Fela’s “Government Magic”

Fela Anikulapo-Kuti had a word for it: “Government Magic.”

In the track, the Afrobeat pioneer captured a Nigerian political tradition that predates the Fourth Republic—the sudden transformation of figures, narratives, and outcomes to fit the ambitions of those in power.

He was singing about the 1979 and 1983 elections, but the chorus feels uncomfortably familiar today. The instruments have changed. The stage is bigger.

Yet the choreography of doubt around election results remains.

The political class, as Fela dissected in song after song, has always understood the value of controlling the story before, during, and after the polls.

The Goal

The goal is not just to win, but to win in a way that makes dissent look irrational. When the numbers bend to serve whims and caprices, the public’s faith in the process bends with them.

That is why the credibility of internal party primaries matters. They are rehearsals for the national performance. If the rehearsal collapses into farce, the main show risks losing its audience.

Striking Figure

The recent All Progressives Congress presidential primary result has reignited that old conversation.

According to reports circulating from the party, President Bola Tinubu emerged as the APC candidate for the 2027 presidential election with a tally exceeding 10 million votes.

On its face, the figure is striking. It is also the source of the current controversy. Across social media, videos and screenshots purporting to show the counting process have fueled questions about the arithmetic behind the result.

The clips show delegates and officials tallying votes in what appears to be a linear, one-by-one sequence.

Then, without a visible change in method or volume, the totals jump to figures in the tens of thousands.That kind of progression violates basic expectations of how counting works.

Mechanics of counting

Arithmetic progression moves step by step: one, two, three, four. What people observed looked closer to geometric progression—small, manageable numbers suddenly leaping into magnitudes that do not match the visible process.

To the average voter watching at home, it does not read as a technical anomaly. It reads as a sleight of hand. And in politics, perception is often as consequential as procedure.

The problem is not the ambition of a large turnout. A party primary with millions of participants is plausible if the structure supports it.

The problem is the disconnect between what was seen and what was announced. When the mechanics of counting defy standard arithmetic, the burden falls on the party to explain the method.

Was this an aggregation of state-level results? Were multiple counting centers involved? Was there a digital component that was not visible in the clips? Without that context, the silence becomes an explanation in itself, and not a reassuring one.

Why it matters

This matters because the signal from a party primary extends beyond the party. It sets a tone for the general election that follows.

If internal contests normalize questionable tallies, it becomes harder to draw a line at the national level.

It erodes the cultural expectation that numbers should add up, that observers should be able to follow the process, and that the loser should be able to concede without feeling gaslit.

Once that expectation erodes, every subsequent election starts from a deficit of trust.

Nigeria’s elections history

Nigeria’s history with elections makes this sensitivity unavoidable.

Fela’s “Government Magic” resonated in the 1980s precisely because voters had watched results shift between the polling unit and the collation center.

The trauma of that era did not disappear because new technology arrived. It evolved.

Today, the magic happens in parallel—on the field and on timelines. A video can travel faster than a press statement. A 30-second clip can frame a narrative that a 10-page report cannot undo.

In that environment, transparency is not a luxury. It is risk management.The APC’s position as the ruling party increases the stakes.

When the party in power announces results that strain credibility, the opposition, civil society, and international observers all take note. It feeds into a broader narrative about democratic backsliding that Nigeria has been working to resist.

It also gives ammunition to those who argue that elections are theater and that the outcome is decided long before voters mark a ballot. That is a dangerous argument to validate, even unintentionally.

Generational dimension

There is also a generational dimension. The younger voters who make up a growing share of the electorate are digital natives.

They expect processes to be visible, verifiable, and timestamped.

They are not satisfied with appeals to tradition or authority when the data does not align.

For them, a counting process that leaps from single digits to five figures without an explanation looks less like “strategy” and more like contempt for their intelligence.

That is not a base you want to alienate before a general election. None of this is to say that the APC intended to undermine its own credibility.

Party primaries are complex, high-pressure events.

Aggregating results from 36 states and the FCT, coordinating delegates, managing security, and communicating in real time is not simple.

Mistakes happen. Miscommunications happen. But the response to those mistakes determines whether they become scandals.

A prompt, detailed breakdown of how the 10 million figure was reached—with state-by-state tallies, observer sign-off, and a clear explanation of the counting method—would close the loop. Silence and defensiveness keep it open.

When the party in power announces results that strain credibility, the opposition, civil society, and international observers all take note. It feeds into a broader narrative about democratic backsliding that Nigeria has been working to resist.

The political class would do well to remember that legitimacy is a renewable resource, but only if you invest in it. Every election cycle offers a chance to rebuild trust or deplete it further.

The current moment is a test. If the APC can demonstrate that its primary was both massive and methodical, it strengthens the case for its own mandate.

If it cannot, it hands its opponents a narrative that will outlast the 2027 campaign.Beyond the APC, the broader lesson is for all parties.

