June 12 became a rallying point for later youth movements like the #EndSARS protests in 2020 and the Obidient Movement of 2022. Each generation has carried the same spirit: the belief that Nigeria belongs to the people, and that real change is possible when citizens, especially the youth, refuse to remain silent.
The restless generation of the 1990s found in M.K.O. Abiola a leader who embodied their hopes and frustrations. He was not perfect, but he was a unifying figure in a fractured nation, a man who proved that it was possible to be a friend of the military and still the people’s champion. His life reminds us that movements for change are not built on slogans alone, but on trust, generosity, and the courage to bridge divides. Three decades later, Nigerians still remember June 12 not just as a date, but as a movement, one that lit the torch of democracy and handed it to the youth, who continue to carry it today.
It is from this torch that the next generation rose in October 2020 with the #EndSARS movement; a youth-led cry for justice, dignity, and accountability. This second article will now turn to that story, tracing how a protest against police brutality grew into one of the most significant civic movements in Nigeria’s history.
If June 12, 1993, marked the awakening of a political consciousness in Nigeria’s youth, October 2020 announced the rebirth of that consciousness with fire, courage, and tragedy. The #EndSARS Movement was not simply a protest against a rogue police unit; it was the eruption of years of pain, frustration, and dashed hopes. It was a moment when Nigerian youths, tired of broken promises, chose to speak with one voice and demand change. And though the state tried to silence them with bullets, the echo of their chants “Soro Soke!” still lingers in Nigeria’s collective memory.
Nigeria has one of the youngest populations in the world: over 60 percent of its people are under the age of 25. Yet, this youthful energy, instead of being celebrated and empowered, has often been stifled by unemployment, corruption, and misgovernance. At the heart of the rage that would later explode in 2020 was the deep sense of betrayal. Young Nigerians looked around and saw a country where leaders grew older and richer while the citizens grew poorer. Universities went on endless strikes, jobs were scarce, and even basic dignity was denied by a system rigged against them.
The #EndSARS protests were not born overnight. The Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS) formed in 1992 to curb violent crimes slowly mutated into a feared institution of brutality. Over time, the unit became infamous for unwarranted arrests, extortion, torture, and extra judicial killings, especially targeting young, well-dressed Nigerians; artists, techies, creatives.
The trigger came in early October 2020. A viral video circulated online allegedly showing SARS officers dragging a young man from a hotel in Ughelli, Delta State, shooting him, and driving off in his car. Though the police denied the incident, the anger it provoked spread like wildfire across Twitter, Instagram, and WhatsApp. Within hours, the hashtag #EndSARS trended globally. Influencers, musicians, comedians, and everyday Nigerians rallied behind it. Young people who had been silent now found their voice. What started online soon spilled onto the streets.
On October 8, 2020, small groups of youths staged sit-ins and demonstrations in Lagos, Abuja, and other cities. Their demands were clear: end SARS, release detained protesters, compensate victims, and reform the police. For once, the youth were united cutting across tribe, religion, and class.
By October 10, the protests had grown. From Lagos to Ibadan, Benin to Port Harcourt, Jos to Enugu, and even in London, New York, and Toronto, Nigerian youths carried placards, chanted songs, and occupied major roads. The atmosphere was electric. Streets that usually echoed with traffic jams became stages of resistance filled with music, laughter, prayers, and solidarity.
Food vendors donated meals, medical volunteers tended to the injured, DJs played Afrobeat anthems, and lawyers offered free legal services to bail out arrested protesters. In a country divided by ethnicity and religion, the #EndSARS protests became a rare glimpse of unity. Muslims prayed on the streets while Christians formed protective circles around them. Poor and rich stood side by side. It was a Nigeria many had never seen before.
Initially, the government reacted with its familiar playbook: denial and empty promises. On October 11, Inspector General of Police Mohammed Adamu announced the disbandment of SARS. But Nigerians had heard this before at least four times in the past decade. Suspicion grew when the government simultaneously announced the creation of another unit, SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics). Protesters mocked it as “SARS with another name” and refused to leave the streets. Security forces soon resorted to violence. Peaceful demonstrators were teargassed, beaten, and in some cases shot at. Videos from Ogbomosho, Abuja, and Surulere showed protesters bloodied, some lifeless. Still, the crowds grew larger. The brutality only hardened the people’s resolve.
Then came the darkest moment in Nigeria’s recent history. On the evening of October 20, 2020, at the Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos, soldiers opened fire on unarmed protesters who had gathered, waving the Nigerian flag and singing the national anthem. The lights were cut, CCTV cameras reportedly removed, and in the darkness, gunfire rang out. Eyewitnesses live streamed the horror on Instagram.
Videos showed young people screaming, some shot, others applying first aid with the little they had. The government initially denied anyone was killed, calling it “fake news.” But eyewitness testimonies, Amnesty International reports, and investigative journalism confirmed that at least a dozen people died that night, with many more injured. The Lekki Toll Gate massacre became a scar on Nigeria’s conscience a night when the state turned its guns on its children.
In the days that followed, shock and fear gripped the nation. Protest grounds emptied, not because the movement had lost steam, but because people feared for their lives. Banks and malls were looted in some places, and the government quickly branded the protests as a cover for chaos. Accounts of protest organizers were frozen, passports seized, and some leaders detained. Judicial panels of inquiry were set up across states, with the Lagos panel later confirming that the army and police shot at unarmed protesters at Lekki. But despite recommendations for justice and compensation, little has been done. The perpetrators remain unpunished.
The #EndSARS generation will forever be remembered as the one that looked tyranny in the eye and said “enough.” Their bravery forced the world to pay attention. Their sacrifice reminded Nigerians that freedom is never given; it is demanded.
Yes, the movement was crushed, and yes, justice remains elusive. But in the silence that followed Lekki, something shifted in the national psyche. The youth now know their collective power. They know that when united, they can shake the foundations of even the mightiest governments.
Just as the MKO Movement of 1993 revealed the hunger of a generation for democracy, the #EndSARS protests of 2020 revealed the hunger of a generation for dignity, justice, and a country worth living in. And just as June 12 lives on as a symbol of struggle, October 20 has now become a day of remembrance; a reminder that the fight for a better Nigeria is far from over.
