Lessons in Constituency Accountability from the U.S. Congress
“Madam, Honourable no dey pick call again. Since that election, e just ghost everybody.”
The woman speaking leaned on a plastic chair under a mango tree, her voice carrying a mix of disappointment and irritation. Around her, four others nodded in agreement, the soft buzz of midday heat rising with their murmurs.
“We queue under sun to vote am. Now even to greet us for town, e dey form busy,” another added, clicking her tongue.
And there it was. The familiar Nigerian post-election silence. The sudden disappearance of the “man of the people.” A pattern as predictable as power failure during rainfall.
This scene, unfolding in a quiet ward of a Nigerian federal constituency, is more than gossip. It is a microcosm of a larger issue: the fragile, often transactional relationship between elected representatives and the people who vote them in.
Since Nigeria’s return to democratic governance in 1999, the high turnover rate of lawmakers has become a recurring headline and academic talking point. Every election cycle, a significant number of federal legislators lose their seats. Why? While legislative performance and contributions to lawmaking matter, the real decider is constituency accountability, or the lack of it.
In other words, the question is simple. Did Honourable show up for the people when it wasn’t campaign season?
Let us look to another democracy for comparison. One where politicians cannot afford to disappear for long.
Across the Atlantic: Where a Congress Seat Is Earned, Not Gifted
“Honourable, the people dey complain say you never show face since after election.”
The aide stood cautiously by the SUV, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The Abuja sun was unforgiving, but not as unforgiving as the mood in Honourable’s constituency WhatsApp group. The voice notes had started sounding more like threats.
“Tell them I’ve been busy. We’re working. They’ll see results,” Honourable replied, adjusting his designer shades and motioning for the door to be opened.
The car sped off, air-conditioned silence replacing the mounting complaints of the people.
Now shift the scene.
A small town in Ohio. A local library packed for a town hall meeting. Folding chairs. Lukewarm coffee. One congressman with a mic, facing a sea of questioning eyes.
A woman stands. “Sir, you promised we’d get that bridge fixed six months ago. It’s still broken. What’s the plan?”
The congressman smiles nervously. “I hear you. I’ve already followed up with the state department. I’ll give you a progress update next week.”
No rice. No envelope. No thunderous applause. Just accountability. Raw, uncomfortable, necessary.
In the United States, a member of the House of Representatives has exactly two years to make an impression before facing re-election. That’s 730 days to remain relevant, responsive, and visible. Two years to either become a household name or a name easily replaced on the ballot.
There’s no luxury of disappearance. No time for extended retreats to Abuja. If a congressman stops answering emails, they don’t trend on social media. They get quietly voted out.
Constituency Work: Not a Favour, but a Full-Time Job
U.S. lawmakers do not rely on noise-making to stay in office. They rely on constant presence. Their days are filled with town halls, district tours, constituent casework, church visits, school drop-ins, newsletters, and calls. Lots of them. They know that each ignored constituent could be one lost vote, and in close races, that matters.
You won’t see them giving out gas cookers branded with their faces. Instead, they win re-election by fixing the drainage, answering letters, and helping a local school access federal grants. Imagine that.
And here lies the first layer of irony. While a Nigerian politician might gift a bag of rice and expect lifelong loyalty, their U.S. counterpart is replying to a farmer’s email about land access and hoping it’s enough to win one more vote.
But of course, there’s structure behind the show.
In the U.S., lawmakers are not lone rangers. They have well-funded offices with constituency staff, caseworkers, policy aides, and communications teams. These people help track complaints, liaise with agencies, and handle the daily flood of questions from constituents who, quite frankly, see their congressperson as their personal problem-solver.
And yes, it eats into the time they could spend drafting bills. But guess what? It keeps them employed. Because over there, constituency engagement is not an afterthought. It is a survival skill.
Meanwhile, in Nigeria: Ghost Mode Activated
Back home, the story is often quite different. Constituency offices exist, technically. But many are like abandoned monuments. Shuttered. Unstaffed. Or worse, occupied by someone who doesn’t even know the name of the committee Honourable sits on.
Access to lawmakers? That’s another story. Visiting the National Assembly is like trying to sneak into a restricted military zone. First, a security checkpoint. Then another. Then another. And even after all that, you’re still told, “Honourable is in a meeting.” No surprise most Nigerians haven’t set foot near the chambers they vote to fill.
And let’s not talk about watching parliamentary proceedings. In the U.S., school kids go on class trips to sit in the gallery and observe democracy in action. In Nigeria, the gallery exists, yes, but it may as well be on Mars for all the access the average citizen has.
So when people say Nigerians are politically disengaged, maybe it’s not apathy. Maybe it’s architecture — physical and psychological.
An Open Office Is Cheaper Than a Rented Crowd
Let’s be frank. Visibility is currency. If people see you, they remember you. If they can talk to you, they trust you. A constituency office that works all year round, with a phone line that doesn’t go dead after elections, is far more valuable than one-off empowerment carnivals where wrappers and buckets are thrown like confetti.
Even in the U.S., with all their structure, incumbents do not rest easy. They fight for every vote. They engage. They apologise. They explain. They respond.
What is stopping us from doing the same?
Yes, our contexts differ. Budgets are tighter. Staff capacity is weaker. But the principle is universal. People re-elect those they feel connected to.
If Nigerian legislators want to reduce the high turnover rate, they must stop disappearing after inauguration. They must stop confusing performance with visibility. They must show up. Not just when it’s time to share branded notebooks, but when the borehole isn’t working, when the youth are angry, when the school roof falls in.
Because one bag of rice can buy a week of goodwill.
But a returned phone call? That buys loyalty.
