Who Is Afraid Of Seconding Natasha’s Move In The House? -By Isaac Asabor

In Nigeria’s political theatre, where hypocrisy often masquerades as patriotism, silence sometimes roars louder than words. The episode that played out in the Senate chamber on Tuesday, when lawmakers hesitated, almost in unison, to second a motion raised by Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan on the plight of Nigerian women allegedly abused in Libyan prisons, was more than a moment of hesitation. It was a mirror held up to the nation’s conscience, reflecting fear, political small-mindedness, and the decaying moral spine of those elected to protect the voiceless.

Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan, who represents Kogi Central under the banner of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), stood on the Senate floor and did what every responsible legislator should do; speak truth to power. She moved a motion urging the Senate to mandate the Nigerian Immigration Service to liaise with Libyan authorities for the repatriation of Nigerian women reportedly languishing in Libyan prisons. These women, according to her, are victims of dehumanizing conditions, subjected to sexual abuse by prison officials, forced into pregnancies, and condemned to give birth to children under captivity.

It was a motion driven by conscience and compassion, not by politics or partisanship. It was a call for humanity. But what followed after she made her presentation was a silence so loud that it echoed through the chamber like a rebuke.

When Senate President Godswill Akpabio called for any senator to second the motion, a routine parliamentary procedure, not a single hand went up. The silence was awkward, deliberate, and telling. Even the female senators, who one might expect to instinctively, rally behind such a motion concerning the plight of women, sat still. Not one voice rose in support until Senate Leader Opeyemi Bamidele, perhaps sensing the embarrassment creeping upon the chamber, reluctantly stood up to second it, allowing the proceedings to continue.

That brief silence in the Senate was not ordinary; it was a political statement wrapped in spinelessness. It symbolized the moral rot that defines Nigeria’s legislative behavior, a habit of choosing convenience over courage, party loyalty over conscience, and political safety over national responsibility.

One wonders what exactly made that motion so frightening to the senators. Was it because it came from Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, a woman known for her independent streak and refusal to play politics the old way? Or was it because the motion exposed an uncomfortable truth,  that Nigerian women are being abused abroad while the government looks away?

Whatever the reason, that silence, without a doubt, spoke volumes. It showed how, in the hallowed chambers of the Nigerian Senate, moral issues are often filtered through the lens of partisanship and personal survival.

To understand that silence, one must first understand the politics of fear that governs the National Assembly. Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is not a conformist; she does not belong to the “you must bow to survive” caucus. From her days as a social advocate, she has been vocal about corruption, exploitation, and injustice, traits that often make her uncomfortable company in a chamber where mediocrity thrives on conformity.

There is an unspoken rule in Nigerian politics: those who refuse to be “managed” are quietly sidelined. Natasha’s motion was, therefore, not judged by its moral weight or national significance but by who presented it. Many senators may have feared that seconding her motion would elevate her moral standing or symbolically empower a colleague some consider politically inconvenient.

That fear, petty and self-serving as it is, explains why good motions die in Nigeria’s legislative chambers. Lawmakers would rather protect egos than lives, and they would rather side with political comfort than public morality.

Perhaps the most disappointing part of the Senate’s silence was the inaction of female lawmakers. If empathy had a gender, it should have been loudest in that moment. Here was a fellow woman standing up to defend women being sexually violated and enslaved abroad, yet those who have campaigned under the banner of “women supporting women” looked away.

This hypocrisy reveals the shallow depth of gender advocacy within Nigeria’s political class. The few women who occupy those seats do not see themselves as representatives of women’s struggles, but as appendages of political parties and power blocs. They attend gender conferences, deliver keynote speeches, and advocate women’s inclusion, but when real issues that demand courage arise, they retreat into silence.

Without a doubt, representation without responsibility is an empty title. When female lawmakers cannot defend women suffering in foreign prisons, they lose the moral authority to speak about gender justice at home.

Some may argue that the senators’ hesitation was procedural, that perhaps they were taken unawares or unsure of the details of the motion. But that argument collapses under scrutiny. Senators routinely second motions of far less consequence, motions on birthdays, tributes, and commemorations that add little to the national discourse. Why then did a motion touching on the abuse of Nigerian citizens abroad become too delicate to second?

The truth is simple: it was not ignorance, it was avoidance. Silence, in that moment, was a form of complicity. To ignore Natasha’s motion was to indirectly endorse the neglect of Nigerian women suffering in Libya. The reluctance to speak up was not just political; it was moral bankruptcy.

This incident adds to a growing list of moral failures by the Nigerian Senate. Too often, our lawmakers speak loudly on trivial issues but go mute on matters that demand ethical courage. When it is time to celebrate appointments, inaugurate committees, or approve loans, the chamber buzzes with motion and noise. But when it comes to human suffering, whether it is the plight of displaced citizens, unpaid workers, or abused migrants, the Senate falls into predictable silence.

The irony is that the same senators who refused to second Natasha’s motion have no qualms approving foreign trips and allowances funded by taxpayers. They will travel abroad and give speeches about protecting Nigerian dignity, yet when faced with a real opportunity to defend it, they cower in silence.

In the end, Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan stands out not just as a woman senator, but as a symbol of conscience in a chamber dominated by caution. Her motion reminded Nigerians that leadership is not about position but about purpose. She dared to speak for the voiceless, for women who will never know her name but whose suffering deserves attention.

Her courage contrasts sharply with the cowardice of her colleagues. While she rose to defend the powerless, others chose the safety of silence. While she risked ridicule, they sought refuge in neutrality. And in that moral contrast, history has already drawn its verdict.

The answer is not far-fetched. Those afraid of seconding Natasha’s motion are not just political opponents; they are members of a political culture terrified of integrity. They are lawmakers who fear independent voices because such voices remind them of their own moral failings. They are politicians who dread accountability, because they have long replaced empathy with expediency.

They are afraid not because of what Natasha said, but because of what she represents, a disruption of the comfortable hypocrisy that has turned the Nigerian Senate into a sanctuary of silence.

That day in the Senate was not merely about parliamentary procedure; it was a test of conscience, one the chamber failed woefully. It exposed the Senate as a body that lacks moral conviction, where truth is weighed against political convenience, and where humanity must wait for permission before being defended.

If lawmakers cannot second a motion to protect their own citizens from abuse abroad, what moral ground do they have to legislate on national values, human rights, or foreign relations? If they cannot show compassion for the most vulnerable, how can they claim to represent the people?

Until the Nigerian Senate learns to put humanity before politics, it will continue to legislate in moral darkness, loud in rhetoric but mute when decency calls.

So again, the question rings loud: “Who is afraid of seconding Natasha’s move in the House?” Perhaps those who fear that the truth she speaks will expose the lies they live.