OTHERS' VIEWS

OTHERS' VIEWS

On March 6, 2025, chaos erupted at the Ikeja Electricity Distribution Company (DISCO) in Lagos when a group of Nigerian Air Force personnel stormed the premises. Their reason? The power supply to their base had been disconnected. The attack, reminiscent of a military-style raid, left DISCO staff in panic and confusion.

This incident occurred at a time when Nigerians were still processing the news that the country’s power generation had increased from an embarrassingly low 4,000 megawatts—woefully inadequate for a nation of over 200 million people—to 5,800 megawatts. Coincidentally, following the assault on Ikeja DISCO, the national electricity grid suffered yet another collapse on March 7, 2025, plunging the nation into darkness.

Some conspiracy theorists speculate that the grid failure may have been an act of silent protest by electricity workers, sympathizing with their assaulted colleagues. Others point to the alarming pattern: the March 7 collapse was the third nationwide blackout in just three months, with the previous one occurring on February 12. A look at historical data paints an even grimmer picture—Nigeria experienced 12 system failures last year, averaging one per month, while over the past decade, the grid has collapsed more than 100 times, often leaving the country without power for hours or even days.

The Root Cause of Nigeria’s Power Crisis

At the heart of this crisis lies an aging electricity infrastructure inherited from the colonial era, now severely outdated. To illustrate the severity of the situation, consider this analogy:

A friend of mine owned a battered Volkswagen Beetle while studying at the University of Benin. The car was so old and unreliable that it wouldn’t start with just the turn of a key—it needed to be pushed to get moving. Aware of this, my friend always parked on a slope, ensuring he could start the car without help. This strategy allowed him to keep using the car, even though it was far from ideal. However, if an unsuspecting driver parked it on flat ground, they would be stranded without assistance.

Nigeria’s power system is like that Volkswagen Beetle—an outdated, fragile infrastructure barely kept running by experienced operators who know its weaknesses. For decades, these professionals have managed to sustain the grid at a suboptimal level, much like my friend kept his car running. However, when a “new driver”—in this case, the Minister of Power, Mr. Adebayo Adelabu—attempts to overload the system without addressing its weaknesses, the result is frequent, catastrophic failures. Experts have warned that the transmission infrastructure is too fragile to handle increased power loads, yet these warnings have been ignored, leading to repeated grid collapses.

A Century of Neglect

Nigeria’s electricity system has suffered from a lack of investment, maintenance, and modernization since colonial times. Infrastructure that should be displayed in a museum as a relic of the past remains the backbone of the nation’s power supply. For nearly a century, successive governments have failed to replace this antiquated system, leaving Nigeria trapped in a cycle of power shortages and economic stagnation.

If Nigeria is to escape this crisis, urgent reforms and large-scale investments in modern electricity infrastructure are needed. Without these changes, the country will remain stuck with a failing system—much like a driver trying to start a broken-down car on level ground, hoping for a miracle.

Why Nigeria’s Power Supply Remains Unstable 65 Years After Independence

More than six decades after gaining independence, Nigeria continues to struggle with an unreliable power supply, largely due to its outdated electricity infrastructure. The country’s national grid dates back to the colonial era, with its foundations laid as early as 1914, when the northern and southern protectorates were amalgamated. Despite the passage of time, the power sector has seen little progress, particularly in the transmission segment, which remains in a state of disrepair.

The reason for this is rooted in the flawed privatization of the power sector. While the generation (GENCOs) and distribution (DISCOs) segments were transferred to private ownership, the transmission network remained under government control through the Transmission Company of Nigeria (TCN). As a result, while private investors have upgraded parts of the generation and distribution infrastructure, the transmission system has remained stagnant due to bureaucratic inefficiencies and lack of investment.

A Flawed Privatization Process

The unbundling of Nigeria’s power sector began in 2005 under President Olusegun Obasanjo, with Vice President Atiku Abubakar leading the initiative and Nasir El-Rufai overseeing it as Director General of the Bureau of Public Enterprises (BPE). The process continued under President Goodluck Jonathan, who, in 2013, further liberalized the sector by selling power assets to private investors.

However, political conflicts—particularly the fallout between Obasanjo and Abubakar towards the end of their tenure—disrupted what could have been a successful transition. Unlike the telecommunications sector, which attracted major global players like MTN and Econet during its privatization, the power sector was largely taken over by local businessmen with limited financial and technical expertise. Instead of industry giants like Siemens or General Electric, Nigeria’s electricity assets ended up in the hands of investors who lacked the capacity to revamp the sector.

Limited Success and Persistent Challenges

A decade after privatization, the expected improvements in power supply have not materialized. While a few DISCOs—such as Ikeja, Eko, and Abuja—have made some progress, many others struggle to remain viable. On the other hand, the generation sector has seen notable improvements, with output increasing from 4,000 megawatts to 15,000 megawatts due to investments in upgrading old power plants and new entrants like Azure Power in Edo State and Geometric Power in Abia State.

However, the biggest bottleneck remains the transmission network. Despite the increased power generation, only a fraction of the electricity produced reaches end-users due to the outdated and insufficient transmission infrastructure, which is at least 50 years old. The inefficiency of TCN—still under government control—has prevented the electricity sector from functioning optimally.

A Better Approach to Power Sector Reform

Nigeria’s electricity privatization model deviates from global best practices. In many countries, the entire power supply chain—generation, transmission, and distribution—is sold to a single investor, ensuring integrated operations and accountability. In contrast, Nigeria split the sector into three separate entities, each with different operators who have varying capacities and resources. This fragmented approach has resulted in inefficiencies, with TCN becoming the weak link in the value chain.

To address this issue, Nigeria must either privatize the transmission segment to attract serious investors or adopt a more integrated approach to power sector management. Without these reforms, the country will continue to experience erratic power supply, regardless of how much electricity is generated.

Strengthening Nigeria’s Power Sector: Lessons from China and India

Nigeria’s electricity supply chain—spanning generation, transmission, and distribution—has proven to be weak, particularly at the points where these three segments intersect. This situation can be likened to a relay race where the baton handoff between runners is frequently botched, leading to inefficiencies and failures.

In more advanced economies, power companies are typically granted exclusive market zones where they generate, transmit, and distribute electricity seamlessly. However, Nigeria adopted a different approach, similar to the telecom sector, where multiple operators were licensed to handle different aspects of the power supply chain in an interconnected system. This model, while theoretically workable, has not delivered the expected results due to poor coordination and weak infrastructure.

To understand the depth of the problem, Nigeria’s power sector can be compared to a river that began to be polluted in 2005, became heavily contaminated by 2013, and now, in 2025, requires urgent purification. Instead of continuous complaints about the failures in the sector, it is time to take decisive action to remove the barriers hindering the generation, transmission, and distribution of electricity. Industrialization—a key driver of national development—depends on solving this crisis.

Learning from China and India

A possible way forward is to draw lessons from China and India, two countries that were once in similar power supply crises but successfully transformed into industrial powerhouses.

China’s Strategy for Electrification

China tackled its electricity challenges through a multi-pronged strategy, integrating electrification into its national development plans as part of its broader poverty eradication strategy. Key steps included:

 1. Infrastructure Development: The “Infrastructure to Every Village Project” ensured that electricity, roads, water, and telecoms reached rural areas.

 2. Stakeholder Coordination: The central government led policy formulation and investment, while provincial governments handled implementation. This coordination was critical in expanding and upgrading the national grid.

 3. Renewable Energy Investments: China aggressively pursued clean energy, setting a target for non-fossil energy to contribute 20% of its total energy consumption by 2025. It built mega renewable energy projects, smart grids, and hybrid high-voltage transmission lines to balance power supply across regions.

These efforts culminated in China achieving full electrification by 2015, positioning the country as the world’s leading industrial hub.

India’s Path to Energy Security

Like Nigeria, India was once a British colony and faced similar electricity shortages. However, through targeted reforms and investments, India overcame its power crisis and became an economic powerhouse. The key measures taken included:

 1. Institutional Reforms:

 • Establishment of Electricity Regulatory Commissions (ERCs) to ensure fair competition and consumer protection.

 • Creation of the Central Electricity Authority (CEA) to coordinate the national power system.

 2. Policy Reforms:

 • Electricity Act (2003): Unbundled state electricity boards, promoted private sector participation, and established a national grid.

 • National Electricity Policy (2005): Aimed at universal electricity access, energy efficiency, and reliable power supply.

 • Renewable Energy Policy: Set ambitious targets for non-fossil fuel energy sources, aiming for 40% of installed capacity by 2030.

 3. Infrastructure Investments:

 • Expansion of Power Generation: Increased capacity from 112 GW in 2005 to over 400 GW by 2022, focusing on renewable energy.

 • National Grid Development: Strengthened the grid to ensure efficient power transmission across the country.

 • Smart Grid Initiatives: Modernized grid infrastructure, improving energy efficiency and customer experience.

 4. Financial Incentives:

 • Viability Gap Funding (VGF): Government support for renewable energy projects to make them financially viable.

 • Tax Incentives: Encouraged private sector investment in the power sector.

