By Lesley Agams
In Nigeria, power is rarely neutral. It is transactional, gendered, and deeply personal. To understand how it works is to understand why so many women — from actresses and wives to senators — find themselves crushed between the gears of a system that was never built to protect them.
Whether in politics, marriage, or law, the concentration of economic and political power in the hands of a few tile wealthy men has created a machine that punishes dissent and rewards silence. Power becomes an instrument of male power when economic and political capital shape outcomes more than evidence or rights.
Nowhere is this more visible right now than in the story of Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan — a woman who dared to call out the most powerful man in the Senate, and paid for it.
The Cult of the Senate
When Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan described the Nigerian Senate as being “like a cult,” she wasn’t exaggerating. She was naming a structure that enforces obedience through rituals of silence, hierarchy, and loyalty to male authority.
In March 2025, Akpoti-Uduaghan alleged that Senate President Godswill Akpabio made sexual advances toward her during a visit to his home. When she refused, she says, she was humiliated — her seat moved, her committee reassigned, and finally, she was suspended for six months.
The Senate’s Committee on Ethics and Privileges refused to even hear her complaint. Its reason? She could not file a petition on her own behalf.
“Dead on arrival,” they said.
It was a stunning example of how institutional rules become weapons. The Senate invoked its own standing orders — rules ostensibly designed to preserve decorum — to silence a woman accusing its leader of misconduct.
The result was not justice. It was ritual expulsion — the system closing ranks to protect its patriarch.
Mapping the Power Structure
Understanding why Akpoti-Uduaghan was punished requires looking beyond personalities. The structure itself is the problem.
| Power Holder | Type of Power | Effect |
|---|---|---|
| Godswill Akpabio | Senate President; political godfather; wealthy ex-governor | Controls committee assignments, media narrative, Senate discipline |
| Senate Ethics Committee | Procedural gatekeepers | Determine which petitions can be heard — effectively the Senate’s immune system against internal scandal |
| Ruling Party (APC) | Political machine | Protects leadership unity, especially before elections |
| Media Allies | Narrative amplifiers | Frame dissent as “misconduct” or “distraction” |
| Police/Judiciary | Institutional enforcers | Historically deferential to political hierarchy; limited independence |
This pyramid of power functions less like a democratic institution and more like a brotherhood — one that rewards conformity and punishes exposure.
When Akpoti-Uduaghan called it a “cult,” she revealed its core truth: the Nigerian state often behaves like a fraternity, guarding its own secrets and punishing outsiders who break omertà.
When Bureaucracy Becomes a Weapon
To the untrained eye, Akpoti-Uduaghan’s suspension might appear procedural — a disciplinary measure within the Senate’s authority. But in context, it was an act of institutional retaliation.
The technical grounds used — that she “petitioned herself” — are bureaucratic sleight of hand. They allow those in power to claim legality while denying justice. Bureaucracy becomes the perfect weapon because it hides violence under paperwork.
She was suspended not for lying, but for speaking. Not for misconduct, but for insubordination. The message was clear: institutions are male domains, and women may participate only if they obey their boundaries.
Systemic Disempowerment and the Absence of Exit
Akpoti-Uduaghan’s ordeal exposes a brutal paradox: even women who have “made it” — educated, elected, respected — remain vulnerable. Power in Nigeria does not democratize easily; it reproduces itself through networks of allegiance, money, and gender.
In that system, there are no viable exit routes for women.
- To leave is to lose influence.
- To stay is to endure humiliation.
- To fight is to be ostracized.
This is systemic disempowerment — not through overt violence, but through the slow suffocation of one’s autonomy.
Parallels Across Women’s Lives
Akpoti-Uduaghan’s experience is not an anomaly; it is part of a pattern.
- Regina Daniels, once celebrated for marrying into wealth, became a public spectacle — her youth commodified, her autonomy questioned.
- Precious Chikwendu faced institutional silencing in her custody battle with a politically connected ex-husband, discovering that the law bends toward power, not fairness.
- Chioma Okoli, the consumer who reviewed Erisco tomato paste, found herself arrested, charged under cybercrime laws, and dragged across state lines — for a Facebook post.
Each woman, in her own arena, confronted the same reality: the state itself can act as the abuser — deploying bureaucracy, police power, or moral panic to protect its male elite.
Language, Persuasion, and Power
Language is the Senate’s real currency. Notice how the narrative was managed:
- Akpoti-Uduaghan was framed as “disruptive” — a word that codes feminine assertiveness as danger.
- Her petition was “dead on arrival” — bureaucratic language masking institutional death.
- The Senate claimed “decorum” — a moral appeal to order that silences women by invoking respectability.
This is how language becomes architecture — building invisible walls that keep women out of power even when they hold office.
Akpoti-Uduaghan’s defiance — calling the Senate a “cult” — broke through that linguistic armour. It reframed the story from “misconduct” to “abuse of power.” Her words became her weapon, but also her sentence.
Exit Feminism: Redefining Power on Women’s Terms
Procedural reforms alone will not liberate women from this machine. Rules are written by those who benefit from them. Real change will come through exit — the strategic withdrawal from systems that thrive on coercion.
Economic Exit:
Women must build wealth that is independent of political and marital structures. Financial autonomy is the first shield against coercion.
Narrative Exit:
We must name what is happening — without apology. Storytelling is not just resistance; it is reclamation of the public sphere. When women narrate their truth, they redefine legitimacy.
Institutional Exit:
When the state becomes an abuser, alternative institutions must emerge — women-led think tanks, advocacy networks, and justice cooperatives that bypass patriarchal gatekeepers.
Cultural Exit:
Reject the myth that respectability equals safety. The system does not reward obedience; it exploits it. Safety lies not in conformity but in solidarity.
Conclusion: The Price of Truth
When the state behaves like a cult, truth-telling becomes rebellion.
When bureaucracy becomes a weapon, due process becomes a cage.
When women like Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan speak out, they remind us that silence is the real scandal.
The path to justice in Nigeria will not come from begging power for reform. It will come from exit — from building parallel systems of wealth, law, and voice that render the old hierarchies obsolete.
Until women can define power on their own terms, every institution — from the Senate to the family — will remain, in Natasha’s words, “a cult.”
MzAgams 