The era where results could be announced and accepted without explanation is over.

The public has access to more information, more cameras, and more ways to compare what was said with what was seen. That is not a problem to be managed through messaging. It is a reality to be designed for.

That means building primaries and elections around verifiable processes: clear protocols, independent observation, real-time data release, and audit trails that can withstand public scrutiny.

Leadership also requires admitting when the process has gaps.

A leader cannot succeed without a good support team, but that team must include people willing to say, “This does not look right, and we need to fix it.”

The younger generation watching these events is not asking for perfection.They are asking for honesty. They are asking for a system that respects arithmetic and respects them.

Giving them space in leadership means giving them a process they can believe in, even when they lose.

The danger of ignoring this is not abstract. When vote counting looks arbitrary, voter turnout suffers.

When turnout suffers, governance suffers. When governance suffers, the cycle of disillusionment deepens.

Nigeria cannot afford another decade where elections are seen as rituals rather than decisions.

The country’s challenges—security, economy, education, healthcare—require a public that believes its vote can influence who makes those decisions.

Fela’s critique was not about cynicism. It was about accountability. He held up a mirror to power and asked it to recognize itself. That is still the task.

If the APC’s primary result was legitimate, prove it with the kind of transparency that makes “Government Magic” impossible. If there were errors, correct them publicly and show how the process will change. That is how you turn a moment of doubt into a foundation for trust.

2027 election

The 2027 election will not be decided on social media. But the climate in which it is contested is being shaped there now.

Every unexplained anomaly, every dismissive response, every jump from one to ten thousand without a visible step in between, adds weight to the narrative that the game is rigged.

And once that narrative takes hold, even a perfectly conducted election struggles to overcome it.

The political class has been called upon to ensure that their supporters do not cause mayhem as the country heads for the polls.

That responsibility starts long before Election Day. It starts with how parties conduct their own affairs, how they count their own votes, and how they explain their own results.

Democracy is not just about winning. It is about winning in a way that the country can recognize as its own.

Nigeria needs more people of conscience in positions where they can influence process, not just outcomes. People who understand that a clean process is the best defense against a dirty result.

People who are willing to give the younger generation not just a seat at the table, but a table that is built on rules everyone can see and follow.

If the APC wants its 2027 candidacy to be judged on policy, record, and vision, it must first secure the legitimacy of the path that produced it.

That is not a favor to the opposition. It is a service to the country. Because in the end, the only magic that sustains democracy is the ordinary, unglamorous work of making the numbers add up—and showing your work while you do it.

• Emeka Monye Is A Journalist

In point of fact, Lagos State is beyond a state. And, that is written without any sense of exaggeration. Lagos is more or less a country. The state can be compared to the other countries in Africa, especially along the continent’s west coast. Take a look at the state’s GDP and compare to Liberia, Sierra Leone and Togo’s figures.

The state’s economic indices completely outclass theirs while competing favourably with even Ghana or Cote D’Ivoire’s. Analogously, the Federal Capital Territory – (not yet recognised as a state) – Abuja – perhaps, with no one noticing – is rapidly morphing, racing up the path that shaped the Lagos’ development trajectory.

The end outcome is for time to reveal. And, it surely will. Comparatively, the other thirty-five states in the Nigerian federation are less than what one would call a state in terms of revenue generation, infrastructural presence and the other state-determinant economics and features, as they are straddled by very weak eco-financial profiles.

In fact, their Treasuries are often said to be in chaos, which I think should be some wake-up call to all their stakeholders. For instance, benchmarking the VAT and IGR (largely driven by consumption and the spate of economic engagements) numbers across the states in Nigeria presents another vivid revelation of immense size.

The disparity between Lagos and Abuja’s VAT and IGR figures, on the one hand and the other 35-states’ is frankly too dizzying for comfort and should raise some concern. Some (constitutional – largely fiscal) arrangements must have led to this.

Therefore, truly concerned elected political office-holders and economic planners should know it’s time they spoke up. Their continued silence rewards no one, not even the present benefitting states, especially in the long range.

The gap also does not speak in favour of country-wide development, especially when it negates the exact arrangements the nation badly and urgently needs.

Of many of the factors driving the unwholesome developmental optics, the structure of the country’s tax (particularly the PAYE system – how this is shared) can be considered to be at the heart of this misnomer.

Nigeria, Stakeholder Concerns and Taxes
Interestingly, Nigeria is a federation of states. Our federating structure is like no other in the world. How most of its holding pillars are defined are not evolving. They are stuck in their original letters, negatively impacting real development.

The Nigerian constitution recognises the clearly inflexible dichotomy between state of origin and state of residence for various reasons. There is also an aspect of the Nigerian state that is often de-emphasised in discourses even though it’s an integral part of its politico-administrative architecture – the local government.

