The Nation Newspaper

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  • Olympics of victimhood among Muslims and Christians in Nigeria

    Olympics of victimhood among Muslims and Christians in Nigeria

    • By Nuruddeen Lemu

    The wolves came out of the forest and attacked the sheep in the pasture. The sheep – rams, ewes and lambs – scattered in every direction, their cries of fear and pain filling the air. By the time the wolves retreated into the forest, some sheep were dead, some seriously injured and others missing – dragged into the forest. Others were badly frightened and traumatized.

    The attacks are common now. Each attack leaves sheep dead, injured, missing or terribly frightened. The fate of the missing – alive or dead – is often unknown. The sheep turn to one another, wondering why this is happening. Their shepherd seems oblivious to what’s going on, and is often nowhere to be found. Soon, they notice that most of the wolves are black. Some of the sheep turn to the black sheep in the pasture and begin to insinuate and indirectly accuse them of being wolves in sheep’s clothing, or somehow connected with, or conspiring with the wolves. Some suggest that maybe even the shepherd is somehow involved.

    In return, the black sheep show the number of black sheep killed by the same pack of wolves. They begin to count and showcase their numbers to prove that they are also victims, not perpetrators. The sheep of other colours also begin to count their dead to prove that they are the real victims and everyone else is a suspected perpetrator. While the sheep engage in accusations and counter-accusations, the wolves attack again, leaving more dead, injured or missing. Sheep on both sides now count even harder, the injured, the dead and the missing.

    Inter-sheep relations are getting messier, and trust within the flock is rapidly eroding away. Some black sheep accuse the brown sheep of exaggerating their numbers. Some brown sheep accuse the black sheep of doing the same. As accusations and counter-accusations fly, the wolves strike again and again, plucking sheep off the edges of the pasture, making raids further into the pasture, breaking up clusters of sheep.

    While all this is going on, where are the shepherds? Where are those who vowed to protect the sheep while they are out in the pasture? The wolves keep attacking, unchecked. The dead, injured and missing increase in number as do the fear, mistrust and confusion. Empathy disappears as tensions continue to rise – each community of sheep to themselves. No more their brothers’ keepers.

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    In the eyes of the wolves, the difference between a brown, white or black sheep is irrelevant. The sheep are food. Period!

    How long will it take us, Nigerians, to realise that, to those who perpetrate violence, our religious, ethnic, and gender identities mean nothing? If your abduction, injury, or death will give them more power, money, or control, then you are a potential victim.

    If you think being a Muslim or Christian protects you, just look at the body count on both sides. Criminals and terrorists do not care what you claim to be. They don’t discriminate; and their bombs and bullets do not discriminate. Tragically, many sheep of one colour believe that proving that they have suffered more will secure them a better future. Those who insinuated that the sheep who shared the same colour as some of the wolves only seem to have provoked more anger and division within the flock. The accused sheep respond by displaying their dead and their most gory wounds, counter-claiming to have suffered as much, if not more, than their accusers.

    Without intending to, the sheep, irrespective of colour, scramble to prove greater victimhood. This is a tragic contest — an “Olympics of victimhood”. As sheep accuse one another of conspiracies and of being wolves in disguise or wolf-sympathizers, they spend precious time and resources pointing hooves at one another instead of demanding that the shepherds do their primary duty: the security and welfare of the flock.

    This infighting is a gift to the wolves. The more the sheep attack one another, the weaker their relationships and the harder it becomes for them to unite and pressure the shepherds to act. For every action in the “Olympics of victimhood” by one sheep, there is an equal and opposite reaction from the other sheep. When will we learn to empathise across our coloured identities and recognise that disunity deepens our collective vulnerability? If we fail to uphold the principle of our mantra, that “though tribe and tongue may differ, in brotherhood we stand,” then the wolves — never the sheep — will be the ultimate winners of the Olympics of victimhood. If we do not rouse the shepherds now, then when? If not us, then who? If not here, then where?

    Wake the shepherds up, get their attention, and let them deal with the wolves, for though abattoirs have appeared in our fields, united effort can still reclaim these pastures as places where peace and justice shall reign. So help us God!

    Meanwhile, please go and find those sleeping or distracted shepherds! Aluta continua! And peace be with me and you! Yes, YOU, my dear comrade!

    •Lemu, OON is a renowned author and trainer.  He writes from Minna, Niger State.

  • From Wagner to Africa Corps: Mali’s civilians and the price of a ruthless war

    From Wagner to Africa Corps: Mali’s civilians and the price of a ruthless war

    • By Oumarou Sanou

    When survivors begin to speak, the world must listen. And across Mauritania’s M’berra refugee camp, Malians who fled the violence sweeping their communities are now recounting stories so harrowing, they challenge the very premise of Mali’s security partnership with Russia. Torture, public executions, suffocation, waterboarding, and the killing of entire families—this is the reality many say is being unleashed by Russian mercenaries now operating under the Africa Corps banner. Their testimonies expose a deeply uncomfortable truth: that behind Mali’s worsening insecurity lies a counter-insurgency strategy increasingly indistinguishable from state-sanctioned brutality.

    According to BBC investigations and independent reports corroborated by humanitarian groups, the rebranding of the Wagner Group into Russia’s Africa Corps has done little to change the tactics deployed on the ground. The name may have shifted, but survivors insist the methods remain unchanged—marked by beatings, arbitrary arrests, mutilations, suffocation with exhaust fumes, simulated drowning, and summary executions. One of the most chilling accounts describes an Africa Corps operation on November 26 in which at least 10 civilians were reportedly killed—four of them burned alive. Women, children, and elderly men were among the victims. The brazenness of such operations underscores the absence of any line between civilians and insurgents in the eyes of the mercenaries.

    Ahmed, a shopkeeper from Nampala, is one of the dozens bearing witness. Accused without evidence of supporting jihadists, he was stripped naked, water-boarded until unconscious, and held in a toilet block packed with other detainees. He watched two men beheaded before his eyes—an Arab and a Tuareg—and says he still wakes up drenched in sweat. “I don’t know if I will ever return home,” he said. His fear is echoed by many in the camp. Bintu, a mother of five, recounted how her husband was shot and thrown into a river. She trembles at the mere mention of the name “Wagner.” Youssouf, a cattle herder, spoke of being ambushed, tied up, and tortured with exhaust fumes; one of his friends did not survive.

    Other survivors describe large-scale operations designed to terrorise entire communities. In one incident, Russian fighters allegedly surrounded Nampala and its neighbouring villages, forcing hundreds of residents onto a football field where they were made to witness executions. One man accused of using a satellite phone was reportedly nearly drowned in a barrel of water in front of the crowd. Such tactics appear to be intended not to gather intelligence or root out insurgents, but to instil lasting fear.

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    These testimonies align with investigations from the European Council on Foreign Relations (ECFR), The Africa Report, and other monitoring groups, which have documented a longstanding pattern of atrocities associated with the Wagner Group, including the sharing of hundreds of graphic photos and videos of torture and killings in private Telegram channels. Although many of these channels were shut down in 2024, analysts say the culture of impunity persisted despite the transition to Africa Corps. Reports of electrocution, sexual violence, mutilations, forced disappearances, and mass killings continue to surface, with civilians bearing the brunt of what is officially framed as a counter-terrorism campaign.

