By Boma Lilian Braide (Esq.)
There was a time in Nigeria when the phrase The Police is Your Friend was not a national joke. It was a civic assurance, a symbolic handshake between the state and its citizens. It represented the ideal of a civil security architecture built on trust, service, and protection. Today, that once reassuring slogan has decayed into a bitter irony. It no longer evokes safety; it provokes fear. It no longer signals partnership; it signals danger. What should have been the soul of Nigerian civil state relations has become a cruel parody of our lived experience at checkpoints, stations, and on the streets.
The Nigerian security apparatus has undergone a transformation so profound that it now resembles a predatory machine rather than a protective institution. The sight of a police patrol vehicle, which should ordinarily bring comfort, now triggers anxiety. Citizens instinctively brace themselves, not for assistance, but for extortion, harassment, or violence. We are not merely witnessing isolated incidents of misconduct. We are watching a pattern of state enabled brutality unfold in real time, a pattern so consistent that it feels like a televised execution of the social contract. In this grim theatre, the Nigerian state often appears not as the protector but as the principal aggressor.
On Sunday, April 26th 2026, the quiet air of Effurun in Delta State was shattered by the crack of a service pistol. What should have been an ordinary Sunday afternoon became the final chapter in the life of twenty-eight year old Mene Ogidi. A viral video, barely two minutes long, captured the horrifying scene. Ogidi sat on the dusty ground, his hands tied behind him with a rope. He was unarmed, exhausted, and pleading in his mother tongue for a chance to explain himself. Standing over him was a man in plain clothes, a man sworn to protect the very life he was about to extinguish. Assistant Superintendent of Police Nuhu Usman raised his pistol and fired two shots at close range into the body of a restrained, helpless citizen.
This was not a confrontation. It was not a crossfire. It was not a struggle for a weapon. It was an execution. A daylight assassination carried out by a state paid officer who felt so insulated by impunity that he performed his violence in front of a digital audience. The collective outrage that followed was not simply about one death. It was the eruption of a nation that has watched this script repeat itself far too many times.
Barely days later, in Dei-Dei Abuja, another life was cut short. A National Youth Service Corps member was shot inside his father’s compound. Authorities described it as a mistake during a crossfire, but the silence that followed spoke louder than any official explanation. These tragedies are not anomalies. They are symptoms of a deep institutional rot, a rot that has turned the badge into a license for violence rather than a symbol of service.
Extrajudicial killings in Nigeria represent a direct assault on the fundamental right to life and the presumption of innocence. When a law enforcement officer assumes the roles of accuser, judge, and executioner, the very foundation of the state begins to crumble. In the case of Mene Ogidi, the Delta State Police Command admitted that the officer acted in gross violation of Force Order 237, the regulation governing the use of firearms. This admission is significant because it reveals that the problem is not the absence of rules. The problem is the collapse of discipline, the erosion of accountability, and the entrenchment of a culture of impunity.
Between 2020 and 2025, Nigerian security agencies were implicated in nearly six hundred violent incidents against civilians, resulting in more than eight hundred deaths. The Nigeria Police Force accounted for over half of these fatalities. These numbers paint a disturbing picture. The institutions funded by taxpayers to provide security have become one of the greatest threats to their safety.
The psychology behind this brutality is rooted in the absence of consequences. When officers believe that nothing will happen after they pull the trigger, the threshold for using lethal force drops to zero. In the Effurun case, reports suggest that the suspect was even transported to a station after the initial shooting, only to be shot again. This level of cruelty reflects a complete dehumanization of the citizenry. The victim is no longer seen as a person with rights. He becomes a disposable suspect. This mindset is a legacy of the defunct SARS unit, whose methods and mentality continue to shape policing culture. Rebranding SARS into SWAT or the Rapid Response Squad means nothing if the same men, trained in the same violent ethos, continue to operate with the same predatory instincts.
