By
Lemmy Ughegbe, Ph.D
In Nigeria’s political landscape, allegations of sexual harassment are often met with a predictable sequence of events—denial, counter-accusations, legal threats, and ultimately, the silencing of the accuser. The latest accusation by Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan against Senate President Godswill Akpabio follows this script. She claims that Akpabio harassed and victimised her for rejecting his advances—an allegation he has categorically denied. In a dramatic turn, Akpabio’s wife, Unoma Akpabio, has now escalated the controversy by filing a N250 billion defamation lawsuit against Akpoti-Uduaghan, branding the claims as malicious and demanding damages for what she describes as a calculated attack on her family’s reputation.
This intervention is not unusual. In cases involving powerful men, the immediate response is rarely a commitment to investigation and justice. Instead, the accused often leverage their influence to discredit and intimidate their accusers. The involvement of a spouse adds another dimension, attempting to present a moral counter-narrative—that a devoted husband with a loyal wife could not possibly be guilty of such actions. However, history has repeatedly shown that marital status is not a shield against misconduct, nor is a spouse’s defence a substitute for due process. The N250 billion lawsuit represents an aggressive move to shift the conversation from the substance of the allegations to a legal battle over reputation. Rather than seeking an independent investigation to establish the truth, this action signals an intent to make Akpoti-Uduaghan pay a high price—financially and politically—for daring to speak out.
Akpoti-Uduaghan’s allegations against Akpabio are not occurring in isolation. In 2020, Joy Nunieh, the former Acting Managing Director of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), made similar claims against Akpabio, alleging that he sexually harassed her and that when she resisted, she was victimised and removed from office. Her most sensational claim—that she slapped Akpabio in self-defence—was widely reported, but like most such cases in Nigeria, it faded from public discourse without a proper investigation. The striking similarity between Nunieh’s and Akpoti-Uduaghan’s experiences raises uncomfortable questions about the abuse of power, the systemic silencing of women in Nigerian politics, and the culture of impunity that enables such behaviour to persist. It is imperative to state that although the allegation of Nunieh and Akpoti-Uduaghan against Akpabio may be similar, it is not sufficient to pass a guilty verdict on him even as he will carry the moral burden for a lifetime.
Beyond Akpabio, several years ago, Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan had also accused Reno Omokri, a former presidential aide, of attempting to intimidate her after she exposed electoral fraud in Kogi State. She alleged that Omokri orchestrated a smear campaign against her, using threats and misinformation to tarnish her reputation. These incidents underscore a broader trend in Nigerian politics, where women who challenge powerful men—whether by rejecting unwanted advances, exposing corruption, or demanding accountability—are met with harassment, defamation, and legal intimidation. Their credibility is systematically undermined, their personal lives dissected and used against them, and the institutions that should protect them remain complicit in their oppression.
The Nigerian Senate, like most elite political spaces in the country, operates as a closed fraternity where loyalty to power takes precedence over justice. Allegations against high-ranking officials are rarely investigated unless they serve a political agenda. Even when accusations are credible, the establishment quickly closes ranks, shielding its own from consequences. This is why Mrs Akpabio’s lawsuit against Akpoti-Uduaghan must be viewed critically. Rather than allowing due process to play out, her response seeks to frame the accusation as an attack on her family’s honour while shifting attention away from the need for an independent inquiry to uncover the truth of otherwise in the said allegation.
The real issue is not simply about whether Akpoti-Uduaghan’s allegations are true or false—it is about Nigeria’s institutional failure to handle such cases with credibility. If her claims are false, that must be established through an impartial process, not through intimidation. However, Nigeria has a troubling record of providing justice for victims of sexual harassment, especially when the accused hold positions of power. Without independent investigative mechanisms, victims are often left with only one option: the court of public opinion. This, too, is a dangerous path. It turns serious allegations into media spectacles where truth is drowned out by propaganda, misinformation, and power struggles.
The N250 billion lawsuit introduces another layer of complexity, as it is not just a legal action but a political statement. It is a warning shot, not just to Akpoti-Uduaghan, but to any woman in Nigerian politics who might consider speaking up against powerful figures. The sheer scale of the damages being demanded suggests a desire to financially and reputationally cripple the accuser. Even if the lawsuit does not succeed, it serves its purpose by creating fear and hesitation for other women who might come forward with similar allegations.
This case reflects Nigeria’s broader gendered power dynamics, where women in leadership must not only prove their competence but also navigate a political space rife with misogyny. When they assert themselves, they are labelled “arrogant” or “difficult.” When they resist advances or expose wrongdoing, they are met with attacks designed to weaken their credibility. Joy Nunieh’s case in 2020 was a missed opportunity for accountability. Had her allegations been properly investigated and a categorical finding was made one way or the other, perhaps Akpoti-Uduaghan and Akpabio saga would not have happened again because lessons would have been learnt from the Nunieh-Akpabio investigation outcome. Unarguably, the culture of impunity emboldens perpetrators and discourages victims from coming forward. Remember, victims are not silent, but are silenced because of systemic conspiracy of silence, inaction and victim blaming and shaming. This is not also to say there are no instances where women weaponised those allegations themselves, knowing they will draw sympathy. Unfortunately, no one can claim to read the mind of an accuser to know if a claim is genuine. But surely, in a society where sexual harassment is a trend, every such allegation should not be dismissed but processed for a transparent and impartial investigation by an independent panel.
If Nigeria is to break this cycle, systemic reforms must be enacted. Allegations of sexual harassment and abuse of power must be investigated by independent bodies, not committees controlled by the accused or their allies. It therefore goes to no issue to argue as many have that Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan should have reported the claims of sexual abuse to the internal structure at the senate. Stronger legal protections must be put in place to safeguard women in public office from gender-based harassment and political victimisation. The Nigerian political establishment must abandon its tradition of shielding alleged perpetrators, ensuring that accusations are addressed with transparency rather than dismissed outright. More importantly, Nigeria must move beyond its patriarchal traditions that normalise the victimisation of women in power. A woman’s place in leadership should not be contingent on her willingness to conform to the expectations of male dominance.
Nigeria now stands at a crossroads. It can continue down the path where allegations of sexual harassment are routinely dismissed, where women in politics are forced into silence, and where power remains a shield for predatory behaviour. Or it can take this moment as an opportunity to redefine its political culture—one that values accountability over blind loyalty, justice over suppression, and truth over convenience. An independent panel should investigate this saga between the Senate President and the Senator. If Akpoti-Uduaghan is lying, let it be proven. If she is telling the truth, she deserves justice—not just for herself, but for every woman who has been forced into silence. For now, the political elite will do what it always does—close ranks, control the narrative, and wait for public outrage to fade. But history has a way of unearthing the things that institutions try to bury. If Nigeria fails to address this now, it will only be a matter of time before another woman steps forward with a similar story. And the cycle will continue—unless, for once, the system chooses justice over silence.
Lemmy Ughegbe, Ph.D writes from Abuja
Email: lemmyughegbeofficial@gmail.com
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