Abuja, October 9, 2026. The harmattan wind carried more than dust through the city's broad avenues – it carried the weight of impending judgment. At the All Progressives Congress headquarters, a sealed letter dated that very morning lay prepared for delivery to the Independent National Electoral Commission, its contents a stark reminder that the Supreme Court's September 24th ruling in INEC v Zenith Labour Party was not merely ink on paper but a live wire connected to the 2027 general elections. Addressed to INEC Chairman Professor Joash Amupitan, the correspondence – co-signed by National Chairman Professor Nentawe Goshwe Yilwatda and National Secretary Senator Surajudeen Ajibola Basiru – demanded immediate enforcement of the judgment that affirmed Sections 77(5), 77(6) and 77(7) of the Electoral Act 2026 as constitutional imperatives, not discretionary guidelines. As reported by Channels Television, the letter cited the court's pronouncement at page 24: a party failing to submit its digital membership register within the prescribed 21-day window before primaries, congresses or conventions risks being precluded from fielding candidates altogether. This development followed closely on the heels of Leadership Newspaper's coverage of the Wike-backed Rainbow Coalition in Rivers State dismissing similar concerns, insisting their candidates had met all statutory requirements, while THISDAY's Adedayo Akinwale in Abuja noted the APC's position that the Electoral Act's provisions were mandatory and should not be treated as negotiable.



Premium Times further emphasized that the ruling party viewed compliance as essential to safeguarding internal democracy, arguing that only through verifiable membership rolls could party primaries reflect the true will of members rather than the whims of godfathers. The stakes, as the letter made clear, were nothing less than the credibility of Nigeria's next democratic transition, with the harbinger of harmattan serving as a stark reminder that time, like the electoral clock, waits for no party.

The Led

The APC’s insistence on strict enforcement of the Supreme Court’s September 24 ruling is not a sudden bout of legal zealotry; it is the culmination of a decade‑long tug‑of‑war over who actually controls the party’s nomination machinery. Since the return to civilian rule in 1999, Nigeria’s major parties have repeatedly been accused of allowing “godfathers” – powerful patronage networks that finance campaigns, dispense contracts, and mobilise street‑level mobilisers – to dictate who appears on the ballot. The 2015 and 2019 general elections were littered with anecdotes of aspirants who, despite winning party primaries by a show of hands, were later replaced by candidates hand‑picked by state‑level bosses. In many instances, the only paper trail that existed was a hastily signed attendance register, easily altered after the fact.

The Electoral Act 2026 sought to close that loophole by mandating a digital membership register that parties must upload to INEC’s portal at least twenty‑one days before any internal election. Sections 77(5)‑77(7) spell out three complementary requirements: (1) the register must contain the full name, national identification number, and contact details of every dues‑paying member; (2) it must be machine‑readable and searchable; and (3) any amendment after the deadline must be accompanied by a notarised affidavit explaining the change and approved by INEC. The Supreme Court’s judgment in INEC v Zenith Labour Party affirmed that these provisions are constitutional imperatives, meaning that INEC has no discretion to waive them on grounds of administrative convenience or political expediency.

Why does this matter for the APC in particular? The party’s structure is a patchwork of legacy factions: the northern caucus led by former governors, the southwestern bloc anchored by Tinubu‑aligned interests, and the southeastern contingent that has historically been weaker but increasingly vocal. Each faction maintains its own patronage channels, and the digital register threatens to expose the overlap (or lack thereof) between those channels and the official membership rolls. If a faction can show that a large proportion of its purported supporters are not captured in the register, it could argue that the primary results are illegitimate. Conversely, if the register reveals that a faction’s influence is vastly overstated, it could lose leverage in negotiations over ticket allocation, ministerial appointments, and even the party’s national executive committee (NEC) composition.

The letter to Professor Joash Amupitan therefore serves multiple strategic purposes:

1. Signal of Compliance: By publicly demanding that INEC enforce the ruling, the APC leadership positions itself as the party that respects the rule of law. This is a calculated move to counter the opposition’s narrative that the ruling party routinely bends electoral statutes to its advantage. In the run‑up to 2027, such a stance could help the APC attract moderate voters disillusioned by perceptions of electoral manipulation.

2. Pre‑emptive Legal Shield: Should any aggrieved aspirant challenge the outcome of a primary on the grounds of non‑compliance with Sections 77(5)‑77(7), the APC can point to its own correspondence as evidence that it sought, and obtained, a directive from INEC to uphold the law. This pre‑emptive documentation could blunt attempts to have primary results nullified by the courts.

