In a recent interview on Trust TV's 30 Minutes program, Senator Bala Ibn Na'Allah, a seasoned politician with four terms in the National Assembly—having served twice in the House of Representatives and twice in the Senate—discusses the paradox of politicians leaving office with less wealth than they had upon entering. He also counters Kaduna State Governor Uba Sani's assertion that northern leaders have let the region down over the last two decades, defends his own political record, and tackles the contentious voice vote regarding the Rivers State emergency, his unsuccessful attempt for a third Senate term, and the issue of state capture under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Here are some highlights from the conversation:
Let’s talk about the next election cycle. Why were you upset when the Kaduna State governor said all northern leaders are to blame for the region’s problems? Given your experience, shouldn’t you accept part of that blame?
Well, you see, there are two different things here. He actually made the statement on this very programme. He ended up saying that anyone who held office in the last 20 years should apologise to the North.
So I sat back and asked myself. First, as a Muslim, I know that kind of generalisation is un-Islamic. To say the entire North, in the last 20 years, hasn’t produced even one honest leader who gave his all for the development of the region—that’s wrong. So I decided it was only right to interrogate myself. I looked at the two terms I served in the House of Representatives, and the two terms I served in the Senate. I tried my best. I couldn’t find any instance where I had cause, directly or indirectly, to take a decision that was injurious to the North.
Don’t forget, I’m over 60 now. I have children. I have grandchildren. I could die tomorrow. That statement is on the record. So I want to give them the opportunity to say, at least, that their grandfather entered a plea of not guilty to that charge. Because yes, I am concerned about history. I don’t want to be judged—harshly or wrongly. And I say this after honestly reflecting on the level of sacrifice I made, the effort I put in during the time God gave me to serve in those positions. I felt it was unfair. Even if I can’t speak for other leaders in the North—and I know many of them were just as pained by that statement—at least I can speak for myself. And I still stand by that.
That’s why, in my response, I reminded him that during one of my terms in the Senate, he was there with me. If he can remember any decision I took that was injurious to the North, let him point it out. In any case, I didn’t respond because I enjoyed doing it. No. In fact, one of the things I hate doing is talking about “the North.” With the privilege God has given me in this country, I would much rather speak as a Nigerian than as a sectional leader.
So you believe you served both the North and Nigeria well—and shouldn’t be grouped with those who failed?
Yes. Those who failed in the North are known. And they are few. And they know themselves.
Because they were given the opportunity to lead—but in their pursuit of personal gain, they abandoned leadership. And in doing so, they dislocated the entire leadership structure of the region. You understand? When you deliberately discard merit and competence, and choose to operate on parameters that don’t support good governance, where’s the wisdom in coming back to say: “Yes, we made mistakes—but it’s a collective failure”? No, it’s not.
Everyone should answer for their own record of service to their people. I challenge any Nigerian to show me one decision, one step I took, that was injurious to the North—and by extension, to my country.
But take budget padding, for instance. You were a senator when those allegations came up. Isn’t that part of the problem—passing budgets driven by self-interest, like the one President Buhari criticised?
When we were in the House of Representatives, did you ever hear the word “padding”? Let me say this clearly, whether people believe it or not: the executive has the responsibility to implement the budget. No matter what a legislator puts in—a constituency project, a padded item, whatever—it is the executive that decides whether to implement or not.
So, to hear people talking about padding, when we have EFCC, the ICPC. In fact, let me tell you—ICPC today has a record of every senator and House member, including what they put into the budget and what was implemented. You can go and check.
So where is the wisdom in saying someone is is guilty just for approving a budget? This is a democracy. The budget appropriation Act is laid before the National Assembly. It is debated, put to a vote, and the majority carries the day. That’s how the process works. It becomes an appropriation bill and, eventually, a law.
But ordinary Nigerians feel lawmakers live large—salaries, allowances, perks—while citizens keep getting poorer. Why is it so hard to pass policies that truly help people?
That’s where I may have to disagree with some of the public perception. I think many people don’t understand what really goes on. Even some elites entered the National Assembly thinking it was a money-making machine—only to realise they might end up poorer than before they joined.
Go to your constituency—or anywhere you know people who held elective office, especially in the House or Senate—and find one who had nothing before joining politics, and who, after just one year out of office, can comfortably afford their children’s school fees. Just one.
But in their communities, many still seem wealthy and powerful.
That’s how it may appear to you. But I’m telling you—go and do that research. Pick four former lawmakers. Look into their situation. Then come back here and tell Nigerians what you find.
So are you saying lawmakers don’t earn the big salaries and perks people assume—like the new vehicles for committee work, for instance?
I don’t think so. I’m not here to defend legislators, but I’m giving you my honest take. From what I know, the public perception of the National Assembly is completely different from the reality.
Go and speak to most senators and House members—they’ll tell you themselves. Some are worse off financially after politics than before they entered. Many went in thinking it was easy money.
If it’s that tough, why do lawmakers seem so eager to stay? Why don’t they just walk away?
It’s about hope. Maybe tomorrow you become Senate President, or get a committee chairmanship—people hold on to those possibilities. I’m not speaking for anyone, but I’m telling you what I know.
