In Nigerian politics, loyalty is not merely a virtue—it is a double-edged sword, a cross to bear, and sometimes, a noose. A loyal man will either be praised as a committed ally or seen as an obstacle to someone else’s inordinate ambition. In the latter case, such a man must be “removed.”
This appears to be the case in the ongoing saga between Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan and Senate President Godswill Akpabio. Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan, who initially attributed her removal as Chairman of the Local Content Committee to sexual harassment, has now changed her tone—claiming she was sacked for “protecting Northern interests.” When one places this narrative side-by-side with the comments of Bukola Saraki, Atiku Abubakar, the Arewa Consultative Forum, and some other Northern elements, the larger play unfolds. This is not an innocent drama of legislative disagreement. It is a carefully choreographed spectacle—replete with villains, pawns, and shadows.
At the heart of it stands Akpabio—a man accused, maligned, and marked. Not because he has broken any law or committed any proven wrong, but because he has stood firm beside President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. And for that, he must be brought down.
There is, without question, a gathering of dissenters—former aspirants, serial losers at the ballot, political relics whose time has passed, but whose ambitions remain undimmed. They have no national vision to offer, no coherent philosophy to propose—only a festering grievance and a common enemy: the man who defeated them. Their aim is simple: to seize, through subterfuge and scandal, what they could not secure through the sovereign will of the people. And if power cannot be regained, then the next best thing is to make the country ungovernable.
The first phase of this plot is clear— harass and intimidate Akpabio into abandoning his friendly disposition with President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Railroad him into making the Senate antagonistic to the Executive, thus making it impossible for it to deliver democracy dividends, thereby rendering President Tinubu vulnerable as 2027 approaches. In their crosshairs is Akpabio, and Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan appears to be the willing hired gun for the dirty job.
Why Akpabio? Akpabio is perhaps the most visible ally of Tinubu; a formidable defender of the administration due to his belief that the Legislature should cooperate with the Executive to enable it achieve meaningful results. They know that weakening Akpabio loosens the pillars holding up Tinubu’s house. And so, they reach for their weapons—not of war, but of whispers and smear campaigns, sponsored headlines, and strategic falsehoods. Among these, the most visible instrument is Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan—a willing tool for their evil enterprise.
They know that as long as Akpabio remains Senate President, Tinubu’s re-election bid will enjoy solid legislative backing. As Machiavelli put it, “He who guards the throne is more dangerous than he who sits upon it—remove the guardian, and the throne becomes a chair.” Akpabio is a major guardian of the Tinubu throne. Hence, the attacks from all angles.
Pawn in the Political Chess Game
Let us not be beguiled by sentiment. Senator Natasha, in this context, is not a lone voice of justice crying in the wilderness. She is no accidental heroine. She is a pawn in a larger political game—a game devised in the drawing rooms of desperate politicians who, unable to govern Nigeria, now seek to ruin those who do.
The names are not unfamiliar: Atiku Abubakar, Nasir El-Rufai, Peter Obi—the trio of ambition, bitterness, and illusion. They lost the 2023 election, not through fraud or manipulation, but through the expressed will of millions of Nigerians. Yet, rather than accept the verdict of democracy, they now seek to dismantle its very instruments. What better place to strike than the Senate? And what better target than its presiding officer?
This is not speculation. Their recent statements, social media antics, and strategic silences at critical moments reveal their hand. Atiku’s viral, unprovoked attack on Akpabio is no coincidence—it is part of the plan.
Natasha is not a loose cannon; she is a guided missile. The game plan is simple: manufacture crises from the most mundane matters, paint key figures as villains, and set the stage for a grand opposition showdown in 2027. Her sudden outburst in the Senate and carefully choreographed media blitz were the cold open of the movie. Now the sequence has been established, and the opening credits are rolling—featuring Bukola Saraki and company.
From a routine seating arrangement—a mundane legislative procedure—Senator Natasha has now conjured accusations of sexual harassment, threats to life, and elaborate conspiracies. The timing of this remembrance, suddenly arising a year after the alleged incident, is not only convenient; it is calculated. A smokescreen. A decoy. An attempt to stain a man’s name in the court of public opinion, where evidence is no longer required, and accusation is guilt enough.
There’s an old legal maxim: Give a dog a bad name and hang it. That, indeed, is what is unfolding. The Atiku-led clique is directing the movie. The volume of money pumped into this needless campaign to lure international media and embarrass the nation is staggering.
One day, it’s alleged insults. The next, sexual harassment. Tomorrow—who knows? Perhaps they’ll say Akpabio plans to auction Nigeria. The strategy is obvious: manufacture offence, amplify it through a compliant media, and weaponize it for political gain. But Nigerians are growing wiser—and wearier.
Even locally, all these unpatriotic efforts to create global embarrassment have yielded nothing. Nigerians are not fools. They know, as all people of discernment do, that justice cannot be built on lies, and democracy cannot thrive on deceit. The cry for accountability rings hollow when it emerges from a place of partisanship, not principle.
If Senator Natasha were truly pursuing justice, would she be flanked only by those with a declared interest in toppling the administration?
The Art of Giving a Dog a Bad Name
According to the ancient Nigerian proverb: “When an owl hoots in the night and a child dies in the morning, we all know who to suspect.” In this case, it is now clear: Natasha was never a bystander. She was a hired agent provocateur sent to destabilize the Red Chamber.
Before the unsuspecting public, a mere seating issue has now mushroomed into a web of accusations—sexual harassment, assassination plots, and shadowy threats—all conveniently aimed at one man. When we uncover the lies, she changes the script—hoping the audience forgets the plot.
This is a textbook case of “Give a dog a bad name and hang it.” The goal is to destroy Akpabio’s public image. First, he allegedly harassed her. Then, he sidelined her. What next? That he plans to privatize the oxygen Nigerians breathe?
Let us be clear: the Natasha debacle is a scripted drama to paint Akpabio as a villain and a threat to democracy. Ultimately, the goal is to weaken Senate leadership. But Nigerians are not being fooled—and many already see through the charade. History has taught us that in politics, those who cry the loudest often have the most to hide.
This episode is not about justice, democracy, or the protection of women—it is about power. Senator Natasha Akpoti, who has previously accused several men of sexual misconduct, is a well-placed pawn in a political chess game. Akpabio is simply the collateral victim. The true aim is to erode Tinubu’s support base and pave the way for an opposition comeback in 2027.
Those who cannot see this are either naive or willing accomplices in the drama.
If Natasha truly sought justice, she would not wage a media war in harmony with those who lost at the ballot and now hope to win through chaos.
As the Yoruba wisely say, “The rat cannot claim innocence when found near the pot of soup.”
The motives are transparent. The cast is clear. The only question is whether Nigerians will fall for the performance or stay focused on the real issues.
To Senator Akpabio, I say: take heart. The storm may rage, the winds may howl—but the tree with deep roots does not fear the tempest, and the eagle does not flinch at the storm. History is rarely kind to the mob—but it always remembers the man who stood tall when it was easier to fall.
•Dr. Clementina Daika is a Political Communication Strategist based in Plateau State.
