Nigeria’s young activists are doing the work — but they can’t do it alone

I’m a child of Nigerian immigrants. With that comes the constant balance of navigating a dual identity with two countries that have shown — within months of each other — their lack of care for Black life and Black dignity.

Within months of each other, young people in the United States and in Nigeria took to the streets, exercising their constitutional right to protest peacefully to call for the end of police brutality — in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.

Nigerians in New York City marched last week in the third demonstration to raise awareness and amplify the youth of the most populous Black nation who’ve been appealing for the right to live free from the impunity of the police force, most notably the Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS). This police unit was formed in the early 1990s to combat heightened kidnappings and robberies but recently evolved to subjecting Nigerians — especially the youth — to extortion, torture, unlawful arrests, and killings.

A viral video showing the killing of a young man by SARS in Delta State circulated on social media about a week after Nigeria marked 60 years of independence from Britain, breaking the camel’s back of wider issues that young Nigerians have always known and been forced to innovatively navigate. These peaceful demonstrations that sprung up around the country demonstrated that Nigerian youth are more than capable and ready to shift the country in the overdue direction of true progress.

This police unit was formed in the early 1990s to combat heightened kidnappings and robberies but recently evolved to subjecting Nigerians — especially the youth — to extortion, torture, unlawful arrests, and killings.

Their approach was decentralized — there was no single leader, but rather collectives taking on important roles to have their voices heard. There were the youth who put their lives on the line, stopping traffic and tollgates, marching to government buildings and police stations, demanding that the country do right by them and begin needed reforms. Queer Nigerians joined in taking a stand, creating a space for visibility and nuance around other marginalized groups in the country and calling for their right to exist and live. The online rallying to keep the #EndSARS hashtag trending on social media for days on end is of note, as these same platforms were utilized to disseminate live updates from the ground that were not televised on TV.

The Feminist Coalition, a group of 14 women committed to helping amplify the voices of Nigerian youth, was the epitome of what transparency and accountability look like. By the end of each demonstration day, they provided a detailed summary and progress report of funds raised and disbursed, where it was heading, and what resources it was used for (such as food, water, masks, sanitizer, or security). Collectives arranged for medical teams and ambulances to be on standby to tend to the injured and transfer them to hospitals. #EndSARS Legal Aid, a network of more than 800 lawyers from across Nigeria, has been securing the release of protesters as they began to get arrested.

At the height of the violence imposed on protesters and citizens by police and external forces, the End SARS Response Unit made helplines available that people could call to report incidents and that streamlined where immediate help was needed. Digital media platforms helmed by young Nigerians, including The Native, Zikoko, MoreBranches, The Republic, and more, provided much-needed context, nuance, and guidance—which legacy Nigerian platforms failed to provide—as to how the world could understand what this moment means from the perspective of their peers.

This was all in motion within two weeks—two weeks’ worth of progress that these same youth have yet to see get put into action from those who were elected to represent them.

By October 11, authorities announced that SARS would be disbanded, with the subsequent formation of a “new” Special Weapons and Tactics team (SWAT) to replace the unit. Unsatisfied due to similar “reforms” made in recent years that resulted in no tangible change, Nigerian youth, by continuing their demonstrations, made it clear to the government that it should take heed of their five key demands. The demands, alongside the broader call for Nigeria to address the needs that have plagued generations, are as follows: the immediate release of all arrested protesters; proper investigations to be launched into fatal victims of police brutality, with appropriate compensation for their families; an independent investigation and prosecution of police reported for misconduct; psychological evaluation and retraining of all disbanded SARS officers before they’re to be redeployed; and an increase in police salary.

Nigerian youth were not moved by lip service from the government and continued to take space until they saw real progress. They were far from enthused by the silence from President Muhammadu Buhari—who formerly ruled Nigeria under military dictatorship in the 1980s—and the attempt to usurp the movement via denial, disinformation, and violent interruption. They rallied in huge numbers across the country despite witnessing fellow young Nigerians lose their lives during demonstrations at the hands of the police (who were instructed to stand down) and paid thugs. Days after a moving candlelight vigil at the Lekki Tollgate Plaza, what was supposed to be another day of declaring youth holding the mantle of a new Nigeria would be the day that Nigeria’s flag turned red.

On October 20, while peaceful protesters continued to rally at the plaza, Lagos State Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu announced a 24-hour curfew just four hours shy of when it was to take effect at 7:00 p.m. as a response to “heightened insecurity” in the city. Images surfaced on social media of officials removing CCTV cameras from around the tollgate; videos showed army tanks heading into Lagos. Demonstrators were seated, waving the Nigerian flag, singing the national anthem, and saying the names of those lost to police brutality. By nightfall, the streetlights that encompassed the plaza were shut off, while Sanwo-Olu announced that the curfew was pushed back to 9:00 p.m.

More footage from Instagram Live would reveal that the protestors were trapped amid fires and tear gas deployed by army officers, who then opened fire on both sides of the tollgate. DJ Switch’s livestream showed protesters scrambling in a panic, attempting to remove bullets from those who were hit. More than 150,000 viewers watched the unarmed protesters die, as ambulances sent by organizers were prevented from reaching the injured.

Amnesty International reports that at least 12 people were killed between Lekki and Alausa, with hundreds left injured. Governor Sanwo-Olu proceeded to evade responsibility in updated statements on the injured and what was next to come. On social media, the Nigerian Army labeled reports of the massacre by international outlets as “fake news.” On October 22, President Buhari addressed the nation after nine days of silence, making no mention of that fateful Tuesday. Out of sight and out of mind. He extended a warning to those who disrupted the peaceful protest against “some” members of SARS and proceeded to detail his administration’s progress in fighting poverty. Addressing members of the international community who expressed concern about the brute force against the protesters, Buhari urged them “to seek to know all the facts available before taking a position.”

The Feminist Coalition’s last statement, released soon after Buhari’s speech, was a sober one, detailing how the remaining funds raised would be disbursed, while laying emphasis for young Nigerians to stay alive to fulfill the hopes and dreams of their homeland. “We are merchants of hope,” they stated. “Our priority is always the welfare and safety of the Nigerian youth.”

While Nigerians on the ground take this time to rest, process, regroup, and restrategize, the diaspora needs to continue to run parallel and take on the supporting role of amplification, taking to task those living among us who represent the state (and it’s already underway).

The world must not forget, so we must continue to share resources and accurate accounts of what occurred in this moment. The world still has to learn, so we must revisit Nigeria’s past and reckon how it will inform its future. The world still needs to mourn, so we must learn the names of who we lost on that fateful Tuesday and take note of those who are still missing and unaccounted for.

What we witnessed from afar on October 20 mustered a swell of people in mourning who took up space all across midtown New York the next day, fists and signs held up high, flags stained with red to symbolize senseless bloodshed in tow. We were surrounded by songs of protest — songs that reflected the times and ironically hold true irrespective of time — including musician African China’s 2006 anthem, “Mr. President.”

His plea is so simple and is what Nigerian youth the world over are still demanding today:

Make una lead us well

No let this nation to fall inside well

Mr. President

Lead us well.