On the streets of many nations, from Lagos to Nairobi, ordinary citizens carry an extraordinary burden: the fear that the very institution meant to protect them can also harm them. Police reform has long been a slogan in press releases and political speeches, but for many communities, it remains a promise long deferred — a gap between rhetoric and reality that corrodes trust and fuels frustration.
In Nigeria, where nationwide protests under the banner of #EndSARS erupted five years ago, the memory of youthful chants against police brutality still lingers. The movement exposed deep wounds — tales of checkpoints where money was taken at gunpoint and ordinary lives cut short by bullets rather than due process. While some changes were announced at the time, many Nigerians say the underlying issues remain stubbornly unresolved.
Human rights groups have documented a grim reality: unlawful detention, extortion, torture and — in the most egregious cases — killings carried out without judicial oversight. These are not isolated anecdotes but recurring patterns that continue to show up in reports year after year. Amnesty International’s investigations reveal that abuses once prevalent before #EndSARS have, in many places, returned to everyday policing.
The result is a trust deficit so deep that many Nigerians simply assume the worst — and often prepare for it. Conversations with families of victims, public figures and civil society actors paint a picture of fatigue and disillusionment. The system of policing, critics argue, still operates on a culture where accountability is weak, oversight is sporadic and the path to justice can feel obstructed by bureaucracy and political interference.
In Kenya, too, body‑worn cameras and reform pledges have not halted allegations of extrajudicial killings. Critics tell a similar story: promises of change without the structural overhaul needed to ensure police are held to account have left communities feeling as though they are living in the shadow of repression.
Experts on policing culture stress that this contempt for due process is not simply a matter of training more officers or tweaking internal manuals. It is about systemic incentives. When police leadership does not face consequences for misconduct, the message that “we are above the law” seeps down the ranks. When investigations into deaths in custody drag on indefinitely or panels meant to deliver justice stall, ordinary people conclude the system protects itself, not the public.
And the consequences go beyond individual cases. Research on police reform globally suggests that public trust — once fractured — is extremely hard to rebuild. Excessive force, lack of transparency and perceived discrimination not only erode legitimacy in the short term, they make long‑term cooperation between police and communities far more difficult.
Yet amid the despair, there are signs of earnest engagement. Advocacy groups such as the Rule of Law and Accountability Advocacy Centre have called for stronger cooperation between police and the media in Nigeria, arguing that public scrutiny and open reporting are vital to mending the fractured bond between law enforcement and the communities they serve.
Indeed, rebuilding trust would require far more than updated uniforms or slogans. It demands transparent investigations, independent oversight, swift accountability where wrongdoing is proven, and a policing philosophy anchored in constitutional rights rather than coercive authority. The alternative — a continued cycle of mutual suspicion and fear — undermines both public safety and the rule of law.
In essence, the problem of police reform is also a problem of national conviction: whether societies truly believe that those who wield power must always be answerable to the law.
