Abstract
This article explores how Nigeria’s history of military rule continues to influence contemporary state responses to protest. Drawing on Eyerman’s theory of cultural trauma, it examines how historical experiences of repression – particularly during Nigeria’s era of military regimes – have become embedded in the country’s political culture. Using qualitative data from 50 in-depth interviews with participants in the October 2020 #End SARS protests in Lagos State, Nigeria, the study identifies key themes that highlight how militarized and authoritarian repression has produced intergenerational forms of protest fear, scepticism and resistance. Despite Nigeria’s formal transition to democracy in 1999, successive administrations have continued to deploy military-style tactics against unarmed protesters, revealing the enduring parallels between past military regimes and the modern administration. The findings demonstrate that the trauma of military rule is not only remembered but institutionalized, evidenced by the routine use of state violence, the erosion of civic trust, and protesters’ normalization and expectation of repression. By situating #End SARS within a broader historical trajectory, this article contributes to sociological debates on post-authoritarian trauma, protest cultures and the persistent legacies of militarized governance in postcolonial African contexts.
Introduction
A key promise of democratization in many African countries was the restoration of civil freedoms and the rejuvenation of political culture. The rights to congregate, assemble and promote ideas are recognized under the Nigerian Constitution. However, since the return to democracy in 1999, successive governments have frequently used force to suppress civil protests (Hassan et al., 2018). Although Nigeria is formally democratic, it retains an authoritarian political culture inherited from its military past, shaping both state responses and public expectations regarding protest. Since 1999, Nigerian administrations have repeatedly employed military forces to suppress civilian demonstrations – most notably in Odi (1999), Zaki Biam (2001), Warri (2003), Occupy Nigeria (2012), Zaria (2015) and, most recently, during the #EndSARS protests at the Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos State (2020) (Egbejule, 2021; Faul and Isenyo, 2015; Human Rights Watch, 1999a, 2015; IRIN News, 2003; Onishi, 2001; Premium Times, 2012).
The culture of political repression and police brutality in Nigeria has been deeply influenced by the country’s extended periods of military regimes. Rather than a discrete historical episode, military rule constituted a prolonged era whose institutional and cultural imprints have persisted long after its formal end (Osaghae, 2018). The most distinctive feature of a military regime is its authoritarian nature. Military governments typically deny fundamental civil liberties, are unaccountable and rule through unquestioned supremacy (Osaghae, 2018). Since 1966, the military has not only shaped every transition to civilian rule but has also become a lasting feature of Nigerian political life and culture (Adeakin, 2016). State repression, that is, the deployment of covert and overt violence against citizen’s dissent (Davenport, 2005), continues to manifest through the recurrent deployment of military forces at non-violent protests since 1999, suggesting that human rights violations institutionalized during military rule have not dissipated with the restoration of democracy (Siollun, 2018). Ihonvbere (1996) characterized Nigeria’s political history as shaped by two major actors: ‘the military’ and ‘the people’, indicating that the country’s political sphere is primarily dominated not by competition among political parties but by the military’s authoritarian tendencies and the people’s enduring pursuit of democracy. This enduring tension provides the backdrop to recent protest movements like #EndSARS, where historical authoritarian legacies visibly resurfaced and became reinforced within Nigeria’s modern political space. For many participants, the #EndSARS movement was not experienced as an isolated political event but as a continuation of Nigeria’s long history of state repression, where protests are met with violence and brutality rather than dialogue and negotiation. This revives the collective memories of military-era repression within a contemporary democratic setting.
This study asks, How does Nigeria’s history of military repression influence its contemporary protest culture and protesters’ expectation of violence under a civilian administration? Guided by Eyerman’s theory of cultural trauma, it explores how collective memories of authoritarian violence shape protesters’ lived experiences during their #EndSARS movement. Drawing on qualitative data from 50 in-depth interviews with participants in the October 2020 #EndSARS protest in Lagos State, this study contributes to broader debates on authoritarian legacies in democratic societies by showing how political and cultural trauma reshape modern political behaviour, protest culture and state response in a formally democratic Nigeria. This article contributes to the repression-protest literature by highlighting that the legacy of military rule in Nigeria provided the conditions for the current nature of state repression, that cultural trauma explains how these histories are remembered and transmitted, and that the #EndSARS protest serves as the empirical site where these dynamics are experienced, negotiated and contested. Together, these legacies and realities form a coherent account of how past authoritarian violence shapes contemporary protest under a civilian administration.
