Choosing humanity over harm: A National Assembly’s duty to protect life, By Margaret Uddin Ojeahere

This moment, however, presents an opportunity to demand the leadership Nigerians deserve. Nigeria does not need more punishment; it needs leaders that understand the weight of human suffering. The first step is clear: Attempted suicide must be decriminalised. People in crisis deserve care, not constraints. Criminalisation only worsens stigma, mental health problems, and hinders access to appropriate care. Equally urgent is the full implementation of the National Mental Health Act.

“Keep life alive.”

Those were the words my late teacher, Professor Albert Anjorin, repeated to us in medical school decades ago. They are simple, humane, and rooted in the belief that every life is worth protecting. It is heartbreaking that in 2026, I am hearing the opposite sentiment echoed from the hallowed chambers of Nigeria’s National Assembly.

Less than four days after the commemoration of the 2026 World Mental Health Day, a week filled with stories of lived experiences, awareness campaigns, and calls for compassion for persons struggling with mental health challenges and their caregivers, Nigerians were confronted with a statement that shook the conscience of the nation. Words attributed to the Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, went viral: “If you attempt suicide, make sure you die. Anyone who attempts and fails will go to jail.”

Words, once spoken, cannot be recalled, and these remarks landed like a blow on the progress Nigeria has made from repealing the Lunacy Act of 1958 to enacting the National Mental Health Act in 2022. For years, advocates have tried to help Nigerians understand a simple truth: anyone with a brain can develop a mental health condition. Mental health conditions do not respect tribe, class, religion, or political office. Research shows that one in four to five Nigerians live with a mental health condition, and with worsening governance, insecurity, unemployment, and collapsing amenities, the numbers may be even higher. The story below is not an outlier but it reflects the broader reality captured in these statistics.

“At twenty-eight, Daniel often felt older than his age, as trauma ages people in ways birthdays never do. Fifteen years had passed since the night insurgents descended on his village, leaving behind ashes and sad memories. Daniel remembered the sound of his father’s voice, firm, resisting the attackers. He also remembered how quickly courage could be swallowed by gunfire. His mother’s fate was worse. Daniel had seen what no child should ever witness. He survived only because his father had shoved him beneath a heap of rusted roofing sheets moments before the attackers reached their home. He lay there listening to the horror unfolding above him, praying for a miracle that never came. Thereafter, Daniel has lived with survivors’ guilt, depression and post‑traumatic stress disorder, words he learned much later. He tried to rebuild his life, but trauma clung to him like a second skin. Jobs slipped through his fingers. Relationships dissolved under the weight of memories he could not silence. Even the cost of his medications became a burden too heavy to carry. His aging uncle and cousin did what they could. They offered shelter, food, and reassurance. They sat with him through episodes, prayed with him when he felt lost, and accompanied him to therapy. His faith community embraced him, reminding him that survival was not weakness but a testimony. Still, there were times when Daniel felt like a burden. Nights when he wondered if the last vestiges of life were worth holding at all. But each time he dipped, someone pulled him back – a cousin’s hand on his shoulder, a therapist’s gentle words, a pastor’s reminder that healing is slow but possible. These small acts of care kept him going. Then one afternoon, while sitting outside the clinic waiting for his appointment, Daniel heard a statement on his phone, a voice from a trusted person who swore to protect him saying that anyone who attempted suicide should ‘make sure they die,’ and that those who survived should be jailed. For a moment, Daniel felt himself slipping again. But then he remembered his uncle’s voice, his cousin’s laughter, his therapist’s steady encouragement, his community’s prayers. He remembered that survival was not a crime. It was courage. He whispered to himself, ‘I am still here,’ and in that moment, he chose again to hold on.”

For years, advocacy efforts focused on educating the less informed, assuming that misunderstanding drove stigma. But the landscape changes entirely when a senior lawmaker suggests jailing people who survive suicide attempts. What message does that send to Nigerian youths who comprise over 60 per cent of our population? To the adolescents battling suicidal thoughts? To the adult drowning in depression, overwhelmed by economic hardship, or shattered by trauma and insecurity?