But you’re not in the Senate now because you lost the election—not because you chose to step aside.
I did contest, yes. But the real question is: how did I come to contest? Was it purely my decision?
People outside the system often see it a certain way. But let me explain. As a senator, throughout your time in office, you meet hundreds—maybe thousands—of people who believe you’ve helped them or their communities.
Some may have benefited directly, others indirectly. So when your term is ending, they start coming to you, pleading: “Please, don’t step down.”
That’s what people call the usual political language—the so-called “call from the people.” But it’s real. When I was in the House, I said I wouldn’t go for a third term, and I didn’t. But the pressure was enormous. Then came the Senate. Why did they come back for me to run? It couldn’t have been because they thought I did something wrong.
But in the last election, the same electorate—or perhaps not the electorate—decided otherwise. And I don’t want to discuss those political dynamics here. I don’t want to get into who did what, or for what reason.
As a leader, I’ve reached a point where I need to maintain a certain level of confidentiality.
But I’ll say this—the politics around my election loss had more to do with my perceived intention to contest for Senate President than with the election itself.
So it was some careful footwork to keep you out?
Thank you.
You mentioned perception earlier. As someone who was in the National Assembly during the Ghali Na’Abba era, how do you view today’s Assembly—often seen as a lapdog, quick to say yes to the executive?
A: I’m glad you used the word perception. And I think I’m schooled enough to understand that perception is a fluid concept. The public may see the National Assembly that way, but that doesn’t mean it’s immune from making mistakes—procedural or otherwise—that give that impression. At the time decisions are made, lawmakers may have access to information the public doesn’t.
What kind of decisions are we talking about?
Any decision that may create the impression that they’re rubber stamps. As a leader, you sometimes have information that the public doesn’t. So your judgment won’t always align with theirs. And when that gap exists, the public may feel let down. But maybe, if they had the same information lawmakers had at the time, they would’ve made the same decision.
Q: Often, the issue isn’t with the decision itself—but with the process that led to it. On the crucial issue of declaring a state of emergency, why did the National Assembly use a voice vote instead of requiring members to openly state their positions? Was that appropriate?
Honestly, it wasn’t right. And there’s no real justification for using that procedure.
Parliamentary development is crucial in any democracy, and that’s why the idea of “ranking” members exists. Some of these mistakes happen because the presiding officer may not be senior—or experienced—enough to know the proper procedure to follow.
Are you sure that’s the reason, or is the main purpose to achieve a particular goal?
Well, I can’t know their motivations as I’m not in their position or in the National Assembly. However, it’s clear that when the term “two-thirds” is used, no one needs to explain that you cannot determine it by a voice vote.
According to standard parliamentary procedures, you either divide the House for a count or use electronic voting, because that two-thirds threshold is a critical constitutional requirement. T
The danger here, and this is important, is that in politics, everything is subject to change. For instance, removing a governor or the President of Nigeria under our constitution also requires a two-thirds majority. God forbid if things go wrong, and politically, some people want to remove the president, would the president accept a voice vote determining the two-thirds needed for his removal? Would anyone accept that? That’s the risk of setting precedents without considering the consequences. The implications of this are dire and have serious constitutional ramifications. I hope and continue to pray that the National Assembly will eventually find a way to acknowledge this error and affirm that any law requiring a two-thirds majority should be determined by a physical count or electronic voting.
But in today’s political climate, is that really feasible?
Very feasible. The institution is bigger than any of its members. We’ve passed through it, but the National Assembly remains. It’s about protecting the integrity of the institution.
Many Nigerians feel uncomfortable with how institutions, including the National Assembly and judiciary, are functioning. Some say it’s a case of state capture.
In a democracy, it’s okay to have concerns. The constitution gives you that right.
But that doesn’t necessarily reflect the full picture. Sometimes, decisions are made under circumstances that don’t meet public expectations—but in that context, they seemed like the only way forward.
Take the issue in Rivers, for instance. The debate wasn’t whether the emergency was justified—it was the suspension of the governor, the deputy, and the House that drew concern.
But under the constitution, when a state assembly can’t function, the National Assembly can step in and legislate. That’s what we did during the Plateau crisis. But even then, the constitution makes it clear: the power to remove a governor isn’t part of that intervention. You can legislate, but not remove.
So couldn’t this just be another case where lawmakers had information the public didn’t—just like you mentioned earlier?
No, honestly. There’s no information that justifies using a voice vote in that situation. None.
But sometimes, you’re put in a position where you feel something must be done quickly, even if it’s not ideal.
Like how they suddenly changed the national anthem—and now most Nigerians can’t even recite it?
Well, you gave them the power to do that. So what can we say? They acted within the powers you gave them. Whether or not they used it wisely is another matter. When electing leaders, you need to be mindful of what kind of discretion you’re giving them. It’s a catch-22. Let’s be honest and sincere about it.
But where does that leave us? More than 20 years into democracy, most Nigerians seem fed up. They say it’s just not delivering. Should that really be the case after a quarter century?
The public has every right to feel that way. But they also have a moral duty to ensure that the leadership selection process is sound. If you collect money to vote, what outcome do you expect? You’re turning governance into a transaction. So yes, we’re all responsible. It’s a shared responsibility.