Africa's UN Security Council Reform Push Stalls Despite Renewed Calls

The 81st United Nations General Assembly opened this month with Africa's leaders renewing a decades-old demand: permanent seats on the Security Council, with the power to veto resolutions, just as the five nations that have held those seats since 1945 do now. Nigeria's Vice President Kashim Shettima, speaking for President Bola Tinubu, called for at least two permanent African seats with full veto authority, plus five additional non-permanent seats for the continent. Ghana's President John Mahama framed it plainly: "Security Council reform is not a favour to Africa; it is an imperative for the legitimacy, credibility and survival of the United Nations." Even UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres used his final address to the assembly to push for a Council that better reflects the world as it exists today, not as it was carved up in 1945.

Yet these calls, however forceful, have been made before. The General Assembly launched formal negotiations on Security Council reform in 2008. Nearly two decades later, the core questions remain unresolved: how many new permanent seats should exist, which African nations would occupy them, whether those nations would hold veto power, and whether the five existing permanent members—China, France, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States—would ever agree to dilute their own authority. The math is stark: any change to the Council's structure requires amending the UN Charter, which demands approval from two-thirds of the General Assembly and ratification from two-thirds of all UN member states. That includes all five permanent members. In other words, the nations being asked to give up power hold formal veto over the very process meant to diminish it.

Africa's stake in this fight is concrete. Last year, the Security Council passed 44 resolutions. Of the 24 that invoked Chapter VII—the section covering sanctions and military force—eighteen concerned Africa. Yet no African country sits as a permanent member. The continent, home to 1.4 billion people and the site of the Council's most active interventions, has no seat at the table when decisions about its own conflicts are made. Professor Ibrahim Gambari, a former Nigerian foreign minister and permanent UN representative, put it directly: "In the case of Africa, we have a whole continent that has the largest single bloc, yet has no permanent seat on the Security Council." He noted that the five permanent members jealously guard their privilege. "The status quo is not really interested in change," he said. "In the appointment of the Secretary-General, you cannot be a candidate unless each of the five permanent members agrees. Therefore, we have the privilege of the unelected P5, which they don't want to relinquish."

Nigeria has positioned itself as the leading candidate for a permanent seat, arguing it has the regional weight and diplomatic capacity to represent African interests. Egypt and South Africa have also pursued permanent representation, while other nations have expressed interest. But the African Union has not designated which countries should fill any new seats—its common position simply calls for at least two permanent African members and five non-permanent ones, with the AU itself deciding which nations qualify. That ambiguity itself becomes an obstacle. How can the existing permanent members be persuaded to accept a change when Africa cannot yet say who would benefit from it?

The veto question adds another layer of complexity. The African Union's Ezulwini Consensus, adopted in 2005, insists that any permanent African seats must come with the same rights as existing permanent seats, including veto power for as long as the veto exists. African governments argue that permanent seats without veto power would be hollow—a seat at the table without real influence. But asking the P5 to grant veto power to new members is asking them to dilute their own authority in the most fundamental way. Dr Fola Aina, a political scientist at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, noted that Nigeria's push carries particular weight. "Securing this position would essentially elevate Nigeria's global diplomatic influence, give Africa a continuous voice in international security decisions and grant Nigeria the power to consolidate its position as a regional hegemon and middle power," he said. "The timing of Nigeria's push is particularly strategic given the current age of strategic competition."

The practical consequences of Africa's exclusion are visible in how the Council operates. Gambari pointed out that the five permanent members assign themselves the role of "penholders"—the countries that draft resolutions on particular issues. This arrangement leaves elected non-permanent African members, even when they sit on the Council, with little power to initiate action on their own region's crises. Security Council missions to Africa are typically led by representatives from the P5, not by Africans themselves. "How can the parties in dispute have confidence in such a team?" Gambari asked. For Favour Aniezi, a Nigerian youth advocate, the issue transcends representation. "Beyond representation, Africa's absence from the permanent seats of the UN Security Council is a question of whose voice gets to shape decisions that affect the continent," she said. "As a young Nigerian woman, I think it matters that Africa is not only present when global institutions discuss our challenges but has a meaningful role in deciding how those challenges are addressed."

For now, the machinery of reform grinds slowly if at all. The intergovernmental negotiations continue through successive General Assembly sessions, but without movement on the fundamental questions. Gambari's assessment was blunt: "As long as they keep sticking to this anachronistic formula, reforms will be hard to attain." The 81st General Assembly has renewed Africa's call. Whether it will be the moment something shifts remains to be seen.