Uromi: Blood for Blood, Injustice for Injustice

 

In the heart of Ibadan, at the bustling Iwo Road bus stop, an ordinary day nearly turned into a public execution. It began with a simple accusation—an anonymous voice in the crowd shrieking that her purse had been stolen.

In mere moments, a man was stripped, beaten, and dragged to the precipice of death by a mob that had materialized as if summoned by instinct.

 

One by one, young men emerged from the chaos, no longer bystanders but self-appointed executioners. Among them was a man who had, just seconds before, been an unremarkable presence at the bus stop. Without hesitation, he grabbed a massive stone and bellowed for the crowd to make way—he was ready to smash the accused’s skull.

 

Had the accused been guilty? No one knew for certain. There was no trial, no evidence, no defense—only an overwhelming desire to spill blood. Fortune alone spared the man’s life, as he somehow managed to escape before his tormentors decided on the precise method of his execution.

 

This terrifying episode echoes a larger, more recent horror in Nigeria. In Uromi, Edo State, 16 men—labeled kidnappers—were rounded up, brutally lynched, and burned alive by an unrestrained vigilante mob. One after another, bodies were thrown into a fire, reduced to ash while some onlookers gleefully recorded the gruesome spectacle on their phones.

 

How do ordinary men transform into monsters capable of such barbarity? Is it an instinct lying dormant, waiting for an excuse to erupt? Is it societal decay, a symptom of a country where law enforcement has collapsed and anarchy fills the vacuum?

 

The Uromi massacre has further deepened the ethnic and religious divides that have long haunted Nigeria. Northerners, often on the receiving end of criticism for religious-fueled lynchings, now see this southern atrocity as evidence that so-called “civilized” southerners are no better. The reaction online is telling: while southerners scramble to condemn the act and demand justice, some northern voices appear to relish the scandal, pointing out the hypocrisy of those who have long decried their region as backward.

 

This isn’t the first time mob justice has horrified Nigeria. In 2023, Deborah Samuel, a Christian student, was brutally murdered in Sokoto by religious fundamentalists who proudly filmed their crime. Unlike today’s outcry over Uromi, many in the North defended her killers—including influential clerics and political figures who refused to condemn the act. A presidential candidate who dared to speak against her murder was swiftly silenced, fearing for his political future.

 

Now, the Edo State government scrambles to contain the fallout, promising compensation to the victims’ families—an unlikely scenario had the roles been reversed.

 

Mob justice in Nigeria is not just an aberration—it is a symptom of a nation fraying at the seams. Until the state reasserts its monopoly on justice and law enforcement, these horrors will repeat. And each time they do, we must ask ourselves: when does an ordinary man become a monster?