In every democratic system, the legislative body stands as both a symbol and tool of accountability, participation, and representation. Alexander Brown Hall (ABH), like all other student-led student bodies, has a Hall Assembly that actively demonstrates this principle, composed of elected floor representatives from each floor of the hall’s blocks and two representatives each from academic student associations such as UIMSA, APS, UADS, and NIMELSSA. This multi-layered composition is designed to ensure that the interests of every demographic in ABH are heard in a system meant to simulate a responsive, fair, and constitutional government.
Per Article Four of the ABH Constitution, the Hall Assembly wields the power to legislate, checkmate the executive, and impeach erring officers, and, relevant to recent controversies, this same assembly also plays a key role in legitimizing the activities of standing and ad hoc committees, per its functions in section 3 of article 4 of the constitution. It is under the authority of this assembly that aspirants historically prove their eligibility to contest. However, while its role is constitutionally affirmed, its effectiveness has increasingly come under scrutiny.
The foundation of ABH’s political process lies in its Amended Constitution (2022), which outlines both the composition and powers of the Hall Assembly and the procedural conduct of elections. Article Seven, Section 3(iii), is particularly pertinent:
“The aspirants must have been a member of the Hall Assembly or served in the HEC for at least a tenure or must have served in at least a committee relevant to the office in view.“
This clause has long been interpreted as granting flexibility in eligibility, acknowledging that service can come through in several ways. However, the recent elections have brought to light just how open to interpretation these words are, particularly with regard to what qualifies as “service.”
Now, unlike many main campus halls at the University of Ibadan, where the lines of governance tend to follow more entrenched student union norms, where eligibility requirements for certain positions are clearer than what is attainable here. ABH functions with a unique blend of medical student culture and procedural rigidity. For instance, while main campus elections often rely on clearly established service certificates and executive portfolios, ABH elections have historically leaned on several means to confirm service, a tradition with its own set of flaws and inconsistencies. This deviation became a critical fault line in this current election cycle.
On Tuesday, April 15th, 2025, two aspirants, Oloruntola Michael (popularly known as Micky) and Makanjuola Ayomide, were disqualified by the ABH Electoral Commission from contesting for executive offices. According to Mr. Oloruntola’s open letter, the disqualification was abrupt, predetermined, and failed to consider both his ratified membership in committees and his active involvement in the planning of Hall Week.
“Micky, you do not need to explain or defend yourself, as nothing you say can change the stance of the Electoral Commission,” the commission chairperson allegedly told him during screening.
While the commission later released a statement denying the quote and framing the decision as constitutionally grounded, the central tension remained: Mr. Oloruntola serves as head of the Bonfire Sub-Committee under the Hall Week Planning Committee. He had submitted budgets, secured donations, and attended meetings. In a subjective sense, he had been “serving.”
Yet, the commission’s rebuttal was that service must be “delivered” and “tangible,” not simply planned. Because the Hall Week had not yet been held, the commission ruled that his involvement was “in progress,” not complete, and therefore not valid for eligibility. The same logic applied to Mr. Makanjuola.
And this is where the flaw is in ABH’s evolving electoral culture: ratification has previously been used, although inconsistently, as a proxy for service. Last session, the Hall Assembly ratified the list of standing and ad hoc committee members, and this ratification served as proof of service for electoral screening. It was a constitutional shortcut of sorts. One that relied more on the assumption of participation than on verification of impact. Yet, as many residents now observe, ratification does not guarantee service, and the Constitution itself makes no such equivalence.
In fact, Article Seven doesn’t mention ratification as proof of eligibility; it merely mentions “service.” While ratification is procedurally important, its use as an eligibility benchmark has been fundamentally flawed. And a very good example of this case was it’s use last year.
The constitutional dilemma is further complicated by historical inconsistency. Prior to the last session, and in accordance with the previous version of the constitution, with the exception of the office of the information minister and SBM, only final year students were permitted to contest elections.
Still, what makes this year’s decision by the Electoral Commission especially striking is the fact that it wasn’t without precedents, just under-discussed precedents. In an interview with a former member of the Hall Assembly, specific examples were cited to illustrate the Assembly’s past approach to determining “service.”
Yet beyond precedents, what’s critical to understand is that the Electoral Commission has always had the prerogative to interpret what qualifies as service, especially in borderline or first-year cases. As revealed, it was explicitly the mind of that team that the EC should retain the discretion to assess each aspirant’s contributions, even if incomplete, and determine whether to accept or reject a nomination based on their independent judgment. Thereby suggesting that the commission should be allowed to just assess what a person has done so far… and just decide that even though they’ve not served per se, they still accept the nomination.”
