The Nigerian Senate had a chance to show leadership, to handle a serious and sensitive issue with the gravity it deserved and to set an example that generations to come could emulate. Instead, it failed miserably in the worst possible way--by allowing games of power to precede process.
The allegations made by Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan against the Senate President, Godswill Akpabio are not to be taken lightly. They are not the sort of allegations to be swept under the rug with political maneuvering or partisan loyalty. Sexual harassment, anywhere, is a serious allegation. It carries weight, implications, and consequences--not just for the individuals involved but for the institutions that respond to it.
To be clear, this is not a matter of presuming innocence or guilt. This is not about stating whether Sen. Natasha is right or wrong. It is not about stating Sen. Akpabio did it or didn't do it. It is about the fact that, in the face of such allegations, the Senate's responsibility was to permit a due, fair and unbiased investigation--instead of a rush to punitive action against the accuser even though it was for a different reason.
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The discipline Sen. Natasha got was for the misbehaviour connected to the arrangement of the seats. That per se is an independent issue and if punishment was called for, then be it. But to suspend her for six months, just a few days after she accused the Senate President of sexual harassment, is to send the wrong signal. The accusations now are that she was suspended to be kept quiet. This is where the Senate erred. What should have been done is for the two issues to be handled separately. The suspension would have been justified only after an impartial inquiry into her allegations.
Senator Natasha's suspension without first resolving an open-ended inquiry sends a horrifying message. It suggests that accusations leveled against powerful figures in the Senate will not be met with due process. It tells the world that instead of pursuing serious allegations, the Nigerian Senate is more interested in shutting down difficult conversations. It sets the stage for a possible deterrence of victims--presently or in the future--bringing allegations forward.
This isn't just about Sen. Natasha; this is about the honour of the Senate institution. How does a legislative branch that should represent the interests of Nigerians handle a serious accusation? Does it behave wisely and in search of the truth, or does it invoke internal regulations to muzzle debates it considers inconvenient? The answer, in this case, is profoundly troubling.
Even assuming Natasha's claims, hypothetically, were politicised or hyperbolic, the Senate was indebted to the Nigerian people to have pursued a fair, transparent investigation. It ought to have issued invitations to external agencies to investigate the allegations. And only after we have a final report on the investigation, will disciplinary action against her for both cases be fully justified. But it did not work out this way. Instead, her suspension is a rush job, a move that is more akin to revenge than to due process.
If I were in the Senate President's position, I would have stepped down from presiding over the case and allowed the Deputy Senate President to take over. That is the least any balanced leader with political acumen would do. He is an accused party, and remaining at the head of the judgment-making table only helps to fuel the perception of bias.
Second, instead of allowing this matter to snowball into an affair that now appears more like political suppression than justice, I would have personally issued a live press release regarding both the accusation and Natasha's conduct. Making it explicitly clear that the Senate is committed to justice for all parties and will ensure there is a credible investigation before taking any further step.
This move would have changed everything. It would have demonstrated maturity, equity and an understanding of the gravity of the situation at hand. It would have allowed justice to win over the narrative of Natasha's suspension as a blatant act of vengeance for accusing Sen. Akpabio.
In addition, the Senate President should have considered the background. This is not the first time his name has appeared in a sexual harassment case. In 2020, the former Managing Director of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), Joy Nunieh, claimed that she had slapped him once for making inappropriate advances towards her. And today, five years later, another woman is making similar claims. No matter how much these claims are speculative or unsubstantiated, their recurrence should have prompted Sen. Akpabio to do this with even greater prudence and circumspection.
It is hard to believe that his advisers failed to make him see this. If I were among them, the following are the points I would have made categorical:
- Let the Deputy Senate President preside.
- Separate the disciplinary action regarding her reaction about the seating arrangements from the sexual harassment complaint. Natasha's behaviour as far as seating is concerned is a different issue from her sexual harassment complaint. The Senate should have made it clear that while she would be disciplined for the former, this would only be done after examining the latter.
But perhaps the most heartbreaking part of this entire saga is the silence of Natasha Akpoti's fellow female colleagues in the Senate. Not one of them stood beside her--not to declare her innocent or guilty, but to demand that due process be followed. Their silence is cacophonous, and it's a betrayal of not just Natasha but of every woman who ever dared not to speak out because she feared that she would be left behind.
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To the female Senators, I ask: if Natasha were your daughter, sister, or niece, would you have watched and remained silent while she was disciplined before her complaint was even considered? What you have done is not a disservice--it's confirmation that within the corridors of power, women are often on their own. Nobody's suggesting you must defend her in a blind fashion, but you owed her the solidarity of demanding justice. You owed it to her to have said, investigate first and punish if appropriate. Instead, by sitting on the fence, you sent a message to women in Nigeria--a very clear and terrifying message--that when it comes to power, politics, and self-preservation, sisterhood is nothing but a convenient myth.
The Senate has passed a test of failure of leadership. It had an opportunity to demonstrate that it could rise above politics and address a sensitive issue with tact, responsibility, and due process. It has instead sent a chilling message: that the mighty look after their own and that charges, no matter how serious, will be smothered by the weight of political expediency.
If anything is to be learned by the Nigerian Senate from history, it is that decisions badly taken always come to haunt the one who made them. Today, they may think they have silenced an embarrassing voice, but tomorrow they will be forced to bear the consequences of setting a precedent that undermines justice.
The world is watching. And history will judge.
