In the hallowed chambers of Geneva’s Palais des Nations, where eloquent words often dissolve into the ether of diplomatic niceties, a different sound recently reverberated. It was not the polished, forgettable prose of a run-of-the-mill speech. It was a tremor, a rhetorical earthquake, set off by Nigeria’s Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, at the World Conference of Speakers. His was not a mere address; it was a testament forged in the very furnace of national trials. An old African adage whispers that “the tree with the deepest roots is the one that laughs at the storm”. Akpabio, his own roots sunk deep into the resilient Nigerian soil, stood tall and spoke to a world teetering on the brink.
He offered no platitudes, no saccharine condolences for the globe’s myriad afflictions. Instead, he presented a narrative of steel, a testament to the idea that true mettle is not shaped in tranquil waters but in the turbulent churn of adversity. “I come from a nation that has endured fire and risen from ashes,” his voice, freighted with the gravitas of lived experience, sliced through the sterile diplomatic air. This was no jeremiad, but a warrior’s declaration. “We are not defined by what we face, but by how we rise.” And Nigeria, as he articulated, has been a nation in a perpetual state of rising, its legislature not ensconced in ivory towers but operating from the eye of the hurricane.
Consider the Terrorism Prevention Act and the Control of Small Arms Act. These are not mere legislative documents; they are shields hammered out on the anvil of existential threats, forged to protect the flickering flame of a nation’s soul. Yet, Akpabio, a leader with a poet’s sensibility, understands that a nation’s security is not founded on arms alone, but on the fertile ground of hope. This is the philosophy that breathes life into the Out-of-School Children Education Act, a legislative lifeline pulling millions from the desolate shadows of ignorance into the incandescent light of knowledge. “We legislate in the storm, reform in the furnace, and lead with courage,” he intoned, the rhythm of his words echoing the resilient heartbeat of a nation that refuses to buckle.
This is the sort of leadership that perceives diamonds in what others dismiss as dust. While the global commentariat wrings its hands over a “youth bulge,” Akpabio and his colleagues in the Nigerian legislature see a “lifeline, not a liability.” The Start-Up Act and the National Digital Strategy are not mere policies; they are master keys, forged in the legislative furnace to unlock the immense potential of a generation long constrained by circumstance. They are about unleashing credit, training, and opportunity. And at the core of this vision is inclusion, an unshakeable foundation. The Not Too Young To Run Act was not just about opening doors; it was about demolishing them. Proposed gender quotas are a determined effort to move women’s voices from the periphery to the roaring center of national discourse. “Inclusion, not exclusion, must be our standard,” Akpabio asserted, a simple yet profound creed. Nigeria, under this legislative dispensation, is not merely talking the talk; it is meticulously laying the bricks of a more equitable future.
But Akpabio’s vision, much like that of a seasoned statesman, extended far beyond Nigeria’s borders. To a fractured and often rudderless world, he threw down a gauntlet, his challenge echoing off the marble walls of the Geneva hall: “Multilateralism must not become rhetoric. It must rise as a movement of resolve.” He called for a paradigm shift, urging parliaments to transform from passive conveners into proactive “peace architects” who “command, not just convene.” He laid out his pillars with an unvarnished urgency. Solutions, he argued, must be homegrown, blooming from local soil like Nigeria’s regional security summits, where intelligence is gathered from the ground, not from sterile policy documents. The Sustainable Development Goals? They must be treated as “binding legislative contracts,” not as a menu of polite suggestions. Nigeria’s own tax reforms, cash transfers, and education loans are, in this vein, promises etched in the hard currency of action, not the fleeting currency of ink.
Then came the core of his message, a truth as resonant and primal as a drumbeat: “When one corner of humanity is torn… the whole fabric is weakened.” The specters of climate chaos, illicit arms flows, and youth despair are monsters that mock our man-made borders. The late scholar Ali Mazrui once dreamt of a Pax Africana, a peace secured by Africans for Africans. Akpabio, in his Geneva address, seemed to be calling for its global corollary, urging the world to “bind our futures not only in treaties but in tenacity.” Our fates, he reminded the assembly, are inextricably interwoven.
This was more than just a display of statesmanship; it was a clarion call. Nigeria, with Akpabio as the helmsman of its legislature, is not just seeking a seat at the global table; it is helping to set the agenda. He emerged as a thought leader for the Global South, speaking hard truths with an unwavering grace, demanding justice, challenging the toxic flow of arms and resources, and insisting that the marginalized be heard, not merely acknowledged. The symbolism of the moment was potent. Nigeria’s return to the core of the Inter-Parliamentary Union after a long hiatus, with Akpabio helping to shape its future, cemented his status as a statesman of consequence, a leader whose local roots nourish his global reach.
As his final words hung in the charged air, a question lingered, unspoken but palpable: Does the world possess the same courage that Akpabio so powerfully embodied? Or will it remain, as he cautioned, a world of “scribes of the status quo”?
For Nigeria, the path forward is clear, forged in the crucible of its own challenges. In the storm, in the furnace, it is leading with courage. Godswill Akpabio did not just deliver a speech in Geneva. He ignited a beacon, its roots deep, its flame burning bright. The world is watching. This is the leadership that our turbulent times demand.