This makes the recent outcry against the EC’s decisions legally and constitutionally problematic. Because anyone, even the House, trying to force or change the decision of the EC now is illegal. The EC, as constituted by the Constitution, is empowered not just to verify service but to interpret it. This discretionary power is not new; it’s simply being more explicitly invoked this session.
Take, for instance, the Deputy Hall Chairperson during former Hall Chairperson Jegede Olaoye’s tenure; her name was omitted from the official records because she was impeached for failing to organize the Hall Week, which was her sole constitutional duty. Despite having budgets, proposals, and plans in place, the Assembly adjudged that she had not served.
Similarly, Thompson, who held the office of Health and Sanitation Minister during the same tenure, was deemed not to have served due to his failure to organize key events such as CHAP or Health Day and for failing to ensure a consistent water supply. In both cases, the metric for service was execution — not intention or preparation.
These examples make the current commission’s stance appear less like an arbitrary disqualification and more like a continuation of established, albeit selectively remembered, precedent. As the former Assembly member put it, “Service is and always has been beyond just drafting budgets, proposals, etc.”
In this light, the commission’s logic becomes less controversial and more constitutionally aligned, even if unpopular. The broader concern, then, is not necessarily the content of the commission’s decision but the latitude it has in making such judgments. The ABH Electoral Commission occupies a peculiar place within the hall’s democratic structure. According to the Constitution, it is an independent, ad hoc body constituted by the Hall Assembly, tasked with screening candidates, setting electoral guidelines, and ensuring compliance with Article Seven.
In theory, the commission is answerable to the Hall Assembly. But in practice, its power is nearly absolute. Once the commission decides an aspirant is ineligible, overturning that decision becomes a near-impossibility. Even more critically, the burden of proof lies entirely with the petitioner. They must “prove without a doubt” that the Commission misinterpreted the Constitution — a particularly Herculean standard, especially in an environment where constitutional language is vague and historical precedent is inconsistent. So, while the commission is technically not above the assembly, it functions as a self-interpreting, self-correcting entity, protected by the very constitution it is charged to uphold.
This becomes especially problematic when coupled with vague criteria like “adequate service” or “tangible results.” These are subjective benchmarks that allow too much discretion, discretion that, in this case, has raised legitimate fears about fairness, transparency, and bias.
Among the most jarring developments in the fallout of the disqualification saga were the accusations of bias and corruption directed at the Speaker of the Assembly. Micky, in his open letter, claims the commission chairperson cited the speaker’s awareness and approval of his disqualification. However, the commission’s official statement refutes this: “The speaker was not informed about the decision; his opinion/expertise was sought to properly interpret the constitution…”
In clarifying his position, the Speaker emphasized that while he was indeed consulted by the Electoral Commission regarding the candidate’s qualification and provided his interpretation based on consultations with past assembly leaders, he explicitly distanced himself from the decision-making process: “Whatever the Electoral Commission decides on that is not my own business. I am not involved in the commission, and whatever they do is not a business of mine. If they want to disqualify him, it’s their own business; if they don’t disqualify him, it’s their own business, not mine.”
Furthermore, he offered the commission a practical suggestion to address the peculiar circumstances of this tenure: allowing the candidate to contest after signing an undertaking, ensuring that the candidate’s service requirement would still be met post-election. He maintained a principled stance regarding the candidate’s awareness of his potential disqualification, deciding it was not his role to convey such information prematurely.
This clarification matters. It highlights the Speaker’s limited involvement, not as a decision-maker but as a consulted voice, along with other past Electoral Commission leaders. While it’s reasonable to expect that the Speaker holds influence in constitutional interpretation, conflating that with direct complicity in candidate disqualification is, at best, a misunderstanding and, at worst, an intentional misrepresentation.
Such accusations, when made without evidence, only serve to distract from the real issues: unclear constitutional definitions, structural inefficiencies in committee work, and a near-absolute Electoral Commission. They create scapegoats instead of solutions.
There is also the matter of the fact that, per the report of the Electoral Commission, Mr. Oloruntola Michael (popularly known as Micky) was not only found ineligible on constitutional grounds but also reportedly acted in an unbecoming manner during his screening. According to the report of the commission, Micky was rude, repeatedly raised his voice, made damning remarks towards the commission. While the commission has denied some of the statements attributed to its chairperson, their public release suggests that the tone and conduct of Mr. Oloruntola during screening played a significant role in shaping the commission’s unanimous decision to disqualify him. Such conduct, as the Commission noted, was inconsistent with the poise and maturity expected of an aspiring leader
And even if one were to argue for intangibles such as “consideration,” “benefit of the doubt,” or a more lenient interpretation of the service requirement. Micky’s reported disposition during the screening effectively nullified any grounds for such discretionary grace. As revealed by members of the Electoral Commission, his attitude was too confrontational and disrespectful to warrant any such exception.
