Akpabio’s Cruel Ignorance: Punishing Suicide Survivors Is No Answer to Despair – Abdul Mahmud

By Abdul Mahmud

There are moments when a public official speaks and, in the recklessness of his words, exposes the distance between the privileges of political power and the realities of ordinary human existence, and there are other moments when the absurdity of a public statement becomes so complete that one is left wondering whether the speaker has any meaningful understanding of the subject on which he has chosen to pronounce. Senate President Godswill Akpabio’s reported suggestion that anyone who attempts suicide and fails should be sent to prison belongs firmly in the latter category, representing a distressing combination of childish reasoning, social insensitivity, and a fundamental failure to understand the responsibility that accompanies high public office.

The tragedy of such a statement lies not merely in its apparent cruelty, but in the extraordinary lightness with which it treats a subject that demands seriousness, compassion, and an informed understanding of human suffering, because suicide is not a political game, a disciplinary exercise, or an occasion for a public official to demonstrate his capacity for making provocative remarks. It is a grave public health concern, often associated with overwhelming psychological distress, mental health conditions, traumatic experiences, social isolation, financial hardship, and circumstances in which a person may come to believe, however tragically and mistakenly, that there is no escape from the suffering that has consumed their life. To respond to such a crisis with the threat of imprisonment is to substitute punishment for understanding and to mistake the symptoms of human desperation for an offence deserving of state retribution.

What, precisely, does Akpabio imagine imprisonment would accomplish in such circumstances? Would the threat of a prison sentence restore the hope that had disappeared from a person’s life, alleviate the psychological distress that had brought them to the brink of death, or persuade someone struggling with unbearable suffering that the state was prepared to help rather than punish them? The absurdity of the proposition becomes more apparent when one considers that a person who survives a suicide attempt may already be confronting profound emotional pain, physical injuries, shame, fear, and uncertainty about the possibility of recovery, and that adding the prospect of prosecution to this burden could discourage others in similar circumstances from seeking assistance or disclosing their distress to anyone capable of helping them.

A Senate President ought to understand that the authority of public office imposes an obligation to exercise judgment, particularly when speaking about matters involving life, death, and the dignity of citizens, yet Akpabio’s reported remarks suggest a troubling inability to appreciate the difference between a serious public policy question and an opportunity for a cheap, ill-considered pronouncement. There is nothing courageous about threatening vulnerable people with punishment, just as there is nothing intellectually impressive about reducing a complex human tragedy to a question of criminal discipline. The remarks are childish because they display the impatience of someone who imagines that a difficult social problem can be resolved by issuing a threat, and they are out of touch because they reveal little awareness of the circumstances in which people experiencing extreme distress may find themselves.

The deeper irony is that such a statement comes from the presiding officer of a Senate whose constitutional responsibilities include making laws for the peace, order, and good government of Nigeria, a country in which the social conditions confronting millions of citizens ought to compel legislators to think carefully about the relationship between economic hardship, mental health, public welfare, and the obligations of the state. Across the country, families struggle with rising living costs, unemployment, insecurity, displacement, and the collapse of the social support systems upon which vulnerable people depend, while access to affordable mental health services remains a serious challenge. These conditions do not mean that every suicide attempt can be explained by poverty or that every person experiencing psychological distress faces the same circumstances, but they do underscore the urgent need for public officials to approach mental health with knowledge and compassion rather than the reflexive language of punishment.
Nigeria needs a legislature that takes the mental health of its citizens seriously, strengthens access to professional care, supports crisis intervention, encourages public education, and helps dismantle the stigma that prevents people from seeking assistance when they need it most. The country does not need a Senate President casually floating the prospect of prison for people who survive suicide attempts, as though the prospect of incarceration were an appropriate instrument for dealing with despair. A responsible legislature would be asking whether emergency services are adequately equipped, whether mental health professionals are accessible beyond major urban centres, whether hospitals can provide appropriate treatment, and whether people in crisis can obtain help without fearing humiliation, discrimination, or punishment.

There is also a fundamental question of human dignity here, because a society reveals much about its moral character through the way it treats people at their most vulnerable, and a government that responds to psychological distress with criminal threats risks communicating to suffering citizens that their pain is not a matter for public concern but an inconvenience for which they may be punished. Such an approach would be particularly damaging in a society where mental illness is still surrounded by superstition, misinformation, and shame, and where families may already hesitate to seek professional assistance for fear of how their communities will respond. Public officials should be helping to dismantle these barriers, not lending the authority of their offices to attitudes that could reinforce them.

The law, moreover, is not a substitute for sound judgment, and the fact that a legislator can speak about imprisonment does not make imprisonment an appropriate response to every social problem that attracts his attention. Criminal law must be approached with seriousness, attention to constitutional principles, and a clear understanding of the harm that a proposed offence is intended to prevent, rather than as a theatrical instrument through which politicians can display toughness before an audience. Where a person has attempted suicide, the immediate priority should be to preserve life, provide appropriate medical and psychological care, assess the circumstances surrounding the attempt, and support recovery. Any proposed legal response must be evaluated against these objectives, not against the superficial appeal of appearing uncompromising.

Akpabio owes Nigerians a reconsideration of his reported remarks, because the office he occupies demands more than the ability to command attention or provoke public reaction. It demands intellectual seriousness, empathy, and an appreciation of the consequences that careless words can have when they come from someone entrusted with legislative authority. An apology would be appropriate, but an apology alone would not be enough if the underlying attitude remains unchanged; the Senate President should use the controversy to demonstrate a willingness to engage seriously with mental health professionals, public health advocates, and organisations working to prevent suicide, and to support policies that protect people in crisis rather than threaten them with incarceration.

The question is not whether Akpabio intended his statement to be humorous, provocative, or politically entertaining, because the gravity of the subject should have been sufficient to caution him against treating it lightly. The question is whether Nigeria can expect better judgment from one of the most powerful figures in its constitutional order, and whether those who occupy the highest offices of the republic understand that their words carry responsibilities that ordinary political banter cannot excuse. When a Senate President speaks about people at the edge of despair as though they were offenders awaiting punishment, the problem is no longer simply the offensiveness of a remark; it is the poverty of the public reasoning that produced it.

A nation already burdened by avoidable suffering deserves leaders who understand that the proper response to a citizen in psychological crisis is not to threaten them with a prison cell, but to help bring them back from the brink. If Akpabio cannot appreciate that elementary principle of human decency, then his remarks have exposed something far more troubling than a moment of political insensitivity: they have revealed how easily the privileges of power can become detached from the ordinary obligations of compassion, reason, and responsible leadership.