 • Low-Cost Funding: Provided affordable financing for power sector projects through institutions like the Power Finance Corporation.

By implementing these measures, India scaled up its energy production from 190 GW to 400 GW, transforming itself into a global manufacturing hub. The success of its “Make in India” initiative underscores the role of stable electricity in industrial growth.

The Way Forward for Nigeria

Nigeria can no longer afford to lag in electricity reform. The success stories of China and India prove that targeted policies, infrastructure investments, and strong regulatory frameworks can turn an electricity-deficient nation into an industrial powerhouse. If Nigeria adopts a similar approach—prioritizing electrification in national development plans, streamlining regulatory frameworks, and attracting serious investors—it can finally break free from its chronic power shortages and achieve long-overdue industrialization.

Nigeria has much to learn from both China and India, particularly the latter, which successfully leveraged World Bank funding to address its electricity challenges—something Nigeria has attempted but with less commitment.

A closer examination of Nigeria’s energy crisis reveals a troubling reality. Despite the country’s numerous political and administrative reforms over the years, the electricity sector has remained largely unchanged since colonial times. While Nigeria has evolved from its amalgamation in 1914 to independence in 1960 and has since expanded from three regions to 36 states, its electricity infrastructure remains centralized and outdated.

This stagnation is evident in the persistent lack of investment in critical areas, particularly transmission. Given this reality, it is unrealistic for Nigerians to expect stable and adequate power supply when the sector remains underfunded and structurally inefficient. For instance, the Minister of Power, Adebayo Adelabu, recently revealed that power generation companies (GENCOs) are owed approximately ₦350 billion. This financial strain threatens the viability of the sector, which depends on consistent investment to sustain operations and generate returns for private investors. Many of these investors rely on bank loans, and if they default, it could trigger a broader financial crisis with severe economic consequences.

The challenges extend to the distribution companies (DISCOs), where workers face significant risks while delivering electricity to end users. A recent case in Lagos saw officers from the Nigerian Air Force storming Ikeja Electricity Distribution Company’s premises after the company disconnected power to the air force base due to an unpaid ₦4 billion debt. This reflects a broader problem, as many government agencies and military installations across the country regularly default on their electricity bills. Even the Aso Rock Presidential Villa and several state governments have been threatened with disconnection due to outstanding payments.

This persistent non-payment culture stems from an outdated mindset in the public sector, where officials still view electricity as a government-provided service rather than a privatized utility that requires payment. The 2013 privatization of the power sector failed to address this issue, leading to ongoing financial distress and operational inefficiencies.

Addressing these challenges requires significant structural reforms. Unlike generation and distribution, which are privately owned, the Transmission Company of Nigeria (TCN) remains government-controlled. This presents an opportunity for privatization, allowing for a more integrated and efficient electricity supply chain. Furthermore, of the 11 DISCOs operating in Nigeria, only three are financially viable, while the remaining eight have effectively been taken over by the government. A logical next step would be to merge the viable DISCOs with strong GENCOs and allow them to acquire transmission infrastructure in their respective zones, creating a model similar to those in advanced economies.

This restructuring will be difficult but necessary. As the saying goes, “No pain, no gain.” To succeed, Nigeria’s leadership must embrace bold reforms. Sheikh Mohammed Bin Rashid Al Maktoum once said, “An easy life doesn’t make men, nor does it build nations. Challenges make men, and it is these men who build nations.” Nigeria’s energy crisis demands decisive action.

President Bola Tinubu should take inspiration from the transformative approaches of China and India by declaring a state of emergency in the electricity sector. These countries recognized that reliable power was the foundation of industrial growth and took radical steps to achieve it.

As Ernest Hemingway put it, “Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the way with what matters.” For Nigeria, nothing matters more at this moment than ensuring abundant electricity supply—because without it, the nation’s industrial ambitions will remain unfulfilled.

 

Magnus Onyibe, an entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy advocate, development strategist, alumnus of the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, Tufts University, Massachusetts, USA, and a former commissioner in the Delta State government, sent this piece from Lagos, Nigeria.  

The English language is a compulsive borrower; a great debtor. It borrows any word that catches its fancy anyhow and from anywhere. From Ancient Rome, the Englishman got loaned mobile vulgus, the Latin phrase for ‘movable, excitable crowd’. The Englishman took that loan and quickly slim-fit the borrowed item to ‘mobile’, then in 1688, he clipped the abbreviation to ‘mob’.

If you are looking for a more practical definition of ‘mob’, go to the Senate of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. Members there will, in confounding unity, act the mob if you dare their leader and question their privileges. Or you go and read reports of how soldiers beat up electricity workers in Ikeja, Lagos last week. Think of the parliament as a mob. Think of a military of rioters and street brawlers. Can you ever spot the difference between having soldiers as rioters and having rioters as soldiers? Think about the confusion here.

What the mob is came to my mind as I read of some soldiers of the Nigerian Air Force invading the headquarters of Ikeja Electricity Distribution Company (IKEDC) last Thursday, beating up workers and visitors and even journalists. Why? They acted wild because of the very high electricity bill they get while their base get supplied with very low or no electricity by the company. The attack was a shocking, shameful, deplorable act of security people wreaking insecurity.

Self-help is an eye for an eye; it is the Roman’s Lex talionis, the law of retaliation. If it is allowed to reign here, everyone will soon be blind. Criminal self-help is when soldiers had a payment-for-power dispute with a company and decided to use the might they have to claim their rights. Do our brothers in uniform think we (Nigerians without guns) are stupid for peacefully surrendering to Never Expect Power Always?

Poor soldiers beating up poor electricity workers and journalists is a shame. Everyone is misdirecting their anger. They are just oppressing their own tribe, the tribe of the dispossessed. The real sinners beyond the whip, they are too safe to be beaten.

Who told our soldiers that beating the hell out of electricity workers would give them uninterrupted power supply? The problem is bigger than big. You can’t force the eunuch to ‘do’ that thing. His existence is defined by impotence with all the innuendos and allusions. Force won’t help the forces. Even powerful Tiger in the old story of ‘Tortoise, Tiger and Monkey’ could not hammer out sweet shit from the traumatized belly of his victim.

 
 

The power supply situation in the country is horrible. Businesses are stuttering and bleeding and crying. A friend in telecoms told me that the reality of power in Nigeria and, particularly, the cost of diesel, has turned every base station to a full company. The cost of Nigeria’s darkness is horrifying, frustrating. Everyone is displeased and angry. But self-help by officers of the law is subversion of the law; it is not the solution.

What the solution is, I do not know. What I know is what my culture says impunity is. It is Taa ní ó mú mi? The translation is something like “Whatever I do, who will query and punish me? Who can?”

Because I am as helpless as the beaten workers and reporters, I plead with military authorities to beg the beaten for forgiveness, compensate them for the trauma and sanction the beaters. I also beg the authorities to leash their dogs and recalibrate the discipline we’ve always known with our uniformed forces. Gold should not rust. If it does, what then shall iron do?

“Possibly he cohabited with Miss Bloggs, but don’t mention it in front of his wife, let the sleeping dogs lie.” Gordon Jarvie’s ‘Dictionary of Idioms’ contains that example of a warning that has been with us since Geoffrey Chaucer’s 1385 epic poem, Troilus and Criseyde. When the storm is angry and howling, the wise stay safe. I thought every man has that wisdom until I heard Senate President Godswill Akpabio at the weekend in Abuja vowing to devour a bowl of very hot 20-year-old pounded yam. To him, the sleeping dog must stop sleeping.

For some people, one trouble at a time is not enough. I count Akpabio among such persons. The mouthful wahala from delectable Senator Natasha is not enough; voracious Akpabio must do Oliver Twist; he wants one more problem to solve. He threatened at the weekend to sue former acting Managing Director of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), Joy Nunieh, over her 2020 allegations of sexual harassment leveled against him. Where are Akpabio’s younger friends? They should read to him Harry Porter’s exasperation: “And quite honestly, I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

In July 2020, Nunieh alleged that she slapped Akpabio, who was the then Minister of Niger Delta Affairs, because he allegedly sexually harassed her:

 “Why did he not tell Nigerians that I slapped him in his guest house at Apo? I am the only Ogoni woman, the only Nigerian woman that has slapped him. I slapped him because of his plan B. Since he couldn’t get me to take that money, he thought that he could come up on me,” she told Arise TV at the time and proceeded to explain that sexual harassment was what she meant by “come up on me.”

For five years, Akpabio slumbered and snored. A slap from a lady called Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan appears to have now woken up Nigeria’s number one lawmaker. Addressing the matter at the weekend, Akpabio announced his intention to take legal action against Nunieh. “My other sister, the one they sometimes refer to as Joy Nunieh, I will like to mention her name because she will be hearing from my lawyer anytime in the next one week. Crime never dies.”

