Who Sanctions the State When It Misses Its Deadlines on it Promises?

Who Sanctions the State When It Misses Its Deadlines on it Promises?

By Abraham Ameh

It is striking to note a certain contrast in the workings of our dear Nigerian state. On one hand, we see persistent challenges: highways that remain unsafe, an electricity grid that struggles to deliver stable power, a currency that has lost much of its value. On the other hand, when the issue turns to tax compliance, the machinery of government moves with noticeable precision. The March 31 deadline for filing annual tax returns arrived, and citizens were reminded that the state is able to set clear timelines and communicate consequences. The portal, after some initial glitches, functioned, or at least functioned well enough to signal that compliance was expected.

But here is the question that hangs in the air, unanswered: Where are the deadlines for the government?

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Where is the deadline for when power will be restored, as was promised within a year? That deadline came and went, and the grid has collapsed more times than we can count. Where is the deadline for when the killings will stop? When bandits will no longer turn highways into graveyards? When a father can travel to see his children without drafting a will before departure? Where is the deadline for when the anti-corruption fight will yield something more than headlines and selective prosecutions?

The government has set a deadline for taxes. We are told, with urgency, that failure to comply attracts a fine of up to N100,000. Yet the minimum wage, after a hard-fought struggle, stands at N70,000. In a country where the average worker earns less than the penalty for late filing, the irony is not lost on anyone. It is a brutal arithmetic: the state values its own revenue more than the sustenance of its citizens.

The Technology Paradox
What is most striking is the confidence with which the government deploys technology for tax collection. The portal, despite early hiccups reported in Leadership and Daily Trust, was eventually enforced as the sole gateway for compliance. Citizens were expected to navigate the digital infrastructure, input their details, and remit their dues. The system worked or was made to work, because the stakes were clear: pay or be penalized.

Contrast this with the same government’s approach to elections. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) has spent billions of naira on technology for voter accreditation and result transmission. And yet, in every election cycle, the technology falters. The Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) fails. The IReV portal collapses under the weight of live results. The same state that can send a deadline-driven SMS reminder for tax cannot guarantee that your vote will count on election day.

This is not a technological problem. It is a problem of priority. The government knows how to build systems that serve its own interests. It knows how to collect. It struggles consistently with how to serve. The tax portal is a testament to what is possible when the political will exists. The electoral portal is a testament to what happens when that will is absent.

But here is the deeper moral question: What is the penalty for a government that fails to deliver the basic goods of governance?

What is the fine for a government that promised to fix power within a year, yet citizens now spend more on fuel for generators than on food? What is the sanction for a government that presides over the most brutal wave of insecurity in recent memory, with communities erased, schools closed, and citizens abducted in their hundreds? What is the consequence for a government that has, by its own admission, inherited a broken system, yet has offered no measurable timeline for repair?

In any functioning democracy, the ballot is the ultimate sanction. But when the electoral process itself is compromised, when voters doubt that their votes will count, the accountability mechanism breaks. We are left with a state that demands from citizens with precision but offers to citizens only vague promises and missed deadlines.

A Tale of Two Deadlines
Let us speak plainly. The March 31 tax deadline was communicated with clarity. Advertisements ran. News outlets carried the warnings. Social media was flooded with reminders.

Now imagine if that same machinery were deployed to announce a deadline for ending the killings in the North-West. Imagine a nationwide campaign: “By December 31, 2026, no Nigerian will be kidnapped on the Kaduna-Abuja highway.” Imagine a portal where citizens could track the government’s progress on reducing the number of out-of-school children. Imagine a dashboard that showed, in real time, the number of megawatts added to the grid, with a penalty for missing targets.
This is not fantasy. It is the logic of accountability. If the government can enforce a deadline for tax, it can set and meet deadlines for governance. The fact that it does not tells us something uncomfortable: the state’s capacity exists, but it is directed toward extraction, not service.

The Citizen’s Dilemma
Let me be clear: this is not an argument against paying taxes. A functional state requires revenue. The social contract demands that citizens contribute to the collective. And the calls for proper tax compliance, as articulated in BusinessDay and Leadership, are not misplaced. Every citizen who can file should file. Civic duty does not disappear when the state fails.

But civic duty is a two-way street. When the state demands compliance, it must also offer accountability. When it sets a deadline for tax, it must also set deadlines for its own performance. When it imposes a penalty for late filing, it must accept that citizens, too, have a right to impose a penalty at the ballot box.

It becomes easier to agree with a popular position that the problem with Nigeria is that we are a nation of rulers, not a nation of leaders. Rulers demand. Leaders deliver. The tax deadline is a ruler’s act: efficient, impersonal, punitive. What Nigerians yearn for is leadership: visible, accountable, and bound by the same deadlines imposed on the governed.

Imaginary Deadlines, Real Expectations
Nigerians have their own imaginary deadlines. Every day, a mother keeps her children home from school because the road is unsafe her deadline is when she hears that bandits have been routed from the forest. Every night, a small business owner sits in darkness, counting the cost of diesel—her deadline is when the grid stabilizes for 24 hours. Every election cycle, a voter wonders if the ballot will count, his deadline is when he sees a result that reflects his will.

These are not whims. They are the minimal expectations of citizenship. And the government, in its frantic rush to collect taxes, must understand that it is being judged against these imaginary deadlines. The fine for missing a tax deadline is N100,000. The fine for missing a governance deadline is something far more severe: the erosion of legitimacy.

We must end with a call to both sides. To citizens: file your taxes. It is the law, and it is a contribution to the nation you hope to build. But do so with your eyes open. Hold your receipts. Demand accountability. To the government: you have shown you can set deadlines. You have shown you can enforce them. Now show that you can apply that same rigor to the things that matter. Set a deadline for fixing the grid. Set a deadline for making the highways safe. Set a deadline for reducing the number of out-of-school children. And if you miss those deadlines, accept the penalty: the judgment of the people you claim to serve.

Because in the end, a country that can enforce a tax deadline but cannot protect its citizens is not a country. It is a collection agency with a flag.