patrols” are also common in areas of the Middle Belt affected by conflict, as well as across Nigeria (Krause 2011, p. 47; Pratten 2008). As a form of community self-​policing, vigilante groups may take the form of youth patrolling their neighborhood, particularly at night, watching for outsiders who may try to stir up trouble. In communities such as Bassa in Plateau State, the local vigilantes work together as joint Muslim and Christian units to patrol their neighborhoods (Vinson 2017). Especially where local police cannot be trusted to keep communities safe, this has become a locally generated informal approach to communal policing. (See the chapter by Okenyodo in this volume for additional discussion about informal policing.) At the same time, especially since 1999, the establishment of vigilante patrols has also become a more formal mechanism of security in Nigeria with official registration of vigilante groups with the police and the Vigilante Group of Nigeria (Higazi 2016, p. 377; Pratten 2008). These vigilante groups engage not only in the monitoring of their neighborhoods, but also in broader crime prevention and intelligence-​gathering that is normally the domain of the police (see Higazi 2016, p. 377). In short, vigilante groups can fill in where the state is absent or weak, and particularly in communities affected by previous communal violence, they can help to ensure greater stability for affected groups. The ability of vigilante groups to serve a peacekeeping role, however, is by no means straightforward. Indeed, the mobilization of vigilante groups has been a point of considerable concern. Pratten (2008) notes that multiple Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International reports highlight the problematic status of vigilante groups and their association, in some cases, with significant abuses or participation in religious violence. Additionally, Higazi (2016) notes that, although they can help bring a greater sense of security to communities, they can also be strongly associated with particular identity or ethnic groups and serve as a militant force or ethnic militia during periods of conflict (see also Pratten 2008, pp. 7–​8). In short, vigilante groups in Nigeria walk a fine line between informal and formal, and between community peacekeeping and militantism. The conditions under which they serve a constructive role requires further exploration, but it is important to highlight this community-​generated form of local peacekeeping in the context of Middle Belt ethnic conflict.

Multi-​Actor Efforts: Early Warning Systems Another approach adopted for peacekeeping and peacebuilding purposes is the establishment of early warning systems through the involvement of local civil society, youth, and women leaders. Efforts to establish early warning systems in the Middle Belt have

Pastoralism, Ethnicity, and Subnational Conflict Resolution    691 been a collaborative effort by federal and state bodies with local NGOs and citizens, resulting in “Operation Yaki” in Kaduna State and “Operation Rainbow” in Plateau State (NSRP 2014; International Crisis Group 2012, p. 22). Operation Rainbow, a joint effort of the military, police, and other federal bodies in conjunction with NGOs and civil society has trained thousands of community members—​particularly women and youth spanning different religious and ethnic divides—​in various communities across Plateau State. As part of such training, community members are taught to identify warning signs of possible communal violence and given the tools and knowledge to act to help reinforce security in their communities (NSRP 2014; Crisis Group 2012, pp. 22–​3). It is difficult to assess how effective such efforts have been in preventing violence or defusing conflict due to their recent incarnation and lack of research into their effectiveness. Across the Middle Belt, peacebuilding initiatives, summits, and meetings have been wide-​ranging and numerous, involving local governments, states governments, and the federal government, as well as local and international NGO activity. The initiatives include both formal and informal mechanisms of peacebuilding, peacekeeping, and conflict resolution. This discussion barely skims the surface of such activities, as NGOs and local leaders undertake a wide range of programs, everything from commissioning youth peace ambassadors to organizing soccer games between youth of previously warring communities. Assessing the success of these initiatives is difficult, considering the lack of research into the conditions under which such a broad range of initiatives succeed in achieving their various goals (e.g. prosecution, dialogue and exchange, reconciliation and healing, conflict prevention). It is clear, however, that peacebuilding initiatives alone will not be able to overcome the underlying political and socioeconomic grievances and disputes over unequal access to rights, resources, and representation. In particular, inclusion of ethnic groups through local government power-​sharing mechanisms can help to significantly reduce local tensions. Where local ethnic groups are integrated through mechanisms of local government power-​sharing, narratives of historical and contemporary grievances and religious divisions are less likely to flourish. In this sense, Middle Belt states are not doomed to recurring ethnic and pastoralist violence.

Conclusion Various changes in resource pressures, local political institutions, and religious communities have reshaped the terrain of intergroup cooperation and conflict in the Middle Belt. The increase in pastoralist–​farmer and ethnic violence since the 1980s is a worrying trend, not only for Middle Belt states, but also for the Nigerian state more broadly. Although further research is needed to assess the effectiveness of various types of conflict resolution or peacebuilding approaches, this discussion suggests that such peace efforts will necessarily need to involve federal, state, and local governments. Clearly, to mobilize the resources and coordinate action necessary to build widespread community

692   Laura Thaut Vinson conflict prevention and resolution mechanisms, stakeholders must be involved at every level. As recent efforts by the federal government to implement new policies on grazing routes and reserves emphasizes, measures that upset the balance of local power and resource domination are unlikely to be adopted without significant local contention among affected communities. Consequently, efforts to implement new initiatives will require significant coordination with local leaders and communities. Further, the pattern of ethnic conflict across pluralistic local government areas points to the importance of informal mechanisms of inclusion and power-​sharing in local government leadership that reassure ethnic groups of their access to rights, resources, and representation.

Note 1. Estimate based on analysis of Nigeria press reports since 2011 from a search of Lexis-​Nexis news sources.

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PA RT   V I

N IG E R IA I N T H E   WOR L D

Chapter 41

Nigeria and th e   Worl d War, Nationalism, and Politics, 1914–​60 Oliver Coates

Introduction The years between Lugard’s amalgamation of Nigeria in 1914 and Nigerian independ­ ence on October 1, 1960 cover the bulk of British colonial domination; but they also rep­ resent a period in which Nigerians became inextricably connected to the world beyond Africa, and in which British rule was challenged and collapsed. This chapter emphasizes Nigerians’ connections with the wider world, such as those with the United States, the United Kingdom, the Sudan, Egypt, the Caribbean, and India, but it also highlights the internal social and economic changes that drove and constrained these global connections. The chapter is organized chronologically, with a particular emphasis on colonial Nigerians’ overseas connections. The regions that make up contemporary Nigeria had long been connected to the outside world through trade, religious dialogue, slavery, education, and warfare, but the twentieth century marked both an acceleration in the rate of contact, and the op­ portunity for more Nigerians of diverse social backgrounds to access literacy, venture overseas, and formulate new ideas. In 1953, 10 percent of Nigerians were literate in the Roman script. In 1912, Nigeria had 184 primary schools catering to 36,670 students, but by 1937 it had 4,072 with 238,879 students (Falola and Heaton 2008, p. 138). Some 6 percent of children of primary school age were at school in the colony (Iliffe 2007, p.  230). The Lagos Weekly Record had a circulation of 700 in 1914, compared to the West African Pilot’s 20,000 circulation in the mid-​1940s (Iliffe 2007, p. 231–​2). These figures may not appear impressive in their own right, but they must be compared to the very low baseline of literacy levels at the turn of the century. While literacy was no novelty in Nigeria—​a sophisticated Arabic literacy dated back over 800 years, and was accompanied in the more recent past by writing in languages such as Yoruba and Hausa in the ‘ajami or Arabic script—​English-​language literacy brought its own distinctive

700   Oliver Coates opportunities (Hunwick 1997, p. 210). Education in the interwar years brought debates about the League of Nations, Indian nationalism, and African-​American thought to readers across the southern regions of Nigeria (Dobronravine and Philip 2004, p. 85). Even those who could not read themselves were drawn into the web of newsprint as literates discussed the printed word with their illiterate acquaintances. From the First World War, a web of ideas and print connected Lagos and Ibadan intellectuals with the thought of Marcus Garvey (1887–​1940), W. E. B DuBois (1868–​1963), Lenin, Gandhi, and the ulema of Cairo’s prestigious Al-​Azhar University. And, yet, there were profound practical limits on this heady traffic in ideas. The colo­ nial period undoubtedly led to the systematic introduction of a cash economy, the ex­ pansion of wage labor, and the development of industry; but those outside Lagos saw few of the benefits. Only 10 percent of Nigerians were literate in the Roman script in 1953, while some 6 percent of children of primary school age were enrolled in education; the British had deliberately deterred the majority of rural Northerners from English-​ language education, and Hausa literacy was only being systematically encouraged from the inception of the Gaskiya ta fi Kwabo in 1940 (Philips 2014). The surge in wage labor to 300,000 in 1951 disguised the superficial veneer of Nigeria’s fragile industrial economy; as late as 1948, 90 percent of the total monetary income of the colony came from agri­ cultural producers (Coleman 1958, p. 67). For much of this period, European companies had risen to dominate trade and squeeze out African producers and middlemen (Olukoju 2004, p. 109–​10). The colonial period was therefore one of intense and rapid change, but also of profound and deliberate inequality. These contradictions led to the rise of a powerful organized labor movement that succeeded in bringing government to a halt in the General Strike of 1945. These years also gave rise to an increasingly rad­ ical nationalist politics that took many forms, from constitutional critique, to cultural and religious activity. Of all the changes during these years, one of the most significant, but also the hardest to measure, was undoubtedly experiential; before the 1930s, older Africans could still remember a time when the British did not rule. The changes brought about by colonial rule were far-​reaching, but colonial power outside Lagos was either es­ tablished or demolished within the living memory of two successive generations.

The First World War and Nigeria The 1914–​18 war led to the enlistment of around 17,000 Nigerian combatants and a fur­ ther 37,000 carriers (Matthews 1987, p. 95; 1982, p. 493). On the home front, Nigerian leaders such as the Emir of Yola, the Alafin of Oyo, and the Oba of Benin supported the British war effort through fund-​raising and help with finding men to enlist; they believed that supporting the British would help to ensure their own continuing power and autonomy in the long term. Enlistment was rarely voluntary, although military pay offered an attractive form of salaried labor to those with few alternatives, especially in areas such as northern Nigeria; revolts such as the First Egba Rebellion of August

Nigeria and the World    701 1914, the Okeogun Rebellion in Oyo in 1916, and a peasant rebellion in Sokoto in 1915 were in part provoked by bungled British mass conscription campaigns, with chiefs in areas such as Egbaland being forced to comply or face arrest (Osuntokun 1979, p. 143). British fears of a pan-​Islamic revolt, inspired by uprisings in the French Sudan and the entrance of the Ottoman Empire into the war, failed to materialize; despite German efforts to foment Islamic rebellion, Muslim rulers had too much to lose from instability and, in any case, were worried about the integrity of their borders following the war in the Cameroons (Osuntokun 1979, p. 143). Many men became acquainted with basic English during their military service, especially while outside Nigeria; troops served in the Cameroons campaign (October 1914–​February 1916, including 17,000 combatants, 2,000 enlisted carriers, and around 35,000 other carriers from Nigeria), and in the East Africa campaign (November 1916–​February 1918). Further changes provoked by the war included the spread of cash currency, and the gradual exclusion of southerners from military service through to 1919. The Great War led the Nigeria Regiment to in­ dulge in a fervor for “martial races” preferring Hausa Northerners above all others for military serv­ice, or seeking to recruit newly martial groups such as the Tiv “Munshis” (Osuntokun 1979, pp. 169, 192, 244, 256; Barrett 1977, p. 106). Military service itself un­ doubtedly exposed men to new cultures and ideas, with Nigerians seeing East Africa, Egypt, and Mesopotamia for the first time; but it did not lead to significant political interventions inside Nigeria on the part of ex-​servicemen themselves.

The Interwar Years, 1919–​39 Between the two World Wars, Nigerian nationalism emerged and a new generation of intellectuals including Herbert Macaulay (1864–​1946), Obafemi Awolowo (1909–​87), and Nnamdi Azikiwe (1904–​96) used political parties, books, and newspapers to ad­ vance an articulate critique of colonial rule. The Great War itself had a transformative impact on Nigerian politics: the economic hardships of a wartime economy had crushed African business and led to the domination of European companies for decades to come. Educated southerners were angry at being shackled to the North, which they felt to be underdeveloped; wartime conscription and tax collection had only added insult to injury. Furthermore, the Spanish influenza epidemic that followed directly on the heels of the war exposed the inadequacy of colonial healthcare. Above all, the years after 1918 marked the apogee of Garveyism in Nigeria; Pan West African unity became the dominant political idiom among educated elites in the south. The mood was set by the Pan-​African Congresses of Paris (1918–​19), Lisbon (1923), and New York (1927), even though they had almost no African repre­ sentation. The Paris Congress, which coincided with the Versailles Peace Conference, highlighted the global importance of Africa and the vitality of African American and African diasporic thought. Marcus Garvey’s move to the U.S.A., and his creation of the Negro World newspaper, gave his Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA)

702   Oliver Coates international visibility; a number of branches were formed in Nigeria, which briefly boasted a “more developed and active” Garveyite movement than any other British West African colony (Okonkwo 1980, p. 110). UNIA activities in Lagos were based around the Black Star Line Corporation headed by Akinbami Agbebi, and the UNIA and African Communities League led by Amos Stanley Wynter Shackleford (1887–​1954), Ibadan was home to a more modest network of Garveyites (Williams 1993, p. 112; Watson 2014, p. 1). Ultimately, Garveyism went into decline in Nigeria after the Clifford Constitution of 1922, and the importance of newer movements emerged in its wake, particularly the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP) founded in 1923 (Baker 1974, pp. 116–​17). Led by Herbert Macaulay, “the Napoleon of Nigerian politics” and a hugely influential figure in Nigerian politics until his death in 1946, the NNDP united Macaulay’s diverse band of supporters in Lagos, including market women, the Lagos Daily News, and the Lagosian royal family known as the House of Docemo (Coleman 1958, p. 197). What were the opportunities and limitations of the Clifford Constitution? The Clifford Constitution of 1922 served as a major stimulus to party politics in Nigeria, establishing a Legislative Council. Governor Clifford had introduced it largely in re­ sponse to African demands, particularly those of the West African National Congress, led by Joseph Casely-​Hayford (1866–​1930); the Congress met in Accra in 1920 and its newspaper West African Nationhood transmitted its ideas throughout Anglophone West Africa (Olusanya 1973, p. 17; Coleman 1958, p. 192). In Northern Nigeria, the au­ thority of the Hausa or Fulani aristocrats associated with the Qadiriyya order was be­ coming artificially dominant thanks to successive British interventions following the latter’s creation of the Protectorate of Northern Nigeria in 1900. The more the British attempted to lean on vague notions of Islamic authority to enforce their own rule, the more sharia and Islamic legal, political, and moral thought came to be undermined. Colonial officers chose to defer to available alkali courts (the Islamic courts that dealt with family and commerical law; the emir’s courts were responsible for property and homicide cases) regardless of variations in school and interpretation (Hanson 2010, p. 628). Otherwise officials might reach for a volume known to them simply as “Ruxton,” which was northern Nigeria Officer F.  H. Ruxton’s translation of the Maliki treatise al-​Mukhtasar by the medieval Egyptian jurist Khalil b. Ishaq al-​Jundi, itself known to Ruxton through a partial French translation (Pierce 2006, 189; Ajetunmobi 1986, p. 275). From the 1910s onwards, the British became eager to “educate” the alkali judiciary in apparently improved legal practice; from 1934 the Kano Law School taught Maliki law using Ruxton’s Mukhtasar, and translations of Ibn Abi Zayd’s al-​Risala, alongside arith­ metic and geography (Danmole 1989, p. 179; Muranyi 2017). If colonial officials were busy constituting a revised form of Maliki jurisprudence for future sharia judges, more modest forms of Islamic education were flourishing; throughout the North in 1913, 140,000 students attended lessons in 19,073 Islamic schools, but only 209 Northerners attended Western schools (Vaughan 2016, p. 54). The 1920s and 1930s presented major social, educational, and economic changes in Nigeria; these led to an intensification of African protest. In 1920, Lagos had a popu­ lation of 100,000, while during the same decade Ibadan was home to around 240,000;

Nigeria and the World    703 these growing cities necessitated unprecedented British intervention to prevent dis­ ease, regulate crime, and provide education (Fourchard 2006b, p.  99). These new policies had some African supporters, but they were often conceived and imposed in an insensitive way that rode roughshod over preexisting understandings of health and land use. Educational opportunities, for instance, increased, but only in an unequal and clumsy manner. In Lagos, a medical college was opened in 1930, followed by Yaba Higher College in 1934, but the latter institution offered students only a Nigerian di­ ploma, and not the coveted University of London external degree available to Achimota College students in the Gold Coast, or Durham University degrees on offer to graduates of Sierra Leone’s Fourah Bay College (Olusanya 1973, p. 20). Inequality and exclusion was brutally compounded by the economic downturn of the global depression, which extended throughout the 1930s in Nigeria, and had an unhappy afterlife enshrined in the artificially low prices determined by government marketing boards during the war (Korieh 2010, p. 170). Unemployment was being conceptualized and measured by British officials, often transferring their own assumptions from metropolitan society and ignoring the existence of the informal economy. Joblessness hit hard from the late 1920s; Lagos was badly affected by the cocoa price fall of 1928, the growing European and Levantine domination of commercial firms, and the onset of the Great Depression. Whereas 1,000 jobless individuals were recorded in Lagos in 1920, as many as 27,000 traders alone had lost their jobs in the city by 1929, in addition to the 20,104 railway workers who were also unemployed (Fourchard 2006a, 119). In this precarious envi­ ronment, crime flourished and, like unemployment, was increasingly subject to offi­ cial categorization and measurement; 112 and 158 juveniles were convicted in Nigeria in 1934 and 1935 respectively (Fourchard 2006a, 119). Groups such as the unemployed and criminals did not form political parties in their own right, but they existed both as a reminder of the dysfunctionality of British rule in Lagos and as potential subjects of na­ tionalist propaganda. As the 1930s wore on, the international situation in Europe and northeast Africa deteriorated. These events exerted an enormous influence on nationalist thought. The Italian invasion of North Africa and of Ethiopia in 1935 represented an intolerable European incursion onto the soil of a proud and ancient civilization that had remained aloof from conquest, and memorably defeated the Italians at Adowa in 1896. Abyssinia became a galvanizing call for nationalists who were shocked that a cradle of African culture and thought had fallen to Mussolini. In 1935, a mass meeting in Lagos gathered a broad spectrum of political groups to protest against the Italian invasion; nation­ alist Nwafor Orizu (1914–​99) adopted a new name “Abyssinia” to memorialize “what European diplomacy means” for Africa’s security (Olusanya 1973, p. 56). The power and authority of colonial powers such as Britain and France, which had failed to prevent the invasion, was gravely damaged. This environment of disillusionment with colonialism, and skepticism about the im­ mediate future of the African continent, led to a flowering of political organizations. The Nigerian Youth Charter (1938), later the Nigerian Youth Movement (NYM) under Macaulay’s leadership, sought to unify the different ethnic groups within Nigeria and to

704   Oliver Coates educate public opinion; it boasted a membership of 10,000 in 1938. Nnamdi Azikiwe, with his newspaper, the West African Pilot from 1937, and his book Renascent Africa (1936) with its call for an essential African cultural identity, was enormously popular with the reading public in British West Africa and the diaspora (Fergus 2010, p.  38; Omu 1978, p. 254). Macaulay and Azikiwe are well-​known figures in Nigerian history, but their more obscure contemporaries also played a key role in the late 1930s. This emerging generation of political activists was significantly shaped by their education abroad in the U.K. and the U.S.A.; Azikiwe studied at Lincoln and was marked by his ex­ posure to African American and Caribbean politics and literature, Davies had studied under Harold Laski at the London School of Economics, while men such as Orizu would spend the war years in the U.S.A. (Olusanya 1973, p. 38). A key influence of these years was the Soviet Union and its attempts to foster connections with African intellectuals, especially following the decision of the Sixth World Congress in Moscow to infiltrate the UNIA. In 1934, Nancy Cunard edited an anthology of Negro writings, stating in her preface that communism provided the best ideological framework for African peoples; her volume contained contributions from Azikiwe, Ladipo Odunsi, and the son of the Alake of Abeokuta, Adetokunbo Ademola (1906–​93) (Coleman 1958, p. 207).

The Second World War The 1939–​45 war dispersed Nigerians across the globe, while exposing those left at home to forced labor, price cuts, the occasional conscription of school pupils, and seemingly arbitrary controls on transport and land use. This formidable list of injustices, was accompanied by some opportunities, especially for small traders and individuals interested in clerical and technical occuptions. Both positive and nega­ tive dimensions of the war were sufficient to ensure that, even though military opera­ tions in the war came no closer than the island of Fernando Po in the Gulf of Guinea, the war nonetheless transformed Nigerian society. The increasingly complex and differentiated political movements of the 1930s underwent challenge, division, and reformation; but the impulse for African independence was given a new legitimacy by Clause 3 of the Atlantic Charter which enshrined self-​determination around the globe as a principal of democratic politics. Clause 3 became a focus of the memorandum “The Atlantic Charter and British West Africa” presented by a delegation of West Africans, including Azikiwe himself, to the Colonial Office during a visit to London in summer 1943, as well as a subsequent NYM memorandum given to Secretary of State for the Colonies Oliver Stanley on his visit to Nigeria later that year. Alongside calls for inde­ pendence, the NYM’s September memorandum also lobbied for free primary educa­ tion, scholarships for Nigerians to study overseas at university, free medical facilities within five years, and agricultural development. Azikiwe had accurately judged the shift in power from Britain to the U.S.A. and successfully inserted himself into a new American skepticism towards the old European empires; American magazines

Nigeria and the World    705 such as Life and Fortune ran articles critical of colonial rule (Coleman 1958, p. 232; Olusanya 1978, p. 69). Those Nigerians who remained in the colony during the war years experienced sig­ nificant constraints and were subjected to a sustained barrage of propaganda about the world beyond West Africa. Early efforts included British screenings of Arabic-​language newsreels shown in Northern Nigeria depicting the threat to Mecca and Medina caused by Axis activities in the Middle East; at the behest of the government, portions of Mein Kampf were reproduced in the Nigerian press. African intellectuals reached their own conclusions about Nazi racism, and incorporated criticism of Hitler into their jour­ nalism; in January 1939, Azikiwe drew on the German Colonial Year Book of that year to warn his readers of Nazi racial animus towards Africans (Olusanya 1973, p. 41). In the life of some families, Hitler became a bogeyman with whom parents threatened errant children (Olusanya 1973, p. 44; Mordi 2009, p. 243; Amadi 1977, p. 4). In Remo, southwestern Nigeria, opposition to artificially fixed British prices “embedded anticolonial critique” within everyday life (Nolte 2009, p. 11). By 1943, there was scarcity in staple foodstuffs, with Lagosians being unable to afford the food for sale in markets; that year an unofficial market for food flourished in the Lagos, as witnessed by the disappearance of 3,000 tons of rice from Abeokuta, widely reputed to have been bound for Lagos (Byfield 2007, p. 82). In November and December of 1944, scarcity of the staple food gari caused disturbances in Ikot–​Ekpene Division of Calabar Province (Olusanya 1973, p. 63). African producers held colonial marketing boards responsible for fixing artificially low prices for cocoa, and later for copra, groundnuts, and palm pro­ duce. Workers were unhappy at stagnant wages and racial discrimination; trade union membership in Nigeria increased sharply during the war years, from 4,000 in 1940 to 30,000 in 1945. Union members were hardly idle and 1942 alone saw eleven major strikes in the colony (Davies 1966, p. 81). In 1942, the Nigerian Trade Union Congress (NTUC) was formed with the support of Ernest Ikoli (1893–​1960), Awolowo, Azikiwe, and Macaulay (Davies 1966, p. 82). Michael Imoudu (1902–​2005), founder of the NTUC as well as of the Railway Workers’ Union (RWU), was a key figure in honing the modern trade union movement in Nigeria. Imoudu used the increased employment levels of the war economy to threaten the colonial government with the specter of paralyzed pro­ duction. Known for his sartorial flamboyance and oratory, Imoudu transformed trade unions from amateurish philanthropy into “an industrial movement” (Oyemakinde 1974, p. 541). On the Jos Plateau, pay of any kind was illusory in 1943, with the British relying on forced labor to extract tin; ultimately 100,877 laborers from elsewhere in Nigeria had to be brought to Jos to work (Freund 1981, p. 144). Racial discrimination exacerbated these economic hardships. By 1940, Nigeria had contributed around £100,000 to the war effort, but there were no Nigerian personnel in the Nigerian Air Squadron, and Africans were refused entry to the RAF (Olusanya 1973, p. 52). In 1940, Africans were hardly represented in the civil service, with four Africans in the Administrative Department (as opposed to 361 Europeans) (Olusanya 1973, p. 60). Crude racism angered Nigerians, such as the fact that Green’s Hotel in Kaduna was for­ bidden by license from selling liquor to Africans, or that the District Officer in Warri

706   Oliver Coates forbade Africans from accessing their main public water supply until they refrained from “behav[ing] like savages” (Olusanya 1973, p. 60). These tensions meant that when the British decided to conscript eight students from King’s College Lagos into the army, following an abortive strike in March 1944, and one sixteen-​year-​old conscript later died in Enugu Army Hospital, Lagosians received confirmation that colonial rule was funda­ mentally “of [an] evil nature” (Olusanya 1973, p. 68). Even while fighting for the British Empire, African soldiers were subject to corporal punishment; caning was only com­ pletely abolished for African soldiers in 1946, some seventy years after it had been dis­ continued for their British counterparts (Killingray 1994, p. 202). Large numbers of Nigerians traveled overseas during the war. The United States was a principle destination; Lincoln University was the key hub, and Nigerians mixed with African-​American politicians, with at least twenty-​eight West African students having close connections to influential African-​American leaders. Mbonu Ojike (1912–​56), Nwafor Orizu, and Kingsley Ozuomba Mbadiwe (1915–​90) conducted lecture tours and published books during their time in the U.S.A. (Coleman 1958, p. 241). Back in Africa, Azikiwe commented of the newly formed Council on African Affairs that it “gave lit­ erate Nigerians the impression that 15 million American Negroes were closely following their nationalist movement” (Coleman 1958, p.  235). Links between the U.S.A. and Nigeria were critically important; the visit to West Africa of three African-​Americans journalists prompted considerable interest from Nigerians, and no small anxiety among the British (The West African Pilot 1944; West African Review 1944). The U.K. was be­ coming popular for the first time with northern Nigerians; graduates of Katsina College began traveling to London to study after northern journalist Abubakar Imam’s (1911–​81) participation in the 1943 African Press Delegation visit to the city (Thurston 2014, p. 72). Military service took men from all social backgrounds to different continents. Over 100,000 Nigerians served in the British Army between 1939 and 1945, with approx­ imately 73,290 West Africans traveling to South Asia, and 16,472 to the Middle East (Killingray 1979, p. 433). While the ideological impact of the First World War was po­ tentially limited by the ad hoc training given to a small number of enlisted combatants, the Second World War saw widespread literacy education, with many soldiers gaining a functional knowledge of English and being exposed to a barrage of publications aimed specifically at West African soldiers, such as The RWAFF (Royal West African Frontier Force) News, and News from Nigeria (Killingray 2010, p. 133). Soldiers interacted with Burmese, Egyptians, Palestinians, and Indians, learning a smattering of Hindi and Bengali, and touring Calcutta and the Taj Mahal. Among the literate soldiers, a mi­ nority took a close interest in nationalist politics back in Nigeria, and began to mount comparisons between Gandhian nationalism in India, and draw parallels with their own colonies. Nigerian soldiers met the Mahatma himself outside Madras in January 1946, while others visited Indian factories, and traveled the subcontinent. Some men observed the relatively industrialized world they saw in India, with its comparatively so­ phisticated education and publishing sectors, and contrasted it with the problems they had left behind in Nigeria; moved to anger, they wrote to Herbert Macaulay to express their impatience that Nigeria was so different to India.

Nigeria and the World    707 Despite these powerful intellectual currents and the neglect of veterans in postwar Nigeria, only a minority of returning servicemen ever became involved in formal politics (Killingray 2010, p. 218). Many men were angry at the British neglect of ex-​ servicemen, and a significant minority had developed a sustained interest in Indian politics while in Asia. The Supreme Council of Ex-​Servicemen and the Cameroons was the most vocal African-​founded ex-​servicemen’s union, and continued to be active into the 1950s. A plethora of local ex-​servicemen’s groups organized protests across the colony during the remainder of the 1940s, but due to disorganization, radically different educational and economic backgrounds, poor leadership, and calculated efforts by the colonial government to demoralize and isolate them, ex-​servicemen never became the political force they might have been (Olusanya 1968). Despite these frustrations, the returning soldier became a powerful image in nationalist propaganda, appearing in Azikiwe’s speeches as an emblem of Britain’s parasitic relationship with Nigeria (Azikiwe 1961, p. 7).

The Postwar Moment The end of the Second World War had a catalytic effect on the development of nation­ alist politics in Nigeria. Even before hostilities in Asia had concluded, the unprece­ dented General Strike of June 1945 paralyzed the colony’s transport infrastructure, with around 40,000 striking for thirty-​seven days. It exposed the substandard pay and spiraling living costs of wartime Lagos, epitomized in the strikers’ demand for a 50 percent rise in Cost of Living Allowance; it was exploited with great sophistication by Azikiwe who used his newspapers and international contacts to consolidate his political reputation. The strike revealed the degree to which the colonial government could be successfully challenged by organized African labor, and emphasized the relative impo­ tence of the British when faced with a charismatic politician such as Azikiwe. Indeed, the latter drew on his contacts in the U.S.A., Canada, the Caribbean, and London, as well as the Reuters newswire network, to publicize not only the strike, but also an alleged British plot to assassinate him. The Railway Workers’ Union (RWU), founded in 1941, played a key role in the strike under their leader Michael Imoudu, who paraded through the streets of Lagos on a white horse (Oyemakinde 1975, p. 304). Skilled workers and civil servants were also galvanized to call for higher wages, notably through the African Civil Service and Technical Workers’ Union (ACSTWU). In the minds of officials at the Labor Department, wage laborers increasingly became associated with Western notions of breadwinner masculinity, a link that ignored the major contribution of groups such as railway workers’ wives who financially supported their husbands while they were out on strike, and market women who were powerful actors in Lagos politics. Women did not simply support male activists and, as Nwankwor argues above, their activism and associational life played a major role in politics during these years (Lindsay 2003, p. 204; Mordi 2009).

708   Oliver Coates From 1945, major constitutional reform dominated Nigerian politics and gradually established the federal structure inherited at independence. During these years, cultural and ethnic organizations transformed into political parties capable of participating in the new legislative machinery laid out in the three successive constitutions between 1947 and 1954. We have seen that the Clifford Constitution of 1922 created a Legislative Council, but provided only for African representation in the jurisdictions of Lagos and Calabar. The years between 1946 and 1950, from the eve of the Richards Constitution to that of the McPherson Constitution, constituted a high-​water mark of radicalism in co­ lonial Nigeria. In February 1946, the Zikist movement was formed, dedicated to Azikiwe or “Zik,” taking its inspiration from a combination of Azikiwe’s charismatic cult of personality and his writings, particularly Renascent Africa. Under the Secretary Generalship of ex-​serviceman Mokwugo Okoye (1926–​98), the Zikists embarked on a career of activism aimed at demolishing colonial authority (Olusanya 1966, p. 325). The movement profited from the NCNC’s fall into political lethargy following the failure of the delegation it had sent to London in 1947 to protest the Richards Constitution. It gained further sustenance from international events, notably India’s independence in 1947 and the Accra riots of February 1948. From that year, the Zikists’ used polit­ ical propaganda, especially in their Zimo Newsletter, as well as strikes and boycotts to disrupt colonial rule. Mbonu Ojike, newly returned from the U.S.A. in 1947, played a key role, becoming known as the “boycott king.” The Zikists drew attention to the Enugu colliery shooting, and helped encourage the Northern Elements Progressive Association (which later developed into the Northern Elements Progressive Union, NEPU) in the North, but following the attempt of an ex-​serviceman and supposed Zikist to assassinate Hugh Foot, the Chief Secretary to the colonial government, the movement suffered heavy persecution, with Okoye himself being sentenced to thirty-​ three months in prison (Olusanya 1966, p.  330). A  cultural offshoot of the cult of Azikiwe was the National Church of Nigeria and the Cameroons, founded at Aba in November 1948 in protest against the Richards Constitution, which celebrated serv­ ices with readings from the Bible, the American Declaration of Independence, and Renascent Africa. Like the Zikists, the movement subscribed to a broadly defined “Zikist philosophy” as expounded by Orizu in his Without Bitterness. Boasting promi­ nent members such as trade unionist Nduka Eze, as well as National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC) Vice President Mbonu Ojike, the church canonized Azikiwe and Macaulay as saints, while mourning martyrs, including the coal miners shot during the 1949 Enugu Colliery Strike; Azikiwe himself was deemed to be the African counterpart of Christ (Furlong 1992, p. 435). Perhaps averaging a congregation of several hundred at its height in the late 1940s, the church had become moribund by the 1960s, although a small offshoot would follow with the National Church of Biafra during the Civil War. An important but poorly known aspect of Nigeria’s relations with the world during the final years of colonial rule is the enthusiasm of northern students to travel over­ seas to pursue Islamic and Arabic education. A relatively common feature of precolonial

Nigeria and the World    709 society in the north, such travel had come under severe restrictions in the first decades of colonial rule due to official anxieties over Mahdism (Miran 2015, p. 393). But as part of a British effort to moderate what they deemed to be a conservative interpretation of sharia in the north and to institute belated educational reform, northerners were encouraged to travel to the U.K. and the Sudan in a renaissance of Arabophone travel in Nigeria between 1950 and 1966. Nigerian students studied at Bakht-​er-​Ruda Institute of Education, a teacher training college affiliated to the University of Khartoum, and also studied Arabic and Islamic history at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in London (Thurston 2014, p. 82). Islamic education was also popular in the south of Nigeria, with southern Muslims studying at Al Azhar University in Egypt, but they often did so without the supervision of colonial officials. Al Azhar remained closed to northerners thanks to northern officials’ fears of radicalism and the hostility of the British authorities in Egypt—​five northern students traveled to SOAS in 1954, in the same year Na’ibi Sulaiman Wali was sent to study Arabic publishing at the Publications Bureau in Khartoum. Returning students were influential in northern politics. Sheikh Abubakar Gumi (1922–​92), part of the first group of students sent to Sudan, became spiritual advisor to Ahmadu Bello (1910–​66); the most influential members of the Jama’a Nasr al Islam (Society for the Victory of Islam) were former students of Bakht or SOAS (Hunwick 1995, p. 551; Thurston 2014, p. 72; 2016, p. 86).

