The gruesome murder of Ogidi

The extrajudicial killing of Mene Ogidi, 28, on April 26 in Effurun, Delta State, is not just another grim headline. It is an indictment of a police force whose officers too often substitute the rule of law with the rule of the gun. Ogidi, reportedly found with a parcel containing a pistol, was already subdued, bound hand and foot, lying on the ground before a crowd, crying and pleading for his life. He even promised to lead officers to the source of the parcel in Sapele.

Yet, in a chilling display of cruelty, ASP Nuhu Usman shot him first in the leg and then in the head. His body was dragged into a police van and driven away. That sequence of events strips away any ambiguity: this was not law enforcement; it was execution. The Nigeria Police Force has described the act as criminal, extrajudicial, and alien to its standards. ASP Usman and his accomplices have been dismissed and are to be handed over for prosecution. But dismissal is not justice. It is merely the bare minimum response to an atrocity.

Justice demands full prosecution, transparent trial, and appropriate sentencing. It also demands compensation for Ogidi’s family, whose loss cannot be quantified but must nonetheless be acknowledged by the state. What makes this case especially disturbing is not only the act itself, but also the context in which it occurred. The suspect was already restrained. He posed no immediate threat. Under any lawful standard, he should have been taken into custody, investigated, and tried in a court of law. A suspect, after all, is presumed innocent until proven guilty.

By killing Ogidi, the officers did not deliver justice but destroyed it. They also potentially erased evidence that could have led to a broader criminal network, if one existed. This is not policing; it is the collapse of procedure, discipline, and humanity. This incident evokes painful parallels with the killing of George Floyd in the United States—a man subdued, pleading, and ultimately killed by those sworn to protect him.

In Nigeria, however, the tragedy is compounded by repetition. The country has seen this script before, most notably in the Apo Six killings of June 7, 2005, when six young Nigerians were abducted, falsely labelled armed robbers, and executed. Weapons were allegedly planted to justify the killings. Public outrage forced investigations, and some officers were eventually convicted. Two decades later, the same patterns persist.

The memory of the EndSARS protests should still be fresh. Those protests were triggered in October 2020 by a viral video showing Special Anti-Robbery Squad operatives allegedly shooting a young man in Ughelli, which is not far from Effurun, and later driving off in his car.

Amnesty International documented at least 82 cases of torture and killings by SARS between 2017 and 2020. The protests culminated tragically on October 20, 2020, when security forces opened fire on peaceful demonstrators at the Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos, killing at least 12 people, according to Amnesty International. The government responded by disbanding SARS, but the underlying culture of impunity clearly survived.

Indeed, the killing of Ogidi demonstrates that the reform has been more cosmetic than structural. The police may condemn such acts publicly, but the recurrence of these abuses suggests that internal accountability mechanisms are either weak or deliberately undermined. Reports of random arrests, extortion, harassment, torture, unlawful detention, and summary executions remain widespread.

The Inspector General of Police (IGP), Tunji Disu, now faces a test of leadership. Words of condemnation are no longer sufficient. He must initiate a systematic purge of officers who treat the police badge as a licence to kill. This requires more than reactive discipline; it demands proactive reform—rigorous training in rules of engagement, strict adherence to use-of-force protocols, psychological evaluation of officers, and an independent oversight mechanism that is truly empowered to investigate abuses.

Officers must be properly oriented in firearm handling and the lawful management of suspects. The duty of the police is to protect life, not extinguish it. The resort to extrajudicial killing is not just illegal—it is immoral. It stains the reputation of the entire country and undermines the very foundation of justice. How many other “Ogidis” have been silenced without witnesses, without videos, without outrage? This is why accountability in this case must be uncompromising.

The prosecution of ASP Usman and his accomplices must be swift, transparent, and conclusive. Anything less will reinforce a cycle in which outrage fades, promises are made, and nothing fundamentally changes. Nigeria cannot afford another moment where justice is buried alongside its victims. Ogidi’s death must not be in vain. It must serve as a turning point—a moment when the country decisively rejects the normalisation of police violence. The police badge must stand for protection, not fear. Until that transformation occurs, every citizen remains vulnerable and every promise of reform remains hollow.