As election seasons loom in Nigeria, a grim pattern emerges. Kidnappings spike. Terror attacks intensify. Banditry spreads. The timing feels too precise to be mere coincidence, and citizens are left wondering: who truly benefits from the chaos? This is not paranoia. It is the bitter fruit of a system where human suffering has become a currency in the ruthless trade for power.
Nothing corrodes a nation’s soul faster than turning tragedy into political leverage. When the victims are schoolchildren from impoverished communities, the crime cuts deeper. An assault on a classroom is not just an attack on young lives. It is a strike against Nigeria’s future, its stability, and its intellectual promise. The weaponization of fear has evolved from street thuggery to sophisticated networks of terrorism and organized kidnapping. This is not a security failure. It is a political pathology.
History warns us. When fear is manufactured or exploited to sway elections, governance becomes a cynical theatre. Trust in institutions crumbles. The social contract frays. Violence becomes self-perpetuating, and the most vulnerable pay the heaviest price. No democracy can survive when innocent blood is traded for political advantage. The state’s sacred duty is to protect its people, especially the young and defenseless. Once their lives become expendable in the scramble for power, the nation faces not just a security crisis, but a crisis of conscience.
Philosophers from Hobbes to Weber argued that a state’s legitimacy rests on its ability to guarantee order. Weber defined the modern state by its monopoly on legitimate force. When insurgents, bandits, and terrorists challenge that monopoly, the state’s authority erodes. In Nigeria, the link between insecurity and political ambition has become painfully clear.
Violent actors rarely operate in a vacuum. They thrive in ecosystems of elite rivalries, weak institutions, poverty, and manipulated ethnic grievances. Scholarship shows that insecurity is often sustained not just by ideology or criminal greed, but by networks of political and economic interests that profit from instability. The recent designation of 48 individuals and organizations by Nigeria’s Sanctions Committee for alleged terrorism financing underscores this uncomfortable truth. Terrorism needs patrons, financiers, and facilitators far from the battlefield.
Machiavelli knew centuries ago that crises create opportunities for power shifts. The real question is not whether crises have political consequences—they always do. The question is whether individuals or networks actively fuel or exploit these crises for gain. In Nigeria’s winner-take-all political arena, where institutions are weak and competition is fierce, insecurity can become a strategic asset. Violence is not just a challenge to state authority; it is a tool in the contest for power.
Consider the Chibok schoolgirls’ abduction in 2014 under President Goodluck Jonathan. It was a horrific crime that became a defining political event. The tragedy was not just a security failure; it was subsumed into partisan narratives about competence and legitimacy. More than a decade later, it remains a symbol of how national trauma can be weaponized.
The current administration under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu inherited a security landscape scarred by over a decade of insurgency, banditry, separatism, and communal conflict. These are not easy problems to fix. But the political cost of persistent insecurity is immense, especially when attacks spike in strategically important regions.
Nigeria’s greatest challenge is not just defeating terrorists and kidnappers. It is ensuring that no one profits from the fear and suffering of its people. As long as insecurity remains politically profitable, the incentives to sustain it will endure. Terrorism and kidnapping are assaults on the social contract itself. They aim to breed despair and distrust. When political discourse then uses these tragedies as partisan ammunition, the objectives of violent actors are inadvertently reinforced.
Communities must stay vigilant—not just against the perpetrators of violence, but against those who would exploit the climate of fear. As a Yoruba proverb warns: the enemy lurks behind the house, but the traitor lives within it. Nigeria can learn from the British principle of community security: if you see something, say something. Terrorism thrives in silence. It struggles where citizens are watchful and willing to share information.
Above all, we must resist turning human tragedy into partisan weaponry. The blood of innocent citizens must never become currency in political competition. A nation that commodifies grief imperils not only its security but its moral conscience. The defence of Nigeria requires more than military victories. It demands political integrity, institutional vigilance, civic responsibility, and an unwavering commitment to the sanctity of human life. Only then can Nigeria fulfil its promise as a nation governed by justice, united in purpose, and secure in peace.