Conclusion The two World Wars initiated unprecedented levels of colonial intervention in Nigerian society; they gave birth to a form of “new colonialism” that evinced itself as much in price controls, restrictions on movement, forced labor, and coercive recruitment campaigns, as in nascent social welfare policies. The abuses of British rule antagonized Nigerians who naturally resented the injustice and poverty that often persisted from 1914 to 1945, save for a brief trade boom in the early 1920s. The First World War catalyzed a pan-​African movement in Europe and the U.S.A. that caught the imagination of a gen­ eration of Nigerian intellectuals. The UNIA’s brief influence was just one indication of the thirst for new ideas in colonial Nigeria, and the ability of educated Nigerians to per­ ceive a commonality of experience between West African colonies, as well as between Africans and the diaspora. That Garveyism died a quick death in Nigeria should not dis­ tract from the fact that Azikiwe’s influential Renascent Africa owed a substantial debt to Garvey. Yet, for all its intoxicating potential, did this faith in renascent Africa make for viable politics? The experience of the Zikists, and their attempt to forge a functional political ide­ ology from Azikiwe’s text highlights the paradoxes of nationalist thought in Nigeria. The Zikists did manage to disrupt the colonial government for several years in the late 1940s, while the National Church enjoyed a parallel success. The cult of Azikiwe was at once vague and extremely far-​reaching; both movements fell for Azikiwe’s more grandiose

710   Oliver Coates claims to be Africa’s messiah, but were also characterized by an interest in the American Constitution in other African colonies, and an impatience to be rid of colonial rule. The careers of Nigeria’s major politicians in the postwar period provide a more prosaic case study; Awolowo and Bello cultivated their relationships regional supporters in the southwest and north respectively, while the seemingly more radical Azikiwe distanced himself from the Zikists, and increasingly cultivated British approval. These men would be the victors of Nigeria’s first elections, yet they were closely focused on championing the immediate demands of regional supporters and, in very general terms, they failed to cultivate a substantial following outside their own ethnic or regional constituencies. The British manipulation of increased regionalism and ethnic alignment in the constitutions of the 1940s and 1950s, had ensured that political activity was increasingly only conceiv­ able in ethnic terms. But unlike the more utopian demands of the London Delegation in 1943, and the British West African Congress in 1920, the constitutional consultations in 1950 and 1953 made clear that the Nigerian political elite, including its new nation­ alist members, had made a pragmatic reconciliation with the demands of regional separatism. This apparent contradiction between pre-​1945 idealism and postwar regionalism is to some extent illusory: Azikiwe’s Delegation and the Congress were largely aloof from local political elites, instead they were popular with the limited pool of emerging profes­ sional class of 1920s Africa. The NNDP, the first Nigerian grouping to take advantage of the Clifford Constitution, relied partly on Macaulay’s close relationship with the House of Docemo, a royal family that had long fought for greater influence in Lagos politics, the firebrand Solanke of the West African Sudents’ Union (WASU) carefully nurtured his relationship with chiefs. Political thought may have been pan-​West African when it remained the theoretical tool of men without political allegiance, but when individuals sought to enter into social relationships in order to access political institutions they conceived these in terms of clientage. It is true that the ethnic labels used in 1950s pol­ itics were of recent coinage and hardly long-​term categories, but they often sought to enforce local relationships between political leaders and their supporters that serve as a continuity throughout this period. As has been stressed throughout this chapter, Nigeria’s politics was continuously in­ formed by global influences. In southern Nigeria, the pivotal influence of the U.S.A. generated radical critique, and facilitated relationships between figures such as Orizu and Azikiwe, as well as trade unions, African-​American groups, and socialists. London continued to play a critical role as the interwar educational hub for Nigerians, although Southerners benefited far more than their northern counterparts from this connec­ tion, at least before 1945. Soldiers from all over Nigeria traveled overseas during the war, many from the north, but it was in Azikiwe’s Lagosian press that the iconic image of the Nigerian soldier fighting for his British colonizers was forged into an ideological tool. To contemporary audiences, such claims were no mere rhetoric; when, during the 1945 strike, Azikiwe claimed that sympathetic Nigerian soldiers were threatening to mutiny, he was playing with fire. Azikiwe astutely anticipated British terror at the prospect of po­ litically radicalized African soldiers.

Nigeria and the World    711 Northern Nigeria was by no means remote from international contacts and northerners eagerly connected with the wider Islamic world. The year 1960 was the eve of a renewal of long-​standing ties between Nigerian Muslims and their counterparts in Egypt and Saudi Arabia. While British rule had protected the authority of loyal emirs and chiefs from the critique of their subjects, a fresh tide of Islamism had been questioning both British rule and Native Authority politics since the 1940s. The new co­ lonial schools that spread through the north during the 1940s and 1950s would provide Nigeria with its first generation of salafi intellectuals.

References Ajetunmobi, M. U. (1986). “A Critical Study of ‘Mukhtasar Khalil,’” Islamic Studies 25 (3): 275–​288. Amadi, L. (1977). “The Reactions and Contributions of Nigerians During the Second World War: Agents of Political Integration in Nigeria, 1939–​1945,” Transafrican Journal of History 6 (7): 1–​11. Azikiwe, N. (1961). Zik. A Selection from the Speeches of N. Azikiwe, Etc. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Baker, P. (1974). Urbanization and Political Change: The Politics of Lagos, 1917–​1967. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Barrett, J. (1977). “The Rank and File of Colonial Army in Nigeria, 1914–​18,” Journal of Modern African Studies 15 (1): 105–​115. Byfield, J. (2007). “Feeding the Troops:  Abeokuta (Nigeria) and World War II,” African Economic History 35: 77–​87. Coleman, J. (1958). Nigeria:  Background to Nationalism. Berkeley, CA:  California University Press. Danmole, H. (1989). “The Alkali Court in Ilorin Emirate During Colonial Rule,” Transafrican Journal of History 18: 173–​186. Davies, I. (1966). African Trade Unions. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Dobronravine, N. and and Philips, J. (2004). “Hausa Ajami Literature and Script: Colonial Innovations and Post-​Colonial Myths in Northern Nigeria,” Sudanic Africa 15: 85–​110. Fergus, C. (2010). “From Prophecy to Policy: Marcus Garvey and the Evolution of Pan-​African Citizenship,” The Global South 4 (2): 29–​48. Fourchard, L. (2006a). “Lagos and the Invention of Juvenile Delinquency in Nigeria, 1920–​ 1960,” Journal of African History 47: 115–​137. Fourchard, L. (2006b). “Les Territoires De La Criminalité à Lagos Et à Ibadan Depuis Les Années 1930,” Revue Tiers Monde 47 (195): 95–​111. Freund, Bill (1981). Capital and Labour in the Nigerian Tin Mines. Atlantic Highlands:  Humanities Press. Furlong, P. (1992). “Azikiwe and the National Church of Nigeria and the Cameroons: A Case Study of the Political Use of Religion in African Nationalism,” African Affairs 91 (364): 433–​452. Hanson, J. (2010). “Africa South of the Sahara from the First World War,” in F. Robinson (ed.), The New Cambridge History of Islam (pp. 623–​658). Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Hunwick, J. (1995). Arabic Literature of Africa: The Writings of Central Sudanic Africa, Vol. 2, Handbuch Der Orientalistik. Abt. 1, Der Nahe Und Mittlere Osten, Bd. 13. Leiden: Brill.

712   Oliver Coates Hunwick, J. (1997). “The Arabic Literary Tradition in Nigeria,” Research in African Literatures 28 (3): 210–​223. Iliffe, J. (2007). Africans: The History of a Continent. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Killingray, D. (1979). “The Idea of a British Imperial African Army,” Journal of African History 20 (3): 421–​436. Killingray, D. (1994). “The Rod of Empire—​the Debate over Corporal Punishment in the British African Colonial Forces, 1888–​1946,” Journal of African History 35 (2): 201–​216. Killingray, D. (2010). Fighting for Britain:  African Soldiers in the Second World War. Oxford: James Currey. Korieh, C. (2010). The Land Has Changed:  History, Society and Gender in Colonial Eastern Nigeria. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. Lindsay, L. (2003). Working with Gender:  Wage Labor and Social Change in Southwestern Nigeria. Social History of Africa. Portsmouth: Heinemann. Matthews, J. (1982). “World War I and the Rise of African Nationalism: Nigerian Veterans as Catalysts of Change,” Journal of Modern African Studies 20 (3): 493–​502. Matthews, J. (1987).“ Reluctant Allies: Nigerian Responses to Military Recruitment, 1914–​1918,” in M. Page (ed.), Africa and the First World War (pp. 95–​114). London: Macmillan. Miran, J. (2015). “Stealing the Way to Mecca: West African Pilgrims and Illicit Red Sea Passages, 1920s–​50s,” Journal of African History 56: 389–​408. Mordi, E. (2009). “Wartime Propaganda, Devious Officialdom, and the Challenge of Nationalism During the Second World War in Nigeria,” Nordic Journal of African Studies 18 (3): 235–​257. Muranyi, M. (2017). “Ibn Abī Zayd al-​Qayrawānī,” in Kate Fleet, Gudrun Krämer, Denis Matringe, John Nawas, and Everett Rowson (eds), Encyclopaedia of Islam, Three. Leiden:  Brill. Aaccessed online May 22, 2018 . Nolte, I. (2009). Obafemi Awolowo and the Making of Remo: The Local Politics of a Nigerian Nationalist. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Okonkwo, R. (1980). “The Garvey Movement in British West Africa,” Journal of African History 21 (1): 105–​117. Olukoju, A. (2004). The “Liverpool” of West Africa: The Dynamics and Impact of Maritime Trade in Lagos, 1900–​1950. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Olusanya, G. (1966). “The Zikist Movement:  A Study in Political Radicalism,” Journal of Modern African Studies 4 (3): 323–​333. Olusanya, G. (1968) “The Role of Ex-​Servicemen in Nigerian Politics,” Journal of Modern African Studies 5: 221–​232. Olusanya, G. (1973) The Second World War and Politics in Nigeria, 1939–​1953. Lagos:  Evans Brothers. Omu, F. (1978). Press and Politics in Nigeria, 1880–​1937. London: Longman. Orizu, A. A. Nwafor (1944). Without Bitterness. New York: Creative Age Press. Osuntokun, A. (1979). Nigeria in the First World War. London: Longman. Oyemakinde, W. (1974). “Michael Imoudu and the Emergence of Militant Trade Unionism in Nigeria, 1940–​1942,” Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria 7 (3): 541–​561. Oyemakinde, W. (1975). “The Nigerian General Strike of 1945,” Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria 7 (4): 693–​7 10. Philips, J. (2014). “The Early Issues of the First Newspaper in Hausa Gaskiya Ta Fi Kwabo, 1939–​ 1945,” History in Africa 41: 425–​431.

Nigeria and the World    713 Pierce, S. (2006). “Flogging in Northern Nigeria,” in P. Steven and A. Rao, Discipline and the Other Body:  Correction, Corporeality, Colonialism (pp. 186–​214). Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Thurston, A. (2014). “The Era of Overseas Scholarships:  Islam, Modernization, and Decolonization in Northern Nigeria, c.1954–​1966,” Journal of Religion in Africa 44 (1): 62–​91. Thurston, A. (2016). Salafism in Nigeria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Toyin, F. and Heaton, M. (2008). A History of Nigeria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vaughan, O. (2016). Religion and the Making of Nigeria. Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Watson, R. (2014). “Literacy as a Style of Life: Garveyism and Gentlemen in Colonial Ibadan,” African Studies 73 (1): 1–​21. West African Pilot (1945). “Afro-​American Journalists Pay Visit To Ibadan,” West African Pilot January 9, 1945. West African Review (1944). “The Afro-​American and the West African,” West African Review December 1944. Williams, G. (1993). “Garveyism, Akinpelu Ibisesan and His Contemporaries: Ibadan, 1920–​ 22,” in R. Ranger and O. Vaughan (eds), Legitimacy and the State in Twentieth-​Century Africa: Essays in Honour of A. H. M. Kirk-​Greene (pp. 112–​134). Basingstoke: Macmillan.

Chapter 42

Nigeria a nd t h e C ommonw e a lt h Influence by Accident or Design Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville

Introduction The Commonwealth of Nations is a voluntary association of sovereign states, over­ whelmingly but no longer exclusively consisting of former British colonial territories1, which seeks to promote democracy, human rights, and the rule of law, as set out in the organization’s charter. With the organization’s roots stemming from the Canadian Confederation in 1867, it came into its current form in 1949 with the first reference to the Commonwealth, and in 1965 the Commonwealth Secretariat was established, for­ mally delinking management of Commonwealth relations from the British civil service. The group has grown to a membership of fifty-​two states comprising 2.4 billion people, including one third of the world’s young people, and a combined GDP of $10.4 trillion (The Commonwealth 2017). Nigeria’s emergence as an independent sovereign nation on October 1, 1960 also brought with it automatic entry into the Commonwealth, becoming a republic within the organization in 1963. Since then, both Nigeria and the Commonwealth have undergone significant change, each influencing developments in the other. Throughout its independent history, Nigeria has both generated and fought against contradictions in this consensus-​driven association. Undergoing an abrupt end to its young democracy in 1966, Nigeria became the first military regime to be a member of the club (Anyaoku 2004), and remained so through its early decades of civil war, coups, and countercoups until its four-​year suspension in 1995. At the same time, Nigeria was a leading voice in the Commonwealth advocating against white minority rule in southern Africa. The first and only African to serve as Commonwealth Secretary-​General is Nigerian, Chief Emeka Anyaoku, who served two terms between 1990 and 2000. Nigeria also hosted the

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    715 first Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference to take place outside of London, in Lagos in 1966. Since independence, the key pillars of Nigeria’s foreign policy have been Afrocentrism, and, latterly, concentrism. According to its concentric circles doctrine, propounded by Ibrahim Gambari, Minister of External Affairs in 1984–​5, Nigeria pursues its national interests in layers. Nigeria prioritizes relations with its neighbors in the first inner circle, out to the rest of Africa, and then finally to the rest of the world in its outer circle (Ashaver 2014, p. 7). In terms of its Afrocentrism—​or constructive pan-​Africanism in the early days of independence—​Nigeria was driven by the belief that, as the world’s most populous African nation, it was (and is) the natural leader in Africa (Oshuntokun 2005). Although the Commonwealth does not provide a platform for Nigeria’s “inner circle” of foreign relations, as only one of its four immediate neighbors is a member of the Commonwealth (Cameroon joined in 1995), it has over the years been an avenue for Nigeria to exert its influence within Africa, as eighteen of the Commonwealth’s fifty-​two member states are African2. It has also enabled Nigeria to assert its and Africa’s position on the world stage: the Commonwealth is a forum through which common positions can be negotiated and given a trial, before taken to other multilateral fora, such as the United Nations. This chapter examines the relevance of the Commonwealth to Nigeria since independ­ence and their influence on each other. It argues that Nigeria has wielded influence through the Commonwealth to achieve foreign policy ambitions, but it has not always been successful or strategic in its engagements because of tensions between domestic developments and policy, and its foreign policy ambitions. But, even where vision or strategy have been lacking, influential Nigerians have had an important im­ pact on the shape and work of the Commonwealth through a range of engagements. With Nigeria soon to mark twenty consecutive years of democracy in 2019, the chapter closes by reflecting on the prospects of Nigeria continuing to effectively wield influence through the Commonwealth, as a complement to its other multilateral engagements, to achieve its foreign policy objectives.

Independence and Commonwealth Accession Upon gaining independence, Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, Nigeria’s first prime min­ ister, inherited a system that was—​politically, economically, and militarily—​British in design and structure (Adeleke 2004). In addition, the vast majority of Nigeria’s elites within the civilian and military spheres were British trained, which influenced their worldview; Balewa himself had this Anglophone lens, and considered the Commonwealth to be a safe haven at an uncertain time (Adeleke 2004). Nigeria was also heavily reliant on trade with the U.K. A fragile collection of diverse and often

716    Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville competing ethnicities, religions, and nations, and surrounded by Francophone neighbors, the newly independent Nigeria sought reassurance in the welcoming cradle of the Commonwealth. The government’s attention in the years immediately after independence cen­ tered primarily on domestic consolidation of the federation. The amalgamation of the north and the south of Nigeria in 1914 created a country where none had existed before. Only thirteen years before independence, Balewa noted that “Nigeria has existed as one country only on paper” (Akinrinade 2003). As such, until at least 1966, internal peace and cohesion, economic development, and the assertion of Nigeria’s newly won sovereignty, including within the Commonwealth, took precedence (Egedo 1987). Nigeria’s fragile unity did not manifest in foreign policy: Nigeria presented a united front in its dealings with the outside world. As Oshuntokun notes, “as a federation of contending political persuasions, consensual foreign policy was the rule rather than the exception. With the exception of the policy towards Israel which reflected the reli­ gious dichotomy between the north and the south, there was hardly any area of foreign policy in which political parties differed” (Oshuntokun 2005). As the world’s most pop­ ulous African country, Nigeria viewed foreign policy through this prism and sought to shoulder the leadership of Africa (Oshuntokun 2005). As such, the decolonization of Africa, and the end of white minority rule in the south of the continent in particular, were the foreign policy priorities of the government in Lagos; the highly visible platform that the Commonwealth provided was seen as an important vehicle for the execution of Nigeria’s international agenda.

First Forays with the Commonwealth: South Africa and Rhodesia When South Africa became a republic in 1961, Nigeria’s was one of the loudest voices calling for the severance of ties between the Commonwealth and the white minority-​ governed new republic. With fierce opposition from the organization’s recently decolonized member states, and from Nigeria in particular, the Verwoerd adminis­ tration in South Africa announced its intention to leave the Commonwealth, which it did in 1961. The South Africa question would continue to feature prominently in Nigeria’s foreign policy and its position vis-​à-​vis the Commonwealth for decades to come. It was the brewing crisis in Rhodesia, however, that provided Nigeria with its first real foreign policy test within the Commonwealth. Upon Rhodesia’s widely condemned Unilateral Declaration of Independence (UDI) in November 1965, Balewa leaned on Westminster and British Prime Minister Harold Wilson for a

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    717 special Commonwealth meeting to discuss Rhodesia, which he deemed “the cause of all the present trouble” (Commonwealth Secretariat Archives 1998). Wilson acquiesced and the subsequent Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference in Lagos in January 1966, notable for being the first Commonwealth summit held out­ side the United Kingdom, as well as the first to be solely devoted to a single issue (Rhodesia), sought to formulate an approach to bring about an end to white minority rule in the rogue southern Africa state. Rhodesia’s decision to go ahead with its UDI largely rested on its belief that it should be granted self-​rule when other African states with much less experience in governing were increasingly becoming independent. Rhodesia’s actions, how­ ever, contrasted starkly with the trend and mood at the time, and flew in the face of MacMillan’s Wind of Change discourse and the British policy of NIBMAR(“no in­ dependence before majority rule”). The crisis was very much on the global agenda, with the United Nations imposing the organization’s first economic sanctions ever in December 1966. Nigeria’s lead role in the international campaign against Rhodesia helped to position it as the leader of African interests and a voice of authority in in­ ternational relations. Yet, the Balewa administration drew sharp criticism at home for expending so much energy on a crisis that was unfolding over 4,000 miles away while Nigeria itself faced serious domestic problems, a tension which has persisted as Nigeria’s success in helping to resolve foreign crises has often not been replicated at home. The 1966 Commonwealth meeting in Lagos was also an opportunity for the gov­ ernment to evade calls of the newly formed Organization of African Unity (OAU) for African states to sever diplomatic links with London if the “illegal” state of Rhodesia was not dismantled by December 1965 (Anyaoku 2004). Ghana and Tanzania, both members of the Commonwealth, heeded the OAU call, but Nigeria’s overwhelming economic reliance on the former colonial power was such that breaking ties with London was unthinkable. However, Nigeria was to remain at loggerheads with the U.K. over the continuation of white minority rule in southern Africa for decades to come, with the Commonwealth serving as a platform for the opposing foreign policies to play out. Only days after the conclusion of the Lagos summit, Nigeria achieved another first within the Commonwealth. The military coup d’état that took place on January 15, 1966 brought democratic rule to an end and made Nigeria the first nondemocratic state in the Commonwealth. Setting this precedent, Nigeria influenced the shape of the organiza­ tion going forward, as military regimes and one-​party states were accepted within the Commonwealth, an internal contradiction for an organization that espouses democ­ racy as a key tenet (Anyaoku 2004). The short-​lived Aguiyi–​Ironsi regime and the sub­ sequent countercoup a few months later, which swept General Yakubu Gowon to the presidency, directly contributed to the outbreak of civil war in 1967, a war that decimated swathes of the country but also served to reinforce the government’s links with the Commonwealth.

718    Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville

The Fractures and Flexibility of the Commonwealth: Biafra Throughout the civil war that raged across Nigeria’s Igbo heartland from 1967 to 1970, the still nascent Commonwealth played a muted yet pivotal role. While the Secretariat itself sought to mediate between the two warring factions, two of the Commonwealth’s most powerful member states, the United Kingdom and Canada, were staunchly be­ hind the federal government, preferring the relative stability of a unified Nigeria to the secession of Biafra and the possibility of encouraging similar secessionist movements elsewhere. Indeed, London’s support for the Gowon military administration grew steadily as the war progressed. In fact, by 1969, 97 percent of the federal government’s armaments, discounting aircraft and bombs, were supplied by the British, up from 36 per cent in 1966. This, in turn, allowed the Nigerian armed forces to grow by ap­ proximately 200 times between 1966 and 1970 (Aluko 1977). International support for an independent Biafra was limited, with France being the only major power to back a sovereign Biafran homeland. The war did, however, cause deep fractures within the Commonwealth; both Tanzania and Zambia supported the secessionists, and Sierra Leone also toyed with the idea of officially recognizing the Republic of Biafra (Saideman 2001). Where the Commonwealth held an advantage over other international blocs, such as the OAU, was in its inherent institutional flexibility. While the OAU was bound by the noninterference clause in its charter, the Commonwealth charter allowed for a greater degree of flexibility and provided it with an opportunity to engage in mediation efforts throughout the war (Adeleke 2004). Although these attempts at reconciliation ultimately failed, they were necessary for the emergence of Emeka Anyaoku, a young Commonwealth official from the Igbo town of Obosi, a region that had suffered heavily during the war. Anyaoku facilitated the mediation and would later go on to have a signif­ icant impact on Nigeria–​Commonwealth relations as Secretary-​General of the organi­ zation from 1990 to 2000. The Commonwealth itself did not ultimately affect the outcome of the Biafra crisis—​although its most powerful member, the United Kingdom, undoubtedly did—​as the organization was still developing its identity and many of its newly in­ dependent member states remained primarily focused on domestic consolidation. The war did, however, prove to be an important catalyst for Nigeria’s relations with the Commonwealth going forward. The huge increase in the size and capabilities of its armed forces, its newly battle-​hardened troops, and the country’s newfound oil wealth meant that the emboldened federal government was well placed to cement its status as agitator-​in-​chief at the Commonwealth for the political emancipation in southern Africa.

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    719

The Struggle for the Liberation of Southern Africa The Lagos summit in 1966 and the subsequent sanctions imposed on Rhodesia failed to bring about the demise of the white minority government in Salisbury. While most members of the Commonwealth had long held the belief that the Rhodesia question could ultimately only be answered in Westminster, the British resolutely refused to con­ sider military action. It was inconceivable that British forces would be sent to fight white troops in Africa (Ashton and Louis 2004). Despite their official refusal to negotiate with what they considered to be an illegiti­ mate government, the British did hold a series of unsuccessful talks with the Rhodesian administration amidst increasingly strident voices, none more so than Nigeria’s, at the Commonwealth. However, the first Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) in Singapore in January 1971 was a crucial turning point in Britain’s dealings with Rhodesia. The resulting Singapore Declaration of Commonwealth Principles can be seen as the pivotal moment when the United Kingdom determined the unity of the Commonwealth to be more important than its strategic interests in Rhodesia. The Singapore Declaration, which is described as “the Magna Carta of the Commonwealth” (Sobhan 1999), codified the organization’s core principles, explicitly rejecting racial dis­ crimination in the political process and thus implicitly disavowing the legitimacy of the Rhodesian government. For Nigeria, its yield from the Singapore CHOGM was significant. The Gowon regime’s role as one of the primary voices of protest in the Commonwealth had helped to secure a major concession from London: the United Kingdom realized that its indis­ pensable economic ties with other Commonwealth countries, as well as the need for allies at other international fora, such as the UN, trumped the maintenance of links with Rhodesia. In addition, retaining a degree of influence over the last vestiges of empire is also likely to have played a part in the U.K.’s acquiescence on the Rhodesia question. The post-​Singapore elation was to be short-​lived, however, as a month later Britain agreed to sell naval equipment to the apartheid South African government under the provisions of the 1955 Simonstown Agreement. Gowon, who had apparently expressed his inten­ tion to withdraw Nigeria from the Commonwealth if the sale went through, pulled out of the Commonwealth study group on Indian Ocean security, which had been set up at the CHOGM a month prior, but kept Nigeria in the organization (Adeleke 2004). Nonetheless, post-​Biafra, Nigeria’s stature on the international stage was growing. The oil crisis of 1973 had filled the state’s coffers with petrodollars allowing the govern­ ment in Lagos to provide a steady flow of financial assistance to liberation movements in southern Africa (Egedo 1987). By this time, Nigeria had become the third largest fi­ nancial contributor to the Commonwealth Secretariat after the United Kingdom and

720    Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville Canada (Aluko 1977) and, while the Commonwealth and CHOGMs were important platforms for Nigeria’s foreign policy agenda, the UN and OAU also became increas­ ingly important pulpits for the government. Gowon was instrumental in the creation of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) in 1975, devoting a great deal of time towards the creation of the new regional bloc. His overthrow only two months after the birth of ECOWAS, while attending an OAU summit in Uganda, cemented the rebalancing of Nigeria’s use of different mulitlateral fora in its foreign policy pursuits. Both the regimes of General Murtala Muhammed and, following his assassination in 1976, that of Olusegun Obasanjo, preferred to channel decoloniza­ tion efforts through the UN and OAU owing to perceived limited leverage through the Commonwealth on the South Africa problem (Adeleke 2004). The fall of the Gowon regime was met with considerable alarm in London, where he was held in high regard. In addition, General Muhammed’s decision to indefinitely postpone the visit to Nigeria of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh, originally sched­ uled by the Gowon administration, indicated that the new government in Lagos was determined to adjust the terms of Nigeria’s relationship with the former colonial metro­ pole (Aluko 1977). A week before the commencement of the 1979 CHOGM in Lusaka, the Obasanjo government announced the nationalization of British Petroleum, ostensibly due to the British company’s continuing sale of oil to South Africa, although the timing of the an­ nouncement indicated that frustration over the lack of progress on Rhodesia was also a factor. This move, coupled with the punitive measures taken against Barclays Bank the previous year, served to illustrate Nigeria’s refusal to conduct “business as usual” while the U.K. continued to hamper efforts towards the liberation of southern Africa. The CHOGM’s Lusaka Declaration on Racism and Racial Prejudice built upon its Singapore predecessor and expressly condemned the apartheid system. By this stage, the embattled Rhodesian government had realized that the status quo was unsustainable: the Lusaka Declaration led to the Lancaster House Agreement3 and recognition of the independent Republic of Zimbabwe in 1980. In the years following Lusaka, Nigeria’s foreign policy took a back seat to domestic concerns, with a period of political turbulence and economic hardship resulting from falling oil prices. Nigeria’s attempt to return to civilian rule lasted just a little over four years, with President Shehu Shagari ousted in a coup by Major-​General Muhammadu Buhari in December 1983. Major-​General Ibrahim Babangida, in turn, ousted Buhari in 1985. Nigeria’s Commonwealth engagement was more limited during this period, but this changed with the Nassau CHOGM in 1985, which was devoted primarily to addressing the continuation of apartheid in South Africa. The Nassau summit established the Commonwealth Eminent Persons Group (EPG), co-​chaired by Obasanjo and the former Australian prime minister, Malcolm Fraser, which sought to foster a constructive dialogue with the South African regime. The 1986 EPG visit concluded that the government was “not yet prepared to negotiate funda­ mental change, nor to countenance the creation of genuine democratic structures, nor to face the prospect of the end of white domination and white power in the foreseeable

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    721 future” (Commonwealth Law Bulletin 1986). O. R. Tambo, then president of the African National Congress (ANC), deemed the EPG visit to be a “watershed moment” in South Africa’s history. Meanwhile, Nigeria’s foreign minister, Professor Bolaji Akinyemi, was the first of any African country to visit Angola, Botswana, Zambia, and Zimbabwe after raids by South African forces, to express the solidarity of the Nigerian people (Egedo 1987) The EPG recommended the enforcement of economic sanctions against South Africa and an extraordinary CHOGM was to be held in London, shortly after the 1986 Commonwealth Games in Edinburgh, to discuss the EPG’s findings. Global condem­ nation of the apartheid regime by this time was the norm, none more so than amongst Nigeria and the other African Commonwealth states. Yet, the British government con­ tinued to resist the imposition of sanctions with Prime Minister Thatcher, whose hus­ band had significant business interests in South Africa, decrying the African National Congress as terrorists and declaring that sanctions against the racist regime would be immoral. It was in this charged atmosphere that Nigeria led a boycott of the Commonwealth Games in 1986. Nigeria had previously sought boycotts of the 1972 and 1976 Olympic Games and the 1978 Commonwealth Games over white minority rule in southern Africa, but the Edinburgh boycott was a diplomatic coup for Nigeria, with thirty-​two of the fifty-​nine Commonwealth realms refusing to participate. The boycott exposed a potential split in the organization, something that many observers considered una­ voidable if London refused to agree to sanctions. Thatcher did agree to some limited sanctions in the wake of the extraordinary CHOGM meeting. She was fearful of the demise of the Commonwealth as a forum through which to wield soft power, since its member states accounted for 40 percent of the UK’s foreign investment (while South Africa absorbed 8 percent), and she was wary of being blamed for destroying an or­ ganization prized by Queen Elizabeth (Lohr 1986). The sanctions were just enough to save the Commonwealth from collapse, but the South Africa issue continued to dom­ inate Nigeria’s foreign policy agenda, and remained a priority for the Commonwealth, with measures against the apartheid regime strengthened at the Vancouver and Kuala Lumpur CHOGMs in 1987 and 1989.

Nigeria the Pariah: The Abacha Years Nigeria underwent further turbulence during the period of 1993 to 1998: a poisonous political atmosphere took hold after the annulment of the 1993 presidential election by Ibrahim Babangida and the subsequent seizure of power by General Sani Abacha. The years that followed were characterized by human rights abuses, including the impris­ onment of the presumed victor of the election, Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola, as well as former head of state, Obasanjo, and the execution of the promi­ nent author Ken Saro-​Wiwa and eight other Ogoni activists. Two significant external

722    Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville developments occurred around this time that altered both Nigeria’s relationship with the Commonwealth and its role in Africa: the first was the election in 1989 of Chief Emeka Anyaoku as the third Commonwealth Secretary-​General, and the first and only African Secretary-​General to date, in which capacity he served from 1990 to 2000. The second was the long fought-​for transition to full democracy of South Africa in 1994. A keystone objective of Nigerian foreign policy since independence was realized just as Nigeria it­ self slid into ignominy under the brutal regime of Sani Abacha. Importantly, the dawn of democracy in South Africa also served to create a new competitor in African leadership for Nigeria. The Commonwealth responded decisively to try and shepherd Nigeria towards a re­ turn to democracy. In 1995, a military tribunal sentenced former president Olusegun Obasanjo to life in prison, and his alleged co-​conspirators in the so-​called coup plot, ex-​general Shehu Musa Yar’Adua and fourteen others, were sentenced to death (Bourne 2015). Although the prison sentence was reduced and death sentences commuted after international pressure, in November of that same year, on the first day of the Auckland CHOGM, nine Ogoni activists were executed. This violation of the tenets of the Commonwealth, the Harare Declaration, resulted in the suspension of Nigeria from the Commonwealth (Adeleke 2004). In fact, it was events in Nigeria that catalyzed the agreement among the Commonwealth heads of government on the mechanism for dealing with those of its members who were judged to be in violation of the Harare Declaration (Anyaoku 2004). The Commonwealth Secretary-​General, Chief Emeka Anyaoku, had been arguing for an instrument through which the Commonwealth could overcome some of its internal contradictions and uphold its commitments made through the Harare Declaration, and had proposed the monitoring of the conduct of members by foreign ministers (Anyaoku 2004, p. 268). With the added urgency for a monitoring and implementation mechanism that events in Nigeria brought, the Millbrook Commonwealth Action Programme—​ for the implementation and upholding of the Harare Declaration—​and the linked Commonwealth Ministerial Action Group, were adopted at the 1995 Auckland summit. As a catalyst for action, once again Nigeria was influencing the Commonwealth, if more by accident than by design. The unexpected death of President Abacha in 1998 and the promise of the govern­ ment of General Abdulsalami Abubakar to return to civilian rule in May the following year, less than a year after Abubakar’s appointment as president, paved the way for Nigeria to rejoin the Commonwealth. Indeed, Nigeria returned on May 29, 1999, when power was formally handed to newly elected President General Olusegun Obasanjo. A BBC report at the time noted that the end of military rule did not mark the end of Nigeria’s difficulties as it was “undergoing a severe economic crisis partly because of the low price of its main export, crude oil, and crippling social problems, such as wide­ spread corruption” (BBC 1999), which is equally true of Nigeria in 2017. This is impor­ tant as the 1990s were a decade of real change across Africa with significant implications for Nigeria’s future role in regional and continental affairs, its foreign policy, and its role in the Commonwealth.

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    723

Importance without Strategy? Nigeria’s Standing in the World The first president of Nigeria’s fourth republic, Olusegun Obasanjo, had personal contacts on the international stage and was a strong internationalist who, with previous experience of leadership of the country and engagement with the Commonwealth, un­ derstood the organization’s potential utility to Nigeria. Obasanjo was the co-​chairperson of the Eminent Persons Group (EPG) established at the 1985 Nassau CHOGM, which sought to open political dialogue in southern Africa (Fraser and Obasanjo 1986). Obasanjo also felt a close personal link to the Commonwealth. Secretary-​General Chief Anyaoku had attempted a personal intervention on his behalf with General Abacha when Obasanjo was arrested in 1995, though without success (Anyaoku 2004). But he also recognized the work of the Commonwealth in leading international pressure on General Abacha to have his prison sentence reduced and the death sentence of others commuted (Obasanjo 2005). Obasanjo took an interest and was active in foreign policy during his presidency, seeking to build strong relationships with donors, development partners, and multilateral organizations—​particularly important in negotiating with the Paris Club for foreign debt relief. During his time in office, Nigeria chaired the Commonwealth and the African Union, the NEPAD Heads of State and Government Implementation Committee, and the African Peer Review Mechanism (Obasanjo 2005). Since the end of Obasanjo’s second term in 2007, Nigeria has had three heads of state in a decade. All three have seemingly kept to the principle of concentrism in Nigeria’s foreign policy—​the first foreign visits of both Umaru Musa Yar’Adua (2007–​10) and Muhammadu Buhari (2015–​) were within Africa. In the case of Buhari, driven by the need for cooperation on Nigeria’s Boko Haram crisis in the northeast, his first foreign excursions were to Niger and Chad. Under Goodluck Jonathan (2010–​11, 2011–​15), while Nigeria would seek to retain its regional and continental leadership role, foreign policy would be more defined by economic interests, through building commercial relations beyond the continent in support of his transformation agenda (Boma Lysa et al. 2015). However, the disruptions in national leadership, together with an under-​resourced for­ eign ministry and, a range of severe domestic economic and security challenges, have manifested in Nigeria’s declining visibility and activism abroad. In 2017, Nigeria lost out to Algeria in the contest for the weighty position of com­ missioner of Peace and Security in the African Union Commission, leaving Nigeria with no leadership position in the Commission at all, something that Chief Emeka Anyaoku described as a “national embarrassment” (The Nation 2017). While this reflects the impact of the burden and distraction of difficulties at home on foreign policy im­ plementation, it is also an inevitable result of growth and development in, and so increased competition from, other African countries. Since 2015, Nigeria, hurt by low oil prices, has not been able to compete with a number of Africa economies that are not as oil-​dependent. While Nigeria entered recession in 2016—​and remained there for

724    Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville five quarters—​the economies of countries such as Côte d’Ivoire, Ethiopia, Kenya, and Senegal all grew by more than 5 percent (World Bank 2017). Nigeria has not had a High Commissioner to the Court of St James’s since the de­ parture of Dr Dalhatu Tafida from the London High Commission in August 2015. With the Commonwealth Secretariat based at Marlborough House in London, this has an effect on the strength of Nigeria’s voice in Commonwealth affairs. In London, high commissioners from the Africa region meet as the Africa Group. This forum, which always has a member state as chair and consolidates the African position on Commonwealth matters, relies on active high commissioners, knowledgeable about Commonwealth structures and procedures. This matters, too, for Nigeria’s wider for­ eign policy ambitions as the Commonwealth often acts as a test bed for positions in larger fora, such as the UN. But despite impeded engagement due to domestic economic, security, and polit­ ical difficulties, Nigeria seeks to remain active within the Commonwealth. Nigeria is still ambitious with regards to its foreign policy and regional and international role, if less effective in strategic implementation. Perhaps in a sign of how Nigeria values the opportunities for influence provided by the Commonwealth, it was always a significant financial contributor to the Commonwealth, and for six years at least until the finan­ cial year 2011–​12, was among the top eight contributors to the Commonwealth Fund for Technical Cooperation, the principal means of delivery of Commonwealth development assistance, which relies on voluntary contributions (Commonwealth Secretariat 2017). In the current context, perhaps Nigeria is less able to exert its influence over the policy direction of the Commonwealth, it is through the involvement of prominent individuals in Commonwealth engagements in Africa that Nigeria continues to be visible and exert authority. Former President Goodluck Jonathan led the observation mission of the Commonwealth of Tanzania’s 2015 elections, and led and mobilized the immediate ef­ fort by international observers to contain the impact of the annulment of the Zanzibar elections (Commonwealth 2015). In resolving the electoral crisis in Gambia in January 2017, Nigeria took an active role through the Economic Community of West African States, and contributed to the intervention force along with Senegal, Ghana, Mali, and Togo. It had also been engaged in mediation in the Gambia previously through the Commonwealth, with former President Obasanjo mediating between President Jammeh and opposition politicians in 2009. Nigeria’s former foreign minister, Professor Ibrahim Gambari, served as the Commonwealth Secretary-​General’s Special Adviser on Political Dialogue in Zambia ahead of elections in 2016 (Commonwealth 2016). Nigeria’s foreign minister under the Buhari administration, Geoffrey Onyeama, re­ flecting on the changing global context in 2017, said that, “Brexit might boost coop­ eration within the framework of the Commonwealth, if the U.K. decides to give more importance to the organisation.” (Oxford Business Group 2017). This suggests that Nigeria still sees the Commonwealth as a relevant multilateral forum, relevant to its own priorities, as well as a forum through which it can navigate bilateral relationships. Perhaps, too, as Nigeria struggles to keep its leadership position in Africa while it faces difficulties at home and growing competition abroad, the Commonwealth

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    725 presents opportunities through which Nigeria can protect and profile its leadership position in Africa.

