By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

WHEN THE FOREST HIDES MORE THAN TREES

To paraphrase an old African proverb, “when the forest is silent, beware, it may be plotting”. Nigeria’s forests are no longer just a canopy of trees sheltering wildlife and whispering winds; they have become a theatre of terror. Armed bandits, kidnappers and insurgents have “discovered” what ancient wisdom already knew: that the forest is the perfect hideout. In response, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has proposed a bold and ostensibly visionary plan, the deployment of a national forest guard corps. This move has since sparked hope, skepticism, and fierce federalism-versus-unitarism debates.

At the heart of this strategy is the ambition to reclaim over 1, 129 forest reserves scattered across Nigeria’s sprawling terrain, most of which now serve as havens for terrorists and criminal syndicates. With over 130,000 armed operatives to be recruited and deployed, it is easy to view this initiative as the long-overdue solution to Nigeria’s security woes. But this move is not just about logistics and boots in the bush; it is about sovereignty, legality, and local legitimacy. Is Tinubu’s forest guard plan a federal solution to a national emergency, or is it an ill-fated centralization of local security challenges, enabling the federal government to breath down the necks of State governments?

To answer this, we must examine the legal, constitutional, and operational frameworks of Tinubu’s initiative, evaluate historical precedents, and analyze the potential risks of imposing a federally controlled paramilitary force in forests that historically and legally belong to the states. We must also interrogate whether security can be bought with arms alone; or whether it grows from the grass roots up.

But before we venture into the thicket of policy and power, let us consider the context that birthed this proposal. Nigeria’s forests, which were once ecological sanctuaries, have gradually degenerated into lawless zones of bloodbath. The green expanse that should echo with bird calls and animal grunts now reverberate with gunfire. Insecurity in rural and agrarian communities has reached such alarming heights that farmers have virtually abandoned their lands, leading to food insecurity, economic stagnation, and mass displacement. The forests no longer nurture life; they generate death.

BETWEEN POLICY AND IMPLEMENTATION

The government’s decision to respond with a large-scale recruitment of forest guards may indeed seem intuitive, after all, it aligns with the global trend of ecological militarization in fragile states. Yet, the structure of implementation matters deeply. If the architecture of this plan disregards Nigeria’s federal nature, it risks exacerbating the very crisis it was intended to solve. Forests may be rooted in soil; but the guardianship of that soil is rooted in law, identity, and community ownership. The principle of quic quid plantatur solo solo cedit applies. Forest guards who do not share the language, culture, history or kinship of the terrains they are sent to police will surely be seen as outsiders. And such outsiders in the forest may become either victims or villains.

Furthermore, this proposal arrives at a critical moment in Nigeria’s democratic evolution. Debates over state and community policing, restructuring, devolution of powers and regional autonomy are no longer intellectual abstractions; they have become national imperatives. See sections 215 and 216 of the 1999 Constitution. Tinubu’s plan whether deliberately or inadvertently, intersects with these gaping fault lines. To superimpose a federally-managed forest force without recognizing the nuanced relationships between state, land and community is to risk uprooting fragile peace and replacing it with more severe antagonism.

Now, are we really a federation in truth or merely in name? I dare say what we operate in the guise of federalism is actually a unitary form of government. Can national unity be enforced through uniformed patrols, or is it better than it be cultivated through shared values and governance? As we delve deeper, the question is not just who guards the forest, but who decides who guards the forest, and in whose name. Indeed, a deeper question: Who will guard the Guard?

THE FOREST, THE FEDERALIST AND THE FEDERATION

CONSTITUTIONAL REALITIES: THE POWER OF THE STATES OVER FORESTS

In any federal system, the distribution of power especially over land and internal security is a defining hallmark. Nigeria’s federalism is no exception. The country’s current structure, codified under the 1999 Constitution (as amended), clearly delineates the powers of federal, state and local governments.See sections 2(2),3(1-6) of the 1999 Constitution. A close reading of section 7 and the Fourth Schedule ( paragraph 2( b) to the Constitution highlights the responsibilities of Local Government Councils, including the control and regulation of agricultural and natural resources and by extension, includes forest land not reserved to the Federal Government. This immediately places forests, by default, under the control of the states, unless specifically designated otherwise,since Local Governments are located in states.

