Mohbad’s death in September 2023 is one incident Nigerians won’t forget in a hurry. It began with a post by Instablog9ja announcing that the promising singer and former Marlian Records signee had died from an ear infection. At first, it didn’t quite sink in. His sound from the lyrics to the cadence carried shades of his former label boss, Naira Marley, and this was why many who weren’t familiar with Mohbad, including me, rushed to YouTube. There, they realised they already knew his songs, even if not his name. That’s when the sentimental attachment began.
The narrative shifted quickly when videos and voice notes surfaced, hinting that he had suffered bullying and oppression at the hands of his ex-label head, Naira Marley, and his associate Sam Larry. In that instant, social media became a courtroom. The mob declared its verdict: Naira Marley was guilty, and just like that, the Marlian king with a cult-like following lost his goodwill. Radio stations like Agidigbo FM in Ibadan banned his songs. Fans unfollowed him in droves, and the digital manhunt for Naira Marley began. His name trended for weeks as the face of exploitation in the music industry. All this, while he was still entangled in a long-standing internet fraud trial with the EFCC. But was this justice or something else entirely?
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The Cancel Culture
Cancel culture is not an unusual trend globally. It’s society saying, ‘We don’t rate you again’ because of what you did or said or better put, when the crowd pulls the plug on their support over one wrong move or opinion. Cancel culture is often associated with boycotts, shunning, or public criticism and is frequently amplified by social media. Think of ace American actor Bill Cosby, or more recently, P. Diddy, who lost goodwill after multiple indictments.
But if you thought cancel culture was harsh in the West, wait until Nigerians cancel you. Here, it is ruthless, vile even. There is no avenue to appeal to sentiments; once you are cancelled, it is almost permanent and capable of wrecking a career overnight. And unlike other climes, it doesn’t stop at Twitter hashtags; it is powered by WhatsApp group chats and gossip blogs. In Nigeria, cancel culture is magnified by distrust in institutions and the hunger for ‘sharp, sharp’ justice and a lot of irrational thinking and emotional decisions. The result? An instant verdict that can destroy careers long before any facts are firmly established.
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The Naira Marley example
Naira Marley quickly became the easiest target for cancel culture, or what we might call Nigeria’s version of social media mob justice. All the narratives online, the leaked videos, the voice notes, the trending hashtags seemed to indict him and paint him as the ultimate oppressor. Fearing for his life, he reportedly fled. It got so bad that even innocent people who merely resembled him almost became victims of the cancel culture.
But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Social media commentators, from VDM to celebrities like Iyabo Ojo and Tonto Dikeh, led the justice charge. The calls split offline: his songs were banned from airplay, blacklisted by DJs, and even dropped by international show promoters. Across social media, he was dragged relentlessly, his reputation already destroyed before any formal investigation had run its course.
Oriyomi Hamzat’s Agidigbo FM ban and the station’s eventual reversal nearly two years later are the clearest examples. It shows how public rage determined Marley’s fate long before any official finding.
This article is not about defending Naira Marley but about highlighting the dangers of cancel culture in a country where the judiciary is weak, trust in institutions is thin, and gossip blogs have become more powerful than evidence.
The Dangers of Cancel Culture
The dangers of cancel culture are innumerable, especially in a society like ours where there is outright distrust of the system. When the police and courts are weak, people turn to outrage as “justice.” Consider the cases of Fuji legend KWAM 1 and Comfort Emmanson, both of which occurred barely a week apart, involving aviation-related offences but producing very different outcomes.
One is a public figure, well-connected and a friend of the president; the other is simply the girl next door. The disparity in judgment exposed how status and social standing often determine who gets cancelled and who escapes scrutiny in Nigeria.
Cancel culture in Nigeria also thrives on moral signalling. Nigerians perform righteousness loudly, “we no dey support evil”, even while perpetuating some of the same injustices they claim to condemn. It was not unusual to see employers who owed staff salaries or politicians with corruption scandals join the “Justice for Mohbad” campaign at the time.
Ultimately, Mohbad’s tragic death became the canvas for Nigerians’ larger frustrations with the government and institutions. Most Nigerians who were victims of bullying or oppression capitalised on the Justice for Mohbad movement to publicise their struggles and seek help and public intervention. That was not all. Some entertainers who were victims of exploitation also spoke out. At the time, the media was awash with details and news of deep-seated issues: record label exploitation, weak copyright laws, and the culture of oppression many artistes face.
But, instead of addressing these systemic problems, the outrage was channelled into cancelling one man, but sadly, that alone didnt solve the rot.
The Way Forward
Cancel culture may not die in a hurry, but it can be better managed if we are a more literate and discerning populace that demands facts and not just gist. Our national obsession with gossip and scandal, rather than hard truths, reveals a weakness in our intellectual fabric are pointer to the mindset of some Nigerians.
Have you ever wondered why the most outrageous headlines go viral on Facebook, why the wildest conspiracy theories trend on Twitter, and why WhatsApp groups serve as echo chambers of half-truths? There you have your answers.
Add to this the rise of AI-driven misinformation and deepfakes, and the challenge of separating fact from fiction has become even greater. Outrage may feel powerful in the moment, but we need to understand that it does not bring accountability, and it cannot substitute for real justice.
The media, often called the fourth estate of the realm, must take more responsibility. In a bid for clicks and virality, many platforms amplify mob verdicts without context or verification. This fuels hysteria and further erodes public trust. Journalists and editors have a duty not just to report events, but to add balance, nuance, and perspective. Without this, the media becomes a megaphone for mob rule rather than a safeguard for accountability and if you like, social justice.
Naira Marley’s recent documentary shows how silence can wreck a brand while outrage thrives. Speaking out, for the first time since Mohbad died, Naira Marley’s account has split public opinion. While some have regretted cancelling him, others call it damage control, but one lesson is clear: cancel culture punishes quickly but rarely brings closure or the much-desired justice and accountability.
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The entertainment industry itself also has work to do. There must be structures for accountability within the sector, proper unions, mediation boards, and welfare protections for artistes. Many of the issues that fuel outrage, exploitation, unfair contracts, and bullying could be resolved internally if strong systems existed. Without such frameworks, public anger will always fill the vacuum left by weak regulation and weak justice.
Finally, artistes and creatives must understand that the court of public opinion is as powerful as any court of law. Crisis-proofing their brand, being mindful of associations, and learning how to respond with transparency and empathy in moments of controversy is no longer optional. In a cancel-prone industry, silence or a misstep can be interpreted as guilt, and careers can be wrecked in days.