When is trouble enough? And, does the right to seek judicial remedies exist forever? By July this year, it will be five years since Nunieh made her sensational slap statement. She uttered the claim, Akpabio pretended she said nothing significant. Akpabio is a lawyer. At the law school, his teachers taught him that rights of action are subject to specific time frames. The cause of action occurred in Abuja. The Limitation Act which applies in Abuja, what does it say on when a man is stopped from suing for defamation of character? Or does Akpabio want to approach this as a criminal offence which is not statute-barred, especially now that he is Nigeria’s very powerful number three citizen? In that case, it won’t be a case of “hearing from (his) lawyers”. It will be a case of the slapper hearing from the very duteous Nigeria police. We cannot wait.

Sixteenth/seventeenth century English writer and physician, Thomas Fuller, has a line for strong, big men who think they are bigger than the biggest, stronger than the strongest: “Be ye never so high, the law is above you.” These exact words came handy for Lord Denning, Master of the Rolls, when he had to rule against the Attorney General for England and Wales in a 1977 case. In full he invoked the spirit of Fuller and cast his potent words “to every subject of this land, however powerful.” But that was in a democracy. What we have here, is it democracy or the craze of the demos?

What should be a leader’s reaction to attacks and allegations? The British House of Lords in 1987 delivered a controversial judgment backing the ban of Spycatcher, the memoirs of a former MI5 officer, Peter Wright. The Daily Mirror reacted with an upside down photo of the three law lords who decided the case in favour of Margaret Thatcher’s government. The picture came with the caption: ‘You Old Fools.’ Many thought that was insulting and contemptuous of the court. But, the Law Lord, Sydney William Templeman, did not think so. The lord noted that the caption contained three words ‘You’, ‘Old’ and ‘Fools’. The world might think the caption offensive but to my lord, they were not. Templeman said it was indeed true that he was an old man. He said being a fool or not was a matter of perception but he knew he was not a fool. He caused the matter to end right there.

Sir Alexander Cockburn was England’s Lord Chief Justice in 1879. He was incensed at scathing criticisms of one of his rulings. He thought the right course to take was to use his high office and his knowledge of the law to take down his critics. Cockburn did the very unusual: he published a 24-page pamphlet in rebuttal of the strictures and thoroughly abused his critics. But his pamphlet did not help him; his rebuttal attracted a string of counter-rebuttals. Records say that the Lord Chief Justice came out of that controversy diminished in social and intellectual standing. Roderick Munday who went over that case again in 1987, wrote that “this unedifying episode illustrates how even the holder of the highest office can make a spectacle of himself.” Munday’s conclusion is that “if ever a judge again feels disposed to respond to public strictures, he might first do well to ponder the experience of Cockburn C.J.”

A man in a hole is still digging. Senator Akpabio thinks an old and long-forgotten war is worth exhuming. He must combine it with the present and have both crushed.

Can I now examine how he is handling the present problem? Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan accused Akpabio of sexual harassment. Akpabio kept quiet for almost a week; when he spoke, it was as a judge in his own case. His wife and almost the whole of the Senate were the first to come out roaring. They said Akpabio did not do what he was accused of doing. They said the lady had assaulted the integrity of their presiding officer. They were very rancorous like passengers in a midair troubled plane.

One of the senators said Natasha should use the period of her suspension to learn the Senate rules. I found that quite ironic. It will be appropriate if that member and other members learn what the law says about a man judging his own case. Or, what did they think happened when Mr Akpabio appointed the jury, sat as the judge, read his judgment and convicted his accuser? If you are accused of harbouring unsightly intestines, why wouldn’t you use common sense to pack it well and far from public sneer. The convicted is already shouting fair hearing. A first-year law student knows that the Latin phrase, ‘Nemo Judex In Causa Sua’ means no one should be a judge in his own cause. It is a universal principle of fair hearing that in judicial and administrative proceedings, a judge or an administrator having personal or proprietary interest in the outcome of a proceeding must not exercise adjudicatory powers in the case in question. Was Akpabio set up to take that route? A smart Akpabio would have let his deputy handle that case. If he did, justice would have been seen to have been done. Or, could it be that Akpabio and his Senate believed that only weaklings without money and power bother about procedural fairness? And there are lawyers among them.

I do not know how they do it where Akpabio comes from but in my part of the country, no wise man is allowed to directly judge his own case. A man would be an original àgbà òsìkà to make himself judge over his enemies. Section 36 of our constitution is clear on this. And it is universal in its application. The US Supreme Court also carefully laid this out: “A fair trial in a fair tribunal is a basic requirement of due process. Fairness, of course, requires an absence of actual bias in the trial of cases… To this end, no man can be a judge in his own case and no man is permitted to try cases where he has an interest in the outcome.” In another case, the court held that “prejudice, in order to be disqualifying, must consist of a personal animosity toward one party or very strong feeling in favour of the other party.” In this case of Natasha, Chief Akpabio was actually the other party – the accused; and he was the judge.

The senate riotously mobbed the accuser out of the chamber. She will be in the cold for six months. This is not about who is saying the truth and who is lying. No one outside the two actors can say what the truth is. What is true is known to the supposedly harassed and the alleged harasser. But I think Akpabio, for whatever reasons, should not have bungled his case. He shouldn’t have sat over the matter with the catty visage of the lion, king of the jungle. What he did is what the English qualify with the word ‘impunity’. And I think he did so because in this country, anyone blessed with his kind of uncommon bigness is hefty enough to pocket the law.

At the weekend again, Akpabio went regional in search of defence. He thought his tribulations should wear the tunic of politics. He vowed that the South South region (where he comes from) would not surrender the senate presidency no matter the level of gang up against him. He said: “The Senate President of today is not representing himself alone. He is representing a people who are very crucial to the economic life wire of this country. So, when people gang up and conspire, I hear voices from Adamawa shouting, I hear voices from Kwara State shouting, I hear some young people from the southwest being used for something they don’t know, they don’t know the rules of the Senate, you can’t be a herbalist and start quoting the Bible, you won’t know what to quote.” Interesting. So, are Akpabio’s enemies from the South West, the North Central and the North East? Who are they? Those who want to be lame should be completely lame, the blind should be blind totally; half blinded people always plunge the world into wars. If I were Akpabio, I would be total in naming names. That is what real men do.

If you carry a pot of uncommon palm oil, run away from stone throwers. Has Akpabio ever heard the Yoruba story of Eku kékeré tó ní òun yóò ba isé àgbè jé (The small rat that says it will destroy the farmer’s work)? The story, with a little adjustment, is reproduced here as told by James Bọ̀dé Agbájé in his ‘Proverbs: A Strategy for Resolving Conflict in Yorùbá Society’:

“There was once a small rat on a farm who said to the farmer that he would destroy all the farmer’s work. The farmer answered the rat: ‘How can you destroy my work, you tiny idiot?’ When the maize on the farm matured, the rat went to see the farmer and told him again that he would destroy all the farmer’s work. The farmer just burst out laughing and told the rat: ‘You are joking. How will you destroy this huge maize farm?’ The rat said okay and departed. When the farmer was harvesting his maize, the rat revisited the farm and again promised the farmer that one day all his harvest would be destroyed. The farmer just ignored the rat and the rat went away. After the farmer had finished packing all his harvested crops in the aka (‘barn’), the rat managed to enter the barn unnoticed. He started eating part of the maize and left the wasted remnants covering the ground.

“The farmer knew what was happening and announced, ‘I know you are in there. You just hide yourself there.’ He was determined to deal ruthlessly with the small wicked rat. The rat heard the farmer and answered him. He told him that he had promised the farmer that his farm would be destroyed and the time had now come for the operation. The angry farmer thought he should just smoke out the stupid tiny rat. A little fire he made went out of hand. Within the twinkling of an eye, all the maize caught fire. Just then, the rat escaped and the whole place was burnt to ashes. Later, the rat went to the farmer and said to him that the deed was done. The rat boasted: ‘I promised to shatter your efforts and you underrated what I said. Haven’t I destroyed all the fruits of your labour now?’ The farmer was downcast and started to bite his fingers in regret. He said that if he had taken the proper precautions and had not underrated the stupid tiny rat, the whole situation could have been averted.” The powerful should be very careful; the ground is wet and slippery.

The autobiography is a most delicate, complex and indeed disruptive art form. It is the autobiographer’s authorial insistence to be heard in terms of his or her narrative addition to a historical discourse. In fact, it is the autobiographer’s narration of the historical event from his or her own perspective. And more often than not, when the autobiographer is a fundamental participant in the event, the complexities of that event and the circumstances surrounding it is multiplied. Only very few autobiographies enjoy global approval. And that is because the art form is seen as an ego trip. That sentiment is summed by the English biographer, Humphrey Carpenter: “Autobiography is probably the most respectable form of lying.” This is even made worse if the protagonists are critical individuals whose lives have affected national trajectories. General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida (IBB) is one such critical protagonist, and his autobiography has arrived. 

A Journey in Service has since started generated lots of furors in all strata of the Nigerian public space, online and offline. Lots of opinions have tied IBB to several significant historical moments in Nigeria, especially the annulment of the June 12 elections, and the demise of MKO Abiola. What many have conveniently glossed over, and a case I have consistently made, is that personal narrative in the forms of autobiography and memoirs serve a unique function in terms of their historical import. If A Journey in Service had not been written, we will all be gasping within the yawning silence of the political and administrative gaps that ought to have been filled with whatever the autobiographer has to say. But now it has been written, and we can then commence the journey of unraveling how the narrative fits or fails to fit in with the existing accounts of Nigeria’s political development. 

