The unchecked patriarchy in Nigerian politics

More often than necessary, the word patriarchy is floated around in daily discussions in Nigeria, most times in scenarios that belittle its intensity or entirely make a mockery of its true meaning.

Extreme feminists, who peddle hatred for men and drive the campaign that all evil in the world is a direct result of men—that even an empathetic lending of a hand to a woman by a man, or such gentlemanly courtesy as opening a door for a lady, is now viewed as a patriarchal act, one that shouts to the rooftops the fragility of women—could be blamed for watering down the equality movement.

Hence, these often loosely guarded and intellectually starved conversations, often concocted for social media consumption and to arouse the emotions of readers, douse the needed issue that patriarchy, in the true sense of the word, still drives Nigerian society, and more particularly, the political landscape.

Narrowing into the current issue between Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan and the men of the Nigerian Senate, one could begin to see the harassment, the show of who is in charge, and you don’t belong here playing out in the legislative house—the arm of government charged with the responsibility of making laws that should protect women.

The prejudicial attack on Akpoti-Uduaghan is not new, but it certainly re-echoed the realities of the women who dare to seek political positions in Africa’s most populous nation.

Also Read: Do Igbo Men Treat Their Wives as ‘Slaves’? A Look into Patriarchy in the Southeast

In 2019, when she ran for Governor in Kogi State, despite being under a relatively smaller party, the Social Democratic Party (SDP), Akpoti-Uduaghan faced an assassination attempt where gunmen shot at her car. Additionally, her party’s office was burned, and her followers were beaten, with some killed. The intimidation continued in the next general election when she ran for Senate. On the eve of the election in February 2023, the road leading to her constituency was dug up, allegedly by the then-Governor, Yahaya Bello, to prevent the electorate from casting their votes. She won, only for her bills—the ones she put forward on behalf of her people—to be repeatedly, according to her, suppressed by the Senate President, Godswill Akpabio.

“For seven months, I have not been able to raise my motions, contribute to debates, or take second readings of my bills,” she claimed.

Akpoti-Uduaghan’s feud with Akpabio became public knowledge after she was asked to change her seating position in the Senate, which the Senator representing Kogi Central challenged. Matters quickly escalated after Akpoti-Uduaghan, during an interview on Arise TV, made sexual harassment allegations against Akpabio, becoming the second woman to make such claims against the Senate President.

However, the manner in which her claims have been handled appears to give credence to the idea that men, particularly in the political arena, enjoy certain privileges—or that women, using the words of former President Muhammadu Buhari, belong to the kitchen and other rooms.

Not only was Akpoti-Uduaghan suspended for six months, but at the Senate committee on Monday, where her sexual harassment claims were meant to be reviewed, Onyekachi Nwaebonyi, a Senator representing Ebonyi North, called Oby Ezekwesili a fool at 70 and an insult to womanhood.

On what account is Oby Ezekwesili—a former Vice President of the World Bank (Africa Region), a former Minister, and a presidential candidate—an insult to womanhood? Would a man who has achieved even half of what Oby Ezekwesili has be said to be an insult to manhood?

“The Nigerian society is patriarchal in nature,” was how Makama Godiva Allanana put it in her research work.

The patriarchal nature of Nigerian society is rooted in the cultural traditions of the various tribes in the country, as well as in religious institutions. For instance, in traditional Igbo society, women are not allowed to inherit properties, and their worth is often tied to whether they give birth to a male child.

For the Yorubas, a woman cannot give her daughter out for marriage, even if her husband is late. Again, family lineage, as it is in almost all the tribes in the country, is traced through the male line.

The case is no different in various religious sects. But it is bewildering that the Senate—an institution that should bear the responsibility of changing the patriarchal narrative in the country—exudes such a level of disregard for women, openly suppressing the voice of one of the only three women in the Upper Chamber. This sets a negative precedent that begs the question: What kind of freedom of expression does an average Nigerian girl have?

If the sexual harassment allegations made by a woman like Akpoti-Uduaghan—a Senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria—are dismissed, what is the fate of the over 60 percent of female students in Nigerian universities who, according to research, experience sexual harassment?

Out of the 469 legislators in the Nigerian National Assembly, only 21 are women: 17 in the House of Representatives and three in the Senate. With Akpoti-Uduaghan’s voice suppressed and her sexual harassment allegations relegated, and with the process of her recall already initiated and in motion, what motivation would a Nigerian girl who dreams of politically changing her country have?

It is Akpoti-Uduaghan today, but the truth remains that it could be anyone. And if you are a man, if this system is not probed to rid it of its stunted patriarchal elements, the fate could be that of your daughter.