… if in the calculus of global power politics, an American security partnership inadvertently strengthens Nigeria’s capacity to reclaim territory, dismantle insurgent networks, and restore the state’s monopoly on force, then that outcome cannot be dismissed simply because it unsettles postcolonial sensibilities. Resources can be renegotiated. After all, as my friend would quip, “resources na for the living.”
I read with rapt attention Jibrin Ibrahim’s essay published in PREMIUM TIMES on 13th February, titled “Nigeria on the brink”, as we hand over sovereignty to America. It is vintage Professor Ibrahim: elegant, historically grounded, morally alert. For years, he and I have shared space in the PREMIUM TIMES WhatsApp forum, a conclave of public intellectuals and policy wonks whose weekly interventions have become a ritual of sorts. His essays, usually featured on Fridays, are followed closely by mine and that of Owei Lakemfa. Though we have never met in person, that steady intellectual encounter creates the familiarity of long companionship. He is not merely a wise counsel; he is a formidable authority on international affairs, and one senses both attributes in every column he writes.
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This recent piece is no exception. It is factual, measured, and firmly anchored in both recent and distant history. Yet, beneath its composure one could detect genuine alarm at President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s evolving security engagement with the United States, particularly under its most inept and transactional president. The imagery his essay evokes is poignant: that of a father watching, distressed and powerless, as a beloved son stands poised to make what he believes to be a catastrophic mistake.
Anyone acquainted with the long arc of American power projection understands the source of that anxiety. The United States has not been shy about pursuing its interests abroad, and critics view renewed security cooperations through that lens. It is therefore entirely reasonable to recoil at the symbolism of American boots on Nigerian soil, more than sixty six years after the Union Jack was lowered at independence. The instinct to defend sovereignty is neither naïve nor misplaced.
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Yet, a crucial nuance demands interrogation, because without it the debate risks abstraction. The central question is this: Is Nigeria’s sovereignty a lived and operative reality, or has it become largely aspirational?
We speak of sovereignty as though it is self-evident. But how would the people of Woro in Kaiama Local Government Area of Kwara State define it after enduring terror at close quarters, early this month? How does one explain sovereignty to the farmer in Chiraa, who is compelled to pay levies to the Islamic State in order to farm his own land? One may substitute these names with countless communities across the federation. For citizens who must negotiate survival with armed non-state actors, sovereignty is not a constitutional doctrine. It is either security or its absence.
This leads to an uncomfortable but necessary inquiry. When citizens are confronted with a grim choice between predatory non-state militias driven by ideological fervour and criminal opportunism, and a foreign state actor primarily motivated by strategic and economic interests, which will they prefer? Faced with existential insecurity, many may reluctantly opt for the latter. The prospect of economic exploitation, however distasteful, can appear less menacing than arbitrary violence.
It has been observed, quite correctly, that what we euphemistically describe as ungoverned spaces in the North-East and North-West are not ungoverned at all. They are governed, just not by the Nigerian State. They are governed by criminal sovereigns. That distinction is critical. When we misdiagnose the malady as absence of governance, rather than the presence of rival authority, we misdirect the cure. Precision in naming is the first step toward clarity in policy.
In effect, we inhabit two Nigerias. One is the formal republic, animated by elections, elite competition, and constitutional rhetoric. The other is a shadow republic administered by insurgents, bandits, and militant franchises, whose authority is enforced at gunpoint. As far back as 2014, investigations by Daily Trust reported that Boko Haram had seized over twenty thousand square kilometres across Borno, Yobe, and Adamawa. That territory was larger than several Nigerian states combined, comparable in size to Wales in the United Kingdom, and even larger than Northern Ireland. Whether fluctuating or not, the symbolism was unmistakable: a state that cannot exercise a monopoly over legitimate force is already compromised.
Sovereignty, in its classical definition, is the supreme authority of a state within its territory. If substantial portions of that territory are effectively ruled by violent non-state actors, then the more honest question is not whether sovereignty is being surrendered, but to whom it has already slipped. That is not a rhetorical flourish. It is a structural reality.
This leads to an uncomfortable but necessary inquiry. When citizens are confronted with a grim choice between predatory non-state militias driven by ideological fervour and criminal opportunism, and a foreign state actor primarily motivated by strategic and economic interests, which will they prefer? Faced with existential insecurity, many may reluctantly opt for the latter. The prospect of economic exploitation, however distasteful, can appear less menacing than arbitrary violence. Survival precedes ideology. A nation under siege will often prioritise order over abstraction.
This reflection reminds me of a clip I recently watched exploring what freedom means to an American versus what it means to a Chinese citizen. The United States was founded largely by those who fled religious persecution in Europe, and so the American conception of freedom often emphasises the freedom of expression without state intrusion. The Chinese citizen, shaped by a different historical experience, tends to emphasise another dimension of freedom: freedom from chaos.
Ultimately, the debate must return to first principles. If sovereignty does not translate into security, order, and effective authority over national territory, then we are left defending a word rather than a condition. The distinction is not semantic. It is existential.
Both perspectives are rooted in lived experiences. Perhaps sovereignty should be examined through a similar prism. For some, it signifies insulation from foreign entanglement. For others, it signifies the ability to farm, trade, and sleep through the night without fear. The latter cannot be dismissed as philosophically inferior.
This is not an argument for naivety. It is not a call to grant Washington carte blanche. Vigilance remains indispensable. Nor should Nigeria ignore allegations and intelligence suggesting that other global actors, including China, have pursued interests in ways that undermine stability. Prudence demands diversified partnerships and clear national guardrails.
However, if in the calculus of global power politics, an American security partnership inadvertently strengthens Nigeria’s capacity to reclaim territory, dismantle insurgent networks, and restore the state’s monopoly on force, then that outcome cannot be dismissed simply because it unsettles postcolonial sensibilities. Resources can be renegotiated. After all, as my friend would quip, “resources na for the living.”
Ultimately, the debate must return to first principles. The distinction is not semantic. It is existential.
Osmund Agbo is a medical doctor and author. His works include Black Grit, White Knuckles: The Philosophy of Black Renaissance and a fiction work titled The Velvet Court: Courtesan Chronicles. His latest works, Pray, Let the Shaman Die and Ma’am, I Do Not Come to You for Love, have just been released. He can be reached through: [email protected].
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