When Survival Becomes a Crime: Akpabio's Suicide Remark and the Nigerians Who Deserve Compassion, Not Prison

When Survival Becomes a Crime: Akpabio's Suicide Remark and the Nigerians Who Deserve Compassion, Not Prison

October 14, 2026

By Omolola Adepeju | Omolola TalksTV

There are statements that should never be treated as ordinary political banter.

There are moments when the language used by those in authority deserves serious public examination, not because Nigerians are too sensitive, but because human lives are involved.

There are conversations that should remind us why leadership is about much more than occupying a powerful office.

On October 13, 2026, while the Nigerian Senate considered a bill seeking to decriminalise attempted suicide, Senate President Godswill Akpabio reportedly made this statement:

“If you attempt suicide, make sure you die. Anyone who attempts and fails will go to jail.”

I have read those words repeatedly.

And I keep returning to one question.

What message does a statement like this send to a Nigerian who is already struggling to find a reason to remain alive?

We are discussing people who may be experiencing severe depression, trauma, unbearable emotional distress, hopelessness, or other difficult circumstances.

We are discussing human beings.

Somebody's child.

Somebody's parent.

Somebody's sibling.

Somebody who may have spent months hiding their pain because they were afraid of being misunderstood.

These are not abstract subjects for legislative entertainment.

They are lives.

First, Let Us Understand What Happened

The Nigerian Senate was debating a bill sponsored by Senator Asuquo Ekpenyong of Cross River South.

The proposed legislation seeks to remove criminal penalties for attempted suicide and establish a framework for prevention, medical assessment, treatment, rehabilitation, and continuing support.

The bill passed its second reading and was referred for further legislative consideration.

That is an important distinction.

The Senate did not collectively vote to introduce a new prison sentence for suicide survivors. The debate concerned with removing existing criminal penalties and several senators supported that reform.

Yet the Senate President argued that attempted suicide should remain punishable.

The words attributed to him have understandably raised serious questions about the language public officials use when discussing people in crisis.

Since When Did Surviving Become Something to Punish?

Imagine someone experiencing such overwhelming distress that they attempt to end their life.

They survive.

Perhaps they are taken to a hospital.

Perhaps a family member finds them in time.

Perhaps they receive another opportunity to recover, rebuild relationships, and rediscover reasons to live.

Now imagine that person being afraid to seek help because the law could treat their survival as a criminal offence.

What exactly would imprisonment achieve?

Would it treat their depression?

Would it resolve the trauma they have experienced?

Would it provide the counselling, medication, protection, or social support they might need?

Would it help their family understand what happened?

Or could it deepen the shame, fear, and isolation surrounding an already serious situation?

A suicide attempt is not evidence that somebody deserves humiliation. It is a warning that urgent attention may be needed.

When a person survives, that survival should open the door to care.

Not another reason to fear society.

Nigeria Cannot Keep Treating Human Suffering as a Disciplinary Problem

We need to examine the environment in which many Nigerians live.

Unemployment.

Financial insecurity.

Family pressures.

Domestic abuse.

Bereavement.

Untreated mental health conditions.

Social isolation.

The daily struggle to meet basic needs.

These circumstances do not explain every suicide attempt. Suicidal behaviour is complex, and no single hardship should be presented as its universal cause.

But they are part of the wider realities that policymakers must take seriously.

A person can appear cheerful in public while privately struggling with despair.

Someone can be employed, educated, married, or financially comfortable and still experience severe psychological distress.

Another person may be overwhelmed by poverty, violence, or the loss of someone they love.

The responsible response is not to assume that everyone experiencing suicidal thoughts has the same story.

It is to make professional help accessible before a crisis develops and ensure that those who survive receive appropriate care.

If the government wants fewer suicide attempts, then prevention must become more than a slogan.

Where are the accessible crisis services?

Where are the trained mental health professionals?

How affordable is treatment for an ordinary Nigerian?

What support exists outside major cities?

And how confidently can someone experiencing suicidal thoughts approach a hospital without fearing stigma or punishment?

These are questions worthy of a serious national conversation.

When Lawmakers Laugh, What Message Are We Sending to Nigerians in Pain?

