Every election cycle in Nigeria comes with arguments about the Electoral Act. Lawmakers propose new amendments to the Electoral Act. Political parties protest. Civil society groups raise alarms. Party political supporters say electoral reform is necessary and insist on amendments that will improve the entire election architecture. The debate quickly degenerates into a kerfuffle. It becomes about us and them: the citizens and the legislators—who benefits and who loses. But what if we step back from the noise? What if we stop asking who is clever and who is cunning? What if we stop asking which party gains today? What if we ask a deeper question about time? This is where the renowned German sociologist, Niklas Luhmann, is helpful. His framework is useful. It allows us to move the debate away from noisiness, personality conflicts, and partisan motives and instead ask the structural question. How does the timing of electoral lawmaking shape the capacity of the political system to reproduce trust, predictability, and legitimacy over time?

That question may sound too abstract, but it is simple.

Elections depend on trust. Citizens must believe that the electoral rules are clear. They must believe the rules will not suddenly change. They must believe that tomorrow will not look completely different from today. Think about a football match. Imagine that the referee changes the rules five minutes before the start and five minutes before the end of the game. Even if the new rule is good, the players will feel cheated. So too will the fans. The problem is not only the rule’s text. The problem is the timing. Luhmann teaches us that modern states run on expectations. Citizens wake up every day expecting that certain things will remain stable. They expect that traffic lights will work. 

They expect that banks will open. They expect that laws will not change overnight without warning. The constitutional and political order is no different. It survives because citizens expect it to behave in predictable ways. When the Electoral Act is changed too close to elections, expectations are shaken. Citizens begin to wonder whether the electoral system is stable or being bent for short-term gains. It is even worse when the Electoral Act is changed to allow the ruling party to rig elections. But this does not mean that the Act should never be amended. The Electoral Act must change as the nation-state evolves. Technology evolves. Problems arise. Mistakes are discovered. Reform is not a crime. Reform is often necessary.

The real issue is timing.

When reforms happen long before elections, political parties, the election management umpire and voters have time to adjust. Everyone has time to understand the new rules and to prepare. Trust grows because citizens feel that the process is calm and deliberate. But when reforms happen on the eve of elections, the system enters what Luhmann described as compressed time. By compressed time, Niklas Luhmann meant the sense that too many things are happening at once and too quickly, making the present feel crowded and rushed. In a modern state, communication moves very quickly, and citizens are constantly responding to new messages, demands, and expectations. It can feel as though the future is arriving sooner than they are ready for, forcing them to make decisions almost immediately. Instead of experiencing time as steady and unfolding, we experience it as tight and accelerated, where everything seems urgent and happening all at once. An everyday example of compressed time is checking our phones in the morning. 

Within a few minutes, we read emails, respond to WhatsApp messages, scroll through news updates, see social media notifications, and perhaps join a work group discussion. In that short span, we have moved through multiple conversations, tasks, and emotional reactions. What might once have taken days now happens in minutes, and our senses of the day already feel full before it has properly begun. The danger of compressed time becomes especially serious in everything concerning elections. When lawmaking is rushed under the pressure of devious political calculations, as is always the case when an irresponsible ruling party holds a majority in the legislature, reflection gives way to haste. 

A hurried amendment to an Electoral Act, for instance, may be passed without sufficient consultation, scrutiny, or testing of its consequences. What should be a careful and deliberative process becomes reactive and compressed, increasing the risk of ambiguities, loopholes, and deliberate distortions of democratic practice. In matters as sensitive as electoral law, compressed time can erode public trust, for citizens may come to believe that haste has displaced careful judgment. In such an atmosphere, suspicion easily takes root. Every action is interpreted through the prism of anxiety. Even well-intentioned reforms risk appearing suspect, not because they lack merit, but because they emerge under the shadow of urgency rather than the light of deliberation.

In Nigeria, we have seen this pattern many times. Amendments to the Electoral Act often come with urgency. Lawmakers argue that the changes will improve transparency. Opponents argue that they are traps. The voting public becomes confused. Some lawmakers, like the Senate spokesperson, Senator Yemi Adaramodu, have even described those who insist on strong transparency provisions as troublemakers who see lawmaking as eating amala. From their perspective, constant agitation disrupts legislative harmony and creates tension within the chamber. In simple terms, they see reform advocates as adding pressure to an already complex political process. 

On the other side, critics of lawmakers, including Senator Akpabio, argue that the authority of the office of Senate President has been used to slow down or shape reforms in ways that weaken the struggle for free and fair elections. They fear that control over procedure and timing may influence the direction of electoral change. As the notable electoral reform campaigner, Mma Odi puts it, “the same framework of the 2022 Electoral Act failed us in 2023; it will be disastrous to apply the medicine that did not work yesterday to tomorrow’s ailment”. She’s right about the future of trust. 

