*Photo: President Bola Tinubu*
The wailing is audible, echoing from the hallowed halls of the National Assembly to the manicured gardens of high-brow estates. The source of this collective anguish? A long-overdue, eminently rational directive from President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, via the Inspector-General of Police, Kayode Egbetokun, to withdraw 11,566 police officers from the personal service of Very Important Persons (VIPs) and redeploy them to confront the raging inferno of insecurity consuming ordinary Nigerians. The reaction from a significant section of this privileged class has been a masterclass in hypocrisy, a stark revelation of a profound disconnect from the realities of the nation they purport to lead. While millions of Nigerians navigate a landscape of terror where a simple journey could be a death sentence, the lamentations of our elites over the loss of their symbolic police escorts expose a disturbing hierarchy of human value in our polity.
This is not a policy debate; it is a moral litmus test. The cries of “unrealistic,” the frantic applications to the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC), and the whispered defiance of some officers “quietly resuming” VIP duties, as reported by The PUNCH, are not mere political manoeuvres. They are the death rattle of a parasitic status quo, one that has feasted on the nation’s security architecture while the common man was left defenceless. The recent murder of Reverend Achi, who died in the kidnappers den in Kaduna State, is not an isolated tragedy. It is the grisly norm for countless Nigerians in the hinterlands of the North-West, the farms of the Middle Belt, and the highways of the South-East. To complain about the withdrawal of orderlies in the face of such existential carnage is not just insensitive; it is a brazen declaration that the security of a few is more important than the survival of the many.
The Arithmetic of Insecurity: A System Cannibalising Itself
To understand the gravity of this redeployment, one must first grasp the crippling numbers that define Nigeria’s policing crisis. According to the International Police Science Association and the UN, the recommended police-to-citizen ratio is one officer per 450 people. Nigeria, with an estimated population of over 200 million, has a police force of roughly 371,000 officers. This translates to an abysmal ratio of about one policeman per 540 citizens, well below the global standard. This already overstretched force is then further crippled by the VIP culture.
The withdrawal of 11,566 officers is not a trivial figure. It represents over 3% of the entire Nigeria Police Force. To put it in perspective, this number of redeployed officers is larger than the entire police forces of several African countries. These are not just any officers; they are often among the most trained, best-equipped personnel, diverted from core policing duties to become glorified domestic staff, holding umbrellas, carrying briefcases, and forming human shields for politicians, their wives, and even their children. As Senator Ali Ndume rightly pointed out, “some ministers had police officers attached not only to themselves but also to their wives and children.” This is not security; it is opulence funded by national insecurity.
The IGP’s rationale is unassailable. These officers are being sent to “critical policing duties,” to “strengthen rural and township security,” and to “boost rapid response capacity.” The data he provided is telling: 451 armed robbery suspects, 356 kidnapping suspects, and 534 murder suspects arrested. These figures, while commendable, only hint at the tip of the iceberg of criminality. The kidnapping epidemic, particularly, has become a thriving industry. The SBM Intelligence report of 2023 estimated that at least ₦5 billion ($6.2 million as of then) was paid in ransoms between 2011 and 2020, a figure that has skyrocketed in the last three years. Every police officer holding an umbrella for a “big man” in Abuja is an officer absent from the front lines in Kaduna, Niger, or Kebbi, where bandits operate with impunity. The system has been cannibalising itself, and this policy is a desperate attempt to stop the haemorrhage.
The Symphony of Self-Interest: Deconstructing the Elites’ Lamentations
The responses from the political class, as catalogued in The PUNCH article, form a symphony of self-interest, each note more discordant than the last. Let us dissect this chorus of complaint.
First, there is the argument of “Prime Targetism.” The Vice Chairman of the APC (South-East), Dr. Ijeoma Arodiogbu, encapsulates this view, warning that “if they withdraw security aides from VIPs, it could be another level of insecurity.” He asserts that “VIPs are prime targets,” and that “it is big news if any VIP is affected.” This argument is not just flawed; it is morally bankrupt. It implicitly suggests that the kidnapping or killing of a peasant farmer in Zamfara, a market woman in Imo, or a student in Kaduna is *not* “big news.” It establishes a two-tiered system of grief and urgency. The reality is that in today’s Nigeria, everyone is a prime target. The bandits do not discriminate based on political portfolio when they storm a community or stop a bus. The emergency is universal, and the security response must be prioritised based on threat concentration, not political status.
