In Nigerian democracy, I have rarely heard a sitting Senate President speak so candidly about the raw nerve of political survival. But on Wednesday in Abuja, Godswill Akpabio did exactly that, lifting the veil on a quiet epidemic sweeping through the corridors of the National Assembly: hypertension born of electoral anxiety.
When Senate President Godswill Akpabio spoke about the “hypertension” gripping the National Assembly, he was not merely making news; he was diagnosing the self-inflicted ailment of a political class that has long mistaken temporary privilege for permanent entitlement. On this score, he deserves not ridicule, but applause.
The occasion was the inauguration of the All Progressives Congress (APC) National Campaign Council for the June 20, 2026, Ekiti State Governorship Election. Yet the subtext was unmistakably about the fate of many of Akpabio’s colleagues who have recently lost their party primaries. His message was blunt and devoid of the usual political palliatives: there will be no automatic ticket and no last-minute rescue from the Senate President’s chair.
In a country where incumbency has often been mistaken for entitlement, Akpabio’s words represent a significant course correction. He affirmed that President Bola Tinubu and state governors retain their constitutional rights to make political choices, but insisted that party supremacy must be upheld. No longer, he suggested, can a lawmaker neglect a constituency for four years and then expect a political lifeline when nomination season arrives.
For the average Nigerian watching from afar, Akpabio’s warning should be a source of cautious optimism. It suggests that the era of godfatherism and backroom manoeuvring may be giving way, however slowly, to a more demanding standard of political accountability. If lawmakers must earn their tickets through service rather than influence, then the quality of representation may ultimately improve.
It was against this backdrop that Akpabio delivered what may become one of the defining political statements of the season.
“Some of my people are having hypertension,” he revealed. The cause was obvious: electoral anxiety. The cure, however, would not come from his intervention.
“When anybody has lost the election on the ground, please don’t expect me, as Chairman of the National Assembly, to come and plead with you (party leadership) to put the person on the list,” he declared. “It simply means the person has lost.”
There was a striking honesty in that statement. Here is a Senate President who could easily position himself as the dispenser of second chances, the broker of political settlements, or the manufacturer of automatic tickets. Instead, he has chosen a different path one rooted in personal responsibility and political accountability.
His position exposes an uncomfortable truth about Nigeria’s political culture. Too many elected officials spend years insulated by power, disconnected from the communities that sent them to office. Constituencies are remembered during campaigns and forgotten once elections are won. Yet when party primaries arrive, some expect political machinery and influential patrons to compensate for years of neglect.
That expectation is precisely what Akpabio appears determined to challenge.
If a lawmaker has spent four years doing the hard and often unglamorous work of grassroots engagement resolving community concerns, maintaining visibility among constituents, supporting local development initiatives, and remaining politically relevant at home there would be little need for anyone to plead on their behalf. The people themselves would become their strongest advocates.
The fact that many are now anxious suggests that some political foundations may not be as solid as they once imagined.
The Senate President’s position also aligns with a broader philosophy increasingly associated with the current administration: party supremacy must mean something. President Bola Tinubu, whose political career was forged through years of grassroots mobilisation, understands that democracy is ultimately a contest of legitimacy. Political support must be earned, nurtured and sustained; it cannot simply be inherited or imposed.
By refusing to intervene on behalf of defeated aspirants, Akpabio is reinforcing that principle and, in the process, challenging a culture of entitlement that has weakened democratic accountability for far too long.
The lesson extends beyond the National Assembly. It speaks to a larger question about the future of Nigerian politics: whether public office should remain a privilege sustained by influence or become a mandate renewed through performance.
If Akpabio’s remarks signal a genuine shift towards the latter, then they deserve serious consideration.
The message from Abuja is clear. Politics remains a hard school, and its examinations are not written in the comfort of legislative chambers or party secretariats. They are written in communities, markets, town halls and polling units, where citizens ultimately decide who deserves another term.
For those anxious about their political future, the answer may not lie in the corridors of power but in the verdict of the people.
And that, perhaps, is the enduring significance of Akpabio’s intervention. In an era increasingly defined by demands for accountability, he has reminded his colleagues of a simple democratic truth: while influence may open doors, only public trust can keep them open.
The Ekiti State governorship election holds on June 20, 2026.
