By OLUFEMI ADUWO
In every serious constitutional democracy, the supreme law of the land is expected to promote justice, preserve political stability and protect the integrity of representative governance.
Constitutional amendments are not enacted merely to satisfy temporary political anxieties or cabal calculations; they are intended to strengthen democratic order for generations yet unborn.
It is precisely for this reason that Nigeria’s Fourth Alteration Act No. 16 of 2018 increasingly appears, not as a landmark democratic reform, but as one of the most unnecessary and politically-motivated amendments in the country’s constitutional history.
Signed into law by President Muhammadu Buhari on 8 June, 2018, the amendment provides that any vice-president or deputy governor who succeeds a deceased or incapacitated president or governor and spends more than two years completing that tenure shall only be eligible to contest that office once thereafter.
What was publicly presented as a constitutional safeguard against tenure elongation has gradually revealed itself as an amendment rooted more in political suspicion than constitutional wisdom.
The 2018 constitutional amendment was born from the lingering political consequences of the constitutional crisis that followed the illness of Umaru Musa Yar’Adua in 2010.
Nigeria, at the time, drifted dangerously close to institutional paralysis as Yar’Adua’s prolonged absence created uncertainty at the highest level of government.
The National Assembly was eventually compelled to invoke the historic Doctrine of Necessity to empower Vice President Goodluck Jonathan to govern as Acting President before he ultimately assumed office substantively upon Yar’Adua’s death.
Jonathan’s emergence profoundly altered Nigeria’s political equilibrium. Certain sections of the northern political establishment considered the transition an interruption of what they regarded as the North’s expected eight-year presidential tenure. Although Jonathan’s succession was entirely constitutional, the political bitterness generated by those events never completely disappeared.
Years later, when Buhari himself experienced recurring health challenges during his administration, apprehension reportedly spread within influential political circles concerning the possibility that Vice President Yemi Osinbajo could eventually become substantive president.
It was within this atmosphere of cabal-driven distrust and succession anxiety that the 2018 constitutional amendment emerged.
The amendment was less a constitutional necessity than a political insurance policy designed to restrict the future electoral advantage of any deputy who unexpectedly ascends power through constitutional succession.
In essence, the law sought to prevent another Jonathan scenario and, perhaps, more immediately, to curtail any hypothetical Osinbajo advantage should Buhari’s health deteriorate further.
The gravest flaw in the amendment lies in its fundamental misunderstanding of constitutional succession itself. Vice presidents and deputy governors derive their legitimacy from the same constitutional process that produces the president or governor.
Vice presidents and deputy governors are neither accidental intruders into executive office, nor are they opportunistic beneficiaries of tragedy. They are constitutionally-recognised successors specifically envisaged by the framers of the Constitution to guarantee continuity of governance during moments of crisis.
To subsequently penalise such individuals for faithfully discharging their constitutional responsibilities is not merely illogical, it is profoundly unjust.
A deputy who assumes office due to death, illness or incapacitation does not seize power through conspiracy or manipulation. The succession occurs automatically by operation of law. The Constitution itself commands that transition.
Why then should the same Constitution impose a political disability upon the individual for obeying its provisions?
This contradiction reveals the amendment’s deeper constitutional weakness. Rather than strengthening democratic continuity, it transforms constitutional succession into a political liability.
It effectively tells vice presidents and deputy governors that the unfortunate death or incapacity of their principal may ultimately become a curse upon their own political future. No mature democracy should operate on such reasoning.
The absurdity becomes even clearer when examined within Nigeria’s federal and regional realities. Across the federation, governorship succession often carries significant implications for regional balance and representation. When constitutional succession prematurely truncates the political expectations of a particular senatorial district or region, tensions naturally emerge regarding fairness and inclusion.
The present situation in Ondo State illustrates the danger perfectly. Following the untimely death of Governor Rotimi Akeredolu in December 2023, his deputy, Lucky Aiyedatiwa, constitutionally succeeded him as governor.
