Nigeria has been thrust once again into a heart wrenching tragedy, the abduction of 25 schoolgirls from Government Girls Comprehensive Secondary School, Maga, in Kebbi State.
Twenty five young girls taken away in the dark of night. A Vice Principal gunned down in the line of duty. A school turned into a battlefield. A nation pushed once again to confront a nightmare it has never truly escaped.
And yet, something feels disturbingly different this time the silence.
In 2014, when the Chibok schoolgirls were abducted, the nation erupted. The air was thick with protest. Streets filled with outrage. Nigerians spoke as one voice, refusing to let the incident fade. Civil society groups mobilized daily. Parents marched. Students protested. Churches and mosques demanded action. Global headlines roared. And notably, the political opposition of that era today’s ruling party was at the forefront of that agitation, insisting the government of the day be held accountable without mercy. Their voices were loud and unrelenting.
But today, in 2025, after the kidnapping of 25 daughters of this country, the silence is deafening. There are no nationwide marches. No prolonged vigils. No powerful political voices rallying behind the families. No hashtags burning through the digital space. Nothing close to the collective fury that defined Chibok or Dapchi. Instead, there is a calm that feels unnatural, as if the nation has learned to normalize the terror it once vowed to resist.
This eerie quiet forces a painful question: has Nigeria become desensitized to the abduction of its children? Has the abnormal become our new normal? Or was the outrage of the past driven more by political opportunity than genuine national conscience? Why does it now seem like the nation has surrendered to the cruelty of insecurity?
The painful truth is that the Kebbi abduction fits into a familiar pattern. Chibok, Dapchi, Kuriga, Jangebe, Kankara, Kagara each tragedy followed by condemnations, promises, brief attention, and then silence. The cycle repeats, unchanged, unchallenged, and increasingly unacknowledged. Meanwhile, these girls real human beings with real futures become statistics in a long roll call of national failure.
But this cannot continue. The abduction of these Kebbi schoolgirls must not become another slow moving tragedy allowed to drift into memory. They must not become names we recall only when anniversaries force us to remember. And Nigeria cannot afford another prolonged saga of missing daughters, traumatized families, and empty assurances.
For this cycle to end, the nation must rediscover the urgency it once had. It begins with securing school environments in a meaningful, practical way not through committees and slogans, but through physical protection, trained guards, functional surveillance, and rapid response systems that actually work. Schools in volatile areas require protection built into their daily structure, not after an incident has occurred.
Nigeria must also embrace intelligence as its foremost weapon. Almost every mass abduction is preceded by suspicious movements, unfamiliar visitors, informant activity, or known bandit presence. Communities often see the signs long before an attack, but fear and neglect bury the warnings. If the country truly wants to prevent kidnappings, intelligence must become proactive, localised, and deeply embedded within communities.
There must be a renewed trust between citizens and security agencies. Communities know when something is wrong, but they often have no one safe to report to, no assurance that speaking up won’t bring retaliation. Strengthening this relationship will be essential to stopping attacks before they begin.
The government must also be held accountable not with political theatre, but with determined, consistent pressure. The same intensity demanded during Chibok is needed now, regardless of which party is in power. The lives of Nigerian children must never be subject to political convenience. Leadership must respond with measurable action, not performative outrage.
Beyond security, the families of kidnapped children deserve national attention and support. Their trauma is immense, their suffering indescribable. Psychological care, financial assistance, and community protection must be assured as part of the response. These families should never feel abandoned.
Most importantly, Nigerians must reclaim the culture of outrage that once made it impossible for the government to ignore the cries of missing children. When citizens fall silent, criminals grow stronger. When atrocities are met with resignation, the perpetrators interpret it as permission. A nation that stops reacting to the abduction of its daughters loses a fundamental part of its moral identity.
The Kebbi schoolgirls stand at the edge of becoming another haunting chapter of Nigeria’s insecurity history. Whether they slip into that darkness, or whether the nation rises to prevent another Chibok or Dapchi, depends on what we do now. It depends on whether Nigerians choose indifference or insist on action. Whether we allow silence to become policy, or whether we rediscover the collective voice that once refused to let kidnapped schoolgirls fade into oblivion.
The question remains pressing and painful, will this become another Chibok or Dapchi?
The answer will be determined by our response or our silence.