In a chamber where loyalty is weighed by submission, daring to think independently is the ultimate offense.
There comes a time in every nation’s life when the masks fall off, and the people must decide whether to keep clapping for a bad play or walk out of the theater altogether. Nigeria, it seems, has reached that moment.
The satirical “apology” from Senator Natasha Akpoti Uduaghan pulled back the velvet curtain, exposing a stage many hoped to ignore
This drama involving Senator Natasha Akpoti Uduaghan and the Senate leadership is not just a clash of personalities. It is a mirror, tilted right into the soul of a broken system. A system where loyalty is weighed not by service to the people, but by how low you are willing to bow, how much dignity you are willing to shred for a plate of political porridge.
The currency of survival in Nigeria’s corridors of power is simple. Obey, submit, blend in. Senator Natasha’s bold sarcasm, masquerading as an apology, perfectly depicted a grotesque reality. Women, and even men who dare to have a spine, are punished, ostracized, and sidelined not for incompetence but for refusing to kneel to unchecked egos.
Behind every appointment, behind every legislative success, there often lies a private transaction unseen by the public. Meritocracy is dead on arrival.
Somewhere along the way, we stopped electing leaders and started crowning landlords of entitlement. Men who believe that holding public office entitles them to private favors, obedience without question, and worship without merit. And when a woman dares to stand straight in their crooked house, the roof must come crashing down, not because she is wrong, but because she is audacious enough to be right.
Senator Natasha’s satirical apology bold, blistering, and necessary pulled the curtain back from the stage where old men in agbadas of arrogance trade public trust for private convenience. She reminded us, with every line soaked in sarcasm, that power is supposed to be stewardship, not swagger. That a Senate seat is supposed to be earned with votes, not by virtue of dinners whispered behind closed doors.
If Senator Natasha’s letter did anything, it reminded us, sarcastically but powerfully, that dignity still exists in our politics. But it is endangered. It survives in whispers and isolated acts of courage, not in the mainstream where it belongs.
The curtain is falling on the old show whether the actors realize it or not.
Let’s look at the larger picture. How many other brave voices have been beaten into silence? How many dreams have been buried under the weight of fragile egos that can’t stand the idea of a woman or any person at all standing tall without needing their blessing?
Every time we excuse the nonsense in high places, we are co-authors of our own suffering. Every time we shrug and say “na so e be,” we buy another ticket to the same tragic performance, starring the same tired actors in the same bad costumes.
Nigeria is not lacking talent. Nigeria is not lacking patriots. What we lack is the courage to shame nonsense when it shows up dressed in agbada and carrying a gavel. We have normalized the abnormal so much that when someone demands basic respect and decency, it feels like rebellion.
We are living in a country where competence is criminal if it doesn’t come packaged with submission, where vision is treated like a virus if it threatens the comfortable blindness of the powerful. Where standing alone on principle is considered more dangerous than looting billions in company. I remember when one Senator from Natasha’s state called her an endangered species. How do you alienate someone because they told their truth?
The real tragedy is not that Natasha spoke out. The real tragedy is that she is one of the few who still remember that a senator’s job is to serve the people, not serve drinks at private parties of power.
If we must survive as a nation, we must tear up the old script. We must stop clapping for bad acting. We must stop making excuses for politicians who see public office as their birthright and women as their entertainment.
The theater of absurdity must end.
The standing ovation must go to courage, not cowardice.
The future belongs to those who dare to remain unbought, unbowed, and unbroken.
And when the final curtain falls, let it be said that some of us refused to clap for nonsense. We chose, instead, to walk out heads high, dignity intact, ready to write a new story.
Stephanie Shaakaa
shaakaastephanie@yahoo.com
08034861434.
