EFCC must account for Sesugh Aster’s death

NIGERIA’S security agencies are just a trigger away from shattering a life. In the latest episode, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission has been concocting tales after its officers cut down Sesugh Atser, 16, in Benue State.

The agency must provide a full and accurate account of its latest intransigence, and the culprits must face severe retribution.

It claims the JSS3 student and two others escaped from its custody on May 4 by breaking through the roof of a toilet.

When they were tracked down on May 21, the commission says, the suspects opened fire and, in self-defence, the officers returned fire. Sesugh was later found in a pool of blood by the roadside and pronounced dead in the hospital.

This narrative is riddled with contradictions, improbabilities and troubling gaps.

How did three detainees escape from a supposedly secure detention facility that is expected to operate under constant surveillance?

Are Nigerians expected to believe that a 16-year-old boy and his companions launched an armed attack against trained and heavily armed state officers?

This is a similar tale when a mobile police officer shot dead a youth, Emmanuel Victor, 20, in Yenagoa, Bayelsa State, in 2011, for condemning their extortion of motorists at a checkpoint. The officer, who was later sentenced to death, claimed that Victor tried to take his gun!

The EFCC’s shifting description of Sesugh is equally troubling. Initially portrayed as a suspected internet fraudster, he later became a suspected cultist.

Such changing allegations create the impression of an institution struggling to justify an outcome rather than presenting a coherent account supported by evidence.

But even if every allegation against the teenager were true, a fundamental question remains unanswered: What law authorised the EFCC to kill him?

Nigeria’s Constitution guarantees the right to life. Every criminal suspect, regardless of the offence alleged against him, is presumed innocent until proven guilty by a competent court of law. This principle is the foundation of every democratic justice system.

Law enforcement agencies are empowered to investigate, arrest, and prosecute suspects, not to serve as judge, jury, and executioner.

If Sesugh was involved in internet fraud or belonged to an illegal cult group, he should have been arrested and prosecuted. If he escaped from lawful custody, he should have been rearrested and prosecuted, not executed by the roadside.

The purpose of law enforcement is not to eliminate suspects but to bring them before the courts. When state agents begin deciding who deserves to live or die, the rule of law collapses into the rule of force.

This tragedy highlights a disturbing pattern that many Nigerians have observed for years.

Security agencies increasingly appear to view young people with suspicion simply because of their age, appearance, lifestyle, possession of laptops, mobile phones, expensive gadgets, or automobiles.

Young Nigerians have repeatedly complained of profiling, harassment, arbitrary arrests, extortion, and violence.

The resentment generated by these practices was one of the driving forces behind the #EndSARS protests of 2020.

That nationwide movement emerged from years of public frustration over police brutality, unlawful detentions, and extrajudicial killings. The lesson from that painful chapter seems lost on law enforcement agents.

Recent events reinforce these concerns.

Earlier this year, EFCC officers invaded the University of Uyo Teaching Hospital in Akwa Ibom State. They assaulted medical personnel, hospital activities were disrupted, tear gas was discharged within the hospital environment, and patients and healthcare workers were traumatised.

The operation reportedly involved the verification of documents. The resulting public outrage contributed to industrial action by medical practitioners and eventually prompted an apology from the Federal Ministry of Health.

Such incidents raise troubling questions about proportionality, professionalism, and respect for citizens’ rights.

Earlier this year, Timothy Daniel, 13, lost his life after being shot by a soldier in Akwa Ibom State.

A few months before that, a member of the National Youth Service Corps was killed in his room by soldiers who claimed to be pursuing robbery suspects.

Each of these incidents deepens public distrust.

The tragedy is that the victims are often ordinary citizens who never receive an opportunity to defend themselves. A suspect who is arrested can challenge evidence in court. A suspect who is killed cannot. Death permanently silences the possibility of defence, explanation, or acquittal.

This is why democratic societies place strict limits on the use of lethal force.

Across the world, countries with mature justice systems have demonstrated that effective law enforcement does not require routine extrajudicial killings.

In the United Kingdom, allegations against criminal suspects are investigated through evidence gathering, surveillance, arrests, and prosecution before independent courts.

In Canada, police actions involving fatalities are frequently reviewed by independent investigative bodies.

In Germany, law enforcement agencies operate within strict legal frameworks that prioritise arrest over the use of lethal force.

In Norway, where police officers are generally trained to emphasise de-escalation, the use of firearms remains comparatively rare.

In New Zealand, deaths involving police action are subject to scrutiny by independent oversight institutions.

These countries are not free of crime. They face fraud, cybercrime, gang activity, and violent offences. Yet their response is generally rooted in investigation, evidence, due process, and accountability rather than the routine resort to deadly force against suspects.

Nigeria presents a different scenario.

The case of Justice Kinanee remains another painful reminder of the dangers of a dysfunctional justice system.

He was 14 years old when he disappeared in 2007 after leaving home to play in the neighbourhood. His whereabouts remained unknown for years until he was eventually discovered in a Port Harcourt prison nearly two decades later. Such stories reveal deep institutional failures that must be redressed.

Against this backdrop, the death of Sesugh demands a thorough, transparent, and independent investigation. The public deserves answers, as do his family and indeed the entire country.

But an investigation conducted solely by the agency whose officers are implicated is unlikely to inspire public confidence. Independent investigators should establish the facts, examine forensic evidence, review communication records, and interview witnesses. Sesugh’s killers must be prosecuted regardless of rank or position.