incarceration

Zohran Mamdani, the progressive standard-bearer who could become New York City’s next mayor after Tuesday’s election, faces a public-safety trap that has entangled progressives nationwide: Voters want less cruelty, not less accountability. Confuse the two, and even progressives will vote you out.

Even before he has taken office, Mamdani is already fending off attacks from opponents, including former Gov. Andrew Cuomo and other political adversaries. They seek to brand him as a radical by tying him to the national Democratic Socialists of America’s most controversial criminal justice planks, such as declining to prosecute misdemeanor offenses.

Yet, in distancing himself from those specific policies, Mamdani is cleverly navigating a political minefield that has doomed other reformers. His strategy demonstrates a crucial lesson for the broader progressive movement: voters want a less inhumane justice system, not one that is unenforced. If progressives are perceived as abandoning accountability for offenses like shoplifting and public drug usage, they invite a political backlash that will not only cost them elections (or reelections) but also set back the cause of reform nationwide.

Americans across the political spectrum support reducing extremely harsh punishments. They want shorter sentences, alternatives to incarceration and rehabilitation over punishment. The moral case against excessive punishment resonates with voters who see our system as unnecessarily cruel. The evidence is overwhelming: 81% of Americans believe the U.S. criminal justice system needs reform, and 85% agree the main goal of our criminal justice system should be rehabilitation.

But when it comes to deciding which behaviors deserve prosecution, the politics shift dramatically. Mamdani has previously aligned with the Democratic Socialists of America, an organization that calls for ending the enforcement of some misdemeanor offenses.

This is precisely the kind of stance that can trigger backlash. The 2022 recall of San Francisco’s progressive district attorney shows why. About 1 in 3 “progressive” voters cast a ballot to remove the progressive DA from office. It wasn’t because they disagreed with his policies; in fact, these same voters supported his specific reforms when his name wasn’t attached to them. Their opposition was rooted in a fear that declining to prosecute low-level crimes would create a deterrence vacuum and incentivize lawlessness.

In Los Angeles, George Gascón’s trajectory offers a cautionary tale. As Los Angeles County district attorney, he survived two recall attempts before losing his 2024 reelection bid by 23 points. L.A. voters hadn’t abandoned reform — they’d supported it just four years earlier. But Gascón’s categorical bans on seeking certain harsher sentences or charging juveniles as adults triggered a revolt from his own rank-and-file prosecutors, creating the perception that entire categories of misconduct would go unaddressed. When prosecutors publicly sued him, arguing his directives violated state law, the deterrence vacuum became tangible. By the time Gascón walked back some policies, voters’ trust had evaporated.

This pattern repeats across the country. In Boston, DA Kevin Hayden has distanced himself so forcefully from predecessor Rachael Rollins’ “do not prosecute” list that he bristles at reporters even mentioning it. Yet Hayden’s office is still diverting first-time shoplifters to treatment programs — the same approach Rollins advocated. The difference? Hayden emphasizes prosecution of repeat offenders while offering alternatives to first-timers. The policy is nearly identical; the politics couldn’t be more different.

Critics are right to argue that the old model of misdemeanor prosecution was a failure. It criminalized poverty and addiction, clogged our courts and did little to stop the revolving door. But the answer to a broken system is not to create a vacuum of enforcement; it is to build a new system that pairs accountability with effective intervention.

Mamdani has already shown political wisdom by declaring, “I am not defunding the police.” But the issue isn’t just about police funding — it’s about what behaviors the criminal justice system will address. As mayor, Mamdani would not control whether the prosecutors abandon prosecution of misdemeanors, but what matters are his stances and voters’ perception. He should be vocal about how we thinks prosecutors should respond to low-level offenses:

• First-time shoplifters: Restitution or community service.
• Drug possession: Treatment enrollment, not incarceration.
• Quality-of-life violations: Social service interventions for housing and health.
• DUI offenders: Intensive supervision and treatment.