Conclusion All countries’ foreign policies and engagements reflect domestic interests and events, and in all cases difficulties at home tend to impede effective foreign policy implemen­ tation. In its efforts to consolidate its democratic transition, Nigeria continues to face a range of challenges, and its foreign ministry suffers resource and capacity constraints. But Nigeria’s ambitions for leadership on the African and the world stages continue, and prominent Nigerians have been active in democracy promotion and mediation efforts through the Commonwealth. This membership organization, the principles of which broadly align with those of democratic Nigeria, will remain an important element of Nigeria’s foreign policy toolkit. But whether in Nigeria’s ability to impact the policy di­ rection of the Commonwealth, or other important multilateral fora such as ECOWAS, Nigeria risks its position in Africa and the world, due to an over-​reliance on its eco­ nomic potential, the size of its population and, perhaps ironically, a handful of promi­ nent individuals to promote its importance. Perhaps more than anything, the story of Nigeria’s loosening leadership position in Africa, including via the Commonwealth, demonstrates the damage wrought by a colo­ nial legacy on such a complex nation and impacts of the coups, commodity-​dependence, and corruption that have impeded Nigeria’s development, constrained its capacity, and kept Nigeria’s long-​vaunted potential as just that. Given its challenges and the historic engagement with and prominence given to the Commonwealth, the grouping will re­ main important to Nigeria as it seeks to recover and pursue its ambitions.

Notes 1. The former Portuguese colony Mozambique joined in 1995 and the former Belgian colony Rwanda joined in 2009. 2. Zimbabwe was suspended from the Commonwealth in 2002 and withdrew its membership entirely in 2003. The Gambia withdrew from the Commonwealth in 2013. In 2017, Gambia requested to rejoin the organization. 3. Nigeria played an important role at the Lancaster House negotiations, with the Nigerian representative, Maitama Sule, instrumental in keeping dialogue open. Informed that that the newly elected prime minister of the U.K., Margaret Thatcher, planned to close the con­ ference before an agreement could be achieved, Sule responded with “a mixture of flattery and threat,” suggesting she could achieve what her three male predecessors failed and solve the Rhodesian crisis, while at the same time warning Thatcher that British interests could be damaged. For more, see Bourne, R. (2015). Nigeria: A New History of a Turbulent Century. London: Zed Books.

726    Elizabeth Donnelly and Daragh Neville

References Adeleke, Ademola (2004). “Nigeria and the Commonwealth,” in Nigeria, Africa and the Commonwealth (pp. 67–​90). Lagos: Nigerian Institute of International Affairs. Akinrinade, S. (2003). “Constitutionalism and the Resolution of Conflicts in Nigeria,” The Round Table 368: 41–​52. Aluko, O. (1977). “Nigeria and Britain After Gowon,” African Affairs 76 (304): 303–​320. Anyaoku, Emeka (2004). The Inside Story of the Modern Commonwealth. London:  Evans Brothers Ltd. Ashaver, Benjamin T. (2014). “Concentricism in Nigeria’s Foreign Policy,” Journal Of Humanities and Social Science 19 (6): 6–​11. Ashton, S. R. and Louis, W. R. (2004). East of Suez and the Commonwealth 1964–​1971, Part II: Europe, Rhodesia, Commonwealth. London: Institute of Commonwealth Studies. BBC (1999). “Nigeria Commonwealth Ban Lifted,” May 19, 1999, published at 19:28 GMT 20:28. http://​news.bbc.co.uk/​1/​hi/​world/​africa/​347509.stm accessed August 25, 2017. Boma Lysa, D. A. et  al. (2015). “Nigerian Foreign Policy and Global Image:  A Critical Assessment of Goodluck Jonathan’s Administration,” Journal of Mass Communication and Journalism 5 (10). Bourne, R. (2015). Nigeria: A New History of a Turbulent Century. London: Zed Books Ltd. The Commonwealth (2015, October). Newsroom: “International Observers Express Concern at the Situation in Zanzibar.” http://​thecommonwealth.org/​media/​news/​international-​ observers-​express-​concern-​situation-​zanzibar accessed December 6, 2017. The Commonwealth (2016, August). Newsroom: “Commonwealth Special Adviser to Zambia Urges Calm for Election Day.” http://​thecommonwealth.org/​media/​news/​commonwealth-​ special-​adviser-​zambia-​urges-​calm-​election-​day accessed September 7, 2017. The Commonwealth (2017, March). Fast Facts: The Commonwealth. http://​thecommonwealth. org/​sites/​default/​files/​inline/​FastFactsontheCommonwealth-​6March2017.pdf accessed June 8, 2017. Commonwealth Law Bulletin (1986). “The Findings of the Commonwealth Eminent Persons Group on South Africa, 12 (3),” Commonwealth Secretariat. http://​www.commonwealthofnations. org/​commonwealth/​commonwealth-​secretariat/​ accessed March 5, 2017. Egedo, I. (1987). “Nigeria and Apartheid,” The Round Table 76 (301): 33–​39. Fraser, Malcolm and Obasanjo, Olusegun (1986). “What to do about South Africa,” Foreign Affairs vol. 65, no. 1: 154–​162. Commonwealth Prime Ministers Meeting:  Correspondence, Lagos (1966). December 10, 1965–​March 25, 1966, 1998/​014, Commonwealth Secretariat Archives. Lohr, S. (1986). “The Commonwealth Leans Hard, and Thatcher Is Feeling It,” New York Times August 3, 1986. http://​www.nytimes.com/​1986/​08/​03/​weekinreview/​the-​commonwealth-​ leans-​hard-​and-​thatcher-​is-​feeling-​it.html accessed August 14, 2017. The Nation (2017). “Re-​Establishing Nigeria’s Leadership Position in the World,” The Nation August 11, 2017. http://​thenationonlineng.net/​re-​establishing-​nigerias-​leadership-​position-​ world/​amp/​ accessed August 29, 2017. Nigerian Muse (2005). “President Olusegun Obasanjo 2005 Independence Day speech,” Nigerian Muse October 1, 2005. http://​www.nigerianmuse.com/​important_​documents/​ ?u=Obasanjo_​independencespeech_​October_​1_​2005.htm accessed August 9, 2017. Obasanjo, Olusegun (2005). “The Commonwealth in the 21st Century: Prospects and Challenges,” March 15, 2015, The 2005 Commonwealth Lecture. London, Commonwealth Foundation.

Nigeria and the Commonwealth    727 http://​commonwealthfoundation.com/​wp-​content/​uploads/​2012/​12/​C ommonwealth_​ Lecture_​2005_​HE_​Chief_​Olusegun_​Obasanjo.pdf accessed July 1, 2017. Oshuntokun, J. (2005). “Historical Background Survey of Nigeria’s Foreign Policy,” in U. J. Ogwu (ed.), New Horizons for Nigeria in World Affairs (pp. 29–​49). Lagos: Nigerian Institute of International Affairs. Oxford Business Group (2017). “Geoffrey Onyeama, Minister of Foreign Affairs, on Factors Impacting Nigeria’s Economy,” June 7, 2017. http://​www.oxfordbusinessgroup.com/​views/​ geoffrey-​onyeama-​minister-​foreign-​affairs?utm_​source=feed&utm_​medium=rss&utm_​ campaign=eus_​africa_​all accessed July 25, 2017. Saideman, S. (2001). The Ties that Divide:  Ethnic Politics, Foreign Policy and International Conflict. New York: Columbia University Press. Sobhan, F. (1999). “The Commonwealth at the Turn of the Century,” The Round Table  352 (1): 569–​579. World Bank (2017). “Economic Growth in Africa is on the Upswing Following a Sharp Slowdown,” press release. http://​www.worldbank.org/​en/​news/​press-​release/​2017/​04/​19/​ economic-​growth-​in-​africa-​is-​on-​the-​upswing-​following-​a-​sharp-​slowdown. accessed August 25, 2017.

Chapter 43

Faith, Fam e, and Fort u ne Varieties of Nigerian Worship in Global Christianity Asonzeh Ukah

Introduction During a speech at a convocation ceremony at the University of Benin on November 25, 2016, Nigeria’s Minister of Power, Works, and Housing, Babatunde Raji Fashola said: [T]‌here seems to be an increasing manifestation of our collective surrender . . . to di­ vine intervention and the possibility of endless miracles. We are now in the realm and reality of constant expectations of miracles and in divine intervention. Superstitions have taken over reason and logic. [ . . . ] We will not pray our way out of recession. (Fashola 2016)

The above lamentation, coming from a public figure and a former governor of Lagos State, which is Nigeria’s most populous and cosmopolitan state, conveys a significant in­ sight into the place of religion in the country’s public life1. Especially among a significant segment of Nigeria’s Christians, religious faith is believed to lead to both fame and for­ tune; without religion, many Nigerians think socioeconomic development and human flourishing are vacuous, unsustainable, and even impossible. However, in reality, the re­ lationship between Christianity and development is more complex than many believe or think. The story and journey of Christianity in Africa started in the first and mid-​second centuries of the Common Era and by the third and fourth centuries, North (or Roman) Africa was thoroughly Christianized (Wilhit 2017, pp. 15–​18). David T. Adamo (2006, p. 6) argues that “Africa and Africans with their unusual enthusiasm and zeal have been in the forefront of the preaching of the Gospels of Jesus Christ and the expansion of early Christianity . . .” However, the profound and spectacular (socioreligious) transforma­ tion of the continent started from the late nineteenth century to the end of the twentieth.

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    729 Unarguably, in the twenty-​first century, the most dramatic and radical social change in Africa has been religious in nature: this is the conversion of millions of Africans to the monotheistic religions of Christianity and Islam. Many argue that the high destiny, fame, and fortune of the continent are tied, not to its natural endowments, talents, skills, and human resources, but to its new faiths, the power and capacity of Christianity (and Islam) to build communities and transform societies as a first step towards actualizing the divine plan for the continent, its peoples, and cultures. This process of transforming societies through religious conversion is rooted in the understanding that “ ‘Conversion’ [is] never a narrowly religious process, for it [goes] with the adoption of a whole com­ plex of values: education as a key to personal and communal advancement, progress and prosperity, modernity” (Peel 2016, p. 2). Understanding the dynamics and outcomes of religious conversions in Africa is a crucial first step in improving long-​term social and individual well-​being. Africa, by all economic indices and calculation, is a very wealthy continent. Africans, however, are generally poor, struggling, and often deprived of fortune. This is particu­ larly the case in the forty-​eight so-​called “sub-​Saharan African” countries where there are elevated poverty levels. Citizens from these countries make up more than half of all those embarking on the perilous sea journey across the Mediterranean to Europe in recent years. Africa’s wealth, amounting to more than U.S.$41billion according to a May 2017 report by Honest Accounts, is extracted and repatriated abroad each year by multinationals or hidden in tax havens through misinvoicing rather than invested in the continent. According to the report, “the rest of the world is profiting from the continent’s wealth—​more so than most African citizens. Yet rich country governments simply tell their publics that their aid programmes are helping Africa. This is a distrac­ tion, and misleading.”2 It is not surprising, therefore, that religious organizations have emerged to champion a strategy for accessing fortune by means other than strictly eco­ nomic or political. The three most important quests, desires, or well-​being—​otherwise known as Alafia by the Yoruba of West Africa—​in African religious worldview are the pursuit of wealth, health, and children. Religious organizations that seek relevance and growth inevitably teach and advertise their mission as one that helps believers to access wealth in addition to well-​being. Of these organizations, the Pentecostal-​Charismatic Churches (PCCs) are by far the most socially visible and, not without reason, the most controversial in the ways in which they blend God and money, prophecy and profit, faith and fortune, fame and salvation. In a recent essay that seeks to reposition the relevance of Africa’s new churches and movements, Joseph Bosco Bangura (2012, p. 160) argues that a feature that distinguishes these organizations from historic mission churches is that the former “take seriously the socioeconomic and religiocultural contexts of adherents and thereby seek ministry approaches that are tailored to address this particular need among Africa Christians.” The new indigenous African churches, as Bangura chose to call these organizations, are characterized by their emphasis on “empowerment for victory” (Bangura 2012, p. 162) of its members by focusing, among other activities, on the spiritual causes of misfortune through deliverance and healing. Emerging and operating in the context of what Ogbu

730   Asonzeh Ukah Kalu (2002, p. 100) describes as “the collapse of the state and the political economy of Africa,” these new churches take up the challenge of promising to offer their numerous members what the state has failed to deliver, namely, fortune, health, success, and fame through the exercise of faith in the power and name of Jesus Christ. It is argued that the linkage of poverty, prosperity, empowerment, success, healing, and deliverance, or ex­ orcism is one of the strong points of attraction of these churches; it is also a key aspect of the ways in which these new religious groups contextualize their raison d’être within the African cultural milieu. The new African expression of Christianity relentlessly scours the scriptures for verses and clues that speak to the needs and desires of Africans at the present period of development. Foremost among these are fortune, wealth, success, empowerment, and victory. Leaders and theologians of the PCCs appropriate these scriptural texts of power in varied ways to perform a public theology of producing wealth and well-​being through spiritual exercises. “[M]‌any [Africans] believe that poverty, underdevelop­ ment, and the pitiable state of many countries in West Africa can be attributed to the work of spiritual powers . . . if nations are brought back to recognition of the lordship of Jesus Christ, social ills will be ameliorated” (Bangura 2012, p. 163). There are, however, three strong difficulties facing the proposition that links faith with fortune. The first and by far the more theoretically robust is how to establish concretely the production of ma­ terial effects by nonmaterial means, Max Weber’s (2011 [1920]) Protestant Ethic thesis notwithstanding. The second is that there is no empirical evidence to demonstrate con­ vincingly that praying and casting out demons produce economic empowerment and success. The third is that, historically, no nation or society (that ignores institutional development and stability) has become prosperous, politically powerful, materially and economically developed by producing and distributing religion and miracle (see Acemoglu and Robinson 2012)3. Despite these challenges, it is an alluring proposition that Nigerian religious entrepreneurs, particularly those enamored of the so-​called prosperity theology, have designed and marketed the idea that believing and consuming their religious goods and products is a sure-​fire gateway to fortune and fame. This chapter describes the changing Nigerian religious field produced by a new form of mis­ sionary zeal pioneered by a new religious entrepreneurial class, which fuses economic incentives and rationality with evangelistic rhetoric.

Nigeria’s Expanding Faith Field Nigeria, a nation of more than 192 million people, is renowned for the religious faith of its peoples. Often, it has been argued, that second to crude oil, the most popular global export of  Nigeria is religion, particularly Pentecostal-​Charismatic Christianity. Nigeria’s religious field is marked by a remarkable diversity, where major faith traditions interact and draw upon the resources of one another, producing ever-​vibrant new formations

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    731 and contrasts. To understand both the country and the diverse ethnic nationalities that make up such a mosaic entity, its religious foundation and compositions must be taken into consideration. This is so because religions—​understood as systems of thoughts and practices based on the existence of conscious spiritual or supranatural entities such as gods, deities, spirits, and ancestors (Stark 2017)—​form an important aspect of the (unstable?) foundation of the country and its fractious nationalities. Religion features in the organization and governance of the country even while it is constitu­ tionally a secular democracy (Obadare and Adebanwi 2011). Moreover, Nigerians gen­ erally self-​represent as very religious people; and Nigerian society is saturated with faith expressions and materials, where religious personalities and institutions constitute new modes of power relations and a major form of identity expression (Ojo 2006, p. 5; 2010, p.  2). Julius Adekunle (2009, p.  11) argues persuasively that “Nigerians identify with religion more than anything else because they understand religion more than the po­ litical system,” noting that “Nigeria’s poor economy has given rise to poverty and has become a driving force for people to identify with and to use religion, not politics, as a means of comfort,” as a pathway to wealth and existential security. It is because religion matters greatly to Nigerians and forms a strong identity construct that local elites and politicians mobilize and deploy religious and ethnic rivalries to advance their partic­ ular, self-​serving interests. Religion, for many Nigerians—​and by extension, Africans (see Ellis and Ter Haar 2004)—​is a field of power understood as diverse structures of capabilities and resources amenable to human manipulation and harnessing. Religious institutions, thoughts, and practices, therefore, have consequences that far outstrip the scope of rituals and doctrines; they inform the daily decision-​making of individuals and groups that have major consequences for society. Religious identity politics frequently promote sharp elbows between Muslims and Christians, and sometimes even within a specific tradition such as between Catholics and Pentecostal Christians. Religions in Nigeria form major hierarchies and organizations that influence the machinery of state and corporations as well as the well-​being of large swathes of its populations. In recent times, religious organizations have actively initiated forms of restructuring of the urban landscape from below through the ownership and construction of urban development projects such as prayer cities and real estates. In this respect, religion is a structure for the physical domination and control not only of its adherents but also of urban landscapes, city infrastructure, political authority, and economic resources. Because power gener­ ally is linked to domination, capabilities, and “real interest” (Lukes 2005, p. 108), reli­ gion has consistently been a source of friction, contestation, and conflict in Nigeria. In this respect, it detracts from its avowed duty of creating cohesive moral and worship communities based on common beliefs and rituals. The oldest of Nigeria’s religions is a collection of indigenous belief systems with no known origin or founders but a well-​articulated and holistic set of ritual practices, institutions, sacred personalities, deities, and spiritual beings. By far, however, the most diverse religious tradition in Nigeria is Christianity. First introduced by Portuguese Catholics in the fifteenth century—​and for a time flourished only

732   Asonzeh Ukah to die out because of the lack of priests, the overarching mercantile interests of the Portuguese, and the environmental problems resulting in the high mortality rate of Europeans in West Africa—​Christianity was reintroduced in the late nineteenth cen­ tury, led by Protestant groups (Kalu 2002, p. 66; Kalu 2012, pp. 36-​40; Chidester 2000, pp. 412–​14). Starting from 1842, European and American Protestant and Catholic mis­ sionary efforts, strongly supported and spearheaded by repatriated freed slaves from Sierra Leone and Liberia, led to the formation of Christian communities in different parts of southern Nigeria. The emergence of the Aladura prayer movement from 1918, followed by indigenous Pentecostal groups in the 1940s and 1950s, diversified the Nigerian Christian marketplace, which increasingly exhibited intense inno­ vation and appropriation of indigenous and foreign ideas and spiritualities in ways that transformed religious desires and quests of the local population. The hallmark of Aladura spirituality was the creative ways in which local Christians interpreted and integrated indigenous ideas and cultural practices with foreign, Christian, or biblical concepts in constructing African Christian communities, art, aesthetics, devotional imagery, authority, and institutions. By their actions and performances, Aladura leaders created not just a new Christian spirituality that resonated with local sensibilities, they also created new “technologies of enchantment” (Morgan 2017, p. 1) and religious imagination. Since the 1960s, every decade in Nigeria exemplifies a new form of religious inno­ vation in the field of indigenous appropriation of Christianity. The Biafran Civil War of 1967–​70 revitalized the spiritual landscape of Igboland, where local Christian communities employed religious resources in making sense of the catastrophic and near-​apocalyptic experiences of war and destruction. The search for spiritual answers to the problems of pain and evil produced enduring transformation and spiritual quests for the entire country, engineering new forms of being Christian that resonates with local experiences of deprivation and the desire to create the ideal self. The postwar decade of 1970–​80, which saw an expansion in the educational sector and a crude-​oil-​ driven economic boom, witnessed the emergence of transdenominational campus Christian groups led by young, educated men and women with middle-​class aspirations and connections within university campuses in southern Nigeria (Ojo 2006). These campus organizations were influenced by developments in North America, especially the charismatic movements and their massive media productions. About the same time, some older churches within the Aladura movement steadily transformed both in doctrine and organizational structure and imbibed Pentecostal tenets especially from such classical Pentecostal churches as the Assemblies of God Church and the Four-​ Square Gospel Church. The Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) was one such Aladura church that progressively became Pentecostal by adopting the doctrines of the Assemblies of God and later affiliating with the Apostolic Faith Mission of South Africa. This was the beginnings of what have been referred to as the “Pentecostal [Christian] revolution” in Nigeria (Gaiya 2002). Characterizing the expansion and production of Christianity as a “revolution” means that the change being introduced is far-​reaching,

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    733 deep-​rooted, and affecting every aspect of the social structure. The sector of Christianity that best shows these features is the Pentecostal-​Charismatic subset. The Pentecostal-​Charismatic Christianity (PCC)—​commonly and loosely referred to simply as Pentecostalism—​is a group of churches, ministries, and para-​church organi­ zations which emphasizes the physical manifestation of the indwelling of the Holy Spirit through glossolalia, prophecy, and healing, and adheres to such doctrines as prosperity, deliverance/​exorcism and spiritual warfare (Kay 2011:  10-​15). Generally, Pentecostals “are Christians who expect to see God’s power displayed on earth as part of normal everyday experience” (Jacobsen 2011, p.  50). In Nigeria, their proliferation has been phenomenal, with internal variation in respect to doctrines, organizational structure, leadership style, and attitudes to the material world. The expansion of PCCs is some­ times pointed at as prima facie evidence, not only of their popularity and attraction but also of their relevance in the developmental scheme of society. Pentecostal believers and theologians often insist that the Holy Spirit is responsible for the numerical growth and attraction of the movement, for example, J. Kwabena Asamoah-​Gyadu (2013, p. 1) argues that the rise of Pentecostalism “gives practical expression to the work of the [Holy] Spirit as blowing wind.” However, there are material factors such as political and eco­ nomic variables as well as social and organizational features that account for the suc­ cess of the movement. Significant but often ignored by scholars (for an exception, see Anderson 2013, pp. 224–​46) are the entrepreneurial impulses of Pentecostalism and its embeddedness in a neoliberal logic of practice as an appealing feature to many religious business people. Even in contemporary times the missionary impulse of Pentecostalism, often cited as an explanation for its expansion and attraction (Anderson 2007), is inti­ mately imbued with entrepreneurial compulsion and logic. While not denying the role of the Holy Spirit, PCCs’ affinity with and response to modernity (and its malcontents) and neoliberal practices of self-​interest, material profit, competition, and acquisitiveness informs its appeal and expansion in Nigeria in the period between 1980 and 2000. It is therefore no surprise that Pentecostalism as a social movement driven by and through the structures and infrastructure of modernity such as technology, business and marketing ideas and practices (adver­ tising), conspicuous consumption and opulence, furthers the ostensible agenda of neoliberal market and logic. Although its central discourse is about becoming a new person—​being “born again”—​through the activities of the Holy Spirit, that act of becoming is only a springboard for spiritual and material empowerment. Evidently, Pentecostal expansion is anchored on the claim of creating new individuals with new convictions, desires, tastes, and impulses that propel them to living a fuller life often interpreted in terms of fame and material fortune. The neoliberal logic of practice explains why the PCCs are obsessed with ratiocination, calculation, and measure­ ment: statistics, figures, sizes, visuality, spectacle, etc. The rest of this chapter will tease out the neoliberal connections of Nigerian Pentecostal organizations and how their practices connect with the discourses of changing lives and empowering believers materially.

734   Asonzeh Ukah

Neoliberal Faith: Entrepreneurial Pentecostalism and the Market Historically, religious expansion and trade are intimately connected:  they are forms of cross-​cultural exchanges that transform religious behavior and social structures (Trivellato, Halevi, and Antunes 2014). It is, however, in the context of late capitalism in its neoliberal forms that commerce, economic livelihoods, migration, and reli­ gion have become intractably interwoven. Although this interconnection between religion, the market, and entrepreneurial rationality cuts across different religions (Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, etc.), it is unapologetically adopted and promoted by global Pentecostal elites in all its forms and incarnations, especially among Pentecostal leaders who propagate prosperity theology, commerce, celebrity, and religious practice are in a perpetual wedlock. Pentecostalism is an “entrepreneurial religion”—​a “para­ digmatic [form] of neoliberal organization” according to Lanz and Oosterbaan (2016, p. 490)—​that provides believers with power verses and inspiration to engage in risky behaviors that promise a material reward. While entrepreneurial Pentecostalism takes seriously believers’ “personal relationship with God,” it does so in the language of the market and the self-​help industry, conflating counseling and consultancy, tapping into business management schemes and adopting its managerial language and ethos, and investing heavily on the commercial communication of advertising and media use. This is not altogether surprising because African Pentecostalism in general and Nigerian Pentecostalism especially emerged in the crucible of the neoliberal turn of the economic policy of the 1970s and 1980s when privatization and commercialization—​the erasure of social services and the shrinking of the capacity of the state to provide citizenship goods—​were critical pillars of economic engineering imposed by the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) on many African states (Ukah 2016ai, pp. 367–​ 71; Ostry, Loungani, and Furceri 2016, pp.  38–​41). Particularly, among leaders and founders (but more appropriately, owners) of religious organizations, Pentecostalism—​ especially the Prosperity variant—​supports and defends the commodification of emo­ tion, leisure, and spirituality, the spirit of entrepreneurialism as well as the logic of competition and consumerism in the pursuit of self-​realization and the production of the ideal self. Salvation is not just about spiritual enlightenment, an experiential knowl­ edge of God or going to a distant heaven, but more importantly, about conquering and dominating the market, living life on a large scale as evidence and materialization of salvation. In its various manifestations, Nigerian Pentecostalism shows and promotes these features. Nimi Wariboko (2014) argues that an epistemological quest drives Nigerian Pentecostals to know God, and through this knowledge, to experience personal con­ version and empowerment. Yet, Pentecostalism is not an intellectual journey into the mind of Deity, for, an epistemological quest will appear very arid to many believers who seek a robust and emotionally rich encounter and solution to their existential angst.

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    735 Central to Nigerian Pentecostal discourses and practices is the promise and expectation of changing lives through/​and performing miracles. Power and empowerment are what believers are often told they can access through the work of the Holy Spirit mediated by the teaching, services, goods, and life of specific preachers, called “men/​women of God.” Imbibing and following the teachings of these personalities and fiscally supporting their ministries (through sacrificial donations, offering, and tithes) predisposes believers to receive life-​changing miracles. Additionally, Nigerian Pentecostalism is deeply ma­ terially driven and oriented; miracles, power, knowledge, even salvation, translates to resources that “provide [believers] with answers to the practical problems of human ex­ istence, particularly sickness and poverty” (Peel 2016, p. 189). For Pentecostal Christians, the cultural work of believing is beneficial—​economically, politically, and socially. In in­ digenous worldviews and cosmologies, lack of income and resources, hunger, malnutri­ tion, and sickness that hamper the production of sustainable livelihoods are frequently attributed to metaphysical causalities (Sogolo 1993, p. 109f). It is not surprising, there­ fore, that among Pentecostal leaders, pragmatism and what serves real interest far out­ weigh doctrinal orthodoxy and purity. The Pentecostal quest for Holy Spirit power directed towards addressing mun­ dane concerns is infused with unbridled individualism which strongly resonates with the demands of neoliberalism. Personal salvation and individual self-​realization are presented as the primary goal of personal action and “one’s main purpose in life” (Cohen and Kennedy 2013, p. 3). The Holy Spirit works on the individual believer imparting power materialized through speaking in tongues which changes a believer into a recep­ tacle of extraordinary spiritual gifts, charismata, channeled towards the production of an ideal version of “self.” Indeed, the display of power through the performance of the extraordinary is the basis upon which fame is constructed. Individuals who have shown these powers—​manifested in the production of miracles, prophecies, deliverances, healings—​are at the center of large Pentecostal congregations as leaders and founders. Nigerian Pentecostalism is personality-​driven and centered, revolving around “bigman/​ women of a big God” who claim to have the gifts of producing extraordinary acts that benefit believers—​who recognize and acknowledge their spiritual endowment. The Nigerian Pentecostal leader is not a servant of a moral community made of believers who share the same faith in the resurrection power of Jesus the Nazarene carpenter. S/​he is a hero or heroine of faith, a sacred bank, and repository of God’s wisdom, power, and benevolence, a sacred superstar who must be attended to by his followers, who are constructed as clients, consumers, or beneficiaries of his/​her power and grace. This is the root of the pastors’ popularity, the social construction of public perception, and consequently fame, within the society: s/​he has a large following of fans who adore and benefit from her/​his access to an arcane source of capabilities from where s/​he draws out and distributes resources: oracular guidance, deliverance from impure spirits, crushing poverty. The local Pentecostal field is, consequently, suffused with explicit hero worship:  “the kind of personality cult that envelops prominent born-​again pastors” (Peel 2016, p. 191). Sustaining the Pentecostal personality cults requires an unusual display of charismata, the performance of miracles, especially

736   Asonzeh Ukah those involving the creation of wealth and health. Sustaining the cult of personalities requires spiritual entrepreneurs to embark on a grandiose construction of what Max Weber (1991 [1922], p. 26) aptly describes as “the technically rationalized enterprise of prayer,” and David Morgan (2017, p. 1) calls “technologies of enchantment”—​the construction of special objects or institutions that enhance the production of the spec­ tacular: prayer camps, banks, universities, insurance companies, real estate, and other secular structures.

Creating Fortune, Sustaining Fame Nigerian Pentecostal formations specialize in the production, supply, and distribution of specific goods and services of salvation, construed broadly as oracular guidance, healing, deliverance from the demons, miracles of wealth and success. An impor­ tant intervention which these multifarious organizations may be credited with is the diverse attempts which they have adopted in inserting themselves into the business spheres of Nigeria. As stated earlier, almost all Nigerian Pentecostal formations es­ tablished after 1970 and some predating this period subscribe and propound one ver­ sion or another of prosperity doctrines. Prosperity theology loosely teaches that God rewards individuals—​whether or not they are Christians—​who obey specific divine laws of giving or sowing seeds of money and other material goods to preachers and fi­ nancially supporting their ministries. These preachers are regarded as representatives, spokespersons, or mouthpieces of God among Christian communities who mediate divine grace and channel material favor along the path of those under their spir­ itual guidance. Often, however, these preachers, who are owners of large pentecostal conglomerates, create a product mix that emphasizes prosperity teachings, production of success and wealth, miraculous healing, and deliverance of demons. Their organiza­ tions straddle and blur the religious, political, and economic spheres of activities. They not only produce goods of salvation, they also produce branded table water, fashion items, own and run financial firms, and dispense sacred bonds. Following in the footprints of Benson Idahosa who was the initiator of prosperity teachings in Nigeria, David Oyedepo, founder-​owner and CEO of Living Faith Church Worldwide, better known by its moniker of Winners Chapel International, is the most visible proponent of prosperity doctrines. Although Oyedepo claims that “I am not a preacher of prosperity, I am a prophet,” Winners Chapel is a global brand and franchise of prosperity doctrine: “God spoke specifically to me while I was away in America to a meeting, ‘Get down home and make my people rich’ [ . . . ] I have seen God in the realm of prosperity [ . . . ] that’s why He has sent me to go and turn the destinies of men around” (Oyedepo 1997, p. 14). To Oyedepo, to be redeemed is “to be enriched” (p. 16). The primary pathway to prosperity in the theology of Oyedepo is giving, followed by six secondary paths: working, thinking, trusting, waiting, talking, and thanking. “I re­ gard giving, working, thinking, trusting, and waiting as seed planting, while I consider

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    737 talking and thanking as watering” (Oyedepo 1997, p.299). To prosper is to be rich finan­ cially and to be successful, which he defines as “the satisfactory realization of a given purpose” that guarantees all-​round rest and security; it makes rich and adds no sorrow (Prov. 10:22)” (Oyedepo 2008, pp. 405–​6). To prove that his message is divinelysent, Oyedepo is one of the wealthiest preachers in Africa, with a fleet of four Gulf Stream air­ craft, a publishing house, two universities, and a range of other product lines and assets that define and circumscribe the meaning of material success and wealth. Oyedepo owns Caanancity, a sprawling real estate described as: [a]‌city of exemption, a city that has God’s hedge of fire all around it, a city to experi­ ence heavenly life while still on the earth, a city that is lightened [sic] up 24/​7 via the glory of God that has swallowed up the place, a city where there is no night, a city where every day is Christmas4.

Canaancity Consortium Limited is responsible for the construction and sale of the apartments at Canaancity. It describes itself as: an association of Companies (indigenous and foreign) that have over the years dis­ tinguished themselves in the fields of Real Estate Development, Civil Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, Electrical Engineering, etc. [ . . . ] [established to] change the face of Real Estate Development not only in Africa but in the World at large. We have a team of committed Professionals who can deliver nothing but the very best jobs and above all, we have a committed team of the Trinity, in the Persons of GOD the Father, GOD the Son, and GOD the Holy Spirit Who always guides and backs us up in all that we do5.