Second, we have the “Caveat of Importance.” This is a more insidious argument, championed by figures like the suspended PDP National Secretary, Samuel Anyanwu, and Prof. Julius Ihonvbere, the House Majority Leader. They ostensibly “support” the policy but immediately demand “prioritisation.” Anyanwu urges the government to know “the calibre of people,” while Ihonvbere, who admits he cannot travel to his constituency in Edo State without police, demands “clarification” on who is affected. This is the language of entitlement, an attempt to create a new, smaller VIP club within the disbanded one. It is a plea for the government to reaffirm their importance, to signal that they are part of the “truly important” ones who deserve protection while others do not. This mindset is the very genesis of the problem.
Third, and most alarming, is the “Panic for Self-Help.” The immediate pivot to applying for NSCDC orderlies, as admitted by Anyanwu, and the call for civilians to bear arms by Senator Francis Fadahunsi, reveal a shocking lack of faith in the state and a desperate clutch at personal security. Senator Fadahunsi’s suggestion that “if the elite and a few of us who are okay are carrying guns, it will be a war against these criminals,” is a recipe for anarchy. It envisions a Somalia-like scenario where society is divided into armed camps. The fact that the Senate is simultaneously pushing for a bill to impose the death penalty for kidnapping while some of its members are advocating for a civilian arms race speaks to a profound legislative confusion. The solution to a failed monopoly on violence by the state is not to abdicate that monopoly, but to strengthen it. Redirecting 11,566 officers to their constitutional duties is the first logical step in that strengthening process.
Beyond Symbolism: The Real Test of Political Will
The withdrawal of police orderlies is a powerful symbolic gesture, but symbolism will not arrest bandits. The true test lies in the implementation and the complementary actions that must follow. The reports from The PUNCH’s police sources that “many officers had quietly resumed VIP assignments” are deeply concerning. It reveals the tenacity of the vested interests that have captured the state. The IGP’s warning against “abuse by criminals posing as law enforcement agents” must be extended to include “abuse by powerful persons subverting a presidential directive.”
For this policy to be more than a headline, several things must happen. First, there must be ruthless enforcement and transparency. The public deserves a list of those from whom officers were withdrawn. Sunlight is the best disinfectant. Second, the redeployment must be real and verifiable. Communities in crisis states like Niger, Katsina, and Plateau should be able to report a visible increase in police patrols and presence. Third, and most critically, this must be a prelude to deep, structural police reform. This includes the long-overdue recruitment of hundreds of thousands of new officers, better funding, training, and equipment, and the adoption of community-oriented policing models.
The move by the Association of Licensed Private Security Practitioners of Nigeria (ALPSPN) to modernise their operations is a welcome private-sector response. For those elites who genuinely feel unsafe, this is the avenue to explore: paying for their own private security from regulated firms, not commandeering state resources meant for the collective good.
Reclaiming Our Common Humanity
The tears shed by our elites over their lost police escorts are not just tears for personal security; they are tears for a fading privilege, for a symbol of status that set them apart from the masses they lead. In their lamentations, they have unwittingly composed the most honest critique of their own governance. They have shown that for them, a national emergency is not defined by the body count of ordinary Nigerians, but by the inconvenience it causes to their personal comfort.
The courage, in this instance, lies not with the complaining elites, but with the few voices of reason like Senator Ali Ndume and the PDP’s Tim Osadolor, who dared to envision a Nigeria where leaders move freely among their people. True leadership is not demonstrated by the number of armed guards one commands, but by the courage to stand with the people, vulnerable yet resolute.
Father Achi did not have a police orderly when he was burned alive. The thousands of Nigerians in kidnappers’ dens do not have NSCDC details to apply for. They have only their faith and a desperate hope that their government will remember they exist. The redeployment of these 11,566 officers is a small, belated step towards honouring that hope. It is a reclamation of the very idea of the state, that its primary duty is to the vulnerable, not the powerful. The cries of the elite must not drown out the silent screams of a nation in bondage. This is not the time for tears from the top; it is time for action for the bottom.
The emergency is here, and it demands that we finally, and unequivocally, declare that every Nigerian life is a VIP life.