It has now been almost two weeks since “terrorists” said to be fleeing joint Nigerian–American airstrikes on positions in Sokoto State reportedly struck Borgu LGA communities in Niger State, slaughtering more than 40 innocent Nigerians.
The attack reportedly occurred close to the community of Papiri in Agwara Local Government Area, where more than 300 students had been abducted only weeks earlier. According to local accounts, the assailants emerged from the dense forest reserves around Kainji and are believed to have retreated back into the forest with an undisclosed number of newly kidnapped hostages.
Testimonies from former abductees fortunate enough to escape these forest camps paint a chilling picture: sprawling encampments deep in ungoverned terrain where captives are subjected to varying degrees of horror, from sexual slavery, regular beatings, starvation and forced domestic servitude to brutal indoctrination. Some captives, it is said, are even selected and trained as so‑called “special forces,” groomed to plant roadside bombs or even to become suicide bombers.
Three days after the Kasuwan‑Daji massacre, President Bola Tinubu, as Commander‑in‑Chief of Nigeria’s Armed Forces, directed the Minister of Defence, the Chief of Defence Staff, the service chiefs, the Inspector‑General of Police, and the Director‑General of the Department of State Services (DSS) to track down and apprehend the perpetrators, however the perpetrators have since returned to another neighbouring community of Wawa where they have slaughtered more citizens. This time, however, the repeat wave of killings missed the media spotlight and therefore failed to attract an Aso Rock order or Statement.
And this is where the questions begin…
Why does the President need to explicitly direct the security services to do what is fundamentally their job? This is what they signed up for, trained for, and are paid to do. The President does not issue directives to the Accountant‑General to pay salaries each month so why must security agencies wait for presidential orders before acting decisively on mass murder and terror?
When the presidential directive mandates that the perpetrators be “swiftly” brought to justice, what does swiftly actually mean? Is this any different from business as usual? In the absence of clear timelines, benchmarks, or international pressure, “swift” can easily stretch into months or even years. We have seen this before. Similar orders were issued under the late President Buhari, yet many perpetrators of past atrocities remain largely ‘at large’.
The President stated that “these terrorists have tested the resolve of our country and its people” and must therefore “face the full consequences of their criminal actions.” This sentiment is valid but it has been valid for years. The real question is: when, how, and through what concrete mechanisms will Nigeria’s counter‑terrorism architecture finally exact those consequences?
Nigeria’s counter‑terrorism framework involves multiple institutions. The Nigerian Financial Intelligence Unit (NFIU), for example, is meant to disrupt terrorist financing networks by monitoring cash‑based economies, illicit trade, and digital transactions. The Counter‑Terrorism Centre, led by Sarkin‑Yaki Bello, is positioned as the central coordinating body, focusing on regional cooperation against groups such as Boko Haram, ISIS‑affiliated factions, and a growing array of other armed groups.
Nigeria also works with international partners, including the United States through initiatives like the Global Counterterrorism Forum, and regional bodies such as ECOWAS to address cross‑border threats.
But what, precisely, have been the tangible successes of these institutions? What strategies do they deploy? What are their personnel actually trained to do? In communities like Kasuwan‑Daji, what protocols were in place? Were there Early‑Warning or Early‑Response (EW/ER) systems? Have Nigeria’s counter‑terrorism academies delivered serious instruction on leveraging technologies such as geo‑fencing to protect vulnerable communities in ungoverned spaces?
Around the world, improved technology have been deployed to counter crime and terrorism. One must ask: why are Nigeria’s security agencies not making systematic use of them?
Analysts often describe Nigeria’s counter‑terrorism record as a ‘mixed bag’. While the military is credited with reclaiming significant territory from Boko Haram, sometimes cited as up to 80 per cent of previously occupied areas the more difficult question remains: what is taught about holding reclaimed land? Terrorist groups in Nigeria have repeatedly shown themselves to be resilient and adaptive, shifting tactics to guerrilla warfare, mass kidnappings, cattle rustling, improvised explosive devices, and suicide bombings. They patiently wait out the state, disappear into forests, and return months or years later. How, exactly, does Nigeria plan to counter this cycle?
In Kasuwan‑Daji, attackers reportedly operated unchallenged for hours. What guidance, if any, have security agencies provided to neighbouring communities on how to respond if they come under attack? What is the plan for civilian protection while help is on the way? Serious concerns remain about the effectiveness of current strategies and the credibility of the official narrative.
While we salute recent military victories and an improved zest and efficacy under the leadership of Nigeria’s new Minister of Defence, an improved effectiveness is still required. Nigeria’s counter‑terrorism planners must adopt a more holistic approach. Military force alone is insufficient. Soft‑power strategies, community engagement, intelligence‑led policing, and the addressing of deep socio‑economic grievances must accompany technological and aerial capabilities. The establishment of the Counter‑Terrorism Centre and the introduction of the National Counter‑Terrorism Strategy (NACTEST) in 2014 were important first steps. On paper, these initiatives include protecting forest‑adjacent communities, preventing radicalisation, securing infrastructure, and identifying threats early. In practice, however, they require constant review, updating, and most importantly, implementation of classroom theories if they are to translate into real protection for ordinary Nigerians.
In fairness to Nigeria’s military schools, counter‑terrorism is not typically taught as a specialist, tactical discipline at world-class military academies either. Even elite institutions such as the UK’s Royal Military Academy Sandhurst do not train cadets in CT assault operations and strategies. Instead, officers receive a foundational understanding of terrorism and CT within broader professional military education. Specialist CT training is reserved for carefully selected personnel later in their careers.
In the UK, strategic ownership of counter‑terrorism lies with the Home Office, which sets national policy and determines when tools like geo‑fencing should be deployed. While civil authorities do not operate such technologies themselves, they regulate their lawful and effective use. Nigeria needs an equivalent civilian‑led strategic approach, one that actively deploys technology to protect porous border communities and settlements bordering terrorist‑infested forests. This might be another landmark improvement for the now-civilian former Military CGS, General Chris Musa.
Consequently, citizens must demand more from elected and appointed officials, far more than carefully worded statements after each massacre. As attacks multiply across the country, will the President continue issuing statements, or will some ranking system emerge to decide which atrocities merit a response and which are ignored?
The words and orders of the Commander‑in‑Chief should not exist merely to fill press releases or shield officials from accusations of silence. If these orders are real, then accountability must follow. As of today, many of those the President ordered to be rescued “urgently” remain in captivity.
In the President’s own words: “No matter who they are or what their intent is, they must be hunted down. They, and all those who aid, abet, or enable them in any form, will be caught and brought to justice.”
Every person killed in Kasuwan‑Daji, Wawa and countless other communities had a name. They were more than numbers. Raising our voices and demanding military sense, strategic clarity, and genuine accountability is not optional; it is essential.
