From its parliamentary-style origins under the colonial government to today’s presidential style, Nigeria’s National Assembly has almost always failed its duties as a legislature. The work of the legislature is simple: (i) to legislate; and (ii) to represent. Considering that the bulk of Nigeria’s legislation—and almost all our constitutions—have been British or military prescribed, it is hard to say that our elected National Assembly has done much legislating. As representatives, their value is even less ascertainable. Some represent their constituencies, some represent their political parties, and others represent their godfathers and sponsors. But most of the legislators are there to represent themselves.
What we can all agree on is this: in all its iterations, the Nigerian legislature has mostly served as an efficient vehicle for the distribution of national resources to party loyalists. It has done this through the allocation of committees, salaries, allowances, pensions, gratuities and benefits in kind to both its own members and the executive. In short, the legislature, with the executive, has been responsible for moving public income towards preferred private directions.
This is nothing new. Yet, public discontent remains fresh. This is specifically because the funds “legally” diverted through the Revenue Mobilisation Allocation and Fiscal Commission are much more mind-boggling and the justification more ridiculous, and generally because the Internet age makes this information readily available and shareable.
But what are we going to do with the information? This is even more pertinent considering that, by definition, whatever the National Assembly does as a body is legal.
What if we “start” with some protests, you may ask? Just to show our displeasure. Yes, protest is a method of calling attention to a grievance. But what is the lifespan of a protest in our socio-political reality?
Here’s a familiar scenario. Assuming the legislators don’t wholly ignore a protest, the more educated ones will listen with a patronising air of concern. They will assure protesters that the public interest is paramount to them. They will also table the “difficulties” in seeking a quick solution, and appeal to our sense of “reason”. They will ask to meet in private with the leaders of the protests. They will listen to PowerPoint presentations on the way forward. They will nod and agree to all the suggestions and, at the end, exchange warm handshakes and take pictures with the protest leaders. They will go back to their colleagues in the House with assurances that the matter is settled. To show goodwill, they may cut some allowances. Within a month or two the issue will dissipate. Within a year they will reallocate the money in even larger sums.
It is easier to embarrass the president into action than to embarrass the National Assembly. The president is an individual, capable of emotional reactions and logical decisions. The National Assembly, however, is a collective without a personal conscience. We cannot embarrass it or reason with it. People who don’t care about exchanging hard blows on live television are unlikely to be moved by hashtags and placards.
This is not strange if you consider that the average member of the House of Representatives is often the party strongman in the constituency. This implies a profusion of touts and unsavoury characters in the legislative chambers, translating into the familiar chair-throwing scenario.
This is why we cannot solve the problem of an unresponsive National Assembly by protesting to its doors.
In fact, we have to treat the legislature as the enemy here—in every sense of the word. We have to ignore the collective and focus on the individuals that constitute the body. Luckily, it is not an entirely faceless entity: its members are identifiable. In private and in public, we have to treat each of these individuals the way one would treat a burglar. We have to stop inviting them to events, stop giving them audience. We need to let them know that, directly or by association, they are swindlers.
The National Assembly, as constituted today, does not protect any public interest. Do not be deceived by solicitous words, their singular intent is to advance private careers at the nation’s material, emotional and mental expense. The National Assembly itself ought to be constitutionally abolished, leaving Nigerians to redesign the level and scope of national representations they want. These suggestions may sound harsh, but that’s the reality of our predicament.
But the National Assembly holds the proverbial yam and knife. It is not going to surrender its power and do our bidding just because we trend hashtags and show up for some half-hearted protest. In a working system, peaceful protests and presentations can fix a minor issue, but not in a dysfunctional system where the legislature doesn’t even derive its authority or legitimacy from the masses. The massive disregard for society will not be solved by PowerPoint presentations in the comfort of Abuja. It will only be solved by radical civil disobedience.
But who will bell the cat? We all know that the ideal of social revolution is improbable. Those of us who have the opportunity and means to rework the system are content with protests that satisfy our consciences without tipping the system that gives us those opportunities. In fact, the senators and representatives count on us to stay “reasonable” and not to go beyond a certain point.
Then let’s just do “something small”, you may say, “Better than doing nothing”. But “something small” merely satisfies our urge to react without changing anything. From student protests to labour union strikes, generations of “progressive” Nigerians have satisfied this urge to react for decades. We keep on protesting within the confines of the system. Yet, it is lunacy to keep doing the same thing and expect a different outcome. We have to do something “big”.
Otherwise, the masses will be pushed too far someday and this dysfunctional system will collapse on itself. Looking back from 1960, “someday” may seem far. But if the current scenarios of unpaid civil service salaries, diminishing crude oil sales and a looming recession are any indicators, “someday” may be closer than we think.
PUNCH
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