When, oh when, will Nigerians be spared the sanctimonious shrieking of activists-turned-fiction-writers who confuse court summons with crucifixion—and who, with stunning audacity, assume the rest of us are as gullible as their echo chamber of G&H followers?
Let’s start with those pesky little things called facts—the first casualties whenever Twitter theologians masquerade as constitutional scholars.
Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is not on trial for “crying for justice.” She is in court to answer for criminal defamation—a prosecutable offence in every functioning democracy from the United Kingdom to the United States. Her accusers are not offended by her femininity but by her felony-level fabrications, including televised accusations that a sitting Senate President conspired to assassinate her and harvest human organs. Yes—murder and mutilation. If that sounds like the script of a bad Nollywood film, it’s because that’s precisely where it belongs.
Yet in your teary-eyed production of “Natasha: The People’s Saint,” you conveniently forget that there is no sexual harassment case anywhere in any Nigerian court—not by Natasha, not by anyone, not even by proxy. So pray tell: what “independent investigation” is the Senate President allegedly running from? The one that exists in your activist hallucinations?
Then there’s the infamous “10 truckloads of police officers.” How convenient that in a country where even market women own smartphones, not one blurry image emerged of this blockbuster siege. Perhaps you were experiencing an acute episode of Acquired Gullibility Syndrome (AGS)—an ailment that renders its host immune to evidence and allergic to reality. It’s forgivable. After all, even the Bible says:“The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked: who can know it?” (Jeremiah 17:9).
You moan that Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan “was not informed” of a new court date. That’s rich. The law, dear Oby, does not operate by mood swings or courtesy calls. If you accuse someone of a felony on live television, and the authorities respond with charges, you don’t get to choose the venue, date, or lighting. That’s not persecution. It’s prosecution. It’s also called due process—a concept you might have encountered had you passed Civics.
And now, you solemnly declare with infantile hubris: “This saga is #BeyondSenatorNatasha.” Oh, spare us the delusion. This is not Mandela behind bars. This is not Rosa Parks. This is a politician with a megaphone and a problematic relationship with truth, finally being asked to do something revolutionary: prove her claims in a court of law, rather than on Instagram Live.
To compare this episode to the tough times Nigerians are battling through is not just dishonest—it’s obscene. Millions of Nigerians are not waiting for Natasha’s court updates. They’re navigating the challenges facing the country. If you hear footsteps behind Natasha, it’s not a national movement. It’s the bailiff. Going forward, Nigerians are more concerned with voting for Senators who would not fight over seats, camera angles, foreign trips, and committee headship.
So yes—let the courts proceed. Let the evidence speak. Let Natasha defend her accusations with the same theatrical energy she used to air them. And please, for the love of reason, stop rebranding every legal consequence as tyranny. Not every courtroom is a concentration camp, and not every summons is a political vendetta. Natasha should be happy to have her day in court to proof her claims – not run from the opportunity and cry about it.
If you skipped Government class or slept through Social Studies, it’s not too late. Register with WAEC, write the exam, and join the rest of us in the grown-up world where evidence—not emotion—is the standard of justice.
Some of us still believe in the rule of law. Not the rule of hashtags.
• #HashtagActivismIsNotJustice
• #AcquiredGullibilitySyndrome
• #NollywoodNotNationalAssembly