The EndSARS movement
The #EndSARS movement emerged as a public outcry demanding the dissolution of Nigeria’s Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS), a unit of the Nigerian Police Force responsible for investigating and addressing violent crimes, particularly armed robbery (Okpalaeke and Aboh, 2024). First appearing on Twitter in 2018, the hashtag sought to bring visibility to reports of human rights violations and acts of brutality perpetrated by SARS officials, including the extrajudicial killings of unarmed youths across several regions of the country. In October 2020, the hashtag regained prominence following the release of a video capturing SARS operatives fatally shooting a young boy in the streets of Delta State (Uwazuruike, 2020). Following this, Nigerians leveraged social media platforms to share experiences of SARS misconduct and coordinate protests denouncing age-long police brutality, culminating in thousands flooding the streets seeking justice for victims of police violence and extrajudicial killings (Nwabunnia, 2021). In reaction to the #EndSARS protests, the government swiftly declared the disbandment of the SARS unit and the creation of a new Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) team (Uwazuruike, 2020). This announcement escalated public outrage as demonstrators grew apprehensive that SARS officials would simply be transferred to the new SWAT team. On October 20, 2020, the Nigerian government deployed the national army to Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos, where soldiers opened fire on peaceful protestors, resulting in 11 deaths and 48 injuries (Egbejule, 2021).
The recent literature on the #EndSARS protest has emphasized its youth-led organization, digital infrastructure and confrontation with entrenched state violence, situating it within broader discussions of protest, state repression and democratic regression in Nigeria (Agbashi et al., 2021; Nwabunnia, 2021; Uwazuruike, 2020). This argument aligns with recent analyses of Nigeria’s militarized democracy, which examined how civilian administrations criminalize protest movements and use violence to quell dissent (Amadi and Imoh-Ita, 2023). Unlike earlier protest movements in Nigeria, the #EndSARS protests were largely youth-led, digitally coordinated and sustained across multiple urban areas simultaneously (Agbashi et al., 2021; Nwabunnia, 2021). Social media platforms functioned not only as tools for mobilization but also as platforms for collective testimony, documentation of police violence and real-time coordination, which allowed protesters to narrate state repression as it unfolded (Nwabunnia, 2021; Uwazuruike, 2020). This distinct protest ecosystem shaped participants’ understanding of the risks of protest and the state’s likely response, making #EndSARS a critical site for understanding the enduring legacies of military repression within a contemporary, digitally mediated democratic context (Agbashi et al., 2021; Okpalaeke and Aboh, 2024).
Literature context
Cultural trauma and the legacy of the military era in Nigeria
The legacy of authoritarianism from Nigeria’s military era has persisted and continues to inform the country’s political culture and norms. Alexander’s (2004) theory of cultural trauma discusses how past events may not only harm a group or society but also transform its collective identity and shape present realities. Cultural trauma ‘occurs when members of a collectivity feel they have been subjected to a horrendous event that leaves indelible marks upon their group consciousness, marking their memories forever and changing their future identity in fundamental and irrevocable ways’ (Alexander, 2004: 1). Traumatic status can be attributed to real and imagined phenomena, as such events impact the collective’s identity and its stability in terms of shared meanings (Alexander, 2004). As members of the affected community identify with the cause of their trauma and assume moral responsibility, they often define their social relationships in ways that allow them to share in the meaning of the suffering of others (Alexander, 2004).
In the context of this study, Nigeria’s military legacy 1 – especially during the prolonged periods of military regimes between 1966 and 1999, despite brief interruptions by civilian administrations – represents not only a prolonged period of authoritarian governance but also a collective trauma that continues to shape the nation’s political identity. Rather than being relegated to the past, the military era remains embedded in Nigeria’s contemporary political consciousness, where it is seen as both an enduring component of modern governance (Adeakin, 2016) and a persistent hindrance to political development (Kukreja, 1989). Through the lens of cultural trauma, this historical period can be reinterpreted as a collective rupture that destabilized trust in democracy and embedded fear into everyday political life.
Eyerman (2001) employed the concept of cultural trauma to make sense of the challenges African Americans experienced when attempting to integrate into American society after the era of slavery. For him, cultural trauma reflects ‘a dramatic loss of identity and meaning, a tear in the social fabric, affecting a group of people that has achieved some degree of cohesion’ (Eyerman, 2001: 2). This analytic frame helps us understand how Nigerians, despite regime change, continue to experience protest as a dangerous act – one still met with military tactics reminiscent of the authoritarian past. Just as Eyerman (2001) demonstrated that slavery produced a rupture in African American identity that continued to shape their social integration, Nigeria’s military past also disrupted citizens’ democratic ideals and embedded civic expression with expectant consequences. One such traumatic experience in Nigeria’s nationhood was the annulment of the 1993 elections, which disillusioned Nigerians with the military regime’s promises of democracy. In Nigeria, June 12 is recognized as its Democracy Day, symbolizing the country’s attempt to grapple with the contradictions of its democratic journey. June 12 marks a collective trauma in Nigeria’s democratic consciousness – an event that disabused the country’s faith in electoral legitimacy and fused the concept of democracy with betrayal. Democracy Day serves as a reminder that Nigerian political culture still accommodates the repression of civic dissent through militarized force.
