Opinion
Is #EndSARS Nigeria’s Tipping Point?
By SimonKolawole
The youth uprising against police brutality in Nigeria has taken many by surprise. Conventional wisdom is that the youth are more likely to dance at a concert than sing a protest song. Events of the last couple of weeks have altered this narrative as youthful Nigerians have taken to the streets in a vigorous campaign to shoot down police brutality, with the notoriety of the special anti-robbery squad (SARS) serving as the trigger — no pun intended. With the help of the hash tag, #EndSARS, the agitations have gained international attention. And the government has seen that this is not business as usual. Are we finally at the tipping point in the battle for the soul of Nigeria?
While the protests have, in the main, been about police brutality, interpreting them purely as such would be a massive mistake. We would be making a mistake if we focus on the fact that other interests, especially political, have seized the opportunity to fuel the fire. We would be erring by looking only at the disruptions being created all over by protesters who have refused to yield an inch despite their demands being met by the government. We would be missing the point if we focus too much on the fact that even the yahoo boys are eager to see the end of SARS, which itself grooms and harbours a legion of police officers that are yahoo boys and robbers by nature.
For sure, every struggle has its own opportunists. All kinds of characters will jump on the bandwagon to pursue their own agenda. That’s the way life goes. We have to look beyond that. My reading of the real situation is that there is something deeper going on out there. Deeper than SARS. Deeper than SWAT. Deeper than police brutality. What we have in our hands is the unloading of pent-up anger, frustration and resentment by Nigerians — with the youth leading the line. The SARS situation is what Yoruba would describe as “ara ran bombu l’owo” — that is… now I don’t know how to interpret that. Let me just say: “A thunder strike has helped detonate a bomb.”
In 1988, when I was a student of Kwara State Polytechnic where I studied for my A’Levels, we hardly had water at our residential halls. We queued up with our buckets every morning and every evening for water supply by tankers. Then one evening, guys played football. The tankers did not show up. How would they go to bed sweaty and smelly? A few of them started beating their buckets, singing “aluta” songs over water scarcity and poor welfare. Before we knew it, it had progressed to a protest march across the campus. And then a full-blown riot. Overnight, some of us trekked 10 kilometres to Ilorin town, afraid that soldiers would soon invade the campus and start shooting.
You would find it hard thinking a simple football game would lead to a bloody riot in a matter of minutes. In fact, if you were the cynical type, you would argue that the students were unserious, that they were in school to study and not to play football, and that it was the unserious students that caused the riot in order to be sent home. But you would be missing the point. Students were already frustrated. Nobody was paying attention. The anger was building up. The authorities did not see it. The resentment had reached a peak. They ignored it. It took a meaningless football match to fan the flame into an inferno. That is what happens when you fail to read the writing on the wall.
Let’s now return to #EndSARS. For decades, Nigerians have been complaining about police brutality. For decades, the Nigerian state has turned a blind eye, despite panels upon panels set up and recommendations upon recommendations made. As Professor Jibrin Ibrahim, respected political scientist and newspaper columnist, pointed out, all presidents since 1999 have set up one panel or the other on police reform. The reports are gathering dust on Aso Rock shelves. Meanwhile, the police have been gleefully stockpiling dead bodies, cocksure that there would be no consequences. SARS went on robbing and killing with impunity. Is the day of reckoning finally here?
But SARS apart, youth frustration has been building up. We asked them to go to school. They did. Write WASSCE. They did. Write UMTE. They did. Go to university. They did. Do national youth service. They did. Yet years later, they are still begging to apply for vacancies that do not exist, vacancies reserved for the children of the high and mighty. There are those that keep writing entrance exams but are unable to proceed because of lack of space or funds. There are those that never went to school, and those that dropped out in primary or secondary school. Millions are underemployed, unemployed or unemployable. What a huge army of frustrated youth.
But in the same country, if you manage to get elected into a state house of assembly, you will get a brand new SUV, currently sold at N50 million per machine. In some states, there are 40 lawmakers. That is N2 billion. Judges will wake up one day to realise the governor has just bought “tear-rubber” SUVs for them. Governors ride long convoys with the most modern bullet-proof technology. In the same society, hospitals are rejecting patients because “there is no bed space”. People are struggling to pay rising bus fares but their leaders can afford to charter jets to attend weddings and rallies. The youth see all these things. This is a society built on injustice and inequality. And we want peace?
Poverty, unemployment and inequality are the biggest triggers for uprising in any society. Some young persons taking to yahoo, drug dealing and armed robbery are products of a system that does not reckon with the implications of unemployment and poverty. An idle hand, it is said, is tempting the devil. No human being will sit at home and die of hunger. Self-preservation is a basic human instinct. If it is to steal, beg or borrow, the human being will strive to survive. Let me be clear: I am NOT justifying crime. However, a wise society will make a connection between unemployment, poverty and crime, and act decisively to address the problems at the root.
