When the news broke that a group of Northern hunters were gruesomely murdered on their way home from the South, our hearts sank in unison. The pain cut deep, and even as time passes, the wound refuses to heal. The tragedy was not just a loss to the North—it was a national tragedy, a brutal reminder of the depths of inhumanity some can descend to.
While some Southerners sympathised and condemned the act, urging swift justice against the perpetrators, the gesture of the Edo State governor stood out as a balm on the raw wound. His response was measured, empathetic and timely. For that, we express our deepest appreciation. It was exactly what the grieving families and the North at large needed.
However, what remains deeply unsettling is the reaction from certain quarters in the South. Some individuals attempted to justify the killings, spinning false narratives that the hunters were, in fact, bandits terrorising Uromi. They painted a picture of a community pushed to the wall, implying that mob justice was an acceptable response.
The backlash I received for my original commentary on this tragedy revealed something deeper and more worrying. My intention was merely to mourn the dead, to ask for simple human sympathy. Yet, my inbox was flooded with emails, not of empathy, but attempts to rationalise the murders. Some readers accused me of fabricating my experience. One even labelled me a liar, insisting that the events I described were fictional.
It was infuriating—not because I expect universal agreement with my views—but because I spoke from the heart, from a place of pain, and deliberately toned down my expression for the sake of national unity. As a public commentator, I know the importance of sensitivity. Nigeria’s unity is not just a slogan to me; it is a cause worth preserving.
And yet, amidst all that, I understand why some Northern youths have begun to call for retaliation. When you go online and see the callousness with which some treat our pain, it is tempting to demand justice with equal bitterness. It is natural to feel hurt. It is natural to be angry. But we must not allow ourselves to become the very thing we are condemning.
This is where I speak directly to my fellow Northerners—brothers and sisters, please listen.
Do not punish yourselves for someone else’s crime. The killers are in Uromi. They do not live among us. Most of them have likely never even been to the North. They have no first-hand knowledge of our people, our culture, our hospitality. All they know are the stereotypes, the exaggerated tales and misinformation that have painted a skewed picture of who we are.
But the Southerners who live among us? They know the truth. They have seen how accommodating, generous and fair Northerners can be. Time and again, they testify to our warmth and honesty. They work in our markets, live in our neighbourhoods, eat at our tables. These are not the people who would raise a hand against us—not here, not even in their own hometowns.
So, when you consider revenge, understand this: only two groups will suffer. First, the best of them—our Southern brothers and sisters who have embraced life in the North. Second, we ourselves. For it is always in times like these that miscreants seize the opportunity to spread chaos. They will attack innocent Christians under the guise of revenge, prompting counter-attacks, and before long, we will be soaked in our own blood. And those who truly hate us? They will sit back with tea and beer, watching and analysing our self-destruction.
To our esteemed traditional rulers and revered religious leaders, this is the time to act. You are the moral compass of our communities. The youth look up to you. Speak to them. Preach peace, patience and wisdom. Organise town halls and Friday sermons. Let Sunday pulpits and community centres become centres of reorientation and healing.
Violence against one another will not deliver justice. Instead, let us demand that the government brings the true perpetrators to book. Let us organise peaceful protests—online, in our communities, at the state level. Let our voices be loud and unified, calling for justice, compensation for the families of the deceased, and public punishment for those involved.
It is crucial to remember that this is not a religious or tribal issue. The men who died were not killed because they were Muslims or Christians. They were attacked because they spoke Hausa or Fulani. They were murdered because they came from a region that, to their attackers, represented something they had already decided to hate. This crime was committed against Northern identity as a whole—irrespective of religion, tongue or ethnicity.
Therefore, our response must be one of unity. Christians and Muslims in the North must come together, shoulder to shoulder, to mourn, to seek justice, and to show that we will not be divided or manipulated into self-destruction.
Let me be clear: We are not weak when we show restraint. We are not cowards when we choose dialogue over destruction. In fact, it is a sign of strength to protect our peace, even in the face of provocation.
In conclusion, let us rise above the instinct for revenge. Let our sorrow birth wisdom. Let our unity be our loudest protest. And let our elders lead us with the voice of reason, not silence. If we must remember the slain, let us do so by becoming the generation that broke the cycle of hate—not by feeding it.
The North has always been known for its patience, dignity, and hospitality. Let us not lose ourselves in someone else’s ignorance.
* Mairo Muhammad Mudi, a journalist, resides in Suleja, Niger State.
Email: mairommuhammad@gmail.com