There is something particularly disturbing about hearing laughter in the background of a discussion concerning suicide, survival, and imprisonment.

I want us to think about that for a moment.

We are talking about people who may have reached one of the darkest moments of their lives. People who may be struggling with depression, trauma, overwhelming circumstances, or pain they can not adequately explain.

And somewhere in a chamber where laws affecting millions of Nigerians are discussed, laughter can be heard.

What exactly is funny?

Is it the suffering?

Is it the possibility of imprisonment?

Or has the pain of ordinary Nigerians become so distant from the realities of those in power that even a conversation about suicide can produce amusement?

I am not suggesting that every senator laughed. Neither am I claiming to know what was going through the minds of those whose laughter was heard.

But I am questioning the atmosphere surrounding such a serious discussion.

Because these are lawmakers, not comedians performing before an audience.

The National Assembly is an institution where decisions affecting human lives are made. Nigerians should be able to expect seriousness when their representatives are discussing mental health emergencies and criminal punishment.

Imagine a mother who recently lost her child to suicide watching that exchange.

Imagine a father whose daughter survived an attempt and is undergoing treatment.

Imagine a young Nigerian who has been silently struggling, wondering whether anyone in authority understands what they are going through.

What would that laughter communicate to them?

We must understand that the consequences of public statements are not limited to the people present when they are made.

Words travel.

Videos circulate.

People who are already vulnerable may interpret what they hear as evidence that their suffering will not be taken seriously.

The problem is bigger than one remark or one moment of laughter.

It raises questions about how we discuss the suffering of people who have little power, little influence, and sometimes nobody willing to speak for them.

We can not keep demanding resilience from Nigerians while failing to demonstrate compassion towards those who are struggling.

Leadership is not only about passing laws.

It is also about recognising the humanity of the people those laws will affect.

When the subject is suicide, the least Nigerians should expect from their lawmakers is seriousness, sensitivity, and respect for human life.

A person's darkest moment should never become another person's entertainment.

A Prison Cell Is Not a Mental Health Treatment Plan

Nigeria's Criminal Code and Penal Code contain provisions criminalising attempted suicide, with penalties that can include imprisonment.

At the same time, the National Mental Health Act recognises the importance of medical intervention in psychiatric emergencies.

This creates an important policy question: Should a person who survives a suicide attempt be processed primarily through the criminal justice system or the healthcare system?

Supporters of criminal penalties sometimes argue that punishment discourages harmful behaviour.

But suicide prevention can not be reduced to a simple assumption that fear of prison will prevent someone from experiencing a psychological crisis.

There is a serious concern that criminal penalties may discourage people from seeking help, lead families to conceal incidents, and complicate efforts to provide timely treatment.

The bill under consideration attempts to move the response towards healthcare, rehabilitation, and continuing support.

That approach also requires practical investment.

Removing a criminal penalty without providing accessible treatment would leave an enormous gap.

People need somewhere to turn.

Families need guidance.

Health workers need training.

And survivors need follow-up care that treats them as human beings with futures worth protecting.

What About Accountability for Those Who Hold Power?

There is a difficult question Nigerians are entitled to ask.

Why does public discussion so often focus on punishment for people in vulnerable circumstances while citizens continue to demand stronger accountability for corruption, abuse of office, and the misuse of public resources?

This is not an argument that every allegation against a public official has been proven.

It is a question about national priorities.

If the state can contemplate imprisonment for a person experiencing a suicidal crisis, Nigerians can reasonably ask whether equal urgency is being applied to investigating corruption allegations, recovering misappropriated funds and ensuring that public resources serve the people.

Accountability should not become most visible when the person involved is already powerless.

A government demonstrates its commitment to justice not only through the laws it enforces but through the people it chooses to protect.

The most vulnerable citizens should never be the easiest targets for punishment.

We Must Stop Confusing Compassion With Encouragement

Some people worry that removing criminal penalties could encourage suicide attempts.

That concern deserves a serious public health response.

Decriminalisation does not mean celebrating suicide.

It does not mean ignoring the danger of self-harm.

And it certainly does not mean abandoning efforts to prevent suicide.

