By Ike Abonyi
“To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.” – Nelson Mandela
Ever since a dispute arose in political circles in 2009 in North-East Borno State—leading to the creation of the dangerous Islamic sect known as Boko Haram and the rise of terrorism—the killing of human beings has become more frequent than we ever imagined. In Nigeria today, human life has been so devalued that it’s no longer news that people are dying or being killed. Tragedy may always top the news agenda, but the frequency of such events—no matter how dramatic—dulls their impact and value over time.
Boko Haram has become the progenitor of subsequent criminal groups in Nigeria—kidnapping, banditry, abductions, and “unknown gunmen” now operate across every region.
This week, the pressing question before us is: When will the senseless killings in Nigeria stop? Or more importantly, how can they be stopped? While we will explore the intellectual and social dimensions of this crisis—strictly as an academic exercise—it is already apparent to most Nigerians that the main culprit is the sheer lack of political will among our leaders.
Perhaps crudely, the quickest way to stop killings in Nigeria would be for the perpetrators to shift their targets from the poor to the rich and powerful. If that ever happens, the killings will cease abruptly. Security forces would rise with unprecedented urgency, and the violence would stop the very next day. As long as the poor are the ones killing the poor, while the rich revel on public funds, the bloodshed will persist. Who truly cares when the downtrodden slaughter themselves, sowing seeds of hatred and reducing their numbers—when that reduction is silently preferred by the elite for easier control?
In today’s Nigeria, killings have become a form of content creation—less about genuine feelings or finding solutions, and more about social media drama, attention-seeking, and even money-making.
If not, where is the humanity in our leaders when they hear that 614,937 Nigerians were killed in a year, over two million abducted, or that 805 lives were lost in just two months due to insecurity and violence? What does it matter to a President retreating in Paris, France, or a Governor, Senator, or Minister in Abuja, to hear that 113 people have been killed in Plateau State or 80 slaughtered in Benue State—or that hundreds are being massacred in Zamfara State and Uzo Uwani Local Government Area in Enugu State?
Why should they care, when we’re told idiomatically that the dead body of another person is viewed as just a piece of wood by the insensitive? Why should they worry when they are surrounded by well-armed guards—security personnel and weapons paid for by the same taxpayers they neglect? In Nigeria, over 50% of police officers and their equipment are deployed to protect the rich and their assets. In saner climes, law enforcement presence is strongest where people are most concentrated—markets, malls, schools, parks—for the protection of the ordinary citizens who cannot afford private security.
But in Nigeria, it’s the opposite. Security is skewed to protect the wealthy. We inherited this structure from the colonial masters, who created a police force to shield themselves from “primitive” natives in the GRA (Government Reserved Areas). After independence, we simply preserved that model—protecting public officers and rich individuals in the same way, at the people’s expense.
In most northern states, the rich have quietly relocated their families to Abuja, Lagos, or overseas—to the U.S., Europe, or Dubai. Even former President Muhammadu Buhari, who once vowed to retire among his people in Daura, Katsina State, has now moved to Kaduna and may soon end up in Abuja—where security is stronger.
His Katsina kinsman, former NYSC Director-General Gen. Maharazu Tsiga, was abducted from his village and held for 56 days in the forest until ransom was paid. He was lucky to survive.
So, how can killings stop in a society so distorted, so unjust, and so wicked? What does it mean to Nigerian leaders that human rights are not mere privileges but inherent entitlements? That the right to life is foundational—without which all other rights are meaningless?
What does it mean to Nigerian leaders that Nigeria is a signatory to multiple international treaties that emphasize the protection of human rights?
Take Article 3 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which clearly states that “everyone has the right to life, liberty, and security.” Or Article 4 of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, which affirms: “…human beings are inviolable. Every human being shall be entitled to respect for his life and the integrity of his person. No one may be arbitrarily deprived of these rights.”
Does any of this matter to Nigerian leaders when Section 33 of the 1999 Constitution clearly states that every Nigerian has a right to life and cannot be deprived of it except by due judicial process? Or Section 14(2)(b) which explicitly declares that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government”?
Yet, despite all these provisions, Nigerians continue to suffer gross violations of human rights. In Nigeria, the “primary purpose of government” has evolved into the protection of political ambition and the endless looting of public resources.
How do you end mass killings in a society where leaders willfully disregard every law or protocol that demands they protect the people?
This may sound anarchistic, but what could be more brutal than a leader who lives lavishly off taxpayers’ sweat while ignoring all the rules meant to safeguard those same people? What’s worse is that much of the violence plaguing Nigeria is rooted in political motives.
Predicting when politically motivated killings will end in Nigeria is nearly impossible. The causes are deep, systemic, and complex. But among the root causes, politically engineered violence—especially during election cycles—stands out. Politicians, in their divide-and-rule tactics, deliberately exploit ethnic and religious fault lines to gain votes. They resurrect old wounds and encourage conflict to serve selfish electoral interests—only to abandon the wreckage afterward.
They thrive in weak institutions, inept law enforcement, and zero accountability. These same failings then exacerbate poverty, unemployment, inequality, and despair—creating a fertile ground for extremist recruitment and violent crime.
To address these issues, we must strengthen democratic institutions, promote inclusive governance, eliminate socioeconomic disparities, and enforce justice for past atrocities. Building public trust in law enforcement and enabling community-led security efforts are essential.
But it’s clear that, to many in Nigeria’s political class, ending these killings is not a priority. Their sights are now set on 2027. If bloodshed helps pave their path to power, so be it. Experience suggests that the more blood you spill on your way to Aso Rock, the faster you get there.
After several failed attempts, Buhari only became President after threatening that “the dog and the baboon will be soaked in blood.” In contrast, Goodluck Jonathan—who nobly declared that “his ambition is not worth the blood of any Nigerian”—was shown the exit door.
Robust and coordinated security efforts, including intelligence gathering, rapid response, and proactive protection of vulnerable communities, could help stem the tide of violence—but who really cares?
It’s obvious that unless the people or the government take radical action, the killings will persist. And if neither side is ready to make the bold decisions necessary to end this bloodletting, perhaps it is time the killers stop preying on their fellow victims. Maybe they should turn their rage toward those at the top—those who are collaterally responsible for the very injustice and insecurity ravaging this nation.
God help us.
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