Watching a Man Die.

One of my earliest memories is sadly also one of the darkest. It goes back to the late 80s’ or early 90s’. I was playing with the neighbourhood kids on the playground just adjacent to our houses when a man ran past us. Moments later, a big mob, ranting and chanting also ran past us, chasing after him. I took off after them. I finally caught up with them , but only to find an even bigger mob surrounding the now captured man, and armed with all manner of crude weapons. Those without weapons bayed for his blood from the sidelines, and were mostly women and children. My then puny structure allowed me to slide my way to the front for a better view. The man who had ran past us, the alleged thief, was lying on the ground, writhing in pain as fresh blood gushed from the wounds he had already sustained, and as thick blood slowly coalesced on his body and torn clothes. A huge pile of stones, metal bars, sticks and wires lay all around him, as more of the same continued to land on him from all over. Barely breathing, he managed to get on his knees, clasped his hands together in a prayer gesture, and in the weakest of voices, begged for the little that was left of his life; a barely beating heart and a mutilated body. But as he pleaded, a metal bar hit him across the head, and somebody kicked him in the face. Others hurled insults and spit on him. Just then, the estate carpenter approached the man, and in a forceful and rapid succession ran his saw through the man’s head. On ejecting it, pieces of meat from the man’s skull still clung on it as blood dripped from it. Immediately after that, a small group made its way forward through the crowd, eliciting thunderous cheers. They approached him, put the tyre they had come with on him, drowsed him in petrol, and lit him up. We then watched him burn, screaming until he could scream no more. We watched him die.

How mob justice starts...

I was not yet ten when I witnessed this unfortunate mob justice, and it haunts me to date. It was definitely not the first and certainly not the last time that alleged thieves became victims of this brutal kind of mob delivered justice. Disturbingly, they were so common that kids around the neighbourhood used to compete on who would witness the most burnt thieves. It became a symbolic criterion for either courage or cowardice, with those who had witnessed the least, if at all falling in the latter bracket. Peter, our immediate neighbour was the one we all emulated since he was privy to most of the murders. He was older than us but still some years shy of his teenage years. We would sit and listen attentively as he gave us story after story, especially the gory details. There were those who had stole mattresses and were later wrapped in those very mattresses before being set ablaze. I remember him whistling, to show us how their heads squealed before they burst. (Those who have seen mattresses burning will have a better understanding). Then there was the one who having been burnt with a tyre around his waist, split into two when the police tried to lift his charred remains. And so the stories went. I am now 24 years old and little seems to have changed.

A naïve me had then wondered why suspected thieves were burnt instead of being taken to the police station. I dreaded the police since they were what my Mom  used to threaten me with whenever I went astray. The mere mention of the police made most of us kids to walk the straight and narrow. Thus, the explanation that the police were corrupt and that they always released these criminals, for a fee,  did not wash. To a child’s romanticized version of right and wrong, the police were beyond reproach. But of course, times of changed. Now there is irrefutable proof to back these allegations. Those who were older knew then what I know now, that collusion between thieves and the police is a mutually symbiotic relationship, and a thriving one at that. What I was told then was that mob justice had proved effective, efficient, and long-term since it literally rid the society of these wretched kinds. This argument made sense to an immature child, me, then. Years later, with more years of experience and exposure, maturity granted me a broader comprehension of society and a deeper appreciation for the rule of law, notwithstanding our judicial shortfalls. And with all the credible, rational, logical, and intellectual objections to mob justice aside, I would like to expound on the possibility of killing an innocent person.

A few days ago, I boarded a passenger vehicle from my estate to head to town. As we left the estate, I saw a pool of blood on the road and a bit further down the road, a small crowd looking down at someone. On inquiring from the driver as to what happened, he casually told me that the man bleeding man laying there was thought to be a thief and hence the beating. I say “thought,” because it later emerged that he was not a thief but just another bread winner who had woken up early to go to work. This provoked another memory on the same and the reason I am writing this article today. It is said that a young man was knocked down by a fleeing thief as he navigated a corner. As he stood to clean himself up, the mob navigated the same corner and descended on him with punches, kicks and an assortment of crude weapons. By the time somebody paid attention to the few onlookers who were tearfully screaming, the poor man was dead. These onlookers were alluding to the innocence of the young man, explaining that the thief had hit him down and ran off. But in mob justice, the first punch or kick convicts you and consequently justifies the others that follow. Most people just join in to beat up people yet they have no idea what they are accused of. This is what makes mob justice so dangerous to any man, woman, and child alive.

I feel a certain weight on my chest when I see aggrieved families trying to make sense of the ill fate that befell their loved ones. It cuts me deep when I see parents, through their sobs and tears, writhing in pain at the thought of the violent death that their offspring met. It breaks my heart that their guilt or innocence becomes a non-issue. I have empathized with all victims of mob justice, guilty or innocent, known or unknown, alive or dead. I cannot help but feel some guilt and yet I have never been party to any lynching. I could therefore imagine the guilt and possible depression that befell the actual perpetrators, and rightly so. However, as I came to learn, this may not be the case. I was taught in my Social Psychology class in the University that, loss of individual identity and the subsequent loss of personal responsibility is a characteristic common to mob psychology. Thus, due to its amorphous and faceless nature, mobs can freely unleash havoc without repercussions, collective or otherwise. Members of a mob are rarely arrested and a guilty conscious would have served as the prison instead. Guilt goes a step further than prosecution and conviction in that it imprisons the spirit, with memory as the constant reminder. This would be a more effective motivator against recidivism. But when I hear that guilt might not be aroused, my fears stir. What else can serve to curb mob justice?

But since I cannot appeal to people’s sense of morality, and therefore guilt, I would like to appeal to your sense of what if.

What if your father, brother, sister,mother, was to meet this kind of death in the streets?

Please replace the crossed words with the name of your closest, dearest and most significant others.