If Nigeria Goes Cashless, Will Kidnappers Go Bankrupt?

By Joel Arinze

On a recent visit to my village in Kwara State, I encountered a familiar sight that got me thinking. An elderly woman, her face etched with worry, was recounting how her son had been kidnapped two weeks earlier. What struck me was not the story itself, tragically, such tales have become common currency in our national life, but her matter-of-fact conclusion: “We are selling the family land to pay the ransom.” That encounter stayed with me, and it resurfaced last week when the whisper came to me that the federal government is reconsidering a full time cashless policy as part of renewed efforts to curb rising cases of kidnapping across the country. Security sources, we were told, believe that a stricter cashless regime would make ransom payments more traceable and reduce the ease with which criminal groups operate using cash-based transactions.

The logic, on paper, is sound. Kidnappers prefer cash. Cash cannot be traced and can’t leave digital footprint. If we eliminate cash from the equation, ransom payments become trackable, and kidnappers become catchable.

But Nigeria is not Sweden. We are a cash economy in the truest sense of the word. Millions of Nigerians, farmers, traders, artisans, and rural dwellers, operate entirely outside the formal banking system. They do not have bank accounts. They do not have smartphones. Many do not even have reliable electricity to charge the phones they do not own. To ask such a population to go cashless is not a policy. It is a fantasy.

Yet the government appears determined to pursue this fantasy. Since January 2026, it has enforced a mandatory e-receipt system and banned cash payments across all federal Ministries, Departments and Agencies. The Central Bank has also unveiled its Payments System Vision 2028, targeting 95 per cent financial inclusion. Admirable goals, but ambition does not equal readiness.

Consider the numbers. Between May 2023 and April 2024, Nigerians paid an estimated 2.2 trillion naira in ransom to kidnappers. That is 1.4 billion US dollars. It exceeds Nigeria’s entire defence budget for 2024. It represents not just a financial loss but a direct transfer of resources to the very groups that threaten national security. The National Bureau of Statistics and the Civil Society Legislative Advocacy Centre, which documented these figures, have given us a glimpse into the scale of the problem. The North-West region alone accounted for 1.2 trillion naira in ransom payments. These are not mere statistics. They represent a nation held hostage by its own citizens.

But here is the question that should trouble every thinking Nigerian: If we are paying 2.2 trillion naira in ransom in a single year, what exactly are we funding? The answer is uncomfortable. We are funding the very groups that threaten our national security. We are buying the weapons that kill our soldiers. We are purchasing the night-vision goggles that enable ambushes. We are subsidising an industry that has turned kidnapping into a thriving enterprise.

Kidnappers are not fools. They have adapted to every security measure thrown at them. If cash becomes scarce, they will find other ways to collect their ransom. Cryptocurrency. Mobile money. Goods and services. The form of payment matters less than the willingness to pay. And Nigerians will continue to pay. Because when it is your child, your spouse, or your parent in captivity, no policy document matters. You will find a way to pay. And the kidnappers know this.

I recall a conversation I had some years ago with a security expert who made a point I have never forgotten. He said that kidnapping thrives not because cash exists, but because governance is weak, institutions are corrupt, and citizens have lost faith in the state’s ability to protect them. Until we address these root causes, no amount of cashless policy will stop the abductions. We can track every naira. We can ban every physical currency. And still, the kidnappers will find a way.

This brings me to the most uncomfortable question: Who does the cashless policy really serve? Security experts like Iyke Odife argue that Nigeria’s heavy reliance on cash transactions provides an easy channel for criminals to collect ransom without detection. They may be right. But what about the rural trader who sells tomatoes at the local market? What about the farmer who receives payment for his harvest in cash? What about the grandmother who keeps her life savings under her mattress because she does not trust banks?

These are the Nigerians who will bear the brunt of a poorly implemented cashless policy. They will be excluded, marginalised, and effectively punished for a crime they did not commit. Financial analyst Chukwudi Ayogu has rightly cautioned that success will require robust banking infrastructure and expanded financial inclusion. But infrastructure takes time. Inclusion takes time. And the kidnappers are not waiting.

Perhaps the most troubling aspect of this debate is what it reveals about our approach to security. We are once again looking for a quick fix. A technological solution to a deeply human problem. We are searching for policies that will make headlines, while ignoring the hard work of building institutions that actually protect citizens.

Let us not forget that kidnapping is not a new phenomenon in Nigeria. But its scale and sophistication have grown exponentially. It is now a business. A lucrative one. And like any business, it responds to market forces. If the cost of doing business increases, the business adapts. If cash becomes harder to obtain, kidnappers will find alternative payment methods. They will demand transfers to mobile money accounts. They will demand cryptocurrency. They will demand goods and services. The form of payment is secondary. The primary objective is the ransom itself.

So, if Nigeria goes cashless, will kidnappers go bankrupt? The honest answer is no. They will adapt. They will innovate. And they will continue to exploit the same vulnerabilities that have made kidnapping one of Nigeria’s most lucrative industries.

The cashless policy is not a bad idea. But it is not the solution. It is, at best, one tool among many. And until we are willing to confront the deeper failures that allow kidnapping to flourish, weak governance, corruption, unemployment, and a justice system that rarely holds criminals accountable—we will continue to chase shadows while the real criminals remain free.

Perhaps the real question is not whether kidnappers will go bankrupt, but whether we, as a nation, can afford to keep pretending that one policy will fix everything.