Even under civilian administrations, the country has often employed militarized tactics when engaging with unarmed protesters. This reflects the state’s ongoing inability to engage with its citizens without the threat of repression (Carey, 2009; Siollun, 2018). The trauma of military rule is not only embedded in public consciousness but institutionalized within state apparatuses, where political norms, the operations of state security forces, and leadership attitudes continue to reflect militarized logics of control and repression towards civic liberties. This trauma is not only remembered – it is reflected in the manner protesters speak of fear, betrayal and the inevitability of violence during a protest, even in a democracy. Thus, the Nigerian state’s repressive response to #EndSARS reflects the enduring trauma and institutional legacy of military rule, shaping both state behaviour and citizens’ protest expectations.
The military and repression in Africa
The current realities of autocracy and repression in Africa are rooted in the legacies of colonization and military administration across many postcolonial states. In South Africa, the country’s history of apartheid complicated constitutional negotiations at the dawn of its political independence (Culhane, 1993). The history of restricting free speech in South Africa during the years under apartheid evinced an overarching need to suppress opposition to the state’s discriminatory and oppressive social policies (Culhane, 1993). The persistence of authoritarian military regimes is one of the most significant elements of African nationhood since political independence (Mama, 1998). Under pressure from Western governments to ‘democratize’ its political systems, many military rulers in Africa have opted to substitute their military uniforms for civilian attire and become presidents in democratic dispensations (Mama, 1998). In the past three decades, there have been at least 19 incidents in which African presidents have extended their time in office despite constitutional restrictions (Tull and Simons, 2017). Examples include Gamal Abdel Nasser Hussein in Egypt, Siyad Barre in Somalia, Gnassingbé Eyadéma in Togo, Yahya Jammeh in The Gambia, Jerry Rawlings in Ghana, and both Olusegun Obasanjo and Muhammadu Buhari in Nigeria. In Nigeria, at the dawn of political independence, military-led transitions obstructed the state’s establishment of a fully open democratic polity, a pattern that mirrored the experiences of many other African countries emerging from military rule (Lewis, 1994). During Nigeria’s military regimes of the 1990s, surveillance by state security forces was prevalent, and protesters were met with swift and brutal repressive tactics (Lewis, 1994). Media freedom was curtailed through arrests of journalists and the suspension of pro-democracy publications (Ihonvbere, 1996).
Between 1966 and 1999, military regimes in Nigeria institutionalized state repression as a routine modality of governance rather than as a necessary response to crisis or conflict (Agbese, 1996; Ihonvbere, 1996; Osaghae, 2018). Across successive military regimes – Gowon, Buhari, Babangida and Abacha – civil dissent was criminalized through emergency decrees, prolonged detentions without trial and the routine deployment of soldiers to confront civilian unrest or protests (Agbese, 1996; Siollun, 2018). Legal instruments such as the State Security Decree enabled arbitrary arrests of civilians, while protest movements – especially those led by students, labour unions and pro-democracy groups – were met with coercive repression rather than negotiation (Ihonvbere, 1996; Siollun, 2018). The 1966–1999 period normalized the use of coercion as a governing logic, embedding militarized responses to claims-making within state institutions (Osaghae, 2018). Repression was not confined to moments of national instability; it became a routine tool for managing political disagreements, producing a collective memory that equates protest with inherent danger (Agbashi et al., 2021; Alexander, 2004; Eyerman, 2001).
As a result of this long history of military regimes, widespread neopatrimonialism and the personalization of political power, civilian administrations in Africa often lack both the legitimacy and institutional capacity to direct and respond constructively to political dissent and protests (Carey, 2009). In many postcolonial African states, military intervention in politics has hampered the democratization process and has resulted in citizens being disengaged from governance (Ibhawoh and Akinosho, 2012). These histories have influenced contemporary political culture in ways that continue to reflect authoritarian patterns. In Nigeria, for example, the legacy of military rule entrenched a distinct institutional culture – one in which militarized strategies are routinely used to engage with civil society and manage protests.
One emblematic tool of this legacy is the state of emergency – a core instrument of authoritarian military regimes (Carey, 2009) now adopted by civilian governments. Since Nigeria’s transition to democracy in 1999, successive administrations have declared states of emergency in Plateau (2004), Ekiti (2006), Borno (2013–2014), Yobe (2013–2014), Adamawa (2013–2014), Plateau (2011) and Rivers State (Ugbodaga, 2025). In addition to the employment of such legal measures, militarized force has consistently been used to suppress protest and dissent.