This personal narrative has a critical import for me as a historian of Nigeria’s administrative and reform trajectories. The Babangida administration played a very fundamental role in articulating a significant portion of Nigeria’s administrative reform architecture. And so, that portion of the trajectory, and the entire institutional reform agenda of the Nigerian state, will not be complete without adding the voice and perspective of the key protagonist to the understanding of how the reform policy emerged. No matter what anyone thinks, the imperative of national history demands that such an account be added to the stock of what we already know, and to flesh out a better understanding of what we already know. The idea therefore is to see how the protagonist, no matter the groundswell of national opinion for or against him, fits into a larger picture of the political and administrative frameworks that enable us to see where the nation is coming from and where it is headed. This is a task every institutional reformer must long for without getting sidetracked by sentimental opinion that accords blame and sling mud. This is part of what makes IBB and A Journey in Service such a delight for me. Unfortunately, the head of the historic administration does not consider that irreducible reform agenda that distinguishes his administration so significantly as to celebrate its conception, elements and operation, as well as its limitations, in a significant autobiography. That responsibility has been passed to posterity. This piece rescues that fundamental omission.    

The pre-Babangida administrative reform narrative must always revert back to the 1974 Udoji Commission. That Commission is singular because it was the first to attempt an alignment between Nigeria’s reform efforts and the emerging managerial revolution in public administration across the globe. The Udoji Commission took its immediate inspiration from the Lord Fulton Committee of 1968 in Britain. The task of the Fulton Report was to inquire into the capability readiness of the British civil service to confront the modern British society and its technological complexity. Fulton’s most significant recommendation was the displacement of the cult of generalist amateur civil servants in an approaching administrative dispensation that requires a critical mass of new managers who possess the professionalism and specialist expertise to harness the talents needed to make the civil service economic, effective and efficient. 

By the time the Udoji Commission was inaugurated, Nigeria had also reached the critical juncture where it became imperative to ask whether the Weberian assumptions underlying the British administrative legacy were capable of tackling the urgent governance requirement of a postcolonial society. The wage impasse which the system had been confronting before independence, for the Commission, was a symptom of a deeper administrative malady represented by a bureaucratic culture that had arrested innovation and entrepreneurial creativity in the analysis and implementation of policies. Managerialism therefore provides the most timely and perfect means of making the civil service system align with the goals of national development. The Udoji Commission went on to leverage the global good practice of the time that calls for a new style public service that deploys new management techniques of Planning, Programming and Budgeting System (PPBS), Management by Objectives (MBO), the precursor of what is today called the performance management system, project management system, among others, that was totally alien to the Nigerian public service, at the time. The new management architecture that the envisioned management system would have institutionalized would obviously have been inadequate but would have laid a critical substructure that would have set Nigeria on the new productivity paradigm that assisted Malaysia, Singapore, the Asian Tigers and many other developing countries that are within Nigerian global ranking at the time. 

The most devastating blow that the civil service suffered were those created not by it but the governance tradition that militarism and “New Federalism” of the post-civil war years created where the rigorous analytical frame that governed development investment got replaced with the unreflective “with immediate effect” command and control governance tradition which created huge process, policy, capacity, performance and resource gaps. The Udoji Commission and its limitations, as well as the succeeding Phillips and Ayida Commissions, could be understood only within this military tradition of which IBB was a significant part. When he assumed office in 1985, one of the most immediate decisions was, according to his admission, the need to “strengthen the practice of the presidential system with clear economic, political, and social reforms to strengthen the nation as a constitutional democracy based on the presidential system.” Assuming the title of a “President” was therefore more than a mere nominal gesture to narcissism. Rather, he said, it was “a summation of our consensus on the need to preserve and strengthen the presidential system and make it work better for the nation.”

But a nominal title was not enough. A commitment to the presidential system, IBB insisted, defined the necessity of “structuring a reform programme around institutions to make it work.” And given the tension that already was prevalent in the heated polity, IBB surmised, the reforms that must make any significance must be as comprehensive as the administration could make it. And the first act of symbolic gesture was negative: the urgency of the need “to review the various draconian decrees, convictions, and pending cases that bordered on human rights violations.” The Exchange Control (anti-sabotage) Decree 7 and Decree 4 (Public Officers Protection Against False Accusation) had to be significantly reviewed. This was followed by the real positive task of reforming the economy and governance in ways that go beyond “knee-jerk populist reflexes.” 

The task, in governance and economic terms, was therefore to “Remove the government from the role of an enormous money changer to that of an enabler of the appropriate economic environment. We also needed to let the economy, in general, breathe more freely.” It was to liberalize the economy and make government an able enabler rather than occupying the ‘commanding heights of the economy.” Unfortunately for us all, IBB fails to dwell on what could have been a defining dimension of A Journey in Service, the civil service reform framework of the Babangida administration. This is shocking but revealing in itself. One possible reason is that the author subsumed the civil service reform under the broader political reforms: “Our political programme targeted the critical areas of political and socio-cultural restructuring highlighted by the Political Bureau report: the party system, the electoral process, including election administration, the federal structure, the civil service, and the problem of succession, including political leadership.” 

And yet, this fails to do justice to the significance of the Babangida administration and its inheritance of the Dotun Philips Commission from the Buhari-Idiagbon administration. The Phillips Study Team is significant because it had the task of re-organizing the operations of the civil service in terms of professionalism that will eventually align it with the managerial revolution recommended by Udoji. And that reform effort alone cements his administration’s significance in the annals of administrative history in Nigeria, and a fundamental contribution to the cumulation of reform knowledge in Nigeria. IBB already gave the significant intellectual basis of the restructuring that was an imperative: to achieve “national rebirth and future greatness,” there is a need for political and economic restructuring that free up the national space for transformation. And one way to do this, according to him, was cultivate intellectuals: “We needed the input of intellectuals to enlighten the business of government.” There was also the crucial need for the public service as the engine of government business. It beats me how IBB did not see that. 

The Dotun Philips Study Group was constituted by the Buhari-Idiagbon administration in 1985, with the objective of undertaking an interrogation of the structure, mode of operation and strategy of the civil service in the light of contemporary administrative situation, as well as finding means by which the eroded professionalism of the system could be restored. After the 1985 coup, Babangida inherited the study group and transformed it into a full-blown commission whose task was to keep up with the objective of aligning the spirit of managerialism and a professionalized civil service with the form and spirit of presidentialism. This was to be incorporated into the total package of the Civil Service Reforms through a Civil Service Reorganisation Decree No. 43 of 1988. Given the administration’s concern with the rigid Soviet-styled centralization of the economy and the need to open the economy up to market forces, it was only logical that the administration would adopt the critical managerial principle of letting managers manage by having greater control on critical resources. This possesses the capacity to inspire a wholesale decentralization of the HRM function to MDA. The policy choice here is between centralized resource governance for example where the civil service commission wields constitutional powers for recruitment, promotion and discipline exercised at top management levels by the Commission while delegating the powers to MDAs at middle to lower levels. 

The Philips reform was compromised essentially because (a) it took the issues involved in professionalism too far (for instance, by attempting to make a professional out of everybody within the civil service); and (b) its own unique managerial thrust was directed towards integrating the civil service into the presidential system of government, with one unintended consequence being that professionalization turned into politicization through an attempt, for instance, that turned an administrative post (permanent secretary) into a political one (director-general). And yet, this is not a failure because it was a logical reform complements to the short-circuited Udoji Commission recommendation of a public service founded on performance management, and its underlying managerial philosophy was significant in getting the Babangida administration its governance template for transforming national development. 

I insist that an administration is only as good as its reform agenda, both in design and implementation. The Babangida administration gave Nigeria’s reform trajectory one of the key moments in the protracted attempt to translate the gains and efficiencies of a managerial opportunity to a bureaucratic system. 

 

 

 

The Supreme Court’s recent ruling on the status of the 27 lawmakers loyal to former Governor Nyesom Wike has deepened public concern over Nigeria’s judiciary. The apex court ruled that there was no legal basis for Governor Siminalayi Fubara’s claim that the lawmakers defected from the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) to the All Progressives Congress (APC). This verdict effectively restored the legislative authority of the lawmakers, further complicating Fubara’s control over the state government. However, the judgment is being widely perceived as favoring Wike’s camp, raising questions about judicial neutrality and reinforcing broader apprehensions about institutional credibility. If the courts are perceived as political tools rather than impartial arbiters, then the foundation of Nigeria’s democracy is at risk of crumbling under the weight of selective judicial obedience.

Double Standards in Obeying Court Orders

Who Decides Which Rulings Matter? If Nigeria’s Senate, under the leadership of Godswill Akpabio, can boldly disregard a Federal High Court order by suspending Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan despite a court ruling to the contrary, then how can Nigeria turn around and expect Governor Fubara to fully comply with a Supreme Court ruling he perceives as flawed? The inconsistency in judicial compliance at different levels of government creates a dangerous precedent where court orders are no longer universally binding, but instead selectively followed based on political convenience. If Fubara were to openly question or even delay compliance with the Supreme Court’s ruling, it would not be without justification, considering the growing evidence that judicial rulings in Nigeria may no longer carry the same weight they once did.

