In late 1949, a group of coal miners in Enugu, the Nigerian city that was then the administrative capital of the British Eastern Region, launched a ‘go-slow’ protest, significantly reducing their productivity. Their grievances: poor working conditions, a poor welfare package, and unpaid salaries.
It was not their first rodeo. The miners had taken part in a country-wide general strike over the cost of living four years earlier, protesting in solidarity with workers from other industries. Back then, the colonial authorities had responded by locking the miners out of the mines, fearing they would seize control of the highly lucrative coal production.
This time, in 1949, the miners occupied and picketed their workplace. They were insistent that the colonial authorities listen. They were unarmed.
In response, on 18 November, the authorities sent in police to “quell the strike” and to remove explosives from the mine, reportedly out of fear that the striking miners might use them. The miners continued their non-violent protest, tying red cloth strips to their helmets as solidarity markers and chanting solidarity songs.
F.S. Philip, the British Superintendent of Police, was unsettled, allegedly viewing the red cloth strips as ‘paramilitary insignia’. He opened fire on the protesters. His men followed suit, firing dozens of rounds over the next few minutes. When the dust settled, 21 miners and a bystander were dead, with 51 others wounded, according to Coal Atlas, a 2015 report by the Nigerian and German branches of the Heinrich Böll Foundation, a German political foundation, and Friends of the Earth International, a network of grassroots environmental organisations.
Soon after the miners were killed, the colonial administration set up the Fitzgerald Commission to investigate their deaths. Its report, published in June 1950, concluded that Philip had made “an error of judgment” and his actions “fell short of that standard that might be expected from his rank and seniority.” The report also laid blame on the protesters, claiming they provoked such a reaction.
Neither Philips nor any other British officer was ever prosecuted over the miners’ deaths. Nearly eight decades later, the miners’ families are still fighting for justice – and earlier this year, it seemed like they might finally get it.
In February, the Enugu Division High Court ordered the British government to pay £420m in compensation (£20m to each of the families of the 21 coal miners) within 90 days, and publish apologies in national newspapers in both Nigeria and the UK within 60 days.
“I felt very good and pleased [with the judgment]. The colonial masters never saw what they did as a crime but as their right,” said Mazi Greg Onoh, a human rights activist based in Enugu who brought the case against the British government.
But both deadlines have now passed, and the British government has not apologised – or even publicly responded – for its role in the miners’ deaths, let alone paid any compensation.
Holding the British government accountable
The 1949 massacre is one of the major injustices in Nigeria’s colonial history. Historians believe it was a catalyst in the anti-colonial movement that eventually led to the country’s independence in 1960.
“Calls for independence already exist[ed] and talks [were] ongoing. The massacre was a reference point for people outlining the need for the colonialists to go,” historian Dr Oludamola Adebowale told the BBC when the court ruling was announced earlier this year.
Human rights activist Greg Onoh said the massacre highlighted the brutal repression of the colonial administration, particularly given the immense benefits it received from coal production in the region.
British mining engineer Albert Kitson first discovered coal in Enugu in 1909, while he was prospecting for silver. Using forced labour, the colonial authorities quickly began exploiting the coal, which they used to fuel trains in Nigeria and exported elsewhere.
The miners, although poorly paid and often left waiting for their wage arrears, were the primary breadwinners of their families. Their deaths plunged their loved ones deep into poverty.
“They killed my father,” said 78-year-old Mercy Ekeowa, crying and beating her chest twice in anger. Ekeowa, who was just a year old at the time, said she cries each time she remembers the incident. “We could not go to school. My mother trained me, but stopped at primary school because there was no money. My mother suffered before she died in 2013.”
Since 2001, a group of miners led by Hyacinth Ohagwu, a retired coal miner in Enugu, have disputed the official records of the massacre, believing the death toll was much higher than the official 21.
The group visited affected communities, spoke with traditional rulers, obtained photos and relevant work documents, and conducted interviews with families who lost at least one member in the massacre. Through their documentation efforts, the group says, they have found that many deaths were not officially recorded, including those who later succumbed to their injuries in the hospital.
Greg Onoh, the human rights activist, built on the work of Ohagwu’s group to gather more information from archives and conducted further interviews with people who remembered the killings. Armed with this evidence, on 2 June 2025, he launched a lawsuit on behalf of the 21 victims’ families at the Enugu High Court against the British and Nigerian governments and their representatives, including Yvette Cooper, the UK’s secretary of state for foreign, commonwealth & development affairs, as well as the UK’s King Charles as the head of the Commonwealth.
In February 2026, Anthony Onovo, a justice of the court, found in Greg Onoh’s favour, ruling that the colonial police’s actions had violated both domestic and international laws, and demanding apologies and compensation from the UK government.
Patrick Agazie, one of Greg Onoh’s lawyers, said the judgment represents a significant milestone in seeking justice for historical wrongs and colonial injustices. He added that as the British government did not send lawyers or representatives to the court proceedings, it has since been served with a Certified True Copy of the judgment.
But there are growing concerns that the British government may not obey the court judgment. Agazie insists it is legally bound to do so, or will face a ‘judgment enforcement’ process, in which Greg Onoh’s lawyers apply to the High Court in London to have the judgment registered and enforced in the UK.
“We may [also] decide to clamp down on [the British government’s] properties wherever found on the soil of Nigeria,” he added.
As part of his ruling, Justice Onovo also ordered the Nigerian government to initiate and pursue diplomatic engagement with its UK counterpart on justice, effective remedies and reparation within 90 days, agreeing with Greg Onoh that although it did not exist in 1949, it now has a constitutional duty to uphold and enforce the fundamental rights of Nigerians, including the 21 miners and their families. The deadline has since passed without the Nigerian government publicly responding to the order.
This is not the first time the UK has been ordered to pay for brutalities carried out overseas during its colonial rule. In 2013, the British government agreed to pay £20m to Kenyans tortured by colonial forces during the 1950s Mau Mau uprising against British colonial rule, which saw thousands killed as Kenyans fought for freedom and to regain stolen land.
“The damages were paid directly to about 5,000 victims who were identified by the Kenya Human Rights Commission and London-based law firm Leigh Day. They were paid immediately after the settlement,” Daniel Leader, a barrister and partner at Leigh Day, told openDemocracy.
We reached out to the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office but they had not responded by press time.
Keeping the family’s name alive
For the families of the miners, the British government’s lack of response to the recent judgment means their painful fight for justice continues.
Sylvia Amu’s mother was seven months pregnant with her third child when her father was killed at the mine. Her father worked night shifts, she recalls, and when he came home on the morning of 18 November, he returned to the mine almost immediately to join his colleagues in the protest, despite his wife pleading with him not to.
“He never came back alive,” she said. When her twin brother, her parents’ only son, later passed away before getting married or having children, Amu chose not to marry and instead adopted two boys to ensure her father’s lineage and generation would continue.
“I adopted [the boys] so my father’s name will keep living on. It is not easy because taking care of the kids [alone] is difficult,” said Amu, whose mother died in September 2015.
Meanwhile, Azuibuike Anyasodo, whose uncle Sunday Anyasodo was the first person killed in the massacre, said he still feels sad for not getting to listen to fairytales from Anyasodo as he did with his other uncles.
“I would have seen him if he were not killed,” he said. “How can they come to someone’s land to kill?”
