If ever there was a spectacle that tickled both curiosity and concern, it is the recent deployment of 380 “marshals” by the Kano State Government to fight phone snatching. One cannot help but ask: Is this a genuine step toward public safety or a comic diversion staged to earn applause from an exhausted populace? When a government begins to fight pickpockets with parades, one wonders if governance has become theatre and security, a stage play.
Kano, one of Nigeria’s largest and most vibrant states, now finds itself experimenting with what appears to be a decorative solution to a deeply rooted problem. The news that a battalion of “marshals” has been unleashed to tackle phone theft reads like satire disguised as strategy. It is almost as though someone in government mistook symbolism for substance, mistaking headlines for results.
Let us be clear: the menace of phone snatching is real. Many citizens in Kano cannot walk through markets or bus stops without clutching their phones as if they were newborns. But the problem runs deeper than mere theft. It is a symptom of rising unemployment, waning law enforcement credibility, and urban disorder. To treat such a complex problem with a troop of unarmed “marshals” is like trying to mop the floor while the tap is still running.
The government boasts that these marshals were “carefully selected and trained.” One can only hope that the training went beyond how to whistle and wave. Without real authority, investigative capacity, or the legal weight of the police, their efforts risk becoming cosmetic. How exactly will an unarmed marshal apprehend a motorbike-riding thief who disappears into the crowd in seconds? It sounds less like a strategy and more like a prayer.
The irony runs deep. Kano already has a full-fledged police command, the Hisbah Corps, and various vigilante groups. Yet, instead of strengthening these existing structures, the state is creating another parallel outfit with overlapping duties. Nigeria’s security ecosystem is already a jungle of duplication, where every agency flexes muscles without clear boundaries. Why add another layer of confusion?
Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf called the initiative “people-focused.” Indeed, it is people-focused—if by people-focused one means populist. It gives the appearance of action without the backbone of reform. True leadership should not only be seen doing something but should be seen doing something meaningful. The deployment of marshals may be good optics, but it is poor policy.
Moreover, this initiative raises a fundamental question: what exactly is the role of the Nigeria Police Force? Have we so lost faith in our national police that state governments must now invent their own foot soldiers to chase after petty thieves? When citizens no longer look to the police for protection, it signals a collapse of institutional trust. The police ought to be the shield of the people, not a shadow in the background while civilian recruits play detective.
There is also the danger of mission creep. Today, these marshals are chasing phone snatchers; tomorrow, they may be used for political errands. We have seen such stories before—where so-called “community policing” units become tools for intimidation, loyalty tests, or even vote enforcers. In a democracy where power often trumps prudence, unchecked local security outfits can quickly mutate into Frankenstein monsters.
Let us also not overlook the practical concerns. Who supervises these marshals? Under what law were they created? Who ensures accountability if one of them violates citizens’ rights? When government experiments with security without strong legal frameworks, it risks birthing chaos under the guise of order.
The argument that these marshals will work “with the police” sounds neat on paper but falls apart in practice. Collaboration without clarity is confusion. The police themselves are underfunded, understaffed, and often overburdened. Adding unarmed marshals into the mix could breed rivalry rather than cooperation. Insecurity thrives in confusion, and criminals love nothing more than a system where everyone is in charge and no one is accountable.
Kano deserves a more visionary approach to public safety—one rooted in intelligence, technology, and socioeconomic reform. Instead of sending 380 young men to patrol markets with walkie-talkies, the government should invest in modern surveillance systems, functional streetlights, job creation, and police retraining. A hungry youth with a baton is not security; it is a statistic waiting to happen.
The mention of “technology” and “digital tracking” in the government’s statement may sound modern, but Nigerians have heard such promises too many times to be impressed. Until citizens see real results—stolen phones recovered, criminals prosecuted, and the police reformed—this initiative will remain another headline that fades faster than yesterday’s news.
Kano’s streets do not need marshals in uniforms for photo opportunities. They need a reawakened police system that earns respect through efficiency, not fear. They need a government that fixes the root causes of crime, not one that merely decorates the symptoms.
In the end, the question remains unanswered: what then is the role of the police? If state governments must now create mini-security armies to chase thieves, perhaps the real theft is not of phones, but of responsibility. And until accountability returns to the heart of governance, Nigeria will keep dancing around problems it refuses to solve—one marshal at a time.
Stanley Ugagbe is a seasoned journalist with a passion for exposing social issues and advocating for justice. With years of experience in the media industry, he has written extensively on governance, human rights, and societal challenges, crafting powerful narratives that inspire change. He can be reached via stanleyakomeno@gmail.com
