The African National Congress (ANC) emerged from South Africa’s 1999 election in a greatly strengthened position. Now, not only is the constitutionally obligatory five-year period of a government of national unity over—which means that the ANC as the majority party is entitled to rule the country on its own—but the ANC increased its already strong majority in Parliament to just short of two-thirds.

In this article, we first discuss the context of the political debate in which the election took place, as well as the outcome of the election. We then examine the prospects for the consolidation of democracy in South Africa in light of the election results and in relation to the issues surrounding electoral procedure, a dominant party system, and opposition politics within the context of a still very much racially divided society.

Modeled after the U.S. presidency, the office of the president of Nigeria is easily the most powerful position in the land. The president is both the chief of state and the head of government. The authority of the nation’s chief executive expanded greatly during the patrimonial regimes of General Ibrahim Babangida and General Sani Abacha. Indeed, not only was power concentrated in the hands of these despots, its exercise was also marked by massive corruption, brazen nepotism, and sustained brutality. Against this background, it was perhaps natural that the presidential election of February 27, 1999, would excite keen interest among the Nigerian populace, elite groups, ethnoregional blocs, and the international community. This article highlights some of the ethnoregional forces and elite interests that influenced the election and examines their possible implications for the sustenance of democracy and good governance in Nigeria.

Two days before South Africa’s national election on June 2, 1999, Business Day—the country’s “quality” national daily newspaper—pronounced that “on balance” its vote was going to the African National Congress (ANC) for the job it had done since 1994. The government’s performance could have been better, it opined, but it could also have been a lot worse:

With the declaration of former military ruler, General Olusegun Obasanjo, as the president-elect, the long process of choosing Nigeria’s next civilian leadership finally brought to an end what had been a veritable “transition without end.” Although the elections have been successfully concluded, serious doubts remain concerning the survival and stability of the incoming civil order. It is one thing to hold elections, but establishing an enduring democratic order is a totally different and more challenging task.

On at least two grounds, the ongoing transition differed from earlier attempts. First, unlike General Ibrahim Babangida’s model of “guided transition”—in which the government formed the two political parties, wrote their manifestos, provided their funding, and appointed their officials—the current political parties were formed entirely by the political elite through the coalescence and structuring of the different political tendencies that survived General Sani Abacha’s reign of terror.

The result of South Africa’s first democratic election in 1994 had something in common with a successful children’s birthday party. It was clear from the beginning whose day it was and where the bulk of the spoils would go, but the failure of the African National Congress (ANC) to win a two-thirds majority consoled the others. And those guests who might have spoiled the occasion with tears and tantrums were rewarded too, with control of provincial parliaments in Kwa-Zulu-Natal and the Western Cape, as well as positions in a government of national unity. These factors helped to make the 1994 election an occasion for general, not just partisan, rejoicing.

Divorced from the euphoria and sense of relief that attended the 1994 poll and robbed of any uncertainty about the outcome, observers of 1999’s election have had to work much harder to read its significance.

The Nigerian military has been engaged in a program of transition to democratic rule since 1985. The country’s military rulers developed “transition politics” into a strategy of transitions without end, a ruse to prevent democratization. Hopefully, Nigeria is now at the crossroads. One of the most important issues posed in the transition has been the ethnoregional one: Would entrenched ethnoregional forces allow political power to shift from the North to the South? It is not a new question in Nigerian transition politics.

Two broad issues surface when ethnoregional domination emerges as a political issue in Nigeria: control of political power and its instruments, such as the armed forces and the judiciary; and control of economic power and resources.

South Africa’s 1999 election presented the country’s opposition parties with a number of serious challenges. For the three years before this second democratic election, opposition parties had been building up their hopes for 1999 as the year when the African National Congress (ANC) colossus might start shedding support and create space for opposition growth. Instead, the 1999 election fragmented the opposition, halved the size of the single biggest opposition party, annihilated opposition parties in most of the ANC-controlled provinces, and strengthened the ANC in the two opposition-controlled provinces. It also brought enhanced cooperation between the ANC and precisely those opposition parties that might have given credibility to a realigned opposition movement.

At the Azikiwe memorial conference held at Lincoln University near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in late April 1998, a longstanding observer of Nigerian politics pointedly informed the Nigerian ambassador to the United States that the so-called Federal Republic of Nigeria was in fact neither federal nor a republic. The remark was met with rowdy applause from the migrant/exile audience. It was certainly accurate at the time, but not even the audience could know for how much longer. While it is perhaps still premature to celebrate, by virtue of the recent elections Nigeria is once again at least nominally a republic in the Latin sense—res publica —a thing of the people. As for Nigerian federalism, Ali Mazrui’s characterization seems accurate: It is “alive, but not well,” and the recent elections do not augur well for its recovery.

More than one million more women than men registered to vote in South Africa’s second democratic election in 1999. The election saw 29.8 percent of seats in the national legislature (or 119 out of 400) going to women (up from 27 percent in the previous Parliament and in stark contrast to the less than 3 percent of women parliamentarians prior to 1994). Eight ministers and eight deputy ministers in South Africa’s new Parliament are women. The new cabinet has women in charge of nontraditional portfolios, such as foreign affairs, public service, mineral and energy affairs, communications and land affairs, in addition to health and housing. This doubles the number of female members compared to the previous executive.

