“I will keep the mandate given to me by the people.”
— Chief MKO Abiola, June 11, 1994
On the morning of June 12, 1993, Nigerians from every part of the country; Muslims and Christians, Northerners and Southerners, market women and professionals, stood in long queues under the scorching sun, bound together by one powerful hope: that this time, their vote would count. For once, it seemed we had overcome the barriers of ethnicity, religion, and class.
The presidential election that day was not just free and fair; it was historic. Moshood Kashimawo Olawale (MKO) Abiola, a wealthy philanthropist and symbol of national unity, won overwhelmingly under the Social Democratic Party. His victory was hailed both at home and abroad as the birth of true democracy in Nigeria.
But just eleven days later, on June 23, 1993, the joy of millions turned to disbelief. General Ibrahim Babangida, then Head of State, annulled the results. The streets exploded in outrage. Civil society groups mobilised. Students took to the roads. Media houses were raided. The military responded with brutal force. Amnesty International would later report that over 100 protesters were killed during the military crackdown.
What followed was one of the darkest chapters in our history. In November 1993, Babangida’s puppet interim government was swept away by General Sani Abacha, who entrenched a dictatorship that operated without remorse. Journalists were imprisoned, opposition voices silenced, and Nigeria became a pariah on the world stage.
Activists like Ken Saro-Wiwa were executed. Campaigners like Kudirat Abiola were gunned down in Lagos. MKO Abiola, who refused to renounce his mandate, was arrested in 1994. He would die in detention on July 7, 1998, under suspicious circumstances. The very mandate that had given Nigerians hope became the reason for a long season of tears.
Yet, Nigeria rose again.
When General Abacha died unexpectedly in June 1998, the gates of change creaked open. General Abdulsalami Abubakar began the transition to civilian rule. Political prisoners were freed. A new constitution emerged. Elections were held.
On May 29, 1999, Nigeria entered the Fourth Republic with the swearing-in of President Olusegun Obasanjo. It was the beginning of a new era, but not without controversy. For nearly two decades, May 29 was celebrated as Democracy Day. Still, it was a date chosen by the elite, not the people. It marked a handover, not the true beginning of democracy.
In 2018, history was corrected. President Muhammadu Buhari declared June 12 as Nigeria’s new Democracy Day. MKO Abiola was posthumously recognised as the rightful winner of the 1993 election and conferred with the nation’s highest honour, Grand Commander of the Federal Republic. For the first time, Nigeria officially acknowledged that our democracy began with the voice of the people, not the will of the powerful.
But our journey has remained fragile.
From the flawed 2007 elections riddled with ballot snatching and voter intimidation, to the 2010 constitutional crisis that required the National Assembly to invoke a Doctrine of Necessity and empower Vice President Goodluck Jonathan, Nigeria’s democratic experiment has been repeatedly tested. Yet we have also witnessed moments of hope, like the 2015 elections where, for the first time in our history, a sitting president peacefully handed over power after losing at the polls.
In 2020, the #EndSARS protests brought a new generation into the heart of the national conversation. Young Nigerians raised their voices against police brutality and demanded better governance. Their courage, and the tragic events of October 20 at the Lekki Toll Gate, reminded us that democracy is not a finished product, it is a daily fight for dignity, justice, and freedom.
Today, we must ask ourselves: What kind of democracy do we want? One that only exists every four years at the ballot box? Or one that guarantees justice for the weak, education for the child in the village, security for the farmer, dignity for the unemployed graduate?
Democracy must mean more than voting. It must mean accountability. It must mean economic inclusion. It must mean healing, truth, and justice.
Let us not reduce June 12 to a public holiday or ceremonial wreaths. Let it stir our conscience and remind us that freedom came at a price. Let it challenge our leaders to govern with honour. Let it challenge every citizen to protect what so many died to give us.
The blood of our heroes speaks still. The voice of June 12 still echoes. Not just in our memory, but in our mandate to build the democracy we deserve.
It is no longer enough to commemorate. Now, we must act.
Happy Democracy Day Nigeria
