Every four years, after the drama of elections fades and newly elected lawmakers arrive in Abuja, there’s a big first-day ritual at the National Assembly. It’s partly swearing-in, part power scramble, and it doesn’t begin until the President says so.
Section 64 (3) of the Nigerian Constitution (1999) grants the newly elected President the authority to issue this proclamation, which is essentially an official announcement that convenes the first session of the National Assembly.
This proclamation sets the date for the inauguration of the National Assembly members, where they take their oath of office and elect their presiding officers (President of the Senate and Speaker of the House of Representatives). This power also extends to the dissolution of the assembly after a four-year term.
At the state level, the same thing happens with governors. They hold the power to “proclaim” a new legislative session, giving the official nod for lawmakers to take their seats and start work.
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Now, members of the House of Representatives are trying to change that.
They’ve introduced a constitutional amendment bill, HB. 33, that would take the proclamation power away from the President and governors and hand it to the Clerks of the National Assembly and State Houses of Assembly, the career administrators who keep the legislative machine running behind the scenes. In other words: let Parliament decide when Parliament begins.
On the surface, proclamation is ceremonial, a polite “You may now sit” before the real work begins. But Nigerian politics has a way of turning ceremonies into chess moves.
Over the years, some governors have used this power to delay or manipulate the opening of state assemblies. In some cases, proclamations have been issued at odd hours or in unexpected venues, giving one faction a head start while rivals scramble to catch up.
In 2019, Edo State experienced a political crisis surrounding the inauguration of the State House of Assembly. The crisis stemmed from Governor Godwin Obaseki’s alleged nocturnal proclamation and inauguration of a minority of members-elect, leading to a rival group of lawmakers operating separately.
This action was criticised for creating chaos and was deemed illegal by a House of Representatives committee investigating the matter. The committee recommended that the Governor issue a fresh proclamation stating the time, date, and venue of the inauguration.
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Who is the Clerk, anyway?
If you’re imagining someone with a ceremonial robe and a bell, think again. The Clerk is essentially the chief administrator of the legislature, the person who manages records, oversees staff, and ensures procedures run smoothly.
They’re not elected, they don’t belong to political factions (at least in theory), and they’re meant to be neutral.
Under HB. 33, the Clerk would have the authority to issue the proclamation as soon as a new term begins, ensuring lawmakers can meet without waiting for the Executive’s nod. It’s a small shift in paperwork, but a symbolic one in terms of power.
A nudge towards independence
Nigeria’s Constitution talks a big game about separation of powers. In practice, the Executive often calls the shots, especially early in a legislative term. When the ruling party controls both arms, the President or Governor’s influence can be decisive in choosing leaders for the legislature.
Critics point out that the Executive’s influence over the legislature runs far deeper than ceremonial openings. Control over budgets, political appointments, and party structures still give Presidents and Governors plenty of ways to shape legislative behaviour.
Others raise a practical concern: Clerks are appointed officials, and while they’re supposed to be independent, they can still be pressured by political forces.
Changing Nigeria’s Constitution isn’t something that happens with a simple majority vote. HB. 33 will have to clear two-thirds of both the House and the Senate, and then win approval from at least 24 of the 36 State Houses of Assembly.
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That’s a lot of political ground to cover for a bill that, to the average Nigerian, might not seem urgent compared to issues like inflation, unemployment, or insecurity. But in political circles, it’s getting attention as one of those “small hinges that swing big doors” the kind of tweak that could reduce flashpoints between the arms of government.
If the bill passes, the next general election could bring a subtle change to the familiar rhythms of political life. Lawmakers would arrive in Abuja, get a notice from the Clerk, and simply get to work. No need for the President to declare anything.
Whether HB. 33 survives the long grind of constitutional amendment remains to be seen. But for now, it has opened up a fresh conversation about where power lies in Nigeria’s democracy, and how much of it the Legislature should be able to hold in its own hands.
