Remember six months ago when the Edo State government decided it was moonlight-and-magic time for law enforcement? With the flourish of a decree and a fanfare that probably woke up the entire length of Akpakpava Road, officials announced that every single business in Benin City must install closed-circuit television (CCTV).
Inspectors were coming! Non-compliant businesses would feel the full wrath of the law! The digital panopticon was descending upon us, and crime would simply pack its bags and catch the next bus out of town.
There was just one tiny, microscopic oversight: they forgot everything except the threats.
No legislative process. No framework for funding. No infrastructure plans. No administrative support. Just a pure, unadulterated “figure it out yourselves” policy born out of classic knee-jerk governance.
Six months later, itās remarkably quiet on the Western Front.
The Birth of a Knee-Jerk Masterclass
How did we arrive at this digital wonderland? Simple. A high-profile, brazen daytime kidnapping occurred in broad daylight. Panic ensued, public outcry reached a crescendo, andāluckilyāneighbouring businesses with their own private CCTV systems helped untangle the mess.
Instead of looking at this and thinking, “Hmm, perhaps our actual policing and intelligence apparatus needs a serious overhaul,” our dear leaders experienced a collective lightbulb moment. CCTV! That’s the silver bullet!
Without pausing to consider mundane details like reliable electricity (a minor detail in Benin, right?), data privacy laws, or the fact that asking a struggling provision store owner to fund a high-tech surveillance grid is financially absurd, the government declared total victory.
Privatising the Panic
What we witnessed wasn’t a security strategy; it was an attempt to outsource the state’s fundamental job.
The government wanted to privatise crime prevention while completely ignoring the actual machinery of a functioning society: real policing, investigative capacity, and a working justice system. Itās remarkably convenient to tell citizens to become their own security guards, intelligence agencies, and private jailors all at once, while the government collects the applause for “taking decisive action.”
Except, governance doesn’t work like a WhatsApp broadcast where you drop an arbitrary rule and expect magic. Real security requires infrastructure, policy, collaboration, andāmost importantlyāthinking more than five minutes ahead.
Six months on, the silence from the government is deafening. The grand inspections haven’t materialised, the mandated screens aren’t glowing in every shop, and Benin City moves on as it always does: resilient despite its leadership, not because of it.
If this is what “decisive action” looks like, weād all prefer a little less noise and a lot more actual work.