To be clear, this isn’t about ignoring these offenses; it’s about transforming the response. For this to work, the justice system must use its inherent leverage. Instead of compelling jail time, a pending criminal case becomes the tool to ensure a person completes a treatment program, pays restitution to the store they stole from, or connects with housing services. This is the essence of diversion: Accountability is met, the underlying problem is addressed, and upon successful completion, the case is often dismissed, allowing the person to move forward without the lifelong burden of a criminal record.

Mamdani’s proposed Department of Community Safety is a step in the right direction. But it must work alongside, not instead of, prosecution for lower-level offenses, and Mamdani must frame it as a partner to prosecution. If voters perceive it as a substitute for accountability, his opponents will use it as a political weapon the moment crime rates fluctuate.

New York deserves bold criminal justice reform. But boldness without pragmatism leads to backlash that sets the entire movement back. The future of the criminal justice progressive movement in America will not be determined by its ideals, but by its ability to deliver pragmatic safety. For the aspiring mayor, and for prosecutors in California and beyond, this means understanding that residents want both order and compassionate justice.

Dvir Yogev is a postdoctoral researcher at the Criminal Law & Justice Center at UC Berkeley, where he studies the politics of criminal justice reform and prosecutor elections.

Most communities in southeastern Nigeria fall silent every Monday. Markets that once buzzed with commerce stand empty, schools that nurtured dreams remain locked, and roads that carried aspirations lie barren. This weekly ritual of protest, born from the continuous detention of Nnamdi Kanu, leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), has become both a symbol of resistance and a testament to a region’s suffering. Through the voices of ordinary people who live this reality daily, the human impact of this political stalemate reveals a story of economic devastation, social disruption, and unwavering determination.

The story of Kanu’s incarceration is deeply intertwined with historical grievances that predate Nigeria’s independence. For many in the South East, the continued detention of the secessionist leader represents another chapter in the systematic marginalisation of the Igbo people. This sentiment echoes through the region, from the bustling cities to the rural communities where memories of the 1967–1970 civil war remain fresh.

“You cannot understand the current situation without acknowledging the historical context,” said Prof. Chinedu Okafor, a historian at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Anambra State. “The Igbo people have long felt like second-class citizens in Nigeria, and Kanu’s movement tapped into that deep well of frustration. His detention has become a symbol of wider injustices that people here experience daily, from inadequate infrastructure to limited political representation.”

The cost of empty streets

The sit-at-home protests have unleashed an economic catastrophe across South East Nigeria. Analysts estimate the region has lost between ₦900.9 billion and ₦7.6 trillion over roughly 191 days of forced closures since October 2021. But behind these numbers lie countless personal tragedies: businesses destroyed, dreams deferred, and livelihoods lost.

“Before this struggle, I could feed my family and pay my children’s school fees from my fabric business. Now, I’m deep in debt. Every Monday we’re forced to close, I lose customers who go elsewhere,” said Chinelo Ogadi, a trader at the Onitsha Main Market. “The worst part is we don’t even know when this will end. They’re killing us slowly, and nobody in government seems to care.”

Her frustration is shared across sectors, from petty traders to transport operators who keep the region moving. 

Ekene Okoye, a transportation business owner in Enugu, said the protests have crippled his business. Of his five buses that once ran between Enugu and Port Harcourt, three now sit idle. He has also laid off more than half of his drivers, “young men with families depending on them”. For Ekene, “this isn’t just about Nnamdi Kanu; it’s about all of us suffering for politics.”

The impact extends beyond direct losses. Small-scale businesses that relied on daily savings schemes now struggle to contribute on Mondays, undermining their ability to invest in future and creating a ripple effect that stifles growth across the region.

Education and community under threat

The sit-at-home has done more than crippling the economy. It has begun to erode the very social foundations of the South East. Education, highly valued in Igbo culture, has become collateral damage in this prolonged political struggle.

“How can I teach when classes are constantly disrupted?” Adaobi Nwosu, a secondary school teacher in Aba, asked. “My students are falling behind their peers in other regions. The worst was when protesters attacked primary school children taking entrance exams. Is this how we fight for freedom? By destroying our children’s future?”

