POLICE ABUSE, BRUTALITY AND EXCESS

Police Excesses, Abuse, and Impunity: When Will Enough Be Enough?By Charles Odimgbe, writing from Savannah, GA

Earlier today, I watched a heartbreaking video circulating online. A police officer shot and killed a returnee traveling from Lagos to Benin—allegedly because he refused to pay a N5,000 bribe. It is a painful but familiar scenario, as roadside extortion by security personnel has become a normalized disgrace across Nigeria.

This was not an isolated incident. Every day, we hear of the brutalization of innocent citizens by those sworn to protect them. On January 31, 2025, the Daily Post cited a report from the International Society for Civil Liberties and the Rule of Law, stating that Nigerian security forces killed 180 innocent citizens and extorted over ₦21 billion from motorists during the 2025 holiday season alone. Shocking as these figures are, they failed to spark any meaningful response from government officials.

Even more troubling is the geographic bias in these abuses. The extortion and violence appear disproportionately targeted at citizens from the southeastern region, raising the question of whether there is a silent endorsement of such actions—so long as they remain confined to the East.

In another chilling development, an investigative journalist recently uncovered over 150 men detained in makeshift prisons in Anambra State. Despite the public outcry, the state government remained disturbingly silent, neither confirming nor denying the report. Yes, Anambra faces security challenges, but that does not justify unlawful detentions and the erosion of civil liberties.

This pattern of silence and inaction is alarming. Are our elected officials so indifferent—or so incompetent—that they fail to see the need for urgent police reform? Is their silence a quiet nod of approval? It is hard not to wonder.

Adding insult to injury, on June 5, 2025, the Senate President—speaking on behalf of the President—issued a mild caution to security agencies about their treatment of citizens. But at this point, is caution enough? When will our leaders admit that we have reached a breaking point? These abuses now occur openly, shamelessly, and without fear of reprisal. A quick scroll through any social media platform lays bare the horrors.

In Nigeria today, your life only seems to matter if you are a politician, fabulously wealthy, or part of the security system. Everyone else is expendable. Just imagine: a man returns from abroad to visit his homeland and is murdered over a bribe worth less than $5. Why would any member of the diaspora want to come home under such terrifying conditions?

The average Nigerian has no safe haven. Abuse is everywhere: in homes, where domestic violence and family dysfunction persist; in churches, where manipulation has replaced the Gospel; on the streets, where kidnapping is a daily threat; and in communities, where ritual killings for wealth and power are on the rise. We recently learned of a ritualist who buried multiple bodies beneath his home in the pursuit of vanity and greed. And yet, despite our country’s vast natural wealth, we remain one of the poorest nations in the world.

In the East, especially in Anambra State, security checkpoints have mushroomed along every major road, appearing every five to six kilometers. But these are not checkpoints for public safety; they are toll booths for extortion. Meanwhile, violent crimes go unchecked. Boko Haram continues its reign of terror in the North, and rather than addressing this monumental failure, our security forces seem content to take out their frustration on ordinary Nigerians.

Even when well-meaning laws are enacted, they are underfunded and poorly implemented. Anambra’s recent homeland security law, for example, was passed without budgetary backing. The governor, in effect, placed the burden of enforcement on already struggling local communities. This is governance without empathy, a classic example of imposing unfunded mandates on the poor.

People say Nigeria is a failed state. But the greatest tragedy is our collective complacency. Out of fear, we tolerate abuse. We remain silent as bribes, killings, and disappearances become part of daily life. Even the Monday sit-at-home order—a symbol of a failed security structure—continues to cripple commerce and cost billions, simply because we are too afraid to confront those responsible.

Our silence enables impunity. We often know who the kidnappers, cultists, and corrupt officers are—but we say nothing. We look away. This silence is why groups like Agunechemba can operate unauthorized detention centers and hold 180 people without trial, while no government or civil society—demands answers. I am not calling for blanket releases. I am calling for justice. For due process. For transparency.

So, I ask: When will enough be enough?To my fellow Nigerians—and especially my Igbo brothers and sisters, the primary victims of these atrocities—how long will we endure this oppression?

As elections approach in Anambra, we must take a stand. This is our chance to say no more. The world is watching. Our forebears once led the nation in strength and vision. Now it is our turn to lead again—not with words, but with action.

Let us demand accountability. Let us protect our communities. Let us reclaim our dignity.

Because this—this cycle of silence, suffering, and shame—must end.