Power Is Not Immunity: House of Reps and Senate Crimes—EFCC, ICPC, This Is the Test You Cannot Afford to Fail -By John Egbeazien Oshodi

Beneath the official rituals and ceremonial airs of Nigeria’s National Assembly lies a disturbing psychological truth: corruption is not an exception—it is the governing pattern. The institution that should symbolize accountability and national service has instead become a stage for entrenched moral collapse. But now, two courageous women have ruptured the silence. Director Ifeoma Ofili of the House of Representatives and Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan of the Nigerian Senate have pulled back the curtain on an internal betrayal of public trust.

Their testimonies are not speculative. They are recorded. They are viral. And they are damning. Ofili and Natasha have, from within the system, exposed a psychological environment where greed is normalized, oversight is weaponized, and loyalty is gauged not by service to the nation, but by obedience to corrupt superiors. These are not fringe voices. One is a longtime insider in the legislative bureaucracy. The other is an elected senator with firsthand access to the inner workings of power. Their revelations present not simply scandal, but a profound psychological autopsy of a legislature in moral freefall.

This document is a direct call to Nigeria’s premier anti-corruption agencies—the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) and the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC). It is not just a plea for investigation; it is a cry for institutional reckoning. What has been said can no longer be unsaid. What has been seen—by the nation and the world—can no longer be ignored.

Ofili’s Agonizing Truth

But the emotional knife twists deeper when Ifeoma Ofili speaks of retired staff. These are not just names on a pension list—they are humans, abandoned and destitute, “calling to beg for money to buy fuel,” standing at the gate of the institution they served, unable to return home. “They chop their own, they chop our own,” she cried—a psychological cry of betrayal from one who has witnessed firsthand the cannibalization of justice and loyalty.

The Shock of a Newcomer: Senator Natasha’s Political Betrayal

Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s account is a jarring window into the Senate’s inner darkness. Appointed Chair of the Senate Committee on Local Content, she was soon summoned to give a “progress report”—a euphemism, she discovered, for financial and political returns to the Senate President. “He laughed and told me to meet a senior senator,” she recalled, who explained that she must “return money or jobs from my committee engagements.”

When she asked how, she was told to “harass agencies—like the Minister of Petroleum or the Executive Secretary—to bring money or jobs for the Senate President.” Her refusal was not just a political act—it was psychological resistance. Her stand was a trauma response against systemic coercion, a personal rebellion in a space where the reward for honesty is exclusion and punishment.

The Final Irony: Both Women Were Tied to Local Content

In a tragic twist of institutional symbolism, both whistleblowers were tied to the Local Content Committees—bodies supposedly created to protect Nigerian wealth and employment. The very organs meant to uphold national interest were, by these accounts, being used to extract bribes and siphon funds for personal gain. It is a betrayal not only of governance but of national purpose. The committees that should have safeguarded local development became theaters of elite exploitation—a psychological reversal where protection becomes predation.

The Systemic Collapse: When Law Serves the Powerful

In a real democracy with functioning rule of law, Ofili and Natasha would be escorted into protective custody, their testimony treated as the foundation for swift, transparent investigations. Arrests would follow. Grand juries would convene. Evidence would be collected without interference. But in Nigeria, their bravery is met with silence. The institutions responsible for justice—the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) and the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC)—remain frozen, their hesitation revealing a learned helplessness bred by decades of political compromise.

This silence is not neutral; it is dangerous. We are not talking about local contractors or obscure public servants—we are talking about lawmakers, the very architects of Nigeria’s legal framework. If corruption is normalized at this level, then the entire edifice of democracy is psychologically unsound.

How Justice Would Unfold in the U.S. or U.K.

If these events occurred in the United States or United Kingdom, the response would be procedural, powerful, and predictable:

Whistleblower Protection: Both women would be quietly approached, granted anonymity, and protected by national laws like the U.S. Whistleblower Protection Act or the UK Public Interest Disclosure Act.

Investigative Launch: A federal agency (e.g., DOJ or NCA) would form a task force. The women’s testimony, especially their video confessions, would serve as anchor evidence.

Subpoenas and Raids: Grand jury subpoenas would extract bank records, flight manifests, internal emails. Offices would be searched. The truth would not be left to public speculation.

Accountability and Arrests: If evidence matched the allegations, lawmakers would be arrested. Their power would not shield them. The state—not the whistleblower—would bear the weight of prosecution.

This contrast is not merely procedural. It is psychological. It signals to the nation that integrity has a home in the law, and that betrayal of public trust leads to consequences—not silence.

Let Them At Least Follow Up: A Minimal Act of Integrity

Nigeria cannot continue like this. A nation cannot afford to nurture criminals in suits while persecuting truth-tellers in silence. What message does it send to the youth, to honest public servants, to citizens in despair, when a director and a senator come forward with documented truth—and are met with nothing but bureaucratic quietude? Corruption thrives when enforcement is absent. Inaction is not neutral—it is endorsement.

This is a historical opportunity for the EFCC and ICPC to break the cycle. Even if they begin with inquiries, interviews, or requests for clarification, such a move would interrupt the culture of denial. It would affirm that Nigeria still possesses a pulse of legal conscience. These agencies were not created to be ornamental institutions; they were born from the collective cry of a nation tired of being looted. To ignore these women is to betray that founding cry.

Moreover, these revelations are not just about embezzlement—they are about structural sabotage. Funds for health, education, and national progress are being rerouted to serve personal greed. Retired staff, who should be honored, are now humiliated. And legislators tasked with protecting national wealth have turned that responsibility into a racket of extortion.

