When Nigeria’s ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) recently secured supermajorities in both chambers of the National Assembly, it reignited debate about whether the country is slowly sliding toward a one-party state. With the defections of several opposition lawmakers swelling in numbers, the APC now commands the kind of legislative control that allows it to pass laws with minimal resistance. The growing number of governors joining the ruling party also gives it an edge in the 2027 general election, as state governors are known to wield enormous influence over the outcome of elections in Nigeria’s imperfect electoral system.

Critics, including civil society organisations such as Yiaga Africa and opposition political parties such as the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and the African Democratic Congress (ADC), see this as a worrying sign — a concentration of political power that could weaken democratic oversight and gradually silence dissent. But before predicting Nigeria’s democratic demise, it is worth asking: what does a one-party state actually look like, and what are the real consequences of living under one?

Across the world, several nations operate under systems where a single political party monopolises power, leaving little or no room for genuine opposition. The examples are well known: China, Russia, North Korea, Cameroon, and Equatorial Guinea, to name a few — each demonstrating how one-party dominance reshapes politics, economics, and freedom itself.

In China, the Communist Party has ruled unchallenged since 1949. Every major institution, from the legislature to the judiciary, operates under the party’s guiding hand. There are no competitive elections for leadership, and dissenting voices are tightly controlled. The result is an efficient but rigid system where political stability takes precedence over political pluralism. Economic growth has been staggering, lifting hundreds of millions out of poverty, but it has come at the cost of individual freedom, with censorship pervasive and criticism of the state.

But Russia — under Vladimir Putin —  presents a subtler form of one-party dominance. While multiple parties technically exist, the ruling United Russia party enjoys overwhelming control of parliament and the political apparatus. Elections are held, but they are rarely competitive. Opposition candidates face disqualification, harassment, or worse. Figures like Alexei Navalny, who dared challenge Putin’s rule, have been jailed, poisoned, or silenced. Media independence has all but vanished, and the line between state and party has blurred entirely. What remains is a democracy in name only; experts call it a “managed democracy,” where the illusion of choice masks the absence of it.

In North Korea, the concept of opposition is unthinkable. The Workers’ Party of Korea, led by the Kim dynasty, exercises total control over the state, the military, and even private life. Citizens are indoctrinated from birth to worship the leadership; criticism is treason and punishment is collective. But unlike China and Russia, where there is significant economic development, North Korea’s economic isolation makes it one of the poorest countries in the world, with about 60% of its population below the poverty line as of 2018, and there’s little evidence of better fortunes since then. It is an extreme embodiment of what unchecked power produces.

Cameroon, Nigeria’s West African neighbour, offers an African example. Last month, the country elected Paul Biya as president for an eighth term in a disputed election. Biya, who is the world’s oldest head of state at 92, first came to power in 1982 and has failed to relinquish the presidency since then through a series of manoeuvres, including a controversial constitutional amendment that abolished term limits. Despite a multi-party system going into effect in 1990, commentaries in the Oxford University Press, On Policy Africa, and other publications have said that Cameroon is governed by a de facto authoritarian regime. Known for spending time outside Africa in Swiss hotels, Biya’s decades-long stay in office has been marked by corruption, economic decline, and repression of free expression. “The economy is declining, corruption is endemic, a lot of things are going wrong,” a resident, Amungwa Nicodemus, told the BBC after the most recent presidential election.

Elsewhere in Africa, Equatorial Guinea is governed by the longest consecutively serving current non-royal national leader in the world. President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo has ruled the country since he overthrew his uncle and the country’s first elected president, Francisco Macías Nguema, in a bloody coup in August 1979. Although Equatorial Guinea purports to have a multi-party political system, it is currently a dominant-party state, in which Obiang’s Democratic Party of Equatorial Guinea (PDGE) holds virtually all governing power in the nation and has held all, or almost all, seats in the legislature since its creation. The country’s constitution also grants Obiang the right to rule by decree, and the result has been a legal dictatorship accused of severe human rights abuses and spurned oil riches at the expense of citizens.

Clearly, the consequences of one-party rule extend far beyond politics. Economically, such systems often breed inefficiency, corruption, and widespread poverty. Without opposition scrutiny, the ruling party’s mistakes go unchallenged, and public funds are easily diverted for patronage. Decisions are made by political decree rather than debate, and policies serve the interests of those loyal to the regime. Economic growth, where it exists, tends to concentrate wealth among the elite, deepening inequality.

Free expression — the lifeblood of democracy — also suffers under one-party states. Journalists face censorship, activists face imprisonment, and ordinary citizens are afraid to speak up and challenge power. The state controls narratives, punishes dissent, and the press becomes propaganda. For citizens, the erosion of choice can be gradual and almost invisible. At first, the ruling party’s dominance may seem like a sign of strength and stability. Opposition parties may appear weak, divided, or disorganised as Nigeria’s have been in recent months. But over time, that imbalance of power becomes the norm. Laws are passed that entrench incumbents, institutions are staffed with loyalists, and electoral competition loses meaning. What begins as dominance can end in monopoly.

That is the fear some Nigerians now voice as the APC consolidates its hold on power. A supermajority in the National Assembly grants the ruling party sweeping influence over legislation, appointments, and constitutional amendments. If unchecked, such dominance could tilt the balance of power in ways that undermine accountability. The opposition’s ability to scrutinise budgets, investigate wrongdoing, or resist controversial laws could erode. Democracy, in form, might remain; in substance, it could flame out.

Yet, Nigeria’s political history counsels restraint before assuming the worst. The country has seen this before. Between 1999 and 2015, the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) not only controlled the presidency but held up to 82 Senate seats and 260 in the House of Representatives — a supermajority far exceeding the APC’s current numbers. The PDP boasted it would rule for sixty years. But by 2015, it was voted out of power, democratically, by an opposition coalition that became today’s APC.

That experience demonstrates that dominance in Nigeria’s democracy has always been cyclical, not absolute. Parties rise, expand, and eventually fall when the public grows disillusioned. The PDP’s collapse showed that institutional control cannot substitute for performance. Voters remain Nigeria’s ultimate check.

Even today, the APC’s growing strength may owe more to political patronage than to ideological conviction. Governors and lawmakers defect to stay close to federal power, not necessarily out of belief in the party’s programme. Such alliances, forged by convenience, can just as easily dissolve when the political wind shifts. The ruling party’s current advantage may be wide, but it is also fragile and dependent on continued goodwill, not enduring loyalty.