Military rule in Nigeria opposed essential democratic rights, including freedom of speech, association, movement and assembly (Agbese, 1996). Human rights abuses by the security forces were rampant during the military era and peaked during the 1984–1998 military governments led by Generals Buhari, Babangida and Abacha (Siollun, 2018). During Babangida’s rule (1987–1993), university campuses were shut down, and soldiers were deployed onto campuses to suppress student protests over government economic policies (Siollun, 2018). Following the adoption of the Structural Adjustment Policy (SAP) in 1989, student protests its austerity measures were met with severe state repression – soldiers and police officers closed campuses and dissolved student unions (Shettima, 1993). Prominent human rights and democracy advocates, such as Balarabe Musa, Gani Fawehinmi and Beko Ransome-Kuti, were arrested and detained (Agbese, 1996).
These acts of militarized repression were not isolated events but became institutionalized practices, evident in several high-profile cases of state violence against civilians. The 1990 Umuechem massacre in Rivers State exemplifies state-sponsored violence against peaceful protest. After a demonstration by village youth at the Shell Petroleum Development Company (SPDC) facility on October 30, 1990, security forces killed 80 members of the Etche ethnic group and destroyed nearly 500 houses (Human Rights Watch, 1999b). In 1993, following the military government’s annulment of the presidential elections, mass protests erupted, resulting in the deaths of approximately 100 civilians (Campbell, 1994, 1999). Under General Sani Abacha’s regime, democratic forces continued to be persecuted. Mass organizations such as the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU), the Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC) and the Campaign for Democracy were either banned or had their leaders detained without trial (Agbese, 1996). In 1995, the regime executed the ‘Ogoni Nine’, which included prominent writer and environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa and several members of the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP). The activists were killed for protesting the operating practices of the Royal Dutch Shell oil corporation in the Niger Delta (Amnesty International, 2017).
The same tactics of state violence used during the military era have persisted into Nigeria’s democratic administrations. As this study will show, the legacies of these repressive tactics persist and it continues to shape both the structure of state institutions and citizens’ experiences of protest. These collective memories of state repression function as a form of cultural trauma and inform both political consciousness and how society understands its relationship with the state.
Methods
The data for this study are based on in-depth interviews with 50 participants of the October 2020 #EndSARS protest in Lagos State, Nigeria. This study adopted a qualitative research design, using semi-structured in-depth interviews rather than a survey to examine the participants’ lived experience of state repression during the #EndSARS protests. Each participant was assigned a number identifier (e.g. Respondent 1 and Respondent 2) to maintain their anonymity and connect them to their respective quotations. The interviews were conducted between November and December 2022, with each session lasting approximately 1.5 hours. Before the interviews commenced, ethical clearance was obtained from a university ethics committee. Participants provided written or oral consent before any interview commenced. All names and contact information of the respondents were anonymized during the transcription and analysis of the interviews. Participants were selected using non-probability sampling methods, specifically purposive and snowball sampling. My research assistant initially contacted a few individuals whom we knew participated in the protests. From this group, we asked the interviewees to refer us to other individuals who also participated in the protests. The saturation point for the interviews was reached at 47 respondents because beyond that point, we began to gather very few new themes and insights. We chose not to post a recruitment flyer for this study, given the protest’s controversial nature and the arrests of protesters (Akinwotu, 2020). Most of the interviews were conducted in person; six were held over Zoom. Some interviews were conducted virtually because the lead researcher was abroad and unable to conduct them in person.
One of the topics discussed during the interviews was the participants’ experiences of police harassment and assault during the protest and how they felt these events – both inside and outside the protest grounds – relate to Nigeria’s legacy of military rule. Given the young demographic of the study, several participants could not relate to the question as they could not accurately remember Nigeria’s military regimes. However, many of the respondents were able to discuss how they felt the past military government in the country was linked or related to the current experiences of police violence inside and outside the protest grounds. To ensure the respondents could provide a response they were comfortable with, they were not asked about specific events or incidents during the military era. I spoke to participants who had engaged in protests at different sites in Lagos state, including Ojuelegba, Onipanu, Lekki, Mushin, Surulere, Ikeja and Agege.
Data analysis
Thematic analysis was conducted on the interview transcripts using NVivo 12. Different codes and themes were identified and created from the interviewees’ quotes, aligning with the objective of this article. First, I analysed and coded participants’ quotes into primary themes, which were then grouped into broader, collective themes. I shared the description of the themes and 20 randomly selected quotes from the interview transcripts with my RA, who is familiar with the interviews. The RA independently assessed and coded the quotes into the themes generated by the lead researcher. Results from both codes (my coding and my RA’s) were used to calculate the inter-rater reliability score for this analysis. Reliability scores and coefficients were computed using Krippendorff’s (2004, 2011) Alpha. The Krippendorff alpha score was 0.79, indicating moderate agreement between the raters on the quotes and themes.
Findings
In this study, repression functions as an established analytical premise, while the findings highlight how its militarized forms are experienced, normalized and anticipated by protesters on the ground. As shown in Table 1, 33 of the participants identified as women, 15 as men and two as non-binary. The mean age of the respondents was 30 years, with a median score of 26.5 years. Regarding marital status, 42 participants were single and eight were married. Ages ranged from 19 to 67 years. Participants represented a range of professional backgrounds, including students, self-employed entrepreneurs, medical consultants, lawyers and fashion designers.