The disruptions have been severe, with schools and universities repeatedly shutting down, denying students the stability of continuous learning. Beyond the classroom, the social contract that binds communities together is fraying under the strain of enforced compliance with protest measures.

“We’ve always prided ourselves on our strong community values, but this situation has created divisions. Some support the protests, others resent being forced to comply. It’s tearing at the fabric of our society in ways that will take generations to repair,” Onyia Kalu, a community leader in Owerri, the Imo State capital, told HumAngle.

Beneath the economic and social impacts lies a deeper psychological trauma affecting millions across the region. 

“My practice has seen a 300 per cent increase in patients with anxiety and depression since these protests intensified,” Amara Nwankwo, a psychologist in Awka, Anambra State, told HumAngle. “People are living in constant stress: fear of violence, economic uncertainty, and political instability. The trauma is particularly acute among children who don’t understand why their routines have been disrupted or why they sometimes hear gunshots.”

The psychological toll extends beyond clinical diagnoses. It manifests in the quiet desperation of parents who cannot provide for their children, the dashed hopes of graduates who see no future in their homeland, and the weary resignation of elders who have witnessed cycles of violence and protest throughout their lives.

Kanu’s health, a metaphor for regional decline

Concerns about Nnamdi Kanu’s health have become a powerful metaphor for how many in the region view their own situation. Claims that Kanu suffers from a “life-threatening heart condition” and receives inadequate medical treatment in detention mirror broader frustrations about healthcare infrastructure in the region.

His younger brother, Emmanuel Kanu, stated in a 14-paragraph affidavit that Nnamdi’s condition is serious and the medical facility where he is being detained is inadequate to treat him. These concerns have heightened tensions throughout the South East, with groups like the World Igbo Congress warning of “serious consequences” should he die in detention.

For ordinary people, these fears are folded into their daily struggles.

“The strange thing is that even those who weren’t supporters of Kanu before are now sympathetic because they see the government’s handling of the situation as unfair. It’s united people in ways I didn’t expect,” Ndidi Romanus, a restaurant owner in Umuahia, the Abia State capital, said. 

Younger Nigerians in the region, meanwhile, see little hope. “My generation is tired. We’re tired of the protests, tired of the economic hardship, tired of being afraid. But we’re also tired of a system that doesn’t work for us. Many of my friends are planning to leave the country. How can we build a future here?” Peace Emeka, a 22-year-old university student in Nnewi, said. 

From the pulpit, religious leaders echo the same sense of exhaustion. Livinus Mmadu, a religious leader in Owerri, said, “I see the pain in people’s eyes. We need dialogue, not confrontation. The government must understand that Kanu’s detention isn’t just about one man; it’s about the hopes and frustrations of millions. And those enforcing the protests must remember that violence against our own people contradicts the freedom we seek.”

Healing for the South East

As the Oct. 10, 2025, court date approaches, when Justice James Omotosho is expected to rule on a no-case submission that could lead to Kanu’s release, the region holds its breath. Yet, whatever the outcome, the underlying issues that fuelled the separatist movement cannot be solved in court alone.

Organisations like Ohanaeze Ndigbo, the apex Igbo socio-cultural group, have called for political dialogue to address the crisis at its root. John Azuta-Mbata, leader of the group, stated that “as Kanu is being incarcerated, even with a bail granted by a competent court, it is the entire Igbo that is being incarcerated”. 

Healing the South East will require more than legal decisions. The economic devastation requires targeted investment and recovery programmes to help businesses and workers affected by the prolonged protests. Schools need urgent support to catch students up after years of disrupted learning. Above all, community reconciliation processes are needed to heal the social divisions that have emerged during this period.

“We cannot solve today’s problems with the same thinking that created them. We need new approaches, new dialogues, and new understandings,” Mbazulike Amechi, an elder statesman in the region, said. “The future of our children depends on our ability to find peaceful solutions that recognise the dignity and aspirations of all people.”

As the silent Mondays continue, each empty street and closed market stand as a testament to the price ordinary people are paying for a political struggle that stretches back generations.