On March 28, 2025, Nigeria saw yet another horrific incidence of mob violence. Sixteen hunters from Port Harcourt, bound for Kano for Eid celebrations, were lynched and burnt alive in Uromi, Edo State. The ghastly murders shook the nation to its foundations, but even more appalling was the reaction—splintered, selective, and, in some cases, shiver-inducing silence.

This horrific act is not only a crime against the victims and their families—it is a blight on our humanity.   It is sad that in this age and time, innocent lives are lost so brutally, yet there are some who attempt to justify or downplay it. The truth is simple: mob justice is no justice. It is lawlessness, it is brutality, and it is an immediate danger to the very survival of our society.

One of the most sickening aspects of such tragedies is the way reactions to them get conditioned by religious and tribal prejudices. Had these killings happened in the North, the outrage would have been deafening. The press would have been relentless with front-page headlines, the Nigerian Twitter spaces and airwaves would have run hot with indignant debate over the “barbarism” of northerners, and the entire region would have been blamed for what was perpetrated by a few. Even Lord Lugard would have turned in his grave from the frequency with which he would have been damned for having amalgamated Nigeria.

This selective outrage is dangerous. When we begin to categorise victimhood—when we begin to value lives in different ways based on religion or ethnicity—we are creating a society in which injustice is okay as long as it is committed against the “right” individuals. It is the same argument that I made in my latest article, ‘Who Owns the Victimhood?’ We must ask ourselves: do we denounce violence because it is inherently wrong, or do we only denounce it when it is expedient to our prejudices?

It is frightening to think that in today’s Nigeria, a mere accusation could be a death sentence. The driver of the truck carrying the hunters said everything had been fine with the search up until when one of the vigilantes accused the hunters of being members of Boko Haram, bandits, and kidnappers. That single baseless accusation triggered a mob assault that left innocent individuals reduced to ashes alive.

Others have attempted to justify these murders by bringing up the 2022 Sokoto murder of Deborah Yakubu. Her murder, just like these hunters’ murders, cannot be justified. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) never authorised Muslims to take law into their own hands. He expressly declared all human life sacred and never differentiated between the life of a Muslim and a non-Muslim in matters of justice. In Islam, justice is based on due process—not on the emotions of an outraged mob.

Using Deborah’s death as an excuse for the Uromi murders is pathetic. Two wrongs do not make a right. If the killing of Deborah was wrong—and it was—then the killing of these hunters is just as wrong. Justice is not a question of taking sides; it is about ensuring fairness, accountability, and the protection of all human life are ensured. If every community starts to retaliate for injustices they have suffered in the past, we will be into an interminable spiral of bloodshed.

Along with this are also irresponsible and threatening comments uttered by some youth in the North. I have heard calls for revenge —some even declaring that for every hunter killed, five Edo people must be murdered. Such reckless statements are unacceptable. We are not a lawless nation, and no one has the right to take the law into their hands. If we really pursue justice, then it has to be through institutions and the law, not by revenge.

The response of Edo State Governor Monday Okpebholo is itself admirable. Not only did he condemn the killings and thank the local Muslim community for showing restraint, but he further suspended the commander of the Edo State Security Corps and all unauthorised vigilante groups operating in the state.

For too long, the perpetrators of mob violence in Nigeria have been getting away with murder. Investigations are opened, people are arrested, but most often, justice is never served. This creates a culture of impunity where people feel they can kill in broad daylight and get away with it.

Human life in whatever form is sacred. As a physician, I have spent most of my adult life saving people; I have witnessed countless times the fragility of life up close—seen people teeter on the edge of death and fight their way back, while others slip away despite every effort to save them. I understand what it means to lose a life and what it takes to help preserve one. But nothing could prepare me for the horror of watching those killings. Some might think that familiarity with life and death makes it easier to process such brutality, but there is a vast difference between the struggle for survival in a hospital and the senseless destruction of innocent lives at the hands of a mob.

And yet, here we are in the 21st century, watching jungle justice with observers recording videos on their phones. Where is our humanity? How did we arrive at the point where people do not think of murder as a crime but as entertainment?

Why do we see such actions in ethnic and religious terms instead of seeing them for what they are—regardless of who they may involve—reprehensible crimes against innocent human life?

During such moments, voices speaking against prejudice and division must be praised. One of the very few who immediately reacted rationally was Daniel Regha, who aptly posited that both the murder of Deborah and the murder of Uromi were equally wrong. His was a simple message: murder cannot be justified.

We need more Nigerian voices—especially the powerful ones—to cross tribal and religious lines to speak out for justice for all victims of violence. We cannot pick and choose whose violence we would deplore. If we truly want a peaceful and just country, then we must be against violence in all its forms—no exception.

To our politicians, such actions are manifestations of a crumbling system of justice, widening ethnic and religious fault lines, and a lack of respect for the rule of law. So demand a system where justice is blind—where a wrong is not just condemned because of the identity of the victim but because it is simply wrong. If we allow mob justice to prevail, if we continue to think in terms of “us versus them” when it comes to crime, then we’re headed on a catastrophic path.

This atrocity is not just a crime against the victims and their families—it is a stain on our collective humanity. So, we must insist on justice not just for these victims but for all the victims of violence, whoever they may be, wherever they may be from, not as a symbolic gesture but as a strong message that lawlessness will not be tolerated.

This is not simply an issue of religion, ethnicity, or regional divisions—it’s an issue of what sort of society we want to live in. If we allow mob justice to become the norm, if we are selectively critical of violence, then we are condemning ourselves to a world where no one is ever safe.

We must decide what kind of country we want to build. Do we want a country in which all men are equal under the law, where justice is dispensed without bias? Or do we want a country where the tyranny of the crowd takes the place of the rule of law, where vengeance takes the place of justice?

This is our choice. But one thing is certain: If we do not raise our voices against mob justice today, we may not have a country to fight for tomorrow.