Socio-demographics of interviewees for EndSARS interviews.
Recall of the history of military administrations
From the mid-1960s to the late 1990s, Nigerian politics was dominated by a series of military administrations, and these regimes shaped the political context into what it is today. The final military administration lasted from 1993 to 1998. Given that some respondents did not experience this administration, several were unable to directly relate the current political administration to the legacy of Nigeria’s military past. Not all respondents personally experienced the consequences of protesting during the military regimes of the 1980s and 1990s. As such, most of the reflections in this subsection come from participants who could recall the nature of military rule, especially journalists and individuals aged 30 or older at the time of the interview.
By applying cultural trauma as an analytic lens, this article focuses on three mechanisms through which the history of military repression shapes contemporary protest dynamics: the anticipatory fear of state violence, the intergenerational transmission of protest memory, and the normalization of militarized responses to dissent. These mechanisms influence how participants interpret state actions, assess the risks of protesting and mobilize despite the expectation of repression. Thus, three major themes emerged from participants’ recollections of Nigeria’s military past and how its legacy continues to inform the current political climate.
Theme 1: the political hangover of the military era and the continuity of repressive tactics
Political hangover highlights the lived reality that authoritarian modes of rule persist beneath civilian governance. One of the most prominent themes to emerge from the interviews is the enduring legacy of the repressive practices of Nigeria’s military regime and how this legacy shapes the country’s current political context. Several respondents noted that while Nigeria is formally under democratic rule, the state’s tactics – particularly in dealing with dissent – remain heavily shaped by its authoritarian past. As Respondent 37 put it, . . . we have this, what I call the political hangover effect of the military era. Nigerians have left the military era, but the military hasn’t left them.
This sentiment was further echoed by others who described today’s democracy as a veneer over an authoritarian core. Respondent 18 characterized Nigeria’s current political climate as one that operates under a façade of democracy, where the remnants of military dominance reveal themselves through the state’s use of imposed ‘force’ to sustain its authority. Such observations position Nigeria’s legacy of militarization and authoritarian control as having inflicted cultural trauma, leaving a lasting imprint on the manner citizens perceive state power.
Some of the participants also mentioned how the repressive tactics of the military regime have persisted into civilian governance. These reflections align with Ihonvbere’s (1996) argument that military-era strategies – such as arresting pro-democracy activists, shutting down universities and media houses, and expanding state surveillance – have carried over into civilian governance through police repression. The respondents described the country’s political hangover where the political system has not purged the authoritarian imperatives of the military regime. This mirrors Osaghae’s (2018) contention that the effects of military rule were not confined to the period of direct control but have continued to shape Nigeria’s political landscape. Respondents echoed this sentiment, describing how military-style governance has persisted beyond the country’s military era: Our president is a military man [. . .] the same set of people have been ruling us since independence. (Respondent 30) I want to say, is it really military mindset or just the Nigeria mindset? I don’t think it’s a military mindset anymore, I just think it’s a Nigerian mindset, at least in the political power, I just think it’s a recipe we have seen that works, and so we are going to continue using that recipe as long as we possibly can. (Respondent 11)
Many participants observed a political reality in which the military, despite its formal exit, still exerts significant influence in Nigeria’s political and security agendas. One of the respondents expressed how the presidency of Muhammadu Buhari – a former military leader – symbolized the continuity of the military dispensation into the country’s democratic governance. Echoing this view, Respondent 3 depicted the president as ‘authoritarian’, citing his unliteral decision-making and disregard for citizens’ opinions as introducing ‘military ideas’ into Nigeria’s democratic framework.
Respondents further highlighted that it is not only individuals with military backgrounds but also broader institutional norms and practices that reflect this enduring legacy. Respondent 43 linked the issue to Nigeria’s constitutional structure: . . . Section 2 of the Nigerian Constitution [. . .] talks about the State, meaning that the State is called the supreme, final, absolute, coercive power within a political realm – that is dangerous [. . .] that is a military constitution right there that we have.
Respondents also highlighted how protest suppression tactics rooted in the military era continue to define how the civilian government engages with dissent, often involving political leaders’ refusal to actively engage with the demands of protesters. Such responses are reminiscent of the military regime’s tactics, where demands for democracy were met not with dialogue, but with intimidation, arbitrary arrests, and indefinite detentions without trial (Osaghae, 2018; Siollun, 2018). As Agbese (1996) notes, the military regime’s repression of fundamental rights persists in the state’s current handling of protests, revealing the continued erosion of democratic freedoms. According to Respondent 46, . . . right in front of national television people were being brutalized and harassed. What’s the difference in that and how military [leaders] also used police to make sure that people kept quiet, looking at the fact of how protests are treated at our democratic societies today also, what is different about how in the military days? People couldn’t go out to protest [. . .] there was no safe spaces for people to go out and protest, but then people still went out.
