When Manners Go Into Exile

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

In a world where self-expression is glorified and personal boundaries are fluid, a most astonishing spectacle unfolds before our eyes – one that mirrors our nation’s alarming descent into moral anarchy. The recent viral altercation at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, Anambra State, where a third-year student allegedly sank her teeth into a lecturer for disrupting her TikTok session, is an ominous footnote in the ongoing chronicle of social decay. Once upon a time, the presence of a lecturer – any lecturer – on a university corridor commanded instinctive respect, even fear. Today, a supposed seeker of knowledge, lost in the haze of internet validation, sees a senior academic as an obstacle to her cinematic ambitions and responds with cannibalistic ferocity.

Predictably, the incident has ignited heated debates online. There are those who consider the student’s reaction a justified assertion of personal space, while others see it as an irredeemable collapse of respect and discipline. The university authorities, understandably jolted, have launched an investigation, promising sanctions where necessary. But what happens when institutions of learning must now wrestle with the etiquette of social media? How did we get here – where students feel entitled to defy authority, where a tap on the shoulder breeds combat, and where a nation’s collective conscience hesitates to draw the line between confidence and crassness?

 We cannot pretend to be surprised. This is but one episode in a larger series of social distortions that have taken root in Nigeria. What exactly do we hold dear as a people? Who do we celebrate today? What do we justify? Our problem is not limited to the youthful exuberance of TikTok enthusiasts; it is a national affliction that manifests in every strata of society.

A generation ago, discipline was a communal responsibility. The neighbour’s child was yours to correct. A misstep in public earned instant rebuke, and gratitude was expected – not indignation. Today, we are mere spectators to our own disintegration. Where once we were scandalised by moral failures, now we make excuses. The young woman tossing wads of cash from a car window, the young man flaunting illicit wealth on social media – both are symptoms of a culture that has abandoned virtue for viral moments.

  A nation that normalises lawlessness soon finds itself gasping for legitimacy in the eyes of the world. Consider the plight of honest Nigerians at international airports, treated with undue suspicion because the criminal excesses of a few have cast a pall over the many. Our digital transactions trigger red flags, our passports elicit wary glances. We shake our heads in frustration, but the truth stares back at us: when you refuse to punish roguery, you pay for it in dishonour.

  Yet, this moral crisis is not confined to the young. The older generations – those who should serve as beacons of integrity – are deeply complicit. How does a businessman siphon company funds, pocket ninety per cent, and then tithe ten per cent with a sense of divine settlement? What theology permits the transformation of stolen wealth into a passport to paradise? The more absurd reality is that such offerings are accepted with glee, their origins overlooked in the name of spiritual opportunism. Churches and mosques, instead of being strongholds of moral rectitude, have in some cases become havens for sanctified corruption.

Elsewhere, we find religious leaders brazenly taking possession of properties ‘donated’ by worshippers in states of emotional hysteria. These properties often belong to entire families – unconsulted, uninformed, and utterly helpless. When the inevitable disputes arise, the supposed shepherds of the flock feign ignorance or, worse, spiritual persecution. If these are the moral custodians, who then shall lead the charge for redemption?

Beyond moral dysfunction, our national identity is now a battleground for ethnic division and mutual suspicion. Nigerians, once a people bound by a common struggle, now peer at one another through tribal lenses. Every misdeed is attributed to an ethnic stereotype – the fraudster is Yoruba, the trader of counterfeits is Igbo, the kidnapper is Fulani. No crime stands alone; every action must bear the weight of a tribal signature. In this climate of paranoia, trust is an endangered species, and national unity a fleeting illusion.

  Such is the depth of our social dislocation that we no longer flinch at horror. Ritualists operate with impunity, their atrocities greeted with a resigned shrug. Kidnappers demand ransoms in millions from officials who wield the power to trace calls but choose not to. The line between governance and organised crime is so blurred that even the best detectives would struggle to differentiate the two.

  At the root of this collapse is a tragic realisation: we are no longer shocked. Outrage has become performative, our conscience dulled by the relentless onslaught of impunity. We justify villainy with self-serving logic – the government is corrupt, so why not the people? We embrace crooks as leaders, so long as they are ‘our own.’ We deodorise the stink of misconduct when it serves our interests. But in the end, a society that justifies every failure only succeeds in accelerating its own demise.

 The UniZik student will have her day before the disciplinary committee, and Dr Okoye’s bruises will eventually fade. But what of the bruises on our collective psyche? Who will investigate the erosion of values that makes such incidents possible? When did we become a people who bite – not just in defiance, but in resignation to a world where nothing is sacred?

 This is no longer a question of an unruly student or a TikTok obsession gone too far. It is a symptom of a society that has abandoned its moral compass, where every institution – family, school, religious bodies, and government – has been compromised by permissiveness, hypocrisy, and selective outrage. If we have reached a point where authority figures must fear those they are meant to guide, then we are teetering on the edge of something far more dangerous than mere generational rebellion.

The decline is not abstract; it manifests daily in the brazen disregard for discipline, in the celebration of fraudsters as “smart people,” in the normalisation of dishonourable wealth, and in the slow erosion of our collective sense of right and wrong. We see it in our politics, where governance is reduced to transactional self-interest. We see it in our streets, where law enforcement is a racket, and justice is for the highest bidder. We see it in our homes, where parents outsource morality to social media influencers, and children are raised not on values, but on viral trends.

So, where do we go from here? Do we continue excusing and enabling until the very fabric of our society collapses under the weight of our indifference? Or do we confront this rot head-on, insisting once more that actions have consequences, that respect must be earned and reciprocated, that there is a cost to moral bankruptcy? The answer may not come easily, but one thing is certain: a people who lose their sense of outrage at wrongdoing have already lost far more than they realise.