By Fatih Lawal-Garu
Across Nigeria today, an allegation can become a death sentence long before any investigation begins. Increasingly, crowds, not courts, decide who lives and who dies. Whether the accusation is theft, blasphemy, kidnapping, or even a perceived cultural offence, many Nigerians are willing to dispense instant “justice,” replacing the rule of law with the rule of the mob.
On December 28, 2025, filmmaker Don Pedro Obaseki was abducted, beaten, stripped naked, and publicly paraded through the streets of Benin City over allegations that he had insulted the Oba of Benin while abroad. He survived the ordeal and later filed a ₦500 million fundamental rights suit, which he withdrew after receiving a public apology. Barely three months later, on March 19, 2026, during the Alue-Do Festival in Ozoro, Delta State, viral videos showed coordinated sexual assaults on women. Large groups of men chased, groped, and tore the clothes of women in broad daylight under the guise of an ancient fertility rite. In Maraban Jos, Kaduna State, an Islamiyya school teacher named Ummulkhair was lynched and burnt alive after being accused of kidnapping a child. Four years earlier, Deborah Samuel Yakubu, a student of Shehu Shagari College of Education in Sokoto, was beaten, stoned, and burnt alive by fellow students over allegations of blasphemy.
These incidents reveal that mob violence is neither regional nor confined to a single grievance. It cuts across Nigeria’s geopolitical zones, religions, cultures, ethnicities, and genders. Crowds arrogate to themselves the powers of the police, the courts, and the executioner without evidence, due process, or regard for human life. Amnesty International documented 555 victims of mob violence between 2012 and 2023, averaging about 55 deaths annually.
A Daily Trust editorial reported that between June and December 2025 alone, 60 people were killed while 20 others were brutally assaulted by mobs. From January 2026 to date, another 27 people have reportedly lost their lives to jungle justice. These victims were not killed by bandits, terrorists, armed robbers, or even security agencies. They were ordinary Nigerians killed by fellow Nigerians over allegations of theft, kidnapping, blasphemy, cultural violations, ethnic prejudice, unverified suspicions, and deliberate mischief.
There was a time when the cry of “thief!” prompted citizens to alert the police. Today, shouts of “Ole,” “gbomo gbomo,” or “barawo” often signal the beginning of a public execution. Within minutes, a crowd gathers, accusations replace evidence, and an alleged offender is beaten, stoned, or burnt alive. The rise of jungle justice reflects a growing loss of confidence in Nigeria’s criminal justice system. Many citizens believe suspects handed over to the police will regain their freedom through bribery, political influence, or endless judicial delays. Although these concerns are genuine, they cannot justify abandoning the law. Ironically, many Nigerians now fear jungle justice almost as much as they fear criminals or even state policing. A misunderstanding or mistaken identity can be enough to trigger a murderous crowd.
Equally disturbing is the erosion of human dignity. Jungle justice has become less about punishing alleged offenders than humiliating them. Victims are stripped naked, tortured, filmed, mocked, and sometimes burnt alive while spectators cheer or record videos. The spectacle suggests that many participants are motivated not merely by anger but by an opportunity to humiliate another human being. Social media has become an accomplice to this violence. Videos of lynchings and public humiliation are often recorded, shared, and circulated within minutes, turning human suffering into entertainment. Rather than provoking outrage, such videos frequently attract applause, jokes, or calls for even harsher punishment, encouraging copycat violence and further normalising mob justice.
The mob is also deeply hypocritical. Petty thieves often help lynch suspected thieves. Political thugs, extortionists, and habitual lawbreakers suddenly become defenders of public morality. Those whose daily lives violate the law frequently present themselves as its most passionate enforcers. Jungle justice, therefore, is often less about justice than the intoxicating feeling of exercising unchecked power. Crowds also create a dangerous sense of anonymity. Individuals who would never assault another person on their own often participate in extreme violence once responsibility is diluted among hundreds of people. Protected by numbers, ordinary people can become willing participants in acts they would otherwise condemn.
This hypocrisy reflects a broader national habit of rationalising wrongdoing. Nigerians often seek excuses for actions they already wish to commit. Ask a Yahoo boy why he engages in cybercrime, and he may invoke colonial exploitation or slavery. Ask a voter why he sells his vote, and he may describe it as his chance to “eat from the national cake.” Ask a supporter of jungle justice why he approves of mob executions, and he will likely argue that the suspect would simply bribe the police and walk free. While these grievances expose genuine institutional failures, they cannot excuse criminality or justify replacing the justice system with mob rule. Corruption in public institutions should inspire reform, not lawlessness.
Fear sustains this culture. Witnesses seldom identify perpetrators because they fear violent reprisals. Authorities, meanwhile, often conduct weak investigations that end without meaningful prosecutions. This silence emboldens future attacks and creates the impression that mob violence carries little or no consequence. The long-term consequences extend beyond the victims themselves. Every lynching weakens confidence in state institutions, deepens public fear, and normalises violence as a legitimate means of resolving disputes. Communities become less trusting, public spaces feel increasingly unsafe, and every stranger becomes vulnerable to suspicion.
Nigeria’s Constitution guarantees the right to life, fair hearing, and protection from cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment. No citizen or crowd possesses the legal authority to arrest, prosecute, convict, and execute another person. The criminal justice system is founded upon the presumption of innocence until guilt is proven beyond a reasonable doubt. It is better that guilty persons occasionally escape punishment than that innocent people are condemned without trial. Nigeria cannot build a just society upon instant punishment and collective vengeance. Restoring public confidence in the police and the judiciary, ensuring swift and impartial justice, prosecuting those responsible for mob violence, and rejecting vigilantism are essential to reversing this dangerous trend.
Until jungle justice is condemned not only in speeches but also through consistent enforcement of the law, the cry of “thief!” will continue to signify not the pursuit of justice, but the beginning of another preventable tragedy. When a crowd becomes judge, jury, and executioner, no Nigerian is truly safe, not even those cheering from the sidelines.
Fatih Lawal-Garu is a Mass Communication graduate from Bayero University, Kano, and writes at ibnkamilgaru1@gmail.com.