This sense of betrayal echoes the experience of cultural trauma, where the legacy of repression and authoritarianism conditions the present expectations of how participants expect state violence during protests. Aligning with Agbashi et al. (2021) observations, these findings further suggest that Nigeria’s legacy of state repression has weakened citizens’ current inclination to protest. In addition, the respondents pointed to the death of Akintunde Ojo, a protester who was shot and killed during the 1978 ‘Ali Must Go’ protest, as an example of the repressive nature of the military regime. Respondent 2 expressed that Nigerians remain wary of engaging in protests because the current civilian government deals with protest in ways similar to the repressive tactics of the military. Lending credence to the idea of cultural trauma (Alexander, 2004; Eyerman, 2001) is the ways in which the repressive legacy of military governance still informs how people protest, including those born after the military era. As Respondent 6 puts it, Yes, when my dad heard that I and my brother and sister were outside he was scared saying: ‘please go inside, there’s no need to protest, in our own time they came to shoot all of us, they killed all of us’, so yes, [our history with military regimes] affected how people have been protesting, participating in a protest [. . .] the military regime in Nigeria affected how people come out because people are scared that they would shoot you, they would arrest you, they would pick you up, so yeah.
This intergenerational memory reinforces a collective scepticism towards the state and its willingness to tolerate dissent, even under a democratic framework. As one participant concluded, The country claims to be democratic, but there is nothing democratic about it. (Respondent 10)
In sum, many participants perceive Nigerian democracy not as a sharp break from the military era, but as a continuation of its core logics – repression, coercion and centralized control – now masked by civilian rule. These perceptions reveal how the past continues to shape both the practices of governance and citizens’ expectations of political engagement.
Theme 2: the legacy of trauma, impact on civil freedoms and pervasive fear of repression
Another theme the respondents discussed was the enduring constraint on civil liberties and freedom of expression resulting from Nigeria’s history of military authoritarianism. Many respondents noted that the legacy of repression has informed current political discourse and the nature of activism and resistance movements in the country. This finding further aligns with Agbashi et al. (2021) assertions that the government’s enduring repressive practices have fostered widespread disillusionment with protest as a ‘viable’ (p. 54) form of expression. Respondent 5 elaborated on this dynamic by describing how ‘fear’ born from Nigeria’s militarized past continues to constrain civic expression in Nigeria today, motioning to this as a ‘limit to [one’s] freedom as a human being’. Similarly for Respondent 41, the legacy of state continued to loom large: It’s totally different, because, though I didn’t witness anyone during the military era, but at least we heard a little, because then if you protest, if they come there they can use any means to disrupt everything, in fact they can even come back to your house and take the person away, same thing happened to Fela (Anikulapo-Kuti) [. . .] so, you don’t have a say, and that is how they rule, because it’s a military rule.
Respondent 2 further added, Because then, nobody in the proper sense will go to the street to protest because you know [. . .] what the military men can do to you, so I think it’s the same thing we are having now, because people can’t protest.
The respondents’ reflections align with scholarly insights that Nigeria’s history of military repression has left a lasting imprint on political culture. The state’s long-standing practice of suppressing dissent and democratic activism through immediate repression (Ihonvbere, 1996), alongside the use of state-sanctioned violence against pro-democracy advocates (Osaghae, 2018), has created deep-rooted apprehension among Nigerians. It had not even been a decade since the Nigerian government flooded cities with police and military units to suppress the Occupy Nigeria protests, meeting demonstrators with tear gas, mass arrests and lethal force (Hassan et al., 2018). Informed by cultural trauma theory (Eyerman, 2001), these traumatic experiences under military rule have become embedded in the social consciousness, shaping contemporary attitudes towards political activism and participation. Despite Nigeria’s transition to democratic rule, many participants articulated how fear remains a barrier to civic engagement, particularly protest. Many recounted how their parents, having experienced repression during the 1980s and 1990s, were apprehensive about permitting their children to engage in the #EndSARS protests. This intergenerational transmission of trauma offers a plausible explanation as to why, in the absence of military governance, Nigerians continue to conceptualize protesting as perilous. Respondent 45 noted that some of the parents of the young people who were engaged in the #EndSARS protest had lost colleagues and friends to the protests during military rule: Yes, you have to understand that some of our parents are still dealing with the trauma of the 80s and the 90s. I remember as a child in the 90s, during the end of the IBB regime, if you went to school, you’re coming out of school very early [. . .] why? Because there are riots everywhere in Lagos and you need to get home safe because you don’t know what is going to happen, this was the reality of every person in the 90s.
