“It is as if we don’t exist”: Nigeria’s LGBTQI+ persons decry exclusion from electoral Poll

A few days away from a crucial presidential poll, Nigeria’s physical and online landscapes are awash with campaigns, manifestoes, and banter among supporters of candidates and political parties. Undoubtedly, this is the country’s most crucial poll since 2015 when there was a change of baton at the Presidency. According to a timetable released by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), Presidential and National Assembly elections would take place on Saturday, February 25, 2023, and two weeks later, governorship and state legislative elections would hold on March 11, 2023. 

The 2023 general election marks 24 years of Nigeria’s return to civil rule since 1999 – the longest thread of uninterrupted democracy in the history of the West African giant. About 93.5 million people have registered to vote – 16.7 million bigger than the combined voters’ register of the other members of the 15-nation Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS). Unfortunately, the country’s Lesbian, Gay, Bi-sexual, Transgender, Queer and Intersex (LGBTQI+) community is excluded from the crucial poll; according to activists and sexual minorities, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) does not acknowledge the existence of non-heteronormative people in its programming. This is despite the introduction of new technologies and a host of other measures to ensure a more transparent and inclusive electoral process. 

Criminalized Out of Existence

Although Nigeria’s Electoral Act 2022 makes copious provisions for vulnerable groups, none of these inclusionary provisions touches non-heteronormative persons. Speaking with Minority Africa, Zikora Ibeh, a research lead at Corporate Accountability and Public Participation Africa (CAPPA), a civic group campaigning for inclusive democracy in Nigeria, says that Nigeria’s electoral management body has redefined what vulnerable groups are, thereby effectively pushing sexual minorities further back into the margins of society. 

“They categorize women, youth, People with Disability (PWDs) and Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) as vulnerable groups but they do not recognize the LGBTQI+ identity. It doesn’t exist for them,” Ibeh adds. “This is a direct effect of Nigeria’s anti-gay law which effectively outlaws sexual minorities out of existence.” 

The anti-gay law, otherwise known as the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA) 2013, was signed into law on January 7, 2014, by former president Goodluck Jonathan. It is a sweeping piece of legislation that criminalizes public displays of affection between same-sex couples and restricts the work of organizations defending gay people and their rights. With the law, “terror on LGBTQ+ people in Nigeria rose from 1 to 100,” social justice campaigner Chimee Adioha tells Minority Africa. Adioha, the founder of Masculinity9ja, works globally and in Nigeria to promote inclusion and LGBTQI+ rights. 

Speaking in the same vein, Marline Oluchi, an LGBTQI+ Gender Justice activist and Diversity Equity and Inclusion (DEI) consultant, opined, in an online conversation monitored by Minority Africa, that the law has reinforced deep-seated religious and cultural biases and legitimized violence against sexual minorities. “[With the anti-gay law] you are basically restricting everything about my life,” Oluchi says, “you are placing systemic barriers to any sort of conversation that comes up for LGBTQI+ rights, you are making it impossible to raise their conversation in policymaking spaces, in government spaces, in decision-making spaces.” 

Stereotypes are powerful and they can inform social behaviour and bias. That is exactly what the law does – it stereotypes sexual minorities and makes it impossible for them to exist, thrive and access any sort of resources that they should have access to. This explains why sexual minorities are absent in all government and civic programming including elections and census. “For a group of people Nigeria already criminalizes, it is like we are not recognized. So there is no way we would have spaces when programming for minorities [is]being done. We are not even counted among the minorities they are programming for,” Oluchi says. 

Likewise for Adioha, the exclusionary electoral climate only further shows that politicians have no interest in issues relating to gay people. “First, these people don’t understand the politics of [minorities], and it is so shameful of them,” Adioha says. “I am not saying that LGBTQ+ people should be boxed into PWDs, no, but I just think there is a very clear motivation that allows people in authority in Nigeria to not consider [sexual minorities]. Most of them [government officials] are educated, so they know what minority entails, but their religion and cultural biases won’t let them.”

Adioha believes that the fact that Nigeria’s voter’s card recognizes only “male” and “female” gender options is not accommodating enough for an election taking place in the 21st century. “If there was an idea for an introduction of a Bimodal Voter Accreditation System, there should be an idea that allows for all persons to freely identify,” he says. “So, when they talk about [minorities], I know they are lying because the definition of “minority” in their head does not include LGBTQI+ people.” Sadly, all this does is fuel homophobic temperature in the country while completely banishing sexual minorities from exercising their franchise and civic obligations as citizens. 