Furthermore, the Land Use Act,1978, which is incorporated into the Constitution by reference (section 315), gives state governors control over all lands within their territory, excluding those under federal use, to hold them in trust for the people of their States. The Act empowers governors to allocate land in urban areas to individuals and organizations, and to oversee the use of non-urban land through Local Government Councils. Consequently, the direct implication is that any forest or land not classified under national parks, Federal Reserve zones, or military controlled areas, falls squarely under the jurisdiction of the state.

FEDERAL V. STATE POWER

Of Nigeria’s 1, 129 officially gazetted forest reserves, the vast majority are managed by state forestry departments under their ministries of agriculture, rural development or environment. These include large forest blocks in states like Cross River, Ondo, Ogun, Taraba, and Ekiti, many of which are vital to local economies, ecological sustainability, and food security. The federal government only controls forest areas designated as National Parks(such as Gashaka-Gumti National Park, Kainji Lake National Park, Cross River National Park, and Old Oyo National Park), administered under the National Park Service, an agency of the Federal Ministry of Environment.

Attempts to impose direct federal recruitment and control over forest guards in state-managed forests without legislative amendments or formal agreements risk violating both the spirit and letter of the law. Even within the federal legislative framework, forest policing is not explicitly listed on the Exclusive Legislative List, meaning that it falls under either the Concurrent List (shared responsibilities between the federal and states) or, in most practical scenarios, the Residual List, which is left to states’ discretion.

UNITARISM IN DISGUISE?: THE DANGER OF A FEDERAL PARAMILITARY FORCE

Unitarism masquerading as federal security cooperation is a deeply sensitive issue in Nigeria, where ethnic plurality, historical grievances, and political mistrust run deep. The idea that over 130,000 armed operatives could be centrally recruited, trained, and deployed under federal command while ostensibly operating within state territories is understandably alarming to many stakeholders. It evokes painful memories of other federally-controlled agencies that have operated with little or no regard for local dynamics and often with tragic consequences.

The Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS) is a case in point. Established as a unit within the Nigeria Police Force, SARS was accused of gross human rights violations, including extra-judicial killings, torture, and extortion. Its federal command structure meant little accountability to state governments or communities. The #EndSARS protests of 2020, which began as youth-led demands for police reforms, quickly morphed into a broader call for systemic change, highlighting the dangers of over-centralized security control architecture.

Similarly, the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC), while useful in its community protection mandate, has often been accused of operational inefficiencies and jurisdictional clashes with state authorities. Cases of NSCDC operatives acting with impunity or engaging in power struggles with local law enforcement agents are well documented.

Against this backdrop, Tinubu’s forest guard plan raises critical concerns. How can a federal command effectively manage such a force across diverse terrains, languages, and cultures without falling into the same trap of over-centralization and under-accountability? What happens when these guards act outside the law, or when federal and state authorities disagree on deployment priorities? Who investigates complaints of misconduct, especially in remote rural areas? Who has the final say?

These questions are not merely theoretical. In countries with similar federal structures, such as India and the United States, forest protection and environmental policing are almost always handled at the state or provincial level, often under decentralized bureaucracies with state-specific laws and enforcement mechanisms. For instance, India’s Forest Protection Committees are embedded in local governance structures, while U.S. State Park Rangers operate independently of federal policing units unless specific interstate or federal crimes are involved.
Nigeria’s own federal structure should offer no less sophistication. The creation of another federal paramilitary force, especially one that operates deep in the natives’ forests without local allegiance or accountability, risks becoming not a solution but a security liability and worse, a political tool in the hands of a powerful centre.

INDIGENOUS SECURITY MODELS: THE CASE FOR LOCAL RECRUITMENT

The wisdom of local recruitment is both practical and cultural. Insecurity in Nigeria’s forests is not just about guns and patrols, it is about intelligence, relationships and trust. Bandits and criminal syndicates thrive in environments where locals are alienated from the security structure. Conversely, they are more easily repelled when local vigilantes, hunters and indigenous operatives form part of the security fabric.

The Nigerian Hunter and Forest Security Service (NHFSS), which operates across the 36 states and the FCT Abuja, provides a compelling model. Comprised largely of traditional hunters and forest dwellers, the NHFSS brings a unique blend of tactical expertise and cultural affinity. In states like Kogi, Kebbi and the FCT, NHFSS operatives have been instrumental in intercepting kidnap gangs, uncovering illegal encampments, and collaborating with security agencies. Their effectiveness is rooted not in superior weaponry, but in their deep understanding of their peculiar terrain, their loyalty to the community, and the trust they command from locals.

