Over the weekend, the Borno State Government reintegrated another 720 repentant insurgents into society, bringing the total number of former terrorists forgiven and reintegrated under its deradicalisation programme to 9,680 across nine batches. According to Governor Babagana Zulum's Security Adviser, Brigadier General Sani Ishaq, the initiative remains one of the largest non-kinetic counterinsurgency programmes in the world.
Yet, beyond the statistics lies a troubling national question: Is Nigeria solving terrorism, or merely managing it?
The timing could not be more unsettling. While government officials celebrate another batch of reintegrated fighters, Nigerians continue to grapple with reports of deadly attacks on communities, military formations and civilians. The recent killing of a senior military officer and the disturbing manner in which his remains were reportedly handled have reinforced a growing perception that the state is struggling to establish deterrence against violent actors. Terrorism thrives not merely when terrorists strike, but when society begins to normalize their existence.
This is where the debate becomes uncomfortable. What message does a nation send when nearly 10,000 former insurgents have been forgiven and returned to communities, while thousands of victims still await justice, compensation and closure? Can reconciliation succeed without accountability? Can peace endure when citizens perceive that violence carries fewer consequences than obedience to the law?
Peter Obi recently declared that he was ready to die for Nigeria, arguing that leadership requires sacrifice in confronting the nation's worsening insecurity. Whether one agrees with his politics or not, the statement raises an important point: every serious nation that has defeated terrorism did so through leaders willing to make difficult and often unpopular decisions.
Hello history, are you there?
History offers lessons. Sri Lanka ended a decades-long insurgency through a decisive military campaign. Colombia weakened the FARC through sustained military pressure combined with negotiated settlements. Rwanda rebuilt security through strong institutions, intelligence networks and an uncompromising commitment to state authority. None relied solely on forgiveness. They combined rehabilitation with deterrence, justice and state capacity.
Nigeria must therefore ask itself hard questions. Are our borders secure? Is intelligence gathering robust enough? Are local vigilante networks properly integrated into national security architecture? Why do communities often know where terrorists operate before security agencies do? And most importantly, what happens to victims in the conversation about reconciliation?
Philosopher Thomas Hobbes argued that the first duty of government is security. Without security, every other promise of development becomes fragile. Roads, schools, investments and reforms mean little when citizens live in fear.
The reintegration programme may be necessary. Indeed, not every person who leaves the battlefield should remain an enemy forever. But rehabilitation without visible deterrence risks creating a dangerous cycle where violence becomes a pathway to negotiation and eventual reintegration.
As Nigeria approaches another election season, the challenge is no longer whether the country can forgive. The real question is whether it can protect. Until that question is convincingly answered, every new batch of repentant terrorists will reopen an old wound: are we ending insecurity, or institutionalising it?
