On 16 September, Malawians headed to the polls in what should have been a critical moment for the country’s future. They voted for their next president, members of parliament and local councillors.
The economy is reeling. Inflation is pushing food prices beyond reach. Last year’s severe drought has devastated livelihoods and left one in every four citizens food insecure.
This is just a glimpse of what is a very dispiriting context. And yet, despite these pressing issues — or perhaps because of them — Malawi’s presidential race was a congested field featuring 17 candidates in a country with 7.2 million registered voters.
Among them were seasoned politicians, incumbent President Lazarus Chakwera, two former presidents, Peter Mutharika and Joyce Banda, and current Vice-President Michael Usi. It was essentially a two-horse race between Chakwera and Mutharika.
Having worked in the field of elections and democratic governance in Africa, I have seen this trend play out far beyond Malawi’s borders.
Zimbabwe’s 2018 presidential election had 23 candidates, Mali’s 2018 election had 24 candidates. In South Africa, a record 70 parties participated in last year’s general election. In total, there were 14 903 candidates vying for 887 seats in South Africa’s national and provincial legislatures.
This overcrowding of candidates is also common in smaller nations with even fewer voters. In Liberia, with just two million voters, 20 candidates ran to replace Africa’s first elected female leader, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, in 2017. In Benin, 32 aspirants participated in the first round of the 2016 poll with 4.7 million voters. In Central African Republic, 30 candidates contested the 2015 presidential election in a country with fewer than six million people.
So, we must ask, does this abundance of candidates reflect democratic growth or expose the cracks in how political systems are functioning — or are there other explanations?
In theory, having a crowded ballot, where many candidates or parties compete in an election, might seem a positive sign. It can suggest a country is open to different voices, inclusive in its politics and committed to democratic competition.
But from my perspective, as an African who deeply values genuine, accountable leadership, I interpret it differently. I see the risk of too many choices overwhelming and confusing voters, making it more difficult for them to make informed decisions.
When the vote is split among dozens of candidates, no one ends up with a clear mandate from the people. Worse still, this apparent diversity can become a tool for manipulation. Political elites can encourage or exploit this crowded field to create the illusion of democracy, while avoiding real accountability.
If everyone is running, no one truly stands out, and voters are left with noise instead of clarity. The result is a system that looks democratic on the surface but is hollow at its core.
These concerns were also raised by the International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (Idea), which notes the number of parties that contest an election can affect voter turnout by either providing them with more options or by confusing voters and making it difficult for them to judge whether their vote will have the desired outcome.
In Malawi, as in Zimbabwe and many other African countries, a presidential candidate must secure more than half the vote to win outright. On paper, this requirement is meant to ensure a president has broad-based support. But the more candidates contesting an election, the more difficult it becomes for anyone to cross that threshold, often triggering a second-round run-off.
Ideally, this should be a moment for coalition-building and democratic consensus. But, in practice, it often leads to backroom negotiations, transactional alliances and power-brokering deals with little regard for ideology or public interest. Rarely does this translate into better governance or deeper democratic practice.
For example, in Malawi’s 2020 presidential re-run, held after the annulment of the disputed 2019 election, opposition parties successfully united behind Chakwera, who won the run-off. Although this coalition was praised at the time, it has since faced tension and accusations of prioritising political expediency over reform, revealing the fragility of such alliances.
Similarly, in Kenya’s 2007 and 2013 elections, contested outcomes led to fragile power-sharing arrangements.
These were often celebrated as compromises but ended up entrenching elite interests and sidelining meaningful democratic participation.
In Zimbabwe, the 2008 presidential election saw a violent and controversial run-off. The eventual power-sharing deal between former president Robert Mugabe and former opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai was framed as a political solution, yet it did little to transform governance or strengthen democratic institutions.
Most recently, South Africa’s general election last year provides a striking example of the complexities of coalition politics in a fragmented electoral landscape. For the first time, the ANC lost its parliamentary majority, securing only 40% of the vote. This forced the party into forming a government of national unity with several opposition parties.
Although this was hailed as a mature democratic step, critics have warned the alliance lacks a clear, shared vision and could be a tactical arrangement to preserve power rather than a genuine commitment to cooperative governance. The absence of a unifying policy agenda raises concerns about whether such coalitions can deliver meaningful reforms or whether they will replicate old patterns of elite accommodation.
These examples show, while run-offs, hung parliaments and coalitions can, in theory, deepen democracy and broaden representation, they are too often reduced to elite-driven arrangements. They rarely produce more accountable leadership or responsive governance. Instead, they can reinforce the very political dysfunction they were meant to resolve.
What is driving this surge of presidential candidates in Africa? At its core, this is a crisis of political institutions. Across the continent, political parties are weak, incoherent and internally undemocratic.
Too often, they serve personalities, not platforms. Instead of cultivating new leadership, encouraging internal debate or shaping coherent policy agendas, parties become vehicles for individual ambition. The result is a politics driven by ego, not ideology.
As Ken Opalo of Georgetown University notes, African governance systems tend to concentrate power in the presidency, while parties remain fragile and disorganised. The presidency becomes the real centre of power. With few alternative pathways to influence, every politically ambitious figure throws their hat into the ring, regardless of capacity, credibility or public support.
This is why our ballots are bloated. Everyone’s chasing the same seat, as it’s the only one that matters.
As Michael Orwa, a governance expert in Nairobi, observes, in the absence of strong institutions and amid growing inequality, presidential elections become zero-sum contests. Disillusioned voters begin to internalise the belief the only way to access national resources is through “their” big man or woman at the top.
Even more troubling is the practice of “planted candidates” — individuals subtly backed by ruling parties or regimes to split the opposition vote, give the illusion of pluralism, or crowd out legitimate dissent. This tactic, often invisible to voters, is a direct assault on electoral integrity.
In countries such as Zimbabwe, politics has become a source of income and livelihood because of an unending political and economic crisis. Getting political office thus has very little to nothing to do with serving but is very much steeped in self-aggrandisement. This has fuelled the growth of a new class of political entrepreneurs who use elected office for transactional activities, making a mockery of the electoral process and politics in general.
If the goal of elections is to deepen democracy in Africa, we must move beyond the simplistic metric of how many people contest the presidency. Democratic progress is not measured by the length of the ballot, but by the quality, credibility and vision of the choices offered to citizens.
We must resist the distraction of inflated candidate lists. Real democracy is not about noise, it’s about clarity. It means presenting voters with genuine alternatives grounded in substance, not spectacle. It means ensuring electoral processes reflect the collective will of the people, not the self-serving ambitions of opportunists gaming a broken system.
Until we confront the deeper dysfunctions, fragile institutions, over-centralised power and politics built on personality over principle, we will continue to confuse performative pluralism with democratic progress.
And the cost will be borne not by those at the top of the ticket, but by the citizens left behind.
Tatenda Mazarura is a human rights defender, an election specialist and a regional information and advocacy officer at the Crisis in Zimbabwe Coalition.
They might suggest inclusivity but, in reality, voters become confused and can’t make informed choices