• They followed the rules. They signed the forms. They believed AFRINIC’s promise: that every member, regardless of geography, had a voice.
  • But when it mattered most, their voices were erased—because they weren’t in the room.

In AFRINIC’s 2025 election, a significant number of proxy votes were rejected without prior notice or public explanation. These ballots—submitted legally through Powers of Attorney (PoAs)—primarily came from members in some of Africa’s most under-connected and underserved regions. In areas where internet access is unreliable, travel costs are prohibitive, and attending in person is not feasible, proxy voting wasn’t a convenience. It was a necessity. For many, it was the only available means of participation.

Voices blocked, without warning

AFRINIC had previously accepted proxy voting without controversy, relying on Powers of Attorney (PoAs) that followed consistent documentation. But in the 2025 election, most PoAs were suddenly invalidated—without notice, without public rationale, and without a path to appeal.The members affected had followed the same procedures as in previous years. The rules had not changed. What shifted was who stood to benefit from excluding those votes.

In underserved regions where internet access is fragile and travel is costly, proxy voting is not a convenience—it’s a necessity. For many, it is the only way to participate. But this year, their ballots were quietly dismissed. No announcements. No instructions. No second chances. This silence wasn’t procedural; it felt intentional. Rather than offering a transparent explanation or opportunity to correct the forms, the system locked people out with bureaucratic finality. This shift forces a harder question: whose interests is the system designed to protect—and whose presence is it willing to erase?

Also Read: AFRINIC election crisis triggered by one proxy: The phantom vote that spiraled out of control
Also Read: As ICANN threatens to ‘review’ AFRINIC, an elected board is its only hope for survival

Not an exception, but a pattern

This isn’t just a one-off issue—it’s driven by a wider pattern. Africa’s smaller service providers, rural networks, and underfunded tech communities have long been marginalized in favor of well-resourced hubs. If AFRINIC is serious about representing the entire region, it can’t only listen to Nairobi and Johannesburg. It needs to hear Goma, Antananarivo, and Banjul too—even when their voices come late or frail.

AFRINIC maintains the vote cancellations were “procedural,” but its bylaws do not explicitly prohibit the type of PoAs used—these had been accepted in previous elections. So why were they rejected in June 2025? Reports say the NomCom suspended voting minutes before polls closed due to a “phantom proxy” consultant, invalidating hundreds of ballots, most submitted via PoAs, including those handled by smaller providers like NRL.

Invalidating hundreds of ballots based on one disputed proxy vote helped protect incumbents and limited challenge from a broader electorate. It was a clean-looking disenfranchisement—but disenfranchisement nonetheless.

A breaking point, not just a scandal

It’s tempting to frame this as a technical mishap. But AFRINIC is not just a neutral registry. It is a political institution—responsible for allocating funding, setting policies, and deciding who gets a seat at the table in African internet governance. Silencing voters—especially from regions already struggling to be heard—carries real consequences. It shapes who governs, whose voices count, and whose don’t.

The damage runs deeper than this election. AFRINIC’s had its share of trouble—budget questions, leadership shake-ups, courtroom fights over who’s really in charge. But for a lot of people, this latest episode hits differently. When the ones already on the outside get shut out of a process that’s supposed to be democratic, it doesn’t just feel like another controversy. It feels like the breaking point.

If AFRINIC wants to restore trust, it will take more than press releases. It needs to be honest about what happened. Every rejected vote deserves a documented reason. Every affected member deserves a place in the conversation moving forward. A public apology is not an extraordinary demand—it’s a baseline for accountability.

And perhaps most of all, AFRINIC needs to listen. Not just to the incumbents and influencers, but to the corners of the continent it claims to serve. Because when trust breaks at the edges, it rarely finds its way back to the center.