By Oyinkan Andu

Nigerian politics has never been a bastion of decorum, but even by our standards, the recent Senate committee hearing was a spectacle. What was supposed to be a forum for governance quickly devolved into a verbal brawl, with Senator Nwebonyi launching into a tirade against former Minister of Education, Obiageli Ezekwesili The exchange—filled with name-calling and personal insults—was as telling as it was embarrassing.

If there’s one thing that rattles the political establishment in Nigeria, it’s an outspoken woman who knows what she’s talking about. And that’s exactly what Ezekwesili represents.

Power and Gender
This was not just a disagreement over policy. If it were, we would have seen a spirited debate backed by facts and counterarguments. Instead, we witnessed what has become a predictable pattern: a powerful woman challenging the system and being met not with logic but with derision.

Ezekwesili has built a career on holding power to account. From her time in government to her role in the Bring Back Our Girls movement, she has consistently pushed for transparency and justice. She is not known for being timid. But in Nigeria, confidence and competence in women are often seen as provocation rather than virtue.

Senator Nwebonyi’s outburst was not just about a disagreement—it was a performance. A warning. A reminder that no matter how qualified or respected a woman is, the political boys’ club will not hesitate to put her “in her place.”

A System Built to Humiliate Women in Power
We’ve seen this before. The Nigerian political arena is no stranger to public humiliations aimed at female leaders.

Dora Akunyili faced relentless attacks for daring to reform NAFDAC.

Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala was branded a “foreign agent” when she pushed for economic reforms.

Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan was suspended after speaking out against the Senate President.

It is the same old playbook: when women hold power to account, the response is not to engage—it is to attack.

The Spectacle Over Substance Problem
What makes this clash even more concerning is how quickly our political discourse is degenerating into theatre. Instead of focusing on policy, lawmakers are turning committee hearings into reality TV auditions, complete with shouting matches and insults. This is more than just bad optics—it’s dangerous.

One would expect that a senator, tasked with shaping the laws of a country, would at least have the intellectual stamina to engage in a meaningful debate. But apparently, that’s asking for too much.

Instead of challenging Ezekwesili on substance, Senator Nwebonyi opted for personal attacks—an age-old trick used by those who have run out of ideas. It’s almost as if logic took one look at the Senate chamber that day and quietly excused itself.

How does a man get elected to the highest lawmaking body in the country, only to behave like a schoolyard bully? Shouldn’t there be an entrance exam for basic reasoning before handing out Senate seats? Or at the very least, a crash course in How to Argue Without Embarrassing Yourself 101?

Perhaps the real problem is that Senator Nwebonyi was simply outmatched. In a battle of wits, he brought a dull spoon to a sword fight. And when words failed him, he defaulted to insults—because nothing exposes intellectual bankruptcy faster than resorting to name-calling.

The sad reality is that few will be surprised by what happened between Senator Nwebonyi and Obi Ezekwesili. Many will even justify it. But the question is: will we ever demand better?

Will we insist on a political culture where disagreements are debated, not reduced to playground insults?

Will we support women who dare to challenge the status quo instead of letting them be shouted down?

Will we hold those in power accountable for their actions instead of treating these moments as entertainment?

If we do not demand better, we will continue to see our political institutions degrade into arenas of ego and pettiness rather than governance. And if that happens, we can not act shocked when the country remains in a perpetual state of dysfunction.

The real scandal is not that a senator insulted Ezekwesili—it’s that this is what governance in Nigeria has become.

By Oyinkan Andu

Hours after the March 18 explosion on the Trans Niger Pipeline – which threatened to upend the transportation of 245,000 barrels of crude oil daily – President Bola Ahmed Tinubu took decisive action by declaring a state of emergency in Rivers State. The move was undeniably bold, but also deeply ironic.
Flashback to 2013, when Tinubu, then opposition leader, furiously condemned former President Goodluck Jonathan’s declaration of a state of emergency in parts of Northern Nigeria. He decried it as a “ploy to subvert constitutional democracy” and warned of its destructive consequences. While the 2013 emergency was aimed at addressing a genuine humanitarian crisis in the face of Boko Haram insurgency, the context now is starkly different – politically motivated turmoil in Rivers State, driven by the power struggle between President Tinubu’s allies.

