Peace on paper, peril in practice: Why 2027’s elections remain at risk, by Dakuku Peterside

There is something reassuring about political rivals gathering beneath one roof to sign a common promise of peace. In a country where elections have too often been accompanied by intimidation, inflammatory rhetoric, and violence, the symbolism matters. It affirms that opponents are adversaries, not enemies, and that the pursuit of power must remain subordinate to the survival of the republic.

That is why the National Peace Accord signed in Abuja on August 18, 2026, deserves to be welcomed. It commits political actors to peaceful, credible, free, and fair elections, rejects violence and hate speech, and calls for impartial electoral institutions and professional security agencies.

But Nigeria must not mistake a declaration of good intentions for an architecture of credible elections. The greatest threat to 2027 may not be spectacular fraud or election-day violence. It may be the gradual tilting of the political field before voters reach polling units: an opposition rally denied a stadium, a campaign permit mysteriously delayed, billboard charges raised beyond reasonable reach, state media favouring incumbents, or security rules applied firmly to one party and leniently to another. Individually, such incidents may appear administrative. Collectively, they can alter the character of an election. Democracy may preserve the rituals of competition-candidates on ballots, rallies, polling stations, and counted votes-while steadily losing its substance. A level ballot cannot compensate for an uneven field.

Fairness begins long before election day. It begins with who may campaign freely, who can access public facilities and media, and whether government respects the boundary between public office and partisan advantage. When participation depends on administrative discretion, democracy becomes a permission economy in which those controlling the state also shape the conditions under which they are challenged. The same applies to INEC. Constitutional independence means little if financial, operational, or political vulnerability weakens institutional autonomy. Delayed funding can become delayed logistics, and delayed logistics can become disenfranchisement. Administrative weakness may achieve what crude manipulation once required.

The legal framework matters equally. Uncertainty over electronic transmission, collation, and evidence in election petitions deepens mistrust. When citizens cannot tell which records are decisive or whether disputed outcomes can be meaningfully challenged, confidence diminishes.

Technology alone will not solve this problem. BVAS and IReV are important tools for accreditation and transparency, but systems can fail, networks can disappear, and records can be contested. Disinformation can exploit technical uncertainty faster than official explanations can restore confidence.

Artificial intelligence compounds the risk. Deepfakes, fabricated audio, and manipulated images can be produced cheaply and distributed rapidly, confusing voters, inflaming divisions, and persuading citizens that participation is pointless. Election technology must therefore be resilient, auditable, and governed by unambiguous rules. Transparency is now democratic infrastructure. Security agencies face an equally important test. The Peace Accord rightly asks candidates to restrain their supporters, but restraint loses moral authority when enforcement is selective. If one rally receives protection while another faces disruption, or journalists and campaign workers fear association with certain candidates, democratic space contracts.

Incumbency presents another challenge. Office naturally brings visibility, but danger begins when governing and campaigning become indistinguishable-when public advertising becomes partisan messaging, official trips become mobilisation platforms, or state programmes are timed for electoral advantage. Public office must never confer ownership of public resources. Political language requires similar discipline. Where ethnicity, religion, and region overlap with political identity, reckless rhetoric can turn ordinary competition into existential confrontation. Once voters believe an election concerns their community’s survival rather than competing programmes, defeat becomes harder to accept and compromise more difficult.

The consequences of failure extend beyond declaring a winner. Repeatedly tilted elections deepen alienation, weaken institutions, increase political risk, and erode confidence in democracy itself. Nigeria must therefore move beyond election preparation to an architecture of electoral fairness. INEC must make preparedness transparent. Governments must guarantee equal campaign access and separate state functions from party activity. Security agencies must publish and enforce neutrality protocols. Political parties must discipline their supporters. Civil society and the media must monitor venue access, airtime, security conduct, campaign finance, and digital integrity.

None of this diminishes the Peace Accord. It gives it meaning. Handshakes, signatures, and public promises matter, but peace cannot rest on goodwill alone. A peaceful election is not necessarily a credible one. Legitimacy comes from confidence that candidates were free to compete, citizens were free to choose, institutions acted independently, security agencies remained neutral, technology worked transparently, and the same rules applied to everyone.  

That is the real test before Nigeria in 2027: not simply whether politicians keep the peace, but whether institutions keep the field level.

The Peace Accord has placed the promise on paper. The harder task is making it real, because democracy demands more than peaceful competition. It demands fair competition.

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