EFCC and ICPC must act not only to prosecute, but to restore hope. Nigeria is bleeding from the inside—not only economically, but spiritually. If these agencies move now, they will not just investigate a crime—they will initiate a cultural shift. They will declare, in action and not just words, that Nigeria still has a fighting chance.

Let them at least follow up. Let them at least begin. In a country where truth is routinely punished and power often mocks accountability, even the act of formally opening a case would mark a radical departure from the norm. Silence is no longer an option. Delay is complicity. Inaction is a vote against the nation’s sanity.

As a psychologist, I say this not just as analysis but as warning: Nigeria’s anti-corruption agencies are facing a moment of existential testing. To ignore these revelations is to affirm the public’s deepest fear—that the law is a lie, that no institution is safe, and that courage leads only to punishment.

The EFCC and ICPC must act. These are not small leaks—they are fractures in the foundation of the republic. This is not just corruption; this is the erosion of psychological trust in governance. Investigating these claims is not about punishing a few—it is about preserving the possibility of public morality, of institutional dignity, of democratic hope.

And let us be clear: the accused are not unreachable. They are not kings. They are not above the law. They are public servants. There are videos. There are names. There is context, pattern, motive, and means. These are not allegations buried in anonymous whispers—they are recorded confessions. If the EFCC and ICPC walk away from this, they do not merely fail to act—they declare that power protects itself, and truth is irrelevant.

The Nigerian people are watching. The international community is watching. And if these agencies continue to cower before political intimidation, then the final collapse will not be procedural—it will be psychological, moral, and generational. But if they act—swiftly, transparently, courageously—they can begin to heal this hemorrhaging wound of betrayal.

The Women Who Spoke and the Psychology of Breaking Silence

That both women chose video as their medium is deeply telling. It was not just to inform—it was to protect, to expose the truth to the one place they still believed in: the people. When the system offers no justice, visibility becomes survival.

They took the open risk. They spoke not in anonymity, not behind leaks, but fully on video—name, face, and voice. They did so knowing the system punishes truth-tellers. That is not just bravery; it is defiance born of deep moral injury. They made themselves vulnerable to the full weight of institutional retaliation, simply to say what the system refused to acknowledge.

Ofili spoke in a retreat—a final cry from within. Natasha turned to a global audience on YouTube—a strategic rebellion against domestic censorship. Both choices reflect a system where the only place to tell the truth is outside of power.

Conclusion: This Is Psychological Collapse—But It Can Be Our Moment of Awakening

Let the leaders of the EFCC and ICPC be reminded: this is not a rumor passed in private halls. These are not claims waiting to be confirmed in whispers. This is video. This is public. This is documented before the eyes of a nation—and the world. This is outright crime—corruption caught in motion, betrayal caught on record, and abuse of power captured in full view. You saw it. We all saw it. And now, to do nothing is not just silence—it is complicity before the global court of conscience.

The powerful are just as human as the low-level workers they investigate, arrest, and prosecute. There can be no dual justice—one for the weak and another for the politically connected. If the EFCC and ICPC can detain a junior civil servant for misappropriating N1 million, then they must summon the same resolve when N100 million, N1 billion, or a nation’s conscience is on the line. Justice cannot be seasonal. Accountability must rise to meet the level of offense—not shrink in fear before the height of a title.

Nigeria now faces a reckoning. These revelations are more than scandals—they are mirrors, showing us who we have become. If we look away, we endorse the disease. But if we act—if our agencies follow through, if our citizens demand more, if our institutions recover their spine—then these women will not be remembered as rebels, but as healers.

Their faces are now the nation’s moral compass—etched into public memory not as accusers, but as witnesses to a truth too long buried.

Let us not wait until courage becomes silence. Let us not pretend that democracy can survive when its guardians are predators. Let us act while the truth is still alive, still speaking, still burning on video.

In the name of every staff member standing at the National Assembly gate, waiting for retirement pay…In the name of every honest senator shamed for not delivering “returns”…In the name of a nation that must choose between collapse and renewal…

Let this be the moment we choose justice. Let this be the moment we save the soul of our institutions.

Psychologist John Egbeazien Oshodi

Professor John Egbeazien Oshodi is an American psychologist, educator, and author with deep expertise in forensic, legal, and clinical psychology, cross-cultural psychology, and police and prison science. Born in Uromi, Edo State, Nigeria, and the son of a 37-year veteran of the Nigeria Police Force, his early immersion in law enforcement laid the foundation for a lifelong commitment to justice, institutional transformation, and psychological empowerment.

In 2011, he introduced state-of-the-art forensic psychology to Nigeria through the National Universities Commission and Nasarawa State University, where he served as Associate Professor of Psychology. Over the decades, he has taught at Florida Memorial University, Florida International University, Broward College (as Assistant Professor and Interim Associate Dean), Nova Southeastern University, and Lynn University. He currently teaches at Walden University and holds virtual academic roles with Weldios University and ISCOM University.

In the U.S., Prof. Oshodi serves as a government consultant in forensic-clinical psychology and leads professional and research initiatives through the Oshodi Foundation, the Center for Psychological and Forensic Services. He is the originator of Psychoafricalysis, a culturally anchored psychological model that integrates African sociocultural realities, historical memory, and symbolic-spiritual consciousness—offering a transformative alternative to dominant Western psychological paradigms.

A proud Black Republican, Professor Oshodi is a strong advocate for ethical leadership, institutional accountability, and renewed bonds between Africa and its global diaspora—working across borders to inspire psychological resilience, systemic reform, and forward-looking public dialogue.