The Dangers of a State of Emergency in the Niger Delta

Looking back at Nigeria’s history, it’s hard to ignore the dark shadows of military rule, where states of emergency were routinely invoked as political tools. Under military regimes from the 1960s to the 1990s, emergency powers were used to quell dissent and assert control, often at the cost of democratic freedoms. From General Yakubu Gowon’s administration, which invoked emergency rule during the Civil War, to Ibrahim Babangida’s deployment of the same tactic to suppress electoral uprisings, Nigeria has seen firsthand the dangers of turning to emergency rule in times of political unrest.

These authoritarian precedents have often led to deeper divisions and instability, fostering environments ripe for corruption and manipulation. President Tinubu’s potential misuse of the state of emergency in Rivers State echoes this troubling past, underscoring how history could repeat itself if Nigeria’s political elites continue to prioritise personal alliances over democratic principles.

History teaches that such measures often spark unintended consequences: renewed piracy, cultism, and an uptick in kidnappings. It threatens to undermine the peace painstakingly fostered by the Niger Delta Amnesty Program since 2009. The real danger? A resurgence of inter-militant warfare, as the Wike and Fubara factions, already drawing lines in the sand, could plunge the region into a new cycle of chaos and vendettas.

The real irony? Tinubu’s deafening silence on Nyesom Wike’s role in this mess. The man at the heart of the Rivers crisis, Wike, remains untouched by the political fallout, and yet his actions remain a looming shadow over the state’s governance. Why?

The Rivers State Crisis

To get a sense of the stakes, one must understand the underlying political drama that’s been unfolding in Rivers State. It all began with Wike’s choice of Siminalayi Fubara as his successor in 2023. What seemed like a smooth transition turned into an intense clash of egos and ambitions. Fubara, instead of toeing Wike’s line, started flexing his independence, particularly by resisting Wike’s influence from Abuja.

What followed? Political warfare.

Wike’s loyalists in the Rivers State House of Assembly attempted an impeachment of Fubara. In response, Fubara dissolved the assembly, triggering a constitutional crisis. Then, the Rivers House of Assembly complex mysteriously caught fire, sparking accusations of foul play. Fubara, in a rash display of misguided impunity, demolished the complex, citing safety concerns, but fuelling allegations of erasing evidence.
The more this drama unfolded, the more one figure remained untouchable: Wike.

Tinubu’s Selective Accountability

President Tinubu, however, has opted for a peculiar kind of selective accountability. He swiftly reprimanded Fubara, yet remained silent on Wike’s clear interference in the affairs of Rivers State. His silence is deafening, especially when PDP Governors openly criticised Wike’s destabilising influence. Why? Is Wike above reproach?
The silence, coupled with the fact that civil society groups and opposition figures have questioned President Tinubu’s inaction, has raised critical questions about whether Tinubu is playing favorites.

Nyesom Wike – The Untouchable

A plausible explanation for President Tinubu’s reluctance to confront Wike may lie in the realm of political debt. In the 2023 elections, Wike defied his own party, the PDP, and backed Tinubu’s presidential bid. This defection was pivotal in securing Rivers State for Tinubu. In return, Wike secured the cushy post of Minister for the Federal Capital Territory, further entrenching his influence.

The question now is whether President Tinubu is unable to hold Wike accountable due to this political debt. President Tinubu may view Wike’s support as indispensable for his broader 2027 political ambitions, particularly in neutralising the PDP and bolstering his hold in the South-South. But this kind of political manoeuvring is a dangerous gamble. By selectively punishing Fubara while allowing Wike to go unchallenged, Tinubu risks institutionalising a culture of impunity which directly challenges his Hope Renewed agenda.

Wike’s Troubling Track Record

Wike is no stranger to accusations of overreach and intimidation. During his tenure as Governor of Rivers State, his administration was plagued by Allegations of using security forces to silence opposition and undue influence over judicial matters to maintain his grip on power.