 

Rivers State Electoral Body Defies the Legislature: 

The Rivers State Independent Electoral Commission (RSIEC) has also joined the cycle of legal defiance. Following the Supreme Court ruling, the Rivers State House of Assembly issued a 48-hour ultimatum to Governor Fubara to re-present the 2025 budget and summoned the chairman of RSIEC, Justice Adulphus Enebeli (rtd), along with commissioners, to justify financial expenditures without an appropriation law since January 2024. In an act of outright defiance, both Governor Fubara and RSIEC have rejected the ultimatum, further fueling the constitutional standoff. RSIEC issued a Pre-Action Notice, challenging the legal authority of the Assembly to issue such an ultimatum and claiming it violates Section 36 of the 1999 Constitution, which guarantees fair hearing. The refusal of RSIEC to comply now raises serious concerns about whether judicial decisions and legislative authority hold any real weight if major political actors selectively choose which rulings to follow.

Judicial Favoritism? When the Law Serves Political Interests

 

If the judiciary is truly independent, then its rulings should be seen as sacrosanct, regardless of the parties involved. However, when some court orders are obeyed while others are openly flouted, the entire justice system is weakened, leaving room for anarchy and eroding public confidence. The judiciary must not only be impartial but must be seen to be impartial. A judicial system that tilts toward one political faction while aggressively enforcing rulings against another risks losing credibility in the eyes of the public. If the Certified True Copy (CTC) of the Supreme Court ruling now contains elements of defection that were never part of the original litigation, then the judiciary itself is under scrutiny for possible post-ruling modifications that serve political interests rather than legal precedent.

Fubara’s Imminent Political Battle: 

Governor Fubara is now in an increasingly precarious position. The Supreme Court ruling, which strengthens the authority of Wike’s lawmakers, emboldens them to further assert control over the state legislature. This ruling provides them with a legal foothold to renew impeachment threats and legislative challenges against Fubara. By narrowing his legal avenues to challenge the defected lawmakers, the ruling forces him to engage in careful political maneuvering. He must now either broaden his alliances to counterbalance Wike’s grip on the Assembly or seek a diplomatic resolution to maintain governance stability. However, given that the Senate has already openly defied a Federal High Court order, some argue that Fubara may feel justified in questioning or delaying compliance with the Supreme Court’s ruling.

 

The Supreme Court’s Role in Defection Cases: Has the Outcome Been Pre-Determined?

Furthermore, the Supreme Court’s involvement in defection cases has led to increased scrutiny on whether ongoing cases in lower courts have been effectively pre-determined. If the Supreme Court ruling includes preemptive decisions on defection that were not part of the case before it, it could signal that lower court rulings may already have a foregone conclusion, limiting any future legal challenges. This calls into question whether Nigeria’s judicial system is still a neutral venue for resolving disputes, or if it has become a tool for political leverage.

Erosion of Trust: 

 

What Happens When Citizens No Longer Believe in the Courts? The judiciary’s credibility is critical in maintaining democratic order, and the perception of judicial bias could exacerbate political tensions across Nigeria. Rivers State, which is already experiencing deep political divisions, is now at the heart of an institutional crisis. The selective adherence to judicial rulings raises questions about whether Nigeria is moving toward a lawful democracy or a system of rule by political decree. Public trust in the judiciary is essential, yet the growing sentiment is that some politicians and institutions are above the law while others are held strictly accountable.

The Unraveling of Nigeria’s Democracy: 

A Nation on the Precipice: In an era where political loyalty seemingly dictates legal outcomes, what happens when the people lose faith in the very institutions meant to uphold justice? If judicial orders are perceived as suggestions rather than mandates, then how does Nigeria maintain a functional democracy? With both the legislative and executive arms of government now engaged in selective compliance, the judiciary finds itself in an unprecedented crisis of legitimacy.

 

A Final Warning: If Court Rulings No Longer Bind, What Holds Nigeria Together?

Nigeria stands at a dangerous tipping point. The nation’s stability depends on the ability of its institutions to command respect and enforce accountability fairly and consistently. If the courts fail to uphold the principle of equal justice under the law, then democracy itself is at risk. The slow unraveling of trust in the judiciary is not just a legal or political issue—it is an existential threat to Nigeria’s ability to function as a state governed by law. If left unchecked, this erosion of trust will not only embolden further disobedience to legal authority but will set the stage for a future where governance is dictated by power rather than principles. If court rulings are no longer binding, then what remains to hold Nigeria together?

Vergangenheitsbewältigung (German: [fɛɐ̯ˈɡaŋənhaɪtsbəˌvɛltɪɡʊŋ], “struggle of overcoming the past” or “work of coping with the past”) is a German compound noun describing processes that, since the later 20th century, have become key in the study of post-1945 German literature, society, and culture. (“Overcoming the past”) is generally associated with Germany’s process of coming to terms with the history of National Socialism and the Holocaust.

Diego Maradona’s “Hand of God,” a moment of audacious deception and divine attribution, remains etched in the collective memory of football. It’s a story that transcended the boundaries of a simple sporting event, becoming a cultural touchstone, a symbol of cunning and controversy. The replay, the analysis, the debate – all contributed to the solidification of this moment into a piece of history, albeit a contested one. In Nigeria, we yearn for such clarity, such a tangible, debated, and ultimately understood narrative of our past.

IBB

IBB

Our historical landscape is cotton woven with threads of omission, selective memory, and a profound reluctance to confront the more painful chapters of our national story.

The systematic removal of history from secondary school curricula, a decision that effectively severed a generation from its roots, speaks volumes about our discomfort with our past. This deliberate erasure has created a void, a chasm where a shared understanding of our nation’s journey should reside.

 

The prioritization of foreign empires, like the Songhai, over the intricate and complex story of Nigerian history further compounds this issue. While these external narratives offer valuable perspectives, they cannot replace the fundamental need to understand our internal dynamics, our struggles, and our triumphs. The absence of a comprehensive exploration of the “Nigerian empire,” whatever form it may have taken, leaves a critical gap in our understanding of our own identity.

The Biafran War, a brutal and deeply divisive conflict, stands as a stark example of our reluctance to confront our past. The persistent refusal to commission a televised narrative, a project that could have served as a powerful tool for healing and reconciliation, underscores our collective unease. The parallels with “Hotel Rwanda” and “Sometimes in April,” films that dared to confront the horrors of genocide, are undeniable. By shying away from our painful truths, we perpetuate a cycle of misunderstanding and mistrust.

The Jos September 21 crisis, a more recent but equally devastating event, suffers from a similar lack of comprehensive documentation and public discourse. The absence of a clear, accessible narrative leaves the wounds of this tragedy festering, hindering the process of healing and reconciliation. Without a shared understanding of these events, we are condemned to repeat the mistakes of the past.

 

Equally troubling are the unresolved controversies that loom like specters over Nigeria’s political history. The 1986 assassination of Dele Giwa, founder of Newswatch magazine, via a letter bomb remains a festering wound. Despite evidence implicating state actors, the case languishes in obscurity, buried under layers of official obfuscation. Similarly, the 2001 murder of Bola Ige, then-Attorney General and Minister of Justice, remains shrouded in mystery. The unanswered question of who killed Bola Ige has become a metaphor for the culture of impunity that haunts Nigeria’s corridors of power. These are not mere cold cases; they are testaments to a state’s refusal to confront its shadows.

Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida IBB

Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, IBB

This opacity extends beyond individual tragedies. The Nigerian state’s insistence on classifying vast swathes of historical records—often under the guise of “national security”—denies citizens access to their own story. While democracies like the United States declassify documents after set periods, Nigeria’s archives remain locked, fueling speculation and conspiracy. What truths lie hidden in files marked confidential? What role did the state play in pivotal moments like the annulment of June 12 or the fuel subsidy protests? By clinging to secrecy, the state reduces history to a weapon, wielded to control narratives rather than enlighten the public.

Compounding this is the relegation of national discourse to the realm of myth and rumor. Without official records, history becomes a battleground of competing anecdotes. Was MKO Abiola’s death natural or engineered? What truly transpired during the Dimka coup? In the absence of facts, hearsay thrives. The danger is not merely academic; it erodes trust in institutions and fractures collective memory. When history is negotiable, manipulated by those in power, or concocted in the echo chambers of social media, society loses its anchor. A nation cannot mature when its past is a puzzle with missing pieces, assembled by guesswork and bias.

The silence of key figures, particularly those who played pivotal roles in shaping our nation’s destiny, exacerbates the problem. General Gowon, a man who stood at the helm of the nation during a tumultuous period, remains silent, his war memoirs unwritten. His perspective, his insights, and his reflections are invaluable, yet they remain locked away, depriving us of a crucial piece of our historical puzzle.

 

The recent launch of IBB’s autobiography, while a welcome addition to the sparse collection of personal narratives, underscores the challenges we face. In a nation starved of historical context, such accounts become not just personal reflections but de facto historical records. However, these accounts, by their very nature, are subjective, offering a single perspective on complex events. They cannot replace the rigorous, objective analysis of professional historians and the wealth of information contained in well-maintained archives.

