There are moments in the life of a nation when one incident forces us to look beyond the incident itself. The reported death of ...
There are moments in the life of a nation when one incident forces us to look beyond the incident itself. The reported death of 37 young Nigerians in the custody of the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps in Niger State is one such moment. These were men accused of illegal mining. They had not, however, been convicted by any court. They were suspects in the custody of the state—and that distinction matters. The government has acknowledged the deaths and ordered investigations, while questions remain about the conditions in which the men were detained and what actually caused their deaths.
Whatever the final investigation establishes, one uncomfortable question cannot be avoided: what sort of country are we becoming when people taken into government custody can die in such numbers?
Let us be clear: illegal mining is a crime, and the government has every right, indeed the responsibility, to protect Nigeria's mineral resources. But the enforcement of law cannot itself become lawless. A suspect does not lose his humanity because he is accused of a crime. Arrest is not conviction. Detention is not a death sentence. The Nigerian Constitution protects the right to life, dignity, personal liberty and fair hearing. These rights do not disappear because the accused happens to be a poor young man digging for gold.
And this tragedy raises an even bigger question.
Why is illegal mining flourishing in the first place in a country blessed with gold, lithium, tantalite, tin and other strategic minerals? Why are young Nigerians risking their lives in dangerous pits while valuable minerals are leaving the country through channels that are often difficult to trace? Who finances the operations? Who buys the minerals? Who transports them? Who ultimately profits?
If illegal mining is helping to finance criminal networks, as Nigerian authorities have repeatedly warned, then arresting the young men at the bottom of the chain is not enough. Follow the money. Find those who finance the operations, those who purchase and export the minerals, and anyone—Nigerian or foreign—who profits from the illicit trade.
And if the country possesses such enormous mineral wealth, why can government not organise the sector properly? Why can artisanal miners not be registered, organised into cooperatives and given legal access to mining opportunities? Why can Nigeria not develop regulated buying centres, transparent licensing, local processing and traceable mineral exports? Why should the mineral wealth beneath Nigerian soil become a source of criminality instead of employment, industrialisation and national prosperity?
Perhaps even more disturbing is the fate of the communities in which these resources are found. People are displaced from their farms and ancestral lands; insecurity makes ordinary life impossible; yet the resources beneath their feet continue to attract those who can exploit them. Can a nation call itself developed when its citizens are driven from their land while the wealth beneath that land is extracted by others?
Then comes the question of the Constitution.
What happens to the constitutional promise of the right to life when a citizen dies in state custody? What happens to dignity when detainees are allegedly packed into conditions unfit for human beings? What happens to fair hearing when accusation appears to become punishment before a court has spoken?
And when citizens take to the streets to demand answers, the state must again exercise restraint. If protesters commit violence, the law should deal with them. But if security forces use unlawful lethal force against citizens, that too must be investigated. One wrong cannot legitimise another. The government cannot claim to be defending law and order while violating the very principles that give law and order its legitimacy.
This is where the matter becomes larger than Niger State.
A government does not preserve national stability merely by possessing guns, uniforms and the authority to arrest. It preserves stability by maintaining the people's confidence that justice is possible. When citizens begin to believe that the powerful are protected while the poor are punished, that mineral wealth matters more than human life, or that government institutions cannot be trusted to deliver justice, something dangerous begins to happen: public trust begins to die.
And when public trust dies, governments should worry.
Is the state, through repeated failures of justice, insecurity, corruption and impunity, gradually sowing the seeds of the very revolt it fears? Governments must understand that peaceful protest, public anger and demands for accountability are warnings that should not simply be suppressed. They should be heard.
The death of these 37 Nigerians must therefore not become another headline that disappears after a few days. Nigerians deserve answers. Who arrested them? Where were they detained? How many people were held in that cell? What were the conditions? Were complaints made? Was medical assistance requested? What caused the deaths? Was there negligence or abuse? And if wrongdoing occurred, who will be held accountable?
Beyond Niger State, the country needs an honest examination of the relationship between mineral wealth, illegal mining, insecurity and displacement.
Nigeria does not lack resources. What we lack is the transparent and accountable system capable of turning those resources into prosperity for the people.
Gold should not bring death.
Lithium should not bring displacement.
Mineral wealth should not become a source of insecurity.
And the Nigerian state must never become a source of fear to the very citizens it exists to protect.
The wealth beneath our soil belongs to the nation. But the lives above that soil belong to Allah and must be protected by the state. No mineral is worth more than a human life.
Nigerians are watching, the world is watching and above all, Allah is watching
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