This historical trauma was often cited as a reason why parents discouraged their children from participating in protests like #EndSARS. Respondent 6 recounted, Yes, when my dad heard that I and my brother and sister were outside he was scared saying ‘please go inside, there’s no need to protest oh, in our own time they came to shoot all of us , they killed all of us’, so yes [. . .] the military regime in Nigeria affected how people come out because people are scared that they would shoot you , they would arrest you, they would pick you up , so yeah.
Respondent 33 emphasized that this was less about apathy and more about fear: It was more of fear, not lack of support [. . .] they don’t trust this government enough . . . to think that they will allow people to see protest freely. [. . .] Bearing in mind [the repression] they [the parents] also encountered during their time, the protest . . . how the government treated that too, it was more of fear, like ‘ah! This is not the government that is actually pro-free-speech, so do you want to endanger your life like this?’ Because that is what you are literally doing.
Respondent 30 also offered a nuanced take, acknowledging the historical trauma but cautioning against attributing all present dynamics solely to the military past: . . . I admit the military rule conditioned them (our parents) to think that protests don’t work in Nigeria and that they (the state) are going to kill you; all those things were not lies because they killed people, history repeated itself [at the Lekki tollgate massacre]. They (our parents) were not wrong. However, I do not want to place it (our current political climate) solely at the roots of the military rule.
Finally, Respondent 37 explained how this enduring fear has given rise to a sense of resignation and hopelessness: They [parents] will probably remember all that they went through in the hands of the military. And they would have maybe reached a point of hopelessness, thinking that nothing else could change. Realizing that this was the same method, in quote, they had always used and didn’t get results.
Together, these accounts suggest that the trauma and repression experienced during military rule have not only shaped public perceptions of protest but also constrained civil engagement in contemporary Nigeria. Even in a post-military context, memories of violence continue to reverberate – stifling dissent and narrowing the boundaries of political participation. This historical conditioning complicates democratic engagement, as citizens – particularly younger generations – must navigate both current authoritarian practices and the lingering shadows of past repression. This perspective reveals that participants were able to draw a parallel between the repression their parents experienced and their current realities on the protest grounds. In alignment with cultural trauma theory, this exemplifies how collective memories of state violence have been inherited across generations, constraining the contemporary generation’s democratic activism.
Theme 3: resistance, adaptation and mobilization
The respondents also discussed the impact of the military regime’s legacy on the narratives of resistance, civil rights, the urgency of political action and adaptive mobilization for protests in response to the repressive tactics of the current Nigerian political system. For some, there is a conscious effort to connect past and present experiences of state violence. Across interviews, the protesters described how they navigated the protest through shared strategies of preparedness, collective vigilance and digital coordination, reflecting both the fear of state repression and the determination to resist it. As Respondent 2 put it, Because the thing I want to understand is if people can connect stories of them, of military regime, to what they are seeing now? Or if they can’t connect it, how they grapple with the fact that they are dealing with security forces while they’re protesting.
Respondent 2’s question illustrates a key dynamic – the extent to which the memory of military repression influences how protesters today interpret and respond to state violence. It reveals a generational grappling with the weight of historical trauma as protesters face familiar forms of coercion from security forces. Reflecting on the earlier military era, Respondent 46 recalled how even then, despite harsh conditions, students mobilized and protested: . . . during the military days when there were no safe spaces for people to protest, students went out to protest during the time of Babangida and all of that, when they went out to protest for ‘Ali Must Go’ and all of that . . .
When discussing the #EndSARS protests, several respondents emphasized the marked determination and strategic adaptability of the younger generation. Respondent 30 described how protesters faced live gunfire and tear gas but remained resolute: But this time [#EndSARS protests], kids and people were seeing gunshots and teargas, and they stayed there, [and they would say] ‘You want to beat us? You cannot beat all of us, we will be here’. [. . .] There are parallels [between past and present-day protests] but the difference this time is a bunch of young people that were different.
This also highlights a generational confidence rooted in new tools and a refusal to be silenced despite deadly repression. Drawing from Agbashi et al. (2021) observations, the #EndSARS protests can be seen as the emergence of a ‘Soro Soke’ or ‘speak loud’ generation (p. 55), where Nigeria’s youth began to recognize the necessity of protesting a system that undermines their needs and aspirations. In a related comment, Respondent 30 further elaborated on this digital-savvy and prepared generation: We are post-internet babies . . . We are avant-garde, we know how to use our voice, we are very stubborn and very vocal [. . .] it is not like we don’t fear death, we fear death, but we are so obsessed with getting that word out as a generation. I saw a video during EndSARS where they fired teargas in the air, and these people literally brought out face masks, like they were prepared for teargas.