For decades, we have been asking the government to make the economic environment less hostile to businesses, especially small and medium scale enterprises, so that they will be able to create jobs for the millions of skilled and unskilled Nigerians. For decades, we have been putting up with the dissonance — government, on one hand, claiming they are trying to improve the ease of doing business; and government agencies, on the other hand, continuously terrorising SMEs with extortionate levies and taxes in a mad revenue drive, using task forces loaded with thugs and police officers to make the business environment unbearable for the engine room of the economy.
For inexplicable reasons, the government —whether federal, state or local — cannot understand the link between policy and prosperity. They think by making life difficult for businesses and their owners, the economy will grow and create the jobs needed to address the unemployment, poverty and inequality ravaging the nation. Does that make sense? For instance, if you run a business in Abuja, right under the nose of the federal government, the ministries, departments and agencies will violently come after you in such a way that you would think you are a Boko Haram member. Serious countries are encouraging SMEs. We are killing them. And we want to tackle unemployment.
In FCT, at least three units of the Abuja Municipal Council Area (AMAC) do “health inspection” on an eatery every year. You pay a levy for each visit. NAFDAC, NSTIF and SON will also do the same “health inspection” for a fee. There is an annual licence for “operating in FCT”. There is a levy for “using a car to distribute food”. You will be forced to pay Federal Housing Authority (FHA) and AMAC again for “fumigation”. There is also the AMAC “sanitary inspection” fee. AMAC’s department of environment charges for yearly inspection. There is yet another AMAC fee for “food and water-related handling”. That is how we want to encourage economic growth and create jobs in Nigeria!
In all, the #EndSARS protesters need to have an articulated game plan. They must have an end game in mind. At what stage do they sheathe the sword and seize this golden opportunity to begin to hold leaders at all levels accountable as a movement? No government official, whether elected or appointed, should sleep at ease again. What are the lawmakers doing with the constituency projects? Why are the roads so bad? Why are the hospitals and schools in such horrible state? Why are government officials chartering jets to attend political rallies? How are the budgets spent? These questions should shape the next stage of agitation, which should be peaceful and orderly.
If #EndSARS is going to be Nigeria’s tipping point — the point at which pockets of protests and agitations will trigger a major, sustained clamour for good governance — there is a need for strategic articulation, with an end game in mind. This is a lifetime opportunity for the youth to channel their anger, frustration and resentment into positive energy to bring about a fundamental change in Nigeria. The biggest gain should not be just to enforce an end to police brutality and impunity. Those are just symptoms of the chronic mismanagement of Nigeria. After #EndSARS, we need to end the biggest obstacle to our progress: appalling leadership at all tiers of government.
-Email: simon.kolawole@thisdaylive.com
-sms: 08055001961
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Opinion
Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi
Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, June 12, 2026)
Cool fire emits from the potted plant in the backyard at night; it is the glowworm. A yawn, roll on the back, with four powerful paws playfully punching the air; it is the lion, king of the jungle. Water gently hits the shore, sings a splash-splosh song, and rolls back silently into the night; it is the ocean. Formally called Aurea, an eagle, America’s symbol of strength, freedom and resilience, soars up above the 88,000 heads gathered at the Jordan-Hare Stadium in Auburn, Alabama, gliding in and out of sight repeatedly, to the wild ecstacy of the crowd, before finally perching right on the kick-off spot in the centre-circle. Fireworks disappeared into the sky. The four natural elements – fire, land, air and water – are complete. They combine in equal proportions to forge the extraordinary spectacle fans are about to witness as they scream for the football messiah, the magic, the Messi.
About a month ago, when I learned that the god of soccer was leading Argentina to Auburn University for a friendly against Iceland national team on Tuesday, June 9, 2026, I knew none of the four elements could stop me from watching the match. I had long looked forward to an opportunity to pay yet another glowing tribute to the little man who climbed to football’s Olympus without exhibiting the arrogance of gods. Messi, the king who lives in his people, not among his people – like Nigerian leaders who live in abundance among the poor.
So, I got tickets for my soccer-loving children and me. How many are they? Ssshhhh! The Yoruba say: “Aí kọmọ fún ọlọ́mọ.” It’s a taboo to mention the number of one’s children publicly. Hahaha! Maybe that’s why population control is a big issue in Africa. So, I took two days off work. The 756-kilometre journey to and from Auburn is approximately eight hours. When citizens are happy, they gladly obey the laws of the land. Messi fans from far and near stopped at nothing to behold their king.