Suicide is the third leading cause of death among young people aged 15–29. Nigeria records an estimated 15,000 suicide deaths annually, and for every life lost, 20 to 25 more people attempt suicide. Each suicide also leaves about 135 people deeply affected, contributing to over two million suicide loss survivors. These figures are considered conservative, especially in countries like Nigeria where suicide remains misunderstood, stigmatised, and criminalised, leading to significant under‑reporting. Nigeria remains one of the few countries where surviving a suicide attempt can still lead to prosecution. Under Section 327 of the Criminal Code and Section 231 of the Penal Code, individuals may face up to 12 months’ imprisonment, despite the Federal Government’s reaffirmation of its commitment to decriminalising attempted suicide.

For years, advocacy efforts focused on educating the less informed, assuming that misunderstanding drove stigma. But the landscape changes entirely when a senior lawmaker suggests jailing people who survive suicide attempts. What message does that send to Nigerian youths who comprise over 60 per cent of our population? To the adolescents battling suicidal thoughts? To the adult drowning in depression, overwhelmed by economic hardship, or shattered by trauma and insecurity? Sadly, vulnerability is being treated as a criminal offence. Can this then be described as a governance deficit or profound moral failure? Interestingly, a kind of reaction formation plays out here. With mental health problems rising and at least a quarter of Nigerians affected, it is not surprising that some of the lawmakers who laughed during plenary may later seek mental health care quietly like Nicodemus in the night, when they or their relatives become vulnerable and need urgent support to prevent dire consequences. The hypocrisy cuts deep.

This moment, however, presents an opportunity to demand the leadership Nigerians deserve. Nigeria does not need more punishment; it needs leaders that understand the weight of human suffering. The first step is clear: Attempted suicide must be decriminalised. People in crisis deserve care, not constraints. Criminalisation only worsens stigma, mental health problems, and hinders access to appropriate care. Equally urgent is the full implementation of the National Mental Health Act. Three years after its passage, it remains largely dormant, leaving millions without the protection, services, and funding it promises. Nigerians should not wait indefinitely for a law designed to safeguard their wellbeing. Our youth, who represent Nigeria’s future, need safe spaces, mentorship, opportunities, and accessible mental health support. Real progress also requires investment in mental health infrastructure. Community treatment centres, crisis helplines, trained professionals, and integration of mental health services into primary healthcare should be national priorities, not punchlines.

To paraphrase Senator Asuquo Ekpenyong’s view: When a person gets to the point of throwing in the towel and tries to end it all, we should protect, support, and never punish. The future of this nation depends on how seriously we take the mental wellbeing of its people. It is past time for our lawmakers to rise to that responsibility. Governance should never laugh at pain, and policies must not criminalise suffering, they should strengthen systems that uphold healthcare, dignity, and protection from despair.

Mental health does not exist in isolation. It is shaped by the conditions people live in: security, employment, education, and access to basic amenities. Addressing these social stressors would significantly reduce the rising cases of mental health conditions, and lawmakers must treat it as a core governance requirement. National awareness campaigns led by government can help reduce stigma and encourage help-seeking. And none of this should occur in siloes. Collaboration is essential. Nigeria has psychiatrists, other experts and civil‑society organisations already doing the work. Lawmakers should collaborate with them, not undermine their efforts. Nigeria deserves leaders who understand that mental health is a national development issue, leaders who speak with empathy, legislate with wisdom, and act with urgency. Leaders who know that when someone reaches the point of giving up, survival should be celebrated not prosecuted.

To paraphrase Senator Asuquo Ekpenyong’s view: When a person gets to the point of throwing in the towel and tries to end it all, we should protect, support, and never punish. The future of this nation depends on how seriously we take the mental wellbeing of its people. It is past time for our lawmakers to rise to that responsibility. Governance should never laugh at pain, and policies must not criminalise suffering, they should strengthen systems that uphold healthcare, dignity, and protection from despair. It may also be worth exploring a functional‑fitness assessment for anyone seeking political office to ensure those entrusted with millions of lives have the judgment, cognitive capacity, and emotional regulation required for public responsibility.

We cannot rewrite the past, but we can choose a kinder future. A future where survival is honoured, vulnerability is supported, and every Nigerian knows their life is worth holding on to.

Margaret Uddin Ojeahere is the founder of Noetic Minders Health Initiative and a consultant psychiatrist with Jos University Teaching Hospital, Plateau State, Nigeria.