This history of excess, combined with President Tinubu’s blind eye, raises serious concerns about the future trajectory of governance in Rivers State—and Nigeria at large.

From Lagos to Rivers, powerful figures who control the strings of political fortunes in their states have often used this leverage to demand loyalty from political protégés. Wike’s unchecked influence could very well be a continuation of this political tradition, where the state apparatus bends to the will of the godfather, rather than the people.

The Broader Implications for Nigerian Democracy

The turbulence of Nigeria’s post-1999 civilian government era remains a cautionary tale. Though Nigeria made strides in its return to democracy, its political stability remains fragile. Many of the challenges faced in the post-1999 era — rigged elections, systemic violence, and political manipulation still persist and appear to be directly incompatible with the promised “Renewal” we voted for in the 2023 election, so why maintain the status quo? The failure to hold Wike accountable continues this troubling tradition of weak governance and selective justice. When Nigerian leaders are continuously carte blanche to act without consequence, it escalates a negative trajectory in an environment where impunity already flourishes. It also sets a dangerous precedent for other politicians, who might see the president’s inaction as an endorsement of their own ambitions, no matter how disruptive.

If President Tinubu continues to shield Wike from accountability, it could further erode the public’s trust in the rule of law and democratic institutions and the “hope” that’s already on life support might flatline entirely.

The longer he withholds action, the greater the cost—both for his credibility and for the future of Nigeria’s democracy.
As Nigeria watches, one thing is clear: silence in this case is not neutrality—it is complicity.

...Examining the Court’s Ruling on Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s Recall

By Oyinkan Andu

The Federal High Court’s decision to vacate the order restraining INEC from receiving recall petitions against Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan might seem like another legal technicality. But in Nigeria, where democracy often functions like a high-stakes chess game, it’s far more than that.

Yes, the ruling reaffirms the constitutional right of constituents to recall elected officials. But it also raises a pressing question: is this a legitimate expression of voter dissatisfaction or just another political tool wielded to neutralise opponents?

In a political landscape as ruthless as Nigeria’s, recall mechanisms can be easily weaponised. Imagine a system where every ambitious politician, backed by well-oiled interests, could trigger a recall simply to distract, destabilise, or discredit an opponent. That’s not democracy—that’s guerrilla warfare.

The courts, therefore, carry the weighty responsibility of ensuring that recalls serve the people, not political vendettas. While this ruling allows the petition process to proceed, INEC must still verify whether it meets legal standards. The real challenge? Ensuring the recall process remains a tool of accountability, not an instrument of sabotage.

A Battle Beyond the Courts

There’s an unspoken rule in Nigerian politics: women must play by different rules or risk being destroyed. Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is learning this the hard way.

When she accused Senate President Godswill Akpabio of sexual harassment, the expected reaction should have been outrage, an investigation, something. Instead, she was swiftly suspended for six months—punished for daring to speak out in a system meticulously designed to silence women like her.

The backlash followed a familiar script. Yet, something unprecedented happened: many Nigerians rallied behind her.

For a country where high-profile accusations of sexual misconduct have historically met women with more backlash than justice, this shift was remarkable.

Consider Busola Dakolo’s case against Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo—the backlash was so severe that she eventually fled the country briefly. The playbook is always the same: discredit, dismiss, destroy.

Yet, despite the growing support Akpoti-Uduaghan has received, scepticism remains.

Some immediately doubted her claims—not just out of political distrust, but because the truth can be too unsettling to confront. What if she’s pulling back the curtain on something too ugly to acknowledge? What if this is just the tip of the iceberg—a world where male politicians have long wielded power with unchecked impunity, protected by silence, complicity, and fear? Or worse still, what if some female politicians, past and present, have been coerced into submission, while others—women who could have reshaped Nigeria’s political landscape for the better—were cast aside and destroyed simply for refusing to play along?

Others dismissed her as yet another ambitious politician playing the game. They scrutinised everything—her privileged background, her past as a single mother, even her audacity to be politically ambitious.