Winners Chapel, the core firm of Oyedepo, has produced engineering and economic firms to consolidate its position in the social and economic and development landscape of Nigeria. In this sense, it is a firm that “stimulates competition . . . encouraging the creation and dissemination of new innovative products/​services and/​or better-​quality products and services” (Westhead and Wright 2013, p. 11). Oyedepo’s wealth originated from tithes, donations, and offerings supplied by his fans and followers, often as in­ vestment (sowing seeds) in anticipation of success, breakthrough, favor, and blessings. David Oyedepo is a formidable Pentecostal entrepreneur and his Winners Chapel is a strong example of an entrepreneurial religious firm. David Oyedepo may seem innovative in this economic activism, but the truly pio­ neering arrowhead of economic interventions based on both theological and neoliberal considerations is Enoch Adejare Adeboye, leader of the largest Pentecostal economic empire in Africa, the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), since 1981. In nu­ merical strength and property accumulation, the RCCG is the largest and wealthiest religious organization in Nigeria (and arguably in Africa). Where other Pentecostal formations specialize their brands to maintain a competitive edge in a dense and intense Pentecostal market, the RCGG under Adeboye straddles all spheres of Pentecostal pro­ duction of goods and services of salvation and well-​being: miracles, healings, prophecy,

738   Asonzeh Ukah success, banks, mortgage houses, insurance firms, financial and property accumulation. The RCCG is a religious enterprise whose firms intimately and actively intersect with, and support, neoliberal ideologies and practice. Many of Adeboye’s sermons—​he has the largest religious audiences and consumers in Nigeria—​are religious rhetoric that justify significant, profit-​driven economic interventions on the part of individuals or small groups (Adeboye 2012a). Constructing God as a calculating deity of the market primarily driven by an exchange economy, these sermons valorize material acquisition and economic well-​being as the legal entitlement of anyone who gives financially in sup­ port of the RCCG projects. According to Adeboye (2012a), for example: God uses your measure to Him to give back to you. [ . . . ] Dollar is a measure. Naira is another measure. Euro is another and Pounds is another measure. If you want returns in Dollars, sow in Dollars. Do not sow in Naira and be expecting a harvest in Euro. [ . . . ]. You can be in any country and sow in that currency in which you want your harvest. [ . . . ] In addition, the various denominations of each currency are dif­ ferent measures too. Take for instance the Nigerian naira, you have N1000, N500, N200, N100 [ . . . ] It is the particular denomination that you use that God will mul­ tiply and return to you [ . . . ] God knows how to calculate value in any currency. [ . . . ] (Open Heavens, November 20)

Under Adeboye’s managerial guidance, the RCCG has emerged as the organization with the largest amount of real estate in Nigeria, its Redemption Camp, located along the Ibadan–​Lagos highway, is a more than 25,000 hectares (and still growing) expansive real estate dedicated to both religious and economic production. In addition to two mas­ sive auditoriums, the Redemption Camp is home to seven different banks, table water, and aluminum frame production factories, property development firms, real estate (on RCCG real estate businesses, see Ukah 2016b, 2016c), two printing presses, chalets, guesthouses, dormitories, and restaurants. The economic value and entrepreneurial success of the RCCG as exemplified by the activities and institutions (or wealth concentration in the Redemption Camp) has informed the reproduction of a modified religious firm at the home town of Adeboye in faraway Ifewara, Osun State. Built on the slopes of a steep hill and resonating with the sanctity of a sacred mountain where deities and divinities re­ side, Mount Carmel Prayer Village (MCPV) is an entheogenic physical space created by Adeboye and his wife and equipped with prayer huts, dormitories, bookshop, restaurant, supermarket, prayer mats, conference halls, and other events’ facilities, including a helipad for important personalities. Constructed according to the inspi­ ration and model of David Yonggi Cho’s Prayer Mountain in Seoul, South Korea, MCPV resonates strongly with Yoruba indigenous religious—​as well as with the Old Testament—​understanding of mountains and hills or sites of unusual topological structure as places saturated with and by sacred presence and potencies. It is, for its private owners, “a prayer mountain in Nigeria that people from all over the world would come and pray.”6 According to Adeboye’s elder brother, the vision to construct

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    739 MCPV started in 1985 when the young Adeboyes visited Seoul to learn from the suc­ cess of Cho’s brand of Pentecostalism. The vision was actualized in 2015 when the project was completed and inaugurated7. The Adeboyes designed the MCPV as a fee-​ for-​service religion where believers use the space and its facilities for a fee. MCPV, like the larger Redemption Camp, exemplifies the commodification of prayer, lei­ sure, and innovation in the local spiritual market along the lines of neoliberal prin­ ciples (see Dreher 2016, pp. 1–​19; Burchardt 2017, pp. 135–​54). Again, the claim that Pentecostalism produces wealth and fortune shows that wealth is ultimately concen­ trated in the hands and control of leaders and owners of religious corporations such as Winners Chapel, RCCG, and MCPV.

Conclusion Pentecostalism is a “born-​global” religion which has eased its adaptation in various sociocultural and economic situations. It is a religion that intricately and inextricably connect spiritual activities to mundane, existential pursuits. Many prominent religious leaders, both Muslim and Christian, argue and repeatedly teach their followers that the practice of religion is the veritable conduit to development. To these leaders, and many others in government who subscribe to this “religious paradigm” for socioeconomic and political change, the religious sector is foundational to the progressive transformation of society, to the enlargement of human freedoms, and the production of wealth and for­ tune. While many Nigerians agree that faith makes fame and fortune, how religious be­ lief promotes the generation and distribution of wealth and fortune remain empirically unproven but often attributed to “miracles.” Some public officials, such as Babatunde Fashola, are becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the replacement of “reason and logic” with “superstition.” The formation and practices within the Nigerian religious market, some critics argue, have become a liability to the production of sustainable en­ trepreneurship, wealth, and prosperity. The PCCs, it seems, which show relentless nu­ merical expansion in recent decades are usually pointed out as the culprits in misleading and sprouting superstitions inimical to development. Pentecostal entrepreneurs, how­ ever, point to their own accumulated wealth and ostentatious lifestyle as proof of the veracity and power of their message. The often-​unbridled fortune displayed by reli­ gious entrepreneurs is because they constituted themselves as “recipients of pure profit” (Westhead and Wright 2013, p. 22); the swathes of followers still live in disgraceful ab­ ject poverty. An important factor accounting for the success of Nigerian Pentecostal expansion and its contribution to global Christianity is how Pentecostal groups merge the market and profit paradigms with spiritual and missionary zeal to account for their popular appeal and success. In other words, these groups have devised a market-​driven evangelism model, which “emphasizes the appropriation of business or neoliberal models” (Ukah 2016a, p. 671).

740   Asonzeh Ukah

Notes 1. The fieldwork for the study was carried out under the Nagel Institute for the Study of World Christianity project on “Religious Innovation and Competition:  Their Impact in Contemporary Africa”, sub-​project, “Miracle Cities: The Economy of Prayer Camps and the Entrepreneurial Spirit of Religion in Africa” (ID:  2016-​SS350), funded by the John Templeton Foundation (the usual caveats hold). 2. Honest Accounts 2017. “How the World Profits from Africa’s Wealth”. https://​jubileedebt. org.uk/​report/​honest-​accounts-​2017-​world-​profits-​africas-​wealth accessed May 26, 2018. 3. In the case of Nigeria, there is a correlation between the expansion of prosperity Pentecostalism and preachers and the increase in poverty levels. It is clear that religious entrepreneurs become wealthy by accumulating resources from their followers and diverting commonly generated resources to private use; thereafter, these sacred business people set themselves up as exemplars of the positive economic relationship between believing and becoming rich, faith and fortune. 4. http://​canaancityproject.com/​ (accessed August 8, 2017). In Caanan city, a one-​bedroom apartment costs between N4.89  million and N5.91  million (c.U.S.$13.432–​U.S.$16,250) depending on the plan of payment. A two-​bedroom (standard) apartment costs between N7,920.000 and N9,583.000 (U.S.$21,7595–​U.S.$26328); a two-​bedroom (luxury) apartment goes for between N9,855,000 and N11,924,550 (U.S.$27,075–​U.S.$32,761); a three-​bedroom apartment goes for between N13,150,000 and N15,911,500 (U.S.$36,128); a terrace apartment (N23,970,000 and N29,003,700 or U.S.$65,855–​U.S.$79,678); a semi-​detached (N31,350,000 and N37,933,500 or U.S.$86,124–​U.S.$104,210); fully detached apartment (N45,100,000 and N54,571,500 or U.S.$123,898–​U.S.$149,891) (Source: http://​canaancityproject.com/​) 5. http://​canaancityproject.com/​ accessed May 26, 2018. 6. Enoch Adeboye, Online published interview (originally posted July 15, 2015). http://​ naijagists.com/​photo-​rccg-​go-​pastor-​adeboye-​opens-​mount-​carmel-​prayer-​village-​ camp-​in-​ifewara-​osun-​state-​30-​years-​after/​ accessed May 26, 2018. 7. Personal discussion with Pa Adeboye, Ifewara, Osun State, July 22, 2016. The choice of the name of the facility is informed by the biblical narrative of the Prophet Elijah’s de­ feat of the devil at Mount Carmel as well as the events described in the New Testament to have taken place at the Mount of Transfiguration:  see http://​naijagists.com/​photo-​ rccg-​go-​pastor-​adeboye-​opens-​mount-​carmel-​prayer-​village-​camp-​in-​ifewara-​osun-​ state-​30-​years-​after/​ accessed August 9, 2017; Asonzeh Ukah (2017) “The Miracle City: Pentecostal Entrepreneurialism and the Remaking of Lagos”. http://​nsibidiinstitute. org/​t he-​miracle-​city-​pentecostal-​entrepreneurialism-​and-​the-​remaking-​of-​lagos/​ (accessed 26 May, 2018).

References Acemoglu, Daron and Robinson, James (2012). Why Nations Fail:  The Origins of Power, Prosperity and Poverty. New York: Crown Books. Adamo, David Tuesday (2006). Africa and Africans in the New Testament. Lanham, MD:  University Press of America. Adeboye, E. A. (2012a). Fire Power: Classic Prayers and Praises from the Holy Ghost. Ibadan: Technopol Publishers.

Faith, Fame, and Fortune    741 Adeboye, E. A. (2012b). Open Heavens: A Daily Guide to Close Fellowship with God, vol. 12. Mowe: Open Heavens Media Limited. Adekunle, Julius O. (2009). “Introduction: Religion and Politics in Transition,” in Julius O. Adekunle (ed.), Religion in Politics: Secularism and National Integration in Modern Nigeria (pp. 3–​17). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Anderson, Allen (2007). Spreading Fires:  The Missionary Nature of Early Pentecostalism. London: SCM Press. Anderson, Allen Heaton (2013). To the Ends of the Earth: Pentecostalism and the Transformation of World Christianity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Asamoah-​Gyadu, J. Kwabena (2013). Contemporary Pentecostal Christianity:  Interpretations from an African context. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Bangura, Joseph Bosco (2012). “A New Kind of Ministry for a New Kind of Context: The Rise of New Indigenous Churches in West Africa,” in Michael Wilkinson (ed.), Global Pentecostal Movements: Migration, Mission and Public Religion (pp. 155–​169). Leiden: Brill. Burchardt, Marian (2017). “Religion and Secularism in Neoliberal Capitalism,” in M. Burchardt and G. Kirn (eds), Beyond Neoliberalism: Social Analysis after 1989 (pp. 135–​154). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Chidester, David (2000). Christianity: A Global History. New York: HarperSanFrancisco. Cohen, Robin, Kennedy, Paul, and Perrier, Maud (2013). Global Sociology, 3rd edn. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Dreher, Sabine (2016). “Religion and International Political Economy—​A Case of Mutual Neglect,” in Peter Smith and Sabine Dreher (eds), Religious Activism in the Global Economy:  Promoting, Reforming, or Resisting Neoliberal Globalization? (pp. 1–​ 19). London: Rowman & Littlefield International Publishers. Ellis, Stephen and Haar, Gerrie ter (2004). Religious Thought and Political Practice in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fashola, Babatunde Raji (2016). “Freedom from Fear: Choices Before the New generation,” convocation speech delivered at the University of Benin, November 25, 2016. Gaiya, Musa A.  B. (2002). The Pentecostal Revolution in Nigeria, Occasional Papers. Copenhagen: Centre of African Studies, University of Copenhagen. Jacobsen, Douglas (2011). The World’s Christian: Who They Are, Where They Are, and How They Got There. West Sussex: Wiley-​Blackwell Publishers. Kalu, Ogbu (2002). “Preserving Worldview:  Pentecostalism in the African Maps of the Universe,” Pneuma: The Journal of Pentecostal Studies 24 (2): 100–​137. Kalu, Ogbu (2012). “West African Christianity: Padres, Pastors, Prophets, and Pentecostals”, in Charles E. Farhadian (ed.), Introducing World Christianity (pp. 36–​50). Oxford: Wiley-​ Blackwell Publishing. Kay, William K. (2011). Pentecostalism: A Very Short History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lanz, Stephan and Oosterbaan, Martijn (2016). “Entrepreneurial Religion in the Age of Neoliberal Urbanism,” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 40 (3): 487–​506. Lukes, Steven (2005). Power: A Radical View, 2nd edn. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Morgan, David (2017). “Defining the Sacred in Fine Art and Devotional Imagery,” Religion, DOI: 10.1080/​0048721X.2017.1361587. Obadare, Ebenezer and Adebanwi, Wale (eds) (2011). Nigeria at Fifty: The Nation in Narration. London: Routledge. Ojo, Matthews A. (2006). The End-​time Army: Charismatic Movements in Modern Nigeria. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press.

742   Asonzeh Ukah Ojo, Matthews A. (2010). Of Saints and Sinners:  Pentecostalism and the Paradox of social Transformation in Modern Nigeria, Inaugural Lecture Series 227. Ile-​Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press. Ostry, Jonathan D, Loungani, Prakash, and Durceri, Davide (2016). “Neoliberalism: Oversold?,” Finance & Development (June) 53 (2): 38–​41. Oyedepo, David. O. (1997). Understanding Financial Prosperity. Lagos:  Dominion Publishing House. Oyedepo, David. O. (2008). Pillars of Destiny: Exploring the Secrets of an Ever-​Winning Life. Lagos: Dominion Publishing House. Peel, J. D. Y. (2016). Christianity, Islam, and Oriṣa Religion: Three Traditions in Comparison and Interaction. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Sogolo, Godwin (1993). Foundations of African Philosophy: A Definitive Analysis of Conceptual Issues in African Thought. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press. Stark, Rodney (2017). Why God? Explaining Religious Phenomena. West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Trivellato, Francesca, Halevi, Leor, and Antunes, Catia (eds) (2014). Religion and Trade:  Cross-​ Cultural Exchanges in World History, 1000–​ 1900. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Ukah, Asonzeh (2005). “‘Those Who Trade with God Never Lose’:  The Economics of Pentecostal Activism in Nigeria,” in Toyin Falola (ed.), Christianity and Social Change in Africa: Essays in Honor of J. D. Y. Peel (pp. 253–​254). Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. Ukah, Asonzeh (2016a). “Expansion,” in Michael Stausberg and Steven Engler (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Study of Religion (pp. 665–​683). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ukah, Asonzeh (2016ai). “The Deregulation of Piety in the Context of Neoliberal Globalisation: African Pentecostalisms in the 21st Century,” in Vinson Synan, J. Kwabena Asamoah-​Gyadu, and Amos Yong (eds), Global Renewal Christianity:  Spirit-​Empowered Movements Past, Present, and Future, vol. III, Africa (pp. 362–​378). Lake Mary, FL: Charisma House Publishers. Ukah, Asonzeh (2016b). “God, Wealth & The Spirit of Investment: Prosperity Pentecostalism in Africa,” in Peter Smith and Sabine Dreher (eds), Religious Activism in the Global Economy:  Promoting, Reforming, or Resisting Neoliberal Globalization? (pp. 73–​ 90). London: Rowman & Littlefield International Publishers. Ukah, Asonzeh (2016c). “Building God’s City:  The Political Economy of Prayer Camps in Nigeria,” International Journal of Urban and Regional Studies (IJURR) 40 (3): 524–​540. Wariboko, Nimi (2014). Nigerian Pentecostalism, Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Weber, Max (1991 [1922]). The Sociology of Religion, 4th edn., trans. Ephraim Fischoff. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Weber, Max (2011 [1920]). The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (rev., trans., and intro. Stephen Kalberg). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Westhead, Paul and Wright, Mike (2013). Entrepreneurship:  A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wilhite, David E. (2017). Ancient African Christianity: An Introduction to a Unique Context and Tradition. Oxford: Routledge.

Chapter 44

The Path ol o g y of Depende nc y Sino–​Nigerian Relations as a Case Study Ian Taylor

Introduction China’s relations with Nigeria have been progressively developing over the last twenty years or so, intimately linked to the rise of China as a global player and its exponential ec­ onomic growth. The political nature of this connection has been dominant in the study of the relationship(s). However, due to the nature of Nigeria’s economy, the material foundations upon which links have been built has served to reify Nigeria’s dependent position in the global economy and have acquired all the hallmarks of an intensely un­ balanced and exploitative relationship. This fact is now starting to be recognized by many Nigerian commentators, both within civil society and within the policymaking elites. Examining this phenomena and the structural nature of Nigeria’s dependent rela­ tions with China needs analyzing. “As a result of their colonial legacy, the present-​day economies of the African coun­ tries are characterised by a lop-​sided dependence on the export of raw materials, and the import of manufactured goods” (Harris 1975, p. 12). That this assessment was written nearly forty years ago and there has not been any radical departure from such a mi­ lieu for most countries, reflects the tragedy of much of Africa’s postcolonial trajectories. Any analysis of Nigeria’s relations with China (or any other external actors) needs to be grounded within this context and the dialectically dependent relationships engendered. This necessarily recognizes that most African governments “serve as the foreman to keep civil society producing a surplus to be accumulated by foreign finance capital and parasitic native social classes that enjoy almost absolutist power” (Mentan 2010, xii). Nigeria is no exception to this general phenomena.

744   Ian Taylor Indeed, since independence the ruling cliques within Nigeria have overseen a progres­ sive deepening of dependency on mineral products, resulting in oil and gas becoming the be-​all and end-​all of Nigerian economic (and thus political) life. Certainly the country has become a poster child for an over-​dependence on primary commodities, a devel­ opment that its elites have facilitated when the price of oil has been high: “By diverting resources from non-​raw material sectors and contributing to real exchange-​rate appre­ ciation, a price boom runs the risk of locking developing-​country commodity exporters into what Leamer called the ‘raw-​material corner,’ with little scope for industrial progress or skills advancement” (IMF 2011, pp. 12–​13). Leamer’s triangle was a diagram illustrating both relative factor endowments and relative factor intensities with three factors and any number of goods (Leamer 1987). Given Nigeria’s factor endowments being concentrated in oil and gas and the export profile and sector concentration being in the same, the raw-​ material corner has been the country’s broad fate. The result has been what Issa Shivji terms “structural disarticulation,” where Africa in general and Nigeria in particular exhibits a “disarticulation between the structure of production and the structure of con­ sumption. What is produced is not consumed and what is consumed is not produced” (Shivji 2009, p. 59). This disarticulation is a major feature of Nigeria’s political economy, but also a key factor behind the country’s underdevelopment. Since its energy sectors came on stream in Nigeria in the 1960s, the country has seen a precipitous fall in its agricultural sector’s contribution to GDP, giving way to crude oil and natural gas and mining (coal, metal ores, and quarrying). Indeed, since 1972–​3, Nigeria’s growth in GDP has closely tracked oil and gas prices, indicating that developments in those sectors account for the bulk of GDP. The productive process has been weak, given that the bulk of this activity entails crude oil and other such endeavors where very little value is added. Nigeria has historically failed to reap the benefits from its natural endowments in transforming its economic structures. In discussing resource-​rich developing countries, Arthur Lewis proposed that economies are com­ posed of two sectors to begin with. The first sector is a primary—​often agrarian—​sector which is labor-​intensive; the other is a nascent capital-​intensive industrial sector. Lewis argued that initially, an increase in the primary sector would spur growth and generate a surplus, the excess of what is not consumed domestically. This surplus is exported and/​ or serves the industrial sector in the form of capital. As growth develops, the process accelerates and ultimately industrial output starts to rise quicker than primary produc­ tion, steering the economy to become industrialized (Lewis 1954). The above has not happened in Nigeria, where the surplus generated by its primary sectors has absolutely not led to investment for industrial growth. This has been cata­ strophic for Nigeria’s development as no country with a population the size of Nigeria has ever developed without experiencing industrialization. For Nigeria to develop, it requires a strong industrial sector. Currently, the opposite is the case, where a big pri­ mary sector dominated by oil and gas and with minimal linkages to the rest of the economy dominates everything and where a tiny industrial sector struggles to create value. Meanwhile, Nigeria’s political and economic ruling classes administer the grossly unequal sharing of the country’s natural wealth and act as classic rent-​seekers.

The Pathology of Dependency    745

Nigeria’s Oil and China Currently, Nigeria is China’s third-​largest trading partner in Africa. Signifying the importance of Nigeria to China, in January 2006 Abuja signed a Memorandum of Understanding with Beijing on the Establishment of a Strategic Partnership. In doing so, Nigeria became the first African country to sign such an agreement with China. The relationship is very much focused on the exportation of Chinese finished goods to the Nigerian market. The importation of Nigerian primary commodities totally dominates trade in the other direction. In terms of commodities, Nigeria is one of Africa’s leading oil producers; some 90 percent of all exports is made up of oil and natural gas. Nigerian crude oil is high quality and has a light, low sulphur grade known as “sweet,” which is highly valued thanks to its high gasoline content and relatively cheap processing outlay. Nigeria exports about two million barrels per day (OPEC 2017). In earlier times, China was altogether absent from Nigeria’s oil industry, which has historically been dominated by Western oil companies and the volume of trade between China and Nigeria prior to the mid-​1990s was low; this changed when China’s economic growth and related con­ sumption demands meant that, in 1993, it stopped being a net exporter of crude oil to be­ coming the second-​largest importer of crude oil globally. Chinese relations with Nigeria rapidly began to evolve and in the early 2000s through a mix of canny diplomacy, sweet­ ener deals (often unrelated to the actual oil industry), and a close relationship between China and the then president of Nigeria, Olusegun Obasanjo, Sino–​Nigerian relations intensified. According to Obasanjo’s biographer, John Iliffe, Obasanjo had “long been exasperated by the international oil companies that were eager to exploit Nigeria’s oil and gas but refused to invest in enterprises such as oil-​refining or in infrastructural de­ velopment that were not essential to their own core businesses.” Thus during 2004, as dramatic economic growth in Asia stimulated the so-​called new scramble for Africa, Obasanjo “offer[ed] Asian national oil companies ‘rights of first refusal’ to explore and develop oil blocks in return for undertakings to invest capital and technology in Nigerian infrastructure” (Iliffe 2011, p. 275). In October 2004 the Nigerian government announced that the country needed an an­ nual investment of $10 billion to reach the target of 40 billion barrels of reserve by 2010. Consequently, China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC) signed an agree­ ment with the Nigerian government to locate upstream oil and gas assets that might be incorporated into downstream projects. In December 2004 the state-​owned Chinese oil company Sinopec and the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC) signed an agreement to develop Oil Mining Leases (OML) 64 and 66 in the Niger Delta. Within OML 64 five exploration wells have been drilled, with one well coming across hydrocarbon resources. OML 66 has been far more successful, with eighteen explora­ tion wells drilled but with twelve wells meeting hydrocarbon resources (China Daily (Beijing), December 9, 2004). Sinopec also has a contract with the Nigerian Petroleum Development Company (NPDC) and Italy’s Eni to develop the Okono and Okpoho

746   Ian Taylor fields, which have combined reserves of 500 million barrels. CNOOC and NNPC later in July 2005 signed an $800 million contract that guaranteed 30,000 barrels per day to China over a five-​year period, to be reviewed every year (Nigeria First (Abuja), July 11, 2005). Building on such developments, in April 2006 the Nigerian government offered China four oil exploration licences in exchange for $4 billion worth of infrastructure investment. The two countries then signed seven development agreements granting Abuja export credit worth $500  million (Vanguard (Lagos), April 27, 2006). China agreed to repair the Kaduna Refining and Petrochemicals Company, while undertaking other investment projects, such as building a hydropower plant in the Mambila, Plateau State. All this was in return for exercising the “right of first refusal” on oil blocs. Several of the oil blocs on offer were relinquished by previous operators that had run through 1993–​8. The NNPC also approved the acquisition by the CNOOC of a working interest in a deep-​water area of the Niger Delta. The deal included the lucrative Akpo oil field, discovered in 2000 and due to start production in the first half of 2008. The Akpo field is said to hold 700 million barrels of crude oil reserves and gas reserves of about 2.5 trillion cubic feet (This Day (Abuja), January 9, 2006). CNOOC also took over the commitments of a contractor of the deep-​water block, Oil Prospecting Lease (OPL) 246, which had earlier been assigned to South Atlantic Petroleum Limited, a company owned by a former Nigerian Defense Minister, Theophilus Danjuma. Illustrating that politics, patronage, and oil are inextricably linked in Nigeria, as elsewhere, Danjuma immediately took steps in the courts to ne­ gate the deal, claiming that his company’s acreage had been revoked for political reasons linked to Danjuma’s nonsupport for Obasanjo’s attempt, in late 2006, to change the Nigerian constitution and run for a presidential third term. The Federal High Court in Lagos later, on October 4, 2006, delivered judgment in favor of the Obasanjo govern­ ment. Consequently, CNOOC bought a 45 percent working interest in OPL 246, paying $2.3 billion plus an adjustment of $424 million for other expenses. The $2.3 billion was to be financed by the NNPC’s 50 percent equity stake in OPL 246 and, in return, CNOOC will have a share in the 70 percent profit oil from the field, while the NNPC takes the remaining 30 percent, as well as in the 80 percent cost oil. As part of the deal, CNOOC agreed to refund the $600 million already spent by French oil and gas company Total in developing the field (This Day (Abuja), April 21, 2006). The Chinese company CNPC in 2006 also purchased claims in Nigeria, buying rights to blocks OPL 298, 471, 721, and 732 from the Nigerian government. This purchase was followed by a 2012 purchase of the rights to blocks OML 64 and OML 66 (Quigley 2014). Moreover, “[t]‌he Chinese oil giant Sinopec also has made inroads in Nigeria, [in 2014] finalizing a deal with [France’s] Total to pay $2.5 billion for a 20% share in block OML 138. This purchase from Total comes on top of the 90,000 barrels per day that are cur­ rently being produced for Sinopec by their client company Addax” (Quigley 2014). Moreover, while CNOOC’s much-​publicized 2013 purchase of Canada’s Nexen largely focused on the Chinese company’s acquisition of Canadian tar sands, the purchase also included significant offshore oil reserves in Nigeria. As almost all investments by

The Pathology of Dependency    747 Chinese companies are in “buying shares in blocks, not sole control [ . . . ] the Chinese often rely on their [international oil company] partners to do most of the actual produc­ tion work for them” (Quigley 2014). However, when Obasanjo left office in 2007, problems readily developed in the Sino–​ Nigerian relationship. As one source framed it: President Umaru Yar’Adua came to power following elections held in April 2007. Citing concerns about a lack of transparency, the new administration cancelled or suspended most of the oil-​for-​infrastructure contracts signed during the Obasanjo years. (Egbula and Qi Zheng 2011, p. 5)

In 2007 it was announced that the Nigerian government was reviewing its plans to hand over management of the Kaduna refinery to CNOOC, on the publicly stated grounds that Chinese promises to invest in the refinery had not materialized. Previously China had been awarded four oil-​drilling licences in exchange for China buying a controlling stake in the 110,000-​barrel-​a-​day Kaduna oil refinery. Nigeria offered first right of re­ fusal to the Chinese company for four exploration blocks during a licensing round in mid-​2006. Yet, in early 2007, the Director General of the Bureau of Public Enterprises, Irene Chigbue, stated that the plan to get CNOOC to manage the 110,000-​barrels-​per-​ day Kaduna refinery “had run into hitches as the CNOC have not been forthcoming with the takeover plans” (This Day (Abuja), March 6, 2007). In the runup to Obasanjo finally retiring, after an aborted attempt at changing the Constitution, much of the apparently “robust” Sino–​Nigerian ties as showcased by high-​ profile launches of various plans and agreements, started unravelling: When Obasanjo left office  .  .  .  nothing of [the plethora of] plans was yet vis­ ible on the ground, but the difficulties were increasingly obvious. The viability of the projects  .  .  .  was often uncertain. The agreements had no binding provisions regulating the relative timing of the oilfield and infrastructure developments . . . The infrastructural estimates were often inflated and the financial details opaque, disputed and burdensome to Nigeria. Suspicions proliferated of kickbacks to finance Obasanjo’s political schemes and line his agents’ pockets. The Asian firms realised that they had plunged into a political and business environment they did not under­ stand. (Iliffe 2011, p. 276)

Consequently, the failure of the Kaduna oil refinery project “was a setback for the Chinese government’s Nigeria policy, requiring significant re-​evaluation by China of how best to do business with Nigeria.” Yar’Adua’s investigation into the oil block auctions of 2007 strongly criticized the oil-​for-​infrastructure model as being disadvan­ tageous for Nigeria. Indeed, the investigative committee found that the bidding rounds and the granting of blocks were corrupted and involved people who had little oil in­ dustry knowledge but were part of the wider patronage politics system that underpins Nigeria’s governance. The committee also noted that oil companies from China and elsewhere had secured oil assets on the promise of infrastructure projects but had

748   Ian Taylor then not delivered. According to one report, Nigeria lost up to $10 billion in failed oil deals with various Asian countries (Vines et al. 2009). Because the Nigerian govern­ ment did not put into place any effective monitoring systems to ensure compliance with contractual agreements, a number of the ostensible infrastructure projects that had secured the lucrative deals in the first place were either only partially fulfilled or in some cases, not at all. Additionally, the financial provisions that had set up the oil-​for-​ infrastructure transactions were unfavorable to Nigeria given that the oil companies involved only proposed funding part of the overall projects via government-​to-​ government loans. One Nigerian analyst identified two further factors that stalled China’s infrastructure-​for-​resources deal in Nigeria. “First, the policy failed because of the interest of Nigerian elites, who felt implementing the deal would cut them off from profit from crude oil sales on the international market. It is also significant to note that China’s offer when deploying its infrastructure for resources falls below the prevailing market price.” Secondly, the extant Western oil interests in Nigeria fiercely opposed the deal: the “Chinese foray into Nigeria was halted by powerful western elements, be­ cause at a point in 2008/​9, Nigeria became the last gambit in the global chess game” (Umejei 2013). During the Yar’Adua presidency, little improvement was made to Sino–​Nigerian rela­ tions and it was only after Yar’Adua’s death in May 2010, when Vice President Goodluck Jonathan assumed the presidency, that the relationship began to recover. Indeed, at the end of 2010 China declared a desire for a new strategic partnership with Nigeria. This was intrinsically linked to Chinese energy security interests, with Beijing feeling vul­ nerable until and unless it could diversify its oil sourcing and secure greater access to the world’s oil supplies. In May 2010, Nigeria’s state-​run oil firm NNPC and China State Construction Engineering Corporation (CSCEC) thus signed a $23 billion deal to seek financing and credits from Chinese authorities and banks to build three refineries and a fuel complex in Nigeria (BBC News, May 14, 2010). This announcement was greeted by suspicion that it was business as usual, no doubt informed by previous events under Obasanjo: The recent $23 billion loan for building three new refineries should concern most Nigerians. To build these refineries, Nigeria will create almost as much debt as the $30 billion that was eliminated during President Obasanjo’s tenure in office . . . One thing we tend to be poor at is capacity building. Who will run four massive new plants? Us or the Chinese? If it is the Chinese, as is likely, how will technology transfer take place? . . . . Many feel that the rush by politicians to sign these agreements and large loans was driven less by thoughtful consideration of Nigeria’s needs than by their de­ sire for the large commissions and bribes that are rumoured to have to accompanied them. In the end, this arrangement could be hugely ruinous for Nigeria . . .Vast loans are being taken out with abandon by reckless, greedy politicians who have learned little from the past. (Nigerian Inquirer (Lagos), May 18, 2010)

Such suspicions demonstrate the inherent dangers of doing business in an environment such as Nigeria.

The Pathology of Dependency    749 Other problems in Sino–​Nigerian relations around the oil industry also undermined the “win-​win” situation that Beijing liked to boast about. In particular, the security situation surrounding the oil industry in the Niger Delta was for a time increasingly problematic for China. Following President Hu Jintao’s April 2006 state visit to Nigeria and the inking of a $4 billion infrastructure investment deal, Nigerian militants from the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) warned Chinese companies to “stay well clear” of the Niger Delta or risk facing attack. MEND also claimed responsibility for a car bomb attack near the port town of Warri, stating that the blast was “a warning against Chinese expansion in the region,” adding that, “The Chinese government by investing in stolen crude places its citizens in our line of fire” (Financial Times (London), May 1, 2006). In early 2006, MEND militias began attacking oil installations and kidnapping foreign oil workers, leading to a 20  percent reduction in Nigeria’s oil production. Nigeria turned to China for military supplies to protect the oil fields after it claimed that Washington has been tardy in its response to the decreasing security situation in the Delta. Atiku Abubakar, Nigeria’s vice president claimed, for instance, that “the U.S. had been too slow to help protect the oil-​rich Niger Delta from a growing in­ surgence” (Financial Times (London), February 27, 2006). A senior Nigerian naval official has also stated that Nigeria “felt let down” by the USA’s reluctance to provide more support, given that Nigeria wants 200 boats to guard the Delta. Washington, although offering military technical assistance and training, provided only four old coastal patrol boats. Washington’s reluctance is explained by anxiety over the levels of corruption within Nigeria’s security forces and widespread human rights violations by the same actors. Given that Nigerian security forces are responsible for “politically motivated killings; the use of lethal force against suspected criminals and hostage-​seizing militants in the Niger Delta; beatings and even torture of suspects, detainees, and convicts; and ex­ tortion of civilians”, as well as “child labor and prostitution, and human trafficking”, Washington’s reluctance to supply such elements with further supplies is perhaps un­ derstandable (Grimmett 2006, p. 22). Yet China benefited vis-​à-​vis the United States, from a willingness to ignore such concerns. However, this has reputational costs for Beijing: “When America balked at supplying Nigeria’s trigger-​happy military, China offered dozens of patrol boats. ‘They are impossible. They just don’t care what we or anyone else says’, complained a member of one Dutch human rights advocacy group” (Guardian (London), March 28, 2006). But Nigerian elites were less troubled—​as one report put it: Nigeria is reportedly seeking to buy naval patrol boats from China to help protect its Niger Delta rigs from rebel attack, at a time when traditional allies are nervous of sending more weapons into an already volatile region. One Niger Delta state gov­ ernor, reacting to concerns over attacks on Shell’s facilities and rumors the firm might even pull out of the region, grinned and [said] “If the Brits don’t want the oil, we’ll sell it to the Chinese.” (Agence-​France Presse (Lagos), April 26, 2006)

750   Ian Taylor China had very pragmatic reasons for supplying Nigeria’s military—​ however dysfunctional—​China needs Nigeria’s oil. After the violence began, attacks by MEND caused at least 500,000 barrels per day in lost production. Five Chinese workers were kidnapped in January 2007 by MEND, though later released after two weeks, and People’s Daily stated that fourteen Chinese workers had been kidnapped in Nigeria in the first two months of 2007 alone (People’s Daily (Beijing), March 7, 2007). Indeed, 2007 saw a massive upsurge in violence and kidnapping of oil workers in the Delta, with sixty expatriates kidnapped in January and February, plus two expatriates being killed, and a further foreign oil worker being shot and injured. Concomitantly China’s imports of Nigerian oil fell by 75 percent. After fragile peace talks brought an end to open violence in 2009, Chinese confidence in Nigeria as a source of oil was somewhat rejuvenated. The 2009 amnesty, whereby militants came to an agreement with Abuja to surrender their weapons in exchange for cash payments and skills training opportunities was critical in this regard. In late 2013, President Goodluck Jonathan and Chinese President Xi Jinping, signed an accord to finalize a $1.1 billion low-​interest loans for infrastructure in Nigeria (namely, airport terminals in four cities, roads, a light-​rail line for Abuja, a hydropower plant, and oil and gas infrastructure). Finance Minister Ngozi Okonjo-​ Iweala, said the loans were part of $3 billion approved by China at interest rates of 2.5  percent interest with a repayment period of twenty years (Leadership (Abuja) July 11, 2013). In 2016, the Minister of State for Petroleum Resources, Ibe Kachikwu, signed a mem­ orandum of understanding with Chinese firms for investments worth up to $80 bil­ lion in the oil and gas sector. Kachikwu, who is also General Managing Director of the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC), signed the deals which apparently commit Chinese firms to invest in Nigeria’s oil and gas sector over five years, covering pipelines, refineries, gas and power, facility refurbishments, and upstream financing. President Muhammadu Buhari had previously visited Beijing in April 2016. In ad­ dition to the investments reaching $80 billion, Kachikwu also secured commitments from Sinopec and the China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC) to invest in Nigeria’s upstream oil subsector worth around $20 billion. This will in effect bring the total amount of forthcoming Chinese investments over a five-​year period to over $100 billion (Nwakalor 2016). The problem for Nigeria in its dealings with China is that Sino–​Nigerian trade re­ lations are essentially a caricature of the pathologies of the postcolonial economic sit­ uation facing African countries. In 2015, 43 percent of total Nigerian exports to China consisted solely of timber, crude oil, and gases (see Table 44.1): Further compounding this problem is that using the Standard International Trade Classification taxonomy in combination with trade statistics as provided by UNCTAD, a grand total of 0.6 percent of Nigerian exports to China in 2015 could be classified as either medium-​or high-​skills manufactures and of these, the majority are either plastic waste, parings and scrap, or miscellaneous manufactured articles (see Table 44.2):

Table 44.1 Composition of Nigerian Exports to China, 2000–​15 2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

2006

2007

Total

614,593

454,315

242,617

143,318

926,433

1,053,759

555,495

1,074,161

Wood

2.2

70.6

41.5

84.9

15.2

6.9

—

123.7

Ores

23,341.9

55,764.3

8,260.3

6,631.1

5,028.9

7,423.5

10,647.8

15,006.6

Petroleum oils

268,861.8

161,478.3

86,853.4

27,228.0

411,931.1

503,894.6

223,520.1

461,509.2

Liquefied propane and butane

4,867.2

7,117.8

22,961.9

31,002.6

30,897.9

—

—

—

Natural gas

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

27,723.34

Petroleum gases

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

Year

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

Total Wood Ores Petroleum oils Liquefied propane and butane Natural gas Petroleum gases

1,0167,62 429.3 26,037 273,681 22,472

1,793,052 330.7 20,448.8 713,999.6 101,581.5

2,143,245 779.2 60,116.1 818,346.7 19,229.5

3,167,360 612.5 80,505.7 838,919.3 —

2,547,586 2,561.3 68,529.6 791,551.5 86004.8

3,093,206 31,144.6 49,548.2 899,115.4 166,458.2

5,316,710 349,536.1 73,662.1 1,533,239 252,783.9

2,474,736 349,000.8 68,380.1 301,597.8 255,556.3

136,023 —

17,157.7 —

66,367.3 —

541,787.7 —

238,239.2 —

305,179 —

349,974.6 10,946.6

180,866.1 26,638.6

Source: , 2017 (U.S.$ millions).