Every economically-engaged Nigeria (especially in the formal sector) is at least a stakeholder in the three politico-administrative jurisdictions of state of residence, state and local government of origin. But of all the three, allegiance is most tightly expressed in one’s state of origin.

How deeply true is this when the PAYE-tax structure favours the state of residence while neglecting his supposed allegiance to his state of origin?

To help the government at each of the levels – federal, state and local – meet with their responsibilities and duties, every working/ earning adult is, amongst others, expected to be tax-responsible as a citizen-stakeholder.

Nigeria has adopted the PAYE-tax structure for its workers. Don’t we know that tax is a sine qua non for development? The existing PAYE-tax architecture is defective. It directs that PAYE-tax should be on the basis of the state of residence (where the typical worker is domiciled).

It does not take into consideration the many ‘fates’ of the Nigerian worker outside his state of origin and his stakeholder responsibility bent. In other words, the PAYE-tax structure demands him to be tax-responsible to a state where he is more or less regarded as a ‘stranger’.

That way, he is therefore tax-irresponsible to his state and local government area of origin, where according to the Nigerian constitution he also has some stakes.

The drawbacks of this long-standing arrangement are so easily seen and they are enormous, reflecting in the development hiatus between the two (of Lagos and Abuja) and the rest.

The development gap also comes with its socio-economic challenges if we think in terms of migration. On the other hand, a critical evaluation will also reveal that, like some have argued, Lagos and Abuja’s development is at the price being paid by the other 35-states.

For instance, a Deltan living and working in Abuja can be tax-responsible to the FCT while being tax-irresponsible to Delta State – where he is also a stakeholder (isn’t it wrong to be a stakeholder only on paper?). How this insalubrious tilt has remained the case for too long is what I do not know.

The existing PAYE-tax arrangement completely turns its back on many of our highly engraved and pronounced peculiarities as a nation, which should not be.

A Fairer PAYE-TAX Structure for Nigeria
It is time everyone – the politicians and economic planners – sat at the roundtable to develop a new and more equitable PAYE-tax sharing arrangement, which must take into reckoning our many oddities as a nation.

Furthermore, it must also align with the stakeholder leanings of the average Nigerian worker, which in the final argument will benefit country-wide development.

Argue against this if you can. A stitch, like they say, can actually stop the necessary need for nine.

Tony Monye Publisher
The TMBC Business

By Emeka Monye

In 1988, as international pressure against apartheid reached a crescendo, South Africa’s then State President Pieter Willem Botha allegedly declared that Black Africans lacked the capacity to govern themselves.

The statement, widely circulated but never verified in an official transcript, was stark: “Black people cannot rule themselves because they don’t have the brain and mental capacity to govern a society.

Give them guns, they would kill themselves; give them power, they will steal all the government money; give them independence and democracy, they will use it to promote tribalism, ethnicity, bigotry, hatred, killings and wars.”

A longer version of an alleged 1985 speech described Black people as “a symbol of poverty, mental inferiority, laziness and emotional incompetence.”

Botha was the architect of “reform apartheid” — a policy that eased some racial restrictions while entrenching white minority rule. He legalized interracial marriage, relaxed the Group Areas Act, and granted limited political rights to Coloured and Indian South Africans.

But he drew the line at Black majority rule, refusing to negotiate with the African National Congress or release Nelson Mandela for most of his tenure.

His words, whether authentic or apocryphal, reflected the ideological core of apartheid: that white minority rule was necessary because Black Africans were incapable of self-governance.

More than three decades after apartheid ended and South Africa became a democracy, that assertion has resurfaced in public discourse — not from white supremacists, but from some Africans reacting to a painful reality: the periodic eruption of xenophobic violence against fellow Africans in South Africa.

Since 2008, South Africa has witnessed repeated waves of attacks on African migrants. Shops owned by Nigerians, Somalis, Zimbabweans, and Mozambicans have been looted and burned. Foreign nationals have been beaten, killed, and displaced from townships.

In September 2019, mobs targeted foreign-owned businesses in Johannesburg and Pretoria, forcing hundreds to flee. In 2021 and again in 2023, similar violence flared in Durban and Gauteng, often justified by perpetrators as a response to unemployment and crime.

The victims are not Europeans or Asians. They are Africans — fellow members of the African Union, fellow signatories to the African Continental Free Trade Area, fellow citizens of a continent that preaches Pan-African solidarity.

The irony is bitter. A country that itself endured decades of racial exclusion now finds sections of its population directing similar exclusion toward other Black Africans.

This is the context in which Botha’s alleged statement is being recalled. For some commentators, the attacks are not just criminal acts.

They are seen as evidence of a deeper dysfunction — a failure of governance, social cohesion, and civic responsibility that extends beyond South Africa’s borders and into the broader African experience.

