On September 17, 2025, a disturbing video of a brutal street assault shook Nigerians. A large, violent man, later identified as Adio Shamsideen, alias “Shameleon,” mercilessly beat a defenseless dispatch rider in broad daylight. The attacker used an iron ring to pummel the victim’s face and head as he pleaded for mercy.

The most shocking part was not just the brutality, but the brazen impunity with which it was carried out. In a crowd of onlookers, an elderly woman tried to intervene, only to be pushed to the ground and trampled by Adio. He then called for reinforcements from the National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW), who joined the assault until the rider was beaten unconscious. Another victim, identified as Abdurahman, was left fighting for his life in the hospital.

This was not a random street fight; it was a glaring display of how power, thuggery, and impunity operate within Nigeria’s broken social structure.

For those in Lagos, Shamsideen’s name was notorious. Testimonies and videos that surfaced after the incident revealed a man with a history of terrorizing dispatch riders, keke operators, and everyday commuters. He once tied a man down like an animal, and no one dared to challenge him. Why? Because he was protected by a union and by political connections, a system that thrives on the muscle of touts and agberos. This is why the initial reaction of many Nigerians was not shock, but weary resignation: “This is Nigeria.”

The NURTW and similar bodies are not merely transport unions; they are often political armies in disguise. During elections, they mobilize, intimidate, and deliver votes. Afterward, they extort commuters, control parks, and unleash violence on anyone who crosses them. From Auxiliary in Ibadan to Idajo in Akure, Nigeria’s history is filled with tales of union thugs who rose to demi-god status, commanding convoys and instilling fear until they fall out of favor with their political patrons. When useful, they are shielded; when expendable, they are arrested.

The tragedy of the dispatch rider is more than a story of Shamsideen’s brutality. It is about a system that enables and sustains men like him. The question is simple: how can one man repeatedly brutalize people in public and escape justice? The answer lies in weak policing, a compromised justice system, and a government that often uses thuggery as an informal arm of power.

Nigeria’s law enforcement agencies are swift to arrest peaceful protesters, journalists, or young people demanding reform. Yet, they often look away when armed touts openly extort or brutalize citizens, only acting when public outrage forces their hand. Can we then conclude that this are the real “Kings of Nigeria” who are above the law? 

In this case, Shamsideen’s arrest wasn’t a result of newfound police diligence, it was because social media amplified the video and public protests threatened to escalate. Without the camera lens, he would have likely walked free, as he had countless times before.

By allowing touts to act with impunity, we are sending a dangerous message that violence is acceptable if it is politically backed, that the right to dignity is negotiable, and that ordinary Nigerians must endure humiliation from self-proclaimed untouchables. This is the true danger. When injustice becomes too blatant and the system seems rigged against the weak, citizens will eventually rise. We saw this during the 2020 EndSARS protests, the scars of which Lagos has not forgotten. If touts continue to operate as a fourth arm of government, another spark could ignite unrest the nation may not be prepared for.

The Lagos State Assembly’s call for Shamsideen’s arrest and prosecution is commendable, but it must not be the end of the story. Justice must be served transparently, and he must not be quietly released to return to the streets, more emboldened than ever.

More importantly, the government must confront the larger issue: the institutionalization of touts as enforcers of political and economic power. Associations like the NURTW must be fully reformed and regulated by law, not by the whims of thugs. The State needs to take charge of public spaces, ensuring that parks and roads are safe and free from harassment. Dispatch riders, keke operators, and traders deserve protection, not predation.

The death of the dispatch rider and Abdurahman’s struggle for life should not be in vain. There should be a wake-up call for a nation on the brink of normalizing violence. Because in truth, it was not just Shamsideen who brutalized the rider, it was a failed system that prioritizes thuggery over justice and power over humanity.