The Pathology of Dependency    751

Year

752   Ian Taylor Table 44.2 Product Types of Medium-​or High-​skills Manufactured Nigerian Exports to China, 2015 Product

Thousands of U.S.$ dollars

Pigments, paints, varnishes, and related materials

962.474

Polymers of styrene, in primary forms

448.221

Polyethers, epoxide resins; polycarbonates, polyesters Waste, parings, and scrap, of plastics

822.099 8392.425

Plates, sheets, films, foil, and strip, of plastics

1.45

Prepared additives, de-​icing, and liquid for transmissions; lubricant, etc.

1.38

Miscellaneous chemical products Articles of rubber

15.241 0.899

Iron and steel bars, rods, angles, shapes, and sections

1.37

Tubes, pipes, and hollow profiles, fittings, iron, steel

30.475

Nails, screws, nuts, bolts, rivets, and the like, of metal

0.005

Manufactures of base metal

0.802

Rotating electric plant and parts thereof

1.404

Other power-​generating machinery and parts

0.075

Printing and bookbinding machinery, and parts thereof

0.13

Other machinery for particular industries

1.668

Metalworking machinery (excluding machine tools) and parts

1.006

Heating and cooling equipment and parts thereof

0.505

Pumps (excluding liquid), gas compressors, and fans Other nonelectronic machinery, tools, and mechanical apparatus Ball or roller bearings Appliances for pipes, boiler shells, tanks, vats, etc.

2.907 15.525 0.05 17.246

Transmission shafts

0.151

Nonelectric parts and accessories of machinery

3.821

Automatic data-​processing machines

0.1

Telecommunication equipment and parts

0.368

Electric power machinery, and parts thereof Apparatus for electrical circuits, boards, panels

0.186 15.655

Equipment for distributing electricity

0.06

Household-​type equipment, electrical or not

0.898

Cathode valves and tubes Electrical machinery and apparatus Parts and accessories of vehicles Motorcycles and cycles Trailers and semitrailers Lighting fixtures and fittings Furniture and parts

32.055 5.049 1.705 14.049 0.146 10.229 1.083

The Pathology of Dependency    753 Table 44.2 Continued Thousands of U.S.$ dollars

Product Mens’ or boys’ clothing

1.4

Articles of apparel, of textile fabrics

23.216

Clothing accessories, of textile fabrics

0.77

Articles of apparel, clothing accessories, excluding textiles

0.093

Footwear

5.94

Articles of plastics

5.048

Miscellaneous manufactured articles

5531.625

Table 44.3  T op Twenty Destinations for Nigerian Exports, 2014 (in U.S.$ billions) Rank

Country

Total

Rank

Country

Total

1.

India

$14.98

11.

Japan

$3.26

2.

Netherlands

$10.49

12.

Ivory Coast

$2.33

3.

Spain

$9.58

13.

Turkey

$2.24

4.

Brazil

$8.32

14.

Portugal

$1.76

5.

France

$5.90

15.

Germany

$1.74

6.

United Kingdom

$5.21

16.

China

$1.67

7.

South Africa

$5.10

17.

Sweden

$1.49

8.

Italy

$4.50

18.

Australia

$1.42

9.

Indonesia

$4.03

19.

Cameroon

$1.34

United States

$3.95

20.

Niger

$1.02

10.

Source: IMF Direction of Trade Statistics, 2017 (U.S.$ millions).

Although written about Africa more broadly, the following comments sum up Nigeria’s position, where possessing an economy almost totally dependent on external demands “deepens and intensifies Africa’s inveterate and deleterious terms of (mal)inte­ gration within the global political economy—​terms which continue to be characterised by external dominance and socially-​damaging and extraverted forms of accumulation” (Bracking and Harrison 2003, p. 9). Nigeria’s economy is integrated into the economies of the more developed economies in the North and, increasingly, China, in a way that is unfavorable to Nigeria and ensures structural dependence. This has not radically changed since independence. Given this, as a destination for Nigerian products, China is actually relatively insignif­ icant and is not even in the top ten export partners for Nigeria (in 2014 it was sixteenth) (see Table 44.3).

754   Ian Taylor The structural nature of Sino–​Nigerian trade, totally dominated by nonsustainable sectors and with minimal/​nonexistent value in terms of skills and industrialization po­ tential as a segment of Nigerian exports is obviously deeply problematic. What turns this predicament into a crisis vis-​à-​vis Nigeria’s relations with China is that the trade in the other direction, i.e. into Nigeria, is so lopsided and disproportionately in favor of the Chinese economy that it has become a major political problem.

Trade Imbalance One of the main developmental challenges confronting Nigeria’s economy today is its over-​reliance on foreign imports of goods and services to continue to exist. Even with regard to the country’s nascent manufacturing sector, Nigeria is dependent on imports in the area of technology transfers, raw materials inputs, and even basic tools and equip­ ment. With regard to Nigeria’s relationship with China, the connection is extremely un­ balanced; Nigeria imports ten times more than it exports to China. Indeed, Beijing is one of the handful of trading partners with whom Nigeria still runs a trade deficit. This imbalance, however, is rarely mentioned by China when it lauds Sino–​Nigerian relations. Nigeria is one of China’s largest trading partners in Africa and there has been an expo­ nential rise in Sino–​Nigerian trade relations since 2000, although this has started to tail off since around 2013–​14, as Table 44.4 demonstrates: Table 44.4  Nigeria’s Trade with China (in U.S.$ millions) Exports/​Imports

2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

Exports to Nigeria Imports from Nigeria Total trade Nigerian trade balance

549.5 292.9 842.4 –549.5

919.4 227.4 1146.8 –919.4

1,047.1 134.1 1181.2 –1047.1

1,786.8 71.7 1858.5 –​1786.8

1,719.3 462.6 2181.9 –1719.3

2305.3 527.1 2832.3 –2305.2

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2855.7 277.8 3133.4 –2855.6

3800.2 537.5 4337.7 –3800.2

6758.1 509.9 7268.1 –6758.2

5477.6 898.2 6375.8 –5477.6

6694.6 1068.5 7763.1 –5626.1

9200.7 1580.4 10781.1 –7620.3

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

9307.6 1266.2 10573.7 –8041.4

12045.3 15449.3 1543.3 2655.1 13588.6 18104.3 –10502 –12794.2

13648.2 1237.4 14885.7 –12410.8

10326.26 899.86 11226.12 –10326.26

Exports to Nigeria Imports from Nigeria Total trade Nigerian trade balance

Exports to Nigeria Imports from Nigeria Total trade Nigerian trade balance

Source: IMF Direction of Trade Statistics, 2017 (U.S.$ millions).

The Pathology of Dependency    755 This distorted trade profile is probably the most contentious issue surrounding Sino–​Nigerian relations as in the main, it involves the export of cheap manufactured goods from China to Nigeria, which is then blamed for a decline in Nigerian industry. Indeed, in Nigeria, “one complaint by Nigerian investors is that Nigeria is fast becoming a dumping ground while indigenous companies are dying” (Daily Trust February 23, 2007). However, Nigerian accusations against Chinese importers often overlook the in­ ternal problems that Africa’s manufacturing sector confronts. It is commonly held that the flooding of Nigeria’s markets with cheap Chinese products has had the effect of undermining Nigerian commercial operations and putting Nigerians out of work. One report indeed argued that “Nigeria has exported about two-​and-​a-​half million jobs mainly to China” (Alaje 2017). Textiles and garments constitute the majority of China’s exports to Nigeria, a fact that fuels accusations that: The Nigerian textile industries are in the process of shrinking as a whole or shutting down entire plants for good. The main culprit behind the Nigerian debacle is the Chinese invasion of Nigerian markets. Chinese fabrics in the Nigerian markets are readily and cheaply available for the Nigerian consumer, and the latter is compelled to buy Chinese rather than Nigerian textile products. Because China is endowed with massive intensive labour potential and relatively skilled manpower in its re­ spective industries, Chinese products, including textile fabrics, are now ubiquitous in African markets. Nigerian fabrics are more costly to the Nigerian than the Chinese fabrics, and no amount of national fervor can salvage the Nigerian textile factories from their present crisis. (Institute of Development and Education for Africa 2005)

Nigeria possessed over 200 operative factories in the 1980s, producing fabrics for both the Nigerian and international markets. At that time, industry created 500,000 direct jobs and about two million indirectly (Alaje 2017). Indeed: Up till the 80s, Nigeria generated $2 billion naira annually as revenue from the textiles industry. And, between 1985 and 1991, the industry grew by an average of 65 percent annually. The textile subsector was responsible for 25 percent of the en­ tire manufacturing sector in Nigeria. (Institute of Development and Education for Africa 2005)

However, in 1997 import restrictions were lifted on imports as part of a World Trade Organization agreement and the Nigerian textiles industry was immediately undermined. “Today, an industry that once employed five hundred thousand people directly and another two million indirectly, only has 30  thousand jobs to its credit” (Institute of Development and Education for Africa 2005). Blame for the collapse of Nigeria’s local textile industry cannot be laid solely at the door of Chinese manufacturers. It is, in fact, very difficult to assess whether Nigerian textiles could compete with Chinese imports because the playing field is not level due to the domestic fees that Nigerian manufacturers have to disburse, notably on energy

756   Ian Taylor and transport. This situation is directly linked to the chronic inefficiency, maladminis­ tration, and corruption within Nigeria’s service industries. The result is that “companies are run on generating sets powered by expensive fuels that are sometimes a scarce com­ modity in spite of the country being the seventh largest producer of crude oil in the world. As a result, the cost of doing business is dear, and products are expensive” (This Day (Abuja), February 4, 2007). In such a setting, it is virtually impossible for even the most efficient Nigerian textile manufacturer to compete with Chinese producers. Indeed, it is very difficult for Nigerian manufacturers to compete at all. Thus finished goods from China are arriving into a market without domestic competitors, whose po­ tential has been undermined not only by the low prices of the Chinese imports but by the Nigerian government’s own incompetence. The Nigerian response to this situation has been weak and uncoordinated. It is true that President Buhari has stated that trade and economic relations between the two countries must be mutually beneficial and has pointed out that the imbalance is unsustainable: Although the Nigerian and Chinese business communities have recorded tremen­ dous successes in bilateral trade, there is a large trade imbalance in favor of China as Chinese exports represent some 80 per cent of the total bilateral trade volumes. This gap needs to be reduced . . . You must not see Nigeria as a consumer market alone, but as an investment destination where goods can be manufactured and consumed locally. (Quoted in Vanguard (Lagos), April 16, 2016)

However, actual policies to do this have been thin on the ground and in fact certain choices have been made that threaten to further entrench Nigeria’s dependency. For in­ stance, in 2016 the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China Ltd (ICBC) and Nigeria’s Central Bank were reported to have agreed on a currency swap deal (Punch (Lagos), April 19, 2016). The goal of the deal was to address short-​term foreign currency liquidity challenges and ease the pressure on the dollar as China’s trade relations with Nigeria has been increasing. Essentially, the deal will allow the Central Bank of Nigeria to exchange naira for a certain amount of renminbi, which can then be loaned to Nigerian domestic banks. The problem is that this is likely to further weaken Nigeria’s domestic production as a greater reliance on Chinese imports is to be expected given that Nigerian importers will have straightforward access to the Chinese yuan to import Chinese goods rather than produce within Nigeria. The key problem is that Nigeria has a desperate need to improve its domestic manufacturing capacity. This is the only way to develop a favorable trade relationship with China. Credible policy would focus strongly on developing a sustainable model to safeguard local economic development and growth based on generating manufacturing capacity. Nigeria’s historic failure to industrialize and develop means that it produces very few processed goods. The country is thus a natural target for Chinese exporters. Yet, such Chinese engagement reifies Nigeria’s status as an exporter of raw materials while being an importer of manufactured goods. This has consigned Nigeria (and the

The Pathology of Dependency    757 African continent more broadly) to underdevelopment and a reproduction of its histor­ ical relationships with the external world. Complicating this milieu is the fact that many of the products manufactured in China, but which are sold in Nigerian markets, are not actually brought into the continent by Chinese but by Nigerian traders. There are now quite elaborate trading networks linking China and Nigeria and much of this is centered in the southern province of Guandong where a relatively large population of Nigerian entrepreneurs now live and make deals. The point of this is crucial: Chinese traders are not “flooding” the Nigerian market with cheap Chinese goods. Rather, Nigerian actors are actively facilitating the penetration of Nigeria by Chinese-​made products in conditions where local Nigerian industrial capacity is low to nonexistent. This is somewhat ironic given that condemnation by Nigerian trade unions and civil society organizations of the “Asian tsunami” in cheap products lays the blame squarely on “the Chinese.” Yet given this, serious concern must be expressed that a dependent relationship is being further entrenched. Even if we accept the symbiotic na­ ture of the partnership between the external and domestic, the fact remains there exists a relationship of dominance and subordination with strong dependent features. That a cer­ tain nonchalance exists on the part of China regarding such dynamics is apparent. This has prompted Sanusi Lamido Sanusi, former Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria and current Emir of Kano to assert that “A review of the exploitative elements in this mar­ ital contract is long overdue. Every romance begins with partners blind to each other’s flaws before the scales fall away and we see the partner, warts and all. We may remain together—​but at least there are no illusions” (quoted in This Day (Abuja), March 13, 2013).

Conclusion Until the turn of the century, it would be fair to say that Nigeria was relatively dependent on the Global IFIs for establishing key ideas and approaches to its development models and for access to capital and policy advice. This has now changed somewhat. The emerging economies’ rise in material capabilities and their incorporation into the key global governance architecture has given rise to the notion that Africa’s international re­ lations are in a process of change, perhaps away from the Global North and towards the Global South, with attendant debates over the possibility of alternative models of devel­ opment. Certainly, the potential ability to access different methodologies and new ideas concerning developmental thinking could possibly lessen Africa’s dependence on the IFIs and their conditionalities. While conditionalities can be seen as reflecting neocolonial impulses—​and the policy advice has been rigidly doctrinaire in its application of neolib­ eral prescriptions—​it is uncertain that shifting to no conditions is better, given the gov­ ernance modalities of many African states such as Nigeria. Equally, the environmental and social models upon which emerging economies base their rise (intensified labor and environmental exploitation and a free rein to capital) is hardly a superior alternative.

758   Ian Taylor As Nigeria is routinely ranked as one of the most corrupt countries in Africa, a hands-​ off approach by countries such as China over matters related to governance is arguably not helpful. Furthermore, a set of new relationships based on the intensification of nat­ ural resource extraction will be equally problematic. One of the key lessons from the financial crisis for Nigeria was that those countries that were more diversified generally tended to be more resilient than those that were highly dependent on a few primary commodities. Reinscribing Nigerian dependence on commodities hardly offers any novel framework to emerging relationships with China and undermines the Chinese claims to be somehow “different.” Even if the emphasis placed by China on addressing structural bottlenecks in Nigeria has been beneficial for the country, new roads and railways in the absence of serious reforms will hardly make a sustainable and long-​term contribution. This returns us to the question as to whether China’s increasing engagement with Nigeria is exploitive or benign. It is important to remember that actors such as China have increased engagement with Nigeria as a means to achieve its own economic and political goals and that overall, Nigeria remains the weaker partner. The weakness is usually ascribed to the broader continent’s dependent relationship in the international system and Africa’s historic insertion into the global capitalist economy. However, de­ pendence is “a historical process, a matrix of action,” that permits the prospect of al­ teration stemming from changes in the dynamics, processes, and organization of the international system and the fundamental tendencies within Africa’s political economy (Bayart 2000, p. 234). The bulk of the growth in African exports in the last decade or more has been heavily underpinned by energy and mining-​related commodities, which are deeply problematic in terms of development. Nigeria was a classic example in this regard. This is deeply troubling given the current state of Nigeria’s structural economic profile and the related possibilities for development. After all, the export growth that the Asian economies used to leapfrog development was based on an increasing list of manufactures. Nigeria is nowhere near that position.

References Alaje, P. (2017). “Nigeria Exports Two Million Jobs To China With the Textile Industry Dysfunction,” Premium Times February 2, 2017. Bayart, J.-​F. (2000). “Africa in the World:  A History of Extraversion,” African Affairs 99 (395): 217–​267. Bracking, S. and Harrison, G. (2003). “Africa, Imperialism and New Forms of Accumulation,” Review of African Political Economy 30 (95): 5–​10. Egbula, M. and Qi Zheng (2011). “China and Nigeria: A Powerful South-​South Alliance,” West African Challenges 5, November 2011. Grimmett, R. (2006). Conventional Arms Transfers to Developing Nations, 1998–​ 2005. Washington, DC: Library of Congress. Harris, D. (1975). “The Political Economy of Africa: Underdevelopment or Revolution,” in D. Harris (ed.), The Political Economy of Africa. New York: Schenkman.

The Pathology of Dependency    759 Iliffe, J. (2011). Obasanjo: Nigeria and the World. Oxford: James Currey. Institute of Development and Education for Africa (2005). “The Tragedy of African Textile Industries,” IDEA press release, February 14, 2005. International Monetary Fund (2011). New Growth Drivers for Low-​Income Countries: The Role of BRICs. Washington, DC: IMF. Leamer, E. (1987). “Paths of Development in the Three-​Factor, n-​Good General Equilibrium Model,” Journal of Political Economy 95 (5): 961–​999. Lewis, A. (1954). “Economic Development with Unlimited Supplies of Labour,” The Manchester School of Economic and Social Studies 22: 139–​191. Mentan, T. (2010). The State in Africa: An Analysis of Impacts of Historical Trajectories of Global Capitalist Expansion and Domination in the Continent. Bamenda: Langaa. Nwakalor, M. (2016). “Nigeria Signs $80 Billion Oil And Gas Infrastructure Deal With China And More Deals Are Expected To Follow.” ​ accessed May 5, 2018. OPEC (2017). “Nigeria Facts and Figures.” www.opec.org/​opec_​web/​en/​about_​us/​167.htm accessed May 5, 2018. Quigley, S. (2014). “Chinese Oil Acquisitions in Nigeria And Angola,” Khamasin June 1, 2014. Shivji, I. (2009). Accumulation in an African Periphery:  A Theoretical Framework. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Umejei, E. (2013). “Why did China’s Infrastructure for Resources Deal Fail in Nigeria?” African Arguments September 2, 2013. Vines, A. et  al. (2009). Thirst for African Oil Asian National Oil Companies in Nigeria and Angola. London: Chatham House Report.

Index

Tables and figures are indicated by an italic t and f following the page number, end of chapter notes are indicated by a letter n between page number and note number. 1979 constitution  172, 180, 195, 196–​7, 214–​15, 240, 260–​2, 263, 304, 576, 683 1989 constitution  183, 260, 263 1995 constitution  264 1999 constitution civil rights  246, 253n9 democracy and federalism  432 derivation principle  308, 479 development of  185–​6 freedom of religion  245 human rights  246, 307, 458, 459, 460 immunity clause  307–​8 Islamic and customary law  241, 244, 245 judiciary  241, 302, 305, 314, 317n20 legislature  223, 266 local governments  683 presidentialism  257, 261, 264, 265, 266, 430 religious education  246, 253n13 secularism  243, 431, 576 separation of powers doctrine  302 state religion  431, 586 subnational government  196, 199, 309–​10 Abacha, Sani  175, 184–​5, 192, 264, 279, 292, 293, 361, 379, 398–​401, 422, 435, 458, 511–12, 672–​3,  721–​2 Aba Women’s Association  110 Aba Women War (1929)  81, 104, 106, 108–​9, 110–​11, 128, 129, 475 Abayomi, Oyinkan  116 Abba-​Aji, Muhammad  593 Abbass, I. M.  686–​7, 688 Abdulahi, A.  90

Abdulganiyu, Ibrahim  590 Abdullah, H.  116 Abdullahi, G.  572 Abdullahi, U. S.  687 Abeokuta Ladies’ Club  85 Abeokuta Women’s Union (AWU)  110, 112 Abia State Vigilante Services  654 Abiola, Kudirat  279 Abiola, M. K. O.  184, 185, 248, 279, 355, 361, 412–​13, 421, 673, 721 Abubakar, Abdulsalami  173, 185–​6, 264, 355, 401–​2, 512, 673, 722 Abubakar, Alhaji Ahmadu  673 Abubakar, Atiku  266, 296, 355, 357, 360, 421, 463, 749 Abubakar, Rabe  282 Abubakar, Sa’ad  573, 574 Abulfathi, Ahmad  593 Abulfathi, Aliyu  593 Aburi Accord  625–​6 Abu Zaid, Bakr Ibn Abdallah  592, 593 Abyssinia 703 Academic Associates PeaceWorks  378 Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU)  376, 399–​400, 400t Acemoglu, D.  67 ACF see Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF) Achebe, Chinua  84, 121, 122–​8, 129, 131, 290–​1,  625 Achebe, Nwando  57 ACN see Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN) Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN)  357, 430 Action Group (AG)  86, 96, 100, 195, 209–​10, 211–​12, 213, 215, 324, 623

762   Index AD see Alliance for Democracy (AD) Adam, Abubakar Kambar  590, 598 Adam, Alhaji Kambar  590 Adam, Ja’afar  589, 590, 593–​4 Adam, Mohammad Awwal  594 Adamo, David T.  728 Adams, John  50 Adamu, Martin  624 Adebanwi, Wale  57, 293, 295–​4, 296, 299 Adebayo, A.  209, 213 Adebayo, Cornelius  97 Adebo Wage Commission  389t, 393 Adeboye, Enoch Adejare  737–​9 Adedibu, Lamidi  362 Adegbite, Lateef  244, 248, 249 Adekanye, J. B.  175, 669 Adekunle, Julius  731 Adeleye, R. A.  570, 571 Ademola, Adetokunbo  704 Ademoyega, Adewale  622 Ademulegun, Sam  621 Adeosun, Kemi  483 Adogame, Afe  48, 57, 58 Afigbo, A. E.  572 African Churches Mission  57 African Civil Service and Technical Workers’ Union (ACSTWU)  707 African Communities League  702 African Development Bank  537 African Mail 52 African National Congress (ANC)  721 African Peer Review Mechanism  723 African Summit on HIV/​AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Other Related Infectious Diseases 549 African Union (AU)  443, 524, 606, 723 African Union Commission  723 Afrobarometer 194 Afrocentrism 715 AG see Action Group (AG) Agagu, A. A.  212 Agbebi, Akinbami  702 Agbebi, Mojola  94 Agbinigbo, Murdock  636 Agbola, J. O  280 Agricultural and Allied Workers Union of Nigeria 399t

Aguiyi-​Ironsi, J. T. U.  173, 174–​5, 176, 177–​8, 621, 624 Agwai, Martin Luther  275, 282 Ahmad, Mohammed  573 AIDS see HIV/​AIDS AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria (APIN)  547,  550–​1 AIDS Relief Consortium  551 air pollution, indoor 160n1 Aiyede, E. R.  213 Ajayi, Ade  585 Ajayi, M. O.  213 Ake, Claude  95, 98, 632, 676 Akinleye, Akintunde  463 Akinola, Peter  57 Akintola, Samuel Ladoke  100, 177, 211, 621 Akinyemi, Bolaji  721 Akitoye 77 Akogwu, Enenche  597 Akpolobokemi, Patrick  647 Akpo oil field  746 Akunyili, Dora 470n13 Aladura prayer movement  53, 732 Alaje, P.  755 Alamieyeseigha, Diepreye  295–​6, 461 Alam, M.  445 Al Azhar University, Egypt  709 Albert, Olawale  328 Albuja, S.  448, 449 Algeria  251, 723 Ali, Ahmadu  356, 362, 534–​5 Ali, Mohammed  589, 590 Ali Sokoto Group  652t, 658 Alison Madueke, Diezani  360, 516, 535 alkali courts  702 Alliance for Credible Elections (ACE)  340 Alliance for Democracy (AD)  353–​2t, 361, 362, 429 Alliances of Africa  463 Alli, Chris  283 All Nigeria People’s Party (ANPP)  338, 351–​4t, 356, 357, 362, 430, 460, 595 All People’s Party (APP)  351–​4t, 361, 429 All Progressives Congress (APC)  224, 347, 348, 352, 351–​4t, 357, 359, 363, 382, 383, 430, 516–​17,  535

Index   763 All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA) 351–4t, 357, 430 al-​Qaeda  155, 605, 607, 608–​9 al-​Qaeda in the Maghreb (AQIM)  605, 607,  608–​9 Al-​Rasheed,  M.  452 Alsan, M.  37 Alternative Voting (AV) systems  429 Aluko, Kola  535 Amaechi, Chibuike Rotimi  357, 358, 674 Amina 462 Amina, Queen of Zazzau Emirate  106 Amin, Samir  90, 569 ammunition store explosion  275 Amnesty International  282, 459, 467, 536, 584, 690 amnesty program, Niger Delta  149, 155, 158, 278, 515–​16, 536, 646–​7 Anderson, B. L.  66 Anderson, R. V  63, 64 Andrade, Susan Z.  130 Andrae, G.  394 Anglican Church  50–​3, 77 Anglican Church Missionary Society  51 Anglo–​Aro  War  93 Anjorin, A. O.  571 Ankrah, J. A.  626 Anozie, Isiah  36 ANPP see All Nigeria People’s Party (ANPP) Ansar al-​Dine  608 Ansaru  595, 598, 607, 608–​9 Anstey, R.  65–​6 antiapartheid struggle  477, 716–​17, 719–​21 anticolonial imagination in Nigerian novels Achebe’s Arrow of God  121, 122–​8, 130, 131 Nwapa’s Efuru  121, 128–​30, 131 anticolonial nationalism see nationalism anticorruption efforts  288–​300, 514–​15,  534–​5 changing social norms  298, 299 civil society and  294, 298–​9, 378, 379, 383 Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC)  231, 266, 289, 293–​ 8, 356, 459, 514–​15, 534–​5 Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI)  158, 298, 379, 529 media and  294, 298–​9, 376 under military rule  291–​2, 510

Niger Delta amnesty program and  647 prosecutions of politicians and officials  294–​6 prosecutions of scammers  294 antifeminists  443–​4, 451–​2,  453–​4 antiretroviral therapy (ART)  548, 549–​52, 551f, 553, 556, 557–​8, 559 Anyanwu, Chris N. D.  267–​8, 269 Anyaoku, Emeka  714, 718, 722, 723 Anyim, Anyim Pius  268 apartheid  477, 716–​17,  719–​21 APC see All Progressives Congress (APC) APGA see All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA) APIN see AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria (APIN) apostasy  246, 569, 589, 591 Apostolic Faith Mission of South Africa  732 APP see All People’s Party (APP) Apter, A. H.  639, 641 Arabic  19, 23 Arabic education  708–​9 area court system  240–​1 Arewa Citizens Action for Change  674 Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF)  250, 668 Arewa Peoples Congress  250 Arewa Students Forum  674 Arewa Youth Consultative Forum  674 Arewa Youth Development Foundation  674 Argentina  263, 265 Aro Confederacy  61, 93 Arrow of God (Achebe)  121, 122–​8, 130, 131 ART see antiretroviral therapy (ART) Asamoah-​Gyadu, J. Kwabena  733 Ashafa, Mallam Mohammed  608 Asika, Anthony Ukpabi  628 Assemblies of God Church  732 ASUU see Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) Atabor, A.  90 Atlantic Charter (1941)  98, 623, 704 Atlantic Christian movements  48–​52 Atlantic Energy  535 Attahiru I  78, 573, 578 AU see African Union (AU) Audu, Ishaya  631 Augusto, Bode  231

764   Index austerity measures  181, 217, 503, 508, 509, 510, 632, 633 see also Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) autochthony 670 Awolowo, Obafemi  86, 96, 98–​9, 211, 325–​6, 373, 623, 701, 705 AWU see Abeokuta Women’s Union (AWU) Awwal Gombe, Mohammed  598 Azikiwe, Benjamin Nnamdi  86, 95–​6, 98–​9, 376, 621, 623, 627, 631, 675, 701, 704, 705, 707, 708, 709–​10 Al-​Azm, Sadik  568 Babalakin, Bolarinwa  329 Babalakin Commission  329, 332n8 Babangida, Ibrahim annulment of June  12, 1993 election 97, 325, 329, 337, 374, 379, 397–​8, 419, 511, 673 military rule  97, 173, 174, 175, 176, 182–​4, 192, 264, 276, 279, 292, 379, 382, 396–​8, 437, 511, 632–​3, 672–​3, 674 People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and  355 presidential ambitions  420 songs critical of  418–​21, 422 Baba, Y.  90 Bafyau, Pascal  397, 398 Baga killings  281, 464 al-​Baghdadi, Abubakr  599, 609, 610, 611 Bakassi Boys  658 Bakht-​er-​Ruda Institute of Education  709 Balewa, Abduljelili Tafawa  359 Balewa, Sir Abubakar Tafawa  86, 97, 177, 621, 623, 671, 715, 716–​17 Balogun, Layi  362 Balogun, Lekan  362 Balogun, Tafa  294–​5 Bangura, Joseph Bosco  729, 730 al-​Banna, Hassan  591 Barclays Bank  720 Barkan, Joel  221–​2, 225, 226 Barkindo, Bawuro  25 al-​Barnawi, Abu Musab  611 al-​Barnawi, Khalid  590,  608–​9 al-​Barnawi, Shekau  590 Basic Health Care Provision Fund  556, 560

Bates, R.  191, 195 Battle of Imagbon  92 Bauchi, Abdul Aziz  594 BBC 722 BBOG see BringBackOurGirls (BBOG) movement Bean, R. N.  65, 69 Beblawi, H.  526 Beckles, H.  66 Beckman, B.  388, 394, 397 Beecroft, John  77 Bello, Mahmud Kanti  269 Bello, Mohammed (Justice)  244 Bello, Muhammad (Sultan of Sokoto)  23 Bello, Sir Ahmadu  97, 98–​9, 177, 578, 621, 709 Belmokhtar, Mokhtar  609 Benin Expedition (1897)  93 Benin Kingdom  43–​4, 61, 89, 93 Berg Report (1981)  144 Berlin Conference (1885)  78, 92 Berman, B. J.  105 Bhabha, Homi  127 Biafra bill of rights  433 Biafra Foundation  434 Biafran secession see Nigerian Civil War and Biafran secession Biafran secessionist revival  433–​4, 634 Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB)  100, 266, 276, 434, 634, 648 Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB)  276, 433–​4, 463, 466, 634 Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation  547 Binns, T.  681, 686, 688, 689 Biobaku, Saburi O.  675 Bismarck, Otto von  92 Blackburne, K. W.  623 Blackburn, G. A. 161n5 Black Star Line Corporation  702 bloggers 468 blood-​related rituals  575, 587 “blue pencil rule”  310 Blundo, G.  290 Blyden, Edward Wilmot  93 Board of Internal Revenue  202 Bodea, C.  484 body marks  29–​30

Index   765 Boko Haram insurgency  100, 276, 469, 574, 576, 577, 583–​601, 605–​15, 652 abduction of schoolgirls  465, 599, 613 al-​Qaeda and  605, 607, 608–​9 Ansaru  595, 598, 607, 608–​9 apparent internationalization  605, 607–​12 assassinations by  589, 594, 595 attacks on Christian churches  597–​8 attacks on media  460, 465, 597 attacks on schools  597, 599 Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF)  283, 596–​ 7, 653, 652t, 656, 657–​8 civil–​military relations and  280–​3, 284 development of Salafi community  591–​4 development of violent extremism 470n13 dissociation of other Islamic movements  586, 587 domestic agenda  605, 607 environment and  154–​5, 156–​7,  158–​60 extrajudicial killings of members  280–​1, 464, 466, 470n13, 594–​5 female involvement  600, 657 financing of  612 human rights violations against  280–​1, 459, 464, 466, 594–​5, 596 human rights violations by  460, 465, 596–​7 international involvement  599–​600, 606,  612–​13 ISIS and  599, 605, 607, 609–​11 as ISWAP  605, 611, 612 Joint Task Force (JTF) operations  281, 465–​6,  595–​6 Kanamma commune  589–​90 lack of model for Islamic state  588–​9, 612 loss of life  685 military defeat  594–​5 Multi-​National Joint Task Force (MNJTF)  599–​600, 606,  610–​11 opposition to secularism  587–​8, 589, 591–​2 opposition to Western education  432, 583, 587, 589, 592–​3 regional expansion  606–​7 regional humanitarian repercussions  613–​15 rejection of heretical beliefs  592 religious complexity of Nigeria and  585–​9 sharia and  432, 586, 587–​9, 612

Borishade, Babalola  231 Borno Caliphate  20, 23 Boro, Isaac Adaka  637, 638, 642, 643, 644, 645 Boyloaf 646 Bracking, S.  753 Braide, Garrick Sokari  52–​3 Braide movement  52–​3 Bratton, M.  190, 194 Brexit referendum  665, 724 BringBackOurGirls (BBOG) movement  465 Britain see colonial period; United Kingdom British–​Ijebu  War  92 British Labour Party  98 British Petroleum  720 British West African Congress (1920)  710 budget deficits  494–​6, 499 Buhari, Muhammadu  441, 460, 634 anticorruption efforts  291–​2, 383, 510, 647 Boko Haram insurgency  281–​2, 600, 610 China and  750, 756 civil society and  383 executive dominance under  266 foreign policy  723 human rights under  282, 467–​8, 469 Igbo marginalization and  434 inauguration speech 423n3 Independence Day  438–​9 military rule  174, 181–​2, 192, 279, 291–​2, 329, 396, 437, 510, 632, 672–​3 Niger Delta amnesty program and  647 oil and gas industry  750 presidential elections  285, 338, 342, 359, 430,  516–​17 restructuring and  437 trade unions and  396 Buhari, Salisu  267, 269, 271n1 Bunduri, Uthman  570 Bureau of Public Enterprises  747 Burke, M.  144 Bush, George W.  551 Byfield, J. A.  112 Cairnes. J. E.  63, 64 Cameroon  606, 611, 613, 614, 615 Cameroons campaign  701

