-By Abdul Mahmud
I must begin with a confession. I write two columns weekly. One for this magazine and the other for the People’s Gazette. After finishing my piece for the People’s Gazette, I found myself staring into that graveyard of silence familiar to writers: the sudden and barren wasteland of the mind, the dreaded place called writer’s block. My Muse had packed her bags. Without a whisper. Without a rustle of inspiration. Perhaps, as the GenZs say with half a chuckle and half a fear, my village people had finally located me. So, I resolved not to place my fingers on the keyboard this week; and to retreat in quiet surrender to emptiness. But fate, or perhaps the gods of public engagement, had other plans for me.
I posted a short prelude to my other column on Facebook; just a few lines excerpted from my other column. It elicited reactions. But one reaction in particular arrested me. It came from my dear friend and Nigeria’s former Ambassador to Guinea-Bissau, John Usanga. His words were warm, but they carried a troubling question, foregrounded by that kind of humility that makes one pause and think: “I love your write-up, great comrade! But my problem is this: Given that Africa – and I mean no disrespect to us as a people – is tribal in composition, what would be the proper home-grown democratic structure that will accommodate the diversity of ethnic groups in Africa to the satisfaction of all Africans?” His question haunted me. It tugged at my conscience. It lingered, even as I told myself I had nothing more to say this week. So here I am, struggling still with the Muse who has refused to return, but compelled to respond to a question too important to ignore. For at the heart of it lies Africa’s oldest dilemma: how to reconcile her many tongues, her many nations, her many peoples, into a shared political life that is just, inclusive, and truly democratic.
Before I venture into the heart of the matter, a brief detour is necessary as an interrogation of Ambassador Usanga’s use of the phrase, “tribal in composition.” Though likely used in good faith, the phrase carries a heavy historical burden. It echoes the vocabulary of early sociologists and anthropologists like Levi-Strauss, Durkheim, Malinowski whose positions were tainted by racist prejudices. In their writings, Africa’s ethnic nations were flattened into “tribes”; a term that became the shorthand for the primitive, the pre-political, the undeveloped. These so-called “tribes” were not seen as evolving cultures with histories, institutions, and systems of governance. They were imagined as static relics of humanity’s past that were exotic, chaotic, and in need of external order. The description may have served colonialism, but it does violence to the richness of African identities. To call African nations “tribal” is not simply to misname them; it is to diminish them. It is to cast them outside the realm of the modern. And that, let it be said plainly, is racist.
Africa’s nations are complex. They are multi-layered. They are diverse. They are dynamic. They are not “tribes” in the sense of the colonial. To continue to describe them as such is to remain trapped in that colonial imagination.
Now, I return to the main themes of this piece.
In 1957, as Britain’s colonial project began to collapse, the Colonial Office in London released a troubling Report. Democracy, it stated, would not travel well in the colonies, especially in Nigeria. Its reason? Widespread poverty. Ignorance. And, in more guarded colonial-speak, the “tribal” character of the Nigerian.
It was a cold dismissal. A quiet warning that democracy, imported wholesale, would break under the weight of ethnic diversity. The Report wasn’t entirely wrong. It was, however, short-sighted. The late Claude Ake, the renowned Nigerian political economist, would later put it more clearly. In his book, The Feasibility of Democracy in Africa, Ake wrote that democratisation must precede democracy. In effect, he meant that democracy cannot exist without it being practised. It cannot take root in an environment where it is not nurtured. It cannot be wished into being. Today, nearly 70 years since that colonial report, Africa still struggles with democracy. The question remains: what form of democracy can truly work for Africa? One that respects the continent’s ethnic, linguistic, and cultural diversity. One that Africans can call their own.
This isn’t a question plucked from the sheaf of the abstract. It goes to the heart of Africa’s failures and its hopes. Across the continent, post-independence governments inherited the Western liberal model. Parliaments. Presidents. Political parties. Constitutions. They adopted Westphalian and European legal systems and bureaucracies. But they did not dismantle the colonial state, as Professor Chidi Odinkalu argued recently at a webinar. Nor did they adapt these systems to the realities of the continent. In many cases, they simply exchanged white rulers for black elites. Or they simply masked their black skin with white masks- with apologies to Frantz Fanon.
The result? Electoral violence. Ethnic competitions. Winner-takes-all politics. Fragile institutions. Military coups. The problem isn’t that democracy is foreign. The problem is that African societies are structured differently. Identity is local before it is national. People trust their kin before they trust the state. Allegiance to clan, ethnicity, and religion runs deep. This is not inherently bad. Diversity is not Africa’s curse. It is the character of those who run the state that implicates the operationalisation of democracy in terrible ways. But when the operators ignore the essential character of representation of democracy, it leads to conflict. When states impose uniformity, people resist the imposition in many conflictual ways. When political systems fail to give space to different groups, people feel excluded.
