By Johnson Babalola @jbdlaw
The recent uproar over the treatment of a passenger on a local Nigerian flight has drawn reactions from every corner. Social media is on fire, comment sections are buzzing, and nearly everyone has an opinion.
One state government official has even gone as far as offering the passenger instant employment — no questions asked about her qualifications — along with free travel, luxury accommodation, and the promise of a “good time.” All this in a state where thousands remain unemployed, and many may never be. I have no doubt other offers of support will follow. But truth be told, this is not where my concern lies.
My real concern arose from a comment made by my friend, DF, while we discussed the matter. He was outraged by the airline crew’s conduct, describing them as rude and unprofessional, insisting they needed “serious crisis management training.” I did not object to his opinion. In fact, he might be right. But his comment triggered something else in me — a memory of how deeply rooted unprofessionalism and a lack of empathy are in our society.
I thought back to my primary school days when lateness — even for reasons beyond a child’s control — was met with canes, humiliation, and punishment.
“My mum fell ill this morning, sir, and I had to care for her before coming,” a child might plead.
“Kneel down there, close your eyes, raise your hands! Twelve strokes for coming late!” the teacher would bark, never pausing to consider the child’s truth.
I remembered secondary school, where senior students would wake juniors in the dead of night to wash and iron their clothes, oblivious to the toll on the younger ones’ well-being.
I remembered the Lagos bus conductors who hurl insults at passengers for not having exact fare.
The civil servants who speak to citizens like they are a nuisance — or delay service until “something” changes hands.
The politicians who promise heaven during campaigns but deliver hardship once elected.
The university lecturers who demand sexual or financial favors to pass students.
The security agents who extort and brutalize the very citizens they are paid to protect.
The religious leaders who mislead their followers, not for faith’s sake but for personal gain.
The market traders who unleash abuse when you dare negotiate.
And I wondered: how many domestic workers are being abused by their employers today? How many spouses are going through abuse in the hands of their “loved” ones?. How many patients will die for lack of empathy and professional care in hospitals?. How many employees are denied their rightful promotions by vindictive bosses? How many ordinary Nigerians are silently enduring unfair treatment at the hands of those in power over them?
Sadly, too many of us — though not all — use our positions to bully, exploit, and dominate others. Training or no training, we want to “show” that we are in charge. Yes, professional training is needed — across airlines, government offices, banks, schools, marketplaces and others. But there is a deeper issue: the heart with which we wield the power we have.
Back to my friend DF — I reminded him that he had not paid his own staff for three months and had never sent them for any form of training. I have seen him talk down to them, lose his temper over small mistakes, and ignore their well-being. I was struck by his readiness to condemn the airline staff while being blind to his own actions.
The truth is, if in our own circles of influence we choose empathy, fairness, and integrity, the ripple effect will be far greater than any trending outrage. Nigeria is filled with people walking around carrying bottled-up anger, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation — sometimes over matters unrelated to the moment at hand.
Before we rush to pass judgment on others, maybe we should pause and hold up a mirror to ourselves. When we do, we may see that the behavior we condemn “out there” often thrives right within our homes, offices, and daily interactions.
The Ibom Air incident is not just about one passenger, one crew, or one airline. It is about a society that needs to look itself in the eye — and be willing to change what we see.
Johnson Babalola, a lawyer, writes from Toronto, Canada.
@jbdlaw
@jbandthings
@jblawpro
@jblifecompass
