Photo: Delta State Governor Sheriff Oborevwori
By O.M.O-Beecroft, Special Correspondent, Ajagbodudun, Warri North
In the face of soaring unemployment, rising insecurity, and deepening economic hardship, Delta State’s latest focus on criminalising “indecent dressing” feels like a misplacement of both legislative energy and public priorities.
The policy, which invokes the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Law (VAPP) to justify arresting or punishing individuals for the vague “exposure of private parts,” is drawing both concern and criticism. While the VAPP law was designed to protect citizens—particularly vulnerable groups—from violence, the government’s recent interpretation effectively uses it as a tool for morality enforcement.
This move, I must note, is neither timely nor clearly defined. What constitutes “indecent”? Who decides what part of the body offends public decency? Should a visible shoulder on a warm day be treated as criminal? Or the sight of knees in a marketplace?
These are not rhetorical questions. They are real legal and human rights dilemmas that now confront residents in Delta State, particularly young women and students, who are the likeliest targets of such open-ended moral policies.
During my reporting in Warri and Ughelli, I spoke with several residents who expressed frustration that, while their communities struggle with power outages, joblessness, and insecurity, their government appears more concerned with how they dress than how they live.
“We don’t have jobs. We don’t have light. And now they want to control our clothes?” one university student asked me bitterly.
“Is this a state government or a church board?”
To be fair, no government should ignore cultural standards. Modesty and public decency are part of our societal values. But governance must be rooted in justice, clarity, and priorities that reflect the realities on the ground. Vague rules on appearance, however well-meaning, can easily become instruments of profiling, abuse, and extortion by security agencies—a pattern Nigeria knows all too well.
We’ve seen it before. In 2019, dozens of women were arrested in Abuja under the pretext of morality enforcement. Many later testified to experiencing harassment and sexual assault in detention, prompting public outrage and human rights investigations.
One cannot ignore the gendered nature of such policies. As Maryam Uwais, a respected advocate and former presidential adviser, once said: “In unequal societies, moral policing laws rarely affect men. Women become the easy targets.”
And it is already happening in Delta.
Law enforcement, particularly in rural and semi-urban areas, lacks both training and accountability to implement such ambiguous rules fairly. Without clear boundaries and protections, such laws turn police officers into judge and jury, deciding on the street who is “decent” enough to walk freely.
I spoke with a retired officer in Ughelli who was blunt in his assessment: “This is a law they will use to make money. The average policeman doesn’t have the tools to interpret moral laws—they will interpret them however suits them.”
This is precisely why many human rights advocates oppose the criminalisation of morality in democratic spaces. Not only is it often unconstitutional, but it also creates dangerous social divides and reinforces a state’s power over the most vulnerable.
The real obscenity in Delta is not what residents are wearing. It is the absence of responsive leadership on critical issues: jobs, infrastructure, healthcare, and public education. These are the gaps the state should focus on closing.
As one youth leader in Warri told me: “If the government gave young people decent work, they wouldn’t care what anyone was wearing.”
The energy used to enforce dress codes would be far better invested in fighting gender-based violence, training police officers in human rights, or building youth empowerment programs. A good government educates its people—it does not humiliate them.
In conclusion, Delta State must re-evaluate this policy. If we are serious about reducing violence against persons, then the answer lies in building institutions that serve, protect, and respect the rights of all, not in clothing crackdowns that distract from failures in governance.
The real work lies not in measuring skirt lengths, but in measuring progress: in how many young people we lift out of poverty, in how secure our communities are, and in how free citizens feel in their own country.
Have your say: Should dress codes be part of criminal law in Delta State? Share your thoughts in the comments section
O.M.O-Beecroft is a special correspondent based in Warri North, Delta State He reports on policy, human rights, and youth issues in the Niger Delta.