The accusation and counter-accusation are thus quartered in the realm of suspicion. But Luhmann would urge us to look deeper. The accusation and counter-accusation reveal anxiety about the future. When transparency advocates are called troublemakers, a signal is sent to citizens who care about open elections. They may begin to feel that demands for clarity and accountability are unwelcome. That feeling weakens trust. When the Senate leadership is accused of undermining fairness, another signal is sent. It suggests that procedural power might not be neutral. That perception also weakens trust, whether or not it is accurate. The key issue for me is not simply who is right. The key issue is how the accusation and counter-accusation shape expectations over time. 

Do they increase confidence in the electoral system? Or do they deepen suspicion?

Luhmann’s idea of world time reminds us that Nigeria does not exist alone. Our elections are watched by the world. Our reforms are compared with global standards. Investors, observers, and citizens abroad form opinions based on how stable and transparent our rules appear to be. Trust like Rome is not built in a day. It is built slowly. It grows when institutions act in ways that reduce surprise. A strong electoral system is one in which everyone knows the rules well in advance and can plan within them. Predictability is also important. Predictability does not mean that outcomes are known in advance. It means that the process is clear, transparent and fair. It means everyone knows the rules of the game well in advance. 

Legitimacy depends on both trust and predictability. When citizens believe the process is fair and stable, they are more likely to accept results, even when their preferred candidate loses. When they believe the rules are shifting like sand in an hourglass, anger grows. So the real question is not simply whether an amendment is good or bad. The real question is when and how it is made. Does it allow time for public debate? Does it give the electoral umpire enough time and space to prepare? Does it strengthen expectations or erode them? If lawmakers treat electoral reform as a last-minute strategy, they weaken the very system they claim to improve. If they treat it as a long-term project, guided by broad consultation and careful timing, they strengthen democracy.

Citizens understand fairness. If you promise them a game with clear rules, they expect you to keep those rules. If you change them in a dubious way, while retaining rules that create ambiguity and loopholes for the bad boys to rig elections, they will protest. Nigeria’s democracy is still nascent. It needs care. It needs patience. It needs leaders who understand that institutions survive not only because of the discipline of power but because of the way they exercise power in a disciplinary manner. This is why Luhmann’s framework matters. It pushes citizens to think beyond the now. It pushes citizens to see democracy as a system that must continually reproduce trust. 

Each election is not just an event. It is a test of whether the system can maintain confidence in its own future. If legislators want free, fair, and transparent elections, they must respect time. They must avoid hurried amendments to the Electoral Act that create fear. They must build reforms into a steady process that allows the electoral environment to adjust. Democracy is not only about victory at the polls. It is about confidence in the rules that govern the contest. As Mma Odi rightly expressed, lawmakers must ensure that the electoral legal framework they propose for tomorrow will not suddenly betray citizens today. That quiet confidence is what keeps citizens engaged in their country’s democratic life. It is what sustains peace when results are declared, and passions are high. 

Without it, even lawful outcomes can feel unjust. For this reason, the Senate amendment to the Electoral Act must account for the future by removing the bad boys from the business of rigging elections today. A Luhmannian analysis invites us to ask the deeper structural questions: do the actions and statements of the Senate leadership strengthen confidence in the long-term stability of electoral rules? Or do they compress political time in ways that heighten suspicion and weaken predictability? When debates about transparency are dismissed as a nuisance rather than recognised as necessary safeguards, and when amendments are designed to be exploited by the ruling party, the constitutional and political order risks eroding its own legitimacy.

Finally, the lessons lawmakers must draw from Niklas Luhmann’s analysis are simple yet urgent. They are twofold. First, timing and procedure are never neutral instruments. The management of legislative calendars, the sequencing of debates, the tempo of amendments, and the tone of public communication carry consequences that extend far beyond the chamber walls. They shape how citizens judge the fairness, seriousness, and legitimacy of the system itself. Second, transparency advocates are not adversaries of order. They are participants in the continuous labour through which democratic trust is examined, refined, and renewed. 

When citizens demand clarity in the rules and openness in the process, they do not seek to unsettle the system; they seek to fortify it. A democracy that suppresses such voices in the name of expediency imperils its own foundations. An order without transparency may project stability for a time, but it cannot sustain confidence. In a world where democracy is constantly scrutinised and compared, perceptions travel swiftly and influence both trust and esteem. If lawmakers come to understand timing as the pillar of trust, Nigeria will move closer to a democracy that is measured, predictable, and worthy of belief, and everyone will have absorbed the deeper lessons Luhmann offers.

Abdul Mahmud, a human rights attorney in Abuja, writes weekly for The Gazette