766   Index Campaign for Democracy (CD)  343–​4, 378, 379 Campbell, John  306, 685 CAN see Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) Canaancity 737 Canair Relief Programme  56 Capital Gains Tax  200 Capital Gains Tax Act (2004)  200 Caribbean  65–​6 Casely-​Hayford, Joseph  702 Catholic Bishops Conference of Nigeria (CBCN)  374–​5 Catholic Church  49–​50, 55, 56, 77, 598,  731–​2 cavalry  40–​2 CBCN see Catholic Bishops Conference of Nigeria (CBCN) CD see Campaign for Democracy (CD) census crises  183, 213, 259 Central African Republic  613 Central Bank of Nigeria  482, 514, 524, 534, 756, 757 centralized states, precolonial period  37–​9 Centre for Democracy and Development (CDD) 463 CFCR see Citizens’ Forum for Constitutional Reform (CFCR) Chad  577, 599–​600, 606, 611, 613, 614, 615, 723 Chad, Lake  158–​9, 159f, 598 Charismatic Christianity  48, 53, 57, 682, 729 see also Pentecostalism Cheeseman, N.  484 Chevron  537, 637 Chibok girls  465, 599, 613 Chigbue, Irene  747 Chikoko Movement  642, 645 Chikwendu P. N.  90 child mortality 160n1, 556 China  743–​58 exports to  750, 751t, 752–​3t, 755–​4, 754t Niger Delta insurgency and  749–​50 Nigeria’s oil industry and  745–​50 timber trade  137–​8 trade imbalance  754–​7, 754t China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC)  745–​6, 747, 750

China State Construction Engineering Corporation (CSCEC)  748 Chiroma, Ali  397 Choba rape atrocity  461 Cho, David Yonggi  738–​9 CHOGMs see Commonwealth Heads of Government Meetings (CHOGMs) Christ Army Church  53 Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN)  374–​ 5, 384, 586, 588, 598, 682 Christian Council of Nigeria  55 Christianity see Nigerian Christianity Christian missionaries  24, 49–​52, 55–​8, 77,  83–​4 Christian–​Muslim conflict  681–​2 Church Missionary Society (CMS)  51, 77 Church of Christ in Nigeria  594 Cipla 549 Citizens’ Forum for Constitutional Reform (CFCR)  340, 379 citizenship see indigeneity and citizenship city states  38–​9,  42–​3 Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF)  283, 596–​7, 653, 652t, 656, 657–​8 Civil Liberties Organisation (CLO)  378 civil–​military relations  273–​85 Boko Haram insurgency and  280–​3, 284 depoliticization and reform military  274–​5 legacy of militarism  276–​7 mass military deployment for internal security operations  277–​9,  280–​3 military as the custodian of Nigeria’s national unity  283 military human rights abuses and  279–​80, 461–​2, 465–​6,  467 military influence in People’s Democratic Party  354–​5 military’s relations with civil society  282–​3 Niger Delta insurgency and  277–​9 ongoing military influence  283–​5 soft power, new emphasis on  282–​3 subordination of military to civilian authority  273–​6 transitional justice  279–​80 see also democratic transitions civil rights sharia and  245–​6, 253n9

Index   767 see also human rights and human rights violations Civil Service Technical Workers Union of Nigeria (CSTWUN)  399t civil society  369–​84 anticorruption efforts and  294, 298–​9, 378, 379, 383 coalition with trade unions  402 corruption pressures  377 demands for redistribution  535–​6 democracy building and  381–​4 electoral reform and  340, 343–​5, 347–​8 ethnic associations  371, 371t, 373–​4, 383 First Generation  371, 371t, 372–​5,  383–​4 Fourth Generation  371t, 372, 379–​81, 382 Hegel’s model  370 HIV/​AIDS  546,  558–​9 media  376–​7 Middle Sphere perspective  370 military’s relations with  282–​3 Occupy Nigeria Protest  370, 380–​1, 464–​5, 516, 536 oil and gas industry and  145 professional associations  371, 371t, 376 relationship to state  369–​72, 371t religious institutions  371, 371t, 372–​3, 374–​5,  384 resistance to military rule  376, 379, 382 restructuring advocacy  436 Second Generation  371–​2, 371t, 375–​7, 382 social media-​based movements  371t, 372, 379–​81,  382 student unions  375 Third Generation  371t, 372, 377–​81, 383 traditional institutions  371, 371t,  372–​3 see also non-​governmental organizations (NGOs); trade unions Civil Society Coordinating Committee (CSCC)  340, 341, 344, 347 civil wars Benin Kingdom  44 see also Nigerian Civil War and Biafran secession CJTF see Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) Clark, Edwin  358 Clarke, Peter  575, 576 Clark, J. P.  620

Clifford Constitution (1922)  94, 99, 702, 708, 710 climate change  134, 143, 144–​5, 159–​60, 159f Clinton Foundation  552 CLO see Civil Liberties Organisation (CLO) CMS see Church Missionary Society (CMS) CNOOC see China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC) CNPC 746 cocoa  81, 82, 476, 703, 705 Coelho, M.  69 Cohen, R.  391, 396 Cold War  179 Coleman, James S.  89, 674–​5, 704 Collins, P. H.  453 colonial period  75–​87, 94–​5, 699–​7 11 administration  78–​81 alkali courts  702 anticolonial newspapers  376–​7 British attitude to Islam  272, 585, 702 colonial creation of Nigeria  76–​8 corruption 291 development of indigeneity  666–​7 economy  81–​2 education  82, 83–​4, 699–​700,  702–​3 elections  320–​3,  321t environment and ecology  137, 138–​40, 141–​2,  161n10 First World War  84, 700–​1 fiscal policy  474–​6 forestry  137,  138–​40 Great Depression  82, 666, 703 indirect rule philosophy  75, 78–​81, 83, 84 interwar years  701–​4 Islamic law and common law  240, 241–​2, 585, 702, 709 literacy  699–​700,  706 Mahdism  573–​4, 578, 579, 586, 709 nationalism  75–​6, 85–​6,  94–​8 neglect of ex-​servicemen  707 Nigerian Christianity  52–​6 northern Nigeria  23–​4, 26–​7, 79–​80, 474–​5, 572, 585, 671, 702 postwar years  707–​9 racial discrimination  705–​6 revenue  474–​6 Second World War  82, 84, 666, 704–​7

768   Index colonial period (Cont.) society  83–​5 taxation  80–​1, 85, 110–​11, 112, 129, 130,  474–​6 trade unions  85, 96, 705, 707 use of violence  110–​11 women’s anticolonial resistance movement  80–​1, 103–​4, 107–​12,  128–​30 women’s status  107–​8 see also decolonization Columbia University  551 Commission for the Protection of Journalists (CPJ) 465 common law  240, 241–​2 Commonwealth  714–​25 Abacha regime and  721–​2 accession to  714, 715–​16 Eminent Persons Group (EPG)  720–​1, 723 Fourth Republic and  723–​5 Harare Declaration  722 independence and  714, 715–​16 Nigerian Civil War and  717–​18 South Africa and Rhodesia  716–​17, 719–​21 suspension of Nigeria from  722 Commonwealth Fund for Technical Cooperation 724 Commonwealth Games  721 Commonwealth Heads of Government Meetings (CHOGMs)  719, 720, 721, 722, 723 communalism 426 communal tensions, elections and  328 communal unions  666 communal violence see Middle Belt communal conflict communism 704 community forestry movement  140 Companies Income Tax  200, 202 Companies Income Tax Act (CITA) (2007)  200 concentric circles doctrine  715, 723 conflict, climate change and  159–​60 conflict, communal see Middle Belt communal conflict conflict prevention and resolution  686–​91 conflict resolution groups  378–​9 Congress for Progressive Change (CPC)  351–​ 4t, 357, 430

ConocoPhillips 537 Conrad, A. H.  63 conscription  700–​1,  706 Constituent Assembly  116, 180, 243, 261, 264, 329, 630 Constitutional Conference (1994–​5)  185, 264, 435 Constitutional Conferences (1957/​8)  116, 180, 208, 214, 243, 261–​2, 264, 329, 573, 623 constitutional development colonial period  708 under military rule  180, 183, 185–​6, 214,  260–​4 Constitutional (Suspension and Modification) Decree No.  1 (1966) 172, 178, 261, 303, 304 Constitution Drafting Committee  174, 180, 214, 261, 264, 329, 676 constitutions 1979 constitution  172, 180, 195, 196–​7, 214–​ 15, 240, 260–​2, 263, 304, 576, 683 1989 constitution  183, 260, 263 1995 constitution  264 Clifford Constitution (1922)  94, 99, 702, 708, 710 Federal Constitution (1954)  99 Independence Constitution (1960)  94, 99, 208, 209, 210, 303 Lyttleton Constitution (1954)  86, 99 Macpherson Constitution (1951)  86, 99, 708 Republican Constitution (1963)  172, 194–​5, 210, 258, 303 Richards Constitution (1946)  86, 96, 99, 114, 708 see also 1999 constitution Cooper, F.  109 Cooper, Harold  623 corporal punishment  706 Corporate and Allied Matters Act (2004)  360 Corporate Nigeria  361 corruption  115, 508–​9, 758 defining  289–​90 election fraud  212, 216, 263, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327–​9, 337–​9, 340, 515, 624, 632 in judiciary  266, 311–​13 legislative oversight  230–​1 media and  377

Index   769 nature of  289–​91 oil and gas industry  520, 524–​5 Second Republic  509, 510 state governors  295–​6, 360 timber trade  137, 138 typologies of  290 see also anticorruption efforts Corruption and Financial Crime Cases Trial Monitoring Committee  313 Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offenses Act 293 Council on African Affairs  704 coups see military coups Court of Appeal  241, 305, 307, 311–​12 see also Sharia Court of Appeal CPC see Congress for Progressive Change (CPC) crime 652 crops domestication of  34–​5 state centralization and  37–​8 Crowder, Michael  571, 572 Crowther, Dandeson  51–​2 Crowther, Samuel Ajayi  51, 52, 77, 89 crude oil sales  197–​8, 198t, 494, 495, 497, 502, 525 CSCC see Civil Society Coordinating Committee (CSCC) cultural nationalism  664–​5 cultural theory of citizenship  674 Cumming-​Bruce, Sir Francis  626 Cunard, Nancy  704 currency  82, 93, 701 devaluation  496, 497, 510, 511 currency swap deal  756 Curtin, Philip  62, 67, 69–​70 customary law  240–​1, 242, 244 Cyber Crimes Act (2015)  468 Daily Independent 463 Daily Service 377 Daily Times 626 Daily Trust 755 Damasak, Abdullahi  587 Dambazau, Abdurrahman Bello  278–​9 Dan-​Azumi, Jake  224

Dancing Women’s Movement  109, 110 Daniel, Otunba Gbenga  362 Danjuma, Theophilus  355, 461, 482, 624, 746 Dantata, Alhaji Alhassan  82 Daramola, Ayo  362 Dariye, Joshua  360 Darul Islam  587 Dasuki, Sambo  266, 275, 284, 467 Davies, William Bright  94 Davis, Mike  145 debt forgiveness  497, 498, 513 Debt Management Office  483 decentralized states  36–​7 decolonization  75–​6, 85–​6, 94–​8, 407–​8,  623 anticolonial newspapers  376–​7 of the Church  55 discontent with outcome of  622 elections and  322–​3 women’s anticolonial resistance movement  80–​1, 103–​4, 107–​12,  128–​30 see also anticolonial imagination in Nigerian novels Deeper Christian Life Ministry  57 deforestation  136–​40,  161n5 De Gramont, D.  480, 484 Della Porta, Donatella  567–​8 Democracy Day  438 democratic transitions  174, 260–​4, 324–​5 annulment of June  12, 1993 election 97, 175, 182, 184, 186, 204n3, 264, 279, 325, 329, 337, 374, 379, 397–​8, 418–​19, 511, 673 civil society and  379, 382 Fourth Republic  185–​6, 264, 274, 279–​80, 354–​5, 379, 382, 497, 722 military’s preference for presidentialism  180, 214, 260–​4 Second Republic  179–​80, 213–​15, 261–​2, 509,  630–​1 transitional justice  279–​80 Department of Petroleum Resources (DPR) 153 derivation principle  158, 179, 183, 185, 198, 227, 308–​9, 436–​7, 478t, 479, 485, 514, 536 devaluation, currency  496, 497, 510, 511 development planning  150, 477, 507 Dezalay, Y.  647 Diani, Mario  567–​8

770   Index Dibal, Adamu  590 DiChristopher, T.  648 Dickson, Seriake  358 Dikibo, Aminasoari  463 Dikkibo, Godwin  362 Direct Data Capture (DDC) machines  337–​8 Directorate of Civil–​Military Affairs (DCMA) 282 Directorate of State Security (DSS)  266,  312–​13 Distributable Pool Account  179, 506 Diya, Oladipo  185 doctrine of necessity  233, 303–​4, 357 Dodd-​Frank Act (2010), US  529 Dokubo, Alhaji Mujahideen Asari  645, 646 Doma, Bello  589 Dosumu, Wahab  362 Drescher, Seymour  66 drought  143–​4, 158–​60,  159f Drug Access Initiative  550 dual mandate  78, 95, 99, 138 dual-​sex model  106, 108 Dudley, Billy J.  671 Duke-​Abiola, Zainab  359 Duke, Donald  308, 356 Dunn, Kevin  670 Dunu, I. V.  380 Durham University  703 Dutch disease  142, 477, 504, 528 East Africa campaign  701 Ebola 149 ECA see Excess Crude Account (ECA) Echeruo, Michael J. C.  628 Ecological Fund  153, 360 ECOMOG see Economic Community of West African States Monitoring Group (ECOMOG) Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC)  231, 266, 289, 293–​8, 356, 459, 514–​15,  534–​5 Economic Commission for Africa  524 Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS)  443, 477, 720, 724 Economic Community of West African States Monitoring Group (ECOMOG)  655

economic inequality  146 economic recession  145, 182, 217, 395, 723–​4 Economic Recovery and Growth Plan  538 economy colonial period  81–​2 informal  483–​4,  703 macroeconomic management  493–​4, 508, 511, 517 see also fiscal policy; revenue ECOWAS see Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) Ecuador  448, 449 education colonial period  82, 83–​4, 699–​700, 702–​3 Islamic  702,  708–​9 see also Western education Education Tax  200 Edun, Adegboyega  94 EFCC see Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) Efuru (Nwapa)  121, 128–​30, 131 Egbe Omo Oduduwa  86, 89, 96, 373 Egbesu Boys  276, 658 Egwu, Samuel  224, 377 Egypt  709, 711 Egyptian Brotherhood  591 EITI see Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI) Ejigbo Pepper Sodomy case  459 Ekarte, Daniels G.  57 Ekechi, Felix  51, 121 Ekeh, Peter  130, 171, 186, 668–​9, 670 Ekpemupolo, ‘Government’  645, 646 Ekwueme, Alex  355, 433, 631, 632, 634 Elaigwu, J. I.  176, 197 elections  319–​32 2015 general election  284–​5, 291–​2, 326, 331, 332n7, 333n10, 336, 346, 352, 357, 358–​9, 360, 362–​3, 381, 382, 383, 384, 430, 434, 482, 516–​17, 599 annulment of June  12, 1993 election 97, 175, 182, 184, 186, 204n3, 264, 279, 325, 329, 337, 374, 379, 397–​8, 419, 511, 673 assembly members  224 causes of volatility  327–​9 civil society activism  380, 381, 382–​3 colonial period  320–​3, 321t

Index   771 communal tensions and  328 first-​past-​the-​post (FPTP)  224, 236,  429 First Republic  212, 321t, 322–​4, 337, 624 Fourth Republic  236, 267, 284–​5, 291–​2, 296, 307, 322t, 326, 330–​1, 332n7, 333n10, 336–​48, 351–​2, 354–​9, 360, 361, 362–​3, 380, 381, 382, 383, 384, 420, 430, 434, 482, 516–​ 17, 599, 645 fraud and violence  212, 216, 263, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327–​9, 337–​9, 340, 515, 624, 679 informal security groups  655–​6 judicial intervention  215, 326, 338–​9, 340, 342–​3,  348 under military rule  97, 175, 182, 184, 186, 204n3, 215, 264, 279, 322t, 324–​5, 329, 337, 374, 379, 397–​8, 418, 631 Plurality Plus voting system  429 Second Republic  216, 263, 322t, 325–​6, 337, 632 universal adult suffrage  115, 322, 332n2 zoning and rotation arrangements  346–​5, 357, 359, 362–​3, 430, 437, 539n7 see also electoral reform Electoral Act (2001)  309–​10 Electoral Act (2006)  338, 339, 340 electoral commissions  322, 329–​31 see also Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC); National Electoral Commission (NEC) electoral reform  236, 326, 329–​31, 336–​48, 484 appeals and petitions  340, 342–​3 assembly legislation  227–​8 ballot systems  330–​1 candidate selection  339–​40, 341–​2, 346–​7,  348 civil society and  340, 343–​5, 347–​8 drivers of  343–​7 election procedures  341 electoral gender quotas  442, 443, 450–​1 Electoral Reform Act (2010)  340–​3 Electronic Voting System (EVS)  326, 331 party primaries  342, 343, 346–​7, 348 reform agenda  339–​40,  346–​7 technology use  326, 331, 337–​8, 345–​6 tenure  343, 347 voter registration  331, 341, 345–​6 Electoral Reform Act (2010)  340–​3

Electoral Reform Committee (ERC)  117, 236, 330, 339–​40, 341 Electoral Reform Network (ERN)  340, 344, 379 Electronic Voting System (EVS)  326, 331 Eltis, D.  66, 69 Emecheta, Buchi  131 emergency rule  597 Eminent Persons Group (EPG)  720–​1, 723 Enahoro, Anthony  97, 99 Engene Youth Assembly  643 Engerman, S. L.  63, 63–​4, 66 English language  26 English-​language literacy  699–​700,  706 Eni  536, 537, 745–​6 Eniyindudu Community vigilante group  658 Enough is Enough  380 Enugu Colliery Strike (1949)  708 Environmental Guidelines and Standards for the Petroleum Industry in Nigeria (EGASPIN) 153 Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) Act (1992)  150, 151 environmental legislation  135, 150–​2, 162n17, 162n19 environment and ecology  133–​60, 134f climate change  134, 143, 144–​5, 159–​60, 159f colonial period  137, 138–​40, 141–​2, 161n10 drought  143–​4, 158–​60,  159f environmental governance  144–​5,  146–​54 forests and deforestation  136–​40, 161n5 historical perspectives  140–​5 legislation  135, 150–​2, 162n17, 162n19 neo-​Malthusian environmentalism  143, 143f oil and gas industry  137, 142, 145, 146, 148–​ 9, 152–​3, 161n5, 162n18, 162n22, 530, 536, 639–​41,  642 regional insurgencies and  154–​60, 159f, 639–​41,  642 resilience discourse  145, 161n12 resource curse thesis  145 sea-​level rise  160 state capabilities  146–​54 urbanization  83, 142–​3, 145 water and sanitation  147, 151, 153–​4, 160n1, 163n23

772   Index Enwerem, Iheanyi  578 Enyindudu Community Vigilante Group  652t EPG see Eminent Persons Group (EPG) epochs  171, 186 ERC see Electoral Reform Committee (ERC) ERN see Electoral Reform Network (ERN) Erzeel, S.  452–​3 Esigie  48–​9 Essien, E.  244 Essiet, Victor  412–​13 Eternal Order of Cherubim and Seraphim  53 Ethiopia 703 Ethiopianism  53, 58 ethnic and tribal organizations  89 ethnic associations  371, 371t, 373–​4, 383 ethnic groups  427 see also Hausa–​Fulani ethnic group; Igbo ethnic group; Yoruba ethnic group ethnicity  666–​7, 668, 669 ethnic justice  665–​6 ethnic nationalism  665 ethno-​religious conflict  681–​2 ethno-​tribal conflict  682–​4 Etteh, Patricia  269 European Union  665 European Union Election Observation Mission  338, 346 Excess Crude Account (ECA)  481–​2, 497, 498, 534 exchange rate management  508, 513, 517 executive power  210, 257–​7 1 development of presidentialism under military rule  180, 213–​14, 260–​4 executive–​judiciary relations  266–​7 executive–​legislature relations  224, 235,  266–​9 First Republic  208, 210, 213 fragile nature of parliamentary system  258–​60 hyper-​presidentialism  263,  264–​70 imposition of legislative leaders by executive  267–​8,  268–​9 legislative oversight  229–​32, 265 legislative power and  223, 225, 227, 228, 235 presidential decrees  266 presidential veto  223, 227, 228, 235 Second Republic  214, 216, 262–​3 state governors  271

underrepresentation of women  114 veto over eligibility for presidential office  673, 675 exports to China  750, 751t, 752–​3t, 755–​4, 754t oil  525, 526f ex-​servicemen, neglect of  707 Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI)  158, 298, 379, 512, 529 extrajudicial killings  279, 280–​1, 460, 463, 464, 466, 594–​5 ExxonMobil  535, 537 Eze, Nduka  708 Fabian, Johannes  124 face marks  29–​30 Fage, J. D.  68, 572 Faith Tabernacle  53 Fajuyi, Adekunle  178 Fajuyi, Francis Adekunle  624 Falae, Olu  186 Falola, Toyin  108, 109, 111, 112, 121, 572, 573,  574–​5 Family Health International  551 family violence laws  444–​5 famine  143–​4 Fanon, Frantz  407, 410 farmer–​pastoralist conflict  679, 680–​1, 685, 686–​7,  689 Fashek, Majek  413–​15 Fashola, Babatunde Raji  480–​1, 674, 728 Fasona, M. J.  681 Fawehinmi, Gani  362 Federal Character Commission  185 federal character principle  176, 180, 428–​9, 667, 668–​9, 670 Federal Constitution (1954)  99 Federal Department of Forestry  136 Federal Electoral Commission (FEDECO) 329 Federal Environmental Protection Agency (FEPA)  135,  150–​1 Federal Inland Revenue Service Establishment (FIRS) Act (2007)  200 Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS)  200, 201–​3,  483

Index   773 federalism  76, 86, 427–​30, 683–​4 First Republic  190–​1, 194–​5,  258–​60 Fourth Republic  193–​4, 196–​7, 223 military rule  175–​7, 191–​3, 276, 506 new regionalism  437 resource control and  479–​82 restructuring and  436, 437 Second Republic  195–​6 women’s rights and  445–​50, 451 Federalist Movement of Nigeria (FMN)  436 Federation Account  179, 180, 183, 184, 185, 198–​9, 198t, 199t Federation of Muslim Women’s Associations in Nigeria (FOMWAM)  113, 340 Federici, S.  110 Feinstein, A.  476 Fenoaltea, S.  69, 70 fertility rates  135, 142, 147 Festival of Arts and Culture (1977)  477 Financial Action Task Force (FATF)  293 Financial Times 749 FIRS see Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) First Bank Nigeria Plc.  203 First Ogoni Day  640–​1 first-​past-​the-​post (FPTP) elections  224, 236, 429 First Republic  623 Commonwealth and  714, 715–​17 duration of  263 elections  212, 321t, 322–​4, 337, 624 executive power  208, 210, 212 federalism  190–​1, 194–​5,  258–​60 foreign policy  716–​17 fragile nature of parliamentary system  258–​60 January 1966 coup  25, 174–​5, 177, 304, 620–​ 2, 624, 672, 717 judiciary 303 labor regime  390–​3 legislature  207, 208–​13,  218–​19 marketing boards  190–​1, 195 neopatrimonialism  190–​1 reasons for collapse of  210–​13, 258–​60 subnational government  190–​1,  194–​5 women’s status and movements  116 First World War  84, 700–​1

fiscal federalism  196, 197–​204, 270, 473, 481 distribution of oil revenues  196, 197–​9, 198t, 199t,  506–​7 tax system  199–​203, 201t fiscal policy  491–​501, 508, 517 colonial period  474 future challenges  500 history of in Nigeria  494–​9 monetary policy and  493–​4 oil-​price based rule  497, 498–​9, 500 in resource-​rich poor countries  493 theoretical overview  491–​4 Fodio, Usman Dan  21, 23, 42–​3, 570–​2, 578, 585 “Fogel–​Engerman Thesis”  62,  63–​5 Fogel, R. W.  63–​4 Foi, Buji  464, 595 FOMWAM see Federation of Muslim Women’s Associations in Nigeria (FOMWAM) food shortages  143–​4, 705 forced labor  82, 705 foreign policy  179, 715, 716, 723 South Africa and Rhodesia  716–​17, 719–​21 Forest Management Committees (FMCs)  140 forests and deforestation  136–​40, 161n5 Fossil Resources  535 Four-​Square Gospel Church  732 Fourth Constitution Alteration Bill  223, 228–​ 9, 233, 235 Fourth Republic  221–​37 anticorruption efforts  292–​9 assessing legislative performance  226–​34 Biafran secessionist revival  433–​4, 634 committee system  231 Commonwealth and  723–​5 elections  236, 2698, 284–​5, 291–​2, 296, 307, 322t, 326, 330–​1, 332n7, 333n10, 336–​48, 351–​2, 354–​9, 360, 361, 362–​3, 380, 381, 382, 383, 384, 420, 430, 434, 482, 516–​17, 599, 645 federalism  193–​4, 196–​7,  223 Igbo discontent  634 judicial powers and independence  305–​7 judicial role  307–​11 labor regime  401–​4 legislative enactments  226–​9

774   Index Fourth Republic (Cont.) legislative oversight  229–​32, 265 legislative powers  222–​6, 235 legislative reform proposals  235–​6 neopatrimonialism  193–​4, 378, 382 northern Nigeria’s control of political power 673 oil revenues  196, 197–​9, 198t, 199t,  512–​18 prebendalism  225–​6 representation and constituency service  232–​4 revenue  479–​85 subnational government  193–​4,  196–​7 trade unions  401–​4 transition to  185–​6, 264, 274, 279–​80, 354–​5, 379, 382, 497, 722 women’s status and movements  116–​17 Fowler, Tunde  480 FPTP see first-​past-​the-​post (FPTP) elections France  407–​8, 613, 665, 675, 718 Fraser, Malcolm  720 Freedom in the World Index  467 freedom of assembly  460, 465 Freedom of Information Act  299, 379 freedom of press and expression  460, 465,  467–​8 freedom of religion  245, 460, 467 free speech  457 Freetown, Sierra Leone  50–​1 fuel subsidies  232, 297, 344, 380–​1, 397, 464–​5, 496, 498, 516, 525, 535–​6 Fugu, Baba  464, 595 Fulfulde language  22, 23, 26 Fyle, Magbaily  51 Gabon  407–​8 Galadima, Suleiman  313 Gallman, R. E.  63, 64 Gallwey Treaty (1892)  44 Gambari, Ibrahim  715, 724 Gambia, The  724 Gambo, Sawa  106 Gandhi, Mahatma  706 Gardawa  575, 579n3 Garth, B. G.  647 Garveyism  701–​2,  709

Garvey, Marcus  701–​2 Gboyega, Alex  524, 673 Gbulie, Ben  622 Gemade, Barnabas  362 Gemery, H. A.  69 gender equality see women’s rights and representation Gender Parity and Prohibition of Violence against Women Bill (2016)  441 General Strike (1945)  85 George, Biobele A.  468 George, Olabode  355 George, Olakunle  128 Gerlach, Luther  568 Ghana 717 Gikandi, Simon  122 Giwa Barracks incident  281 Giwa, Dele  279 Glissant, Edouard  124 global connections  98, 699–​7 11 First World War  700–​1 Great Depression  703 interwar years  701–​4 postwar years  707–​9 Second World War  704–​7 Global Financial Integrity  537 Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria  547, 552, 554, 555, 558 Global Witness  529 Gold Coast  703 Goldie, George  78 government spending  492, 493, 495–​6, 498, 499, 507 Governors’ Forum  270, 358, 482, 483 Gowon, Yakubu  56, 173, 174, 175, 176, 178–​9, 191–​2, 291, 437, 506, 509, 624–​30, 672, 718,  719–​20 Graf, W. D.  174 grassroots peacebuilding  689 grazing routes and reserves  686–​7 Great Depression  82, 666, 703 Great Nigeria People’s Party (GNPP)  214–​15 Greene, K.  352 groundnuts  81, 476, 705 Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC) 608 Grove, Richard  141, 161n10

Index   775 growth strategies  507–​8 Guardian  457, 749 Guha, R.  104 Gumi, Mahmud Abubakar  586, 709 Guobadia, Osahon  306–​7 Gusau, Aliyu  355 Guyer, Jane I.  476, 478–​9 hadith  244, 587, 601n1, 671 Hafez, Mohammed  568 Hale, Henry E.  667 Haraji (head or poll tax)  475, 477 Harare Declaration  722 Harms, Robert  69 Harnischfeger, Johannes  243 Harris, D.  743 Harrison, G.  753 Hart, Christopher  325–​6 Harvard School of Public Health  547, 551 Hashim, Y.  388, 394 Hassim, S.  443 Hausa–​Fulani ethnic group  26, 427 claim to right to rule Nigeria  671, 672–​3 colonial rule and  24, 76, 702 nationalism 89 pastoralists  680–​1,  686–​7 political parties  208, 215 sharia  240, 249, 250–​1 slave trade and  61 Hausa language  23, 24, 25, 26 Hausa states  20–​1, 38–​9, 42–​3, 570–​2, 585 Hayat b. Said  573, 578, 586 Hayes, Calton J. H.  665 health services  82, 556–​8 see also HIV/​AIDS Heavily Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) Initiative 513 Hegel, G. W. F.  370 Henry Willink Minorities Commission (1957)  428, 433 “heroic masculinities”  569 Hewitt, Edward  78 Hickey, Raymond  575, 576 Higazi, Adam  594, 688, 689, 690 hisba (vigilante groups)  432 Hiskett, Mervyn  570, 575

Hitler, Adolf  705 HIV/​AIDS  545–​60 90–​90–​90targets  553,  559 AIDS Prevention Initiative in Nigeria (APIN)  547,  550–​1 antiretroviral therapy (ART)  548, 549–​52, 551f, 553, 556, 557–​8, 559 coverage of healthcare services  557 current situational analysis  552–​3, 552f efficiency of program  558 expenditures and financing  547, 550, 551–​2, 551f, 554–​6, 554f,  559–​60 health system development and service delivery  556–​8 high-​risk groups  546, 552, 557 history of response to  546–​52 HIV counseling and testing (HCT) program 553 multisectoral systems  558–​9 National Antiretroviral Therapy Program  549–​52, 551f, 553, 556, 557–​8, 559 Presidential Emergency Program for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR)  547, 551, 554, 555, 558 prevalence  547, 556, 557 prevalence by state  547, 548f prevention of mother-​to-​child transmission (PMTCT)  549–​50, 553, 555, 557 quality of care  557–​8 HIV/​AIDS Fund  558 HIV Program Development Project  555, 558 Hobsbawm, Eric  644 Hodgkins, Thomas  570 Hogendorn, J. S.  69, 573 hometown associations  83 Honest Accounts  729 “honeypot” effect  504 Hong Kong  448 Hopkins, A. G.  68 Host Community Bill  538 House of Docemo  702, 710 House of Representatives  99, 114, 209, 215, 223, 340, 351–​4t see also legislature Houses of Assembly  195, 196, 239, 270, 305, 340 HRVIC see Human Rights Violations Investigation Commission (HRVIC)

776   Index Hu Jintao  749 humanitarian crisis  613–​15 human poverty index  147 human rights and human rights violations  457–​69 1999 constitution  246, 307, 458, 459, 460 Baga killings  281, 464 bloggers 468 Boko Haram insurgency and  280–​1, 459, 460, 464, 465, 466, 594–​5, 596–​7 Choba rape atrocity  461 extrajudicial killings  279, 280–​1, 460, 463, 464, 466, 594–​5 freedom of assembly  460, 465 freedom of press and expression  460, 465,  467–​8 free speech  457 Giwa Barracks incident  281 informal security groups  459, 596, 655–​6,  690 judicial intervention  307 under military rule  279–​80, 457, 458, 641, 721, 722 National Human Rights Commission (NHRC)  228, 459, 466, 469 normative framework for protection of`  458–​9 Occupy Nigeria Protest  464–​5 Odi massacre  280, 461 passport seizures  463 political assassinations  463 under President Buhari  282, 467–​8, 469 under President Jonathan  281, 464–​6,  595–​6 under President Obasanjo  279–​80, 457–​8, 461–​3,  749 under President Yar’Adua  280–​1, 464 religious freedom  245, 460, 467 sexual minorities  229, 465 sharia and  245–​6, 460, 462–​3 torture  459, 463, 656 transitional justice  279–​80 unlawful detention  279, 459, 467 Zaki Ibiam massacre  280, 461–​2 human rights organizations  282, 378 Human Rights Violations Investigation Commission (HRVIC)  279–​80,  457–​8

Human Rights Watch  314–​15, 459, 461, 462, 463, 464, 466, 584, 685, 687, 690 Hunters Association  652t Hunt, Sir David  626 Hunwick, J. O.  571 al-​Husayn, Ibrahim Saleh  593 Huseini, Safiya  462 Al Hussein, Zeid Ra’ad  614 Hutchful, E.  173 Hydroelectric Power Producing Areas Development Commission (HYPPADEC) 233 hyper-​presidentialism  263,  264–​70 Ibn Abi Zayd  702 Ibn Baaz, Ibn Abdallah  592 Ibn Said  38 Ibn Taymiyyah, Ahmad  591, 592 Ibori, James  296–​7 Ibo State Union  89 Ibrahim, Jibrin  221 Ibrahim, Omar Farouk  573, 577 ICPC see Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) Idahosa, Benson  736 identities  25–​31 face marks  29–​30 group  28–​9 names 30 personal  29–​31 slave status  29 identity politics  76 Idiagbon, Tunde  181, 292 Idoko, John  549 IDPs see internally displaced persons (IDPs) Ifeajuna, Emmanuel Arinze  620–​1, 622, 623 Igbo ethnic group  427, 433–​4, 634 archeological artifacts  36 Christianity 51 colonial rule and  76, 79, 81, 86 ethnic political solidarity  675 massacres of  25, 178, 624–​5 nationalism  89, 90 slave trade and  60–​1 women’s status  106, 108

Index   777 see also Biafran secessionist revival; Nigerian Civil War and Biafran secession Ige, Bola  362, 463 IGR see internally generated revenue (IGR), states Ihejirika, Onyeabor Azubuike  282 Ijaw Youth Council (IYC)  157, 642–​4, 645 Ijebu Kingdom  92 Ikoku, S. G.  632 Ikoli, Ernest  705 Iliffe, John  745, 747 Imam, Abubakar  704 IMF see International Monetary Fund (IMF) immunity clause  307–​8 IMN see Islamic Movement of Nigeria (IMN) Imo, Cyril O.  577 Imoudu, Michael  705, 707 import substitution industrialization (ISI)  507–​8 income tax see Companies Income Tax; Personal Income Tax independence  75, 86, 98–​100, 208, 623, 714,  715–​16 see also decolonization; First Republic Independence Constitution (1960)  94, 99, 208, 209, 210, 303 Independence Day  438–​9 Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC)  293, 514 Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC)  284, 326, 329–​30, 331, 337–​8, 339, 340, 341, 342, 344, 345–​6, 348 India  430, 706, 708 indigeneity and citizenship  633, 664–​76 centralization and decentralization and  667–​70 claim to right to rule Nigeria  670–​3, 674–​5,  676 development of indigeneity under colonial rule  666–​7 distribution and  667–​8, 669, 675 federal character principle  667, 668–​9, 670 land tenure and land use  669–​70 quota principle  629, 668–​9 territorial claims by indigeneity  670, 674, 676

indigenization program  507 Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB)  100, 266, 276, 434, 634, 648 indigenous versus settler conflict  682–​4 indirect rule philosophy  75, 78–​81, 83, 84 Industrial and Commercial Bank of China Ltd (ICBC) 756 Industrial Revolution, slave trade and  62,  65–​6 INEC see Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) inflation  412, 508, 511, 513, 576 informal economy  483–​4, 703 informal security groups  652–​61, 654t citizen’s engagement in  658–​61 Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF)  283, 596–​ 7, 653, 652t, 656, 657–​8 conflict prevention and resolution  690 funding of  655, 660 gender representation  657 human rights violations  459, 596, 656, 690 legal frameworks for  654–​5, 661 membership and recruitment process  653–​4 mixed youth patrols  690 mode of operation  656 see also vigilante groups ING see Interim National Government (ING) Inikori, Joseph  65, 67 Inspector General of Police  294–​5 Institute of Development and Education for Africa 755 integral nationalism  665, 675 Interfaith Mediation Centre  378, 384 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC)  145, 160 Interim National Government (ING)  182, 184, 398 internally displaced persons (IDPs)  614–​15,  685 internally generated revenue (IGR), states  480–​2, 481t, 484, 485, 526, 527t International Committee of the Red Cross 282 international connections see global connections International Crisis Group  584