A retired Army General, Peter Aro, hailed the development as a critical step in addressing rising insecurity within Nigeria’s forested regions, particularly the scourge of banditry, kidnapping, and insurgency. Forest guards must possess field survival skills, terrain literacy, and community integration. These are not qualities one can mass-produce in Abuja through crash course training programmes. Furthermore, security should be intimately linked to traditional institutions, such as village heads, district councils, and traditional rulers, who provide crucial intelligence and moral authority.

Security analyst Chidi Omeje has also pointed out the danger of sending “fresh recruits with basic firearms” into forest zones where criminal elements are known to possess military-grade weapons. He advocates for a dual-layered model, where locally embedded forest guards work alongside the military and police but under local command structures.

There are also precedents for success. The Amotekun Corps in the South West, and the Benue Community Volunteer Guards, are examples of locally-driven initiatives that have shown promising results. While not without their challenges, these corps are better attuned to the local environment and have the legitimacy to act swiftly in ways that federal forces cannot.

Furthermore, a decentralized approach would stimulate local economies. Recruitment of indigenes provides employment, instills civic pride and strengthens the social contract bond. It also ensures that the guards see themselves as protectors, not as occupiers, a distinction that is vital in volatile communities where the line between security agent and aggressor is often thin.

In summary, while the federal government has a legitimate role in coordinating national responses to threats, its approach must be that of a facilitator, not a commander. Support through training, funding, surveillance technology (e.g., drones, forest mapping systems), and standard setting is invaluable. But command and control must remain at the state level, rooted in the soil, culture, language, idiosyncrasies and rhythms of the communities the guards are sworn to protect.

Between The Forest And The Firepower: Finding The Right Strategy

The Forest As Nigeria’s New Battlefield
Nigeria’s forests, once treasured for their ecological richness and environmental contributions, are increasingly viewed through the lens of national security. Spanning over 10 million hectares which is about 10% of the total land area of Nigeria, Nigeria’s forest reserves are now being infiltrated by violent actors and used as operational bases for bandits, insurgents, arms traffickers, and cross-border criminal networks. These reserves especially those in Kwara, Niger, Benue, Taraba, Zamfara, Kaduna, and Oyo have morphed into de facto war zones, where traditional policing is rendered ineffective and the military often finds itself in reactive mode.

One particularly troubling example is the Kainji Lake National Park, a protected area that spans the borders of Kwara and Niger States. Though it is officially under federal protection, its vast and difficult-to-monitor terrain makes it a prime corridor for terrorist and bandit movements. According to security reports from the Nigerian Army’s 8 Division, several armed groups have taken advantage of the park’s proximity to Nigeria’s northwestern and central states to establish hidden bases, smuggle arms, and coordinate attacks.

Similarly, the Old Oyo National Park, which straddles Oyo, Kwara, and Niger States, has become a hotspot for criminal activity. Local intelligence from communities surrounding the park indicates that bandit groups expelled from Zamfara and Katsina have found refuge in this forest. These criminal elements exploit the remoteness of the area and the absence of a permanent security presence to regroup and launch attacks on nearby settlements.

Beyond national parks, numerous ungazetted forests especially in the Middle Belt serve as strategic hideouts for Fulani militia groups, foreign mercenaries, and rogue elements linked to organized crime. In Benue State, Governor Hyacinth Alia has repeatedly warned of incursions by foreign terrorists, allegedly linked to cross-border herder militias. The Upper Ogun Forest Reserve, a large forest block in Kwara, has also come under scrutiny following reports that Mahmuda terrorist group members used it to transit between Nigeria and the Republic of Benin.

The implications of these developments are profound. Without forest security, Nigeria not only risks losing its forests to environmental degradation but also ceding large swaths of land to non-state actors, thus turning forest reserves into breeding grounds for violent extremism. Yet, while the urgency to act is undeniable now, the quality of response matters more than its speed.

Deploying undertrained or poorly equipped forest guards into these volatile environments would be akin to sending lambs into a lion’s den. The intelligence, terrain mastery, and firepower required in such engagements go far beyond the remit of conventional paramilitary forces. You cannot send men with shotguns into a forest ruled by terrorists with RPGs. This is not hyperbole, it is a stark reality, backed by recurring video evidence of bandits showcasing sophisticated weaponry, satellite communication tools, and, in some cases, armored vehicles.

Military Might Vs. Paramilitary Prowess: A Strategic Dilemma

At the heart of Nigeria’s forest security conundrum lies a fundamental strategic mismatch. On one side is the proposal to deploy lightly armed forest guards; on the other is a threat landscape populated by insurgent groups with military-grade capabilities. Nigeria remains one of the most affected countries by terrorism, with Boko Haram, ISWAP, and multiple bandit groups shifting focus from urban bombings to rural forest insurgency.