The Nigerian police system has evolved from a flawed institution into what many citizens now describe as a state sponsored cartel. The Zero Tolerance mantra often repeated by the Inspector General of Police, Olatunji Disu, has become a public relations slogan that evaporates at every checkpoint. The immediate dismissal and recommended prosecution of ASP Usman and his team may satisfy the public’s immediate hunger for justice, but it does not address the deeper institutional vacuum that allowed an officer to believe he could execute a restrained suspect without consequence. If accountability only occurs when a video goes viral, then we are not being policed. We are being hunted by a uniformed gang that is occasionally caught on camera.
This raises critical questions. Where were the superior officers? Where was the Area Commander while this culture of execution was taking root? Command responsibility in Nigeria remains a myth. Until a Commissioner of Police is removed for the actions of their subordinates, there will be no internal incentive to reform. The decay is structural. We are recruiting frustrated individuals, training them in aggression rather than professionalism, and unleashing them on a population they are conditioned to view with suspicion and contempt.
The mistake narrative used in the Abuja NYSC shooting reflects this tactical incompetence. A professional force does not mistake a youth corper in his bedroom for a combatant. Nigerians are effectively subsidising their own endangerment, paying for the bullets that cut down their brightest young citizens. A nation cannot survive this level of uniformed recklessness. The state has lost its monopoly on violence to its own agents. When police officers fear the citizen’s camera more than they respect the citizen’s life, the system has failed.
Five years after the historic 2020 End SARS protests, the systemic reforms promised by government remain largely unfulfilled. Only a handful of states have implemented the recommendations of the judicial panels or compensated victims. The National Human Rights Commission reported in July 2025 that it had received over three hundred thousand complaints of abuses. This staggering figure reflects the scale of the crisis. While the current Inspector General has introduced new regulations to align the Police Act of 2020 with operational realities, the gap between a gazetted document in Abuja and a patrol team in Delta remains vast.
The solution to this bloodletting must be radical and structural. First, police oversight must be decentralised. Relying on Force Headquarters in Abuja to discipline an officer in a remote community is inefficient and ineffective. Each state should have an independent, citizen led oversight board with the authority to recommend immediate suspension and prosecution without interference from the police hierarchy.
Second, Force Order 237 must be overhauled to strictly limit the use of firearms to situations where there is an immediate and verifiable threat to life. Under no circumstances should a restrained or surrendering suspect be shot.
Third, Nigeria must address the mental health and welfare of police officers. Men who live in dilapidated barracks, earn inadequate wages, and operate under constant stress are more likely to lash out at the public. However, poverty cannot be an excuse for murder. Welfare reform must go hand in hand with strict accountability.
Finally, justice must not only be done but must be seen to be done. The trial of ASP Usman and others like him should be public, transparent, and swift. It must serve as a deterrent that resonates in every police station across the country. The era of secret disciplinary rooms must end. Nigeria must invest in technology driven policing, not only in weapons but in body cameras and digital accountability systems. When officers know they are being recorded, hesitation replaces recklessness.
A NATIONAL CALL TO ACTION
The era of Orderly Room secrecy must end. Nigeria must decentralise police disciplinary trials, moving them from closed sessions in Abuja to open, civilian led inquiries in the states where the abuses occur. A National Firearms Audit is urgently needed. Every officer must account for every round issued, and any missing ammunition should trigger automatic suspension for the entire chain of command.
The National Assembly must fast track the Victims of Police Brutality Trust Fund, ensuring that compensation becomes a legal right funded directly from the budgets of offending commands. Nigeria must stop being a nation of post script outrage. Command responsibility must become law. If an officer under a Commissioner’s watch executes a handcuffed suspect, that Commissioner must lose their job alongside the shooter.
The blood of Mene Ogidi and the NYSC member in Dei Dei is a stain on our national conscience. It is a reminder that as long as one Nigerian can be tied up and shot without trial, no Nigerian is truly safe. Silence is no longer an option. Waiting for the next viral video is no longer acceptable. The time to demand change is now.