    The violence has triggered a mass exodus. Nearly 50,000 Malians have fled to Mauritania, according to the United Nations, leaving the M’berra camp overwhelmed with traumatised families. Humanitarian workers say the similarities in the stories they hear—waterboarding, beatings, suffocation, public executions, and threats of mass reprisals—indicate a systematic pattern rather than isolated excesses. The consistency of these accounts raises grave questions about the structure of Mali’s security partnership and the chain of command under which these atrocities are occurring.

    Mali’s ruling junta, like counterparts in Burkina Faso and Niger, has framed its embrace of Russia as a bold rejection of Western influence. Yet if security partnerships are to be judged by the safety of the people they claim to protect, the evidence is damning. Instead of improved stability, civilians describe a reality where foreign mercenaries—previously Wagner, now Africa Corps—operate with impunity, often alongside national forces. African leaders present these fighters as liberators, but in village after village, survivors speak of them as predators.

    The greater danger is geopolitical. Across the Sahel, a widening vacuum has enabled mercenary groups and foreign military actors to establish a foothold in fragile states with minimal oversight and accountability. In Mali, as in the broader region, the militarisation of governance and outsourcing of national security to unaccountable foreign entities has produced more instability, not less. This is not sovereignty—it is the surrender of civilian protection and national control to forces whose interests lie far beyond Mali’s borders.

    The international community cannot pretend ignorance. Human rights organisations, analysts, journalists, and survivors themselves have repeatedly documented the abuses. And yet, almost nothing has been done to address the crisis meaningfully. In M’berra, survivors ask the same question again and again: If the world knows what is happening, why does nothing change?

    As Mali’s displaced attempt to rebuild their lives across the border, many say their greatest hope is that justice will come one day. Ahmed recalls how he was once forced to dig what he believed was his own grave. Others remember friends executed with shovels and pickaxes. Their stories are stark reminders of the human cost of geopolitical realignment in the Sahel.

    “If these testimonies exist,” one refugee asked, “and this violence continues even after the name change, how much longer must Mali endure before the world takes responsibility?”

    It is a question the region—and its international partners—can no longer ignore.

    •Sanou is a social critic, Pan-African observer and researcher focusing on governance, security, and political transitions in the Sahel. He writes via sanououmarou386@gmail.com

  • Pathway to health for all

    Pathway to health for all

    By Ibanga Inyang

    Recent enunciations by the Federal Ministry of Health and Social Welfare, (including “The Red Letter” by the hon. minister), point to the realisation of the vital role and potentials of local communities and the nondescript, in transforming health sector bureaucratic aspirations to real and measurable sustainable health improvement for all.

    “The Red Letter” is an open message from Minister of Health and Social Welfare Muhammed Ali Pate: a call to action for Nigerians to take ownership of their nation’s health. It highlights the release of N32.9bn under the Basic Health Care Provision Fund (BHCPF) –   disbursed directly to primary health care facilities – and underlines the government’s health reform agenda of transparency, community participation, and shared responsibility.

    Health sector reforms and intended system strengthening do not begin and end with “legacy” physical infrastructure showcasing and policy postulation offers. Individual and local community engagement and partnership on an equality-principle basis is central in achieving healthcare and services delivery maximal outcomes.

    Building local community capacity for services availability and readiness assessment (SARA), landscape analysis as well as viable channels for feedback, are all pertinent.

     Landscape analysis entails identifying local context available resources/assets, entrenched local systems (including spirituality and traditional tenets, inclination and practices), as well as nuanced needs and gaps.

    If their capacity is built, local communities can generate useful granular data for informed decision-making toward appropriate strategy for development.

    Actionable community/beneficiary/user voices should reflect local competence in SARA and landscape analysis to enhance putting data to practical use, thereby actualising the much-vaunted “bottom-up” approach and also build trust between the “receiver” and the “giver.” Local communities have their own inherent strengths that could be altruistically exploited.

    Can local community commitment (or absence of it) make a difference? Yes; I share the following records and narratives of realities.

    ONE: In a West African country some years ago, too many children were dying from dehydration consequent to diarrhoea, despite their being taken to primary health care (PHC) centres. Now hear this! Fortuitously, in the course of a chat between a journalist and a “common” community-based health worker, the health worker revealed the correct factor. She told the journalist that in the course of their training on how to prepare oral rehydration solution (ORS), a particular ubiquitous soft drink empty bottle was recommended for measuring the water. When the company that produced that soft drink left their country, the empty recommended bottles were also no longer available. And people did not know appropriate alternative measuring vessels. Consequently, a decline in prompt oral rehydration therapy to save lives. The journalist duly shared the hint, and an alternative was identified and recommended. Lives saved. You can see the chain and cascade of actors, circumstances and results.

    TWO: During a visit to Benin Republic some years ago, we gained insight into how PHC facilities sustained their drug revolving fund through transparent accountability dynamics. The PHC staff would list the essential drugs based on government standing order, and cost the list. The cost of drugs was topped up with appropriate 25 percent profit. The “purchase order” was duly signed by both the responsible health staff and a designated member of the Local Community Committee. The cash would then be released from the health facility “strong – box.” The community committee retained a copy of the purchase order. On the appointed date, both parties met to scrutinise the expenditure, and calculated return. Thus was the dynamic for transparency and accountability entrenched, in local ownership, a feasible and fruitful pathway.

    THREE: The Irringa Nutrition /Ten Cell Structure Programme (Tanzania). During a visit to a remote Tanzanian rural community, we saw two women with babies comparing their child weight monitoring cards. The weight/growth monitoring card had three colour codes – green, grey and red (upper, middle, bottom scapes respectively) where the child’s weight fell within. Colour coding was used, because not many people could decipher graph curves. The woman whose baby weight consistently fell within the green part (i.e. upper pleasing quartile) was taunting the other woman whose consecutive baby weights consecutively fell in the red! Both babies were of the same age, but of instructive difference in physical size, and well-doing outlook. What we witnessed was an instance of on-the-spot mutually motivational “peer review” by stakeholders.

    FOUR: We undertook a study tour of Acapulco Providencia in Mexico some years ago. The purpose was to afford us interaction with remote local communities involved in the implementation of the Sentinel Community Surveillance Concept. During one of the meetings with community leaders, one community leader complained that too many women were dying in his community during pregnancy. Another community leader at the meeting shared their own community fortune. It used to be so in their own community, but based on health education they made it mandatory/compulsory that a pregnant woman must attend ante-natal clinic at least three times; he could swear that no pregnant woman had died in their community in the last two years.

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    FIVE: Nigeria. In the 1990’s during the heydays of PHC flourish, visitors used to come from all over the world to Barkin-Ladi and Yahun – the epitome of PHC excellence. The exemplary performance factors included leadership qualities of the local government PHC coordinator, transparency, accountability, working with the communities; protecting funds available and using them to promote the health of the people.