Messi earned the hero-worship of his fans, who saw him over the years dedicate his entire being to football, from age four when he joined his first local club, Albanderado Grandoli, in his hometown of Rosario, where his father was the coach. Commitment, consistency and dedication earn trust, love and loyalty. Nigeria teaches the opposite lesson daily.
Therefore, if I describe Messi as: “The extra drop of sweat on the farmer’s brow. The extra stroke of the sculptor’s chisel. The extra mile walked by the determined soul. Indeed, the little excess of effort poured into the chores of everyday life, crowning the ordinary with the diadem of the extraordinary,” I am not wrong. That is Messi, the leader who worked his way into the hearts of his people. The king who stopped to conquer.
The king is coming to town! The news caught fire. Leo, the son of Messi, is coming to town!! Everywhere is buzzing!!! Everyone waits with bated breath to see “the little man from Rosario, Sante Fe, who pitched up in heaven, climbed into a galaxy of his own, and shook hands with paradise, as he lifted his heart’s dearest desire, the World Cup, four years ago”.
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The journey to Auburn was on a smooth black road. Driving was a pleasure; no potholes, no police tollgates, or army arm-twisting checkpoints, no dirt, no fear of bandits or terrorists or armed robbers. My car ate up kilometres upon kilometres of tar, and suddenly I saw a little object drop from the open truck in front of me. It was a metal that looked like a padlock. The vehicle sped ahead, but its dropping sped towards me. In that arresting moment when all there was to do was to simply look, I heard a thud on my windshield, less than an inch above the wiper on the passenger side. The hit left an impact that looked like a bullet was trying to get in. It was an impact without an opening, like congealed blood covering a stab, leaving some lines of cracks.
The driver in the offending vehicle did not know a thing. It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. My car had no camera. I can’t put it on him, though I saw the metal drop from his vehicle. If he denies the metal, I lose. How do I even begin to look for the metal? What if he owns up and says sorry? I won’t be able to bring myself to have him repair my car. I pondered all these thoughts. I let them slide and came to the conclusion that God was the ultimate protector, no matter what man does. Remember, I told you nothing was going to stop me from watching Messi, even if the whole of my windscreen shattered.
So, I journeyed on. My children did not drive with me. They drove in another car because we took off from different points. We talked intermittently along the way. They asked me for my Estimated Time of Arrival (ETA). I was six minutes ahead of them. Then my fuel signal went up. I veered into the next exit, thinking it led to a town. Behold, it was a link to another highway, with no gas station in sight. Quickly, I traced my way back to the Auburn highway and continued my journey. Shortly, I sighted a filling station. I drove in, relieved to find fuel and a place to take a leak. In less than two minutes, my children pulled up into the gas station as though they were monitoring me. Hugs. Pleasantries. Fuel. We all headed towards the temple to see Messi.
Auburn had never witnessed a mammoth crowd in its existence. It was like a pilgrimage. All the parks were filled. Federal cops, state cops, county cops and Auburn University security officials were on hand. All matted into the crowd in an unintimidating, but friendly way that exuded safety and service. The police matted into the crowd like ushers in a carnival, not bouncers in a concert.
Auburn University brimmed. Car parks were filled up, fans parked along the road in a single file, leaving a portion of the road for police, emergency services, etc. Thousands, including yours truly, parked far away from the stadium and embarked on an inevitable trek on the sidewalk. The last time I had a road walk in Nigeria was for one protest or another. But this walk was for pleasure, not pain. There was joy in the air. Vendors made quick money selling only one jersey, the Number 10 jersey of Messi. There was food, soda and beer for sale.
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Though I am a Jerusalem pilgrim, JP for short, it was Auburn that gave me a glimpse of the massive crowd that followed Jesus Christ when he preached during his 33 years of existence in a mortal body. Curiosity didn’t kill my cat, but being a journalist, I looked out for a squabble, altercation, or fight among the crowd; I found none. Everything seemed choreographed. Perfect. I trekked along with the crowd to Gate 16, where my children were waiting for me.
The game was billed to start by 7:30 pm, but, America being the summit of razzmatazz, there was so much fun lined up before the kick-off, with the crowd yelling and yelling nonstop. From outside the stadium, I thought the game had begun, only to discover that the players had not even filed out when I got into the stadium. America for show!
Soon, each team filed out; Argentina, without their little god. Nicolas Otamendi led Argentina out. The centre referee had a word with both captains, and the match got underway. For those expecting a drubbing, Iceland were third behind France and Ukraine in their World Cup qualifying group. And against the run of play, the first big chance of the game fell to Iceland, whose striker fluffed his lines in the fifth minute.
