Temitayo Olumofe
It was early morning in Abuja, the city already simmering with heat and anticipation. For Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, that day, Tuesday, July 22, 2025, was supposed to be a victory, a return to lawmaking duties after a Federal High Court declared her six-month suspension from the Senate unjust. Instead, she was blocked at the gates of the National Assembly, facing not just security barriers but the invisible walls of institutional rivalry and constitutional uncertainty.
As journalists and supporters watched, Natasha attempted to walk past the barricades, holding a court judgment she believed reinstated her rights. She declared to those around her, “Akpabio cannot be greater than the Nigerian Constitution. I want Nigerians to know that the office of the Senate President doesn’t give me legitimacy as a senator. The fact that he has done an appeal does not invalidate the decision of Justice Binta Nyako, and that does not stop me from being a senator. I earned my legitimacy as a senator from the people of Kogi, who voted to elect me to office as senator. But the door, both literal and symbolic, stayed shut.”
The saga of Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan is not simply one person’s struggle against authority. It casts a glaring light on Nigeria’s fragile democratic architecture: how should institutions cooperate or confront each other when the law itself seems on trial?
Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s absence from the Senate chamber was never meant to last. In March 2025, she was handed a six-month suspension for what colleagues described as gross misconduct following an altercation with Senate President Godswill Akpabio. The suspension followed months of friction, her outspoken criticism of alleged corruption, and her open challenge to Senate leadership’s treatment of women.
On July 5, 2025, the Federal High Court in Abuja, presided over by Justice Binta Nyako, delivered a judgment that appeared to end Natasha’s suspension. The ruling declared her ban “excessive” and ordered her reinstatement, stating that the constituents of Kogi Central deserved representation. The decision came after a tense period when Akpoti-Uduaghan was not only suspended but also removed as chair of the Senate Committee on Diaspora and NGOs.
She addressed the press:
“The only thing I am guilty of is denouncing the injustices of which I am a victim.”
Yet, despite the apparent clarity of the judgment, controversy erupted over whether the court had the authority to direct the Senate in this matter. Senate spokesperson Yemi Adaramodu described the court’s order as “not a binding order but merely an advisory for Senate leadership, who may choose to follow it or not”. He told reporters that Natasha’s move to return was “skit-making,” a political performance rather than a legal right.
Further complicating matters, some legal analysts noted that while the court condemned the suspension as excessive, its language was open to interpretation. Did Justice Nyako explicitly “order” her recall, or did the judgment merely point out constitutional flaws in the Senate’s actions?
Yet, in a curious twist, Justice Nyako proceeded to examine the case in detail and issued observations that imply the Senate should comply with certain directives.
When Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan arrived at the National Assembly on July 22, she did so emboldened by the court’s words, but Senate leadership had different plans. The gates to the complex were tightly guarded. Security officers, acting on direct instructions, turned the senator away, refusing her entry despite the judgment she brought with her.
Senator Natasha’s reaction was both frustrated and defiant:
“That I’ve been denied entrance to the National Assembly is a statement being made. It’s on record that the National Assembly under Akpabio has decided to be in contempt of a court decision, and it’s quite ironic that they are lawmakers. That poses the question: how far is our democracy in this day and age?”
Outside the gates, her supporters grew restless. Yet, the Senate doubled down on its position. Not only was the court order dismissed as advisory, but leadership argued that Natasha herself had violated Senate rules by discussing her case in public and failing to pay a related fine. Senate President Akpabio has since appealed the court’s decision, insisting that the judiciary cannot direct or interfere in parliamentary business, echoing a long-standing debate over the separation of powers.
Some legal practitioners and civil society groups have called the Senate’s stance a “dangerous precedent.” As one editorial noted, “The Judiciary should have the power to control the excesses of the other two arms. This can occur when there is strict adherence to the doctrine of the Separation of powers. The salient feature of the doctrine of Separation of Powers is to maintain… political elites”.
The Natasha Akpoti saga is not the first time Nigeria’s institutions have collided. The Nigerian Constitution, under Section 4(8), prohibits the Legislature from passing any law that infringes on the statutory authority of the courts. The principle of “constitutional supremacy” dictates that the Constitution is binding on all arms of government and must, above all else, guide their actions.
The most recent National Assembly action has reignited debate about the state of Nigeria’s democracy. Not only does it highlight the ongoing struggle for institutional accountability, but it also places individual rights and the concept of justice at the center of national conversation.
Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s political career has unfolded in the public eye. Known as an advocate against corruption and for gender equity, her outspokenness has drawn both praise and controversy.
In March 2025, tempers boiled over when Akpoti-Uduaghan accused the Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, of sexual harassment and corruption. This prompted what many observers described as swift “political retaliation”—her suspension was enacted after allegations of rule-breaking and insubordination.
Also, the Federal Government initiated legal proceedings against Natasha under the Cybercrimes Act, accusing her of making defamatory statements against Akpabio and former governor Yahaya Bello. These charges center on public speeches and a television interview in April 2025 in which Natasha accused both men of plotting her assassination:
“Akpabio told Yahaya Bello… that he should make sure that killing me does not happen in Abuja, it should be done here, so it will seem as if it is the people that killed me”.
She pleaded not guilty before a Federal High Court in Abuja, with her lawyers emphasizing that she has never been a flight risk and is entitled to the presumption of innocence. The court granted her bail on July 1, 2025. Yet even as the legal machinery churns, her core battle remains access to her seat in the Senate, a seat that, as she repeated, was granted by “the people of Kogi” and, according to her, cannot be taken away by a unilateral parliamentary move.
Legal professionals and rights organizations have responded sharply to the Senate’s defiance. Many see this as an erosion of judicial authority with potentially grave consequences for accountability and citizens’ rights. “The move has ignited a constitutional uproar and triggered nationwide condemnation, with legal analysts warning of the dangerous precedent it sets for the rule of law and separation of powers,” one report bluntly observed.
Others take a more nuanced view. They point out that friction between the judiciary and the legislature, while problematic, can be a sign of a healthy democracy—a test of checks and balances, provided that one arm does not consistently undermine the other.
After being blocked from the Senate, Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan promised to return to the courts to seek clarification and redress.
“Going forward, I will have a meeting with my legal team so they proceed to the appellate court to seek an interpretation of what just happened. I’m a law-abiding citizen”.
Her next steps could set important precedents. If she wins again in court, will the Senate comply, or will the rift widen? If the judiciary can be openly defied, what prevents the legislature or executive from ignoring future adverse rulings?
Amid these questions, a critical issue emerges: who, in practical terms, is ultimately accountable and to whom?
For now, Nigerians are watching, some with frustration and others with hope, as the three arms of government wrestle over more than just a Senate seat: the meaning of democracy’s rules.
In the end, the Natasha Akpoti saga is far more than a political drama. It represents a test of institutional accountability, the supremacy of the Constitution, and the future of democratic governance in Nigeria.
The events of July and their aftermath will echo for years to come, reminding all actors that the true strength of a democracy lies not in the power of an office or the force of a decree, but in the willingness of institutions and the people who lead them to submit to the rule of law.
As Nigeria considers the aftermath, the stakes could not be higher: whether the doors of governance will open as the Constitution intends, or whether they will remain barred to all but a privileged few.