Who Really Shapes Nigeria’s Constitution this Time? The People or the Powerful?

As Nigeria embarks on yet another round of constitutional review, community consultations are being held across the country. Town halls, public hearings, and stakeholder meetings are underway, with citizens invited to air their views on the kind of nation they want. The process has been branded as “people-driven,” yet many Nigerians are asking a familiar […]

As Nigeria embarks on yet another round of constitutional review, community consultations are being held across the country. Town halls, public hearings, and stakeholder meetings are underway, with citizens invited to air their views on the kind of nation they want. The process has been branded as “people-driven,” yet many Nigerians are asking a familiar question: Is this truly about the people or just another elite-controlled ritual?

For a country of over 200 million citizens, Nigeria has long dealt with a constitution that many feel does not represent them. The 1999 Constitution, drafted by the outgoing military regime, was never subjected to a national referendum. Yet it begins with the words, “We the people…”. A phrase many Nigerians regard as symbolic, not sincere.

Nigeria’s constitutional history has been marked by top-down impositions rather than grassroots consensus. From the Richards Constitution of colonial days through the 1999 document, the process, too often, excluded the common citizen. The result time and again: a founding law that is alien, abstract, and disconnected from daily life.

Although there have been revisions over the years, they are rarely the result of sincere public discussion and are rather reactionary or politically driven. For this reason, the most recent initiative to amend the constitution offers both a challenge and a chance. Will it bring Nigerians closer to a constitution they can call their own? Or will it further cement the distance between citizens and the state?

There’s no doubt the current review process is more participatory than some in the past. But participation must go beyond the optics of attendance. The real question is, who is being heard, and how is their input being used?

Are speakers being invited from among farmers, market women, religious leaders, young people, and traditional leaders? Are local languages used during town hall meetings? Is feedback being documented and taken into account in any preliminary proposals? The entire process runs the risk of being reduced to political theater in the absence of transparent and unambiguous tools that demonstrate how public opinion is impacting the assessment.

Nigerians do not want another Abuja document. They are requesting for a constitution that speaks their language literally and figuratively. One that empowers their communities, defends their rights, and recognises their realities.

The richness and complexity of Nigerian life must be reflected in a constitution that is genuinely people-oriented. This entails making certain that consultations are inclusive and decentralised. Involving community radio stations, mosques, churches, women’s associations, and youth organisations must be a deliberate effort rather than a last-minute one.

Language is also important. It should be possible to access constitutional debates and summaries in key Nigerian languages. People cannot actively participate or provide their approval if they do not comprehend what is being suggested.

Nigeria is now forced to consider the long-overdue topic of whether the constitution should protect its traditional rulers. These institutions, especially in the North, have endured for centuries, providing dependable communal leadership, preserving cultural identity, and delivering local justice.Today, however, they function without constitutional protections and are frequently exposed to political meddling.

A people-driven constitution must not erase what communities still rely on. Whether or not traditional rulers should be granted constitutional recognition must be a national conversation—not a political decision made behind closed doors. Their roles must be debated openly, clearly defined, and constitutionally recognised and protected. This is not a call for nostalgia but a necessary step in acknowledging and preserving a vital pillar of Nigeria’s societal architecture.

The greatest threat to this process is the possibility of elite capture. Nigeria’s political class has a long history of using reform processes to protect its own interests. Without vigilance, the final product may reflect more of what politicians want and less of what citizens need.

Past reforms have quietly smuggled in controversial provisions like expanded immunity for public officials or centralisation of powers. Meanwhile, more people-centered proposals, such as state policing, resource control, or local government autonomy, often get buried or blocked.

This is why civil society must stay alert. The media must keep asking questions. Religious and traditional leaders must hold their local representatives accountable. The people’s voice must not end at the microphone. It must shape the final text.

For the average Nigerian, the constitution is not some theoretical document. It either protects their dignity or leaves them vulnerable. It either guarantees justice or forces them into silence. A meaningful review must ask: What does the law mean for the woman in Zamfara who cannot access maternal care? For the graduate in Enugu who cannot find work? For the family in Jos fleeing violence?

Economic and social rights—like access to education, healthcare, and clean water—must be taken seriously. Legal protections against police abuse, domestic violence, and discrimination must be enforceable, not aspirational.

A constitution must not just describe what government can do. It must define what government must do to ensure safety, fairness, and opportunity for all.

To avoid repeating the mistakes of the past, three steps are critical:

Establish an Independent Constitutional Review Commission composed of civil society, youth, traditional leaders, women’s groups, legal experts, and faith-based institutions. This will help balance political power and public interest.

Ensure transparency throughout the process. Citizens should see the raw data from consultations, draft proposals, and rationales for accepted or rejected suggestions.

Use technology to widen access. Online platforms, text messages, and call-in shows can help rural and urban Nigerians alike share their views and monitor developments.

This moment holds the potential to be historic, but only if Nigerians insist on it. We must not let constitutional review become another photo-op for politicians or a chapter in the usual recycling of power. We must demand a process that is open, honest, and truly reflective of our shared future.

The constitution is not just a legal document. It is a mirror of our values and a map for our collective journey. If this review is to matter, then it must be grounded in the voices of the people, not the ambitions of the powerful.

A constitution that does not protect the weak, listen to the unheard, or reflect the soul of its people is merely ink on paper.

Nigeria deserves better. And the people must demand it.