Simon Ekpa will win in Finland. Why? Because under Finnish law, he hasn’t committed a crime—unless Nigeria can prove he’s funding terrorism, coordinating violence from Finnish territory, or inciting crime inside Finland.
So far, Nigeria has shown none of that. There’s no court case against him back home. No indictment. No judge has issued a summons or warrant for him to appear. What we’ve seen instead are media threats, name-calling, and diplomatic noise.
But Finland doesn’t run on noise. It runs on law. Without any legal backing, Finland sees this not as a criminal prosecution but as a political campaign.
Now here’s where the tables turn. Ekpa may soon be the one holding the legal advantage. He could sue the Nigerian government for defamation.
He’s been publicly called a terrorist by officials, blamed for violence without trial, and branded a national threat—yet no formal charges exist. Under Finnish and EU law, that’s reputational harm. It’s a serious matter.
If Nigeria keeps going down this path, Ekpa may not just walk free. He may win a legal case against Nigeria—and walk away with damages for harassment and reputational damage in hundreds of millions of euros.
The real problem isn’t Simon Ekpa. The problem is that Nigeria wants to win a legal battle without using legal tools.
If there’s a case, take it to court. If there’s evidence, let a judge see it. If not, stop the threats and political theatre.
Because in the end, it’s not Ekpa who will be embarrassed—it’s Nigeria.
Having studied Ekpa’s situation thoroughly today, spending hours reviewing the facts and international legal principles, one thing is clear: Nigeria has no case. None. And the Attorney General’s office surely knows this.
So the question becomes: Are we trying to enforce justice—or just trying to silence a voice we don’t like?
Please take this to the bank.
Badenoch Spoke the Truth
Badenoch spoke the truth but we’d rather attack her than fix the problem. I knew we would get here.
Kemi Badenoch, my younger sister in London and a UK Cabinet Minister, told the truth about her painful experience in a Nigerian secondary school in Sagamu. She said it felt like a prison. But instead of reflecting on her words and confronting the rot, we’ve chosen the typical Nigerian response: attack the messenger, not the message.
Why are we like this?
She’s not disgracing us—she’s pleading with us to fix what’s broken. Yet, we shamelessly respond: “Don’t expose us!” Who, then, is morally right? The one calling for reform or the ones demanding silence?
If our backwardness wasn’t so deeply rooted, why are we still running the most primitive judiciary on earth today? Nigeria’s justice system has become a national shame, where corruption is baptized as precedent, and injustice is served with official grammar. Hatred, tribalism, and raw wickedness now wear judicial robes.
Nigerians live this naked truth every single day. And yet, we pretend. We gaslight. We deny. But truth doesn’t disappear because it makes us uncomfortable.
Badenoch said what needed to be said. We just didn’t have the moral courage to listen.
By Basil Odilim