“Don’t Turn Nigeria Into a Battlefield for Foreign Hegemons” By Tafi Mhaka

0
132
Updated: Dec 19, 2025
Credibility: 85%

In early November, former US President Donald Trump declared that “Christianity is facing an existential threat in Nigeria.” On his Truth Social platform, he accused “radical Islamists” of “mass slaughter” and warned that the US “may very well go into that now disgraced country, guns-a-blazing.”

The claim rests on a familiar, but misleading, assumption: that violence in Nigeria is driven primarily by religious ideology, with Christians targeted by Islamist militants.

Yet the reality on the ground tells a different story.

In mid-November, a wave of school abductions exposed the peril facing children of all faiths in northern Nigeria. On November 17, armed men raided Government Girls Comprehensive Secondary School in Maga, Kebbi State, killing a vice principal and abducting 25 Muslim girls. Most were later rescued. Days later, on November 21, gunmen attacked St Mary’s Catholic Primary and Secondary School in Papiri, Niger State, abducting pupils and teachers—some escaped, while many remained missing into mid-December.

These incidents are not campaigns of religious persecution. They follow a pattern familiar across northern Nigeria: mass kidnappings for ransom, opportunistic attacks that do not discriminate based on faith.

Trump’s rhetoric does more than misdiagnose this violence—it recasts it. In a few lines, Nigeria transforms from a country grappling with criminal insecurity and institutional weakness into a “front line” of civilizational struggle—a battlefield rather than a society in need of protection and reform.

Framing criminal violence as religious war has real consequences. Responsibility shifts outward, solutions become militarised, and foreign intervention appears justified. This is a familiar script: complex crises simplified into apocalyptic moral dramas, followed by intervention under the guise of righteousness.

Local expertise tells a different story. Nigerian church leaders and analysts alike reject Washington’s narrative. The Catholic Bishop of Sokoto, Matthew Kukah, cautioned against interpreting the violence as religious warfare, pointing instead to criminal motives and state failure. Across Kebbi, Niger, Zamfara, Katsina, Sokoto, Kaduna, and Plateau states, attacks target Christians and Muslims alike, follow patterns of banditry and ransom, and thrive in areas where the state barely functions.

The principal drivers are chronic poverty, rural neglect, and youth unemployment. Around 72 percent of rural Nigerians live in multidimensional poverty, creating fertile ground for recruitment into criminal and armed networks. Opportunistic banditry flourishes, from kidnappings and cattle rustling to highway attacks and illegal mining, all conducted by networks operating from forested hideouts across the northwest.

Nigeria faces multiple threats simultaneously. In the northeast, Boko Haram and ISWAP remain active. In the northwest and north-central regions, armed bandit networks dominate. In the Middle Belt, communal militias exploit land disputes. The human toll is severe: over 10,000 civilians killed in the two years following President Bola Tinubu’s inauguration, hundreds of villages emptied, and thousands of children fleeing schools.

Treating this catastrophe as religious persecution is not only inaccurate—it is dangerous. Misframing organized crime as ideological conflict obscures root causes and invites disastrous solutions.

Language shapes intent and consequences. When crises are described as moral failures abroad, attention shifts from strengthening local institutions to coercion, financial leverage, and militarisation. Communities become talking points in foreign politics, and citizens are reduced to abstractions rather than treated as human beings in need of protection.

History offers stark lessons. From Iraq to Libya, US-led interventions promised peace but delivered devastation. Foreign troops became targets, local communities became battlefields, and armed networks adapted, splintered, and thrived amid chaos. Nigeria cannot assume immunity from this cycle.

The country’s institutional weakness is systemic, rooted in decades of prioritising resource protection over citizen security. From colonial rule through military governments, Nigeria’s governance systems have focused on extracting wealth rather than safeguarding lives—a pattern visible in the Niger Delta and beyond.

Yet solutions exist. President Tinubu’s recent security emergency, including the recruitment of 20,000 additional police officers and expanded forest patrols, represents a start. But the effectiveness of these measures depends on enforcement, oversight, and comprehensive reform. Police and intelligence services must be strengthened for community protection, courts and regulators must dismantle criminal networks, and regional cooperation on intelligence and border control is essential.

What Nigeria needs is support—not foreign troops. Rebuilding institutions that protect citizens, enhancing forensic capacity, actionable intelligence, training, and diplomatic backing are far more effective than militarised interventions. With 61 percent of Nigerians reporting feeling unsafe in recent years, the urgency is clear.

Trump must de-escalate. Tinubu must act decisively. The future of Nigeria depends not on foreign firepower, but on whether its institutions are rebuilt to protect people, not just assets.