A Month After the Abduction, the Silence Is now a scorecard of failure….
By PSJ UK
More than a month has now passed since armed bandits invaded schools in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo State and abducted dozens of students and teachers. Yet many of the victims remain in captivity, hidden somewhere within or around the vast forests linked to the Old Oyo National Park.
For the families, every sunrise is another day of agony. For the victims, every day in captivity means continued exposure to hunger, disease, fear, harsh weather, and the ever-present danger of armed men who have already demonstrated their capacity and inclination for brutality. For Nigeria, however, the question has become far more uncomfortable: what exactly is being done, and why is it taking this long?
This tragedy did not happen in isolation.
For years, Nigerians watched school abductions unfold across the Northeast and Northwest. The names became symbols of national failure. Chibok. Dapchi. Kankara. Kagara. Tegina. Jangebe.
Each incident followed a familiar script: armed men arrive, children disappear, government promises action, families wait, negotiations begin, and eventually the nation moves on while communities are left scarred forever.
Many in the Southwest once believed these horrors belonged to distant regions. Then Oriire happened. Suddenly, the geography changed, but the pattern remained the same. Children were taken from places meant for learning. Teachers became targets. Families were left helpless. Security agencies launched operations. Government officials issued assurances. Yet the victims remain in captivity.
The most painful part of this story is that the warning signs were already there.
Months before the school abductions, reports had emerged of increasing criminal activity around forest corridors in the region. Earlier attacks on forest guards and growing concerns over the security of remote communities suggested that armed groups were becoming more confident in exploiting these vast and difficult terrains.
Yet when the attack eventually came, the response once again appeared more reactive rather than swift and decisive.
Impulsive But Unproductive Move.
President Bola Tinubu subsequently approved the deployment of 1,000 forest guards to strengthen security operations in Oyo State. While the announcement was welcomed, it has also raised difficult questions.
How long does it take to operationalise such a deployment?
How long does it take to effectively search an area whose location is already broadly known?
How many weeks should families wait before seeing concrete results?
How many more nights should children spend in the custody of armed criminals before the nation considers the response adequate?
The issue is not whether security agencies are making efforts. The issue is whether those efforts match the urgency of the situation.
Every day the victims remain in captivity sends a dangerous message. It tells criminal groups that they can successfully challenge the authority of the state. It tells vulnerable communities that they may be largely on their own when danger arrives. It tells parents that sending their children to school increasingly comes with risks no family should have to contemplate.
This is particularly troubling because Nigeria continues to devote enormous resources to security. Billions of naira are allocated annually to defence, intelligence, policing, and military operations. Yet ordinary citizens continue to ask a simple question: if government exists primarily to protect lives, why does protection seem so difficult to guarantee?
The deeper concern is not merely the abduction itself.
It is the growing perception that non-state actors have become more agile than the institutions established to stop them.
The kidnappers needed only hours to execute their operation and disappear.
More than a month later, the state is still trying to bring the victims home.
That contrast should alarm every Nigerian.
PSJ UK believes this moment demands more than routine assurances. It demands visible accountability, measurable progress, and sustained public communication. Families deserve regular updates. Communities deserve transparency. Nigerians deserve to know what obstacles remain and what additional actions are being taken to overcome them.
Most importantly, the abducted students and teachers deserve urgency.
Not tomorrow.
Not next month.
Now.
The story of Oriire must not become another chapter in Nigeria's growing archive of unresolved tragedies. Every additional day in captivity deepens the trauma suffered by victims, families, and communities. Every delay chips away at public confidence. Every unanswered question strengthens the narrative that criminal groups can act with greater speed than the state itself.
The children of Oriire should be in classrooms.
Their teachers should be at home.
Until they return, this story is not over.
And neither should the pressure be.
