Plato once warned that a society without justice is a breeding ground for chaos, where the weak become prey and the strong become tyrants. Aristotle, too, spoke of the polis – the city-state – as an entity bound by virtue and the pursuit of the common good. But what happens when a community abandons virtue? When it trades reason for barbarity? When it becomes intoxicated by its own bloodlust? Uromi has given us the answer.
The lynching and burning of travellers in Uromi last week were not just acts of violence; they were symptoms of a moral collapse, a terrifying glimpse into the abyss that awaits a society that forsakes its principles. It was not just an execution—it was an orgy of destruction, a perverse carnival where ordinary people became executioners, where laughter mixed with the crackling of flames, and where cruelty paraded itself without shame.
Hannah Arendt spoke of the “banality of evil”—the way ordinary people, through indifference or conformity, become participants in unimaginable horrors. The faces of those in Uromi tell a similar story: a people who have so thoroughly normalized brutality that they no longer recognize it as evil.
The collapse of moral order
Thomas Hobbes, in his treatise Leviathan, described human existence in the absence of law as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” He warned that without a strong moral and legal framework, society would descend into anarchy, where life is dictated by the arbitrary whims of the mob. Uromi has offered us a tragic demonstration of his theory.
The people who carried out this act did not see themselves as criminals. They were swept up in the illusion of righteousness, convinced that they were executing justice. But what is justice without inquiry? What is punishment without evidence? When did human beings become so arrogant that they now appoint themselves as judges, juries, and executioners in the span of minutes?
A society that embraces mob justice is a society that has abandoned reason. It has rejected the very foundation upon which civilization is built: the presumption of innocence, the pursuit of truth, the respect for human dignity. The idea that law and order can be replaced by the whims of the street is a self-destructive fantasy, for once the mob is empowered, no one is truly safe—not even those who cheered at the flames this time.
The savage of joy and cruelty
Nietzsche warned that when men gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into them. And in Uromi, the abyss did not just gaze back – it swallowed its people whole. The horror was not just in the killing itself but in the manner in which it was carried out. There was a woman among them – yes, a woman – who struck the victims with visible pleasure before they were set on fire. She was smiling.
What does it say about a people when they begin to derive joy from the suffering of others? When they do not merely kill but revel in the act? There is a difference between vengeance and sadism. There is a difference between outrage and depravity. What we saw in Uromi was not the execution of justice, nor was it an expression of frustration against insecurity. It was the full embrace of savagery, the public celebration of inhumanity. And what is most terrifying is that it was not hidden. It was filmed, uploaded, and circulated – not as evidence of shame, but as a trophy of conquest.
The ancient Romans once entertained themselves by watching gladiators tear each other apart. The French cheered as the guillotine sliced through neck after neck during the Reign of Terror. The people of Uromi have, in their own way, revived this tradition of bloodlust, turning murder into spectacle, turning suffering into entertainment.
What does this say about us? About the moral direction of our society? The act itself was horrifying, but the reaction to it—the justifications, the indifference, the silence—is perhaps even worse. It tells us that we have not only grown comfortable with evil but that we have made a place for it at the table, that we now dine with it, laugh with it, and, when the moment calls, participate in its work.
The justification of madness
Socrates taught that an unexamined life is not worth living. But how many Nigerians today take the time to examine their own beliefs? Their own justifications? Their own excuses for inhumanity? If those who committed the killings are guilty, then those who have attempted to rationalize them are their accomplices.
Some have said, “While we condemn the killings, we must understand why they happened.” Others argue that the victims have no business travelling to the south to ply their trade. That people are tired of insecurity, that these things are bound to happen.
This is the language of moral cowardice. This is the language of a people who have lost their grip on right and wrong. Once we begin justifying brutality, we have already become its next victims. Once we start explaining away murder, we are already standing in its shadow. History has shown us where this road leads, yet we continue to walk it as though we are blind.
First, it was the Aluu Four. Then, it was Deborah in Sokoto. Then, Usman Boda. And now, Uromi. The cycle repeats itself, always with the same justification, always with the same indifference from those who should act.
But the truth is this: A society that justifies violence will eventually be consumed by it. Today, it is nameless travelers. Tomorrow, it will be someone else. And soon, the definition of “criminal” or “suspicious person” will expand until it includes anyone who is simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. That is how all societies that normalize bloodletting eventually destroy themselves.
The silence that kills
Marcus Aurelius once said that the best revenge is to be unlike those who commit evil. But what does that say about a society where silence in the face of evil has become the norm?
Those who commit these acts are not the only ones guilty. Those who watched and did nothing, those who recorded and laughed, those who justified and excused, those who moved on as though nothing happened—they, too, carry the stain of this crime.
Stanley Milgram’s psychological studies proved that human beings are disturbingly willing to conform to authority—even when authority commands them to do evil. But what happens when the authority they conform to is the mob? When the loudest voice is the one calling for blood?
Uromi should haunt us. But will it? Or will it be just another incident? Will the killers melt back into society, unpunished and unrepentant? Will we, once again, talk about the need for justice, only to forget by next week?
The reality is this: If there is no justice, then the next mob is already forming. If we do not act now, then we must accept that we are all living on borrowed time. Because tomorrow, it could be someone else.
Perhaps someone you know. Perhaps someone you love. Perhaps you.
Here are two quotes that summarise the op-ed
1. “A society that embraces mob justice is a society that has abandoned reason. It has rejected the very foundation upon which civilization is built: the presumption of innocence, the pursuit of truth, the respect for human dignity.”
2. “The act itself was horrifying, but the reaction to it—the justifications, the indifference, the silence—is perhaps even worse. It tells us that we have not only grown comfortable with evil but that we now embrace it.”
