By H. A. Maqari, Esq
There is an old truth that justice hurried is justice buried. In Nigeria today, nowhere is that truth more brutally exposed than in the practice of police media parades—where human beings are condemned in the public square long before a court of law is allowed to speak.
I write this not merely as a lawyer trained in the discipline of the law, but as a witness to its violation.
Dan Mama—Abdullahi Alhassan—was once my student at the Aminu Kano College of Islamic Studies, Kano, where I taught him Criminal Procedure Law.
I knew him not only as a name on a class register, but as a person of uncommon character: calm in temperament, dignified in conduct, unfailingly courteous, and perpetually warm in spirit.
He was, in the truest sense, a man of the people—one who gave quietly, assisted generously, and never sought applause for kindness rendered.
Even the walls of custody could not erase these virtues. While detained, he remained the same Dan Mama: receiving visitors with grace, extending compassion to others in confinement, and earning the admiration and respect of fellow inmates through his generosity, empathy, and deeply rooted philanthropic disposition.
That was why, the day a viral video surfaced showing Dan Mama being paraded by the police as a suspected kidnapper, I was struck with utter disbelief.
I watched the footage over and over again, clinging to the hope that I had mistaken what I saw. Regrettably, the reality remained undeniable.
In that instant, the law ceased to be academic. It ceased to be theory. It became urgent, personal, and frighteningly real. I immediately assembled my legal team and moved to intervene, determined to rescue my former student from what was clearly a reckless rush to public condemnation—before proper arraignment, before evidence, and at the height of an anti-kidnapping hysteria that thrives on spectacle rather than truth.
That parade proved catastrophic.
Once the cameras rolled, society passed its verdict. In Dawakin Kudu, mobs descended in rage, destroying Dan Mama’s properties worth millions of naira.
No warrant. No trial. No conviction. Only raw anger unleashed on a man already declared guilty by the glare of a camera lens. As the saying goes, where there is smoke, people assume fire—even when the smoke has been deliberately manufactured.
What the parade carefully concealed was the true criminal narrative that later emerged clearly in court. It was established that Mai Kayan Miya abducted Ali Alhassan Gana, demanded and collected a ransom of nearly Fifteen Million Naira, and thereafter brutally killed him.
That finding was not speculation; it was the product of evidence tested under cross-examination and judicial scrutiny.
What the parade also concealed was the human history behind the allegations. The 1st Defendant, Abdulaziz Adamu, popularly known as Mai Kayan Miya, had once lived as an almajiri under the care of Dan Mama’s family. At a point, he was suspected of theft within Dan Mama’s household.
The matter was reported to the Dawakin Kudu Police Division but later withdrawn following the intervention of Dan Mama’s mother, who chose reconciliation over retribution. That act of mercy, sadly, fermented into bitterness.
Evidence later revealed that the 1st Defendant harboured deep-seated grudges against Dan Mama thereafter.
There was also an existing family misunderstanding between Dan Mama and the 1st victim, Ali Alhassan Gana, his full brother. In an environment already inflamed by suspicion, these unresolved tensions became a convenient narrative once the police elected to parade suspects rather than investigate quietly and professionally. As is often the case, the loudest story drowned out the true one.
Throughout the investigation and trial, Dan Mama remained firm, consistent, and unwavering in his narration of events.
His account never shifted. In sharp contrast, Mai Kayan Miya’s story repeatedly rumbled, collapsed, and contradicted itself, changing shape under scrutiny. Truth stood still; falsehood staggered.
Most damning of all, the entire allegation against Dan Mama rested solely on the uncorroborated confession of a co-accused —a confession unsupported by any independent evidence. None of the prosecution witnesses, including the police officers who investigated the case, linked Dan Mama to the commission of the alleged offences.
There was no corroboration, no circumstantial trail, no forensic pointer, no eye-witness account—no iota of connection whatsoever.
Yet Dan Mama was remanded at Goron Dutse Correctional Facility for over a year. He was not merely another accused person in a crowded cell; he was the breadwinner of his family, responsible for many dependants. While he languished in custody, his household suffered in silence.
His name was dragged through the mud. His dignity was stripped before a watching nation. As the saying goes, a lie can travel halfway around the world before the truth has time to put on its shoes.
When the case eventually went to full trial before the High Court of Kano State, under the firm, patient, and intellectually disciplined adjudication of Honourable Justice Aisha Mahmud, the noise finally fell away and the law reclaimed its rightful place.
The trial was meticulously tracked from start to finish. Evidence was weighed, not guessed. Emotion was restrained. Legal principles were faithfully applied. Justice was neither hurried nor compromised.
The outcome was unequivocal. Mai Kayan Miya was convicted and sentenced to death by hanging. Dan Mama was discharged and acquitted, the prosecution having failed to establish any case against him beyond reasonable doubt.
But by then, the damage had already been done. His properties were gone. His reputation bore deep scars. His family had endured a year of needless suffering. Some bells, once rung, cannot be unrung.
This is why police media parades must be condemned without hesitation and without apology. They do not advance justice; they assassinate it. They poison fair trial, incite mob violence, and reduce criminal investigation to public theatre.
They send a dangerous message that guilt is determined by uniforms and cameras rather than by courts and evidence.
In a constitutional democracy, roles are clear: the police investigate; courts decide. Anything beyond that is an abuse of power. Two wrongs do not make a right, and mob punishment can never substitute due process.
Dan Mama was judged twice—once by the camera, and once by the court. Only one judgment followed the law.
Until Nigeria abandons the culture of media conviction and learns, once again, to trust its courts, innocent lives will continue to be shattered in the name of justice. And history has taught us this much: when justice is sacrificed for spectacle, everyone loses.
H. A. Maqari, Esq
Principal Partner:
Attibyan Chambers
08065463307