But did they stop to ask: what if she’s telling the truth?

Her allegations don’t exist in a vacuum. Investigative reports from The Guardian and Al Jazeera have hinted at murmurings—and even documented claims—about Akpabio’s conduct. Former aides and political insiders have whispered about inappropriate behavior for years. But like so many before, these allegations were swept under the rug.

The same forces that fuel scepticism today—patriarchy, political self-interest, and distrust of authority—are the ones that have allowed such claims to be ignored in the past.

If history teaches us anything, it’s that impunity thrives in silence. And yet, silence is precisely what is expected of women in Nigerian politics.

Speaking Out Isn’t Just Hard—It’s Dangerous
Calling out powerful men in Nigeria doesn’t just lead to public humiliation—it’s a battle for survival. If Akpoti-Uduaghan is telling the truth, she isn’t just fighting for justice; she’s fighting for her future.

Women across Africa who challenge power rarely escape unscathed:

Fatou Jagne Senghore (Gambia) was persecuted for pushing gender rights.
Stella Nyanzi (Uganda) was jailed for calling out misogyny.
Joyce Banda (former President of Malawi) endured relentless smear campaigns simply for daring to lead.
Nigeria is no different. The system is designed to make women regret speaking up.

Why Is It So Hard to Believe Women?

Scepticism toward Akpoti-Uduaghan follows predictable lines. She’s a politician. In a system riddled with corruption, people assume any claim is a power move.

She’s privileged. Many believe wealth should shield a woman from harassment. In reality, privilege just makes her easier to discredit.
She’s a single mother. Nigerian society weaponises a woman’s personal life. Being unmarried or divorced is treated as a flaw, making her an easy target.
She’s up against a powerful man. This isn’t just any politician—Akpabio is the Senate President. This is a battle between an insider and an inconvenient woman.
In a system that prioritises the status quo, it’s always easier to believe a woman is lying than to confront the reality that a powerful man might be guilty.

A Nigerian #MeToo Moment?
Nigeria has dodged its #MeToo reckoning for years.

In 2017, the U.S. saw powerful men fall as women spoke out. In Nigeria, women who speak up are ridiculed, threatened, or erased.

Now, with Natasha’s case, we stand at a crossroads:

If she is lying, let the evidence prove it.
If she is telling the truth and is destroyed for it, what does that say about us as a society?Let’s us also give her the benefit of the doubt that she may not have planned to reveal this issue if her hand was not forced by the Senate presidents petty actions against her while undergoing her duties.
This isn’t just about Natasha. This is about every Nigerian woman who has been afraid to speak.

It’s why women’s groups chant “We Are All Natasha.” It’s not just a slogan—it’s a demand for change. If a senator can be silenced, what hope do ordinary women have?

Beyond Politics: This Is About Justice
Forget party lines. Forget personal opinions about Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan. This is about justice.

What allegedly happened to her could happen to any woman—any woman who dares to say, “Enough.”

So will Nigeria listen? Or will we continue silencing women until they stop speaking altogether?

A Shifting Demographic Tide—And A Hopeful Future
There’s something the system isn’t ready for: women are becoming the majority.

Demographic studies show that across Africa, female populations are growing faster than male populations due to socio-economic factors. This shift could fundamentally change power dynamics.

A growing female electorate will demand better representation.
As women gain economic power, traditional gender roles will evolve.
A society that values female leadership is more likely to embrace justice, collaboration, and reform.

But change is never welcomed by those who benefit from the status quo. The very trend that could lead to a more equitable Nigeria is already provoking backlash.

The Real Battle: Will Nigeria Listen?
At its core, this is a battle over Nigeria’s future.

Will we continue a culture where speaking up comes at a cost too high to bear? Or will we seize this moment to redefine the standards of justice and power?

The courage of women who speak out must be celebrated, not condemned. Because if a senator, armed with privilege and power, can be silenced—what chance do the millions of silenced women stand?

And so, the question remains: Will Nigeria listen?