REIGN OF TERROR: GODSWILL AKPABIO'S DARK ROAD TO THE SENATE THRONE
They said he was smart, But the truth is, he was ruthless. From murder files to media suppression, this article offloads the bones that Nigeria buried to crown its Senate President.
They say when a man drinks power like palmwine and forgets the bitter taste of consequences, he begins to walk as though the sun will never set on his back. That is the story of Godswill Akpabio. A man whose name once rang through the streets of Akwa Ibom as a so called “uncommon transformer” now sits as the Senate President of Nigeria, presiding over laws in a country that has never fully interrogated the darkness that drove his rise to power. This piece is not written out of malice, but born out of obligation; a civic duty to document the visible stains of history which many have tried to sweep under official carpets. There comes a time when silence becomes a crime, and history demands that a man must either stand with the truth or be buried beneath it. This is one of those moments.
In a country where public memory is short and political accountability is even shorter, it is both haunting and ironic that the upper chamber of Nigeria’s legislature is today led by a man whose tenure as governor was marked by some of the darkest headlines ever printed in Nigerian political history. Long before the air conditioned corridors of the National Assembly swallowed him, Senator Godswill Akpabio stood accused of many things, coming not from online bloggers or rumour mongers, but by respected newspapers who had the courage to call his reign what it truly was; “A Reign Of Terror,” that gripped Akwa Ibom State in fear, blood, and silence. Today, those headlines have returned from the grave, not as noise, but as evidence.
In 2011, the call to the United States to sanction Akpabio was not made by a political greenhorn, but a cry for international accountability. Public petitions poured in, letters were written, and protesters demanded action. Reports alleged that journalists were harassed, women and children fled towns, and rival politicians were chased into exile or buried in silence. These weren’t fairy tales, but were lived realities, printed and documented for the world to see. It was a desperate cry from a wounded citizenry and a media gasping for air under pressure, calling for international intervention in a land that had become too dangerous for the truth to walk freely. Now, the question must be asked: what kind of man presides over the Senate of a country still choking on the fumes of impunity?
Newspaper reports at the time documented a Nigeria that had become all too familiar with the language of impunity. A front page scream from one publication boldly demanded: “Political Killings: Sanction Akpabio Now”. The administration of Akpabio was not simply accused of corruption or incompetence. It stood neck deep in allegations of orchestrated assassinations, systemic fear mongering, and a deliberate war against the democratic spirit. The mention of “killer squads on rampage” was not the script of a film, but a front page truth that government silence could not erase. There are many who would like us to forget, saying Akpabio has been “cleared.” But I ask: cleared by whom? By the same institutions that bow when power barks?
The EFCC’s documented seizure of properties linked to Akpabio, following a fraud probe worth over ₦100 billion, did not emerge from political bitterness, as some have conveniently alleged. It came from sworn affidavits, paper trails, and court authorised action. Newspaper articles from the period refer to fraud scandals involving N108 billion as enough money to build hospitals in every local government of the country. While the Senate today wears the face of legislative sanctity, its presiding officer sits atop a mountain of unresolved questions that no amount of power laundering can hide. The media back then was not silent. Headlines such as “Gov. Akpabio is a thief” may appear unrefined in tone, but behind those words lay the anguish of a people tired of watching public wealth turned into private empire. That he could climb from such allegations into the role of Senate President should concern not just Nigerians, but the conscience of our democracy.
It must be stated without ambiguity that governance under Akpabio, as documented, was not just about missing funds or inflated contracts. It bore the stench of blood. “The Politics of Blood in Akwa Ibom” was the exact phrase used by reputable journalists in reference to the alleged killing of political opponents and dissenters during his administration. This was not a lone article. There were patterns, there were names, there were faces, there were funerals, and there were families who never got justice. As a people, we must ask ourselves: what kind of democracy grants leadership to those whose tenure in power was defined by allegations of conspiracy in the death of fellow politicians, like the widely referenced “Akpabio-Udom plot against Awak’s death”? These are not idle allegations; they were published, read, archived, and yet conveniently forgotten.
The role of the media during those turbulent years was one of bravery and sacrifice. In the face of threats, brown envelopes, and politically influenced editors, a few journalists stood tall. Newspapers such as Victoria Times and Concord did not only report, they exposed a lot. It was through them that the military panel’s indictment of Akpabio over electoral violence became public knowledge. It was they who asked uncomfortable questions about why women and youth were fleeing their communities in fear. It was they who highlighted the systemic violence that allegedly accompanied local government elections, tenure elongation, and the restructuring of council appointments to benefit political loyalists. Today, many of those stories are treated like ancient tales, yet they are the blueprint of our present decay.
When Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan recently raised an alarm about threats to her life within the National Assembly; a claim that saw her charged under the name FGN vs. Senator, in a manner widely condemned by ECOWAS lawmakers, the country was given a rare glimpse into the continuity of institutional bullying. It became clear that the “Reign Of Terror” has not been broken, but has simply changed its address. From Uyo to Abuja. From State to Senate. The silence of our institutions in the face of such bold claims, and the swiftness of punishment against the whistleblower, reminds us of a dangerous pattern, where power is used not to serve, but to suppress.
Let it be said for the record that this is not an attack piece, but a record of what was already in the public domain, duly published, archived, and yet unanswered. Nigerians must not forget. For when we forget, we give power to impunity. We invite fear to rule. We make room for the ghosts of the past to become the leaders of the present. If the Nigerian Senate truly represents the people, then its leadership must be beyond reproach. It cannot be the final promotion ground for unresolved legacies of blood, corruption, and dictatorship in disguise. The shadows of Akwa Ibom still walk the halls of Abuja, and until they are exorcised by truth, justice, and public demand, Nigeria shall continue to suffer the burden of a haunted democracy.
By: ILUO DePOET
Lawyer | Writer | Public Speaker | Political Analyst | Advocate | Pan-African Voice