Unlike nations with robust archival systems and transparent processes for declassifying historical documents, we rely heavily on “tales by moonlight,” anecdotal fragments that, while valuable, lack the rigor and objectivity of structured historical analysis. This reliance on oral traditions and personal accounts blurs the lines between public relations and historical record, allowing narratives to be shaped by personal agendas rather than a pursuit of truth.

The power of literature, as evidenced by Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart,” lies in its ability to illuminate the human experience and offer insights into the past. However, literature alone cannot replace the foundational role of history. History is not constructed logically; it happens, it is recorded, and it is taught. Without that foundation, we are left with fragments, interpretations, and the ever-present danger of repeating the mistakes of the past.

 
ibb4

Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida

We must reclaim our history. We must demand comprehensive education, open archives, and honest narratives. We must encourage those who shaped our nation to share their stories, not as PR exercises but as contributions to a collective understanding.

Only then can we move forward, not as a nation adrift, but as a people grounded in the truth of our shared journey. Only then can we ensure that the “Hand of God” of our past does not become a tool for manipulation but a lesson for a more informed and united future. We need to create a culture where history is valued, debated, and understood, not suppressed or manipulated.

This means investing in historical research, supporting archival institutions, and fostering a spirit of open dialogue about our past. It means ensuring that our children are taught the full, unvarnished truth about their nation’s history, both the triumphs and the tragedies. Only then can we build a future where the lessons of the past guide us toward a more just and equitable society.

I would end by stating painfully that we are in a coffin, where young Nigerians exhibit a profound disconnection from their historical heritage and cultural roots, reflecting a broader societal shift away from the collective memory and traditions that once defined their identity. This detachment not only undermines their sense of belonging but also diminishes their understanding of the cultural, social, and historical narratives that have shaped the nation. In an era dominated by globalization and digital modernity, the erosion of this connection to the past poses significant challenges to the preservation of Nigeria’s rich cultural legacy and the cultivation of a cohesive national identity. Do we remain in the coffin or resurrect—Only time will tell.

Senate President Godswill Akpabio has lamented the supposed trauma he and the Senate have suffered due to the sexual harassment allegations leveled against him by Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan. However, if truth be told, the real victim of trauma is Natasha herself—a woman who dared to speak up against male dominance in a legislature historically hostile to women’s leadership.

The psychological toll of her suspension, public vilification, and institutional gaslighting reflects the entrenched patriarchy in Nigeria’s political system. The Senate, under the leadership of Akpabio and Majority Leader Opeyemi Bamidele, has turned a blind eye to the systemic suffering inflicted upon women who challenge the status quo. Instead of addressing the allegations with due process, they have chosen to silence and isolate the accuser, reinforcing a culture of impunity.

The Trauma of Silencing Women in Power

 

For Akpoti-Uduaghan, the trauma is profound. Her suspension is more than a political penalty; it is an act of psychological warfare against all women in leadership. The Senate’s decision sends a chilling message to Nigerian women: speak up, and you will be punished. This calculated retaliation induces fear, stress, and emotional distress, creating an environment where women are systematically discouraged from seeking public office.

The impact of such institutional bullying includes:

Public humiliation and degradation: She was forcibly walked out of the Senate chamber by the Sergeant-at-Arms, a move intended to break her spirit in full view of her colleagues and the nation.

 

Economic and career sabotage: Her office was locked immediately after her suspension, denying her access to essential legislative tools and resources. Her salary was cut off without due process, ensuring that she was left financially vulnerable.

Verbal attacks and intimidation: Male senators, one after another, hurled painful words at her on the Senate floor, weaponizing their voices to degrade and shame her. They dismissed her claims, questioned her character, and cast her as unruly and unfit to serve.

Institutionalized media manipulation: A dark cloud of misinformation was spread through compromised media outlets, framing her as the aggressor rather than the victim. Headlines painted her as disruptive, unworthy, and a political opportunist, erasing the context of her ordeal.

 

Authoritarian suppression of her voice

Her microphone was abruptly cut off during her last moments on the Senate floor, a symbolic and literal silencing of her words. Akpabio himself presided over this entire charade, ensuring that she had no chance to defend herself.

Psychological toll: Should she decide to seek therapy to heal from the trauma inflicted upon her, the Senate must be held financially responsible for the cost of her treatment. It is the institution that inflicted this harm, and it must bear the burden of redress.

 

The Role of the Senate in Perpetuating Psychological Abuse

The Nigerian Senate, through Akpabio and Bamidele, has mastered the art of psychological manipulation by making Akpoti-Uduaghan’s experience seem like an overreaction. The Senate President’s remarks, filled with sarcasm and dismissal, seek to trivialize her experience.

Akpabio’s statements—such as suggesting that no one heard of the harassment until a committee change—are not just defensive; they are deliberate attempts to question her credibility and normalize gendered political suppression. This is a classic example of gaslighting, a psychological abuse tactic designed to make victims question their own reality.

 

Moreover, the refusal to acknowledge Akpoti-Uduaghan’s trauma is part of a broader pattern in Nigeria’s male-dominated power structures, where men in leadership feign victimhood when held accountable. By shifting the narrative, the Senate avoids addressing the systemic issues that enable gender-based violence in governance.

The Broader Impact: What This Means for Nigerian Women

The handling of this case has ramifications beyond the walls of the National Assembly. It discourages young women from entering politics, reinforces gender discrimination, and perpetuates a toxic culture where women are expected to endure mistreatment in silence.

 

The Senate’s actions violate international commitments Nigeria has made to protect women’s rights, including:

The United Nations Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW)

The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights

 

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)

The Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action

The Urgent Need for Accountability

 

Nigeria cannot continue to present itself as a champion of gender equality while engaging in high-profile acts of gender suppression. Women’s rights organizations, international human rights bodies, and legal advocates must challenge this injustice at the national and global levels. The following organizations should take a stand:

United Nations Women (UN Women)

Human Rights Watch (HRW)

 

Amnesty International

The International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH)

The Global Fund for Women

 

The African Women’s Development and Communication Network (FEMNET)

Nigeria’s National Human Rights Commission (NHRC)

The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights

 

These leaders treat Nigeria as their personal playground, unchallenged because they have the police and judiciary under fear and compromise. The institutional corruption that enables them must be dismantled, and they must be held to account by both local and global legal frameworks.

Who is the Real Victim?

Senate President Akpabio and his allies may claim to be traumatized, but the real question is: who holds the power and who is actually suffering the consequences? The victim here is not the man who has access to unlimited political resources and media control—it is the woman who has been silenced, vilified, and excluded from the legislative process for daring to speak her truth.

 

If justice is to be served, Akpoti-Uduaghan must be reinstated, her allegations must be investigated with transparency, and the Nigerian Senate must be held accountable for its systemic oppression of women in governance. Until then, this remains a glaring example of how power protects itself at the expense of truth, justice, and democracy.

 

The Nigerian Senate, a crucial pillar of democracy, stands at a crossroads. Once a revered institution, the Senate finds itself at the centre of a crisis threatening its legitimacy and reputation. The ongoing crisis culminating in the suspension of Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is not just about her or Senate President Godswill Akpabio—it is about the integrity of the Senate itself. The Senate, which should serve as a beacon of democracy and a voice for the people, is increasingly being perceived as a self-serving institution that adds no value to the life of the average Nigerian. The arc of public opinion on the Senate has reached an all-time low. No matter the divide on this matter, the common ground is that Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan’s saga is a dent on the reputation and stature of the Nigerian Senate.

The consequences of this growing distrust are dire. A democracy without a credible legislature is a failing one. If this trend continues, the Senate will lose not only its authority but also its aura, clout, respect, and relevance in the Nigerian democratic system. This could lead to a vacuum in the governance structure, potentially paving the way for a constitutional crisis. It is imperative that lawmakers recognise the damage a reputational crisis could do and take immediate steps to restore the sanctity of this institution.

As a former legislator, I understand the role of a presiding officer in allocating and reassigning seats based on legislative tradition. On this count, Senator Natasha Akpoti overreached herself and may have lessons in composure and understanding rules. On the issue of her suspension for six months, the Akpabio-led Senate danced to the wrong tune and ended up losing the deal. I concede to the Senate its right to use its duly constituted committees to ensure discipline. However, Natasha’s rights of fair hearing must be balanced against the entitlement of the Senate to order and discipline. There are many things wrong with both the suspension and the Senate’s approach to the issues that leave that institution vulnerable, and I will highlight a few.

Due to legislative breaks, weekends, and recesses, she could be out of the chamber for almost a year, although suspended for 6 months, leaving the people of Kogi Central without representation. This not only undermines the democratic rights of the people but also hampers their ability to address local issues and concerns. According to the National Assembly website, each senator represents an average of 1.5 to 2 million Nigerians. This means that millions of citizens effectively have no representation. Another issue that the manner of her suspension has thrown up is the Senate’s increasing tendency to suppress dissent and operate without transparency. The Senate is both a public and a democratic institution. 