778   Index International Monetary Fund (IMF)  146, 182, 397, 510, 511, 513, 514, 515, 647, 744 intimidation of judges  315 IPCC see Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) IPOB see Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) Iraboh, Nduka  457 Iraq 511 Irele, Abiola  131 Isa, Zakariya  597 ISI see import-​substituting industrialization (ISI) Isichei, Elizabeth  51, 575 ISIS  599, 605, 607, 609–​11 Islam  585–​9 Christian fear of Islamization  586, 588 colonial period  572, 585, 702 Jama’atu Nasril Islam (JNI)  374, 573, 682, 709 Muslim–​Christian conflict  48, 283, 414, 441, 463, 464, 633, 682, 684, 690, 739 Islamic Bank  243 Islamic education  702, 708–​9 Islamic fundamentalism  568, 569 see also Islamic social movements Islamic jihad  568–​9 Usman Dan Fodio jihad  21, 23, 42–​3, 570–​2, 578, 585 see also Boko Haram insurgency Islamic law see sharia Islamic Movement of Nigeria (IMN)  155, 266, 283, 467, 587–​8 Islamic social movements  567–​79, 586–​8, 682 definitions and concepts  567–​9 foreign elements and religious-​induced migrations  577–​8 Izala movement  246, 250, 576, 586, 593, 682 Mahdism  573–​4, 578, 579, 586, 709 Maitatsine movement  574–​7, 578, 579, 587, 592, 682 poverty and  569, 576 Satiru rebellion  573–​4, 578, 586 Usman Dan Fodio jihad  21, 23, 42–​3, 570–​2, 579, 585 see also Boko Haram insurgency Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS)  599, 605, 607,  609–​11 Islamic umma  246–​7,  578

Isoko Development Union (IDU)  669 Isoko ethnic group  427, 669 Isumonah, V. Adefemi  670 ISWAP (ISIS’s West African Province)  605, 611, 612 Ita, Eyo  675 Italy 703 Iwu, Maurice  337–​8, 339, 345 Iyase 93 Iyayi, F.  325 IYC see Ijaw Youth Council (IYC) Izala movement  246, 250, 576, 586, 593, 682 Jackson, John Payne  94 Jacobsen, Douglas  733 Jaja, King of Opobo  78, 89, 93 Jakande, Alhaji Lateef  421 Jama’atu Nasril Islam (JNI)  374, 573, 682, 709 Jangali (cattle tax)  475, 477 Jangebe, Buba  462 Jarmiyar Mutanen Arewa  89 Jega, Attahiru  344, 345, 346 Jemibewon, David  355 Jeter, Howard  275 jihad see Islamic jihad Jimoh, A. A.  210 JNI see Jama’atu Nasril Islam (JNI) Johnson, C. P.  107, 108 Johnson, E. H.  56 Johnson, James  52, 93 Johnson, Tejumade Osholake  94 Johnston, H. A. S.  570, 571 Joint Action Committee (JAC)  391 Joint Task Force (JTF) Boko Haram insurgency  281, 465–​6, 595 Niger Delta insurgency  277–​9, 646 see also Multi-​National Joint Task Force (MNJTF) Joint Tax Board (JTB)  202–​3 Joint Venture arrangements  145, 537 Jonathan, Goodluck 2015 general election  284–​5, 358–​9, 360, 362–​3,  599 Boko Haram insurgency  281, 595–​6, 599 China and  748, 750

Index   779 Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) and  374, 375 conflict with Obasanjo  284–​5 corruption under  297 electoral reform  341 Excess Crude Account use  481–​2 foreign policy  723 fuel subsidies and Occupy Nigeria Protest  380–​1, 464–​5,  516 human rights under  281, 464–​6, 595–​6 Justice Ayo Salami and  312, 317n18 National Conference (2014)  435–​6 observation missions to Tanzania  724 oil and gas industry  748, 750 People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and  355, 356–​9, 360, 363, 534 presidential veto  223, 228 transfer of presidential power to  233, 356 as vice president  233, 357, 516, 673 Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act (VAPP) 114 zoning arrangements and  357, 359, 362–​3, 539n7 Jonathan, Patience  357–​8 Jones, N.  442 Joseph, Osayomore  418–​21 Joseph, Richard  225, 673 JTF see Joint Task Force (JTF) Judicial Commission of Inquiry  467 judiciary  302–​16 alkali courts  702 area court system  240–​1 “blue pencil rule”  310 corruption in  266, 311–​13 derivation principle cases  308–​9 environmental cases  153 executive–​judiciary relations  266–​7 First Republic  303 heavy caseloads and lack of speedy trials  314 human rights cases  307 immunity clause cases  307–​8 inadequate infrastructure  314–​15 intergovernmental dispute cases  308–​10 intervention in elections  215, 326, 338–​9, 340, 342–​3, 348 intimidation and manipulation of judges 315

legislature and  309–​10 under military rule  303–​5 National Judicial Council (NJC)  305–​6, 311–​12,  313 oil spill cases  153 powers and independence since 1999  305–​7 reform proposals  312 role since 1999  307–​11 Second Republic  302–​3, 304 state courts  306 see also sharia Justice 4 All program 657, 659 Kachallah, Mala  588 Kachikwu, Ibe  750 Kaduna Mafia  175 Kaduna Refining and Petrochemicals Company  746, 747 Kaiama Declaration (1998)  157, 642, 643 Kaigama, Ignatius  374 Kala Kato  587 Kala Kato riot  577 Kalare Youth Group  652t, 658 Kalu, Ogbu Uke  47, 53, 55, 56, 58, 729–​30 Kanamma commune  589–​90 Kanem–​Bornu Empire  39–​40, 585, 611 Kano, Aminu  476 Kano Chronicles  38 Kanu, Ndubuisi  97 Kanu, Nnamdi  266, 434 Kanuri language  23, 26 Kashara’a, Bashir  594 Kastfelt, Niels  54 Katsina-​Alu, Aloysius  311–​12 Katsina, Danjuma  468 Kazah-​Toure, Toure  577 Keller, Edmond J.  670 Kenyatta, Jomo  670 Kew, Darren  370 Khalil b. Ishaq al-​Jundi  702 Khan, Mushtaq  531 khawarij  592, 594 kidnapping Boko Haram  598, 608 expatriate oil workers  646, 750 precolonial period  29–​30

780   Index Kimono, Ras  416–​17 Klein, Naomi  641 Kopytoff, I.  69 Koran  244, 282, 587, 601n1, 671 Korieh, Chima J.  130 Kortenaar, Neil ten  127 Kosoko, King of Lagos  89 Kukah, H. M.  374 Kukah, Matthew Hassan  578 Kulibwui 54 Kuti, Fela  406, 408 Kuti, Femi  421–​2 Kuti, Fumilayo Ransome  112, 115 Kutigi, Idris  310, 435 Kuwait 511 Kyari, Abubakar  594 labor regimes  387–​404 defined 388 democratic neoliberalizing labor regime  401–​4 military despotic labor regime  398–​401 post-​independence labor regime  390–​3 quasi-​corporatist state–​labor pact  393–​6 quasi-​corporatist state–​labor pact with neoliberalizing military regime  396–​8 labor unions see trade unions Labour and Civil Society Coalition  402 Labour Party  397, 403 Labour Unity Forum (LUF)  376 Ladies Progressive Club  110 Lagbaja  417–​18 Lagos Commonwealth summit (1966)  717, 719 Lagos Daily News 702 Lagos Internal Revenue Service (LIRS)  480 Lagos Market Women’s Association (LMWA)  110, 111 Lagos Weekly Record 699 Lagos Women’s League  110 Lagos Youth Movement  85 Lakanmi case  303–​4 Lake Chad Basin Commission  606 Lancaster House Agreement  720, 725n3 land tenure and land use  669–​70 Land Use Act (1978)  478, 670, 674 languages  19, 23, 24, 25–​6, 28, 408

Largema, Abogo  621 Lar, J.  688, 689 Larson, Charles  122 Laski, Harold  704 Last, Murray  246, 570, 571, 572 Lawal, Mohammed  355 Lawan, Abubakar  155 Lawan, Faruk  268 Lawson, L.  299 Laye, Camara  122 Leamer, E.  744 LeBas, Adrienne  484 legislation assembly  226–​9 environmental  135, 150–​2, 162n17, 162n19 legislature  226–​9 oil-​sector  229, 517, 523–​4, 537, 538 taxation  200–​1 women’s rights  114 Legislative Council for Nigeria  85, 86, 94–​5,  702 elections to  320–​3, 321t legislature  207–​19 assessing legislative performance  226–​34 committee system  231 composition by party  351–​4t election system  224 executive–​legislature relations  224, 235,  267–​9 executive power and  223, 225, 227, 228, 235 First Republic  207, 208–​13, 218–​19 foundations and limitations of power  222–​6,  265 Fourth Republic  221–​37 imposition of legislative leaders by executive  267, 267, 268–​9 judiciary and  309–​10 lawmaking by  226–​9, 265, 309–​10 oversight powers  229–​32, 265 prebendalism  225–​6 public disaffection with  234 reform proposals  235–​6 representation and constituency service  232–​4 Second Republic  207, 213–​19, 267 underrepresentation of women  114, 234 Legum, Colin  625

Index   781 Lenshie, Nsemba E.  633 Le Pen, Marine  665 lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community  229, 465 Lewis, Arthur  744 Lewis, Peter  190, 192, 222 Liberia 732 life expectancy  147 Lincoln University  704, 706 Linz, Juan  262 literacy  699–​700,  706 female 147 Little, William  567 Living Faith Church  57 Living Faith Church Worldwide  736, 737 Local Agencies for Control of AIDS (LACAs) 558 local democracy  426 Local Government Committees on Revenue Collection 202 Local Government Revenue Monitoring Act 309 local governments  195, 196–​7, 309–​10, 480, 484,  683–​4 conflict prevention and resolution  688–​9 HIV/​AIDS  558 informal security groups and  659–​60 oil revenues  198–​9, 198t, 199t power-​sharing and inclusion policies  688–​9 taxation  199–​203 London School of Economics  704 Lovejoy, Paul E.  62, 573 Lubeck, Paul  192, 240, 575 Ludwig, Frieder  53, 247 Lugard, Frederick  78, 79–​80, 84, 94, 95, 99 Lusaka Declaration on Racism and Racial Prejudice 719 Lyttleton Constitution (1954)  86, 99 Macaulay, Herbert Samuel  85, 95, 701, 702, 703–​4, 705, 706, 708, 710 Maccido, Alhaji Muhammadu  250 MacDonald, Claude  79 MacDonald, Malcolm  625–​6 MacDonald, Ramsay  626

McGregor, William  79 Macionis, J. J.  568 Macpherson Constitution (1951)  86, 99, 708 macroeconomic management  493–​4, 508, 511, 517 see also fiscal policy Madunagu, B. E.  116 Magu, Ibrahim  231 Mahadi, Abdullahi  570 Mahdavy, H.  526 Mahdism  573.–​574, 578, 579, 586, 709 Mahdist Caliphate  573 Mahood, M. M.  122 Mailman School of Public Health  551 Maimalari, Zakari  621 Mai Rigan Karfe  574 Maitatsine movement  574–​7, 578, 579, 587, 592, 682 Makafo, Saybu Dan  573–​4, 578 Makerere Conference (1962)  126 Mali  607, 613 Maliki law  702 malnutrition 147 Malu, Victor  274–​5, 278, 280, 462 Mandators  412–​13 Mark, David  269, 355 marketing boards  190–​1, 195, 703, 705 Marshall, Harry  362 Marwa, Muhammadu  574–​7, 578, 586, 587 Masari, Aminu Bello  268 Mashi, Mansur  468 MASSOB see Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) maternal mortality  556 Maternus, Julius  25 Mauritania 608 Mbadiwe, Kingsley Ozuomba  704 Mbakwe, Sam  631, 668 Mbanefo, Sir Louis  630 Mbembe, Achille  644 Mbu, Joseph  465 Mbula people  54 media  376–​7 anticolonial newspapers  376–​7 anticorruption efforts and  294, 298–​9, 376 corruption pressures  377

782   Index media (Cont.) freedom of press  460, 465, 467–​8 under military rule  279 violence against  279, 460, 465, 597 Medical and Health Workers Union of Nigeria (NHWUN) 399t Menbutu Boys  643 MEND see Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) Mentan, T.  743 Mercy Corps  681, 685 Merry, S. E.  448, 449 meso-​level women’s policy agencies (MWPAs)  442, 443–​4, 445 Methodist Mission  51 Meyer, J. R.  63 Middle Belt communal conflict  679–​92 community-​level initiatives  689–​90 conflict prevention and resolution  686–​91 early warning systems  690–​1 economic costs  685 ethno-​religious conflict  681–​2 ethno-​tribal conflict  682–​4 extent and implications of  684–​6 grassroots peacebuilding  689 grazing routes and reserves  686–​7 internally displaced persons (IDPs)  685 judicial commissions of inquiry  687–​8 local government-​level initiatives  688–​9 loss of life  685 national initiatives  686–​7 pastoralist–​farmer conflict  679, 680–​1, 685, 686–​7,  689 power-​sharing and inclusion policies  688–​9 state-​level initiatives  687–​8 traditional leaders’ role in conflict resolution  689–​90 vigilante groups  690 middle class  83–​5, 146 Middle Zone League  56 Miers, S.  69 migration colonial period  666 religion and  57 religious-​induced  577–​8 rural–​urban  83,  142

Mikell, Gwendolyn  106 Miles, William F. S.  672 military–​civil relations see civil–​military relations military coups  171, 274 April 1990 coup  175, 182, 277 August 1985 coup  175, 181, 292, 511, 632 December 1983 coup  175, 181, 192, 263, 292, 304, 510, 632, 672 December 1985 coup  182 December 1997 coup attempt  185 February 1976 coup  175, 179, 291 January 1966 coup  25, 174–​5, 177, 304, 620–​ 2, 624, 672, 717 July 1966 coup  175, 178, 304, 620, 624, 656, 672 July 1975 coup  175, 179, 291, 509, 672 March 1995 coup attempt  184–​5, 721 November 1993 coup  175, 184 military federalism  176–​7 Military Professional Resources International (MPRI) 275 military rule  171–​87, 207 aftermath of Biafran secession  628–​31,  632–​3 anticorruption efforts  291–​2, 510 area court system  240–​1 civil society resistance to  376, 379, 382 Commonwealth and  717–​18,  719–​22 constitutional development under  180, 183, 185–​6, 214,  260–​4 as corrective mission  174 credibility and integrity of  174 derivation principle  437 development of presidentialism under  180, 213–​14,  260–​4 effects on military itself  273–​6 elections under  97, 175, 182, 184, 186, 204n3, 215, 264, 279, 322t, 324–​5, 329, 337, 374, 379, 397–​8, 418, 631 federalism  175–​7, 191, 276, 506 first phase (1966–​79)  177–​80 of General Abacha  175, 184–​5, 192, 264, 279, 292, 379, 398–​401, 421, 458, 511–​12, 672–​3,  721–​2 of General Abubakar  173, 185–​6, 264, 401–​ 2, 512, 722

Index   783 of General Babangida  97, 173, 174, 175, 176, 182–​4, 192, 264, 276, 279, 292, 379, 382, 396–​8, 437, 511, 632–​3, 672–​3, 674 of General Buhari  174, 181–​2, 192, 279, 291–​ 2, 329, 396, 437, 510, 632, 672–​3 of General Gowon  173, 174, 175, 176, 178–​9, 191–​2, 437, 506, 624–​30, 672, 718, 719–​20 of General Ironsi  173, 174–​5, 176, 177–​8, 624 of Generals Mohammed and Obasanjo  173, 174, 179–​80, 191–​2, 214–​15, 291, 393–​4, 506, 508, 509, 630, 667, 672, 720 human rights under  279–​80, 457, 458, 641, 721, 722 impermanence of  173 judiciary  303–​5 labor regimes  393–​5, 396–​402 legislature and  267–​8 legitimation strategies  173–​4 nature of military regimes  172–​7 neopatrimonialism  191–​3 northern Nigeria’s control of political power  672–​3 oil revenues  191–​2, 478, 478t, 479f, 505–​9,  511–​12 patronage 506 second phase (1983–​99)  181–​6 state creation  176, 178, 180, 183, 185, 187, 191, 195, 196, 506, 626, 668 subnational government  175–​7, 191 trade unions and  393–​5, 396–​402, 508 underinvestment in weaponry and maintenance  275–​6 use of military force to suppress civil agitations 276 see also democratic transitions military service, colonial period  84, 700–​1,  706–​7 military technology, state formation and  40–​2 Millennium Development Goals (MDGs)  556 Miller Brothers  138 Miller, F. D.  568 Milligan, S.  681, 686, 688, 689 Milsome, J. R.  571 Minimah, Kenneth  281 minimum wage  394, 395, 397, 403 Ministry of Petroleum Resources  534 El-​Miskin, Shettima  594

missionaries, Christian  24, 49–​52, 55–​8, 77,  83–​4 mission schools  83–​4 Mitchell, T.  641 MIT Systems Dynamics  143 MNJTF see Multi-​National Joint Task Force (MNJTF) Moghadam, Valentine M.  568, 569 Mohammed, Murtala  173, 174, 175, 179–​80, 191–​2, 261, 291, 506, 508, 509, 624, 630, 672, 720 Mohammed, Sagir  250 monetary policy  493–​4, 508 money laundering  293 Monnier, Olivier  225 Moral Rearmament Group  56 Moran, M. H.  106 More, Ralph  93 MORETO see Movement for Reparation to Ogbia People (MORETO) Morgan, David  736 Morgan Wage Commission  389t, 391 MOSOP see Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP) Mount Carmel Prayer Village (MCPV)  738–​9 Movement for Reparation to Ogbia People (MORETO)  643, 645 Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB)  276, 433–​4, 463, 466, 634 Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND)  155–​8, 276, 277, 466, 515–​ 16, 536, 645, 646–​7, 749 Movement for the Survival of Ogoni People (MOSOP)  145, 184, 639–​41, 642 Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa (MUJWA) 608 Mugabe, Robert  410 Mügge, L. M.  452–​3 Muhammed, Kur  621 Multicountry HIV/​AIDS Program  547, 554 Multi-​National Joint Task Force (MNJTF)  599–​600, 606,  610–​11 multireligiosity  242–​4 Muogbo, Okey  576 Musa, Balarabe  477 Musdapher, Dahiru  312

784   Index music 84 see also protest political music Muslim–​Christian conflict  48, 283, 414, 441, 463, 464, 633, 682, 684, 690, 739 Muslim Students Society  576 Mussolini, Benito  703 Mustapha, Abdul Raufu  584 MWPAs see meso-​level women’s policy agencies (MWPAs) Na’Abba, Ghali Umar  268, 269, 271n3 NACA see National Agency for the Control of AIDS (NACA) NADECO see National Democratic Coalition (NADECO) names, personal  30 NANS see National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) Nathan, Nuhu  624 National Action Committee on AIDS  547, 552 National Advance Party (NAP)  215 National Agency for Control of AIDS (NACA) 559 National Agency for the Control of AIDS (NACA)  546, 555, 557, 558 National AIDS and STDs Control Program (NASCP) 547 National Antiretroviral Therapy Program  549–​52, 551f, 553, 556, 557–​8, 559 National Assembly see legislature National Assembly Budget and Research Office (NABRO)  224 National Assembly Service Commission (NASC) 224 National Association of Democratic Lawyers 463 National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS)  375, 376 National Association of Nigeria Nurses and Midwives 399t National Church of Biafra  708 National Church of Nigeria and the Cameroons  708,  709–​10 National Committee on Women and Development 116

National Concord 248 National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC)  86, 95, 115, 324, 373, 623, 708 National Council of Nigerian Citizens (NCNC)  95, 100, 195, 208, 209, 210, 213,  214–​15 National Council of Women’s Societies (NCWS)  115, 116 National Counter Terrorism Strategy (NACTEST) 656 National Democratic Coalition (NADECO)  97, 379 national development plans  150, 477, 507 National Economic Empowerment and Development Strategy (NEEDS)  515, 538 National Electoral Commission (NEC)  116–​ 17, 329, 330 National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (NESREA)  151, 153 National Expert Advisory Committee on AIDS 546 National Health Act (2014)  556, 560 National Health Insurance Scheme  556 National Human Rights Commission (NHRC)  228, 282, 459, 466, 469 National Industrial Court  228 National Institute for Legislative Studies (NILS)  224, 226 National Institute of Medical Research  551 nationalism  89–​100,  623 Christianity and  55 concept of  90–​1 cultural  664–​5 ethnic 665 Gandhian 706 integral  665, 675 post-​1914 period  75–​6, 85–​6, 94–​8, 701, 706, 707 post-​independence period  98–​100 precolonial period  91–​4 women’s anticolonial resistance movement  80–​1, 103–​4, 107–​12,  128–​30 see also anticolonial imagination in Nigerian novels

Index   785 National Judicial Council (NJC)  305–​6, 311–​12,  313 national minimum wage  394, 395, 397, 403 National Party of Nigeria (NPN)  214, 215, 216, 217–​18, 263, 325–​6, 429, 477, 509, 576–​7, 631 National Policy on the Environment  150 National Political Reform Conference (NPRC)  329–​30,  435 National Question  100, 187, 426, 427, 665 National Security Strategy  656 National Union of Banks, Insurance and Financial Institutions Employees (NUBIFEE) 399t National Union of Food, Beverage and Tobacco Employees (NUFBTE)  399t National Union of Gas and Electricity Workers (NUGEW)  400t National Union of Hotel and Personal Services Workers 399t National Union of Nigerian Students (NUNS) 375 National Union of Pensioners (NUP)  399t National Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers (NUPENG)  376, 395–​6, 398–​9,  400t National Union of Postal and Telecommunication Employees (NUPTE) 400t National Union of Public Corporation Employees (NUPE)  400t National Union of Railwaymen  400t National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW) 400t National Union of Textile, Garment and Tailoring Workers of Nigeria (NUTGTWN) 399t Native Authority  24 Native Authority Police  24, 558 natural resources derivation principle  158, 179, 183, 185, 198, 227, 308–​9, 436–​7, 478t, 479, 485, 514, 536 development and  503–​4 offshore 227 see also environment and ecology; oil and gas industry; oil revenues Natural Resources Governance Institute  525 Nazi racism  705

NBA see Nigerian Bar Association (NBA) NCNC see National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC); National Council of Nigerian Citizens (NCNC) NCSU see Nigeria Civil Service Union (NCSU) NCWS see National Council of Women’s Societies (NCWS) NDA see Niger Delta Avengers (NDA) NDDC see Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) Ndirmbita, Aaron  594 NDPVF see Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force (NDPVF) NEC see National Electoral Commission (NEC) NECA see Nigerian Employers’ Consultative Association (NECA) necessity, doctrine of  233, 303–​4, 357 NEEDS see National Economic Empowerment and Development Strategy (NEEDS) Negedu, I.  90 Negro World newspaper  701–​2 Neighborhood Safety Corp Agency Bill, Lagos State  659–​60 Neighborhood Watch  652t, 655 NEITI see Nigerian Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (NEITI) neoliberalism  116, 140, 144 labor regimes  396–​8,  401–​4 Pentecostalism and  734–​6 neo-​Malthusian environmentalism  143, 143f neopatrimonialism  189–​94, 225–​6, 378, 382 NEPAD Heads of State and Government Implementation Committee  723 NEPU see Northern Elements Progressive Union (NEPU) NESREA see National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (NESREA) Netherlands  504, 665, 675 New Institutional Economics (NIE)  530–​1 New Nigerian  248–​9 new regionalism  437 News from Nigeria 706 newspapers  376–​7,  465 New York Times 96

786   Index NGOs see non-​governmental organizations (NGOs) NHRC see National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) NIE see New Institutional Economics (NIE) Niger  577, 599–​600, 606, 611, 613, 614, 615, 723 Niger Delta  77–​8, 133 deforestation  137, 161n5 see also Niger Delta insurgency; oil and gas industry Niger Delta Avengers (NDA)  155, 536, 636, 645,  647–​8 Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC)  153, 227, 360, 536, 669 Niger Delta insurgency  277–​9, 432–​3, 466, 515–​16, 536,  636–​49 amnesty program  149, 155, 158, 278, 515–​16, 536,  646–​7 Boro’s 1966 rebellion  277, 638, 644 Chikoko Movement  642, 645 China and  749–​50 civil–​military relations and  277–​9 effects on oil industry  155, 277, 641, 646, 647–​8,  750 emergence of armed insurgency  155–​7, 277,  644–​6 environment and  155–​8, 639–​41, 642 Ijaw Youth Council (IYC)  157, 642–​4, 645 legislation to address  227 Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND)  155–​8, 276, 277, 466, 515–​16, 536, 645, 646–​7, 749–​50 Niger Delta Avengers (NDA)  155, 636, 645,  647–​8 oil as national treasure  638–​9 Operation Restore Hope  277–​9, 646 Saro-​Wiwa and Ogoni movement  142, 145, 157, 184, 276, 458, 479, 637, 639–​41, 642, 721, 722 Niger Delta Nation  432–​3 Niger Delta Pastorate  52 Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force (NDPVF)  277, 536, 645 Niger Delta Vigilante Movement (NDVM) 645 Niger Delta Volunteers Force  638 Nigeria Business Coalition against AIDS (NIBUCAA)  558–​9

Nigeria Civil Service Union (NCSU)  85, 376, 399t Nigeria Conflict Tracker  685 Nigeria Customs Service  476 Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC)  340, 376, 516 Nigeria Medical Association (NMA)  376 Nigerian Air Squadron  705 Nigeria National ART Committee  549 Nigerian Bar Association (NBA)  282, 376, 378 Nigerian Christianity  47–​58, 585, 728–​39 Atlantic Christian movements  48–​52 Boko Haram’s attacks on churches  597–​8 Catholic Church  49–​50, 55, 56, 77, 598,  731–​2 Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN)  374–​5, 384, 586, 588, 598, 682 Christian criticism of Ja’afar Adam  594 Christian fear of Islamization  586, 588 Christian–​Muslim conflict  681–​2 Christian opposition to sharia  242–​3, 244, 246, 248–​9, 250–​1, 588 colonial period  52–​6 indigenous prophets and revivals  52–​5 missionary legacies  55–​8 neoliberalism and  734–​6 Pentecostalism  48, 53, 57, 58, 374, 588, 682, 729,  732–​9 personality cults  735–​6 precolonial period  48–​52,  731–​2 prosperity theology  57, 374, 730, 736–​7 Protestants  50–​2, 54, 55, 56, 77, 732 Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG)  57, 732, 737–​9 women’s roles in  57–​8 see also Christian missionaries Nigerian Civil War and Biafran secession  25, 97, 100, 175, 178–​9, 191, 620–​34 Aburi Accord  625–​6 aftermath of  628–​33 Christianity and  732 Christian missionaries and  56 commencement of  627 Commonwealth and  717–​18 declaration of Biafran independence  25, 620, 627 ending of  627–​8 January 1966 coup and  620–​2, 624

Index   787 July 1966 coup and  620, 624 massacres of Igbo people  25, 178, 624–​5 oil industry and  505 Nigerian Conflict Management Group  378 Nigerian Custom Service  138 Nigerian Employers’ Consultative Association (NECA)  394, 396 Nigerian Export Promotion Council (NEPC) 138 Nigerian Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (NEITI)  515 Nigerian Federalists  436 Nigerian Feminist Forum (NFF)  116 Nigerian Governors’ Forum (NGF)  270, 358, 482, 483 Nigerian Inquirer 748 Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC)  381, 393–​4, 395, 396–​9,  401–​4 Nigerian Maritime Agency  647 Nigerian National Alliance (NNA)  213, 323–​4 Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP)  85, 95, 100, 111, 212, 213, 324, 702, 710 Nigerian National Oil Corporation (NNOC) 505 Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC)  158, 197–​8, 360, 482, 505, 516, 517, 524–​5, 534, 537, 648, 745–​6, 748, 750 Nigerian Petroleum Development Company (NPDC) 745 Nigerian Produce Traders Association  96 Nigerian Supreme Council for Islamic Affairs (NSCIA)  248, 249 Nigerian Union of Construction and Civil Engineering Workers  399t Nigerian Women’s Party (NWP)  110, 111–​12,  116 Nigerian Women’s Union (NWU)  85, 110, 115 Nigerian Youth Charter  703–​4 Nigerian Youth Movement (NYM)  85, 86, 96, 377,  703–​4 Nigeria People’s Party (NPP)  214, 215, 217–​18,  631 Nigeria Police Council  660, 661 Nigeria Police Force  278, 653, 654, 656, 660, 661 Nigeria Regiment  700–​1

Nigeria Trade Union Congress (NTUC)  96, 376, 402, 403, 705 Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ)  400t Nigeria Union of Local Government Employees (NULGE)  399t Nigeria Union of Teachers (NUT)  85, 376, 399t Nigeria Workers Union (NWU)  376 NILS see National Institute for Legislative Studies (NILS) NJC see National Judicial Council (NJC) Njeuma, Martin Z.  573 Njoku, Eni  675 Nkanga, P.  460 Nkrumah, Kwame  95, 96, 98 NLC see Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC); Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC) NNA see Nigerian National Alliance (NNA) Nnamani, Ken  268 NNDP see Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP) Nnolim, Charles  126 Nnoli, Okwudiba  98, 328, 666 NNPC see Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC) Nok culture  35, 36 Non-​Academic Staff Union of Education and Associated Institutions (NASUEAI)  399t non-​governmental organizations (NGOs)  370, 371t, 372, 377–​81, 383 competition from international  379 conflict resolution groups  378–​9 environmental 145 HIV/​AIDS  558–​9 human rights organizations  282, 378 oil and gas industry and  145 pro-​democracy organizations  378, 379 technopols 647 see also civil society Non-​Muslim League  56 non-​oil revenue  479t, 480–​2, 481t, 484, 485, 526, 526f, 527f see also taxation non-​Western democracy  425–​39 Big Tent parties  429–​30 defined 426 ethnic conflicts  432–​4

788   Index non-​Western democracy (Cont.) ethnic federalist democracy  427–​30 federal character principle  428–​9 Plurality Plus voting system  429 politics of recognition and resource competition  430–​4 restructuring  426,  435–​7 sharia movement  431–​2 zoning and rotation arrangements  430 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) 665 Northern Elements Progressive Union (NEPU)  209, 215, 250, 708 Northern Emancipation Network  674 Northernization Policy  671, 674 northern Nigeria  19–​32 Christian missionaries  24, 53, 84 claim to right to rule Nigeria  670–​3, 674–​5,  676 colonial rule  23–​4, 26–​7, 79–​80, 474–​5, 572, 585, 671, 702 control of political power  671–​3 education  90, 569, 572, 702 global connections  711 group identities  28–​9 Hausa states  20–​1, 38–​9, 42–​3, 570–​2, 585 identities  25–​31 indigenous prophets and revivals  53–​5 languages  19, 23, 24, 25–​6, 28 ownership of Nigeria claim  670–​3, 674–​5,  676 personal identities  29–​31 politics of distribution  667–​8 religious landscape in  585–​9 self-​government  24–​5 Sokoto Caliphate  21–​3, 42–​3, 78, 79–​80, 89, 249, 572, 573, 586 taxation  474–​5,  477 trade  19–​32 trading links  19, 39–​40 veto over eligibility for presidential office  673, 675 see also Boko Haram insurgency; Islamic social movements; sharia Northern People’s Congress (NPC)  86, 100, 208, 209, 210, 211–​12, 213, 214, 215, 250, 259, 323, 324, 391, 505, 623

Northern Political Leaders Forum (NPLF)  421, 423n4 Northern Youth Vanguard  674 North Korea  665 Northrup, D.  68 novels see anticolonial imagination in Nigerian novels “no victor, no vanquished” principle  627 NPC see Northern People’s Congress (NPC) NPLF see Northern Political Leaders Forum (NPLF) NPN see National Party of Nigeria (NPN) NPP see Nigeria People’s Party (NPP) NPRC see National Political Reform Conference (NPRC) NSCIA see Nigerian Supreme Council for Islamic Affairs (NSCIA) NTUC see Nigeria Trade Union Congress (NTUC) Nunn, Nathan  68 NUPENG see National Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers (NUPENG) Nur, Mamman  589, 591 NUT see Nigeria Union of Teachers (NUT) Nwabueze, Ben  172, 244 Nwabuogu, A. I.  90 Nwankwo, Clement  304 Nwaobiala Dancing Movement  109, 110 Nwaogbo, Jack Okechukwu  596 Nwapa, Flora  121, 128–​30, 131 Nwobi, Simeon  246 Nwodo, Okwesilieze  351–​2 Nwosu, H. N.  100 NWP see Nigerian Women’s Party (NWP) Nwude, Emmanuel  294 Nye, Joseph  289–​90 Nyerere, Julius  98 NYM see Nigerian Youth Movement (NYM) Nzeogwu, Chukwuma  621 Nzeogwu, Kaduna  177, 620 Oando Plc  535 OAU see Organisation of African Unity (OAU) Oba, Adebayo  241–​2 Obadare, Ebenezer  57, 293–​4, 296, 299

Index   789 Obasanjo, Olusegun anticorruption efforts and  289, 292–​3, 294, 296, 297, 378, 514–​15 appointment of retired military officers  283–​4 China and  745, 746, 747 Commonwealth and  720, 723 conflict with Atiku Abubakar  266, 355, 360 conflict with Jonathan  284–​5, 359 on constituency projects  234 coup allegations  185, 722 debt relief  513, 515 depoliticization and reform military  274–​5 election as president  186 electoral reform  329, 337 Eminent Persons Group (EPG)  720, 723 executive dominance under  267, 268–​9 foreign policy  723 fuel subsidies  536 HIV/​AIDS  547,  549 human rights under  279–​80, 457–​8, 461–​3,  749 Igbo marginalization and  433 imprisonment  721, 722, 723 mediation in Gambia  724 military rule  173, 174, 179–​80, 191–​2, 214–​15, 291, 509, 630, 672, 720 National Assembly and  221, 230, 234, 270 National Political Reform Conference  329–​30,  435 Niger Delta insurgency and  646 Nigerian Civil War and  627–​8 northern Nigeria and  431, 432, 673 oil and gas industry  745, 746 oil revenues  479 People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and  354–​ 7, 360, 361–​2, 429–​30 songs critical of  422 third term bid  230, 296, 344–​5, 355–​6, 378, 515 trade unions and  401–​4 Obiakor, N.  100 Obibi, Iheoma  463 Obienu, John  621 Obiora, L. A.  445, 446 Observer newspaper  625

Occupy Nigeria Protest  370, 380–​1, 464–​5, 516, 536 O’Connell, James O.  675 Odili, Peter  356 Odi massacre  280, 461 Odua Peoples’ Congress (OPC)  276, 459, 463, 656, 658 Odumegwu-​Ojukwu, Chukwuemeka  178, 620, 624, 625, 626, 627, 631 Odunsi, Ladipo  704 Office of the National Security Advisor (ONSA) 282 Ogbeha, Tunde  355 Ogbulafor, Vincent  362 Ogoni Bill of Rights (1990)  639–​40 Ogoni movement  142, 145, 157, 184, 276, 458, 479, 637, 639–​41, 642, 721, 722 Ogundele, K.  462 Ogunewe, David  624 Ogunye, Jiti  463 Ogunyemi, Chikwenye Okonjo  128, 129 OIC see Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC) oil and gas industry  133–​4, 520–​38 China and  745–​50 decline as share of GDP  523, 523f, 524f decline in crude oil production  522, 522f deforestation  137, 161n5 dysfunctions of  521–​8 elite competitive and distributional pressures on  534–​5 environment and  137, 142, 145, 146, 148–​9, 152–​3, 161n5, 162n18, 162n22, 530, 536, 639–​41,  642 external constraints on reform  532, 532f, 533f,  537–​8 Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI)  158, 298, 379, 529 fuel subsidies  232, 297, 344, 380–​1, 397, 464–​ 5, 496, 498, 516, 525, 535–​6 hedging strategies  537 horizontal constraints on reform  532, 532f, 533f,  534–​5 impact on non-​oil economy  525–​8, 526f, 527f indigenization program  507 international oil markets  537–​8

