How a foreign insult forced Nigeria to confront a long-ignored security crisis

BY ABU BILAAL ABDULRAZAQ BN BELLO BN OARE

Sometimes the breeze that lifts the roof is not the one from the backyard but the one that travels from distant lands. Empires have risen and fallen over less, yet seldom has a single careless sentence jolted a nation into motion. For years, Nigerians cried about insecurity to no avail — but one foreign cough on social media suddenly made the entire government sit up.

In recent weeks, the Nigerian government — long drifting between denial and distraction — suddenly rediscovered the vocabulary of national security. Not because insecurity worsened (it has been awful enough), nor because the cries of citizens grew louder (they’ve been hoarse for years), but because one loud American voice lobbed a reckless, disrespectful threat across the Atlantic.

Donald Trump’s statement was crude, undiplomatic, and an assault on our national dignity. Yet, like the heavy knock an African mother uses to reset a stubborn child’s senses, it jolted our leaders awake — if only briefly.

The sudden scramble

The president, previously fond of gallivanting across continents, abruptly grounded himself to “focus on national issues.” The national assembly, whose main preoccupation seemed to be 2027 calculations, factional dramas, and political gossip, suddenly remembered that security exists. Emergency sessions sprang up like mushrooms after rain.

Even more astonishing, after two years of inexplicable delay, the Presidency rushed two separate lists of ambassadorial nominees to the Senate — as if the mere panic of foreign embarrassment reminded us that diplomacy matters. No be small juju.

Police colleges that had been rotting for decades are suddenly receiving attention. NYSC camps are being considered for conversion into temporary training facilities. VIP escort policemen — human handbags for politicians’ wives — have been ordered back to real policing. Forest guards are being mobilised to reclaim bushes long ceded to kidnappers.

It all looks like urgency. It feels like movement. But Nigerians know too well the difference between movement and progress.

The rot that tweets alone cannot fix

For years, the nation behaved as if insecurity would cure itself, as if bandits would tire out, kidnappers would “retire,” and terrorists would relocate. Government interventions were often cosmetic—statements, committees, and halfhearted operations. Meanwhile, ordinary Nigerians were hunted like game, priced like livestock, and traded like contraband.

Cities still lack CCTV surveillance. Kidnappers negotiate ransoms with impunity using phone lines we’ve registered and re-registered until the fingerprints wore off. Terror kingpins collect chieftaincy titles. Farmers are driven from their lands by violent herders who now graze on crops with an air of arrogance and impunity. And because the government allowed this crisis to fester for too long without decisive action, the lines have blurred: many citizens can no longer distinguish hardened criminals from legitimate pastoralists. Innocent herders are now painted with the same brush, feeding a cycle of resentment and suspicion that threatens to engulf the entire nation.

The consequences of this long neglect are now visible everywhere. Worship centres, organisations and local communities have suddenly woken up to the reality of insecurity, strengthening their personal security measures as if jolted from a deep sleep — the same slumber that kept government inactive for years.

The hypocrisy of “Chief Security Officers”

While the federal government shoulders the largest blame, the state governors are not innocent. For decades, they hid behind the convenient cliché: “We are only chief security officers in theory.” But when it comes to intimidating political opponents, somehow, they remember their powers.

This is where Amotekun enters the conversation — a perfect parable of Nigerian governance.

At the twilight of Buhari’s administration, the South-West governors fought tooth and nail to establish the Amotekun Corps, arguing it was the regional answer to insecurity. They conquered resistance from Abuja, stirred regional pride, and promised a new dawn.

Where is Amotekun today? — A glorified vigilante outfit with underpaid members, underfunded operations, and underwhelming results.

And these same leaders — who couldn’t maintain a regional security network — now want state police? Governors who owe months of salaries to teachers, nurses, and civil servants would extend the same irresponsibility to state policemen. Underpaid officers with weapons and authority? The bad eggs (often the majority) would turn those weapons on the very citizens they are meant to protect.

Before we discuss state police, let us show the capacity to manage Amotekun, hunters’ groups, vigilantes, and local peace committees. Let competence precede ambition.

A necessary insult? A bitter medicine?

I do not endorse Trump’s language or intent. It was unbecoming, inflammatory, and laced with condescension. Yet, if that insult forced our government to feel the pulse of its people… if that verbal slap jolted Aso Rock out of its complacency… then perhaps we owe him a reluctant nod of recognition.

For the first time in years, every conversation — in homes, on radio, on TV, in newspapers, across WhatsApp groups — revolves around national security. It is finally back on the front burner where it belongs.

But talk must become action

Announcements must become frameworks. Frameworks must become implementation. Implementation must produce results.

We have been here before — with declarations of states of emergency, mass recruitments, and sweeping orders. They often evaporate like early morning dew. Nigerians are tired of promises; they want performance.

If all it takes to keep the government awake is an occasional stupid tweet, then — strange as it sounds — maybe we need more stupid tweets from powerful world leaders. Not because we admire the messenger, but because we desperately need the message. Because a nation that cannot secure its people has no business discussing prosperity.

Abu Bilaal Abdulrazaq bn Bello bn Oare can be contacted via [email protected]