However, the way the Senate has handled the issue of sexual harassment allegations against its president raises serious concerns. Such allegations must be taken seriously and appropriately investigated, yet the Senate appears more focused on silencing the accuser than addressing the claims. A 2021 report by the National Bureau of Statistics indicates that 30% of Nigerian women have experienced sexual harassment in workplaces and institutions. Ignoring such an accusation at the highest level of governance sets a dangerous precedent.

It is true that Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan had previously benefitted from Senate President Akpabio’s liberal disposition when she was appointed Chair of the Senate Committee on Local Content. Yet, the way the sexual harassment allegations have been handled suggests an institution that does not take its moral standing and reputation seriously. The institution’s approach to this issue shows a troubling disregard for fairness and transparency.

Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan was suspended without a fair hearing. She did not appear before the ethics committee because of subsisting court order. This matter was already in court. The Senate should have respected the judicial process instead of preempting its outcome. Acknowledged, the Legislative Houses (Powers and Privileges) Act 2018 outlaws the courts interfering in internal legislative processes; the Senate ought to approach the court and do the right thing. Whereas some argue that legislative matters are beyond judicial interference, precedent shows otherwise.

The Supreme Court had previously halted legislative processes during a constitutional amendment, proving that the judiciary has a role in ensuring constitutional compliance. Past rulings have shown that the courts can intervene in legislative matters, yet the Senate proceeded without regard for judicial authority. According to a 2018 report by the Centre for Democracy and Development, Nigeria has a history of executive, legislative, and judicial overreach and rascality that has significantly weakened public trust in governance.

This saga takes us back to the constitutional question, does any legislative house under our current constitution has the power to suspend an elected member for any duration without going against the spirit and letter of our constitution. It is evident that the Senate lacks the constitutional authority to suspend a senator for six months. As previous court rulings have reaffirmed, the Senate’s internal rules cannot override constitutional provisions. 

In 2017, the Federal High Court ruled that the suspension of Senator Ali Ndume for 90 days was unconstitutional. The court ordered his reinstatement and the payment of all outstanding salaries. In 2018, the Federal High Court also nullified the suspension of Senator Omo-Agege, ruling that the Senate could not suspend a member beyond 14 days. These precedents show that the Senate’s decision to suspend Akpoti-Uduaghan for six months is unconstitutional and will likely be overturned if challenged in court.

It is unacceptable that Senate President Akpabio, who is accused of sexual harassment, presided over the suspension of his accuser. This is a fundamental violation of legal ethics—no one should be a judge in their own case. Senator Akpabio should have recused himself to ensure fairness. There is a precedent in this regard: Senator Bukola Saraki, during the 8th Senate, was accused of nonpayment of customs duty on a bulletproof official car he imported. SP Bukola Saraki stepped aside and allowed his deputy to preside over his investigation. Senator Akpabio was in the Senate at the time and should have taken a cue. 

The Senate, in this instance, has demonstrated an alarming lack of openness. The Ethics and Privileges Committee should have conducted its proceedings publicly to maintain credibility. Instead, the Senate moved forward with a suspension that appears politically motivated and legally unsound.

The Senate’s refusal to properly investigate the allegations against its president sends a dangerous message: that sexual harassment claims can be dismissed with political manoeuvring. This is a grave injustice that damages the Senate’s reputation. One wonders how the Senate Committee on Ethics, Privileges, and Public Petitions suddenly becomes so efficient and fast in dispensing punishment to Senator Natasha in this case when it usually is sluggish in dealing with the many petitions and cases before it. This smack of a hatchet job and it does not help the public standing of the Senate.

It is unfortunate that the Senate has conducted its affairs opaquely for a matter that has come to the public’s attention. The Senate’s lack of transparency in this matter is a clear indication of the need for openness and honesty in governance. For the Senate to ignore and sweep under the carpet the issue of sexual harassment is a disservice to the President of the Senate and the institution.

Mr. Senate president can show he has power by suspending Senator Natasha, but it is not a cure for such a serious allegation. The best the Senate can do is to conduct a proper investigation on the issue and come out with a clean bill of health. The Senate must understand that the Nigerian public wants transparency and full disclosure of all the problems. It is not a private matter. Sexual harassment is a serious accusation and cannot be dismissed as trivial as the Senate did. It’s a dark spot on the reputation of the Senate. It is also not acceptable in a democracy.

The suspension of a senator without due process creates a dangerous precedent. If allowed to stand, this decision could pave the way for further suppression of dissenting voices, weakening democracy in Nigeria. The Nigerian Senate is already struggling with negative public perception. This incident further erodes confidence in its ability to act as a “check and balance” on the other arms of government.  

The Senate must acknowledge its overreach on the Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan matter. The Nigerian public demands accountability. It is common sense to recognise that the Senate is at risk of permanent reputational damage.  A Senate with sullied reputation does no one or the country any good. If it continues to prioritise power plays over democratic principles, it will lose whatever legitimacy and respect it still holds and enjoys. To save itself, the Senate must return to the principles of integrity, fairness, openess and constitutional adherence. The Nigerian people deserve a legislative body that upholds justice, fairness, and transparency, not one that operates in secrecy and impunity. The future of Nigerian democracy depends on it. 

A major political milestone, the June 12, 1993 presidential election which has led to ‘Democracy Day’ in Nigeria, might not have occurred. That is if five years earlier some personnel of the Nigeria Air Force Base in Lagos had succeeded in murdering the eventual winner of that election, Chief Moshood Kashimawo Abiola.

Abiola, then regarded as the richest man in the country, was extremely powerful with personal friends like then head of the military junta, General Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida. But despite these and his immense international status, Abiola in the eyes of the military was no more than a ‘ bloody civilian’ as some soldiers derogatorily refer to non-military personnel.

His near-death encounter was on Monday, January 25, 1988, right inside his palatial home. That day some soldiers had gone on rampage in Lagos over a traffic accident. In the ensuring commotion, Ayodeji Abiola, Chief Abiola’s second son, had a minor traffic accident with a vehicle driven by Air Force Corporal M. Danjuma. Apparently, this issue was not properly resolved before Abiola’s son left the scene.

The Air Force personnel trailed the latter to his father’s house, and armed reinforcements were brought who opened fire. One of the bullets narrowly missed Chief Abiola. The business mogul took the matter up with the military authorities.

Air Vice Marshall Nura Imam who was the Air Officer Commanding, Logistics Command, Ikeja and a member of the then Armed Forces Ruling Council, waved off the incident as a non-issue. The media reported him as saying that Abiola should know that the Air Force personnel were “mad dogs”.

On Thursday, March 6, 2025, that is 37 years after the Abiola incidence, gallant officers and men from the same barracks, now named Sam Ethnan Barracks, were on similar operational duties in Lagos.

The enemies identified were not terrorists, bandits, kidnappers or even criminals. The targets were the management and staff of the Ikeja Electricity Distribution Company. The two enemy locations were the company’s corporate headquarters in Ikeja and its Oshodi Business Unit Office.

The NAF assault team allegedly led by a woman, was conveyed in a military truck, two OP-MESA vehicles, and other vehicles.

They condoned off the roads leading to the headquarters, scaled the fence and, commenced their operation which lasted one and a half hours. One of the staff, Michael Sani, was approaching the gate when he noticed something was amiss. He ran into the police station nearby; the NAF commandos entered the station, seized and brought him into the premises.

The first group the military contingent encountered were journalists in a bus parked in the premises who were scheduled to attend a solar unveiling project in Adiyan, Ogun State. This fortuitous presence of journalists obliged the public first-hand accounts of the military operation.

Some of the journalists were swiftly captured and their ‘dangerous weapons’ such as mobile phones, tripod, memory card and power bank, were confiscated . These prisoners of war, POWs, were told they were liable to being shot if they uttered a word.

It did not matter if these were journalists on routine duty or whether some of the victims were just customers of the company. As Babangida wrote in his journey in self-service memoirs: “In the military mind-set, there are only two types of people: enemies or friends. Our political opponents were, therefore, primarily ‘enemy forces’ before they were fellow Nigerians.” To the Air Force fighters, they were on enemy territory; so, all souls found therein were enemies and had to be treated as such.

It is not for nothing that when the Nigerian military enters a town, whether it is Odi, Zaki-Biam, Ugep or Okuoma, living things in them are regarded as enemies and, therefore, legitimate targets.

In the Lagos operation, the air men destroyed property, including CCTV cameras, computers and electricity equipment.

The staff and civilians captured, who included women, said they were so badly beaten with plastic rods that they could not even stand up. Some were repeatedly trampled upon with military boots as they laid unarmed on the ground. The captured electricity staff were taken to the NAF military base in Oshodi where they were tortured in the open field under the hot sun.

The NAF team apparently had no respect for the Geneva Convention on the rights and protection of POWs from physical and mental torture. The NAF troops also ‘liberated’ the money in the pockets of their adversaries and made a cache of mobile phones which might have been ‘privatised’.

The cause of this conflict was the disconnection of the barracks from power supply for allegedly being indebted to the tune of N4.3 billion. The barracks gave the electricity company 48 hours within which to restore power which the latter failed to do.

