Ballots and bullets in Nigeria’s oil state

Financial Times:

Timipre Sylva, governor of Bayelsa, is candid about a system that diverts public funds into private pockets. “If a chief walks into my office, he expects me to take care of his problems because that is what the military used to do. If I don’t, I’ve got a very big political enemy,” he says. “If I stop some of these things ... then I will lose my election the next time.”

Mr Sylva adds: “You will read that as corruption, but me, I probably will read that as political survival.”

Estimates for the number killed in attacks on Bayelsa’s rival political camps in recent months range from seven to 17. The targets for assault have included Mr Sylva’s home village, the residence of a deputy whom he ousted recently and the palace of a traditional ruler and political kingmaker.

There are fears that the violence could undermine last year’s truce with militants, whose attacks on facilities owned by Royal Dutch Shell and other foreign energy groups had reduced Nigeria’s oil output by up to 40 per cent.

Mr Sylva says that accounts of the violence are “exaggerated” and designed “to create this impression of insecurity”.

Others say the risks are all too real. Udengs Eradiri, a critic of the governor who hopes to stand for the house of assembly, says death threats have forced him to leave the state.

Held responsible are gangs with names such as the Greenlanders, Vikings and the KKK that are hard to distinguish from the Niger delta’s criminal syndicates and guerrillas who claim to fight for its long-suffering people.

In the past three elections, their gunmen have been used by political paymasters to eliminate opponents, intimidate voters and stuff ballot boxes. After election day, they generally switch to other money-spinning activities: bombing pipelines, kidnapping oil workers and running a multibillion-dollar trade in stolen crude oil.

An official amnesty emptied several guerrilla bases last year but many former fighters complain that their $430 monthly payment from the government is a pittance compared with their previous illicit earnings.

“We have come out peacefully: now give us accommodation, give us vehicles – give us an oil block,” says General Bull, 35, who led his young charges out of the creeks a year ago.

Democracy activists say disgruntled former fighters represent a pool of recruits for unscrupulous politicians – and their leaders will be able to auction their election-rigging capabilities to the highest bidder.

“My greatest fear is not only the usual thugs but what influence the ex-militants might have,” says Morris Alagoa, a human rights activist in Yenagoa, Bayelsa’s state capital. “They have friends in the corridors of power.”

Under a federal revenue-sharing system that favours the oil region, Bayelsa is reckoned to have the highest per capita allocation of any state. Some $2bn has flowed into its coffers over the past three years.

But apart from the palatial governor’s residence and a smattering of fine houses, the rusting shacks nestled among plantain make Yenagoa look more like a large village than a state capital.

The game of political survival extends far beyond Bayelsa. Mr Sylva was among those who lobbied against Mr Jonathan’s elevation from vice-president to the top job in May, following the death of Umaru Yar’Adua, the previous leader.

If Mr Jonathan contests next year’s election, he must court governors such as Mr Sylva, who will influence who gets the ruling party’s nomination. Mr Sylva insists he and the president are reconciled.

But some of Mr Jonathan’s backers consider the governor a loose cannon and appear keen to see him replaced. Mr Jonathan’s own ambitions – not to mention the delta’s fragile peace – will be in jeopardy unless he can ease tensions in his home state.