It means recognising that someone in a suicidal crisis needs safety, assessment, and appropriate treatment rather than criminal punishment simply for surviving.

We can discourage suicide without humiliating survivors.

We can teach the value of life without threatening people in crisis.

We can support families without turning mental illness into a source of disgrace.

Compassion is not permission to die. Compassion is part of helping people live.

Leadership Must Understand the Weight of Words

The Senate President is not an ordinary commentator expressing a private opinion in a casual conversation.

He presides over one of Nigeria's most important legislative institutions.

His words carry institutional weight.

That is why public scrutiny of those words is legitimate.

When the subject is suicide, the responsibility to communicate carefully becomes even greater.

The debate should not become a competition over who can make the strongest statement.

It should focus on whether Nigeria's laws and public services are helping people survive, recover, and live with dignity.

While the Senate President's remarks have attracted attention, we must also recognise the senators who argued for a healthcare-based approach.

The fact that the bill passed second reading means the legislative discussion is continuing.

Nigerians deserve to know what happens next.

Omolola TalksTV's Position: Human Lives Must Come First

At Omolola TalksTV, we discuss culture, history, language, and society because we believe that public education matters.

But our responsibility does not end with preserving heritage or celebrating achievements.

It also means asking difficult questions when human dignity is at stake.

A society can not claim to value life while treating people who survive suicidal crises as though their suffering makes them criminals.

We need laws that support prevention.

We need accessible mental healthcare.

We need public officials who understand the consequences of their words.

And we need a culture in which asking for help is seen as an act of courage, not something deserving punishment.

Nobody should have to prove the seriousness of their pain by dying.

Nobody should fear that surviving a crisis will destroy their future.

My Perspective: To Everyone Who Is Tired of Being Strong

As I write this, my thoughts are not only with the lawmakers debating this bill.

They are also with the people whose struggles may never make the news.

The woman who wakes up every morning wondering how she will feed her children.

The young graduate who has submitted countless applications without receiving an opportunity.

The father is carrying responsibilities he can barely afford.

The person grieves a loved one.

The person fighting depression quietly because they are afraid of being judged.

And the person who has reached a point where life feels unbearably difficult.

I may not know your name.

I may not know your story.

I may never fully understand what you have been through.

But I want to speak to you directly.

I see you.

I see the effort you make to get through each day, even when nobody notices.

I see the strength it takes to keep going when life has not been kind to you.

I see the tears you hide and the struggles you find difficult to explain.

You matter.

Your life matters beyond your financial situation, your achievements, your mistakes, or what society expects of you.

You are not a failure because you are struggling.

You are not weak because you need help.

And you do not have to pretend that everything is fine when it isn't.

I know that telling someone to be strong does not automatically take away their pain.

I also know that hope can feel very distant when everything around you seems uncertain.

But please, do not mistake this difficult chapter for the whole story of your life.

There may still be people you haven't met who will care deeply about you.

There may still be opportunities you can not see from where you are standing today.

There may still be laughter, peace, healing, and beautiful moments ahead.

You deserve the chance to experience them.

And you deserve support while finding your way towards them.

If the pain has become too much, please speak to someone you trust. Reach out to a mental health professional or a crisis support service. You do not have to carry everything alone.

If you are thinking about ending your life, please seek immediate support and stay close to someone who can help keep you safe.

As for those of us who are fortunate enough to be in a position to support someone, let us learn to listen without judging.

Sometimes, people don't need another lecture about how strong they should be.

They need compassion.

They need patience.

They need someone who will sit beside them and say, "I am here. You don't have to face this alone."

And to our leaders, please remember that behind every statistic is a human being whose life has value.

We can not build a compassionate society by treating human suffering as a joke or a crime.

To everyone reading this who is silently fighting a battle, I see you. You matter. Your story is not over. There is still room for healing, for hope, and for better days.

Please stay.

One day at a time.

And when one day feels too difficult, take it one moment at a time.

With love and hope,

✍️ Omolola Adepeju

Founder & Managing Director

Omolola TalksTV

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, please seek support from a trusted person, a healthcare professional or an emergency service. In Nigeria, call 112 for an immediate emergency. In the UK, call Samaritans free on 116 123, or 999 if there is immediate danger.