In a country where absurdity now wears a tailored suit and justice sits awkwardly at the table of power, it is no longer shocking, just exhausting. Senator Natasha Akpoti Uduaghan, a woman who stood before Nigerians and dared to name names, is now the one standing trial. Not the men she accused of plotting her assassination. Not the power players whose names should have triggered a full-scale investigation. No. She is the accused. They are the witnesses. This is Nigeria, where the whistleblower becomes the hunted.
It sounds like satire, but it isn’t. This is not a chapter from a dystopian novel, it’s the evening news. A sitting senator cries out that powerful men plotted her death. She names Senate President Godswill Akpabio and former Kogi Governor Yahaya Bello. Instead of sirens, subpoenas, and forensic investigation, what we get is silence, followed by shackles for her. The state, rather than upholding her right to safety and a fair probe, decides instead to prosecute her. The message is clear, If you speak up, you bleed alone.
There is a particular cruelty in how Nigeria handles truth tellers. They are not just ignored, they are punished. The halls of power are padded with immunity and arrogance, while the corridors of justice echo with the screams of the silenced. Those with access to state machinery are never wrong, never questioned, and never held accountable. Instead, the spotlight is yanked and turned onto the brave, until their courage withers into regret.
We must say it without blinking. This is not just an assault on Natasha Akpoti. It is an assault on the very idea of civic duty. What incentive remains for public servants or private citizens to speak out when wrongdoing is seen if doing so earns them a seat in the dock rather than the witness box? When the state cannot differentiate between the accused and the accuser, or worse deliberately chooses not to, then we are no longer running a republic. We are administering a syndicate.
And it is these very contradictions, this national theatre of injustice, that follow us abroad. This is why a green passport is greeted with suspicion, why visa applications are shredded before they are read, why Nigerians abroad are often presumed guilty until proven innocent. The world sees our rot. They may not understand our languages or our politics, but they know what injustice looks like. And when we reward evil and persecute the brave, we cannot demand respect. Not from the world. Not even from ourselves.
We dance naked in the village square and then frown when no one invites us to the banquet. It is not Senator Natasha alone who is on trial, it is our integrity, our sanity, our soul. If power can so easily distort justice and make a victim the villain, what hope is there for the everyday Nigerian with no title, no microphone, and no following?
We cannot keep normalizing this madness. We cannot keep shrugging and scrolling past these stories like they are mere headlines. Every time we let a voice like Natasha’s go unheard,or worse, be handcuffed,we reinforce a nation where truth dies daily and lies are given state honors.
So what kind of nation do we want? One where silence is the only way to survive? Or one where speaking truth to power is met with protection, not prosecution? We are at a moral crossroads, and neutrality is no longer a safe option. Either we defend the few who dare to speak or we prepare for a country where no one will ever try again.
Because today it is Natasha. Tomorrow it could be you. And there might be no one left to speak.
Stephanie Shaakaa
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