Argentina soon pegged Iceland back and took dominance, resulting in a ninth-minute left volley by Valentín Barco to score the opening goal from just outside the box. Then the song ‘Olé, Olé, Olé,’ rent the air. What is ‘Olè’? ‘Olè’ is a thief in the Yoruba language. In Spanish, however, ‘Olé’ means bravo or encore. La Albiceleste were dominating, and the partisan crowd were enjoying it. Before the half-hour mark, the crowd began to chant, “We want Messi.” Then the camera zoomed in on the small but mighty god on the bench, chatting with teammates. Fans went mad and started chanting “Messi, Messi, Messi”.
Argentina continued their dominance in the second half, but the Icelanders made up for their blunt attack by exhibiting tactical discipline in the midfield and defence. When Coach Scaloni made a couple of changes after the hour mark, the “We want Messi” chant boomed in the stadium. But Scaloni wasn’t going to bring on the GOAT simply because the fans were calling on him to do so. Messi had suffered muscle fatigue in his last match for Inter Miami, his club team in the MLS, and was subbed off.
So, Scaloni was going to introduce his most prized jewel with utmost caution, measuring the minutes and seconds Messi was going to play, because on Messi’s shoulders rests the hope of the Argentinian team to the FIFA World Cup, starting the next day. At the 67th minute, Argentina had a free kick right outside of Iceland’s 18-yard box. The free kick was in an area of the pitch fans worldwide call the ‘Messi area’. The spectators yelled for Messi, who was already warming up. They wanted him to come and do his thing.
But Scaloni was not to be hurried. He brought Messi on in the 70th minute, and the match came alive immediately. The attack became sharp and penetrating. Five minutes after he came on, Messi, crowded outside the centre-circle, gave a defence-splitting pass to Lautaro Martinez, who was brought down by goalkeeper Elías Rafn Ólafsson. Penalty!
Messi placed the ball on the spot, stood back, looked Ólafsson in the eye, and sent the ball through the middle, as the keeper went the wrong way. 2-0. Aside from the “Messi” chants, fans also performed ‘The Wave’ for their soccer idol. To perform this iconic crowd movement, adjacent groups of fans stand, raise their arms, and sit back down in quick succession, creating a visual effect of a rolling wave travelling continuously through the stands.
‘The Wave’ first emerged in North American sports arenas, such as at U.S. baseball and American football games in the late 1970s and 1980s, gaining global popularity during the 1986 World Cup in Mexico.
The fans were not done yet. As if on a cue, they switched on the lights of their phones, jumping and singing and chanting the name of the GOAT.
I’m sure Messi won thousands of converts that day. I mean spectators who were not primarily soccer-loving, but who came in company with soccer-loving fans. My children were formerly Ronaldo fans, but they couldn’t help jumping and yelling for the king when they saw him in his majesty.
In all the merriment, there was no ‘bigmanism’, no VIPs. Asians, blacks, whites, Latinos, Arabs, Jews, etc dissolved into one humanity. There was no siren, no pushing or shoving, everyone was equal. No unemployed youths were stamping their feet on the ground, hands up in the air, in total submission, for a few crispy currencies from the rich.
Everyone knows that if they misbehave, they won’t be sleeping at home later in the night. A young white man in the row in front of me came to the stadium with his two beautiful daughters. He heard my accent as I spoke with my children, and he asked where I was from in Africa. I said Nigeria. He said he had worked in Uganda, Zambia and Ghana, and that he gave birth to his younger daughter in Ghana. I asked him if he enjoyed Africa. He said yes, but that the sun was too much. “It’s like the Texas sun. Too hot!” he said, laughing. He asked me where I was from in Nigeria, and I told him the South-West. “Oh, that’s close to Ghana,” he said, revealing his familiarity with Africa.
People behave themselves in public because parents can call the police on you if you utter profanities in front of their children. Though the stadium was brimming with reckless abandon, the crowd knew the law and the limits of their freedom. You don’t say the ‘f’, ‘n’, and other prohibited words in public because parents and individuals can call the police.
In all of these, I looked at the effect one man could have on his country’s image. I looked at the effect of sport as a unifying tool for global harmony. I’m sure police officers, who witnessed the Messi spectacle in Auburn, would have a place of admiration for Argentina in their hearts and are more likely to treat Argentinians with respect.
Messi, the greatest, yet the humblest. Combining greatness with humility is what sets Messi apart from any sportsperson, dead or alive. He has never publicly uttered a word of pride all his life. This virtue cements his legacy, apart from his unparalleled creativity, vision, and genius. The accomplishments of Messi are the dreams of some of his rivals, like Ronaldo.
Messi, the Ultimate.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi
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