    Finally: The ideals embedded in the minister’s The Red Letter admonition and exhortations have been espoused in different terms and parlance in the Nigerian PHC landscape since the Alma Ata Declaration (re-invigorated in its Astana Declaration re-visit). The conceptual tenets of that paradigm included “re-imagining, revolutionary and innovative.”

    Local community entities can play dual roles of advocate and implementer in the pathway towards improved and sustainable health and overall well-being. If the imperatives outlined in the minister’s The Red Letter canon are to transcend to realisation, there are some practical challenges to overcome.

    These include:

    Are there mandate tools the village nondescript can use authoritatively to incur?

    How will the minister receive unadulterated feedback from thousands of Nigerian villages? They represent the widest user interface with the Nigerian health care milieu. In addition to the system management, activities, reporting and tracking, SARA parameters include staff factors and attributes such as attitude and absence.

    How do you ameliorate the challenges between fragmentation and diversity vis a vis the sector-wide approach? The health sector has its own peculiar and bespoke attributes.

    •Inyang is a public health physician in Uyo, Akwa Ibom State.

  • Insecurity: Sugar and salt ‘resemble’ but taste different

    Insecurity: Sugar and salt ‘resemble’ but taste different

    By Charles Dickson

    A man once went to an oracle. The oracle told him: “Your deceased father says you must sacrifice a goat for him.”

    The man replied calmly: “Go back and ask my father if he ever owned even a fowl while he was alive.”

    In that one answer is a philosophy: before you rush to slaughter goats in the name of tradition, truth or security, first ask the basic, embarrassing, pedestrian questions. Did this man even own a chicken?

    Nigeria’s insecurity today is full of “goat sacrifices” – dramatic, expensive, and noisy gestures that rarely answer the simple questions. We sign peace deals, we set up operations, issue threats, hold press conferences. But like sugar and salt, the rituals of “response” and the reality of “security” may resemble each other—white crystals in the same kitchen—but they taste very different.

    In Katsina and Zamfara, we have repeatedly watched governments enter peace deals and amnesty arrangements with armed bandits. In 2019–2020, Katsina negotiated ceasefires and amnesty with bandit leaders: surrender some weapons, free some captives, and “we will not prosecute you.” The government later admitted the accord collapsed and that the bandits betrayed the agreement.

    Zamfara communities have gone even further. Villages negotiate directly with bandits, paying “protection” or “farming” fees – effectively harvest taxes – just to access their own land without being killed.   In some places, communities surrender autonomy, labour, or a share of their produce so that those who wield the guns can “allow” them to live.

    Enter religious mediators: Sheikh Ahmad Gumi, who has campaigned for dialogue and amnesty for bandits, proudly speaking of leading hundreds of them to surrender, and arguing that non-violent engagement is the answer.   Yahaya Jingiri, a Salafi preacher with his own following. Rev Ezekiel Dachomo, fiery in his critique of government failure and what he calls a targeted war on rural Christians.

    On all sides, clerics have become interpreters of the national “oracle,” translating the banditry crisis through the languages of religion, grievance, justice, and forgiveness.

    On paper, these efforts look like sugar: sweet words—“peace,” “amnesty,” “dialogue,” “forgiveness”—sprinkled over a bitter meal. But underneath, what actually changes? Are weapons decommissioned and traced? Are victims compensated? Is state authority restored, or outsourced to local warlords who now issue “passports” for farmers to enter their own fields?

    When sugar is mistaken for salt in cooking, the stew is ruined. When rituals of peace are mistaken for genuine security reform, the nation is spoiled.

    While these dramas play out, Nigerians live with a hard, metallic reality; Bandits and terrorists abduct pastors, especially Catholic priests, knowing that churches and dioceses are often able to mobilise ransoms and international attention. Research shows Catholic priests are prime targets because of their voice in human rights, their visibility, and the financial returns of kidnapping them. Nurses and nursing students, including young women in training, are kidnapped on their way to or from work, or even from campuses and rural homes.

    Farmers are forced to pay “harvest taxes” and “farming levies” to bandits in Zamfara and other states just to harvest crops, turning criminal groups into parallel revenue services. Full-blown terror is normalized: villages raided at night, highways turned to hunting grounds, markets emptied by rumours of impending attacks.

    Over 4,243 days have passed since the Chibok schoolgirls were abducted in April 2014. Many have returned, but 96 are still missing, and since then, over 1,500 students have been kidnapped in copycat school attacks across the north.   Recent weeks alone have seen fresh mass abductions: 25 schoolgirls from Maga in Kebbi, over 200 children and teachers from St. Mary’s Catholic School in Niger State, dozens abducted from a church in Kwara.

    This is not just “banditry”; it is a marketplace of terror. Human beings – including priests, nurses, and teenage girls have become inventory.

    We hear constantly about “sponsors” of terrorism and banditry, yet almost never see public profiles, prosecution, or confiscated assets. We see periodic parades of “repentant” bandits, but rarely see the financiers who supply them with motorcycles, fuel, food, ammunition, satellite phones, and political cover. Meanwhile, peace deals in Katsina, Zamfara, Kaduna and elsewhere keep reappearing and collapsing like seasonal festivals.

    Like the man in the oracle story, Nigerians are beginning to respond: “Before you ask us to sacrifice another goat in the name of peace, first answer our fowl-level questions.”

    Who exactly are these “imaginary sponsors” of bandits and terrorists? We repeat the phrase as if it is a proverb, but where are the public lists, court cases, confiscated properties, and convictions that match the scale of the killings?

    How much does an AK-47 actually cost in the forests of Zamfara, Katsina, Niger, Kaduna or Plateau, and how does that price compare with the salaries of the policemen or soldiers sent to face them? If weapons and ammunition cross borders, who signs the papers, who looks away at the checkpoints?

    Where do they keep the hundreds of people abducted at once—schoolgirls, church worshippers, entire buses of passengers? We now have repeated cases where 100, 200, 300 people are moved through forests on motorcycles and foot for days. How can such mass movement happen without drone surveillance, phone tracking, or local intelligence painting a clear picture?

    Who feeds these captives for weeks and months? Food, water, drugs, fuel, and phone batteries don’t fall from heaven. There is a supply chain. Who are the traders, informants, and transporters, and why have we not designed a sustained sting operation against that logistics network?

    Why is it so difficult to meaningfully deploy drone technology, satellite imagery, and AI-powered analysis in the affected corridors? In 2025, cheap drones, open-source satellite maps, and AI tools exist that can flag movement patterns, heat signatures, and unusual group behaviour. Why does the Nigerian state still behave like a blind giant groping in the dark?

    Why are ransom economies allowed to flourish with such impunity? We know ransoms are paid, sometimes by families, churches, NGOs, sometimes quietly facilitated by officials. Where is the tracking of cash flows, the anti-money-laundering intelligence, the monitoring of suspicious transfers and bulk cash withdrawals in bandit-affected zones?

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    How did “harvest tax” become normalised? When communities in Zamfara and elsewhere pay bandits to plant and harvest, that is a declaration of lost sovereignty. Why are these arrangements not treated as national emergencies equal to secessionist threats?

    Why does political, ethnic, and religious competition keep hijacking the security conversation? Each incident is quickly framed as “Christian genocide,” “Fulani agenda,” “Northern plot,” or “Southern revenge.” Yet reports show that bandit violence cuts across faiths and ethnicities, with both Christians and Muslims killed and kidnapped.  

    Who benefits from keeping the narrative permanently polarised?

    Nigeria’s insecurity problem is not only about bullets and bombs; it is also about truth and theatre. Sugar is the theatre: peace deals announced with fanfare, surrender ceremonies, media tours to bandit camps, official statements dripping with optimism. Salt is the truth: over a decade of school abductions, priests and pastors hunted, nurses taken, harvests taxed, villages emptied, and now fresh mass kidnappings that show we have not learned much since Chibok.

    Sugar and salt resemble each other, but one is for dessert and the other for wounds. What Nigeria needs now is the sting of salt: Honest mapping of bandit networks, including their financiers. Transparent prosecutions that travel upwards, not just the parade of ragged gunmen. Serious investment in drone surveillance, AI, and human intelligence, coordinated across states not fragmented by politics. Protection of those who dare to expose the logistics of this criminal economy. And a shift from buying fragile peace to building just, durable security.

    Like the man who questioned the oracle, Nigerians must insist on basic questions before they surrender another goat, another budget line, another daughter to a failed ritual. Until our leaders can prove that the “father” of this insecurity ever owned a fowl—that they have real facts, real networks, real strategy—we must keep challenging the performance and demanding the taste of truth over the illusion of resemblance.

    •Prince Dickson PhD is team lead, The Tattaaunawa Roundtable Initiative.

  • Ogun’s battle with physical and AI-driven security threats

    Ogun’s battle with physical and AI-driven security threats

    By Tolulope Moore

    In the wake of rising national anxieties over banditry, terrorism and cross-border criminal infiltration, Ogun State has once again leaned on the steady hands of Governor Dapo Abiodun, who has emerged as one of the few subnational leaders demonstrating clarity, restraint and firm strategy in the face of chaos. At a time when panic spread faster than facts, and when digital manipulation threatened to distort public perception, Governor Abiodun’s response underscored why Ogun continues to enjoy a reputation for stability even in turbulent moments.

    Addressing journalists after a high-level security meeting in Iperu, Abiodun announced the introduction of a comprehensive security protocol, beginning with the mandatory documentation of all foreign nationals working with multi-national companies in the state. This initiative, long overdue at the national level, is a testament to his administration’s commitment to anticipate and neutralize threats before they take root. In the last few days, security operatives arrested about 70 foreigners from Niger Republic, Sudan and Chad who were unable to explain their presence or provide valid documentation—an operation made possible by the governor’s insistence on tightened internal monitoring. These individuals, many of whom could not communicate in English, are now being processed by the Nigeria Immigration Service to determine their status and intention.

    Abiodun reiterated that Ogun, as Nigeria’s industrial capital and a daily recipient of millions of commuters from within and outside the country, cannot afford laxity. He directed that all first-time non-indigenes entering the state must be screened by their community leaders to verify their means of livelihood and reasons for relocation. This, he maintained, is not an attempt to criminalize migration but a necessary step to protect the peace and prosperity the state has built over the years. The governor’s approach reflects a balance of firmness and pragmatism—ensuring security without shutting the door on legitimate residents or workers.

    Even more telling of his leadership was the manner in which Ogun confronted the recent wave of AI-generated threat videos that had unsettled parts of the public. While many states were still grappling with the implications of synthetic media, Ogun quickly deployed its cybercrime unit to investigate the viral footage of a masked pseudo-militant issuing threat to communities and educational institutions. The near-perfect visual mimicry initially caused concern, but investigators soon confirmed that the figure in the videos never existed—he was a digital phantom, created using artificial intelligence, recycled from an older clip targeted at a completely different region months earlier. The steady and methodical handling of the situation prevented mass panic and reaffirmed the government’s commitment to protecting the public not just from physical threats, but from psychological manipulation as well.

    The governor disclosed that the security meeting also focused on monitoring scavengers and scrap dealers, noting that while the profession itself is legitimate, recent intelligence suggests that some operators are being exploited as conduits for criminal information gathering. Law enforcement officers have been directed to scrutinize these groups more closely, engage their associations, and ensure no cluster becomes a cover for unlawful activity. In the same breath, Abiodun ordered the police to immediately clear out enclaves such as “Zanga” in Ijebu-Ode and similar settlements suspected of harbouring miscreants, warning that properties used for criminal operations would now be liable to forfeiture.

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    As part of the renewed strategy, forest reserves and mining sites are to come under heightened surveillance, given their history as potential hideouts for kidnappers and illegal miners acting under the cover of legitimate operations. The governor emphasized that illegal mining activities will no longer be tolerated and that his administration is working with security agencies to flush out criminal elements from these spaces. He also cautioned traditional rulers, particularly Obas and Baales, to desist from allocating government land to unknown persons without clearance, warning that such actions undermine the state’s security posture and would attract accountability measures.

    Throughout the unfolding events—physical arrests, digital manipulations, and coordinated security reviews—Abiodun maintained a calm but assertive tone. He urged residents to support security agencies by being vigilant, reporting suspicious activities, and participating actively in community policing. He applauded the synergy among security agencies in the state and commended President Bola Ahmed Tinubu for stabilising the national environment and supporting joint rescue operations in recent kidnap cases in Niger and Kwara states.

    What stands out is not just the breadth of measures announced, but the governor’s ability to navigate both real and artificial threats with a maturity that has become characteristic of his administration. In a climate where fear can be engineered on a laptop and spread to millions within minutes, Ogun’s response shows a government that understands the evolving nature of security—one that protects citizens not just from danger, but from the illusion of danger as well.

    At the centre of this stability is a governor who refuses to be reactive. Abiodun’s blend of foresight, firm directives, and deliberate calm has once again positioned Ogun State as a model of responsible governance in a digital age rife with misinformation. Under his watch, the state continues to reinforce its security architecture, strengthen community vigilance, and adapt to new realities with a level of composure that many other regions can only attempt to emulate.

    •Moore sent this piece through tolumoore@aol.com

  • Nigeria’s security crossroads: It is now time for patriotism

    Nigeria’s security crossroads: It is now time for patriotism

    By Bamidele Ademola-Olateju

    Killings and abductions across Nigeria cannot be traced to a single factor. It did not begin with with any change in rhetoric from Washington. Those stoking the ember of a single narrative need to see the bigger picture. The violence is the product of years of drift, weak institutions, crowded ungoverned spaces and a mix of insurgents, bandits, militias and criminal networks that have learned how to exploit every gap in the system. Everyone is a potential victim. But Washington’s recent CPC designation has added a new layer of pressure. It has pushed the country into a global spotlight that feels as intense as it is uncomfortable. Saboteurs may have capitalized on the renewed attention to escalate the killings and abductions. But they will never prevail.

    To understand what is happening, it helps to see Nigeria’s insecurity as a complex ecosystem rather than a single war. Terrorist factions operate with ideological motives. Bandit groups chase profit and control. Local militias grow out of land and identity disputes. Criminal networks move through porous borders with ease. These groups may not coordinate with one another, but they all shape the same reality. When the United States issues a designation, such as CPC, everyone of these actors interprets it in a way that serves their goals. Some see it as proof that they are gaining traction. Others escalate violence to position themselves for negotiations they believe may come later. A few try to exploit the attention by deepening fear in communities already stretched thin. Yet others do it to put the preset government in bad light as the 2027 election cycle closes in.

    Inside government, the pressure is different. The CPC label increases scrutiny. It forces Nigeria’s security agencies to operate under brighter light. Every decision can be pulled into the global conversation about human rights, intelligence failures, and state capacity. When National Security Adviser Nuhu Ribadu met with Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth, in the United States, it was a sign that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu understands this moment. Hegseth’s audience is influential, especially in American conservative circles, and his views resonate among lawmakers who shape U.S. security policy. That engagement shows Nigeria trying to explain, defend, and clarify its position before others define it for them. To this end, Ribadu’s trip was successful.

    The recent congressional hearing on insecurity in Nigeria took this scrutiny to a higher level. Congressional hearings signal seriousness. They shape decisions about aid, partnerships, and arms sales. They influence whether Washington sees Nigeria as a country that needs firm pressure or one that deserves deeper cooperation. They also create political consequences at home. When Congress publicly discusses Nigeria’s failures, it becomes difficult for the government to manage the narrative with the usual quiet diplomacy.

    Against this tense backdrop, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s actions are commendable, beginning with the rescue of abducted Catholic school students. It reminded Nigerians that the state still has teeth and that security agencies can deliver results. The operation was swift, coordinated, and handled with discipline. But rescues, while important, do not erase the pattern of mass kidnappings. In national-security terms, a single success does not change the broader equation. It simply proves that capacity exists when intelligence is good, coordination is tight, and political interference is kept at bay.

    These events place Nigeria at a crossroads: The CPC listing, the Washington meetings, the congressional hearing, and the high-profile rescue form a tight cluster of events that could either push Nigeria toward reform or intensify the country’s fragility. The outcome depends on choices made now. Security cannot rely on heroics. It needs structure, discipline, trust and a strategy that sees legitimacy as a core tool, not an afterthought. That means stabilizing the current situation, rebuilding the machinery of security and taking a long view that goes beyond emergency responses. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has embarked on such a project, with clear, workable recommendations drawn from national-security good practice and adapted to our realities.

    First, he is now pivoting toward intelligence-led prevention. That requires real-time information from communities, better coordination between agencies and rapid-response units that deploy based on verified threats. Soft targets like schools, markets and worship centers are receiving immediate attention. Where necessary, schools are being closed to give room for needed changes in the security architecture. Vetted community watch groups are being tied directly into police reporting structures. Just as important are transparency and effective communication about government efforts. The public, especially affected families, need a single, credible source for information about attacks, rescue efforts, and government support. When people know what the state is doing, anxiety and fear lose some of their power.

    This is where the President’s directive to withdraw policemen on duty from VIPs becomes very significant. So many of such orders were given in the past by previous administrations without effect. This must be taken seriously and monitored. The issue of state police must be brought to fruition. Already, those profiting from the abuse of the present system are already opposing state police, because some of them have police officers as orderlies, while the federal government continues to pay their salaries from the federal police budget.

    Operational discipline also matters. Heavy-handed raids that harm civilians deepen resentment and strengthen insurgents. Independent observers or judicial oversight for major operations can help keep abuses in check and reassure communities that security is not being weaponized against them. In addition, there must be no sacred cows. President Tinubu must not hesitate to go after sponsors of terror no matter who they are.

    Second, Nigeria must rebuild capacity in the medium term. A functional national joint operations center, beyond the Ministry of Interior, where intelligence agencies, the military and the police actually share information, is long overdue. The police need real investment in forensics, investigation and prosecution. Without that, arrests are symbolic and justice remains a mirage.

    Border security is another urgent need. Most weapons that fuel banditry slip through porous crossings. Nigeria must work with neighbors to shut down these pipelines. Land-related violence also requires political solutions, not just force. Mediation, appropriate compensation, and clear land-use rules reduce the incentives that drive young men into militias. Hostage-response doctrine must become professional rather than improvised. Negotiation techniques, controlled information flow and disciplined rescue plans make the difference between life and death. Consistency will also help reduce the perception that outcomes depend on political connections.

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    Finally, Nigeria needs long-term reforms that rebuild state legitimacy. Courts in affected regions must be strengthened. Corruption in security procurement must be tackled openly. Economic and social investments should target the communities most vulnerable to recruitment. Deradicalization and rehabilitation programs need to be credible and monitored so they do not become revolving doors for hardened fighters.

    President Tinubu recognizes the role of international partners— the United States, UK, EU, AU and ECOWAS can offer intelligence support, training and humanitarian aid. The guiding principles for both Nigeria and external partners are simple. Transparency builds trust. Communities must be at the center of any plan. Messaging should calm tensions, not inflame them. And strategies should be flexible enough to adapt as conditions change.

    As a people, we are facing one of the most delicate national-security moments in our democratic history. We must not despair; crisis also creates opportunity. President Tinubu’s ongoing efforts can be a turning point, if it pushes us as a country toward deeper reforms, honest partnerships, and unity of purpose. The government deserves credit for the foregoing actions. What comes next will determine whether these efforts become the start of a wider reset or simply another chapter in a long cycle of violence.

    Ademola-Olateju, a former Ondo Commissioner for Information, is Director of New Media and Corporate Services for All Progressives Congress (APC)

  • Open grazing and the dangerous politics of national self-deception

    Open grazing and the dangerous politics of national self-deception

    • By Sunday Steve Karimi

    Every country that has chosen the path of stability understands a simple truth: security is not an act of faith; it is an act of policy. Nations become secure not because their leaders pray for safety, but because they take decisions that give safety the conditions to survive. Nigeria, painfully, has perfected the opposite art — the art of demanding security while protecting the very practices that destroy it. Few examples expose this contradiction more starkly than our continued romance with open grazing.

    Last week, some colleagues and I travelled to Morocco on a legislative engagement. The learning began long before meetings started. We journeyed over 300 kilometres by road from Marrakesh to Casablanca. What confronted us was not merely a difference in infrastructure or landscape but a difference in thinking. For the entire duration of that journey, we did not see a single cow wandering across highways, not one herd marching through public roads, not a single animal being moved across vast distances by foot. Everywhere, livestock operations were orderly, enclosed, regulated, and integrated into a modern economy.

    That observation was not accidental. It was not cultural. It was not political. It was governance — the conscious decision of a state to protect human life, support agriculture, enhance food security, and reduce conflict by eliminating practices that have no place in a modern society.

    The tragedy is that while other nations treat livestock management as an issue of planning and regulation, Nigeria treats it as an issue of emotion and identity. We elevate sentiment over survival, and in doing so, we inflict violence upon ourselves. Across the world — from Egypt to Kenya, from Botswana to Brazil — open grazing is an artefact of history. It belongs to a period before population density, before mechanized farming, before modern borders, before organized crime, and before the sheer complexity of 21st-century life. But in Nigeria, we have turned it into a national ideology, defended by those who mistake stubbornness for principle.

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    The consequences have been catastrophic. The farmer–herder conflict has become one of the deadliest internal security crises in our history. Thousands have been killed. Millions displaced. Entire communities destroyed. Forest reserves have been colonized by violent groups who use the cover of cattle movement to mask criminal activity. Agricultural output has declined. Billions of naira have been lost. Rural economies have collapsed. Yet, as a nation, we continue to treat this as an inconvenient discomfort rather than the existential danger that it is.

    Nothing in our constitution mandates national suicide. Section 14(2)(b) declares that the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of the government. The government owes allegiance to its citizens first, last, and always.

    Our refusal to end open grazing is not a failure of capacity; it is a failure of courage. We pretend that ranching is impossible while ignoring that even countries far poorer than Nigeria have adopted it without drama. We claim that transitioning to modern livestock systems is a threat to any particular group, when in truth it is the only policy that can protect herders from extinction, protect farmers from conflict, and protect the nation from collapse.

    A country that can build airports, rail lines, bridges, and refineries cannot claim that ranching is beyond its power. It is within our reach. What we lack is the sincerity to implement it. No society truly committed to security will defend a practice that creates ungoverned spaces, encourages illegal arms, and fuels communal violence.

    Across our history, every conflict we have refused to confront has returned with greater violence. The open grazing crisis is no different. It will not solve itself. It will not evaporate through wishful thinking. It will not disappear because politicians give speeches or communities pray. It will end only when we decide that the country is more important than political cost, and that the lives of Nigerians matter more than the comfort of avoiding hard decisions.

    Ending open grazing is not about punishing herders; it is about protecting them. It is not about attacking culture; it is about safeguarding modern livelihoods. It is not about rejecting identity; it is about preventing death.

    More importantly, ending open grazing is a national security strategy. Once cattle stop moving through forests, those who have weaponized the forests will no longer have cover. The criminal networks hiding behind cattle will be exposed. The illegal camps will be dismantled. The forests will cease to be havens of terror.

    Nigeria cannot continue pretending that we are immune to the logic of security. We cannot insist on keeping the practices of the 19th century while demanding the peace of the 21st.

    Leadership is not the art of avoiding consequences but the courage to shape them. If Nigeria must endure — and it must — then we must end the politics of self-deception and embrace the policies that give nations a future.

    The time to act is now.

    •Distinguished Senator Karimi represents Kogi West in the National Assembly, Abuja.

  • Dan Agbese’s legacy: A great gain

    Dan Agbese’s legacy: A great gain

    • By Ray Ekpan

    While I was away from this country – and this page – three woes waltzed into my life in a whopping fashion. My stepmother died. My sister passed on. My friend also went away. Dan Agbese, my friend, colleague and brother who has just said a permanent goodbye to me would have described these three incidents as a “whopper” if he had lived beyond his 81 years of age.

    Dan and I were classmates at the Department of Mass Communication of the University of Lagos (1970-73). We both graduated in 1973. We both look slightly alike: darkly painted, built like track stars, no beer belly even though we touched the bottle in those days but we did not touch it limitlessly. We are both tall by Nigerian standard but Dan is a sixfooter. I am not. He could have been a basketballer like Michael Jordan but sports was not his forte. When our classmates at the university borrowed a book from him, they would return it to me. And when they borrowed a book from me, they would take it to him. We both have oblong faces but we do not look strikingly alike, not like Siamese twins. We have this pet name Mkpori for each other. I can’t locate its etxmology. It is not an Annang name or an Idoma name, the tribes to which we both belong. It is lost in antiquity but we call each other that till today. Who will inherit the pet name? Nobody. It belonged to two of us. Now that Dan is dead, the name is dead too, dead like a dodo, stone dead.

    Even when we left school we were constantly in touch. He worked at the Nigerian Standard in Jos while I toiled at the Nigerian Chronicle in Calabar. The distance between Jos and Calabar is gaping but we did not allow distance to be the roadblock, the hurdle, to friendship. The then Minister of Communications, David Mark had said that telephones were only for the rich but we strenously utilised the equipment even though we were not rich. We bridged the distance with regular phone calls until 1984 when we co-founded Newswatch with two other friends Dele Giwa and Yakubu Mohammed. That was the point where we made the timely transition from friends to founders because we thought that we had what was needed to break into the media scene as entrepreneurs and break the monopoly of governments and the rich in that sector.

    Dan was older than all of us in Newswatch both in age and in journalism but he was a decent man who did not wear his longevity as a badge of suzerainty and did not display any superiority complex. He did not ride on a high horse or stay on Mount Sinai. He did not boast like a rainless thunder. That is why we were able to sing from the same hymn book. He did not have the short temper of a drill sergeant; he was always calm, ice calm and respectful to all, young and old. So for those who have respect for decency you have lost a beacon in Dan’s death.

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     Dan’s journalism was admirable, very admirable. The way his life was so was his journalism. He did not go out looking for the synthetic significance of fame. Fame came to him through the mastery of his craft, not through his craving for it. He did not write to impress; he wrote to express. He believed in simplicity, clarity, one word sentences and no grandiloquence. But in writing to express, he impressed admirably because his writing was understood by those who read him.

    Journalism is not Easy Street in Nigeria. It may not be the equivalent of Rocket Science but it is something akin to it because some corrupt and irresponsible leaders had tried to turn the profession on its head by tormenting journalists for their private gains. This happened largely during the days of military rule but the vice has not gone away even during our democratic dispensation. He was thrown into detention a few times but he survived the mental torture and illegal harassment because his journalism practice was wholesome and free of frivolous frills.

     He was the master of graceful writing, a wordsmith whose words were full of wisdom, wit, humour and something to remember. His writing was a definition of integrity, patriotism, inclusivity, professional and ethical correctness. He was a firm believer in the fairness doctrine and had no interest whatsoever in sensationalism, that reckless adventure into unguarded extremism and “gra-gra-ness.” His writing did not display either ethnic or religious bigotry, the twin evils that have threatened to drive Nigeria into the ground. His writing had no iota of brazenness, or theatrics or nihilism because he was not one of the perpetual preachers of pessimism. It was obvious that he loved Nigeria and wanted it to become a country loved by its citizens for the right reasons other than the fact that God planted them here.

     Even when Dan wrote an article on a subject that was esoteric, he always made it less than esoteric, less than pedantic, less than pedagogic by cutting it down to bite sizes for the sake of clarity and easy digestion.

    He was not an apostle of guerrilla journalism because he knew that guerrilla journalism is fraudulent propaganda, not fit to be touched by any self-respecting journalist. Yes, guerrilla journalism is propaganda, vile propaganda. Journalism is not. Journalism is the noble art of truth-telling, of fact-finding. What he practised was just that: journalism, and he practised it with missionary determination. In his journalism practice he was not scared of the sting and clash of battle but he performed even in such situations with an overriding sense of decency because of who he was: a decent man.

