Of Self-Defense And The Suplim Kwat’s Verdict Of Death, By Yahaya Kana Ismaila
By Yahaya Kana Ismaila
When we were growing up, our parents taught us many things — some practical, some moral, and some that simply prepared us for the world’s harsh realities. One of those lessons was clear and unforgettable: if someone slaps you, return that slap as hotly as it was delivered. One time, I cried home at the end of an unreturned slap. My mother marched me all the way back to return that slap. Such was the practicality of that lesson.
Don’t think for a second that our parents were unaware of Christ’s teachings about turning the other cheek. They knew. They just also knew something else — that survival sometimes demands a more immediate response.
For our parents, their duty was simple: first, teach your child to ensure that the slap never transmits to the other cheek. They’ll never fail to tell you what the scriptures said about receiving and giving slaps back. God forbid the ancestors get angry with them for raising Erondo (fools) whose cheeks are only good for slaps.
They have done their duty of actively taking you through the slap returning phase. The idea of turning the other cheek was something you could choose to imbibe later, when you were grown enough to understand mumucious patience — or when you were rich enough to afford the kind of Kiss Daniel’s bodyguard.
But that was just slapping. Even the Bible and Qur’an, in their wisdom, never recommended throwing open your torso to an attacker whose intentions to end your existence need no further explanation. Self-defense wasn’t just a right — it was common sense. Or so we thought.
Today, however, the Nigerian Suplim Kwat seems to be rewriting this wisdom. According to their recent verdict, you no longer have the right to defend yourself against enemies — oh wait, let’s be more politically correct — against “bandits masquerading as herdsmen.”
Take the case of Mr. Sendey Jackieson, a humble farmer from Taraba State. His crime? Holding on to Momma’s teachings of returning slaps. Daring to defend his life when an “overly friendly” attacker showed up bearing beautiful weapons — the kind of weapons you don’t bring unless your intentions are anything but peaceful. In the struggle that ensued, the attacker met his end. You would think the farmer’s instinct for survival would be understandable, even justifiable. But no. The Suplim Kwat ruled that Mr. Jackieson must die for his audacity. How dare he refuse to be killed!
Yes, you heard that right. In the eyes of their lordships, Misita Jackieson — a mere farmer, a man whose back-breaking labour probably feeds communities — is nothing more than a disposable statistic. To them, his life is so inconsequential that it’s preferable for the nation to mourn him than to let him walk away victorious from the throes of death. After all, what’s one more body added to the ever-growing number of those who’ve fallen victim to the very friendly herders who leave hunger, death and sorrows in their wake?
Their lordships, in their infinite wisdom, have taught us the difference between justice and judgment. Justice, it seems, is outdated — a relic of a bygone era. Judgment, on the other hand, is what we must now live with. Anyone who takes a life must himself die! Forget the technicalities. Now that’s judgement. So, who are we, mere mortals, to question their god-like powers of life and death?
Let the lesson be clear: when next you see someone coming to kill you, do the honourable thing. Let them. Stand there and embrace your fate because, should you dare to fight back, and even dare to kill the assailant, you’ll still end up dead — only this time, it will be the state that pulls the trigger.
Yes! This is the Nigeria we live in, where defending your life can earn you a death sentence. Where farmers who feed the nation are more dispensable than the cows they struggle to protect their crops from. Where the value of a human life is weighed not in its contribution to society but in the convenience of its sacrifice.
And so, as we navigate this new world order, remember to turn the other cheek. And when you run out of cheeks, well — may God have mercy on your soul.
Yahaya writes from Kana of Nassarawa LG in Nasarawa State and can be reached on: kanaismail@yahoo.com
