The ongoing controversy surrounding Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s suspension is no longer a question of legislative discipline or the theatrics of parliamentary politics. It is not, at its heart, even about Natasha as an individual. It has now snowballed into a fundamental question about the health of Nigeria’s democracy, the credibility of our legislative institutions, and the rights of citizens to fair representation. Put differently, Natasha’s plight is not about Natasha, it is about the very soul of democracy in Nigeria.
On March 6, 2025, the Senate slammed a six-month suspension on the Kogi Central lawmaker, accusing her of insubordination after she allegedly refused to vacate her assigned seat during plenary. That action stripped her of salaries, aides, and privileges due to her office. It was a decision that shocked many but was tolerated on the premise that internal discipline is part of parliamentary procedure. Natasha, however, maintained that her suspension was politically motivated, linking it to a petition she filed against Senate President Godswill Akpabio, alleging sexual harassment, an allegation quickly dismissed by the Senate.
Six months later, the drama should have ended. By September, the suspension had run its course. Natasha, like any other legislator who has served a penalty, should have been allowed to resume her seat and continue representing her constituents. Instead, what we are seeing is a calculated attempt to prolong her exclusion under the guise of “awaiting judicial determination.” The Acting Clerk to the National Assembly, in a letter dated September 4, 2025, flatly told her that her suspension remains in force until the Court of Appeal rules on her case. In essence, the Senate has moved the goalposts, transforming a six-month penalty into an indefinite silencing.
This is where the problem lies. This is not discipline anymore, it is legislative bullying. It is a dangerous precedent that undermines democracy and robs an entire constituency of its voice.
The 1999 Constitution is unambiguous in Section 68: a legislator can only vacate his or her seat in clearly defined circumstances, resignation, recall, defection under certain conditions, or death. Suspension is not one of those grounds. Yes, Section 60 empowers the Senate to regulate its procedures, but those procedures cannot override constitutional guarantees. A suspension is meant to be temporary. Once the defined period elapses, the lawmaker must return to his or her duties.
To hold otherwise is to rewrite the Constitution by stealth, a power the Senate does not possess. As Senior Advocate of Nigeria Adedayo Adedeji noted, “A temporary suspension must not be used in a way that effectively denies constituents their right to representation.” Natasha’s six months have passed. By law, by equity, and by logic, she ought to return. Anything less is an aberration.
It is worth emphasizing here that representation is not a privilege granted at the whim of Senate leadership. It is a constitutional mandate arising from the sovereign will of voters. To deny Natasha access to the chamber is to disenfranchise the people of Kogi Central. That is not Natasha’s personal battle; it is an assault on millions of citizens whose only crime was to vote for her.
To aptly put it, it is germane to opine that the suspension is beyond Natasha, as it has become a test of democracy. There is a temptation to treat Natasha’s ordeal as just another case of political persecution in Abuja. That would be a mistake. What is happening is bigger than one senator’s travails. This is a test of Nigeria’s democratic resilience. If the Senate succeeds in stretching its powers to this extent, silencing an elected senator beyond the boundaries of its own disciplinary decision, then the institution has crossed the Rubicon into authoritarianism.
Without a doubt, democracy thrives on dissent. A parliament that cannot tolerate dissenting voices has ceased to be democratic. The Senate’s action projects intolerance, vindictiveness, and a creeping totalitarianism, as the PDP rightly warned. If Natasha can be silenced today, then any lawmaker who dares to question leadership tomorrow risks the same fate. That is not parliamentary discipline; it is dictatorship in legislative robes.
Again, we cannot ignore the gender angle in this saga. Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is not just a senator; she is one of the few women to have broken through Nigeria’s male-dominated political space. For years, Nigeria has been shamed for its abysmally low female representation in governance. Instead of encouraging and protecting women who dare to challenge the odds, the Senate appears bent on humiliating one of them.
When a female lawmaker alleges harassment and then faces suspension, followed by continued exclusion despite serving her term, the optics are damning. It sends a chilling message to women in politics, telling them that politics is still a hostile space for them. Whether or not Natasha’s allegations are substantiated, the Senate owes itself and the nation a duty to ensure that its disciplinary processes are not weaponized in ways that reinforce patriarchal intimidation.
Defenders of the Senate argue that since the case is before the Court of Appeal, Natasha must await judgment before resuming. This argument is flawed. Courts do not extend suspensions; they interpret law. The subject of litigation is the constitutionality of the suspension itself, not whether Natasha should resume after six months. A prison sentence does not automatically extend because an appeal is pending. In the same way, Natasha’s suspension cannot be stretched indefinitely under the pretext of judicial process.
Indeed, as Justice Binta Nyako observed in her ruling, excessive suspension undermines constitutional representation. That warning seems lost on Senate leadership. By hiding behind the sub judice excuse, the Senate is effectively weaponizing litigation to prolong punishment. That is abuse of power, plain and simple.
Given the level of abuse of power and unfair play that are inherent in Natasha’s suspension, it is not out of place to opine that democracy is not just about holding elections every four years. It is about fairness, equity, and the consistent application of law. A Senate that deprives a constituency of representation has failed in its duty. A Senate that singles out one of its members for political humiliation has betrayed the principle of equity. A Senate that manipulates its rules to achieve political vendettas has bastardized democracy.
What Natasha faces today is therefore not her private misfortune; it is a mirror reflecting the state of our democracy. And what the mirror shows is ugly: intolerance, manipulation, and vindictiveness cloaked as procedure.
It bears repeating: Natasha is not the real victim here. The real victims are the people of Kogi Central. For six months, they have had no voice in the Senate. Now, even after the punishment has run its course, they are still being denied representation. That is a betrayal of trust. It is also a dangerous disenfranchisement that mocks the essence of democracy.
To disenfranchise one constituency today is to lay the groundwork for disenfranchising others tomorrow. Democracy cannot be selective. Either it works for all, or it works for none.
Therefore, the Senate must retrace its steps. To continue barring Natasha from resuming is to trample on the Constitution, to undermine equity, and to deepen public mistrust in democratic institutions. The path forward is clear: allow her to resume immediately, restore her entitlements, and let the courts determine the legality of the original suspension. Anything short of this is legislative impunity.
If the Senate insists on this path of exclusion, it must be prepared for the consequences. It will lose credibility at home and abroad. It will erode the very legitimacy it depends on. And it will be remembered not for making laws but for breaking democracy.
This is not about Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan. It is not about APC versus PDP. It is not even about the Senate President versus a dissenting senator. This is about democracy itself. A democracy that punishes dissent is not democracy. A democracy that deprives citizens of representation is not democracy. A democracy that bends rules for political vendettas is no democracy at all.
The Senate stands at a crossroads: it can choose vindictiveness and slide further into authoritarianism, or it can uphold fairness, equity, and constitutionalism. For the sake of Nigeria’s fragile democracy, it must choose the latter. Because in the final analysis, Natasha’s plight is not her own, it is democracy on trial. And the verdict will shape the future of representation in Nigeria.
