In a nation endowed with vast natural resources and a vibrant, resilient population, it is both tragic and inexcusable that security has emerged as the most paralysing threat to unity, prosperity, and everyday life in Nigeria.
Over the past fortnight alone, more than 250 Nigerians have been killed in a wave of brutal, coordinated attacks spanning Plateau, Benue, Borno, Kebbi, Katsina, Abia, and Kwara States. As the bloodshed intensifies, the silence—or worse, perceived indifference—of those entrusted with national security has triggered a fierce public backlash. Outrage is building among civil society leaders, lawmakers, retired military officers, and ordinary citizens alike.
The massacres in Plateau State are among the most harrowing. At least 113 civilians were murdered in cold blood across Zike, Kimakpa, and other communities in Bokkos and Bassa Local Government Areas by suspected Fulani militants. These were not isolated raids but well-coordinated assaults. Yet, the response from security agencies has been painfully sluggish.
Benue State has seen similar horrors. On 17 April 2025, suspected armed herders struck Ukum and Logo LGAs. Initial death tolls reported 20 fatalities, but by Sunday 19 April, the number had risen to 55 as more bodies were recovered. In these grief-stricken communities, calls for justice and safety ring louder than ever. Press conferences and vague assurances are no longer enough—they demand concrete results.
In Kwara’s Kaiama LGA, a newly emergent terrorist group known as Mahmuda is reportedly consolidating control. The group recently murdered 15 villagers and vigilantes in the Kemaanji community and is said to be tightening its grip on parts of Babana and Wawa districts in Niger State.
Online videos showing frustrated, under-equipped Nigerian soldiers have gone viral. Some troops can be seen lamenting that they are being sent into combat with inadequate weaponry, forced to confront well-armed terrorist factions without proper logistical support. These stark admissions point to systemic failure deep within the military’s operational and supply chains.
Meanwhile, in the North-West, notorious bandit leader Bello Turji continues to operate with impunity. In September 2024, President Bola Tinubu directed senior military officials to relocate to Sokoto State and neutralise Turji. But nearly a year on, no visible progress has been made. In February, Chief of Defence Operations General Emeka Onumajuru claimed that Turji was being actively tracked. Yet the bandit leader remains at large, orchestrating abductions, killings, and extortion from his forest base.
Villages surrounding Indaduwa in Sokoto State have reportedly been extorted for as much as ¦ 22 million under duress from Turji’s men. Despite supposed deployments of intelligence and manpower, the gang’s grip appears to be growing stronger.
Civil society voices are growing more strident in response. Usman Anache, Secretary General of the Association for Peace and Good Governance, described northern Nigeria as “a killing field.” His words capture a prevailing sense that the security establishment is either overwhelmed or complicit through inaction.
Federal lawmaker Daniel Asama of Plateau State went further, claiming security agencies already know the identities and movement patterns of the attackers.
Retired General Ishola Williams did not mince words. He accused the military top brass of profiting from the crisis. “They don’t want change,” he said, suggesting that entrenched interests within the armed forces are resistant to reform because they benefit from the dysfunction.
Security analyst Kabir Adamu of Beacon Consulting highlighted the fragmentation of Nigeria’s security agencies, criticising their lack of cooperation and poor border control. “They operate in silos,” he warned, a failure that has allowed criminal networks to flourish.
Debo Adeniran, President of the Committee for the Defence of Human Rights (CDHR), called for clear performance benchmarks for service chiefs, with removal as the default consequence for failure. They’re wasting public funds,” he said bluntly. “Their removal won’t change anything if the system stays the same—they’re part of the same entity.”
Patrick Agbamu of Security Watch Africa echoed these calls, insisting that once adequately equipped, security leaders must be held fully accountable. If they fail, dismissal must follow.
Retired Lieutenant Colonel Abdulwahab Ademola has called for a complete rethink of Nigeria’s national defence strategy. He advocates for a national security summit and the immediate creation of state police forces, arguing that local governments need greater autonomy over internal security.
This wave of violence is not new. It is the latest chapter in a long, bleak narrative of impunity, weak accountability, and bureaucratic stagnation. While security chiefs and political leaders issue vague statements, Nigerians continue to die—daily—in towns, villages, and remote settlements across the country.
If the government persists in maintaining the illusion that Nigeria’s security situation is “under control,” it must be reminded that no data nor public sentiment supports such a view.
The current security architecture is broken. And Nigeria cannot afford to wait for the next massacre to reconsider its response. Service chiefs who cannot produce tangible results must be replaced. A far-reaching reform of the security sector, backed by strong political will, legislative commitment, and public oversight, is no longer optional—it is essential.
A national security summit must be convened without delay. The country must urgently review its strategic vision, leadership structures, and inter-agency collaboration.
It is not too late to reverse course. But every hour lost to indecision empowers those who wish to tear Nigeria apart.