Rather than resort to legal or constitutional means, the NAF commanders took matters into their hands leading to the invasion. It is clear that despite 25 years of civil rule, many in the military still have the mentality that they are superior to civil laws and cannot live by constitutional precepts.

It will be easy to bring the Lagos invaders to book because there are video footages. In any case, since the military is said to be a disciplined force, someone must have given the orders to turn the troops out.

If this government is serious about the rule of law and social justice, it can order the immediate detention, investigation and subsequent trial of those who took part in the lawlessness and criminality.

Also, were we in a disciplined, accountable or civilized country where the rule of law rather than impunity reigns, the Chief of Air Staff, Air Marshall Hassan Bala Abubakar, would have apologised to the country and tendered his resignation.

In the absence of the above, groups and individuals can take up the matter. For instance, the brutalised journalists, the Nigeria Union of Journalists, NUJ, and the Nigerian Guild of Editors, NGE, can ensure justice is done. The brutalised electricity staff, their trade unions can equally take up the case. The Nigeria Labour Congress, NLC, and the Trade Union Congress, TUC, can also back up the NUJ and unions for action that would force the hands of government and ensure that the bullies and torturers from the barracks are brought to justice.

The electricity company itself needs to recover its losses by making the Sam Ethnan Barracks pay for damages. I am sure if it picks up the courage to do so, there will be many lawyers willing to offer their services.

We cannot hope to build a nation where peace and justice reign if we do not have the courage to rein in people imbued with a sense of entitlement and immunity from criminal liability.

 

 

One very well reasoned appointment into a very critical government department in recent years, is bound to be the “conscription” of Sonny Togo Echono to the leadership of the Tertiary Education Trust Fund, (TETFUND). The last five years of his most eventful public service career were spent as Permanent Secretary in the Federal Ministry of Education. On a daily basis, he engaged with Vice Chancellors, Rectors and Provosts of Universities, Polytechnics and Colleges of Education, owned by the federal government. Added together, we are speaking here of well over 100 such institutions, with the federal government hosting this tripod of institutions, universities, polytechnics and colleges of education, in most of the 36 states and the Federal Capital Territory, (FCT). Echono’s office distilled the needs of these citadels of knowledge and activated the bureaucracy of the ministry to tend to their operational requirements.

Following his retirement from service early 2022, Echono momentarily reclined into his couch to savour desired rest and rejuvenation after a racy and most eventful career. Before his last port of call in the Federal Ministry of Education, Echono’s career which began as an architect with the Federal Ministry of Works and Housing in 1987, had taken him through several key Ministries, Departments and Agencies, (MDAs), availing him multisectoral experiential rootedness across the public service. He had served variously in the Budget Monitoring and Price Intelligence Unit, (BMPIU), and the ministries of Defence; Water Resources; Environment; Agriculture and Power. He had therefore planned to shuttle between his address in Nigeria’s capital city and his countryside abode in the Idoma heartland in Benue State, which he cherishes dearly.

Duty, however, beckoned within weeks of his retirement. Echono, seasoned architect, experienced public servant, consummate patriot, was appointed Executive Secretary of TETFUND. He formally assumed office on March 18, 2022. The scheme was established by the federal government in 2011, with the primary responsibility of disbursing, managing and monitoring the deployment of education tax remitted to government-owned tertiary institutions in Nigeria. Public tertiary institutions were hitherto poorly funded. This situation, expectedly, had very negative impact on knowledge dissemination, periodically engendering unrest in the institutions. TETFUND is supervised by the Federal Ministry of Education, Echono’s last official post. This naturally has ensured smooth and seamless collaboration between the parent ministry and its parastatal, since the onset of the Echono dispensation.

Three years into his five-year stewardship, Echono continues to chalk up milestones for the organisation. It was not going to be “business as usual” under his watch so he began with desirable “housekeeping” by addressing the work ethic in TETFUND. Previously perceived as a “cash cow,” entrenched interests had constituted themselves into a cabal which determined the award of contracts to predetermined interests. There were also murmurs and talks about stealing and underhand dealings which cast the organisation in bad light in the public sphere. Steeped and stewed in the ethos of due process and public procurement, Echono moved speedily to bring his imprimatur to bear on the workings of the organisation. He has since striven, gradually and unobtrusively, to straighten the administration of TETFUND and realign its operations with its core mandate.

 

Such revolutionary novelties in an organisation previously steeped and stuck in its ways were not going to make new friends for Echono. Fifth columnists in the system and their external collaborators, periodically engineered phoney petitions to anti-graft agencies, notably the Independent Corrupt Practices and Related Offences Commission, (ICPC). They equally generated submissions to the nation’s parliament contending in one particular instance, that an accumulated allocation of over N2 Trillion to TETFUND over the years, could not be accounted for! The ever calm Echono has always responded to such claims and invitations to clarify the issues with impeccable documents and records. These have serially deflated the schemes and mischief of faceless rabble rousers.

Sonny Echono’s regime has brought a fresh air of activism into the endeavours of TETFUND. The federal government has also continued to reaffirm its faith in the establishment via regular upward reviews of its budgetary allocations. TETFUND continues to renew, or open fresh, possibilities for collaboration between it and a plethora of organisations. Callers at the Abuja headquarters of the organisation over time, have included the Senate and House Committees on Tertiary Institutions. Governor Ademola Adeleke of Osun State and his Cross River State counterpart, Bassey Otu, have also visited TETFUND seeking partnership. Nigeria’s Chief of Defence Staff, (CDS), General Christopher Gwabin Musa has also been a guest of Echono’s TETFUND. Musa exercises oversight over the Nigerian army, navy and airforce. Over the years, the military has continued to reinvent its training institutions many of which are degree awarding citadels today. Musa believes there are areas of potential cooperation between the military and TETFUND, and has begun a conversation around this. The Federal Road Safety Corps, (FRSC), recently followed the precedence of the military, when its Corps Marshal, Shehu Mohammed, led a team to TETFUND. The FRSC canvassed support for its training institutions to enhance the capacity and professionalism of road safety personnel across the country.

Simultaneously, Echono is regularly on the road with his own officials, knocking on doors of MDAs whose partnership can strengthen the enterprise of TETFUND. Among several others, he has in recent months, led delegations to the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, (EFCC), and the Nigerian Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative, (NEITI). Echono is equally a much sought-after speaker these days at university convocation lectures and similar public engagements. These have availed him the platform to address burning issues in Nigeria’s all-important educational sector. Echono’s Convocation Lecture at the Federal University of Technology, (FUTO), Owerri, Imo State, last December, was titled *Impact of Leadership Selection on Governance in Public Universities in Nigeria.* At a similar event at the Olabisi Onabanjo University, (OOU), Ago-Iwoye, Ogun State last January, Echono spoke on *TETFUND and Educational Development in Nigeria: The History, the Treasures and the Future.*

 

Echono addressed the subject *University Autonomy and the Challenge of Quality Tertiary Education in Nigeria,* at the Convocation ceremony of the Federal University Oye-Ekiti, Ekiti State, in February. He has deployed these speaking opportunities to address issues of inadequate funding in tertiary institutions, and to restate the imperative of the payment of tuition fees in public universities. This, he has regularly maintained is crucial to support that critical level of the educational hierarchy. Echono has canvassed synergy between institutions in the areas of research, innovation, alumni obligations and student exchange to broaden the worldview of young scholars. He has equally admonished on the inescapability of full autonomy in public universities, if educational standards must improve and be sustained. The acquisition of quality literacy never comes cheap, he has consistently maintained.

Elsewhere, Echono has decried the penchant of many Nigerians who were sponsored abroad on public resources, but refusing to return home to contribute to national development. Many such nationals opt to stay back in foreign lands, against the spirit of their scholarships. Echono regards this as a dimension of the pervading *japa* syndrome, the abscondment abroad of Nigerians fleeing excruciating socioeconomic conditions at home. Last November, TETFUND under Echono stopped government funding for intending foreign students. This should mitigate the double-sided loss of the country’s fiscal and human resources, respectively. At an August 2024 *Conference on Digital Pedagogy and Fundable Research Writing,* Echono criticised the arbitrary upgrading of Colleges of Education into Universities of Education, by governments at various levels. His contention is that the country remains in short supply of teachers and instructors at the foundational level of education.

Sonny Echono has also criticised the continuing politicisation and corruption inherent in the appointment of Vice Chancellors in Nigerian universities. In one of his public presentations, he abhorred political interference and financial inducement in leadership selection processes in our universities. These factors he observed are combining to erode the sanctity of the hallowed university system. Echono expressed worry about the fact that competition for appointment into principal offices in universities has become a lucrative venture which has made members of governing councils prone to fiscal inducement. Echono has received several awards through the years including that of the national honour of *Officer of the Order of the Niger, (OON).* He has demonstrably distinguished himself beyond the the half line of his present assignment. He can be trusted and should be continually supported to consolidate on his legacies in the years to come.

Olusunle, PhD, Fellow of the Association of Nigerian Authors, (FANA), is an Adjunct Professor of Creative Writing at the University of Abuja