So, what is to be done?
First, we must accept that Africa cannot copy and paste democracy. We cannot take the American presidential model or the British Westminster system and expect it to thrive in our societies. We need to build democracy from the ground up. Based on our own histories. Based on our own realities.
Perhaps, a hark to the past will help provide some clarity.
Before the advent of European colonialism, African societies governed themselves. Many had systems of consensus. Kings and chiefs ruled, but often in consultation with the people. These governance systems were participatory. They were inclusive. They recognised diversity. Modern democracy must learn from these traditions. It must be rooted in African social structures.
Second, we need to embrace federalism. True federalism. Not in name, but in substance. Many African countries are artificial states, with colonial borders. The colonialists bundled together dozens, even hundreds, of ethnic groups; and expected them to coexist under a centralised government that has turned out unrealistic. The unitary model has failed in places like Sudan, Ethiopia, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. A genuine federal system allows communities to govern themselves while remaining part of the national framework. It provides autonomy. It reduces ethnic tension. It encourages participation. Take Nigeria, for instance. With close to 600 ethnic groups, its problems are partly structural. The current quasi-federal system concentrates too much power at the centre. It breeds resentment and unhealthy competition. A restructured federation that returns power to the regions may offer better stability.
Third, Africa needs inclusive institutions that must reflect the plural character of society. Power must be shared. Representation must be guaranteed. This goes beyond ethnic balancing. It means building systems that represent every voice. Minority protections must be enshrined in the basic law.
My position doesn’t mean that the past must be romanticised. Some traditional systems are patriarchal or discriminatory. But a hybrid of modern state institutions working alongside reformed traditional authorities can enhance legitimacy. Rwanda’s Gacaca courts offer one such example. Though controversial, they blended customary law and community justice to address post-genocide reconciliation and enthroned restorative justice. South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission is another example. Though not perfect, it reflected Ubuntu.
Fourth, democracy must be localised. Too often, elections are national rituals, far removed from ordinary people. Controlled by money. Captured by elites. But real democracy starts at the local level. In the ward. The village. The township. When people feel they have a say in their everyday governance, democracy begins to make sense. Democracy is a verb; people learn democracy by doing democracy.
But we must also go deeper. Political education is key. People must understand that democracy is not just about voting. It is about dialogue. Debate. Compromise. More importantly, democracy cannot thrive on empty stomachs. The Colonial Office was partly right: poverty undermines democracy. So does unemployment. Illiteracy. Disease. People who are desperate do not care for ballots. They care for bread. Building home-grown democracy requires investing in people. Education. Health. Jobs. Infrastructure. These are not luxuries. They are necessities. When people are empowered, they can participate fully in governance. When citizens are informed, they can hold their leaders accountable.
Across Africa, the civic space and freedoms are under attack. Governments shut down the internet. Arrest critics. Clamp down on protests. But history shows that democracy often comes from below.
In 2020, Nigerian youths mobilised for #EndSARS. In 2023, Senegalese students led demonstrations for justice. Last week, Kenyans protested new taxes and forced their government to retreat. The Togolese weren’t left out. These are signs of democratic awakening. Young Africans are no longer waiting for perfect systems. They are demanding accountability. They are building platforms. They are using technology to organise and mobilise. They are showing that democracy is not a concession. It is a fight borne out of courage of conviction. But, in the end, the question isn’t whether Africa is fit for democracy. The question is whether democracy can be made fit for Africa.
And the answer is yes.
But it will not come through mimicry. It will come through imagination and struggle. Through bold reforms. Through the reforms of the African mindsets. Through the reinvention of local traditions. Through federal structures. Through inclusive governance. A home-grown African democracy must rise from the soil of the continent. It must speak its languages. Honour its cultures. Embrace its complexities. Only then can democracy take root. Only then can it flourish. No more.
This picture holds a very special place in my heart. It was taken in the year 2000 during my final year (SS3) at Sardauna Memorial College, SMC, Kaduna. I was the Health Prefect at the time, a role I held with pride and responsibility. Standing on the school grounds, dressed in my green checkered uniform with the school prefect badge pinned neatly and firmly to my chest pocket, a badge of honour worn with purpose. Around my neck hangs a modest silver cross, symbolizing faith, resilience, and identity. I had no idea that this single photo would one day serve as a powerful reminder of how far I’ve come.