Abuja, the usually composed and power-conscious capital of Nigeria, awoke to a storm it did not anticipate. Long before sunrise, the city’s arteries — its roads, roundabouts, and intersections — were already clogged. By 6:00 a.m., sirens wailed, convoys stalled, tempers flared, and commuters found themselves trapped in an unfolding confrontation that had less to do with traffic and everything to do with justice, power, and the lingering question of Nigeria’s unity.
At the heart of this sudden paralysis was one name: Nnamdi Kanu, the detained leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). And one movement: #FreeNnamdiKanuNow, a protest spearheaded by human rights activist Omoyele Sowore, demanding the immediate and unconditional release of Kanu, who has been in government custody since his controversial re-arrest in 2021.
What was intended as a peaceful march to draw attention to a prolonged legal impasse instead turned Abuja into a city under siege. Tear gas filled the air. Gunshots echoed sporadically. Protesters ran for cover. Police checkpoints sprouted across every major entry point, transforming the Federal Capital Territory into a locked-down fortress.
This was not just another protest — it was a collision of Nigeria’s deep political contradictions, where civic defiance met brute state power, and where the right to protest clashed violently with the machinery of government control.
The Morning Abuja Stopped Moving
Residents of Abuja woke to find their city transformed into a barricaded maze. The police, acting on what they described as credible intelligence of potential unrest, had cordoned off key roads leading to the Central Business District, Aso Rock, and the National Assembly.
For thousands of civil servants, traders, and commuters from satellite towns like Nyanya, Mararaba, Bwari, and Kubwa, it was a nightmare. “I have been on one spot for over an hour,” said Usman Jibrin, a driver caught in the Sokale gridlock. “If people want to go to the Villa, why should it affect those of us on the outskirts? This is punishment, and God is watching us all.”
By 8:00 a.m., economic activity had all but collapsed. Offices were half-empty, markets shuttered, and government buildings operated under restricted access.
Security checkpoints stretched from the Karu Bridge near Sani Abacha Barracks to the entrance of the Three Arms Zone. Armed soldiers, police officers, and hooded operatives of the Department of State Services (DSS) conducted stop-and-search operations, inspecting vehicles, confiscating phones, and ordering detours. Even State House employees with valid parking permits were turned back.
An Aso Villa staffer, frustrated by the blockade, posted on social media: “Please, can someone find out what’s going on? All access roads are blocked. Even with our tags, we can’t get in.”
What started as a protest soon spiraled into a full-scale lockdown — a show of force that underscored how fragile Nigeria’s civic freedoms have become.
The Flashpoint: Maitama Turns Into a Battlefield
Around 9:00 a.m., protesters began to gather near the Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC) headquarters in Maitama. They chanted, “Free Nnamdi Kanu now!” — their voices rising above the hum of traffic and the heavy presence of armed security. Among them were Kanu’s younger brother, Prince Emmanuel “Fineboy” Kanu, and his lawyer, Barrister Aloy Ejimakor.
Sowore, known for his unrelenting activism, was seen at the frontline, megaphone in hand, urging the crowd to remain peaceful. But tension hung thickly in the air. Police vans lined the road. Officers in riot gear stood shoulder to shoulder.
Witnesses said the first confrontation began when protesters attempted to march toward the Unity Fountain. Despite warnings from police to remain within a designated zone, the group moved forward. Moments later, gunshots rang out, followed by the hissing release of tear gas canisters.
Panic ensued. Protesters fled in all directions as smoke filled the air. Several fell to the ground choking, while others sought shelter inside nearby buildings. Phones captured chaotic scenes — police firing, protesters screaming, journalists running.
Within minutes, what was billed as a peaceful rally became a chaotic confrontation. By the time the air cleared, several people had been arrested, including Ejimakor and Fineboy Kanu. Sowore, however, managed to escape.
Abuja’s Day of Anger
The consequences rippled far beyond the protest ground. Entire stretches of Abuja were gridlocked for hours. From the Keffi-Abuja expressway to the Central Business District, movement was paralyzed. Civil servants trekked long distances under the sun, while motorists cursed under their breath.
Along the Dutse-Bwari corridor and Airport Road, detours were enforced, forcing commuters into endless loops of confusion. Even the usually calm Berger and Area 1 intersections turned into boiling points of frustration.
One internal government advisory circulated among workers read:
“Good morning colleagues, please if you are coming from Airport Road to Central Area, follow Area 1. Security blockade from National Mosque.”
The disruption wasn’t just logistical — it was psychological. Abuja, Nigeria’s seat of power, had been reduced to a militarized zone in a matter of hours.
Journalists Beaten, Equipment Smashed
As the protest intensified, journalists covering the scene became unintended casualties. John Okunyomih, a reporter with Agence France-Presse (AFP), was assaulted by soldiers and policemen while filming near the Unity Fountain. His professional camera was smashed.
Another journalist, Tony Ailemen of BusinessDay, narrowly escaped injury when police fired a tear gas canister directly at his vehicle, shattering the rear windshield.
“They destroyed the back of my car,” Ailemen wrote on the Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ) platform. “They fired tear gas straight at me.”
In response, the NUJ FCT Council issued a strong statement condemning the attacks as a “gross violation of press freedom and an affront to democracy.”