A Hostile Climate

Although there are no official accounts of attacks on LGBTQI+ persons during elections, activists believe that these attacks have occurred in the past and may occur again in the forthcoming elections. For Adioha, “Nigeria is flowing in a river of undocumentation,” hence the lack of records of election-related violence towards LGBTQI+ persons. But as he argues, given the harshness of the political space towards queer people, the lack of acknowledgement of their existence, and the exclusionary language of the election, attacks on queer people are entirely possible in the forthcoming elections if they venture to participate. 

During the historic October 2020 #EndSARS protest, homophobic and heterosexual Nigerians turned against and tormented queer protesters. Queer activists always point to that as an illustration of how there is no safe space for queer people. This is because; people are only “[People are only] interested in the oppression that they particularly face,” Adioha says. “They are not interested in an oppression that is intersectional and I don’t think that’s how change can come.” 

But even if there are no direct attacks, Ibeh argues, the hostile climate and the lack of identification and acknowledgement in the electoral process might encourage the growth of political apathy, fear, and unwillingness to participate among LGBTQI+ persons. “Already the community suffers historical discrimination which has, in some cases, had [a] lasting effect on the mental and physical health of victims,” she says. “For persons who have experienced violence or victimization because of their sexual orientation, election day is just another reminder of the ongoing issue of societal exclusion where the status quo remains unchanged.” 

In a similar vein, Oluchi believes those who say LGBTQI+ people face no concrete risk of electoral violence since poll officials do not demand knowledge of sexuality before permitting eligible voters to vote, miss the point. According to her, the point here is how the ingrained and deep-seated bias in society, which is further reinforced by the anti-gay law and the lack of acknowledgement of queer people’s existence in election programming, makes queer people vulnerable. 

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“If someone as simple as a cross-dresser cannot go to a polling unit to vote without fear of being lynched, what chance do queer people have? You have to be bold and audacious to come out either because you are unknown because you present in an acceptable hetero-normative way or because you are not out in a way that puts you at risk,” Oluchi says. “Additionally, you can’t run for an elective position as an out-queer person in this country because everybody is scared and conscious that this is going to be a big barrier to them.[If] I pick up an INEC form to contest for the most basic position and there is room for not just male or female [identities]but other identities, that already shows an intention for inclusion. It shows these people recognize our existence and our right to participate in this process. That is enough to embolden me to take the next step.” 

Not Giving Up

Sadly, there does not appear to be any respite in sight. This is evidenced by the lack of attention paid to the past incendiary remarks made by a vice presidential candidate, who was called out by mostly members of the LGBTQI+ community while the rest of the society could not be bothered. Furthermore, even when another presidential candidate expressed solidarity with the community in his campaign, he faced widespread criticism from citizens who deemed him lacking in moral values. But the community continues to be hopeful while activists are trying to use any opportunity available to engage the electoral process and see what can be won for queer people. 

Asked what changes they would like to see from a new government following the elections, Adioha tells Minority Africa, “I want them [government] to change the way that they see gay people, and that one or two popular cross-dressers do not entirely represent LGBTQ+ Nigerians. There should be an emergency intervention that would repeal the SSMPA.” For Oluchi, she believes that if the 2023 general election produces a progressive government that at least tries to listen to all oppressed and marginalized voices including queer voices, it would be a good start. 

“Right now, nobody wants to hear our voice, nobody wants to know why we have needs and interest for better representation related to our identity,” Oluchi says. “Nobody wants to listen to our needs. Inclusive democracy should mean each person [and] each group is considered in policy-making and governance processes. The incoming government should create room for conversations about the needs of queer people. We really want room for conversation [and] policy doors should be opened to us.”

While hopeful about the elections, the activists are also clear about their options. They have been steeled by years of hiding in the shadows and struggling through a multiplicity of means to get their voices out. So if things do not go their way, then they would have to continue what they have been doing best before now, which is clandestine organizing, lending support and love to each other and keeping hope alive while patiently waiting for the tables to turn. 

Edited/Reviewed by Caleb Okereke and Uzoma Ihejirika