Ever witnessed someone being completely horrible, and you’re just frozen and unsure of how to intervene? Or perhaps you saw someone clearly being victimized, and yet, despite the discomfort crawling under your skin, you said nothing?

It’s a phenomenon we know all too well in Nigeria. We are a people notorious for “minding our business.” Even when things go wrong right before our eyes, we keep quiet until the consequences find a way to come back and bite us. Hard.

This past week, I came across three different tweets. Each one recounts an incident of injustice witnessed at an airport. And while the situations varied, one thing remained consistent: the culture of silence. The refusal of people to speak up in the face of wrongdoing. Ironically, all three scenarios unfolded in the same kind of place. A transit space, a no-man’s land of sorts, where systems and power dynamics are on full display.

Scenario One: The Lone Enforcer

In the first story, a Nigerian man decided he had had enough of the chaos that characterizes boarding queues in the country. Determined to enforce order, he became assertive—even aggressive—about people lining up properly. It worked. Order was restored, and for a brief moment, things went as they should.

But then came the blowback.

The airline refused to let him board, labeling him “disruptive.” And here’s the kicker: not one passenger spoke up in his defense. The person recounting the story even admitted, “Nobody sent him to do what he was doing.” This man tried to be the change, but when the system retaliated, he was left alone to bear the cost.

Scenario Two: The Lawyer Who Remembered Her Duty

In the second scenario, a lawyer was warmly greeted by airline staff on her next flight. Surprised, they reminded her of what she had done on a previous journey. Back then, she had intervened when a young man, who was likely a first-time international flier heading for his master’s program, was being harassed with invasive questions by a ticketing officer. Questions she pointed out, that were outside his jurisdiction.

The officer even threatened to delay her own boarding if she kept speaking up. But she stood her ground. She saw someone in distress, and she acted. And the staff? They remembered.

Scenario Three: The Indian Man Who Refused to Be Silenced

The third story was the most dramatic. After hours of delay with no communication or apology from the airline, an Indian passenger finally snapped. He began protesting loudly, voicing the frustration everyone else was silently nursing. While Nigerians sat, heads bowed in weary silence, it was this foreigner who demanded accountability.

And of course, the system kicked in.

The pilot refused to fly with him on board. Security was called. A bald-headed officer even climbed into the plane to remove him. But the man didn’t budge. Instead, he shouted, “Record me! Everyone record this! You kept us at the airport for so many hours without explanation. You people have no family to go to, but me, I have family!”

Finally, for once, the other passengers did something. People started unbuckling their seat belts. They rallied not just for him, but against the injustice they’d all endured. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the pilot’s stance. Or maybe they just needed someone to lead the charge.

The Common Thread

What struck me most about these three stories wasn’t just the airport setting. It was the way people responded or didn’t. In two of the cases, people were too afraid, too disinterested, or too accustomed to injustice to act. In one case, solidarity emerged, but only after someone else did the hard part first.

This is the rot we must confront. The normalization of bad behaviour. The collective shrug when things go wrong. The way we say, “That’s how they behave,” as if it justifies the harm.

We talk a lot about wanting a better Nigeria, about needing a savior or a leader who will change everything. But when someone dares to step up or to push back against disorder, abuse, or incompetence, we often leave them alone to suffer the consequences. We watch as they are punished, and we say nothing.

Why?

Because we’ve been conditioned to think silence is safer. That speaking up is someone else’s job. That self-preservation is wiser than collective resistance. But the bitter truth is that evil thrives when good people do nothing. And the cesspool of injustice in this country is sustained, not just by the wicked, but by the silence of those who know better.

Until we start protecting those who speak out, until we stop vilifying people for insisting on what is right, we will continue to sink deeper into this mess. A good society is not one where everyone minds their business. It is one where people hold each other, as well as the systems accountable.

So the next time you see someone speaking up, don’t just sit there. Stand with them. Because the silence you keep today might be the silence others keep when it’s your turn to suffer.