With the police in Delta State dismissing claims that the controversial Alue-Do festival in Ozoro was a ‘rape festival’, the recent incident raises questions about Nigeria’s commitment to protecting women in both law and practice.
Development Diaries reports that videos circulating online showed women being surrounded, touched, chased, and assaulted in broad daylight by groups of men who seemed to believe that the setting gave them permission.
Yet, in the middle of this, the police response has leaned heavily on a familiar line, that there is no official report of rape. It is a statement that may be legally accurate, but for many Nigerians, it feels disconnected from the lived reality captured on camera.
In a country where survivors of sexual violence often face stigma, blame, and disbelief, the absence of a formal complaint does not automatically mean the absence of harm.
It can just as easily mean fear, silence, or a lack of trust in the system meant to protect them. And when the conversation begins and ends with whether someone has stepped forward to say ‘I was raped’, it risks ignoring the broader pattern of abuse that is already visible to the public eye.
The Violence Against Persons Prohibition (VAPP) Act, which was domesticated in Delta State in 2020, was enacted to protect citizens from all forms of violence, including sexual assault, harassment, and harmful traditional practices.
It clearly states that culture, religion, or tradition cannot be used as justification for violating another person’s rights. In theory, this should mean that any environment that enables the harassment or assault of women, whether or not it fits a narrow legal definition of rape, should trigger swift and decisive action.
The police have confirmed arrests, including the chief organiser of the festival, and the Delta State government has moved to ban the event. These are necessary steps, but they also raise bigger questions about prevention.
How did an event of this nature take place without proper oversight? Why were key authorities, including the police and local leadership, not informed? And why does it take viral videos and public outrage for systems to respond urgently?
The police are responsible for investigating the incident thoroughly and ensuring that justice is not limited to what is easy to prove but extends to what is clearly visible. At the same time, the Delta State government has a duty to enforce the provisions of the law and ensure that communities understand that harmful practices, whether labelled cultural or not, will not be tolerated.
On their part, traditional leaders and community heads have a responsibility to regulate local events and ensure that gatherings under their watch do not become opportunities for abuse.
But beyond institutions, this is also a societal issue, because when large groups of men feel emboldened to publicly harass women, it reflects a deeper problem of normalisation.
It suggests that somewhere along the line, the idea that women’s bodies are not to be violated has not been fully accepted, and that is a problem no law can fix on its own without consistent enforcement and cultural change.
Citizens must demand more than statements and arrests. They must demand a transparent investigation that goes beyond technical definitions to address the full scope of what happened.
They must demand that those found responsible, whether individuals or organisers, are held accountable under the law. They must insist on clear guidelines for public events and festivals to prevent a repeat of such incidents, because if the standard for action is that victims must first find the courage to speak in a system that often fails them, then justice will always arrive late, if it arrives at all.
And until that changes, incidents like Ozoro will continue to test our collective willingness to uphold them.
Photo source: Channels TV
