Nigeria’s contemporary experience presents a troubling illustration of this profoundly disheartening phenomenon. As electoral cycles draw nearer, public anxiety is often accompanied by a perceptible escalation in kidnappings, terrorist attacks, banditry, and other manifestations of violent criminality. Whether coincidental or symptomatic of deeper political dynamics, the timing of such surges inevitably fuels public suspicion regarding the interests served by persistent insecurity.
Few phenomena are as corrosive to the moral and institutional fabric of a nation as the commodification of human suffering for political expediency. The tragedy becomes even more pernicious when its victims are defenceless schoolchildren and students, mostly from disadvantaged communities, whose only aspiration is the pursuit of education and a better future. An assault upon vulnerable pupils within the educational system is not merely an attack on individuals; it is an assault on the future prosperity, stability, and intellectual capital of our dear nation.
The instrumentalisation of insecurity for partisan political ends, evolving from the mobilisation of street violence to the far more pernicious realms of terrorism and organised kidnapping, constitutes a profound pathology within Nigeria’s democratic landscape and poses a direct threat to the legitimacy of the state itself. It reflects a profound degeneration of political ethics, wherein the sanctity of human life is subordinated to the ruthless pursuit of power and partisan advantage. In such circumstances, violence ceases to be an unfortunate consequence of instability and instead becomes a calculated instrument of political strategy.
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History offers sobering lessons on the devastating consequences of this phenomenon. When fear is manufactured, amplified, or cynically exploited to influence political outcomes, governance descends into a theatre of cynicism, public confidence in state institutions steadily erodes, and the social contract between government and citizens begins to fracture. The result is a dangerous environment in which insecurity becomes self-perpetuating, democratic accountability is weakened, and the most vulnerable members of society bear the heaviest burden of elite political ambitions.
No democratic society can flourish where the suffering of innocent citizens is converted into political currency. The protection of schoolchildren, students, and other vulnerable groups must remain a sacred obligation of the state, insulated from partisan calculations and electoral manoeuvring. Once the lives of ordinary citizens become expendable in the contest for power, the nation risks not only a crisis of security but a far deeper crisis of conscience.
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Political philosophers from Thomas Hobbes to Max Weber have long argued that the state’s legitimacy derives principally from its ability to maintain order and guarantee the security of its citizens. Weber, in particular, defined the modern state by its monopoly over the legitimate use of force. Where that monopoly is persistently challenged by insurgents, terrorists, bandits, or organised criminal enterprises, the authority of the state itself becomes susceptible to erosion. In recent years in our dear country, sadly, the nexus between insecurity and political ambition has become increasingly apparent.
Violent non-state actors rarely operate in a political vacuum. More often than not, they emerge and flourish within complex ecosystems characterised by elite rivalries, institutional fragility, socioeconomic deprivation, weak state capacity, and the cynical manipulation of ethnic, religious, or regional grievances. Contemporary scholarship on political violence has consistently demonstrated that insecurity is frequently sustained not merely by ideological extremism or criminal opportunism, but by networks of political and economic interests that derive direct or indirect benefit from instability.
Against this backdrop, it is both disturbing and revealing that the Nigerian authorities, through the Nigeria Sanctions Committee, recently designated forty-eight individuals and organisations for their alleged involvement in the financing of terrorism. Such revelations underscore the uncomfortable reality that terrorism and organised violence are seldom self-sustaining enterprises. They often depend upon sophisticated support structures comprising financiers, facilitators, logisticians, and influential patrons operating far from the battlefield itself.
Throughout history, political actors have often sought advantage from crises. Indeed, Niccolò Machiavelli recognised centuries ago that periods of instability frequently create opportunities for the reconfiguration of power. The crucial question is not whether crises possess political consequences. They invariably do. The question is whether individuals or networks actively facilitate, encourage, or capitalise upon such crises in the pursuit of political objectives.
In environments like Nigeria where governance institutions are weak and political competition is intensely adversarial – with a winner-take-all politics – insecurity can transcend its criminal dimensions and acquire strategic political utility. Violence becomes not merely a challenge to state authority but a potential instrument in the contest for power. The resulting convergence of criminality, political ambition, and economic opportunism creates conditions in which instability can be exploited, manipulated, or even tacitly encouraged by actors seeking electoral advantage or the delegitimisation of political opponents.
Nigeria’s contemporary experience presents a troubling illustration of this profoundly disheartening phenomenon. As electoral cycles draw nearer, public anxiety is often accompanied by a perceptible escalation in kidnappings, terrorist attacks, banditry, and other manifestations of violent criminality. Whether coincidental or symptomatic of deeper political dynamics, the timing of such surges inevitably fuels public suspicion regarding the interests served by persistent insecurity.
