By Usman Majidadi Kumo
For over a decade, the sun has risen over Northern Nigeria not with the promise of a new day, but with the chilling uncertainty of survival. What began as a localized insurgency has mutated into a hydra-headed monster of banditry, kidnapping, and communal bloodshed that is slowly disemboweling the very heart of our region. As we stand in April 2026, the question is no longer when the peace will return, but how much of our humanity will be left when it does.
The statistics are staggering, yet they fail to capture the soul-crushing reality on the ground. To be a father in Sokoto or Katsina watching your children waste away because you cannot access your farmland for fear of execution is a living nightmare. From the besieged villages of Isa and Sabon Birni to the displacement camps in Borno, our people are living in a state of perpetual mourning.
The “true situation” is a landscape where the primary currency is no longer the Naira, but fear. In many parts of the North-West, notorious bandit leaders have become the de facto government, imposing “taxes” on impoverished villagers for the “privilege” of not being murdered.
Perhaps the most painful realization for the people of the North is the glaring contrast in how the state responds to different crises. We see the government move with lightning speed, precision, and immense resources when political interests are at stake. When it comes to elections, power struggles, or the protection of political elites, the machinery of the state is formidable and efficient.
We must ask: Why can this same vigor and “pass” not be applied to the protection of the common man? If the government can mobilize with such intensity for a ballot box, why can it not show that same level of commitment when our villages are being razed? Our lives should be at least as valuable as a political seat.
How did a land known for its vibrant commerce and deep-rooted traditions become a theatre of “indiscriminate killings”? The answer lies in a void—a void of governance in our ungoverned spaces and a void of accountability in our security architecture.
To the Federal and State Governments: the time for “condemnation” and “assurances” has long passed. Match Political Energy with Security Action: We demand that the government act with the same urgency and strategic focus against bandits as they do when pursuing their political agendas.
Secure the Rural Economy: Security must be moved from the city centers to the farmlands. If the people cannot farm, they cannot eat.
Direct Accountability: We cannot continue to lose hundreds of civilians without a fundamental overhaul of how we manage our internal intelligence.
The North is bleeding, and the bandages we are applying are soaked through. If the government does not act with a sense of “wartime urgency” to reclaim our sovereignty and protect the lives of the vulnerable, the situation will not just become “out of hand”—it will become a legacy of failure that history will never forgive.
Our people are resilient, but even the strongest walls crumble under constant battering. We are not just asking for security; we are pleading for the right to breathe without looking over our shoulders. The needful must be done. Now.