Some time ago, a beautiful dancer, Senator Ademola Adeleke, Governor of Osun State, once said that he thought he should be appreciated by his people for giving up his freebie N600m security vote that his state awards to him every month. He even entered the spirit of Chief Olusegun Obasanjo, who once barked, “Stand up! Sit down!” orders at some Oyo State kings.

His words: “I have considered sharing my security votes to assist in some of our projects. And for this, all should stand up and clap for me for 20 minutes. That’s how they do it in the United States.” Well, American state governors do not receive security votes like their Nigerian counterparts.

Though laudable, the governor’s offer to utilise the security votes for state projects is the greatest confirmation that the security vote is not necessary; a scam that has become a statutory drainpipe, a vestige of the tradition started after the military incursion into Nigeria’s politics.

If you want to know, Governor Adeleke’s N600m adds up to a princely N7.2bn free money in one year, and N28.8bn in a tenure of four years as governor. That is one avenue for governors to recoup part, if not all the money they spent on their electioneering campaigns.

Some argue that a large portion of the money voted for the constituency projects of Federal legislators is somewhat akin to the security vote of state governors, because it somehow ends up being diverted to the pockets of the idle legislators.

Regrettably, while these kinds of wasteful expenditures are going on throughout Nigeria, civil servants, many of whom are not yet earning the N70,000 minimum national wage, have to be genuflecting and nearly apologetic when they ask their state governors for what their legitimate and statutory rights should be.

Sometime in 2024, Osun State civil servants had to find a creative way to ask the state government to pay the N35,000 in addition to their salaries that had been agreed between the labour unions, government and organised private sector employers.

The Osun State workers, who had to resort to flattery, “urge(d) His Excellency to graciously approve the agreed sum … to all categories of workers… (because they believed that) workers’ welfare is important and very dear to (the) heart (of the Governor)”.

The civil servants also hinted to the governor that the addition to their salaries was agreed to avert “the proposed (labour) strike”, that was called last year, just a few months after the Federal Government withdrew subsidy from petrol and electricity and floated the exchange rate of the naira to convertible foreign currencies, like the US dollar, British pound sterling and the euro.

Two things would strike anyone who cares to interrogate the absurd and conscienceless enterprise designed by Nigeria’s political elite to “legitimately” fleece the people of Nigeria: First, you wonder what purpose the security votes have served over the years, whereas there is inexplicable insecurity in practically all the states of Nigeria.

Despite, or because of, the security vote, which some have derisively described as an “insecurity vote”, Nigerians are routinely subjected to daily harassment by outlaws, like Boko Haram insurgents, bandits, cattle rustlers, violent cattle herders, alien terrorists, “unknown gunmen”, kidnappers, ritual killers, armed robbers and motor park rogues.

Secondly, you wonder why a governor, who has no constitutional authority over security matters, even within his state, has to be paid a separate and additional security vote when the Nigerian state is already running and funding the Nigeria Police, the military services, the secret service, the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corp, the Federal Road Safety Corps and even the (not exactly new) National Armed Forest Guards that President Tinubu just reintroduced.

Even Southwest states have found a way to legally wrest some security roles of the Exclusive Legislative List to run the Western Nigeria Security Network, otherwise known as “Amotekun Corps”, with public funds. Yet other states, like Lagos, have sundry security outfits, like the Lagos Neighbourhood Safety Corps, and just about every state has a traffic management agency.

That is not to talk of several undefined policing agencies set up, operated and financed by local government authorities to extort statutory and not-so-statutory fines from hapless citizens who do not always know what they did wrong whenever they are intercepted.

The amount of money spent on these, now legally enabled, state “security or safety” agencies must definitely be a tidy sum, which is also coming out of the consolidated revenue fund of the states. So, one wonders why there should be another fund for the inexplicable security votes.

Even after most states have also thought up smart ways to blackmail private sector operators within their domains to generously fund state security funds, the heartless state governors still go ahead to receive monthly security vote allocations, that some critics have calculated to be over N277.49bn annually, even though they do not have the figures for Kebbi, Sokoto, Kwara, Gombe, Ebonyi and Bayelsa States.

Some, with institutional memory of military government in Nigeria, assert that the security vote was introduced into Nigeria by the military government of General Yakubu Gowon, the Head of State, who allocated the funds.

The allocation was intended to encourage the military governors, the political elite and traditional rulers to cooperate with the Federal Military Government, to douse the crisis of legitimacy of General Gowon’s leadership that was queried by Col Emeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu and to prosecute the Civil War.

One must reemphasise that these largely unconstitutional and unaudited payouts to the state governments that were initiated by the Federal Military Government are now paid out of the constitutionally approved consolidated revenue funds.

Frederick Omoyoma Odorige observes, in his doctoral thesis on Military Science at Hungary’s National University of Public Service, Budapest, that monies directed into security votes can be likened to “missing vaults in Nigeria’s checkered (sic) security architecture’’.

That is probably a euphemism for an ingenious, foolproof and legitimate scheme that is designed by the political elite to avoid being prosecuted for stealing public funds, while also avoiding the scrutiny of accountability.

Some have traced the origin of the deliberate opaqueness of the allocation of security funds to the British government’s practice of “hiding” the budget of the security service MI5 in the Home Office and its secret service counterpart, MI6 spies in the Ministry of Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office.

It helps to obscure the activities of these agencies from public scrutiny as auditors beam their “microscopes” into their finances, which, they argue, may expose the security and secret agents to danger and defeat the secrecy that is necessary for security work.

But there is no doubt that Nigerian state actors have stretched the meaning and the coverage of the security votes beyond the intention of those who started it.

Some of the most ardent critics of security votes argue that the books of security expenditures, other than those of the Police Central Intelligence Department, the Department of Military Intelligence and the Nigeria Intelligence Agency, should be open to scrutiny and not hidden with the use of opaque nomenclatures.

It would be a great breakthrough if all state legislatures could find the courage to legislate security votes out of existence.