790   Index oil and gas industry (Cont.) leakages and corruption in oil revenues  524–​5, 534–​5,  537 local content policies  535 Nigerian Civil War and  505 oil as national treasure  638–​9 oil spills  137, 142, 157–​8, 162n18, 162n22, 536, 639 oil theft  158, 277, 515, 522–​3, 525, 526, 536, 537 Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB)  229, 517, 523–​4, 537, 538 political constraints on reform  533–​6, 533f political settlements theory  530–​2, 532f, 533, 533f resource curse thesis  145, 477, 502, 503–​4, 520,  528–​30 sabotage  155, 158, 277, 522–​3, 641 societal demands for redistribution  535–​6 stagnation and decline in  521–​4, 522f, 523f, 524f transfer pricing  537 vertical constraints on reform  532, 532f, 533f,  535–​6 see also Niger Delta insurgency Oil Mineral Producing Areas Development Commission 183 oil prices  216–​17, 277, 482–​3, 495, 497, 498–​9, 505, 511, 527, 537–​8, 648 oil revenues  191–​2, 477–​80, 478t, 479f, 482–​3,  502–​18 collapse of  482–​3, 495–​6, 498–​9, 500, 527 crude oil sales  197–​8, 198t, 494, 495, 497, 502, 525 derivation principle  158, 179, 183, 185, 198, 227, 308–​9, 436–​7, 478t, 479, 485, 514, 536 distribution of  196, 197–​9, 198t, 199t,  506–​7 Excess Crude Account  481–​2, 497, 498 first petroleum cycle  502–​3, 505–​10 Fourth Republic  196, 197–​9, 198t, 199t,  512–​18 leakages and corruption in  524–​5 military rule and  191–​2, 478, 478t, 479f, 505–​9,  511–​12 oil-​price fiscal policy rule  497, 498–​9, 500 oil taxes  198, 198t, 200, 202, 483 revenue allocation formula  180, 506

second petroleum cycle  503, 512–​18 Second Republic  192, 508, 509–​10 as share of total government revenue  526, 526f Ojike, Mbonu  704, 708 Ojo, J. D.  208 Ojo, T. I.  208 Okadigbo, Chuba  460 Okara, Gabriel  628 Okigbo, Christopher  620, 622 Okome, M.  108–​9 Okonjo-​Iweala, Ngozi  482, 514, 516, 750 Okonta, I.  530 Oko, Okechukwu  222, 311, 314, 315 Okosuns, Sonny  408–​10 Okotie-​Eboh, Festus  177, 621 Okoye, Mokwugo  708 Okpara, Michael  621 Olivier de Sardan, J.-​P.  290 Ologbosere 93 Ologunde, Bisade  417–​18 Olukoshi, A.  215 Olurin, Tunji  284 Olusanya, G. O.  92 Oluyemi, O.  446 Olympic Games  721 Ombatse cult  466, 470n15 Omenka, Nicholas  55 Omoboriowo, Akin  326 Omoigui, I.  202 Omojola, A. S.  681 Omolewa, M.  90 Omotola, J. S.  339 Onimode, Bade  98 Onitsha Market Literature  122 Onnoghen, Walter  313 Onoh, Christian C.  668 Onojeghuo, A. O. 161n5 Onyeama, Geoffrey  724 OPC see Odua Peoples’ Congress (OPC) OPEC see Organization of Petroleum Exporting States (OPEC) Operation Hakuri II  461 Operation Purge the Nation  291 Operation Rainbow  652t, 654, 691 Operation Restore Hope  277–​9, 646 Operation Restore Order  465–​6, 595–​6

Index   791 Operation Safe Corridor  282 Operation Yaki  691 Oputa, Chukwudifu  279–​80 Oputa Panel  279–​80,  457–​8 Oranmiyan 41 Organisation of African Unity (OAU)  549, 717, 718, 720 Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC)  182, 243, 251, 573, 632–​3 Organization of Petroleum Exporting States (OPEC)  505, 520 Oritsejafor, Ayo  374–​5, 598 Orizu, Nwafor  703, 704, 708 Orkar, Gideon  182 Oronto, D.  530 Osadebe, Denis  621 Osadolor, O. B.  94 Osaghae, Eghosa E.  99, 100, 208–​9, 674 Oshiomhole, Adams  401, 402 Oshuntokun, J.  716 Osinbajo, Yemi  430, 438, 439, 517 Oslo Humanitarian Conference on Nigeria and the Lake Chad Region  615, 616n4 Osumah, Oarhe  221 Oteh, Arunma  231 Ottoman Empire  701 Overseas Development Administration, UK  546 Ovoramwen 93 Oyedepo, David  736–​7 Oyediran, O.  174 Oyelana, Tunji  410–​12 Oyo Empire  41–​2, 61, 89 Paddock, A.  108, 109, 111, 112 palm oil  76, 81, 138, 139, 476, 705 Pam, James Y.  621 Pan-​African Congresses  701 pan-​Africanism  94, 96, 98, 715 Pan-​African Movement  463 Pantami, Ibrahim Isa Ali  589, 594 Panter-​Brick, Keith  630, 631 Paris Agreement on Climate Change  665 Paris Club  497, 513, 515, 723 parliamentary democracy see First Republic party primaries  342, 343, 346–​7, 348

Passfield, Lord  475 passport seizures  463 pastoralist–​farmer conflict  679, 680–​1, 685, 686–​7,  689 patriarchy  105, 106, 109, 121, 128–​9, 446, 447,  653–​4 patronage  115, 189, 290, 351–​2, 361, 362, 482, 483, 484, 504, 506, 509, 514, 534–​5 see also neopatrimonialism Paul VI (Pope)  56 Pay As You Earn (PAYE) system 204n4 PDP see People’s Democratic Party (PDP) Peace Corps of Nigeria  652t Peel, J. D. Y.  729, 735 Pentecostalism  48, 53, 57, 58, 374, 588, 682, 729,  732–​9 People’s Daily 750 Peoples Democratic Movement (PDM) 361 People’s Democratic Party (PDP)  224, 268, 337, 338, 351–​64, 353–​4t, 479, 514 2015 general election  284–​5, 336, 352, 357, 358–​9, 360, 362–​3, 382, 383, 516–​17 attitude to Igbo  634 Big Tent strategy  429–​30 Boko Haram insurgency  595 chant slogan of  409 Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) and 375 funding of  359–​61 Jonathan presidency  355, 356–​9, 360, 363, 534 military influence  354–​5 Obasanjo presidency  354–​6, 360, 361–​2,  429–​30 Obasanjo’s third term bid  344–​5, 355–​6 opposition and  361–​3 political assassinations  362 state governors and  358–​9 Yar’Adua presidency  355, 356, 360, 363 zoning and rotation arrangements  356–​7, 359, 362–​3, 539n7 People’s Redemption Party (PRP)  214, 217, 250, 477, 576 PEPFAR see Presidential Emergency Program for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) Personal Income Tax  201, 201t, 202, 480

792   Index Personal Income Tax Act (PITA) (1993/​ 2007)  201, 202, 204n4 personal names  30 Petroleum and Natural Gas Senior Staff Association (PENGASSAN)  376 petroleum booms  191–​2,  502–​18 first petroleum cycle  502–​3, 505–​10 second petroleum cycle  503, 512–​18 Petroleum Decree (1969)  196, 197 Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB)  229, 517, 523–​4, 537, 538 Petroleum Industry Fiscal Bill  538 Petroleum Industry Governance Bill (PIGB) 538 Petroleum Profits Tax (PPT)  198, 198t, 200, 202 Philip II, King of Spain  49–​50 Phillips, U. B.  63 PIB see Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB) Pidgin English  408 Pierce, Steven  291 PITA see Personal Income Tax Act (PITA) (1993/​2007) Plotnicov, Leonard  328 Plurality Plus voting system  429 PMTCT see prevention of mother-​to-​child transmission (PMTCT) police Native Authority Police  24, 558 Nigeria Police Council  660, 661 Nigeria Police Force  278, 653, 652, 656, 660, 661 see also informal security groups Policy Support Instrument (PSI)  515 political assassinations  362 political Islam  446, 568, 569 political parties  215 political settlements theory  530–​2, 532f, 533, 533f pollution indoor air 160n1 oil spills  137, 142, 157–​8, 162n18, 162n22, 536, 639 population census crises  183, 213, 259 population growth  134, 135 Portuguese  48, 49, 50, 731–​2 poverty 512

environment and  135, 147 geographical differences  146–​7 Islamic social movements and  569, 576 resource curse and  529 PPT see Petroleum Profits Tax (PPT) PR see proportional representation (PR) Pratten, D.  690 Prayer Mountain, South Korea  738–​9 prebendalism  225–​6 Precious Stone Society  53 precolonial period forestry 137 nationalism  91–​4 Nigerian Christianity  48–​52,  731–​2 slave trade  29 women’s status  105–​7 see also state formation in precolonial period Presbyterian Church of Canada  56 Presidential Committee on the Rationalization and Restructuring of Federal Government Parastatals, Commission and Agencies  225 presidential decrees  266 Presidential Emergency Program for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR)  547, 551, 554, 555, 558 presidential system of government  213–​14, 257–​8, 260–​7 1,  673 hyper-​presidentialism  263,  264–​70 military’s preference for  180, 214, 260–​4 presidential decrees  266 separation of powers doctrine  213, 222, 223, 302, 315 veto over eligibility for presidential office  673, 675 see also Fourth Republic; Second Republic presidential veto  223, 227, 228, 235 prevention of mother-​to-​child transmission (PMTCT)  549–​50, 553, 555, 557 Prezworski, Adam  266 Price, Ward H. L.  670 primaries, party  342, 343, 346–​7, 348 print culture  84 privatization, of state lands  139 pro-​democracy organizations  378, 379 Production Sharing Contracts (PSCs)  537 professional associations  371, 371t, 376

Index   793 Project FACT  202 property taxes  480, 481 proportional representation (PR)  236, 340 prosperity theology  57, 374, 730, 736–​7 Protestant Ethic thesis  730 Protestants  50–​3, 54, 55, 56, 77, 732 protest political music  406–​23 history of  406–​8 of Majek Fashek  413–​15 of Osayomore Joseph  418–​21 of Ras Kimono  416–​17 of Femi Kuti  421–​2 of Lagbaja  417–​18 of the Mandators  412–​13 of Sonny Okosuns  408–​10 of Tunji Oyelana and Wole Soyinka  410–​12 protests electoral reform and  307, 325, 326, 338, 343–​4,  345 Occupy Nigeria  370, 380–​1, 464–​5, 516, 536 suppression under military rule  276 women’s anticolonial resistance movement  80–​1, 103–​4, 107–​12,  128–​30 Provincial Ruling Council  264 provisioning pact  148–​9 PRP see People’s Redemption Party (PRP) PSI see Policy Support Instrument (PSI) Public Complaints Commission (PCC)  224 public debt  492–​3, 495–​6, 497, 498, 499, 500 debt forgiveness  497, 498, 513 states 483 public savings  493 al-​Qadir, Abd  570 Qadiriyyah Brotherhood  21, 570, 573, 586, 702 Qaqa, Abu  597 Quigley, S.  746, 747 quota principle  629, 668–​9 Quran  244, 282, 587, 601n1, 671 Quraniyyun  587, 592 Qutb, Sayed  591 Rabih b. Fadlallah  573 racial discrimination  705–​6 Radio, TV, and Theatre Workers Union  399t

RAF 705 Raheem, Tajudeen Abdul  463 Railway Workers Union (RWU)  376, 705, 707 Rai, S.  114, 115 Ramsdell, C. W.  63 Ransome-​Kuti, Olikoye  546 Ransome-​Kuti, Olufunmilayo  85 Rashid, Syed Khalid  240 Rawson, Harry  93 RCCG see Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) recession  145, 182, 217, 395, 723–​4 Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG)  57, 732, 737–​9 Red Egbesu Water Lions (REWL)  648 Redemption Camp  738, 739 refugees  614–​15 regional governments, First Republic  190–​1,  194–​5 elections  211–​12 fiscal policy  494 legislatures  195, 209, 210 regional insurgencies  276–​7 environment and  154–​60, 159f, 639–​41, 642 see also Boko Haram insurgency; Niger Delta insurgency regionalization 86 relational theory of ethnicity  667 religion ethno-​religious conflict  681–​2 freedom of  245, 460, 467 migration and  57 religious complexity of Nigeria  585–​9 state religion  242, 243, 431, 462, 586 see also Islamic social movements; Nigerian Christianity; sharia religious conversions  729 religious freedom  245, 460, 467 religious institutions  371, 371t, 372–​3, 374–​5,  384 Renascent Africa (Azikiwe)  96, 704, 708, 709 rentier states  504, 526 Republican Constitution (1963)  172, 194–​5, 210, 258, 303 Repugnancy Clause  242 resilience discourse  145, 161n12

794   Index resource curse thesis  145, 477, 502, 503–​4, 520,  528–​30 Dutch disease  142, 477, 504, 528 economic dimensions of  142, 477, 504, 528 environmental dimensions of  530 inadequacies of  530 political dimension of  504, 528–​9 social dimensions of  529 revenue  473–​85 colonial period  474–​6 federalism and  479–​82 Fourth Republic  479–​85 future reforms and sources  483–​5 indirect rule and  474–​6 non-​oil revenue  479t, 480–​2, 481t, 484, 485, 526, 526f, 527f post-​independence period  476–​9,  478t state internally generated revenue (IGR)  480–​2, 481t, 484, 485, 526, 527t see also oil revenues Revenue Allocation Act (1981)  196 revenue allocation formula  180, 506 Revenue Mobilization, Allocation, and Fiscal Commission  183, 185, 270, 481 Rhodesia  716–​17, 719, 720, 725n3 Ribadu, Nuhu  289, 293–​7, 298, 430, 515 Richards Constitution (1946)  86, 96, 99, 114, 708 Richardson, D.  66 Rincker, Meg  442, 444 Risk Intelligence  647 Rodney, Walter  62, 67–​8, 90 rosewood 137 Ross, M. L.  529 Royal Niger Company  78, 138 Ruma, Abba Sayyadi  357 rural–​urban migration  83, 142 Ruxton, F. H.  702 RWAFF (Royal West African Frontier Force) News 706 RWU see Railway Workers Union (RWU) SACAs see State Agencies for the Control of AIDS (SACAs) Sachikonye, L. M.  388 Safir, A. Z.  445

Said, Edward  122 Salafism  586, 590–​4, 601n1 Salami, Isa Ayo  311–​12, 313, 317n18 Salkida, Ahmad  469, 590 Samaila, Inusa  54 Same-​Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Act (2104)  229, 465 Sani, Ahmed  239, 247–​8, 249 sanitation and water  147, 151, 153–​4, 160n1, 163n23 Sankara, Thomas  114 Sanneh, Lamin  49 Sanni, A.  202 Sanusi, Sanusi Lamido  244, 482, 524, 757 Sao Tome  70 SAP see Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) Sarasuka group  652t Sarduana of Sokoto  97 Saro-​Wiwa, Ken  142, 145, 157, 184, 276, 458, 479, 637, 640, 641, 642, 643, 721, 722 Satiru rebellion  573–​4, 578, 586 Saudi Arabia  246, 452, 589, 590, 608, 711 Save Nigeria Group  345, 436 Sayne, Aaron  159–​60, 683, 684, 685, 688 schoolgirls, abduction of  465, 599, 613 School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), London  709 schools attacks on  597, 599 mission  83–​4 see also education Scott, F. C.  92 SDP see Social Democratic Party (SDP) sea-​level rise  160 SEC see Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) Second Republic  181 aftermath of Biafran secession  631–​2 corruption  509, 510 elections  216, 263, 322t, 325–​6, 337, 632 executive power  214, 215, 262–​3 federalism  195–​6 judiciary  302–​3,  304 labor regime  395–​6 legislature  207, 213–​19, 267 neopatrimonialism 192

Index   795 oil revenues  192, 508, 509–​10 reasons for collapse of  216–​18, 262–​3 subnational government  195–​6 transition to  179–​80, 214–​15, 261–​2, 509,  630–​1 women’s status and movements  116 Second World War  82, 84, 666, 704–​7 secularism  242–​4, 431, 576 Boko Haram’s opposition to  587–​8, 589,  591–​2 Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC)  231, 481 security see informal security groups Seibert, G.  70 Senate  114, 209, 215, 223, 305, 351–​4t see also legislature separation of powers doctrine  213, 222, 223, 302, 315 Seplat 535 sexual minorities  229, 465 Shackleford, Amos Stanley Wynter  702 Shagari, Shehu  180, 292, 325–​6, 395, 421, 509, 631–​2,  672 Shapin, Steven  142 sharia  116, 155, 239–​52, 431–​2, 452, 585, 586, 702, 709 adoption by northern states  239–​40, 244, 246, 253n14, 431–​2, 446, 586 Boko Haram and  432, 586, 587–​9, 612 Christian opposition to  242–​3, 244, 246, 248–​9, 250–​1,  588 civil rights and  245–​6, 253n9 common good and  247–​9 ethno-​religious conflict and  681–​2 human rights and  245–​6, 460, 462–​3 Islamic law and common law  241–​2, 585 legal and political contexts  240–​6 secularism and multireligiosity  242–​4 sharia courts  239, 242, 243, 244, 251, 253n14, 305 sharia riots  251 states’ rights  244 support for expanded sharia  250–​1 ummah  246–​7 women’s rights and  446 written law  244–​5 Sharia Court of Appeal  239, 243, 244, 253n14, 305

Sharwood-​Smith, Sir Bryan  56 Shaw, Thurston  36 Shekari, Stephen  251 Shekau, Abubakar  432, 588–​9, 591, 594, 598, 599, 605, 606, 607, 608, 609, 610, 611, 612 Shell  156, 505, 513, 523–​4, 535, 536, 537, 637, 639, 641 Sheridan, R. B.  65 Sheriff, Ali Modu  591 Shi’a  587–​8 Shi’ite movement  576, 587, 592 Shikyil, Sylvester  231 Shinkafi, Mamuda Aliyu  244 Shivji, Issa  744 Shiyanbade, Gabriel  274 Shodeinde, Ralph  621 Shonekan, Ernest  184, 264 Shuwa, Mamman  596 SIECs see State Independent Electoral Commissions (SIECs) Sierra Leone  50–​1, 76, 703, 718, 732 Singapore Declaration of Commonwealth Principles 719 single-​member districts (SMD)  224, 236 Sino–​Nigerian relations see China Sinopec  745–​6,  750 SIRS see State Internal Revenue Service (SIRS) Slater, D.  148 slave trade  60–​7 1 abolition  50–​1, 66, 76 Aro Confederacy  93 Catholic Church and  49–​50 effect on Africa’s development  62, 67–​8 Industrial Revolution and  62, 65–​6 labor-​productivity differential  69 numbers of slaves  62, 67 precolonial period  29 regions and groups affected  60–​2, 62 relative-​exploitability hypothesis  69–​70 relocation of freed slaves to Sierra Leone  50–​1, 76, 732 slave labor versus free labor  62, 63–​5 transport cost-​based explanation  70 “why Africa” question  62–​3, 68–​70 Slessor, Mary  57 slums, urban  142–​3, 145 Smart Card Readers  326, 331, 346

796   Index SMD see single-​member districts (SMD) Smith, Abdullahi  572 Smith, Adam  63 Smith, Anthony D.  90 Smith, M. G.  676 Snelgrave, W.  41 social contract  382–​3, 478–​9, 484 Social Democratic Party (SDP)  382, 397 social media-​based movements  371t, 372, 379–​81,  382 Social Media Tracking Centre (SMTC)  380 society, colonial period  83–​5 Socio-​Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP)  313 Sokoloff, K. L.  63 Sokoto Caliphate  21–​3, 42–​3, 78, 79–​80, 89, 249, 572, 573, 586 Sokoto Jihad see Usman Dan Fodio jihad “sons of the soil” conflict  682–​4 South Africa 161n10, 443, 716, 719–​21 South Atlantic Petroleum Limited  746 South Korea  738–​9 South-​South (ethno-​regional political bloc)  432–​3 Sovereign Wealth Fund  534 Soviet Union  179, 704 Soyinka, Wole  84, 131, 410–​12, 676 Spanish influenza epidemic  701 Spivak, G. C.  104 Stamp Duties  201 Stanley, Oliver  704 Stapenhurst, Rick  223, 230, 232 State Agencies for the Control of AIDS (SACAs)  555, 558 state courts  306 state creation  176, 178, 180, 183, 185, 187, 191, 195, 196, 428, 478, 506, 626, 668 state formation in precolonial period  33–​45,  309–​10 agriculture, development of  34–​5 Benin Kingdom  43–​4 crop choice and  37–​8 decentralized states  36–​7 Hausa states  38–​9,  42–​3 horses and  40–​2 Kanem–​Bornu Empire  39–​40 military technology and  40–​2

Nok culture  35, 36 Oyo Empire  41–​2 Sokoto Caliphate  42–​3 state centralization  37–​9 trans-​Saharan trade routes and  39–​40 tsetse flies and  37, 41 state governments  195–​7,  309–​10 adoption of sharia  239–​40, 244, 246, 253n14, 431–​2, 446, 586 conflict prevention and resolution  687–​8 debt burden  483 HIV/​AIDS  558 informal security groups and  655, 659–​60 internally generated revenue (IGR)  480–​2, 481t, 484, 485, 526, 527t judicial commissions of inquiry  687–​8 oil revenues  198–​9, 198t, 199t, 482–​3, 506, 526 rights of  244 taxation  199–​203,  480–​2 state governors corruption prosecutions  295–​6, 360 executive dominance  270–​1 Governors’ Forum  270, 358, 482, 483 judiciary and  306 by party  351–​4t People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and  358–​9 State Independent Electoral Commissions (SIECs) 339 State Internal Revenue Service (SIRS)  202–​3 State–​Local Governments Joint Account  270 state religion  242, 243, 431, 462, 586 Steve Oronsaye Committee  225 Strategic Alliance Agreements (SAAs)  535 strikes  85, 381, 389t, 391–​3, 392t, 395, 396, 398–​ 9, 401–​2, 403, 705, 707, 708 Structural Adjustment Program (SAP)  116, 143, 144, 145, 182–​3, 276, 375, 396–​8, 496, 511, 633 student unions  375 Suberu, Rotimi  191, 192, 194, 303, 307, 308–​9, 311, 313, 428, 478 subnational government  189–​204,  309–​10 First Republic  190–​1,  194–​5 Fourth Republic  193–​4,  196–​7 military rule  175–​7, 191

Index   797 neopatrimonialism and  189–​94 Second Republic  195–​6 women’s rights and representation  445–​50,  451 Sudan  573, 578, 701, 709 Sudan Interior Mission  53–​4 suffrage, universal adult  115, 322, 332n2 Sufism  586, 593 suicide bombers  600, 657 Sule, Alhaji Maitama  671 Suleiman, Dan  97 Sule, Maitama 725n3 Supremacy and Enforcement of Powers Decree No.  28 (1970) 172, 304 Supremacy Clause  309, 310 Supreme Council of Ex-​servicemen of Nigeria and Cameroons  707 Supreme Council of Islamic Affairs  374, 384 Supreme Court  215, 227, 228, 241, 266, 266, 303–​4, 305, 308–​11, 313–​12, 313, 343, 346, 347, 348 Supreme Military Council  176, 214, 261, 624 sustainable development  135 Syria 665 Tafida, Dalhatu  724 takfiri ideology  589 Taliban  155, 605 Tambo, O. R.  721 Tambuwal, Aminu  225, 227 Tanzania  717, 718, 724 Tar, A. U.  376 Tarka, Joseph  100 Taungya foresty system  140 taxation  199–​203, 473, 492, 493 administration  201–​3 Capital Gains Tax  200 colonial period  80–​1, 85, 110–​11, 112, 129, 130,  474–​6 Companies Income Tax  200, 202 Education Tax  200 Haraji (head or poll tax)  475, 477 Jangali (cattle tax)  475, 477 legislation  200–​1 national tax policy  200 northern Nigeria  474–​5, 477

oil taxes  198, 198t, 200, 202, 483 Pay As You Earn (PAYE) system 204n4 Personal Income Tax  201, 201t, 202, 480 Petroleum Profits Tax (PPT)  198, 198t, 200, 202 post-​independence period  476, 477, 478–​9 property taxes  480, 481 Stamp Duties  201 state governments  199–​203,  480–​2 tax reform  483–​4 tax-​to-​GDP ratio  483 Value Added Tax (VAT)  201, 202 women and  80–​1, 85, 110–​11, 112, 129, 130, 475 taxpayer identification number (TIN) system  202–​3 Taylor, Peter  143 technology in electoral reform  326, 331, 337–​8, 345–​6 military technology and state formation  40–​2 social media-​based movements  371t, 372, 379–​81,  382 Terrorism Prevention Act  469 textiles industry  147, 394, 395, 755–​6 TFNs see transnational feminist networks (TFNs) Thatcher, Margaret  721, 725n3 There was a Country (Achebe)  625 Things Fall Apart (Achebe)  122, 123, 129 Third Marine Commando  627–​8 Third Republic 204n3, 264, 511 annulment of June  12, 1993 election 97, 175, 182, 184, 186, 204n3, 264, 279, 325, 329, 337, 374, 379, 397–​8, 419, 511, 673 ThisDay newspaper  460, 597, 756, 757 Thomas, R. P.  65 Thompson, Tunde  457 Thurston, Alex  588–​9, 601n1 Tijaniyyah Brotherhood  573, 586 Tilley, Helen  141, 142, 144 Tilly, Charles  40 timber trade see forests and deforestation TIN see taxpayer identification number (TIN) system Tinubu, Bola Ahmed  362, 480, 517 Tinubu case  308

798   Index Tinubu, Remi  485 Tiv people  24, 28, 211–​12, 427, 475 Zaki Ibiam massacre  280, 461–​2 TMG see Transition Monitoring Group (TMG) Tom, Ateke  645, 646 Tompolo  645, 646, 647 Toomey, S.  445, 446 Tor Kpande (the head of tax)  475 torture  459, 463, 656 Total  537, 746 trade colonial period  81–​2 exports to China  750, 751t, 752–​3t, 755–​4,  754t oil exports  525, 526f state formation and  39–​40 trade imbalance with China  754–​7, 754t Trade Union Congress of Nigeria (TUCN)  96, 376, 402, 403, 705 trade unions  371–​2, 371t, 375–​6, 387–​404,  508 colonial period  85, 96, 705, 707 corruption pressures  377 demands for redistribution  535–​6 democracy building and  382 democratic neoliberalizing labor regime  401–​4 membership  391, 399–​400t military despotic labor regime  398–​401 post-​independence labor regime  390–​3 quasi-​corporatist state–​labor pact  393–​6 quasi-​corporatist state–​labor pact with neoliberalizing military regime  396–​8 resistance to military rule  376, 382 strikes  85, 381, 389t, 391–​3, 392t, 395, 396, 398–​9, 401–​2, 403, 705, 707, 708 trading links  19–​21, 39–​40, 585 traditional institutions  371, 371t,  372–​3 traditional leaders, role in conflict resolution  689–​90 traditional policing see informal security groups transfer pricing  537 transitional justice  279–​80 Transition Monitoring Group (TMG)  338, 340, 344, 345, 379

transitions to civil rule see democratic transitions transnational feminist networks (TFNs)  447–​50,  453 transparency initiatives  158, 298, 379, 529 Transparency International  293, 378 trans-​Saharan trade routes  19–​21, 39–​40, 585 Trapido, Joe  157 Trimingham, J. S.  571 Tripp, Aili M.  114, 453 Trudeau, Pierre  676 Trump, Donald  665, 675 tsetse flies  37, 41 TUCN see Trade Union Congress of Nigeria (TUCN) Tukur, Bamanga  534–​5 Tunolashe, Moses Orimolade  53 Tutuola, Amos  84, 131 Twelve-​day Revolution  638 Udogi Wage Commission  389t, 393 Udoji Award  477, 508 Ukiwe, Ebitu  632–​3 Ukiwo, Ukoha  634 ULC see United Labour Congress (ULC) Umar, Abu  590 UMBC se United Middle Belt Congress (UMBC) Ume-​Ezeoke, Edwin  267, 271n2 Umejei, E.  747 Umuyi Ndiukwu Akabo Community  307 UNAIDS  546, 547, 549, 550, 553, 559 Unegbe, Chinyere Arthur  621 unemployment  146, 703 UNEP  153, 162n22 UN HABITAT  145 UNIA see Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) UNICEF 549 Union Bank of Nigeria  203 United Africa Company (UAC)  138 United Bank for Africa  203 United Kingdom abolition of slave trade  66, 76 Aburi Accord  625–​6 Anglo–​Aro  War  93

Index   799 Benin Expedition (1897)  93 Boko Haram insurgency  613 Brexit referendum  665, 724 British–​Ijebu  War  92 Commonwealth and  719, 721 HIV/​AIDS assistance  546 Industrial Revolution and slave trade  65–​6 Nigerian Civil War and  718 South Africa and Rhodesia  716–​17, 719, 720, 721 transparency initiatives  529 see also colonial period United Labour Congress (ULC)  376, 403 United Middle Belt Congress (UMBC)  100, 209, 211, 215 United Nations  98, 433, 443, 720 United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights  614 United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs  614, 615 United Nations Year of Indigenous People 640 United People’s Party (UPP)  211, 213 United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA)  212, 213, 323–​4 United States anti-​immigration struggles  675 Boko Haram insurgency  613 Dodd-​Frank Act (2010)  529 effects of slave labor  63–​5 election of Donald Trump  665 Niger Delta insurgency  749 wartime links with  706 Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN)  214, 215, 216, 217,  325–​6 universal adult suffrage  115, 322, 332n2 Universal Health Coverage  546, 560 Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA)  701–​2, 704, 709 University of Khartoum  589, 709 University of London  703 University of Maryland  551 unlawful detention  279, 459, 467 UPGA see United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA) UPN see Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN) UPP see United People’s Party (UPP)

urbanization  83, 142–​3, 145 Urhobo ethnic group  427, 669 Usman Dan Fodio jihad  21, 23, 42–​3, 570–​2, 579, 585 Usman, Zainab  152 Uwais, Mohammed Lawal  117, 312, 330, 339 Uwazurike, Ralph  434 Uzochukwu, C. E.  380 Uzoigwe, Godfrey N.  620 Value Added Tax Act (VAT) (1993/​2007)  201 Value Added Tax (VAT)  201, 202 Van de Walle, Nicolas  190 Van Hear, N.  395 VAPP see Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act (VAPP) Vatsa, Mamman  182 Venn, Henry  51, 52 VGN see Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN) Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN)  652t, 655, 658, 690 Vigilante Group of Wuntil  652t vigilante groups  432, 459, 465, 690 see also informal security groups Vigilante Services Bill  660 Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act (VAPP)  114, 447 violence against women and girls  444–​5, 447 von Hillerman, P.  139, 140 voter registration  331, 341, 345–​6 wage commissions  389t, 391, 393 Walbe, William  624 Wali, Na’ibi Sulaiman  709 Wamakko, Aliyu  312 war against indiscipline  181, 292, 420 Wariboko, Nimi  734 warrant chief system  79–​81, 108, 109, 112, 115 Warri Christian community  49–​50 Washington Consensus  144 WASU see West African Students’ Union (WASU) water and sanitation  147, 151, 153–​4, 160n1, 163n23 Water Resources Act (1993)  150

800   Index Watts, Michael  192, 638 Waziri, Farida  297 Weber, Max  730, 736 Welby-​Everard, Sir Christopher  624 Welch, Claude E., Jr.  669 Welden, S.  191, 192 Weldon, S. L.  452 West African National Congress  702 West African Nationhood newspaper  702 West African Pilot  95, 96, 376–​7, 699, 704 West African Students’ Union (WASU)  375, 710 Western education Boko Haram’s opposition to  432, 583, 587, 589,  592–​3 Islamic Movement of Nigeria and  587, 588 in northern Nigeria  90, 569, 572 Westhead, Paul  737 West Indies  65–​6 Wiktorowicz, Quintan  568 Williams, Eric  62, 65–​6 Williams, Funsho  362 Williams, P. A. T.  577 Williams, Rotimi  244 Wilson, Harold  716–​17 WIN see Women In Nigeria (WIN) Winners Chapel International  736, 737 Wiredu, Kwasi  426 women  103–​18 African women authors  121, 128–​30, 131 anticolonial resistance movement  80–​1, 103–​5, 107–​12,  128–​30 in Boko Haram insurgency  600, 657 in informal security groups  657–​8 literacy 147 post-​independence period  105,  113–​17 postwar activism  707 precolonial period  105–​7 resource curse and  529 roles in Nigerian Christianity  57–​8 taxation and  80–​1, 85, 110–​11, 112, 129, 130, 475 violence against  444–​5, 447 see also women’s rights and representation Women in Nigeria (WIN)  113, 116, 376 women’s policy agencies see meso-​level women’s policy agencies (MWPAs)

women’s rights and representation  441–​54 antifeminists and  443–​4, 451–​2,  453–​4 electoral gender quotas  442, 443, 450–​1 focus on subnational level  445–​50, 451 gender mainstreaming  442, 443 gender policy trifecta  442–​5, 450–​1, 452 gender-​responsive budgeting  442, 443 intersectional approach  452–​3 legislation 114 nonfeminist approaches  444–​5 religious and cultural barriers  446, 453–​4 transnational feminist networks (TFNs)  447–​50,  453 underrepresentation in legislature  114, 234 Women’s War (1929)  81, 104, 106, 108–​9, 110–​ 11, 128, 129, 475 World Bank  135, 144, 146, 151, 158, 160n1, 182, 397, 483, 510, 511, 547, 552, 554, 555, 558, 647 World Council of Churches  56 World Health Organization  546, 549 World Igbo Congress (2015)  434 World Press Freedom  467–​8 World Trade Organization  755 World Wildlife Fund (WWF)  137, 139, 157 Wright, Mike  737 WWF see World Wildlife Fund (WWF) Xi Jinping  750 Yaba Higher College  703 Yakassai, Malam Tanko  667–​8 Yakubu, Taminu  357 Yakubu, Umar Barde  225 Yan Tatsine  575 Yar’Adua, Shehu Musa  185, 357, 722 Yar’Adua, Turai  357 Yar’Adua, Umaru Musa Boko Haram insurgency  280–​1, 595 China and  747–​8 corruption under  296–​7 electoral reform  339, 344, 345 electoral violence  338 foreign policy  723 human rights under  280–​1, 464 illness and death  233, 345, 357, 515, 516, 673

Index   801 “invisible presidency”  345 Niger Delta insurgency and  515 oil and gas industry  747–​8 People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and  355, 356, 357, 360, 363 sharia 248 trade unions and  403 Yoruba ethnic group  427 colonial rule and  76, 79, 80, 86 ethnic political solidarity  675 nationalism  89, 90 political parties  211, 215 slave trade and  60–​1 women’s status  106, 108 Young, Crawford  665 Youngs, Richard  425, 426, 439 youth unemployment  569 Yunfa  42–​3

Yusuf, Brimo  362 Yusuf, Hakeem  310 Yusuf, Mohammed  155, 280–​1, 464, 470n13, 586, 587, 588, 589, 590–​4, 595, 609 Zaki Ibiam massacre  280, 461–​2 Al-​Zakzaky, Ibrahim  266, 283, 467 Zambia  718, 724 Zanzibar 724 Zenith Bank Plc.  203 Zenn, Jacob  584 Zik see Azikiwe, Benjamin Nnamdi Zikist movement  623, 708, 709–​10 Zimbabwe 720 Zimo Newsletter 708 zoning and rotation arrangements  346–​5, 357, 359, 362–​3, 430, 437, 539n7