REPORTER’S DIARY: The revolution that never happened — and ‘abnormal’ police reaction

At dawn on Monday, August 5, I and my former TheCable colleague, Femi Owolabi, set out on a mission many had warned us against embarking upon, a reporting task that had more risk than promise. With its leader, Omoyele Sowore, in the custody of the Department of State Services (DSS), the #RevolutionNow protest was in tatters and had become poisoned chalice. Even the initially vociferous supporters and e-warriors had gone silent, retreating to their respective cocoons, peeping through a minute opening.

In spite of the obvious reasons to abort, we met on Sunday night to rub minds on how best to cover the #RevolutionNow protest. At the meeting, we decided to drive to Mushin and park somewhere in the area before hopping on the relatively-priced Opay motorcycles to National Stadium, Surulere. Given the events of the prior days and the police’s warnings that partaking in the protest would be viewed as “treason”, I and Owolabi were convinced that the movement would never get past the Surulere axis.

With this in mind, we still hoped to be disappointed — but we weren’t.

As planned, we headed to the stadium gate after parking at Mushin. Upon our arrival at about 8am, we met a mild confrontation brewing between the protesters and police.

At the time of our arrival, the protesters were less than 50 while the police were about 100. The number of security operatives would eventually rise to over 500 while the protesters, rather than swell in numbers, thinned out.

Soon, the brewing confrontation petered out – after the police retreated to the other side of the road – and later graduated to charged protestations by the #RevolutionNow proponents.

They looked threatening, were furious, overly animated, protested at the top of their voices, chanted solidarity and protest songs — but they never resorted to violence. What they lacked in numbers, they attempted to make up for in action and noise, it appeared.

While all this was going on, I turned the focus of my camera lens to the security operatives who were starting to mobilise, take strategic positions around the protesters and infiltrate their midst. An officer wearing a vest adorned with teargas canisters was clearly in a haste to plunge into action. He marched back and forth menacingly, sharing canisters to his comrades-at-arms, impatiently waiting for the order to strike.

Amidst the drama from both sides, athletes, including the physically challenged, who were locked out of the stadium through no fault of theirs looked on while some attempted to work-out under the bridge.

And then, it began. Before one could say Jack Robinson, the first shot rang out and more followed in quick succession. The security operatives charged at the protesters who reacted by fleeing towards the Shitta axis of Surulere. But not all the protesters were fleet-footed and able to escape the grasp of the security operatives. As I unwisely stayed put to take pictures, I saw one protester being lunged at and brought to the ground after which he was generously pummeled and flung into the Black Maria.

At this point, I had ingested enough tear gas to render me unstable and panicky. My eyes and throat burned, there was an intense tightness in my chest as the stinging sensation resulted in runny nose and eyes. For at least 10 minutes, I was partially blind.

In my state of partial blindness, I stumbled away from the vicinity as the gas filled the air. As I left the area, I noticed I was not alone. Physically-challenged athletes were also scurrying away for safety. At that moment, we were one and the same; fellow escapees.

Once I could see and breathe easy again, I reached out to Femi Owolabi who had fled towards another direction. We soon linked up and returned to the stadium area, this time in front of the opposite Teslim Balogun Stadium. The security operatives had repelled everyone from the National Stadium area, stopped cars and pedestrians from moving and had made it their territory.

After about 30 minutes, the police officers led by ACP Fatai Tijani marched back triumphantly, chanting songs of victory and dancing as if they had just won a battle against Boko Haram insurgents and recovered a village previously held captive.

One by one, protesters, pro-democracy activists – and even a Sahara Reporters journalist – were picked up by officers in mufti, handed over to their gun totting, mean-looking colleagues who made sure to give their faces a healthy dose of their fists and hardened palms before forcing them into the Black Maria of the Lagos Task Force.

Intoxicated by their “victory” against less than 50 unarmed civilians, the police officers danced wildly on the road, preventing vehicles from moving. One policeman was so overwhelmed with celebration that he indiscriminately sprayed pepper spray into the air, temporarily paralyzing myself and others in the area.

Reacting, one of his superiors asked, “are you normal” and rather than assume a remorseful demeanor, he retorted: “No, sir. I’m not normal”.

In my fury at being subjected yet again to temporary blindness, realization dawned on me; the officer’s “not normal” response aptly captured the excessive display of police might in the face of a weakened #RevolutionNow protest.

To quote Femi Falana, the “entire razzmatazz of police action is totally unnecessary”.