The adaptability of the respondents highlights their determination to resist and persist with the movement despite the hostile reactions from security forces. This resistance underscores their role in compelling the state to re-evaluate and restructure its relationship with the citizenry, much like Nigerian activists did in the late 1980s and 1990s military era (Ihonvbere, 1996). During that period, Ihonvbere (1996) argued that the annulment of the elections and disregard for the 12 June mandate awakened a previously dormant society, spurred the formation of several pro-democracy and civil liberty organizations, compelled Nigerians abroad to collaborate along political lines, and exposed the emptiness of the promised civilian transition by the military administration to the international community. Similar to the enduring trauma caused by military rule and the strengthening of civil society groups, the repressive strategies of the state paradoxically inspired a democratic fervour among the protesters during the #EndSARS protest. Aligning with Agbashi et al. (2021) contentions, the #EndSARS protest stood out as particularly ‘remarkable’ (p. 54) for its ability to galvanize Nigerian youth towards democratic participation, who drew upon their shared recollections of state oppression to actively engage in protests. As Respondent 30 noted, participants were aware of the likely repressive tactics in advance and prepared accordingly. In this way, the legacy of military rule encompasses both traumatic repression and political resistance, the latter of which continues to shape civil resistance and social movements in comparable political contexts.
These findings deepen our understanding of cultural trauma as not merely memory but practice – one embedded in state institutions and citizens’ civic dispositions. As Alexander (2004) and Eyerman (2001) emphasize, the process of collective meaning-making after historical ruptures shapes ongoing social dynamics. The #EndSARS protests reveal how trauma can persist through state reactions to protesters and anticipatory fear among protesters. Military rule was not just a passing phase in Nigeria’s political history, but an era deeply embedded in the country’s political culture and institutions (Adeakin, 2016; Osaghae, 2018). Protesters’ sense of inevitability – expecting violence and distrusting democratic guarantees – reflects how the modern state has normalized the militarized style of governance. This case extends cultural trauma theory by demonstrating that in post-military regime contexts like Nigeria, democratic transitions do not erase inherited logics of repression; instead, they coexist uneasily with them. Thus, the collective trauma of military repression is not simply a matter of the past but an inherited orientation that continues to regulate how both the state and citizens navigate protest in the present.
Conclusion
This study examined how Nigeria’s history of military regimes continues to influence state responses to protest and citizens’ expectations of repression, using the #EndSARS protest as an empirical case. Employing Eyerman’s (2001) theory of cultural trauma to assess how collective memories of violence influence group identity and civic engagement, this study draws on qualitative interview data from 50 participants involved in the October 2020 #EndSARS protest in Lagos State, Nigeria. This article analysed how the traumatic legacy of past military rule continues to influence Nigeria’s political culture and civilian responses to protest. The participants’ responses underscore the continuing impact of the military regime on contemporary Nigerian politics. This article contributes to the literature on social movements by illustrating how collective trauma becomes embedded not only in public memory but also in political action. It also highlights how democratic states in post-military societies, particularly in Africa, adopt repressive repertoires shaped by their historical legacies. This study advances the cultural trauma theory within repression-protest literature by showing that repression can be an inherited expectation rather than an episodic state action.
The findings indicate that respondents, irrespective of firsthand experience with military rule, recognize parallels between the authoritarian nature of past military rule and current civilian governance, notably under a former military official as president. This emerges against a backdrop where both military and civilian governments have restricted civil liberties and free speech, using state-sanctioned violence to stifle protests and political opposition. Findings also demonstrate that despite the military’s formal departure, lingering trauma and fear continue to discourage study participants from engaging in protests due to concerns over government reprisals. In this sense, protest becomes not only a political act but a site of inherited trauma, where past memories shape current emotional and political responses. Participants connected historical resistance to military governance with current social movements, emphasizing the similarities in mobilization efforts in response to contemporary political oppression. Supporting cultural trauma theory, the findings illustrate how fear and trauma from military rule continue to inform political attitudes and protest engagement in contemporary Nigeria, while synonymously binding past resistance to present-day mobilization. While this study does not advance a prescriptive policy framework, its contribution lies in showing how the legacies of the military and historical trauma condition both protest strategies and state responses, an important analytic step before evaluating reform or resistance outcomes. By foregrounding cultural trauma as an inherited orientation shaping protest expectations and state behaviour in a post-military democracy, this article extends repression-protest literature beyond institutional explanations to interrogate how historical violence and trauma are experienced, anticipated and reproduced in contemporary political settings.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I would like to appreciate Anastasia Scherders for her invaluable assistance in proofreading the manuscript for this study.
Author contributions
Eugene Emeka Dim was responsible for developing the idea for the study. He also contributed to the introduction, literature review, methods and findings of the manuscript. Daniela Chow contributed to the introduction, findings and conclusion sections of the manuscript.
Funding
The authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article: This study was funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC). The funding number is 752–2020–1221.
Ethical approval and informed consent statements
Ethical approval for this study was provided by the University of Toronto Ethics committee and all participants of the study gave their consent before any interview was undertaken.
Data availability statement
Not Applicable.