Africa is the world’s youngest continent, with 60 percent of its population under 25. It is also the richest in natural resources, holding 30 percent of the world’s mineral reserves and 65 percent of its arable land.

Yet it remains the least developed continent on nearly every index — from GDP per capita to healthcare, education, and infrastructure.

The reasons are complex and historical. Colonialism dismantled indigenous governance structures, imposed arbitrary borders, and created extractive economies designed to serve European powers.

Post-independence, many African states inherited weak institutions and were immediately confronted with Cold War proxy conflicts, debt burdens, and the challenge of nation-building across diverse ethnic groups.

The result has been a pattern of instability: civil wars in Liberia, Sierra Leone, Rwanda, and Sudan. Military coups in Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, and Guinea. Election rigging, corruption, and weak rule of law in numerous countries. Banditry and insurgency in the Sahel and North-East Nigeria.

These are not abstract problems. They have consequences — for economic development, for migration, and for the way Africans are perceived both at home and abroad.

South Africa has not been immune. Despite its advanced infrastructure and democratic institutions, it struggles with inequality, unemployment hovering above 30 percent, and high levels of violent crime. In this environment, foreign nationals often become scapegoats.

They are accused of taking jobs, running informal businesses without permits, and contributing to crime. The narrative is familiar: when institutions fail to deliver economic opportunity, blame is shifted to the outsider.

The core of Botha’s argument — and the uncomfortable question it raises today — is about institutions. Governance is not just about holding elections. It is about building systems that protect property rights, enforce contracts, deliver public services, and hold leaders accountable.

It is about a culture where the rule of law supersedes tribal loyalty, where constitutional authority is respected, and where citizens feel safe and included.

In many African countries, those institutions remain weak. Courts are slow or compromised. Police are under-resourced and often seen as predatory. Civil service is politicized. Corruption is normalized. When the state fails to provide security and economic opportunity, informal power structures — ethnic militias, vigilante groups, criminal gangs — fill the vacuum.

South Africa’s xenophobic attacks reveal the same deficit. The state has been slow to prosecute perpetrators. Political leaders have at times used anti-foreigner rhetoric for political gain.

Communities feel abandoned by law enforcement and take justice into their own hands. The result is a breakdown of social order that mirrors the instability seen in other parts of the continent.

To raise this question is not to endorse Botha’s racism. His worldview was rooted in white supremacy and designed to justify domination. History has disproven him in the most fundamental way: Black Africans have governed themselves since independence, building nations, universities, businesses, and cultural institutions.

Countries like Botswana, Rwanda, Ghana, and Mauritius have shown that stable governance and economic growth are possible in an African context.

But it is also true that self-governance has not delivered the prosperity and unity that early independence leaders like Kwame Nkrumah, Julius Nyerere, and Patrice Lumumba envisioned. Instead, many African states remain trapped in cycles of conflict and underdevelopment. The African Union’s Agenda 2063 speaks of a “peaceful and prosperous Africa,” but the reality on the ground often falls short.

The xenophobic attacks in South Africa force a difficult conversation. If Africans cannot protect other Africans within their own borders, what does that say about the project of African unity? If economic competition between Africans leads to violence rather than cooperation, how can the continent achieve meaningful integration under the African Continental Free Trade Area?

Botha’s assertion was meant to deny Africans agency. The proper response is not to accept it, but to confront the failures that give it superficial resonance.

That means African governments must do more to strengthen institutions, protect migrants, and address the economic grievances that fuel xenophobia.

It means civil society must challenge hate speech and promote a culture of tolerance. It means citizens must hold leaders accountable for delivering governance that works.

It also means rejecting the temptation to generalize. South Africa’s attacks do not represent all South Africans. Many South Africans have condemned the violence, sheltered foreign nationals, and called for solidarity.

Similarly, Africa’s governance challenges do not define all 54 countries on the continent. There are islands of stability and progress that offer a counter-narrative.

The real danger is silence — the refusal to acknowledge that something is broken. Africa cannot afford to normalize dysfunction or to dismiss criticism as neo-colonialism. Self-determination comes with responsibility: the responsibility to build societies that are just, safe, and prosperous for all who live within them, regardless of nationality.

Pieter Willem Botha’s words were born out of prejudice and intended to perpetuate oppression. They should be rejected for what they are — a justification for racial exclusion. Yet the recurring xenophobic violence in South Africa, and the broader governance challenges across Africa, demand honest reflection.

The path forward lies not in proving Botha right, but in proving him wrong through action. That means building institutions that work, economies that create opportunity, and societies that uphold the dignity of every person — African or otherwise. Until then, the question of Africa’s capacity to govern itself will remain open, not because of race, but because of the unfinished work of state-building.

Africa’s renaissance will not come from denying its problems. It will come from facing them, learning from them, and resolving to do better. That is the only answer worthy of the continent’s future.

Emeka Monye Is A Journalist