Importantly, there is precedent for this kind of disciplinary action. In January 2025, the Mellanby Hall Independent Electoral Commission disqualified Hon. Adenekan Adeife, an aspirant for Hall Chairman, on ten distinct grounds, including derogatory remarks toward the Electoral Committee and a general lack of respect for the screening process. In that case, the commission cited violations of ethical standards and failure to present a clear vision as contributing factors. The consistency here is worth noting: disrespect toward the commission, combined with broader constitutional concerns, has historically led to disqualification.
Thus, Micky’s case cannot be seen in isolation. While there may be debates about the interpretation of “tangible service” and whether ongoing committee participation qualifies an aspirant, the issue of conduct during screening is less ambiguous. The Electoral Commission, in its independent capacity, is not only tasked with verifying eligibility on paper but also with assessing candidates’ fitness for leadership behaviorally and ethically. The disqualification of Micky, then, was not merely a technical decision but a judgment shaped by both precedents and the aspirant’s own comportment.
In the aftermath of Oloruntola Michael’s disqualification, several other accusations surfaced around the timing of Hall Week, a key event in ABH’s social and political calendar. The Electoral Commission justified its decision partly by stating that since Hall Week hadn’t occurred, Michael’s subcommittee work didn’t qualify as “tangible service.” This triggered outrage and speculative claims, namely, that the Hall Week was deliberately pushed forward to create this technical disqualification.
Addressing these concerns, the Speaker clarified firmly: “There is nothing written anywhere constitutionally that states whether elections should hold before or after Hall Week… Elections can hold irrespective of whether the Hall Week holds or not.” He explained extensively that Hall Week was initially slated for March, per the approved yearly plan by the executives, but multiple unforeseen disruptions—including prolonged power outages, fumigation activities mandated by UI authorities, and the MDCAN strike forced students away from the hall, significantly delaying planning. He also explained that, per decisions from higher authorities than his, the elections were held now so as to align them with the end of the previous UI calendar. The situation is particularly important because new hall leaders have already been elected in other UI halls, and a new council of hall chairpersons has been created, with ABH notably not represented at this council.
The Speaker also highlighted persistent internal logistical setbacks, particularly criticizing the Hall Week Chairperson and committee for their repeated delays: “I blame [the Hall Week Chairperson] John Olagunwa (JDB) for the whole week delay… We’ve had three sittings across three weeks just to approve their budget and list because they continually submitted incomplete and erroneous documents.” Additionally, he noted that Hall Week’s final approved timeline, set by the committee itself, was subsequently postponed again without adequate justification.
Crucially, the Speaker rejected accusations of collusion emphatically, underscoring that coordinating the delay for political purposes was implausible given the hall’s governance structure and the practical complexities involved. He posed rhetorically, “Is it my fault that JDB has refused to hold Hall Week per the timeline stated and approved? Is it my fault that he has kept postponing Hall Week until only God knows when?”
There is no evidence to support the claim that the date was changed for political reasons. Even more, such a move would require collusion across multiple bodies, including the Assembly, the Executive Council, and the Hall Week Committee. That level of coordination, all to disqualify a single aspirant, stretches far beyond the boundaries of plausibility.
Still, one cannot entirely ignore the optics problem created by the Hall Chairperson’s visible support for Mr. Oloruntola’s opponent, Miss Vanessa Osaretin. While there is nothing unconstitutional about personal political preferences, the open endorsement, paired with the disqualification of the opposing candidate, inevitably fueled suspicion, even if unfounded.
Support becomes problematic when it overlaps with structural decisions like the Hall Week’s timing or committee activity. In this case, while no link has been proven, the perception of interference is enough to cast doubt on the impartiality of the process.
That said, the assumption that a chairperson’s support automatically signals foul play is both reactionary and unhelpful. Leadership preferences exist in every democratic system. What matters more is that such support does not translate into manipulation of processes or institutional bias, and, in this case, there’s no concrete evidence that it did. But that’s exactly why the process must be airtight, the Assembly must be proactive, and electoral decisions must be appealable. Because when institutions are vague and opaque, even baseless claims can feel valid.
When you zoom out from the personal conflicts and political alignments, a more concerning truth emerges: ABH’s democratic system is dangerously fragile. It is held together by traditions more than enforcement and by precedents more than policy. The Electoral Commission holds near-absolute authority but lacks structured accountability. The Assembly has constitutional power but often fails to act when it matters most, and the Constitution, though detailed, leaves way too much open to interpretation and assumption.
This crisis has made one thing clear: ABH doesn’t just need resolution; it needs reform. Clearer definitions of service. A neutral appeal mechanism for electoral decisions. Timely legislative oversight. And above all, a culture of leadership that prioritizes institutional health over personal alliances. Because when democracy becomes more about who knows who or who benefits from when, it stops being democracy.
