Between August 5 and 10, Nigeria had two remarkably similar airport incidents — both involving passenger misconduct and drawing public outrage — yet each faced drastically different consequences. Together, they tell a troubling story about my country Nigeria: Justice is rarely blind here.
On August 5 at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja, celebrated Fuji musician Wasiu Ayinde Marshal, popularly known as Kwam 1, was accused of breaching aviation rules.
Reports alleged he carried a prohibited flask onto the tarmac, spilled its contents on staff, and obstructed a ValueJet aircraft from taxiing. Initially, it seemed he would escape without consequences. Only after the intervention of the Minister of Aviation did the Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority (NCAA) impose a six-month domestic travel ban, later reduced to one month, while the pilot involved had her license suspended for six months. No criminal charges were filed.
Just five days later, on August 10 at Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos, Comfort Emmanson, quickly nicknamed “Kwam 2” online, allegedly assaulted a flight attendant on an Ibom Air flight from Uyo. The confrontation escalated to a clash with airport officials. The punishment was swift and severe: a lifetime ban from Ibom Air without a fair hearing, immediate arrest, rapid prosecution, and remand to Kirikiri Prison. Footage shows her being manhandled by male officers, with no female police officer present in a clear breach of basic arrest protocols for a female suspect.
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Isn’t it the same Nigeria where Senator Adams Oshiomhole allegedly arrived late for his flight, was denied boarding, and disrupted airport operations for hours without facing meaningful consequences? Wrongdoing must have consequences. But justice demands fairness, and fairness demands equal treatment under the law. Instead, we saw:
● Kwam 1: No immediate arrest, no court appearance, sanction only after ministerial intervention, later reduced on “compassionate grounds.”
● Comfort Emmanson: Lifetime ban without due process, near-instant prosecution with no court appearance, incarceration in a maximum-security prison, and public dehumanisation.
If Emmanson were a close friend of the President, would she be remanded? If she were a celebrity entertainer, would she be allowed to walk away quietly? We know the answers.
A new twist: From sanction to ambassador
Barely 48 hours after the Inspector-General’s office announced there would be an investigation into the August 5 incident, the Federal Government unveiled a surprise: Kwam 1 will now serve as an ambassador for proper airport security protocol.
The Minister of Aviation and Aerospace Development, Festus Keyamo, said the NCAA would reduce Kwam 1’s ban to one month and withdraw its criminal complaint against him. FAAN will work with the musician to promote awareness on acceptable conduct within the aviation space.
Some will see this as a creative way to turn a negative incident into a learning curve. Others will ask: Did we just miss an opportunity to set a consistent precedent? Does this signal that notoriety earns not only leniency but also new titles? Posterity will tell.
In Emmanson’s case, Keyamo said she had “exhibited great remorse” in the presence of her lawyer, and that authorities would facilitate her release from Kirikiri within the week. He also announced that the Airline Operators of Nigeria (AON) had agreed to lift her lifetime flying ban, with further details to be released later.
Still, Emmanson bears the weight of a public humiliation that could have been avoided with a fairer process. This is not about excusing wrongdoing. Wrongdoing should have consequences. But justice demands fairness, and fairness demands equal treatment under the law. That said, she is equally deserving of an ambassadorial appointment. She should be encouraged to exercise her right to press charges and leverage the support offered by the Nigerian Bar Association. This is about her dignity and about setting a legal standard for all.
The disparity between Kwam 1 and Kwam 2 is not random. It reflects an entrenched culture where the weight of justice depends on status, influence, or connections. And when that culture seeps into security protocols, public trust dips.
In the August 5 case: How did anyone make it to the foot of a plane with a flask exceeding the liquid limit in the first place? What security checks failed? Who waved him through? If such lapses can happen for a celebrity, could they not also happen for someone with far worse sinister intentions?
The videos from the August 10 incident expose more than poor passenger judgment; they reveal systemic gaps in crisis management at our airports. The visible manhandling, absence of a female officer, and failure to de-escalate speak to an urgent need for training retraining.
NCAA, FAAN, airlines, and security agencies must embed mandatory, recurring training in de-escalation, rights-respecting enforcement, and dignified passenger relations. This is not just about safety — it’s about respect for human dignity.
We can pretend these are isolated cases, but they fit a familiar Nigerian pattern:
● The well-connected get time, negotiation, and face-saving exits.
● The ordinary citizen gets speed, severity, and sometimes public humiliation.
We’ve built a society where “Do you know who I am?” works better than a valid boarding clearance.
The truth is, we are all complicit. Many of us have used personal connections to bypass queues, or avoid penalties. We may not trend on social media, but the culture is the same.
The Way Forward:
Institutional:
● Apply sanctions equally, regardless of status.
● Ensure due process before lifetime bans or severe penalties.
● Make disciplinary timelines and decisions transparent.
● Train aviation personnel in crisis management and rights-based enforcement.
Cultural:
● Stop celebrating rule-bending as an influence.
● Demand leaders and ourselves follow the same rules.
● Call out institutional inconsistency, not just when it affects us personally.
Selective justice is worse than no justice — because it teaches that the law is not a shield for everyone, but a sword for a select few. And when the law becomes a sword in the hand of the powerful, the rest of us are left hoping we’ll never be on the wrong side of it.
The harder truth? Many of us already play the same game in smaller ways. We call “someone we know” to fix a fine. We use a friend’s name to jump a queue. We applaud when our favourites get away with it.
So, the question is not just whether Kwam 1 and Kwam 2 will be held to the same standard. The question is whether you and I are willing to be held to that same standard when we are the ones late for the flight, caught breaking the rule, or standing in the wrong line.
In the end, justice is not lost in the big scandals alone, it dies in the thousand small excuses we make for ourselves and the powerful we admire. And until we change that culture, justice in Nigeria will remain an uneven scale, peeking under its blindfold to see who’s standing before it.
Ukoh, an alumnus of American University of Nigeria, Yola, and PhD student at Columbia University, writes from New York.
