by Olaitan Babatunde
In Nigeria, democracy comes with a price tag, and it is not always a small one. Before an aspiring politician can stand before voters and ask for their support, there is often a long list of expenses waiting at the party gate. Nomination forms can cost millions of naira, followed by screening fees, campaign offices, transportation, publicity, agents, accommodation, security and mobilisation. By the time a candidate finally reaches the ballot, the campaign may have consumed more money than most Nigerians will earn in several lifetimes. This raises an uncomfortable question: if political participation increasingly depends on financial capacity, are elections still open to everyone, or are we quietly turning public office into a preserve for the wealthy?
The cost begins with political parties. In recent election cycles, nomination fees have reached extraordinary levels. For the 2023 presidential election, for example, the APC sold its presidential nomination form for ₦100 million, while the PDP set its own at ₦40 million. Labour Party charged ₦30 million for its presidential form. These figures were only the entry fee. A person who could afford the form still needed to survive the much more expensive journey that followed. The financial barrier is therefore not simply about whether someone can raise the money to buy a form. It is about whether they can sustain a political campaign after buying it.
Then comes the less visible economy of elections. A serious campaign requires offices, vehicles, fuel, printing, social media, television and radio appearances, posters, branded materials, event venues, accommodation for campaign teams and thousands of other logistical expenses. Candidates also need polling agents and other personnel across electoral wards and polling units. In a country with more than 176,000 polling units, the scale of election logistics quickly becomes enormous. Even a candidate who wants to run a modest campaign cannot simply print a few posters, shake hands with voters and hope for the best. Nigerian elections have become large logistical operations, and logistics require money.
The most troubling part is what happens when campaign finance becomes a substitute for political persuasion. When elections are expensive, candidates with deeper pockets gain an obvious advantage. Wealthy politicians can maintain larger campaign structures, travel farther, reach more voters and survive longer political battles. A young graduate with a strong policy idea may have the energy, education and public support to govern but still struggle to enter the race because the first door requires money. That is where democracy begins to lose something important. Elections are supposed to allow citizens to choose who should represent them. They should not quietly become competitions over who can afford the most expensive political machinery.
The problem also extends beyond the candidates themselves. When politicians spend huge amounts to secure office, Nigerians have a legitimate reason to ask what happens after they win. Public office should be a responsibility, not an investment opportunity. If someone spends hundreds of millions of naira pursuing a position that pays a comparatively modest official salary, citizens are entitled to ask where the financial motivation comes from. This does not mean every wealthy candidate intends to steal public money. It does mean that an electoral system that demands enormous private expenditure creates an unhealthy relationship between money and political power. The more expensive the journey into office becomes, the greater the temptation to see public office as something that must eventually repay the investment.
Nigeria’s campaign finance laws recognise this danger. The Electoral Act 2022 places limits on election expenses, including spending limits for candidates and political parties. The law also requires political parties and candidates to keep records of funds received and expenditures made and empowers the Independent National Electoral Commission to monitor campaign finance. The problem is enforcement. A spending limit written into legislation means little if actual campaign expenditure remains difficult to monitor and sanctions are rarely strong enough to deter violations. When everyone knows that campaigns cost far more than the official ceiling, the law begins to look less like a rule and more like a suggestion.
There is also a civic cost. When political participation becomes expensive, ordinary citizens gradually stop seeing themselves as potential participants and start seeing themselves only as spectators. They vote, cheer at rallies, share campaign graphics online and argue with friends about candidates, but the idea of actually contesting for office begins to look ridiculous. The young Nigerian who cannot raise millions for a nomination form may never even consider politics as a legitimate career of public service. That is a loss for democracy because political institutions need more than voters. They need capable citizens willing to enter the institutions they hope to improve.
This does not mean political parties should make candidacy completely free or that money has no place in politics. Elections require resources, and serious candidates need to demonstrate organisational capacity. But there is a difference between reasonable administrative costs and financial barriers so high that they eliminate large sections of society before voters have the opportunity to consider them. A democracy should test candidates by their ideas, competence, character and ability to earn public trust. Money should help a candidate communicate those qualities, not determine whether the candidate gets a chance to demonstrate them.
Nigeria therefore faces a difficult question about the future of political participation. If becoming a presidential candidate requires tens of millions of naira before campaign expenses even begin, and becoming a serious contender for a governorship or legislative seat also requires substantial financial backing, who exactly are we designing the political system for?
The answer matters because democracy becomes weaker when citizens believe that public office belongs to people with money and connections. A country cannot claim that every citizen has an equal political voice while quietly making political ambition unaffordable for most of its population.
The ballot box may still be free for everyone.
Getting close enough to the ballot paper, however, is becoming a very expensive journey.
