Kò Kàn Mí, Kò Kàn Mí : The Culture of Silence Fuelling Terror in Yoruba Territories – Kayode Ogunjobi

Nigeria has been battling insecurity, banditry, terrorism, and kidnapping for years. What once appeared like a distant nightmare confined to some parts of the North has gradually crept southward like a dangerous wildfire consuming everything in its path. The South West, which hitherto seemed relatively insulated from the menace, has in recent times witnessed deadly and wicked attacks that have left communities traumatised and families shattered.

This can be attributed to the culture of silence which is a social attitude or pattern of behaviour in which people deliberately choose not to speak out against wrongdoing, injustice, danger, or oppression, often because of fear, indifference, self preservation, intimidation, or the belief that the issue does not concern them.

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It is a situation where individuals or communities remain quiet even when they are aware that something harmful is happening around them. This silence may stem from fear of consequences, distrust of authorities, social pressure, or the mentality of “Kò kàn mí” meaning “ (It does not concern me or I am not affected “.”

This culture of silence allows criminal activities to grow unchecked. When people refuse to report suspicious movements, avoid collective action, or ignore the suffering of others, criminals gain confidence and communities become more vulnerable.

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Kò Kàn Mí , Kò Kàn Mí is also a societal attitude where people ignore, tolerate, or refuse to confront evil, injustice, or threats until they become directly affected by them.

In Nigeria today, the culture of silence is reinforced by fear, tribal loyalties, political interests, and social detachment, all of which weaken collective resistance against societal problems.

But history has repeatedly shown that evil ignored eventually grows into a monster that consumes everyone.

Many voices that were hitherto vocal had gone into recess possibly because of “Emilokan” forgetting that when the chips are down it is never about “Emilokan, Awalokan or Awonlokan”.

Today, the implications of this culture of silence in the fight against terrorism and insecurity are glaring before our eyes. For years, many of us watched disturbing reports and videos from other parts of the country with emotional distance and detachment. We sympathised briefly, shook our heads, offered prayers, and moved on with our daily activities. It appeared far away. It looked like somebody else’s problem. But today, the menace is closer than ever before. It is nearer than we ever imagined. From Kwara to Ondo to Oyo it is spreading and unfortunately our leaders are preoccupied with consensus and second term.

As hoodlums are increasingly dislodged from some northern territories through military operations, many appear to have turned the South West into their new theatre of war, leaving behind sorrow, tears, blood, and fear. Communities that once slept peacefully now live in anxiety. Roads once travelled freely are gradually becoming corridors of fear.

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The recent abduction of students and teachers in Oyo State remains one of the most painful reminders of how dangerously close this menace has become. Imagine innocent children leaving home in the morning with school bags and dreams, parents waiting at home to serve them lunch, only for the children to vanish into the forests under the grip of armed criminals. Imagine terrified teachers helplessly watching their students cry in confusion and fear and they could not help while being dragged into uncertainty. Yet, the sing song in the lips of our leaders is consensus and second term.

One can only imagine the agony of the parents. Sleepless nights. Endless tears. Mothers staring endlessly at doors that refuse to open. Fathers battling helplessness and frustration while praying desperately for the safe return of their children. A father had even offered that he should be taken to replace his wife and child. Friends and relatives moving from one prayer ground to another. Families trapped between hope and despair. Every phone call becomes a source of panic, anxiety and hope wrapped in one. Every unknown number sends hearts racing.

No parent deserves such torment. Yet, there are still people who say, “Kò kàn mí.” That mentality is dangerous.

If care is not taken, the culture of kò kàn mí will strengthen this menace until nobody can speak with certainty about safety anymore. Those who think they can protect themselves or believe “they cannot get to me” should remember their vulnerable friends, relatives, neighbours, and loved ones. Evil does not respect status. Violence does not ask for permission before entering a community. If they could enter a school, they can enter a market.

And if the criminals could dare to violate communities and threaten institutions that symbolise our collective peace, then everyone should understand the danger ahead. If they could get to the palaces that house our heritage, our history, and our traditional authority, then getting to politicians and other leaders may only become a matter of time. There is a strategic move and we need an urgent deployment of strategy and tactics to diffuse the growing tension.

That is why all well meaning people must rise now in unison to confront this growing threat before it snowballs into something far more catastrophic.

About ten years ago, I wrote an article condemning how a particular governor mishandled the pensions of state workers. I still remember how some of my friends called me afterward. They were genuinely concerned about me and wondered why I was so passionate about the issue since I was not a state government employee.

Their question though laced with love revealed a deep societal problem. Why should injustice only concern us when we are directly affected?

That mentality partly explains why we are where we are today as a nation. We have normalised selective outrage. We have embraced comfortable indifference. We speak loudly only when the fire reaches our own rooftops. Today, it is the Oyo people and nobody knows where would be affected tomorrow.

If the entire South West had rallied together after the horrific church attack in Ondo State and pursued coordinated regional action with seriousness and urgency, perhaps the Oyo tragedy might have been prevented. Perhaps stronger mechanisms would have been established. Perhaps intelligence gathering would have improved. Perhaps vulnerable areas would have received greater protection.

But many simply continued with their businesses while the affected communities carried their cross alone in the spirit of “Eníkàn ló mò” meaning those who were affected suffer the loss. Speeches were made and everyone went back to activities leaving the mourners to mourn their lost family members.

Today it is Oyo. Tomorrow, nobody knows. Maybe Ogun. Maybe Osun. Maybe Ekiti. May be, even Lagos.

This is why everyone across political, ethnic, religious, and social divides must rise urgently and strategically to curtail this dangerous incursion before it becomes uncontrollable.

The truth must also be told. We would probably not have descended to this sorry state if many governors had acted proactively and decisively from the onset responding to the various alerts. Security is not sustained merely through speeches and media statements. It requires coordinated intelligence, regional cooperation, local vigilance, community engagement, and strategic investment in security architecture.

The Yoruba also say: “Ikú tí ń pa ojúgbà ẹni, òwe ló ń pa fún ẹni.” Meaning, “When death is killing your neighbour, it is sending a warning message to you.” The proverb is deeply emotional and profoundly instructive.

When tragedy visits another home, wisdom demands reflection, not indifference. When another community is mourning, it is not the time for detachment. It is a warning siren reminding everyone of human vulnerability.

This is therefore not a time to be lackadaisical. Silence in times like this is dangerous. Indifference empowers criminals. Division weakens collective resistance. When citizens refuse to speak, refuse to cooperate, refuse to support victims, and refuse to demand accountability, insecurity flourishes.

The South West must not wait until every family becomes personally affected before acting collectively. Communities must strengthen local intelligence networks. Citizens must reject the dangerous comfort of silence. Religious leaders, traditional rulers, youth groups, civil society organisations, professionals, and governments must work together deliberately and urgently.

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The time to rise is now. Because insecurity ignored today may become the monster that destroys everyone tomorrow. Businesses will suffer and lives will be slowed down.

And when next we see people demonstrating the “Kò kàn mí,” attitude, perhaps we should remind them that no society survives for long when its people stop caring about the pain of others.

Kayode Ogunjobi, FHEA, FFAN, is an environmental researcher, public affairs analyst, and passionate advocate for nature conservation, with a strong interest in environmental sustainability, ecological safety, and responsible public policy.