Reports confirm that many of these groups are now entrenched in forests stretching from Zamfara to Taraba, taking advantage of limited surveillance and sluggish security response. These criminal outfits reportedly employ rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs), improvised explosive devices (IEDs), drones and night-vision equipment, a sophisticated arsenal far superior to the basic AK-47s or pump-action rifles many forest guards are expected to wield. This power disparity raises a serious question: Can forest guards, even in significant numbers, hold their ground against such adversaries?

A Desirable Narrative

The answer, quite evidently, is no, at least not alone. This does not render the forest guard model irrelevant, but it necessitates a reimagining of their role. Forest guards should not be conceptualized as primary combatants but as intelligence operatives, terrain scouts, and first responders. Their role must be complementary, not confrontational, with local guards. Embedded within local communities, they are best positioned to detect unusual movements, provide early warnings, and assist in planning police or military interventions.

Such integration would mirror the highly successful model employed by the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) in the North-East, which supported the Nigerian military in combating Boko Haram. The CJTF did not go to war with terrorists alone. Rather, they provided community intelligence, identified suspects, and enabled smoother military operations.

The same should apply to forest guards. Deployed as community embedded liaisons, their greatest strength lies not in brute force but in proximity, familiarity, acculturation and adaptability. They must work in synergy with the local guards, Army, Police, DSS, and NSCDC, ensuring that information gathered at the grassroots level informs strategic planning at the federal level.

Another vital element is equipment and communication infrastructure. In many rural areas, mobile networks are poor, and emergency communication is non-existent. Forest guards should be equipped with satellite phones, GPS trackers, surveillance drones, and bodycams. Training must include combat survival, hostage negotiation, and tactical withdrawal protocols. It’s not enough to train them how to fight; they must also learn when, where and how not to fight.

The Path Forward: A True Federal Partnership

While President Tinubu’s forest guard initiative is ambitious and well-intentioned, its execution must be shaped by constitutional fidelity, operational pragmatism, and community trust. Nigeria’s diversity requires policies that are locally adaptive but nationally coordinated. A strategic roadmap should therefore include the following:

Legislative Reform and National Forest Security Act

This act should define the parameters of forest security across the federation. It must empower states to create, manage, and control forest guard units while providing room for federal assistance in the form of funding, training standards, and interoperability protocols with federal security services. The act should also clarify jurisdictional boundaries, ensuring there’s no operational conflict between federal and state forces.

Indigenous Recruitment and Decentralized Command

Only indigenous recruits, drawn from host communities, should serve in forest guard units. This principle ensures language proficiency, cultural awareness, and community acceptance. State governments, in partnership with local traditional rulers, should drive recruitment processes, with background checks vetted by local police and DSS operatives. This will mitigate risks of infiltration by criminal elements.

Technology-Driven Surveillance Infrastructure

Equipping forest guards with modern tools is not optional; it is imperative. Drone surveillance, motion-triggered cameras, satellite-linked walkie-talkies, and forest mapping systems should be deployed. The National Space Research and Development Agency (NASRDA) and Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC) can play a supporting role in developing and deploying such technologies.
Strategic Federal Support, Not Operational Control

The role of the Federal Ministry of Environment and Office of the National Security Adviser must be clearly coordinative, not administrative. Federal agencies should support states through centralized training academies, logistics depots, and intelligence sharing platforms, but the command structure should remain domiciled in state ministries or specially created state security commissions.

Community Accountability and Oversight Boards

Every state should establish Forest Guard Oversight Committees composed of community leaders, the youth, civil society groups, religious figures, and security agencies. These committees would track operations, address complaints, and ensure that forest guards act within the bounds of law and ethics. Regular town hall reports and audits should be mandated.

Integrate Environmental Protection and Counter-Insurgency Goals

One major flaw in Nigeria’s security strategy is the siloed approach to environmental policy and national security. The forest guard initiative offers a unique opportunity to bridge this divide. Forest guards should be cross-trained in both environmental protection and tactical field surveillance, thereby serving a dual purpose: preserving Nigeria’s biodiversity while countering environmental crimes that fund insurgent activities.