Council Secretary Jide Oyekunle demanded that the Inspector-General of Police sanction the officers involved and compensate the affected journalists. “Security agents must be reminded that journalists are not enemies of the state but partners in nation-building,” he said.
The episode underscored a grim reality: in Nigeria, journalists are increasingly vulnerable — even when performing constitutionally protected duties.
Sowore’s Defiance and the Legal Battlefront
Undeterred, Sowore took to X (formerly Twitter) to condemn the arrests and promised escalation.
“The @FCT_PoliceNG is instructed to release Barrister @AloyEjimakor, Fineboy Kanu, and others illegally arrested and tortured over the #FreeNnamdiKanuNow protest immediately — or we will occupy their office!” he warned.
Legal activist Maxwell Opara, who participated in the protest, questioned the legality of the crackdown. “The Police keep referring to a court order,” he said, “but none of us has seen it. The only restriction was to stay away from Aso Villa and the National Assembly — and we did.”
Opara accused the government of double standards. “They negotiate with terrorists and grant amnesty to bandits but refuse to obey court orders freeing Kanu. It’s selective justice.”
Indeed, multiple Nigerian courts have previously ordered Kanu’s release, including one judgment awarding ₦1 billion in damages against the Federal Government. Yet, none of those rulings have been implemented.
Police Justify Tear Gas, Cite Court Order
In its defense, the Nigeria Police maintained that its actions were lawful. Force spokesperson CSP Benjamin Hundeyin claimed that protesters violated a standing court order restricting demonstrations around sensitive government facilities.
“Police tear-gassed protesters attempting to approach Aso Villa,” he wrote on X. “We carried out our mandate to maintain order and cleared the road after protesters blocked it.”
However, critics argue that the use of force was excessive and indicative of a broader pattern of intolerance for dissent. “They are using the law as a shield for repression,” said one civil rights lawyer. “This is not crowd control — it’s suppression.”
Solidarity Beyond Abuja: Igbo Businesses and Women Join In
While Abuja burned with tear gas, solidarity actions spread across Nigeria. In Akure, the Ondo State capital, shops owned by Igbo traders were closed in unity with the protesters. Spare parts dealer Timothy Andrew said: “We closed to show solidarity with our brother. He has suffered too much.”
Meanwhile, the Igbo Women Assembly (IWA), led by Lolo Nneka Chimezie, condemned the arrests and demanded the immediate release of Emmanuel Kanu, Ejimakor, and others.
“I was at the rally,” Chimezie said. “They tear-gassed us. At one point, live rounds were fired. That’s very wrong.”
She accused the Tinubu administration of hypocrisy. “The APC that once used protests to seize power now sees protesters as enemies. They are becoming worse than the military regimes they once condemned.”
Her words resonated deeply among many Nigerians who view the government’s response as a dangerous slide toward authoritarianism.
The Presidency Strikes Back
From the corridors of power came a different narrative. Presidential Adviser on Information and Strategy, Bayo Onanuga, criticized Ejimakor for participating in what he called a “shambolic protest,” arguing that his involvement violated legal ethics since Kanu’s case was still before a court.
“He should focus on court proceedings, not street agitations,” Onanuga said, calling on the Nigerian Bar Association to sanction him.
Another presidential aide, Sunday Dare, dismissed Sowore’s activism as “PR agitation” and compared it unfavorably to Western standards. “You cannot employ protest and civil unrest to demand the release of someone accused of terrorism in America or Europe,” he tweeted. “Justice must run its course.”
But critics saw the statements as tone-deaf, pointing out that freedom of assembly and peaceful protest are not Western privileges but universal rights guaranteed under both Nigerian and international law.
Amnesty International Raises Alarm
In a scathing statement, Amnesty International Nigeria condemned the violent suppression of protesters, calling it “an unacceptable intolerance of peaceful dissent.”
“People must be allowed to freely exercise their right to peaceful protest,” the organization said. “Security agencies must respect and facilitate this right, as guaranteed by the Constitution and international treaties.”
Human rights observers note that this protest marks yet another flashpoint in Nigeria’s uneasy relationship with civil liberties — a continuation of the pattern seen during the #EndSARS movement in 2020, where state force was used to quash peaceful demonstrations.
The Larger Picture: Justice, Politics, and a Nation Divided
Beyond the tear gas, arrests, and barricades, the protest speaks to something far deeper — Nigeria’s crisis of trust between its citizens and the state.
Nnamdi Kanu’s case has become more than a legal battle; it is now a symbol of how the government handles dissenting voices, particularly from the Southeast. Each new protest, each police crackdown, each ignored court ruling chips away at the country’s democratic veneer.
For Sowore, Ejimakor, and other activists, this is about accountability. For the state, it is about control. And for ordinary Nigerians — the commuters trapped in traffic, the traders forced to close shops, the journalists beaten in the line of duty — it is about survival in a democracy that too often feels like a police state.
As dusk fell over Abuja and the smell of tear gas lingered in the air, one question echoed across the city: If citizens cannot demand justice peacefully, what future does democracy truly hold?
That question — as much as Nnamdi Kanu’s fate — remains unanswered.
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