In “Evil Men”, Miranda Twiss chronicles the manifestation of true evil in the lives of the most dangerous ten men in a recent human history. In x-raying the in-depths profiles of those who for their own sinister purposes have used power to torture, kill, maim and eradicate millions of people, Twiss concludes that the general assumption that “what goes around comes around” is hardly true, because history shows that evil people hardly get caught.
One could say that time has taken its toll since the book ominously declares that Saddam Hussein and Bin Laden are still at large, but the book is nevertheless a decent enough overview of some of humanity’s worst people who never got punished.
How many times do we read a story and conclude that the victims in the story deserve their fate? How do we react to the stories of young girls being murdered in hotels these days or dumped along the highways by suspected ritualists? Do we assume that all of them are guilty of greed or “runs” as some would call it? Do we assume that the slayers are all guilty?
If there is anything we should take home from this day’s piece, we should exercise restraint in pointing out accusing fingers. People fall victims to evils not necessarily because they are not careful, but as long as evils live, there will always be victims.
As a young priest working in Nigeria, I returned to my parish on a fateful evening in December 2014. I was greeted with a letter from the office of the parish catechist. A group of supposed parishioners had met the catechist during the day requesting me to come and bless their new homes so that they could move in before the Christmas. Meeting my absence, they left their phone numbers with the catechist. I did call a day later and they told me that the house was in Enugu. Despite their preference of my person, I insisted that they should get a priest around there to bless the house, because it was impossible to come to Enugu owing to my many engagements. After this, they stopped calling.
Surprisingly, in the second week of January 2015, they resumed their appeal that they were still unable to get a priest to bless their home. They argued that they did not know any priest around there since they worshipped in Abakaliki. The call came a day to my scheduled visit to Enugu on a transit to Lagos. I promised to meet with them in Enugu and rejected their offer to come and pick me up. An appointment sealed!
On the agreed time, I met them at Nowas Filling Station, Nike. Dressed in my full priestly regalia, we drove down to a street not far from there. They asked me to drive inside the compound, but I refused on the excuse that I was in a hurry.
On entering the compound, they offered me a seat, a bottle of Malt drink, but I declined to take the latter. A bottle of water was offered instead, but I refused again. They looked frustrated. Not long, a scene was created in the room as a fight broke out between two boys who even inflicted injuries on themselves to reinforce my acceptance of the make-believe. The scene was created to give me the role of an adjudicator. They narrated the story of a business-gone-sour, and how money is needed to get chemicals to turn art papers there into money. I refused buying into the drama or showing interest in any business. Repeatedly, I asked for the particular house to be blessed as I held my stole and a holy water sprinkler. Their “African metaphysics” was not potent enough to hold me after all.
Deep down, I knew I was not ordained with palm kernel oil; the anointing was neither done by a fake nor was it running dry. The “Greater-He-that-dwells-in-me” whispered to me to stand and leave immediately. Certainly, I am not a regular short guy like most of them. I stood tall and pushed my way out of the house as they were rehearsing another play to stage-manage. They asked where I was going, I told them I needed to bring my car inside. I commanded one of the actors to pause the drama and keep the gate open for me to drive in. He was still like a statue when I got to Enugu airport. They would call repeatedly, but it was too late. Grace saved me.
They were possible tragic ends to this story, but God chose to save me. Sometimes, not everyone could be that lucky. One thing I have learnt in life that anyone could be a victim.
There are people who know every reason why bad things happen to people. But they never tell us why they are still not yet victims. As it is with those evil men in Twiss’ book who escaped justice for their atrocities, what goes around does not always come around.
Why are evil men thriving in this world? The odds of this world are most times up against good people. In the epic trial of the biblical Jesus, it was not the guilty Barabbas who was condemned, but the innocent Jesus. And where one would have expected the observers to protest this miscarriage of justice, the crowd actually made the Barabbas’ freedom and Jesus’ crucifixion inevitable.
Whenever you see a trend story of a victim of evil, lower your condemnation of the victim, because it could be you. We might warn people against plying a dangerous road, but we should insist on eliminating anything that makes every road unsafe for good or bad travellers.
Meanwhile, The Dragnet is back.
© Felix Uche Akam: The Dragnet.