Illegal logging, poaching, and charcoal trading are multi-billion-naira black-market economies that fuel insecurity in rural areas. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, environmental crimes in West Africa generate funds that are often funneled to criminal cartels and armed groups. A forest security force that understands these dynamics can better dismantle such networks.
It is imperative to partner with the Federal Ministry of Environment, Nigerian Conservation Foundation, and international organizations like UNEP to embed environmental crime detection into forest guard training modules.

Establish a Centralized Forest Intelligence Command

Given the complexity of forest based criminal operations and their links to wider terrorism and transnational crime, it is essential to build a dedicated forest intelligence infrastructure. This unit, the Centralized Forest Intelligence Command (CFIC), should be a joint inter-agency platform bringing together the Police, NCDC, DSS, Military Intelligence, Nigerian Immigration Service, local guards and Forest Guard Commanders from each state.

CFIC would use advanced tools such as geospatial intelligence (GEOINT), signals intelligence (SIGINT), and drone reconnaissance to provide real-time threat mapping, track insurgent movements, and anticipate forest-to-urban migration of threats. Such an initiative would vastly improve response time and prevent security breaches before they happen.
The CFIC should be integrated into Nigeria’s National Security Architecture under the supervision of the National Security Adviser, but operated through a state federal coordination model with joint personnel and interlinked command centres.

Promote Cross-Border Forest Security Cooperation

Given that Nigeria shares porous forest borders with Benin Republic, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon, it is vital to recognize the transnational dimension of forest insecurity. Bandits and militants frequently move across these borders, exploiting weak surveillance and diplomatic inertia.

Nigeria must lead in establishing a Regional Forest Security Pact in collaboration with ECOWAS and the African Union (AU) security platforms. This pact would promote joint patrols, shared intelligence, coordinated raids, and the establishment of joint forest monitoring stations in border regions like Borno, Taraba, Cross River, and Sokoto.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs should work with ECOWAS to initiate bilateral and multilateral forest security agreements, underpinned by joint training programs and extradition protocols for forest-based offenders.

Conclusion

Where The Trees Stand Tall, So Too Must The Constitution

In the final analysis, Nigeria’s forest guard initiative under President Bola Tinubu offers more than just a policy experiment; it presents a litmus test for the country’s commitment to federalism, local empowerment, administration and smart security strategy. The forests in question may be dense with trees, but the issues surrounding them are denser still: constitutional authority, operational viability, regional identity, and national unity.

We have seen how the forests have evolved from mere ecological zones into the dark sanctuaries of insurgents, traffickers, and mercenaries. We have seen how well meaning central interventions, if not delicately structured, can become bulldozers flattening both local agency and constitutional principles. And we have seen how a locally grounded, technologically equipped, and constitutionally-compliant model can actually work transforming the forest guard idea from a controversial headline into a security legacy.

But let us be clear, you do not fix a leaky roof by installing a chandelier. You do not solve rural insecurity with a flood of centrally deployed gunmen unfamiliar with the peculiar terrain or the tongues spoken therein. Instead, Nigeria must adopt a model that blends local trust with federal muscle, traditional knowledge with modern technology, and constitutional wisdom with operational pragmatism.

The forest is watching, as are the communities who live by it, feed from it, and now fear it. Let us ensure that the guardians we appoint are not strangers in camouflage, but sons and daughters of the soil; trained, trusted, and tethered to the trees they are sworn to protect. After all, if we cannot see the forest for the law, we may end up losing both. And in that case, the trees would not be the only casualty left standing in silence; our Democracy may also be.

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

Last week, we dealt with suspension of foreign assistance programmes as a feature of President Trump’s new policy, in the context of crucible of birthright citizenship. Today’s feature continues with same and later examine the irony of how immigrants helped make the US what it is today, with examples of the likes of Albert Einstein; Sergey Grin, Levi Strauss; Joseph Pulitzer; Rupert Mudoch, etc. We shall conclude by x-raying the concept of citizenship in the Bible. Enjoy.

THE CRUCIBLE OF BIRTHRIGHT CITIZENSHIP (continues)

Ratified in July 1868, the 14th Amendment aimed to settle many questions left open in the wake of war, emancipation, and the need to reconstitute the nation. It constitutionalized birthright citizenship, guaranteeing it to all those born in the United States, excepting Native Americans and those otherwise not subject to US jurisdiction. The clause concerning birthright citizenship was a late addition to the Amendment, one that mirrored the citizenship provision of the Civil Rights Act of 1866 and, in effect, incorporated into the Constitution that for which Congress had already provided. What were the rights of such citizens? They were protected from any state law that would abridge their “privileges or immunities,” or interfere with their “life, liberty, or property, without due process of law,” and were guaranteed “the equal protection of the laws.” Who would have thought?

