On May 5, 1999, eleven days before Olusegun Obasanjo was sworn in as President, a document was handed to Nigeria. It began with the words We the people of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, having firmly and solemnly resolved. It was 320 pages long. It contained 320 sections. It would determine how every Nigerian would be governed for the next twenty-five years and counting.
No one had voted for it.
There had been no referendum. No constituent assembly elected by the people. No public debate in which ordinary Nigerians could say what they wanted their country to be. The Constitution of 1999 was drafted by a committee appointed by General Abdulsalami Abubakar, the military head of state. It was reviewed by the Provisional Ruling Council — a body of military officers. It was decreed into existence. The people were informed of what they had solemnly resolved.
This is the framework under which Nigeria operates. A military government, preparing to leave power after sixteen years of unbroken rule, wrote the rules that would govern the civilian successors. And those rules created a system that looks like American presidential democracy but functions like something else entirely — a highly centralized federation where the federal government controls the money, the security forces, and the most important economic decisions, while the states wait monthly for their share of the oil revenue.
The 1999 Constitution is not the first constitution Nigeria has had that was imposed from above. The Independence Constitution of 1960 was negotiated by colonial officials and Nigerian elites, not voted on by the population. The 1979 Constitution was drafted by a constituent assembly, but that assembly was appointed by the military government of General Olusegun Obasanjo — the same man who would benefit from it twenty years later when he became president under the 1999 version.
But the 1999 Constitution is unique in its hurried creation. General Abubakar had promised a rapid transition to civilian rule after the death of Sani Abacha. The timeline was compressed. The process was controlled. And the result was a document that centralized power in ways that served the interests of those who were leaving office — the military, which would retain influence through the security architecture; the northern elite, which would retain influence through the federal structure; the political class, which would have access to oil wealth through the federation account.
The Constitution begins with a promise: We the people. But the people had no voice in writing it. Justice Niki Tobi, who chaired the Constitution Debate Coordinating Committee, later admitted that the process was rushed. The committee had months, not years. The public hearings were limited. The military was leaving, and they wanted to leave a constitution behind.
What was lost was the possibility of a genuinely democratic founding moment. The possibility that Nigerians, after sixteen years of military rule, could sit down and ask: what kind of country do we want to be? The possibility of a constitutional convention, of elected delegates, of public debate in every language, of a document that emerged from the people rather than being handed to them.
This loss matters because constitutions are more than legal documents. They are statements of identity. They are the architecture of political life. A constitution that is chosen — truly chosen, through a process that involves the people — creates a different relationship between citizen and state than a constitution that is imposed. It creates ownership. It creates legitimacy. It creates the sense that this is our system, that we built it, that we can change it.
The 1999 Constitution creates none of these things. It creates distance. It creates the sense that the system was designed by others, for purposes that may not align with the people's needs. It creates resignation — the feeling that this is just how Nigeria is, that it cannot be changed, that the rules are fixed by forces beyond democratic reach.
The evidence of this is everywhere. Two constitutional conferences have been held since 1999 — in 2005 under Obasanjo, in 2014 under Jonathan. Both produced recommendations for restructuring, for devolution of power, for changes that would make the system more responsive. Neither was implemented. The structure proved immune to reform, because the people who benefit from the structure are the people who control the mechanism of reform.
Other countries have faced similar moments and chosen differently. South Africa after apartheid held a multi-year constitutional assembly process, with public participation, leading to a document that was certified by an independent constitutional court. Brazil after military rule elected a constituent assembly that sat for two years. Kenya in 2010 held a referendum on a new constitution. These processes were not perfect. But they were chosen. The people had a voice.
Nigeria has never had this. Not in 1960, not in 1979, not in 1999. Every constitution has been handed down — by the colonial office, by a constituent assembly controlled by the military, by a military decree. The people have never been in the room where the rules were written.
The 1999 Constitution is the lost accord of our time. It is the agreement between the military and the civilians that was never truly negotiated — it was imposed. It is the promise of democracy built on a foundation that was never democratic. It is the contradiction that Nigeria lives with every day: a country that calls itself a federal republic while operating a unitary system, that claims to be democratic while running a constitution that the people never chose.
The question it raises is whether Nigeria can ever have a constitution that is truly its own. Not a gift from departing generals. Not a decree from a colonial power. But a document that emerges from the people, through their own deliberation, through their own choice. A constitution that begins with We the people and means it.
This accord has never been made. It is still waiting. And until it is made, every election held under the 1999 Constitution, every government formed under its rules, every claim of democratic legitimacy is built on a foundation that was poured without the consent of those who must live on it.