In the dead of Sunday night, armed men descended on the Government Girls Comprehensive Secondary School in Maga, Kebbi State. They did not come as strangers, they moved with precision, knew whom to target, and vanished with 25 schoolgirls into the darkness. This was not a random act of violence. It was a symptom of a deeper, more troubling reality: banditry in northern Nigeria is not just an external threat; it is a crisis enabled from within.
The Northern elite must now confront a sobering truth: their tolerance and tacit justifications for banditry are fueling a fire that threatens to consume the entire nation. If this crisis is allowed to fester and spread, no region will be insulated from the consequences. The preservation of Nigeria itself depends on confronting this threat at its source.
In the four days leading to that attack, 145 Nigerians were kidnapped across Kebbi, Niger, and Zamfara states. These numbers are not just statistics. They represent a failure not only of security but of society. For years, we have treated banditry as a problem of firepower and territory. We have deployed soldiers, launched airstrikes, and held negotiations. Yet the menace grows. Why? Because we have largely ignored the invisible infrastructure that sustains it—the network of informants, suppliers, and enablers woven into the fabric of the very communities under siege.
The Unseen Supply Chain
Bandits do not operate in a vacuum. They rely on local informants who trade security details for cash or coercion. They depend on suppliers who provide food, fuel, and essentials. They are armed by gun-running syndicates that operate with disturbing ease. They seek spiritual reinforcement from “malaman tsibbu”—charms and blessings that embolden them to kill and kidnap. Perhaps most disheartening are the urban elites, including some religious leaders, who offer tacit justifications for these criminals, often blaming poverty or historical neglect.
This complicity is the lifeblood of banditry. It means that every time security forces plan an operation, word may already have reached the forests. Every time a community is targeted, someone nearby likely knew, and said nothing. This is not mere speculation; it is the open secret everyone knows but few dare to address.
A Crisis of Trust and Trauma
The human cost is immeasurable. Beyond the 25 schoolgirls taken in Kebbi, a staff member, Hassan Makuku, was killed. A guard, Ali Shehu, lay injured. In Niger State, 16 vigilantes—local men who took up arms to defend their homes—were slaughtered. In Zamfara, entire families were taken from their villages in the dead of night.
These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a pattern that has turned vast regions of the northwest into landscapes of fear. Farmers abandon their fields. Parents keep children from school. Vigilantes bury their comrades. And with each attack, trust in the state erodes further.
The Federal Government has, as always, expressed concern. Goverment after government, has commitment to protecting citizens, particularly schoolchildren. But in villages that have heard such promises for years, these words mean nothing to its people. When the state fails repeatedly to protect its people, it should come as no surprise that some turn to other options—including collaboration with the enemy.
Political Exploitation and Short-Term Thinking
The recent surge in mass kidnappings coincides ominously with the approaching 2027 elections, creating a disturbing sense of déjà vu. This pattern mirrors what Nigeria witnessed during the last electoral cycle, when 792 citizens were abducted within just three months. Security analysts have long observed how criminal activities tend to escalate around election periods, creating both genuine security challenges and opportunities for political manipulation.
This troubling convergence of crime and politics represents one of Nigeria’s most shameful realities. When human suffering becomes just another tool in political contests, the nation has clearly lost its moral compass. Yet we must be careful not to oversimplify the situation by blaming everything on politics. The security crisis has deeper roots and wider dimensions that extend far beyond election seasons, though politicians certainly exploit the situation for their advantage.
The government’s inconsistent approach to dealing with bandits has also drawn criticism from security experts. While negotiation can be a valid strategy, the current implementation appears deeply flawed. The practice of holding talks with armed groups while allowing them to keep their weapons has been particularly controversial. This half-hearted method seems to achieve little beyond giving criminals time to regroup and strengthen their positions, ultimately worsening the security situation for ordinary citizens.
The solution requires moving beyond temporary measures and political point-scoring. What Nigeria needs is a comprehensive security strategy that addresses both the immediate threats and the underlying conditions that allow criminality to flourish. This means proper coordination between security agencies, community engagement, and most importantly, consistent implementation of policies that prioritize citizens’ safety above all other considerations.
What Next?
If we are to break this cycle, we must first confront uncomfortable truths. Banditry persists not because it is invincible, but because it is profitable. It is sustained by a shadow economy that includes otherwise law-abiding citizens. Until we address this complicity, no amount of military deployment will bring lasting peace.
A fundamental shift in strategy is urgently needed for Nigeria’s security forces. A critical priority is bridging the trust deficit with local communities and addressing the severe manpower shortages that plague services like the police. The reality is that even millions of security personnel cannot be effective without the active support and confidence of the public. This trust is quickly eroded when citizens risk their safety to provide information, only to see no resulting action.
The problem is compounded by a dire lack of personnel. Many police stations operate with a fraction of their required strength, sometimes just 60 officers attempting to do the work of 300. This chronic understaffing creates a basic question of how these forces can possibly protect communities when they are stretched so thin that they struggle to protect their own stations.
One practical solution that has been proposed involves formally integrating local vigilante groups into the security architecture. The Police Act of 2020 already provides a framework for this through its Special Constabulary provision. This approach would bring these groups under official regulation, provide them with stipends, and strategically fold their local knowledge into broader security operations. However, implementing this has consistently faced a significant hurdle: a lack of political will, particularly from state governors who are often reluctant to share control over security matters.
A Call to Conscience
We are at a crossroads. We can continue to treat banditry as a problem “out there,” blaming external factors and waiting for the next tragedy. Or we can acknowledge the enemy within—the informants who trade lives for money, the suppliers who profit from suffering, the elites who excuse the inexcusable.
The 145 Nigerians kidnapped in four days are not just victims of bandits. They are victims of a society that has, in parts, chosen complicity over courage. If we are to end this shame, we must look in the mirror. We must rebuild trust between communities and the state. We must hold enablers accountable, whether they sit in remote villages or air-conditioned offices. And we must demand leaders who see security not as a campaign talking point, but as a sacred duty.
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