The story of the 14th Amendment that regards its adoption as primarily the result of maneuvering by lawmakers draws a line from the Dred Scott decision of 1857, in which the Supreme Court deemed black American noncitizens, to the 1862 Attorney General opinion that deemed black Americans citizens enough to pilot coastal vessels, to the 1866 Civil Rights Act, which made birthright citizenship federal law and black Americans citizens, and finally to the 14th Amendment and its ratification in 1868, which constitutionalized birthright.

But as we’ve seen, the story of the 14th Amendment, and in particular its birthright citizenship provision, cannot be explained only by way of the efforts of judges and congress members. It is also a story about how black Americans discerned the need for a universal principle by which they, and indeed all those who aspired to belong to the United States, would be recognized as citizens. The birthright citizenship principle took shape in response to their need to resist the pressure to self-deport brought on by colonization schemes and black laws.

As Isaiah Wears put it during the 1869 National Convention of the Colored Men of America, only as citizens with the right to select their representatives could black Americans expect to enjoy “the right of property, in either real or personal estate, the right of residence, of personal liberty, or of life itself.” If the United States had long been a white man’s country, in 1869, after the ratification of the 14th Amendment, it was “a black man’s country” as well, Wears concluded.

Langston’s tone was neither pleading nor tentative. Instead he spoke in a seasoned voice that reflected the many years that black activists had devoted to contemplating citizenship. Just as they had set out the terms of what became the 14th Amendment’s birthright provision, black Americans were prepared to direct the nation as it began to fully contemplate what citizenship might look like going forward. Citizenship was rooted in history—such as in the nation’s founding Constitution of 1787, which had not drawn a color line. “You will administer the Government according to the principles of morals and law announced by the fathers,” Langston urged. Citizenship demanded equality, and Langston expressed “confidence” in Grant’s ability to “conserve and protect the life, the liberty, the rights, no less of the humblest subject of the Government than those of the most exalted and influential.” In essence, Langston proposed to exchange “our devotion” for the President’s “maintenance of law” and” conservation of freedom.” As citizens, black Americans defined the terms of national belonging as they forged a new partnership with the nation.

IMMIGRANTS WHO HELPED MAKE AMERICA GREAT
The success story of America would not have been what it is today but for the great contributions made by immigrant Americans, including President Donald Trump who is himself born to immigrant parents of German and Scottish descents. They have not always been “illegals” who sucked pulp, resources, lower wages and bring crime and drugs.

SOME REMARKABLE IMMIGRANTS WHOSE SWEAT HELPED BUILD AMERICA
From Nobel laureates to cultural icons and business moguls, these individuals remind us of what can be achieved when talent is welcomed and opportunity is given. Is this still the case today? Let’s sample a few.

1. Albert Einstein – Germany to the United States:

Einstein revolutionized physics, formulated the theory of relativity, and issued early warnings about nuclear weapons. His name is now synonymous with genius. He once said, “The world is a dangerous place… not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.”

2. Sergey Brin – Russia to the United States:

Co-founder of Google, Brin helped launch a technological revolution that changed how the world accesses information.

3. Levi Strauss – Germany to the United States:

Founder of the Levi’s brand, he introduced blue jeans to the world. Before that, his company made tents.

4. Dikembe Mutombo – Democratic Republic of Congo to the United States:

NBA legend and humanitarian, Mutombo built hospitals, supported education initiatives in the Congo and served as a UN Development Programme Youth Emissary.

5. Joseph Pulitzer – Hungary to the United States:

A pioneer of modern journalism and founder of the Pulitzer Prize, he also played a critical role in the preservation of the Statue of Liberty.

6. Rupert Murdoch – Australia to the United States:

Media tycoon and founder of News Corporation, Murdoch transformed the global media landscape through his vast network of outlets.
7. Liz Claiborne – Belgium to the United States:
A fashion icon and businesswoman, she was the first woman to lead a Fortune 500 company, revolutionizing fashion for working women.

8. Madeleine Albright – Czechoslovakia to the United States:

She became the first female U.S. Secretary of State in 1996 and had previously served as U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations.

9. Jan Koum – Ukraine to the United States:

From grocery store cleaner to billionaire, Koum co-founded WhatsApp, which was later acquired by Facebook for $19 billion.

10. Isabel Allende – Peru to Chile to the United States:

One of the most widely read Spanish-language authors in the world. She received the U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom and