By Boma Nwuke
Every passing day, Nigerians at home and in the diaspora wake up to familiar news. Headlines trumpet “bandits arrested,” “ISWAP decimated,” “Boko Haram neutralized.” Government statements flood the airwaves, painting pictures of progress. Yet, reality tells a very different story—crime and criminality continue to surge across the country.
The contradiction is glaring. On one hand, the Nigerian state proclaims victories. On the other, , ordinary citizens endure bloodshed, kidnappings, displacement, and fear. Our daily lives are framed by insecurity, despite billions sunk into security operations.
A recent example illustrates this contradiction. The Nigerian Customs Service (NCS) announced a “major breakthrough” at Tincan Island Command in Lagos, intercepting arms, ammunition, and military-grade drones concealed in containers of electronics and machinery.
Valued at ₦377 million (about $230,000), the shipment reportedly included over 200 assault rifles, thousands of rounds of ammunition, and several unmanned aerial vehicles capable of surveillance and even potential explosive delivery.
Investigations revealed the shipment was bound for the North-Central and North-East regions already at the epicenter of insurgency and banditry. Nigerians applauded the Customs officers who carried out this interception. But many also asked: what happens next?
The NCS statement said suspects had been arrested and handed over to “appropriate authorities.” Nigerians know too well what this means—another case likely to vanish into silence, with no names revealed, no trials concluded, and no accountability achieved.
This cycle is not new. We have watched terrorists arrested in Borno, bandits picked up in Kaduna, gunrunners captured in Zamfara, and yet many walk free. Sometimes, they reemerge emboldened, tormenting the same communities.
Rumors abound,and not without reason that some of these actors enjoy political patronage. Their protection allegedly comes from powerful hands in government and politics, making their prosecution difficult, if not impossible.
The result is that insecurity has become self-perpetuating. Arrests make headlines, but the killings never stop. In fact, they multiply. The government pays lip service to one of the most fundamental duties of any state—securing the lives of its citizens.
The statistics are heartbreaking. In just the first quarter of 2025, more than 2,000 Nigerians were killed, including civilians, bandits, terrorists, and even security personnel. These numbers came from Zamfara, Borno, Katsina, Niger, and other states.
The National Human Rights Commission reports that 2,266 people were killed in the first half of 2025, compared to just 1,083 deaths in the same period of 2024. That is a staggering rise in violence, despite government boasting of progress.
Amnesty International recently revealed that between May 2023 and early 2025, over 10,217 people were killed by armed groups across Benue, Plateau, and neighboring states. In Benue alone, 200 villages were sacked, with nearly half a million people displaced.
In the North-East, Boko Haram insurgency has displaced more than 2 million people and killed 35,000 civilians over the last decade. This year alone, fresh attacks killed 57 villagers in Borno, leaving 70 missing, with many more maimed.
Maiduguri, once seen as the heart of resistance to Boko Haram, now lives under renewed fear. Residents speak of a chilling resurgence of attacks, kidnappings, and bombings. It feels as if the so-called victories are hollow words.
So why do we continue to suffer a resurgence of banditry and terrorism? The answers are many. One is that government’s strategy is stuck on announcements, not results. Arrests are made, weapons seized, yet impunity reigns.
Another reason is adaptation. Terrorists are changing tactics. From ambushing convoys to attacking IDP camps, they stay ahead of sluggish security responses. But the state seems unwilling to adapt with equal speed and precision.
Worse still, insecurity has become an industry. It is a lucrative enterprise for some, feeding off corruption, kickbacks, and political bargains. In such a system, peace is not profitable—chaos is.
Compare Nigeria’s dithering with the United States. When an American citizen was kidnapped in Niger in 2020, U.S. Navy SEALs executed a daring rescue in hours, eliminating the captors. It was a display of decisiveness and seriousness.
Nigerians cannot understand why, with trillions allocated to defense, our country cannot replicate even a fraction of that efficiency. Why should it take years to “decimate” Boko Haram when America neutralized a cell in a single night?
The hypocrisy of our leaders is also exposed abroad. Recently, Simon Ekpa, self-acclaimed leader of the Eastern Security Network, was convicted in Finland for terrorism and handed a six-year jail term. Nigeria applauded his conviction.
But that applause rings hollow. Here at home, terrorists walk free. Bandit leaders openly negotiate peace with state officials. Some even hold press conferences or grant interviews. Others are rumored to bankroll politicians.
Government’s duty is not to celebrate foreign convictions—it is to ensure justice here, in Nigeria, for Nigerian blood spilled daily. Yet, justice here is muted, opaque, and often abandoned.
What we need is not just more press releases. Nigerians deserve transparency. The names of those arrested must be published. Their trials must be public, swift, and decisive. Their sentences, if guilty, must be carried out visibly.
Beyond arrests, the state must attack the roots of insecurity. It must strengthen intelligence, empower local communities, and cut the political strings that sustain terrorists and bandits. Without political will, no amount of ammunition will save us.
Too much innocent blood has been spilled. Too many villages have been burned. Too many families are living in makeshift camps, displaced from lands their ancestors tilled. The suffering is unspeakable.
Nigeria must choose: continue on this path of half-measures and endless bloodshed, or take bold steps to end impunity and make justice real. We cannot remain a nation where insecurity headlines are recycled while graves multiply.
On the frontlines, Nigerians are exhausted. They are watching, mourning, and hoping for leadership that will finally treat insecurity not as political theater, but as a national emergency. This is the choice before us. And it must be made now.