To all appearances, the transition program of General Abdusalam Abubakar has, from the beginning, been torn between two contradictory policy and strategic choices. The first is whether to appease the prodemocracy and human rights groups by accepting the convocation of a sovereign national conference, with all this entails, including a postponement of the disengagement date. The second is whether to ignore these groups, and organize a rapid, short, and sharp transition program, even if fundamental issues, such as the “National Question,” and restructuring the federation and the military, are sidetracked. By choosing the latter, the Abubakar junta demonstrated first that it would undertake the transition mainly on its own terms and with its own ideas.

South Africa’s second democratic national election has been heralded as generally “free and fair” and a significant step toward the consolidation of the nation’s 1994 democracy. However, five years after the replacement of apartheid with full citizen participation and the recognition of equal rights for all, South Africa remains largely divided by race. Despite the overall peacefulness and tolerance that marked the election on June 2, 1999, and the general assumption that the country is moving away from race-based politics, the issue of race proved to be far from insignificant in both the campaigns of the various political parties and the patterns of voter support. Although most parties went to extensive lengths to prove their commitment to multiracialism and claimed support across the racial spectrum, few had much success in transcending the historical divisions of the electorate.

This article is based on the premise that the aid establishment views Africa as probably the world’s last backwater. Simply put, bureaucrats, politicians, and other policymakers in the western world are rather content with Africa’s present status, an attitude that not only accords with their career aspirations, but also spawns a certain amount of sybaritic pleasure about the inclement condition of the continent. It is against this background that this article examines the motives and aspirations of the international observers in the Nigerian electoral process, focusing on the attitudes and the impact of the observers in the 1998 local government elections.

International electoral observation and monitoring are an integral part of the global dimensions of democratization. Many writers have averred that one major reason for the upswing in Africa’s quest to democratize is the cessation of the power play between Moscow and Washington.

South Africa’s second democratic elections in June 1999 represented an important step on that country’s path to “normality,” to political pluralism, as opposed to the racial oligarchy of the past. At the same time, the clear victory of the African National Congress (ANC) underscored the dominant-party nature of South African politics. Despite the party’s overwhelming victory, however, it had to contend with a number of challenges, most notably from within its Eastern Cape heartland. This article explores the nature of party competition in the Border Corridor of the province by examining both the 1999 election results and the results of a detailed opinion survey conducted in the area in late 1998. Sandwiched between the former homelands of the Transkei and Ciskei, the corridor is of considerable importance given its geographical location and political history. The district encompasses greater East London, the provincial capital of Bisho, and King Williams Town.

In many respects, the least important part of the 1999 elections were the elections themselves. From the beginning of General Abdusalam Abubakar’s transition program in mid-1998, most Nigerians who were not part of the wealthy “political class” of elites—which is to say, most Nigerians— adopted their usual politically savvy perspective of siddon look (sit and look). They waited with cautious optimism to see what sort of new arrangement the military would allow the civilian politicians to struggle over, and what in turn the civilians would offer the public. No one had any illusions that anything but high-stakes bargaining within the military and the political class would determine the structures of power in the civilian government. Elections would influence this process to the extent that the crowd influences a soccer match.

The end of the cold war has made democratization, and its barest essential component elections, imperative for all nondemocratic forms of government. This is to be expected, given the dismal failure of the socialist alternative even in the first socialist country, the former Soviet Union. The United States, which is not only the foremost democracy in the world but also the only superpower, has been in the vanguard of democracy salesmanship. Africa, the continent with the least democratic space, has not been left out, as witnessed by President Bill Clinton’s unprecedented tour of the continent in March 1998.

Understandably, Nigeria, arguably the most important country in Africa, was left out of the tour, since it was then under the obnoxious, undemocratic, and oppressive military regime of the late General Sani Abacha.

Back in the bad old days of the mid-1980s, when we in South Africa thought we were fighting a revolutionary war, we liked to believe in a slogan that some of us attempted to put into practice. The slogan (and there were many variations of it) went something like this: “In a truly democratic society, ordinary people should have control over all aspects of their lives.” This slogan embraced a philosophy of participatory democracy that was in constant tension with the militarism, secrecy, and intolerance on the other side of the liberation movement. It expressed a deep humanism, a belief that people were capable of living unselfishly and of acting collectively, not just in times of crisis and mobilization, but daily.

In only four years, Nigeria has experienced two successive transition-to-civil-rule programs. The first, implemented with shocking inconsistency by the regime of General Sani Abacha, came to an abrupt anticlimax with the late despot’s unexpected death. The second appears to have been, judging by the country’s recent political history, unusually successful, culminating in the election of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) aspirant, General Olusegun Obasanjo, as presidentelect. While various reasons have been adduced for the apparent failure of one and the relative success of the other, political analysts in the country seem to agree that the main reason has to do with the fact that the programs differed profoundly in terms of motives, methodologies, and even ends.