In 1981, UB40 released One in Ten, a defiant anthem against the rampant unemployment and social decay under Margaret Thatcher’s Britain. The lyrics painted a grim picture of societal neglect: the jobless, the homeless, the ill, and the forgotten.
“I am a one in ten,” they sang, “a statistic, a reminder of a world that doesn’t care.” More than four decades later, the song’s themes resonate with chilling relevance, magnified by the harrowing realities of today.
In 2014, Nigeria witnessed a series of tragedies that laid bare the apathy of its leadership. From the bombings in Abuja to the mass kidnappings in Chibok, President Goodluck Jonathan’s infamous indifference—dancing at a rally to welcome a defecting politician while the nation mourned—became a symbol of disconnected governance. The statistics of suffering were real, but to the powerful, they remained abstract numbers.
Fast forward to 2024, and the echoes of neglect have grown louder. Stampedes in Abuja, Anambra, and Ibadan have claimed over 70 lives in just one week—victims trampled in desperate scrambles for food. Rice. That food item that Nigerian government officials use as panacea for all ills– flood, famine, terrorism, and corruption.
These scenes in December of 2024, eerily reminiscent of famine-stricken regions, are taking place in a country rich in oil but impoverished in governance. The cost of living crisis has pushed Nigerians to the brink: inflation officially at 34.6%, rice priced beyond the reach of average citizens, and over 129 million people living in poverty. For many, the Christmas season is not a time of joy but a grim reminder of their struggles. Fewer than one in ten Nigerians are able to smile.
President Bola Tinubu’s response to the tragedies, while outwardly more restrained than Jonathan’s, has been equally hollow. Condolences flow, but actions remain absent. Remember the times he chose to not visit Maiduguri when the flood hit; or failing to visit Benue when Agatu was raided by terrorists; or when gunmen continually killed people in the South East. The political elite continues to stand aloof, treating these tragedies as unfortunate but inevitable. The police are threatening to investigate and prosecute, and they have arrested one of the organisers of the charity event, failing to recognise that it is the yawning inequality that needs to be arrested, not the persons who try to step in. In any case, whether such people use their ‘connections’ to be let loose or get jailed, each death, each stampede, becomes another statistic—another one in ten. The profligacy that a legislator from Kaduna, Bashir el-Rufa’i, who belongs to the ruling party APC, condemned on the floor of the National Assembly is one thing that should be addressed.
UB40’s One in Ten was not just a song; it was a call to confront systemic inequality. Yet, the world has moved backward. In 1981, unemployment and poverty were dire issues; in 2024, they have metastasised into humanitarian crises. The stampedes in our country Nigeria are not isolated incidents but a microcosm of a global failure to address inequality, hunger, and the erosion of human dignity.
The lyrics of One in Ten could easily describe the victims of these stampedes: “I’m a starving third world mother, a refugee without a home; I’m another hungry baby, I’m an accident of birth.” The tragedy is not just that these words remain relevant but that they now describe a world where suffering has deepened.
As we move into 2025, the question remains: Will these tragedies continue to be seen as mere statistics, or will we finally heed UB40’s call to build a world that cares? So far, the answer seems grimly evident.
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