Nigeria is peculiar in every aspect of life, and our sense of reasoning is no different from that of our leaders. We have a strange way of thinking, and it reflects in the way we react to issues.
It is like a policeman who arrests 11 armed robbers and puts them in a cell. Two days later, he asks them to choose a leader who will represent them. It would be foolish to expect them to choose anyone outside their circle. That, my people, is the greatest problem we have in Nigeria.
We are always quick to judge, forming our opinions after reading just two lines of a story. We have turned our phones into courts of law—where we arraign, prosecute, discharge, and acquit anyone who dares to make headlines on social media. And once we declare someone guilty in the court of public opinion, it becomes a life sentence—no appeal, no mercy.
And if anyone dares to go against our opinion, the person will be subjected to a barrage of insults, ridicule, and name-calling, as if they have no right to their own opinion.
Look at the recent case of Ms. Comfort Emmanson aboard an Ibom Air flight from Akwa Ibom to Lagos. In less than 24 hours, Nigerians on social media had judged her, sentenced her, and buried her reputation without knowing the full story. Videos flew around without context, and the hashtags rained down like bullets.
Yes, something happened on that flight—tension in the cabin, raised voices, and a flurry of accusations. Passengers whispered, phones were raised to record, and in the middle of it all stood a woman whose dignity was unraveling in real time. By the time the aircraft landed in Lagos, her face was flushed from anger, fear, and humiliation. Eyewitnesses described her breathing heavily, her hands trembling, as crew members tried to calm her. In the chaos that followed, there were scuffles, wigs pulled, uniforms torn, and sharp words thrown like stones. And then came the most brutal blow—not from a fist, but from the internet.
When the videos hit social media, there was no space for mercy. Nobody asked if she was under stress, sick, or provoked. Nobody asked if there were other sides to the story. She became a symbol—a target for mockery and moral lectures. Strangers who had never met her decided she was a villain. The air of judgment was so thick you could almost choke on it.
For those who still have shame, being on the wrong side of an internet story can destroy them completely. And yet, many of those quick to crucify have made worse mistakes in private.
Let me digress a little. One day, I forgot to put my phone on silent, and it rang loudly in church during the sermon.
After the service, the pastor scolded me. The worshippers admonished me for the interruption. My wife, Abebi, kept lecturing me about my carelessness all the way home. My friends and acquaintances shook their heads in disgust. You could see the shame, embarrassment, and humiliation written all over my face.
I never stepped foot in that church again after that Sunday.
That evening, still shaken and embarrassed, I went to a bar. My hands were trembling so badly that I spilled my drink on the table. The bottle fell, splashing its contents on some people. Those it touched rushed towards me, and I closed my eyes, expecting a barrage of insults and maybe a slap or two.
Instead, they cared enough to ask if I had been cut by the broken bottle. The waiter apologized and handed me a napkin to clean myself. The janitor mopped the floor without a single word of complaint. The female manager even offered me a complimentary drink. Then she gave me a warm hug and a gentle peck, saying, “Don’t worry, there is no man who doesn’t make mistakes.”
I have not stopped going to that bar ever since. They are my second family now.
Sometimes, our attitude as so-called believers and moral guardians drives people straight to hell. What Comfort Emmanson did—or did not do—is for the law to decide. But how we react when people fall says more about our humanity than the mistake itself. We can make a difference in people’s lives by how we treat them, especially when they stumble.
Olorun nikan lo gbon, ẹyin ẹda ọmọ Adamọ, ẹ má rò wa pin. (Only God is wise—O human beings, do not judge one another too quickly.)
And to those who joined the mob against Comfort without blinking, ask yourself this: if the next viral video was of you—at your worst moment, in your weakest hour—would you want the world to treat you the way you treated her?
Mogaji Wole Arisekola writes from Ibadan.
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