Of Silent Nigerians And The Uncertainties of 2027
Femi Akintunde-Johnson
At a gathering of older Nigerians, the conversation turns, inevitably, to the state of the nation. Food prices are dissected, insecurity condemned, and somebody wonders how people are expected to survive on their earnings or pensions. Heads nod. The discussion is animated until someone asks what they intend to do about it, especially with another election approaching. Suddenly, the enthusiasm wanes. One person shrugs. Another declares that all politicians are the same. Somebody changes the subject. Everyone agrees that the country is in trouble, but the proposed remedy appears to be another round of private complaints.
This scene may not be universal, but it captures an intriguing feature of Nigeria’s political atmosphere. Despite the punishing cost of living, persistent insecurity and widespread dissatisfaction with governance, many older citizens appear remarkably restrained in their public reactions. They complain privately, exchange observations over the telephone and dissect political developments with impressive fluency. Yet the visible urgency one might expect is not always apparent. Are they indifferent, resigned or simply reluctant to expose their views? Perhaps we are making the mistake of interpreting silence as surrender.
For Nigerians who have witnessed successive administrations, military rule, economic reversals and election-season promises, political fatigue is understandable. Experience can produce discernment, but it can also mature into cynicism. Some may have concluded that public anger changes little, and that arguing about politics is an expensive hobby with uncertain returns. The danger is that citizens who have learnt to recognise political deception may eventually lose confidence in their own ability to influence the system.
Then there is the exhausting business of survival. The retired civil servant worries about a pension; the trader struggles to replace stock at prices customers can afford; the professional discovers that a respectable salary no longer guarantees a respectable standard of living. Parents supporting unemployed adult children have their own anxieties. People can be deeply concerned about the country and still lack the energy or resources for sustained political engagement. Sometimes silence is not indifference; it is exhaustion.
Private escape routes may also soften the urgency of collective action. Those who can afford generators or solar panels, private healthcare, private schools and additional security arrangements construct personal solutions to public problems. These arrangements may be necessary, but they can also create the illusion that the crisis is manageable so long as one can afford to avoid its worst consequences. The generator hums, the family eats, and the country continues to struggle outside the compound wall.
Fear and social pressure may contribute too. In an increasingly polarised environment, criticism is readily interpreted as hostility towards a party, ethnic group or political leader. Some people prefer to avoid arguments with relatives and colleagues; others worry about online harassment or professional consequences. Not every quiet citizen is frightened, but when disagreement becomes a test of political loyalty, private opinions may become considerably more candid than public conversations.
Perhaps the most consequential factor is the absence of confidence in the alternatives. Disappointment with an administration does not automatically produce enthusiasm for its opponents. When political parties appear preoccupied with defections, personality contests and the struggle for tickets, disillusioned voters may struggle to see a credible route from dissatisfaction to better governance. They may dislike what they have without trusting what is being offered instead.
Yet recent survey evidence complicates the assumption that Nigerians have simply lost interest in elections. Yiaga Africa’s National Voting Intentions Survey 3.0, conducted in September among 2,470 adults across the country, found that 84 per cent said they were likely or very likely to vote in 2027. Among respondents aged 61 and above, 64 per cent said they were very likely to vote, compared with 40 per cent of those aged 18-35. However, 61 per cent said fear of violence could prevent them from voting, while only 34 per cent expressed confidence that INEC would conduct credible elections. These findings suggest that apparent quietness may coexist with considerable electoral interest – and serious doubts about the process. (https://nvis.yiaga.org/?utm_source=chatgpt.com)
Stated intention, of course, is not actual turnout, and willingness to vote tells us nothing definitive about whom a person will support. But the figures expose a troubling contradiction: citizens may regard voting as a civic duty while doubting whether their participation will be safe or meaningful. T
he political atmosphere ahead of 2027 is therefore more complicated than a simple contest between an angry electorate and an incumbent government.
Smart politicians should understand the danger of misreading this moment. The absence of street protests is not an endorsement, just as a quiet constituency is not necessarily a satisfied one. Nor does hardship automatically translate into votes against the government. Nigerians have different experiences, priorities and loyalties. Some may accept the argument that economic reforms require time; others may judge the administration by what remains in their pockets at the end of the month. Security, employment, healthcare and the future of their children will also shape individual choices.
The intelligent response is to listen before attempting to persuade. Parties need to engage communities beyond rallies and choreographed endorsements, discussing wages, food prices, pensions, electricity, jobs and security with specifics rather than slogans. Candidates should explain how their proposals will work, what they will cost and how citizens can hold them accountable. Electoral authorities and security agencies must also address the fears that could keep willing voters away. Urging people to participate is insufficient if they doubt that voting will be safe or that their votes will count.
There may be another danger in the months ahead: mistaking quietness for political stability. Frustration does not always announce itself through demonstrations or social-media arguments. It may remain private until campaign choices sharpen or a particular event brings accumulated anxieties into focus. No one can responsibly predict an electoral eruption from silence alone. But neither should politicians assume that a lack of visible resistance means public approval.
Perhaps the older Nigerian at the gathering has not given up. Perhaps he is tired of arguing, cautious about declaring his intentions or waiting to see whether any candidate can offer more than another carefully packaged promise. He may vote, persuade his family or stay at home. We cannot know from his silence alone.
As 2027 approaches, politicians must learn to listen to citizens who are not shouting, trending or attending rallies. Their silence is not a ballot, their frustration is not an automatic endorsement of the opposition, and their eventual choices cannot be reliably inferred from appearances. But those who mistake a quiet electorate for a contented one may discover, too late, that they have been listening only to the noise and ignoring the people who have stopped talking.