     At Newswatch, we adopted the prevailing trend in the journalism world then by pursuing what was then known as the New Journalism, a blend of investigative and interpretative journalism written in the seductive format of fiction writing. This was how we inserted ourselves in the task of agenda setting and the shaping of public conversation. Dan was an important part of that movement.

    After many years of military rule Nigerians were desirous of a return to democracy. It wasn’t an easy task because the boys in khaki who had been feasting on Nigeria’s honey pot were not ready to return to their trenches. They wanted to turn the feast into a festival of limitless “chopping”. That was a challenge for the media, civil society and the people but the larger burden of the problem lay with the media. Dan and other media personnel were in the thick of it, how to help bring democracy to Nigeria. And also the problem of how to keep the democratic government accountable to the people. That job remains unfinished because democracy and governance are not a day’s job. Our governance is still wobbling. Our politicians are still buying votes. Corruption is walking on four legs. Partisan politicians are engaging in endless litigation, moving from inferior courts to superior courts and from inferior courts to inferior courts in search of where justice can be converted to injustice. So our democracy and governance are an unfinished business. To respect Dan’s legacy we must all keep our eyes on the ball so that our democracy, governance and country can be better, much better, than what it is now.

    There is a royal road to royalty. Dan comes from a royal family in Agila, Benue State but there is no royal road to journalism. Dan started as a sophomore at the New Nigerian, became editor of the Nigerian Standard and rose to the pinnacle of the profession as the editor-in-chief of the trail-blazing Newswatch.

    Dan’s death, like all deaths, is like scrambled eggs. You cannot unscramble it otherwise we would have loved to do so for the sake of his family, the media family and the family of humanity for he was truly a great man. While his death is a great loss, the legacy he is leaving behind is a great gain. His admirable writing style has been the subject of study in some tertiary institutions in Nigeria. His columns were enthusiastically read by millions of Nigerians. His books are available for consumption by book lovers. His credible practice of journalism is a source of inspiration for young journalists.

    Dan was a great journalist and writer. That is putting it simply. Meekly. Casually. My condolences to his adorable wife, Rose, his six children, seven grandchildren and the entire Agbese clan. May his soul rest in peace. Amen.

  • Trump’s aggression, a wake-up call for focused leadership

    Trump’s aggression, a wake-up call for focused leadership

    By Tekena Amieyeofori

    President Donald Trump’s recent designation of Nigeria as a Country of Particular Concern and his subsequent threat of military action against the country on account of alleged persecution of Christians have since sparked off global outrage. Many have condemned the American leader’s meddlesomeness as an affront to Nigeria’s sovereignty, while a few others insist that an external response to the alleged religious pogrom in Nigeria is most welcome in a country where leaders have shirked their constitutional responsibility to protect lives and property for too long.

    Unlike many others that emerge and die naturally in just a matter of weeks, this debate deserves the kind of introspection that should provide an answer to a pertinent question. How did Nigeria, the most populous country in Africa endowed with immense natural and human resources, descend so helplessly in the comity of nations such that it now takes an outsider to volunteer himself like a knight in shining armour to defend a people he barely knows nor cares about?

    There are no flies on Nigerians. President Trump cannot be more catholic than the pope. He could be an American nationalist, but certainly not the global statesman he claims to be. His rather belligerent foreign policy leaves no one in doubt that self-interest lies at the heart of his politics. Today, Nigeria and her neighbours in the global south are at the receiving end of climate crises largely fueled by the environmentally unsustainable methods of fossil fuel production by transnational companies owned by the west. For instance, a 2024 study published by the New Hampshire-based Dartmouth College identifies the US as the world’s largest historical emitter of greenhouse gases. The study reveals that hydrocarbon emissions from the US alone cost the world more than $1.9tn in climate change damages between 1990 and 2014.

    Unfortunately, Trump has reversed President Joe Biden’s policies on climate change by ordering increased local fossil fuel production. Under Trump’s presidency, the US has pulled out of the Paris Agreement aimed at reducing greenhouse gas concentrations to prevent “dangerous anthropogenic (human-induced) interface with the climate system”. Furthermore, the US, despite being a major perpetrator of global climate injustice, has decided to significantly reduce its contributions to international climate initiatives under the Trump administration. Meanwhile in the Niger Delta region where US-owned oil majors like ExxtonMobil and Chevron have operated for decades, local communities have been victims of ecological genocide and untold economic exploitation. In Nigeria’s oil belt, ecological warfare continues to dislocate people from their sources of livelihood and has sent many to their early graves, yet Trump fails to acknowledge a gross violation of our common humanity in that region.

    In the history of America’s presidency, Trump remains the most undemocratic leader and the most poorly equipped diplomat-in-chief. In the aftermath of the 2020 presidential election, precisely on June 6, 2021, America witnessed a wanton desecration of her democratic values when a band of Trump’s supporters invaded the Capitol Hill, leaving four persons dead, roughly 140 police officers assaulted, and many others severely injured. On his return to the White House, we saw a remorseless Trump whose first course of action was to pardon 1,500 of his supporters who perpetrated the June 6, 2021 assault on the Capitol Hill- the very symbol and bulwark of America’s democracy. 

    Back to the question of how Nigeria now finds herself in such a quandary that allows a meddlesome interloper to pry into her internal affairs, there’s an African saying that if your family does not sell you, a stranger will not buy you. Trump is bullying Nigeria today because the country that once wielded considerable influence in global politics has become a shadow of itself on account of poor leadership.

    In the 1970s President Olusegun Obasanjo, as military Head of State, stood up to the British government when he nationalised British Petroleum, renaming it African Petroleum. In the same vein, the British-owned Barclays Bank was nationalised and renamed Union Bank, with a directive barring it from buying South African bonds in rejection of apartheid rule in the country. The heavens did not fall!

    The thrust of Nigeria’s Afrocentric foreign policy in the 1970s was non-alignment at the height of the Cold War. At the time, Nigeria played a leading role in the formation of the Organisation of African Unity (later renamed African Union) and the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), declaring support for liberation movements and countries struggling for emancipation from western political hegemony. In the Angolan independence struggle, Nigeria supported the Marxist Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA) upon discovering that the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola had the support of the United States. At the end of the Angolan independence war, the Nigerian-backed MPLA emerged victorious. Apparently, the US which provided covert financial and material support to groups like the FNLA and UNITA had been outwitted by Nigeria.

    In those good old days, Nigeria wielded enormous influence on the global stage from a position of economic strength. The country witnessed an oil boom in the 1970s, following a raging war in the Middle East. A sizeable portion of the economic windfall was committed to providing financial aid and technical support for neighbouring African states. Beneficiaries of Nigeria’s financial assistance between 1973 and 1975 were Guinea Bissau, Cape Verde, Mozambique, and Sao Tome and Principe. In 1985, military president, Ibrahim Babangida introduced the Technical Aid Corps (TAC) to consolidate on Nigeria’s economic support programme for fellow African countries. The TAC policy went beyond providing financial support to include manpower assistance for smaller African countries.

    Owing to Nigeria’s leading role, she was soon identified as the giant of Africa. In 1966, Nigeria was elected a non-permanent member of the United Nations Security Council and has held that position five times, topping the list of African countries that have been so nominated. Today, the country is struggling unsuccessfully for a permanent seat, due to its declining fortunes.

