There is a familiar Nigerian story. It begins with shock. It grows into outrage. Officials make promises. Committees are set up. Press conferences are held. Headlines scream for a few days. Then silence descends. The victims are buried, families mourn alone, and the nation moves on to the next tragedy.
Years later, the questions have remained unanswered.
Who murdered Dele Giwa through a parcel bomb that still haunts Nigeria’s democratic history?
Who killed Bola Ige?
Who killed Funsho Williams?
Who ordered the assassination of Harry Marshall?
And the list continues …
For decades, Nigeria has accumulated a frightening archive of unresolved cases. Each unresolved case sends a dangerous message: crime can pay, justice can wait, and accountability is optional.
That is why the deaths of 37 alleged illegal miners in the custody of the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC) in Niger State must not be swept under the carpet and allowed to join the long list of national mysteries.
The incident itself sounds like something from the Tales by moonlight series.
Young men were arrested during anti-illegal mining operations in Niger State. Days later, 37 of them were dead. The initial explanations ranged from a suspected disease outbreak to claims of overcrowding and suffocation. Survivors reportedly described chaotic conditions in detention, while grieving families demanded answers. Public outrage followed, protests erupted, and the Federal Government suspended the Niger State NSCDC commandant and several officers while ordering an independent investigation.
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For many Nigerians, the suspensions were welcome. But suspension is not justice. A suspension is merely an administrative step. It is not a conviction. It is not accountability. It does not answer the question that matters most: How did 37 people die in government custody?
The answer is important because custody creates responsibility.
The moment a citizen is arrested, whether guilty or innocent, the state assumes responsibility for that person’s safety. The 1999 Constitution (as amended) does not say only innocent people deserve protection. Human rights do not disappear because somebody is accused of a crime.
If an armed robber is arrested and dies mysteriously in detention, the government must explain. If a kidnapper dies in custody, the government must explain. If an alleged illegal miner dies in custody, the government must explain. The issue is not whether the deceased were saints. The issue is whether the state fulfilled its duty of care.
History teaches us that whenever institutions fail to answer difficult questions, conspiracy theories rush in to fill the vacuum. Citizens begin to suspect cover-ups. Trust collapses. Confidence in law enforcement weakens. That is why transparency is not a favour from government. It is an obligation that they owe Nigerians and the world.
The ongoing investigation must therefore be more than a public relations exercise. The government has constituted a 10-member independent committee and suspended officers connected with the incident. The committee has been tasked with determining the identities of the deceased, the circumstances of their arrest and detention, and the cause of death.
But Nigerians have seen committees before. We have seen reports disappear into dusty shelves. We have seen recommendations buried beneath bureaucracy. We have seen public outrage expire before accountability arrives. This time must be different.
The investigation should answer uncomfortable questions. How many detainees were kept in the facility? Was the detention centre designed to hold that number? Were there medical examinations? Were the detainees given adequate ventilation, food and water? Who supervised the detention process? Were there warning signs before the deaths occurred? Did any officer ignore distress calls? Were proper detention protocols followed? The public deserves clear answers supported by evidence, not mere speculation.
The issue of prosecution cannot be overstated. If the investigation establishes negligence, recklessness, abuse of power, or criminal conduct, those responsible must face trial. It should not matter whether they are junior officers or senior commanders.
Nigeria has a troubling habit of punishing systems while sparing individuals. An institution is condemned. A statement is issued. A few people are transferred. Then everyone moves on.
But institutions do not commit misconduct. Individuals do. Without personal accountability, misconduct becomes contagious. Future officers learn that the worst consequence for a serious failure is temporary embarrassment. That is not deterrence. It is encouragement.
The families of the deceased also deserve more than condolences. If wrongdoing is established, compensation should follow. No amount of money can replace a son, a brother, a husband or a father. Yet compensation serves an important purpose. It acknowledges harm. It demonstrates responsibility. It reminds public institutions that negligence carries consequences.
A government that fails to compensate victims effectively tells citizens that their lives have no measurable value. The larger danger goes beyond Niger State. This case is about the soul of public accountability in Nigeria.
Every unresolved scandal weakens the moral authority of the state. Every abandoned investigation teaches citizens that justice depends on influence rather than evidence. Every forgotten victim encourages future abuse. That is why this case matters even to people who have never visited a mining site.
Today it is 37 alleged miners. Tomorrow it could be traders, students, protesters, journalists or ordinary citizens caught in the machinery of state power. The test of a democracy is not how it treats the powerful. The test is how it treats the powerless. The dead miners cannot speak. The grieving families may not have political connections. Many may never appear on television. But their lives matter. Their deaths matter. And the truth matters.
Nigeria has buried too many questions over the years. The ghosts of unresolved cases continue to haunt the nation because justice was never allowed to complete its journey. The government now stands at a crossroads. One path leads to another committee report that disappears from public memory. The other leads to a transparent investigation, public disclosure of findings, prosecution where necessary, compensation where justified, and reforms that prevent future tragedies.
For the sake of the 37 dead men, for the sake of their families, and for the sake of public confidence in the justice system, Nigeria must choose the second path. Otherwise, another file will simply be added to the nation’s growing cemetery of unanswered questions.