While intellectual honesty demands caution against drawing simplistic causal inferences, the recurrence of such patterns inevitably provokes legitimate questions regarding whether certain actors, directly or indirectly, derive political advantage from the atmosphere of fear generated by widespread insecurity. History furnishes numerous examples of the political weaponisation of violence. During the administration of former President Goodluck Jonathan, the abduction of the Chibok schoolgirls in April 2014 evolved from a horrific act of terrorism into a defining political event with profound electoral ramifications.
Beyond its immediate humanitarian catastrophe, the incident became a focal point for competing narratives concerning state capacity, governmental legitimacy, and leadership competence. More than a decade later, the tragedy remains emblematic not merely of security failure but of the manner in which national trauma can become subsumed within partisan discourse. In countries where institutional resilience is weak, security crises frequently become catalysts for political upheaval. Public fear, once sufficiently amplified, can alter electoral behaviour, delegitimise incumbents, and create opportunities for ambitious actors seeking to reconfigure existing political equilibria.
The United Nations Development Programme has repeatedly emphasised the direct correlation between insecurity and governance deficits. Likewise, the World Bank’s landmark World Development Report on Conflict, Security and Development argues that cycles of violence and institutional weakness reinforce one another, creating conditions in which political instability and criminality become mutually sustaining phenomena. It is within this conceptual framework that contemporary developments in Nigeria ought to be analysed.
The current administration of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu inherited an extraordinarily complex security architecture, shaped by more than a decade of insurgency, banditry, separatist agitation, communal conflict and transnational criminality. These challenges are neither recent nor easily remediable. Nevertheless, the political consequences of continuing insecurity remain substantial, particularly when attacks occur with conspicuous frequency in regions deemed politically strategic.
Throughout history, political actors have often sought advantage from crises. Indeed, Niccolò Machiavelli recognised centuries ago that periods of instability frequently create opportunities for the reconfiguration of power. The crucial question is not whether crises possess political consequences. They invariably do. The question is whether individuals or networks actively facilitate, encourage, or capitalise upon such crises in the pursuit of political objectives. This concern acquires even greater urgency when viewed through the prism of democratic consolidation.
In the final analysis, Nigeria’s greatest challenge is not merely the defeat of terrorists, kidnappers, bandits, and other violent actors. The deeper challenge lies in ensuring that no individual, faction, or political interest is ever allowed to derive benefit from the fear, suffering, and insecurity of the Nigerian people. For as long as insecurity remains politically profitable, the incentives to sustain or manipulate it will persist.
Terrorism and kidnapping are not merely criminal acts, they are assaults upon the social contract itself. Their objective extends beyond the infliction of physical harm to the cultivation of psychological insecurity, public despair, and institutional distrust. When political discourse subsequently appropriates these tragedies as instruments of partisan warfare, the objectives of violent actors are inadvertently reinforced.
Every community, settlement and village must remain vigilant against both the perpetrators of violence and those who may seek to derive political advantage from the climate of fear that violence creates. The Yoruba proverb goes: “ẹ̀hìnkùlé ni ọ̀tá wà, inú ilé ni aṣeni ńgbé” (The enemy lurks behind the house, but the traitor lives within it). One lesson Nigeria can draw from the British model of community security is the principle of collective intelligence: if you see something, say something. Terrorism, kidnapping, and organised crime thrive in environments where communities remain silent. They are far more difficult to sustain where citizens are vigilant and willing to share information with the authorities.
Above all, we must resist the temptation to transform human tragedy into partisan ammunition. The blood of innocent citizens must never become a currency in political competition, nor should the suffering of vulnerable communities be exploited for electoral advantage or ideological gain. A nation that permits the commodification of grief, ultimately imperils not only its security, but also its moral conscience.
In the final analysis, Nigeria’s greatest challenge is not merely the defeat of terrorists, kidnappers, bandits, and other violent actors. The deeper challenge lies in ensuring that no individual, faction, or political interest is ever allowed to derive benefit from the fear, suffering, and insecurity of the Nigerian people. For as long as insecurity remains politically profitable, the incentives to sustain or manipulate it will persist.
The defence of our country therefore 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.
May Almighty God bless President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, guide those entrusted with the affairs of our nation, and grant lasting peace, security, and prosperity to the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
Akin Olukiran is a social and political analyst and he writes from London. He can be reached on [email protected]