3. Internal Discipline Tool: The letter also functions as an internal memo to state chairmen and ward leaders: non‑compliance will not be tolerated. By tying the continued flow of party funds, access to campaign infrastructure, and eligibility for future nominations to strict adherence to the digital register, the APC leadership hopes to deter the practice of “ghost members” – names added to rolls solely to inflate vote totals in primaries.

Historical analogues abound. In Kenya’s 2017 general election, the Jubilee Party faced a similar crisis when its internal primaries were overturned after the Registrar of Political Parties discovered that many parties had submitted membership lists riddled with duplicates and fictitious entries. The ensuing court orders forced parties to adopt biometric voter verification for internal elections, a move that dramatically reduced the incidence of rigged primaries. Nigeria’s Electoral Act 2026, with its emphasis on a digital, verifiable register, mirrors that reform trajectory, albeit with a stronger constitutional backing thanks to the Supreme Court’s ruling.

The Rivers State Rainbow Coalition’s dismissal of the APC’s concerns, as reported by Leadership Newspaper, illustrates the divergent strategies at play. The coalition, buoyed by the political capital of Governor Nyesom Wike, appears to be betting that its existing structures – largely built around local government chairmen and traditional rulers – can satisfy the statutory requirements without a full‑scale digital overhaul. Their confidence may be rooted in the fact that Rivers State’s electoral commission has, in past cycles, shown a willingness to accept manually compiled lists, provided they are accompanied by affidavits from party officials. However, the Supreme Court’s ruling removes that discretion; any reliance on goodwill or informal accommodation now risks being struck down as ultra vires.

Adedayo Akinwale’s THISDAY piece underscores a broader jurisprudential shift: Nigerian courts are increasingly willing to treat electoral statutes as self‑executing when they touch upon fundamental rights such as the freedom to associate and to vote. The Zenith Labour Party decision echoed the reasoning in Attorney General of the Federation v. Sukuk (2020), where the court held that statutory timelines for electoral processes are not merely advisory but are essential to the integrity of the democratic process. By aligning itself with that jurisprudence, the APC is attempting to frame its internal reforms as a defence of constitutional democracy rather than a partisan power play.

Yet, the practical hurdles remain formidable. Many APC wards, especially in the rural north, lack reliable internet connectivity, and party secretaries often rely on rudimentary Excel sheets maintained on personal laptops. The cost of procuring secure servers, training data entry clerks, and instituting audit trails could run into hundreds of millions of naira – a sum that the party’s national treasury may balk at allocating without a clear promise of reimbursement from INEC or the federal budget. Moreover, there is a legitimate concern that the digital register could become a tool for surveillance, with opposition elements fearing that the data could be mined for voter intimidation or targeted patronage.

To navigate these tensions, the APC leadership could adopt a phased approach:

• Pilot Phase (Q4 2025‑Q1 2026): Select a handful of states with relatively robust ICT infrastructure (e.g., Lagos, Ogun, FCT) to implement the full digital register ahead of the 2026 local government elections. Use the pilot to refine data validation protocols and to generate a template for nationwide rollout.
• Capacity‑Building Grants: Lobby the Federal Ministry of Finance for a special intervention fund earmarked for party ICT upgrades, framing it as a contribution to democratic consolidation. Transparent accounting of these funds would mitigate accusations of self‑dealings.
• Third‑Party Audits: Engage independent civil society organisations (e.g., Centre for Democracy and Development, Yiaga Africa) to conduct random audits of the submitted registers. Their endorsement would bolster public trust and provide a counterweight to any allegations of data manipulation.
• Contingency Provisions: Negotiate with INEC to allow a limited, narrowly defined window for manual corrections accompanied by rigorous affidavit scrutiny, thereby addressing genuine administrative errors without opening the door to wholesale fraud.

If the APC can demonstrate that it is not merely paying lip service to the Supreme Court’s ruling but is actively building the institutional capacity to comply, it will likely reap dividends in the credibility arena. Voters, especially the youth who are increasingly mobilised through social media, tend to reward parties that appear to respect procedural fairness. Conversely, any perception that the party is attempting to circumvent the register – whether through back‑door negotiations with INEC officials or by exploiting loopholes in the affidavit requirement – could ignite a firestorm of legal challenges and erode the very internal democracy the leadership claims to protect.

In sum, the sealed letter addressed to Professor Amupitan is more than a bureaucratic missive; it is a manifesto of intent. It signals the APC’s recognition that the future of its electoral fortunes hinges on the ability to translate lofty constitutional principles into concrete, auditable data. The harmattan wind that sweeps across Abuja’s avenues carries with it not just dust, but the promise – or the threat – of a newly transparent party machinery. Whether that wind will clear the path to a credible 2027 transition or merely stir up more controversy depends on how swiftly and sincerely the party turns the ink of the Supreme Court’s judgment into the bytes of a verifiable membership register.