Yet, because of the 2018 amendment, uncertainty now surrounds whether Aiyedatiwa may ultimately be restricted from seeking what many would ordinarily consider a legitimate second term.
For the people of Ondo South Senatorial District, this debate is not merely legal abstraction; it is deeply political and historical.
The district previously produced Dr Olusegun Agagu as governor, only for his second term to be abruptly terminated following judicial intervention in 2009. Many within the region continue to regard that episode as an incomplete political experience unfairly cut short.
Now fate has once again elevated the district into the governorship through constitutional succession and, once again, constitutional technicalities threaten to limit that opportunity. Unsurprisingly, many in Ondo South insist that anything short of allowing Aiyedatiwa to complete a reasonable electoral cycle would amount to another injustice against the district.
Their grievance is neither irrational nor unconstitutional.
Federal democracy depends, not only upon rigid legality, but also upon public confidence in the fairness of political arrangements. Where constitutional provisions repeatedly operate to the disadvantage of specific regions or groups, resentment becomes inevitable.
The distinguished British constitutional scholar, A. V. Dicey, famously argued that the legitimacy of a constitutional government ultimately rests upon confidence in the fairness and impartiality of the law. A constitution may possess legal authority, yet still lose moral credibility if its provisions generate avoidable inequity.
Similarly, the renowned legal philosopher, Roscoe Pound, observed that law must remain responsive to social realities, rather than becoming imprisoned by mechanical rigidity. Constitutional systems survive not merely because they are obeyed, but because citizens believe they operate justly.
The defenders of the 2018 constitutional amendment insist it prevents tenure elongation through accidental succession. This argument, however, collapses upon closer examination.
Nigeria already possesses clear constitutional term limits preventing indefinite occupancy of executive office. No president or governor may legally remain beyond the maximum period already prescribed by the Constitution.
The amendment therefore solves no genuine constitutional crisis. Instead, it creates fresh political complications where none previously existed.
More troublingly, it discourages the spirit of constitutional continuity which presidential democracies are designed to protect. The entire purpose of having vice presidents and deputy governors is to guarantee stability during unforeseen emergencies. Once succession itself becomes politically-punitive, the constitutional philosophy underpinning executive continuity is weakened.
The amendment also introduces needless ambiguity into electoral calculations. Political actors now increasingly scrutinise succession timelines not merely for governance purposes, but for future eligibility consequences. Constitutional transitions should provide certainty and stability, not generate fresh legal and political confusion.
The National Assembly must therefore confront a difficult but necessary truth: the amendment was an overreaction driven by transient political fears rather than enduring constitutional logic. Laws enacted under the influence of immediate political anxieties often age poorly.
What appeared expedient in 2018 now increasingly resembles a constitutional distortion whose unintended consequences continue to multiply across the federation.
Nigeria cannot afford constitutional arrangements that punish lawful succession or create perceptions of regional disadvantage.
A vice president or deputy governor who assumes office due to tragedy should not become a victim of constitutional suspicion. Nor should entire states or senatorial districts feel perpetually deprived because circumstances unexpectedly altered the constitutional sequence of leadership.
The outgoing National Assembly would therefore perform a valuable democratic service by revisiting this amendment with intellectual honesty and constitutional maturity. Repealing or substantially modifying the provision would not weaken democracy. Rather, it would restore coherence to the principle of constitutional succession.
Ultimately, constitutions must embody fairness as much as legality. They must protect democratic continuity without manufacturing avoidable injustice. Nigeria’s 2018 constitutional amendment regrettably fails that test.
A mature constitutional order does not punish succession. It regulates power with wisdom, restraint and equity. Death, illness or judicial upheaval should never become political liabilities for those whom the Constitution itself commands to step forward in moments of national uncertainty.
If Nigeria truly seeks a more balanced and stable democratic future, then this amendment deserves not merely criticism, but urgent repeal.
The Amendment is just too okay
There’s no point revisiting or re-sending it