Pause.
Breathe.
Read this slowly.
In our time, relationships no longer knock. They click.
They begin in chats. They blossom in DMs. They end—too often—on timelines.
And when love collapses, something ugly sometimes follows.
Screenshots. Uploads. Forwards. Shares.
A private body dragged into public glare.
A private moment turned into public punishment.
People call it revenge porn.
The law calls it a crime.
Let us be clear before emotions begin to negotiate with excuses. This is not youthful anger. This is not heartbreak acting out. This is not “we were once together.” Once a person’s naked or intimate image is shared without consent, the law steps in—and it steps in firmly.
Consent is not a blanket that never expires. Consent to take a picture is not consent to publish it. Consent given in love is not consent renewed in anger. The moment consent is absent, the moment an image is posted to humiliate, threaten, punish, or blackmail, the act crosses a legal red line.
Nigeria’s Cybercrimes Act does not stutter on this. It speaks plainly. Anyone who knowingly sends, posts, or causes the circulation of indecent or obscene material through a computer system, especially to cause emotional distress or harassment, commits a criminal offence. Prison is not symbolic here. Fines are not decorative. Liability is real.
And let us not pretend the Constitution is silent. The right to privacy is not a suggestion. It is a guarantee. Your body. Your image. Your intimate life—these are protected spaces. When someone drags them into the open without permission, the law recognises that violation for what it is: an assault on dignity. Courts can award damages. Courts can restrain further publication. Courts can compel takedown. The law has tools, and it uses them.
Sometimes, the offence grows darker. Images are used as leverage. “Pay or I post.” “Come back or I release.” At that point, the law adds more weight. Criminal intimidation. Harassment. Extortion. One act, multiple offences. One moment of cruelty, years of consequence.
Do not be deceived by the delete button. Deleting an image does not delete liability. The offence is complete the moment unlawful publication occurs. And those who forward, repost, or “just share” are not spectators. The law does not admire distance when harm is being multiplied. Participation attracts responsibility.
Now, to those who suffer this cruelty—the law is not asking you to endure quietly. You can report. You can petition. You can approach law enforcement and cybercrime units. You can go to court. You can ask for injunctions to stop the spread. You can claim damages for the harm done to your mind, your name, your peace. The law is not blind to digital wounds.
This is not about morality sermons. It is about boundaries.
It is about dignity.
It is about understanding that technology did not erase conscience—and it did not repeal the law.
Revenge is fleeting. Records are permanent.
What feels like power today can become a prison tomorrow.
So hear this, clearly and without noise:
The law does not excuse revenge porn.
It does not justify it.
It does not romanticise it.
It punishes it.
And it will continue to do so—quietly, firmly, without apology.
READ ALSO:
Kwara killing: Tinubu deploys army battalion to Kaiama
How terrorists killed 75 in Kwara communities
NCC, NSCDC caution construction firms, others over rising fibre optic cable damage
Senate passes Electoral Act Amendment Bill, retains electronic transmission of results
Dangote refinery refutes import claims, says allegations false
Lagos to close Apongbon Bridge for six weeks
Atiku’s aide, Shaibu inducted into Agenda 2063 Governing Council
Nigerian press bodies urge FG, NASS to act against big tech threat to information sovereignty
Yahaya Bello’s trial political, not money laundering, SAN tells court