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    Over the years, Nigeria’s economic woes have been compounded by resource misapplication. After the discovery of crude oil in 1956, Nigeria joined the Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) in 1971 and has been exporting crude oil for more than five decades. A recent report published by the Nigeria Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (NEITI) shows that Nigeria generated a whopping $764.52 bn from crude oil and gas exports between 1991 and 2021. Ironically, the vast majority of Nigerians live in miserable poverty.

    Since 2014, Nigeria has been struggling with a huge economic burden, leaving the ordinary citizens in dire straits. In April 2024, headline inflation rose to 33.69%, the highest witnessed in the country since 1996. According to a 2024 report released by Statistica, the number of people living in extreme poverty in Nigeria rose from about 70 million in 2016 to over 90 million in 2023. In the report, Nigeria tops the list of African countries with the highest share of the world’s population living below extreme poverty in 2024, overtaking countries like Niger and Ethiopia in the global poverty index.

    Poverty and insecurity are mutually reinforcing. Poverty leads to hunger, starvation, malnutrition, and disease, killing millions globally and creating room for chaos and instability. This is the scenario in Nigeria where poverty-induced insecurity knows no religion. It goes without saying, therefore, that Christians, Muslims, and adherents of indigenous traditional religions have all been victims of poverty and insecurity in the country.

    Trump’s veiled mission in Nigeria is, therefore, easy to unravel. His failure to engage the Nigerian authorities before embarking on his recent ballyhoo about a country he once called a “shit hole” gives him away as a hypocritical bully. He’s apparently taking unfair advantage of the awry state of affairs in Nigeria to humiliate the country. Fortunately, we are in an era of multi-polar world politics where other equally powerful actors, using the instrument of balance of power, would not hesitate to call him to order.

    In conclusion, Trump’s shenanigans should serve as a wake-up call for Nigerian leaders. When you allow your house to deteriorate to the point that the roof begins to leak, the rains will not only beat you severely, the dilapidated doors will also grant automatic access to unfriendly neighbours like Trump to come in and poke their fingers into your eye. This is the sad reality about Nigeria, and it calls for decisive action to be taken as a matter of urgency to fix the nation. What is required to give Nigeria a sense of direction is focused leadership, not the kind of hostile partisan politics that our leaders often embrace at every election cycle. Even as followers, we must not lose sight of the need to continue to be patriotic to our dear country; for Nigeria is a gift to the world.

    •Dr. Amieyeofori writes from Abuja.

  • The comeuppance of Nnamdi Kanu

    The comeuppance of Nnamdi Kanu

    By Tochukwu Ezukanma

    Nnamdi Kanu’s protracted legal saga finally came to a conclusive end, at least, temporarily. The judge reached his verdict on the long-running legal drama. He convicted him and sentenced him to life imprisonment. I am not a lawyer. I am therefore unqualified to analyse the legal heft of his crime and the appropriateness of his punishment. However, it is obvious that Kanu is culpable of a number of serious offenses and is deserving of punishment. 

    For some unfathomable reasons, he dismissed his lawyers and opted to defend himself, which must have been inimical to his case. He is not a lawyer; and neither has the knowledge of law nor the experience of law practice. Further compounding his legal problems, he refused to defend himself on the grounds of some juridical trivialities. With his wild behaviour, vulgarity and insolence, he striped the court proceeding of solemnity, turned it into a disturbing spectacle and reduced himself to a vociferous fool.

    The Nigerian constitution affirms the inviolability of the Nigeria union. Therefore, any attempt at the dissolution of Nigeria is a crime. On February 23, 1966, an Ijaw, Adaka Boro, declared what is now Rivers and Bayelsa States a new country, the Niger Delta Republic. The Head of State, Aguiyi Ironsi, working in concert with the governor of Eastern Region, Chukwuemeka Ojukwu, suppressed his secession, and arrested him and his followers. They were tried and sentenced to death. Therefore, Nigerian history has established an instructive precedence: secessionist agitators are sentenced to life imprisonment and, even death. So, the life sentence handed down to Nnamdi Kanu is not outlandish.

    That Kanu is laden with emotional and psychological baggage is made evident in his arrogance, bumptiousness and megalomania. He enjoys the fantasy that he is the ultimate king of the Igbo and our long awaited messiah, destined to liberate us from the clutches of modern day Pharaonic slave masters in Nigeria. His gullible supporters are sold of his bogus Messianism. They worship him as their Moses and saviour. In the giddiness of mass adoration, he encouraged his supporters’ nauseating, obsequious act of falling on their knees and kissing his shoes, which is indicative of a narcissist in a desperate need of psychological evaluation.  

    He talked about his ability to play God. In one of his video recordings, he said, “I am a very powerful man and I know that. I have more than two million loyal men under oath and under my command. I can play God if I want to. I can decide who lives and who does not. I can destroy anywhere I want to have destroyed. I am Nnamdi Kanu.”

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    To encourage the kissing of his shoes by his supporters is disgusting. His talk about playing God is dumbfounding. However, they are merely the repulsive excesses of a vainglorious, loud-mouthed upstart. They are neither illegal nor deserving of punishment.

    But then, apart from his narcissism and blustering, Nnamdi Kanu is culpable of serious offenses. He is an unyielding and strident secessionist agitator hell-bent on the dissolution of Nigeria. In many of his videos, he incited his followers to violence, arson and murder. He ordered them to stone his political opponents, for example, the former Ohanaeze chairman, Nina Nwodo, to death; kill those that disobey his sit-at-home orders and burn their places of business; kill Nigerian soldiers and take their guns and kill more of them; attack policemen and burn their stations; etc. Were these not seditious and treasonable?

    In addition, he had a private army, the Eastern Security Network (ESN). He must have been referring to his private army, when he talked about, “I have more than two million loyal men under oath and under my command.” It is against the law in this country to own a private army. Egged on by his hate-baiting and incendiary rhetoric, his private army degenerated to a murderous posse. They are ravaging Igbo land; leaving pains, death and sorrow in their wake. The ESN was ostensibly set up to fight Fulani terrorism in Igbo land. Ironically, ESN and its affiliate, Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), and their spinoff criminal groups have killed more Igbo in the Southeast than the Fulani terrorists.

    Their disruptive and blood-drenched activities are literally destroying the Southeast. It is estimated that in their ruthless enforcements of their different laws, especially, the sit-at-home, they have killed more than one thousand Igbo. Their collective toll on businesses in the geo-political region runs into trillions of naira. In addition to their killings and stifling of businesses in Igbo land, these bloodthirsty marauders are guilty of kidnapping, arson, rape and cannibalism.  

    In our persecution complex, many Igbo want to believe that Nnamdi Kanu is innocent; and that his incarceration is merely an additional example of the continued evil machination of the Hausa/Fulani and Yoruba against the Igbo. However, the words and deeds of Nnamdi Kanu are incontrovertibly criminal and deserving of punishment. To insinuate the contrary is staggering nonsense. 

    •Ezukanma writes from Lagos.