Dorayi massacre: When justice delays, violence repeats

Four years ago, the brutal murder of little Hanifa by her teacher shattered our collective conscience and exposed the frightening cracks in our systems of protection, justice, and accountability. Hanifa was a child, innocent, trusting, and full of promise. Like many children, she walked into a space meant for learning and guidance with faith in […]

Four years ago, the brutal murder of little Hanifa by her teacher shattered our collective conscience and exposed the frightening cracks in our systems of protection, justice, and accountability. Hanifa was a child, innocent, trusting, and full of promise. Like many children, she walked into a space meant for learning and guidance with faith in adults and institutions. She should have been protected.  Instead, she was betrayed in the most horrific way by someone entrusted with her well-being.

That single act of violence was not just a crime against one child; it was an assault on the moral fabric of our society. It forced parents to look at classrooms with fear, communities to question trust, and citizens to confront the uncomfortable reality that institutions designed to protect the vulnerable were failing them. The shock was nationwide, but shock alone does not prevent repetition but action does.

What made Hanifa’s tragedy even more devastating was not only the crime itself, but the prolonged, painful journey toward justice that followed. Justice delayed became justice denied. Months stretched into years, and what should have been swift, decisive accountability turned into a slow and exhausting process. For Hanifa’s family, the delay compounded their grief. For society, it sent a dangerous message: that even in the face of overwhelming evidence and public outrage, justice could hesitate.

That hesitation was a second wound, inflicted not only on a grieving family, but on a society already struggling to trust its justice system. When justice delays, perpetrators watch closely. When consequences are uncertain, impunity grows. And when the state appears slow, silent, or inconsistent, the most vulnerable, women and children, are left exposed to further harm.

Today, Nigeria finds itself confronting another heartbreaking tragedy: the brutal killing of Fatima and her innocent children in Dorayi, Kano. This is not merely another tragic headline or a story meant to trend briefly before fading into silence. It is a chilling reminder of what happens when accountability is weak and justice uncertain. It is proof that violence does not end in isolation—it echoes, repeats itself, and multiplies in environments where consequences are slow or unclear.

The Dorayi massacre is not an isolated incident, nor is it an unavoidable act of fate. It is part of a disturbing pattern, one shaped by systemic failures, weak protection mechanisms, and delayed justice. Each unresolved or prolonged case becomes a signal flare to potential perpetrators: that lives can be taken, families destroyed, and yet accountability may be postponed, negotiated, or entirely avoided.

The tragedy also forces us to ask difficult but necessary questions. Were there warning signs that went unreported or ignored? Were there opportunities for intervention that were missed? Did institutions respond with urgency, or were procedures slowed by bureaucracy, negligence, or indifference? These questions are uncomfortable, but avoiding them guarantees repetition. A society that refuses to interrogate its failures condemns itself to relive them.

At the heart of these tragedies is a systemic breakdown. Child protection frameworks remain weak and poorly enforced. Community-based early warning systems are either absent or ineffective. Law enforcement often reacts after violence occurs rather than prioritising prevention. Investigations are slow, trials are prolonged, and survivors and families are left navigating a system that feels distant and unresponsive.

This systemic failure is particularly dangerous in a society where women and children already face heightened vulnerability. Gender-based violence, domestic abuse, and child exploitation thrive where accountability is inconsistent. When perpetrators believe that justice will be delayed or diluted, violence becomes easier to commit. When victims believe that reporting will lead nowhere, silence becomes a survival strategy.

Indifference, delayed action, and selective outrage only deepen this crisis. We must resist the temptation to normalise violence or dismiss these tragedies as inevitable outcomes of a “broken society.” Violence is not inevitable. It is sustained by inaction. These crimes are preventable when policing prioritises prevention, intelligence gathering, and rapid response. They are preventable when investigations are conducted professionally and without interference, and when trials are timely and transparent.

They are preventable when child protection mechanisms are strengthened in schools, religious institutions, and informal learning spaces. When background checks are enforced, monitoring is continuous, and safeguarding policies are non-negotiable. They are preventable when communities are empowered to report warning signs without fear of stigma or retaliation. And they are preventable when political will extends beyond public condemnation to sustained, concrete action.
Government institutions must demonstrate that the protection of life—especially the lives of women and children—is a priority, not a public relations exercise. Laws must be enforced consistently. Cases involving extreme violence must be fast-tracked. Survivors and families must be supported, not retraumatised by endless delays and opaque processes. Justice must be visible, decisive, and impartial.

Civil society organisations have a crucial role to play. Advocacy must be sustained, evidence-based, and relentless. Monitoring trials, documenting failures, and amplifying the voices of victims are essential to preventing these cases from being buried under the weight of new headlines. The media, too, must move beyond sensationalism and commit to follow-through—keeping public attention focused until justice is served.

Religious and traditional leaders cannot remain silent. Their moral authority and influence are powerful tools for change. They must speak clearly against violence, challenge harmful norms, and promote accountability within families and communities. Legal practitioners must insist on due process that is not only fair, but timely. Justice delayed is injustice multiplied.

Citizens, too, have a responsibility. Outrage must translate into sustained demand. Silence must be replaced with collective insistence that life matters. That women and children deserve protection. That justice must not be selective, negotiable, or postponed.

We must speak with one clear and united voice: enough.

Justice must not only be done; it must be seen to be done—clearly, swiftly, and decisively. Anything less erodes public trust and invites repetition.

Anything less is a betrayal of Hanifa.

Anything less is a betrayal of Fatima and her children.

Anything less is a betrayal of every vulnerable person who deserves to live in safety, dignity, and peace.

Accountability is not vengeance. It is a moral and legal obligation. It is the foundation of deterrence and the bedrock of social stability.

The demand, therefore, is simple and non-negotiable: accountability now.

Let the Dorayi massacre and the murder of Hanifa mark a turning point—not another entry in a long list of forgotten victims, but the beginning of a renewed national commitment to justice. A justice system that acts swiftly. Institutions that prioritize prevention. Communities that protect their own. Leadership that understands that delayed justice is a form of violence.

 

Zainab Ahmad wrote from Kano