The Nigerian political scene is a pundit’s nightmare, with its immense capacity to shock. Consider the Ekiti State scenario. Many months after we all had concluded that the governorship election had been won and lost, a fellow showed up on television the other day to spill the beans, relaying graphic details of the plot that gave Ayo Fayose the governorship mantle. It all sounded so incredible, like a story in the hands of a master fiction writer, but the Fayose camp, which could have debunked Tope Aluko’s facts and figures, abandoned the message and went after the messenger. Now, the author of “the Great Confession” says his life is under threat.
More shocks were to follow, with the Supreme Court nullifying the positions of the lower courts in the Rivers, Akwa Ibom and Taraba governorship elections, among others. Many politicians, exasperated and perplexed by their perception of justice in contradistinction to judgment, have contacted “Editorial Notebook” for advice, paving the way for that bestseller, “An electoral Manual”, which has been revised at least twice, to undergo another makeover.
Here then is another revised edition of the manual, which will, no doubt, be of great help to those who intend not just to contest an election but to win and defend their hard earned victory.
Always remember that every election is a war. You need an army of yours – well funded. If you have a President who cares little about the ambush-and-finish-off politics that is common here, the better for you. The Armed Forces will simply look the other way as your troops make mincemeat of your opponents on the eve of the election.
How? Simple. Get your boys (your opponents will scorn them as thugs and roughnecks and bad boys and criminals and hoodlums; never mind; the end, as they say, justifies the means) to visit the homes of some key members of the opposing party, fire some shots and spill as much blood as possible. You will be surprised that the next day, only a few stubborn supporters of your opponents will have the guts to come out for voting.
The field is, automatically, open for you and all your agents to manipulate the accreditation – card reader or no card reader–, stuff the ballot and award the votes in the score forms you must have kept in a secure place for this great day. Some of your opponent’s supporters will complain that the card reader is not working and, in frustration, walk away. Better for you.
At the end of it all, reporters will seek your view on the exercise. You will, of course, praise it as the best in recent times. “Kudos to INEC; they have really improved. Materials arrived early and accreditation was orderly. Voting was peaceful,” you will tell the nosey fellows.
Your opponent will cry like a baby whose lollipop has been snatched by an inconsiderate elderly fellow. He will scream murder and say that the ballot was rigged and that his supporters were murdered. Be calm.
In no time, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) will declare you winner of the election. Your opponent will, naturally, disagree. His supporters will mount some street protests and malign INEC and its ever-dutiful officials, who will, of course, stand their ground and ask the aggrieved party to go to the tribunal – the only organ that can change the verdict.
Go to church for thanksgiving and testify to how faithful the Almighty has been to you. After you have been sworn in as governor, do not abandon the path of rectitude. Go from one church to another, praying for victory in the upcoming legal battles. Your opponents will say you have turned yourself into a prayer project as Pentecostal giants lay hands on your balding head. Never mind. All is well.
Then build up an unassailable war chest. Get the House of Assembly to approve that you borrow some billions – for what you will call some esoteric names, such as “Operation Zero Tolerance for Potholes” and “No More Refuse”. Critics, those idle fellows who abuse the rights of others by insisting that all behaviours must conform with their narrow standards, will call you reckless and spendthrift. Don’t reply. Afterall, the House is behind you.
Head for Abuja to tidy up that end. Then there will be so much noise about you being found loitering around the office of the Chief Justice. Yes. Don’t you have the right to movement? Isn’t that office a public place? Don’t you have some issues the CJN ought to have settled and what is wrong in a reminder?
Go back home and get set for the tribunal. You can cause panic in the camp of your opponent by threatening to unleash on the tribunal 10,000 witnesses who will testify that your election was free, fair and credible.
Hire an army of good lawyers, those called SANs, who will storm the tribunal with facts and figures and summon witnesses to swear that you were indeed the people’s choice. Your opponent may call hundreds of witnesses; don’t be intimidated. If you can get 10, that is okay.
At the end of it all, the tribunal may, in its limited wisdom, call your witnesses a bunch of liars and declare that you failed to prove beyond doubt that the trophy was rightly handed over to you and that a new election should be organised within 90 days. Don’t be downcast. Reject the judgment and head for the court of Appeal. It is, after all, a marathon and not a dash.
The SANs, aforementioned, will rise to condemn the tribunal and tell the court how it erred in law a thousand times to nullify your election, how it failed to prove that you cheated, how you perpetrated no violence (even if there was violence, weren’t you and your supporters the victims?), how some of your votes were unjustly cancelled and how you believe the court will play its role as the last hope of the common man by restoring the mandate , which thousands of your people freely gave you.
But a note of caution: even the best of lawyers know that Homo proponit sed Deus disponit (that is to say, “man proposes, God disposes”). The Court of Appeal may find no merit in your lawyers’ fine arguments, their marvelous erudition and impeccable logic. “The appellant has not convinced this court that his case has merit and the appeal fails and I so declare,” His Lordship may say.
Be courageous. Nothing good comes easy. To the Supreme Court you head. Again, your lawyers will deliver your case, deploying all manner of syllogisms, obfuscations and verbosity to impress their Lordships. By now, your opponent and his supporters should be thinking that it is all over, signed, sealed and waiting to be delivered. But for you, it has just begun. Go round and throw in everything.
Thereafter, relax. You can even boast a little by saying you are sure the Supreme Court will right all the wrongs against you. After all, by now, you know what many do not know- that not all legal battles are won in the court room. Tell your supporters to get set for a carnival.
To the consternation of all, including your opponents and all those legal giants who had predicted your fall, the Supreme Court will pronounce your election valid.
It will say that the card reader, one of the planks on which your opponent’s case was built, is a stranger to the Electoral Act and that he failed to prove the allegation of rigging as he did not bring witnesses from all the polling units where the so-called irregularities took place.
Besides, the eminent jurists will say the allegation of violence holds no water. Where are the victims who claimed to have had their heads smashed? People died; yes, but where is the proof? How many died and where are their death certificates, which must be authenticated by a certified forensic expert. Where are the doctors, nurses, morgue attendants, ambulance drivers and all others who can help the court determine that indeed there was violence? Was the violence substantial enough to affect the outcome of the election? Whose fault?
These allegations are criminal and must be proven beyond reasonable doubt. The court cannot do this for the party making the allegations as it is trite in law that El incumbit probation qui dicit, non qui negat. That is to say “he who asserts must prove”.
Disenfranchisement? This allegation must also be proven polling unit by polling unit and the police report must be consistent with that of the witnesses.
Now you can mount a road show, revealing how the long and tortuous journey ended the way it did. At a thanksgiving service, you can dance, raise your hands and sing:
He has given me victory, I will lift Him higher
Jehovah, I will lift Him higher
The Lord has given me victory, I will lift Him higher,
Jehovah, I will lift Him higher
You can then reveal how you have enjoyed the fruits of obedience, how an elder statesman would wake you up at night and tell you who to visit and you obeyed without questions. “I took all the advice and here we are today,” you will gleefully tell your excited audience. Applause. Applause.
Your opponents will claim that, going by your utterances, you had foreknowledge of the judgment. In fact, some people will say that you “climbed onto the governor’s seat over bodies” and that you swam in blood to the Government House. Such hyperboles are common at times like these. Just ignore them all.
If you have suspended any member of your team who you are afraid could spill the beans, as Aluko did, quickly recall the fellow.
So dear all, “here we are”. One more word. All rights reserved. No part of this manual may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the permission of the copyright holder.
NATION
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