By Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin
What is more terrifying than violence? It is the sound of someone calling for help, with no one responding. That cry, unanswered, is the quiet horror that haunts our communities.
Last week in Kano, a family was killed in broad daylight. Neighbours reportedly heard the screams but stayed indoors. Outrage spread on social media. How could people hear such suffering and do nothing? How could an entire community remain silent while lives were being taken right next door?
At first, the silence felt unforgivable. Then I remembered something my Media and Society lecturer, Binta Suleiman Gaya, once said: crime is rarely about criminals alone. It is often a mirror of the society that allows it. Suddenly, the tragedy began to make painful sense.
I thought of my own experience. We grew up in a different Nigeria. Then, whenever discipline crossed into anger in our house, our neighbour was always the first to intervene. Once her name was mentioned, “Hajja Mamma Yidam! Yidam!” (Rescue me), she would rush out immediately, pleading on our behalf. Sometimes we would deliberately call her name, knowing she would come to our rescue. That was how our society functioned. Not because everyone was perfect, but because everyone was involved.
We grew up in Nigeria, where even if a neighbour was beating a child, people would rush out to ask questions. Elders would intervene. Women would shout across fences. Youths would gather instinctively. No cry was ignored. No pain was considered private. That society shaped our humanity.
Today, a person can scream until their voice disappears into death, and doors remain locked. People now live only metres apart, yet are emotionally separated by fear. In Media and Society, this condition is described as “alienation”, which is the gradual breakdown of social connection and communal responsibility.
Modern media culture has accelerated this separation. Through phones, television and social platforms, we are exposed to violence such as daily killings, kidnappings, and accidents, which are endlessly replayed. Human suffering now competes for attention in timelines and headlines.
Over time, this constant exposure creates “desensitisation”. What once shocked us now barely interrupts our scrolling. Tragedy becomes routine. Death becomes familiar. Media and Society argues that when violence becomes normalised in the media, society unconsciously absorbs that normalisation.
Alongside this is the rise of individualism. Survival has become personal. Safety has become private. The collective spirit that once defined African communities has been replaced with the logic of “mind your business.” So when danger appears, people retreat indoors, but not always out of wickedness, but because society has trained them to think first of self, not community.
The course also explains the bystander effect, a psychological phenomenon in which individuals fail to act in emergencies because responsibility feels shared. Everyone assumes someone else will intervene. In moments like the Kano tragedy, everyone heard, and everyone waited.
Fear worsens this silence. Media reports of mob justice, wrongful arrests and police brutality have created deep public distrust. Many citizens now fear becoming suspects more than becoming helpers. The result is a society paralysed.
Media and Society helped me understand that insecurity is not only about criminals and weapons. It is also about broken trust, weakened communal values and a media environment that has reshaped human behaviour.
Our old society relied on communal vigilance. When danger came, the community itself became the first responder. Today, citizens wait for institutions that often arrive too late. The killers in Kano did not act alone. They were aided by fear and protected by our silence.
The government must rebuild trust between citizens and security agencies. Community policing must be strengthened. Media institutions must go beyond reporting bloodshed and begin promoting empathy, social responsibility and communal vigilance. Religious and traditional leaders must revive the values that once made indifference shameful.
Beyond policies lies humanity. Every life lost affects us all. Speak up, protect your neighbours, and restore the community we once had.
We pray for the souls of those who lost their lives in Kano. May their families find strength, and may we as a society learn to act before it is too late. Let their cries not be in vain.
Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin wrote via ibrahimaliyu5023@yahoo.com.