By Okechukwu Nwanguma
On September 25, 2003, Nigeria awoke to the shocking news of the death of Dr Chuba Okadigbo, former Senate President and vice-presidential candidate of the All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP).
He had reportedly experienced breathing difficulties after attending a political rally in Kano where police allegedly deployed tear gas. While debate persisted over whether the exposure directly caused his death, the incident raised troubling questions about the use of force by security agencies in managing political gatherings.
More than two decades later, on June 12, 2026, another prominent political activist, Omoyele Sowore, was seen struggling to breathe after police fired tear gas at peaceful protesters during a Democracy Day march in Abuja.
According to eyewitness accounts and video footage, tear gas canisters were discharged at close range as protesters marched toward the Federal Secretariat to present their demands on insecurity, governance failures, and the plight of abducted schoolchildren. Protesters reported panic, respiratory distress, and confusion as police repeatedly deployed chemical agents against the crowd.
The parallels between these two incidents are difficult to ignore. Though separated by twenty-three years, they point to a persistent problem in Nigeria’s approach to public order policing: the tendency to treat peaceful assemblies as threats to be suppressed rather than constitutional rights to be protected.
The issue is not whether tear gas is less lethal than firearms. It is. The issue is whether its deployment in these circumstances was lawful, necessary, proportionate, and consistent with democratic policing standards.
Tear gas, commonly known as CS gas, is often described as a “less-lethal” crowd-control tool. But less-lethal does not mean harmless. Medical experts have long documented its effects, including severe eye irritation, respiratory distress, chest pain, violent coughing, vomiting, and panic. While deaths are relatively rare, they can occur, particularly among vulnerable individuals, those with underlying respiratory conditions, or where exposure is prolonged and intense. Serious injuries can also result when canisters are fired directly at people rather than dispersed into open spaces.
International standards governing the use of force by law enforcement officers are clear. The United Nations Basic Principles on the Use of Force and Firearms require that force be used only when strictly necessary and only to the extent required for a legitimate law enforcement objective.
Similarly, the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights’ Guidelines on the Policing of Assemblies emphasise that law enforcement agencies must facilitate and protect peaceful assemblies, not suppress them.
Under Nigeria’s Constitution, the right to peaceful assembly is guaranteed. Citizens do not require permission to protest. Courts in Nigeria have repeatedly affirmed that peaceful demonstrations are a legitimate exercise of constitutional freedoms. The role of the police is therefore not to decide whether citizens may protest but to ensure that protests occur safely and peacefully.
Against this backdrop, the use of tear gas against peaceful protesters should be subjected to the strictest scrutiny.
The first question is whether its use was necessary. Were the protesters violent? Did they pose an imminent threat to public safety? Had dialogue, communication, negotiation, and other less intrusive measures been exhausted? In the absence of such circumstances, deploying chemical irritants against peaceful demonstrators would fail the test of necessity.
The second question is whether the use of force was proportionate. Even where some intervention may be justified, the force employed must be proportionate to the threat posed. Unarmed citizens marching to express grievances about governance, insecurity, and public policy do not ordinarily constitute a threat warranting chemical dispersal. Reports that tear gas canisters were fired at close range raise even more serious concerns. Such actions increase the risk of severe injury and suggest a punitive rather than protective approach to policing.
The broader concern extends beyond individual incidents. Repeated use of force against peaceful assemblies has a chilling effect on civic participation. Citizens who witness protesters being teargassed, beaten, arrested, or harassed are less likely to exercise their constitutional rights. Civic space gradually shrinks, not through legislation but through fear.
This should concern all Nigerians, regardless of political affiliation. The right to protest is not reserved for activists or opposition figures. It belongs to everyone. Today’s protesters may be demanding accountability for insecurity; tomorrow’s may be advocating better education, improved healthcare, economic reforms, or justice for victims of abuse. Once the state normalises excessive force against peaceful assemblies, no citizen’s rights remain secure.
The recurring deployment of tear gas against political gatherings and public demonstrations also reflects a deeper institutional challenge within Nigerian policing. Despite reforms, too many officers continue to approach public assemblies through a lens of control and confrontation rather than facilitation and service. This mindset is incompatible with democratic governance.
What is needed is a fundamental shift in public order policing. Police officers must receive continuous training on human rights-compliant crowd management. Clear operational guidelines should govern the use of chemical agents. Every deployment of tear gas should be documented and subject to independent review. Allegations of excessive force must be promptly investigated, and officers found responsible for abuses held accountable.
Most importantly, the police must embrace their constitutional role as protectors of rights, including the rights of those who criticise government policies or demand change.
Democracy is not measured by how governments respond to praise. It is measured by how they respond to dissent.
As Nigeria reflects on the tragic questions surrounding Chuba Okadigbo’s death and the disturbing images from the June 12, 2026, protest, we must ask ourselves whether we have truly learned the lessons of our democratic journey. A nation that commemorates Democracy Day while teargassing peaceful citizens risks sending a contradictory message about the meaning of freedom.
The test of democratic maturity is not the absence of protest. It is the ability of the state to tolerate, protect, and facilitate peaceful dissent. Until Nigeria fully embraces that principle, the shadow of tear gas will continue to hang over our civic space, and the promise of democracy will remain only partially fulfilled.
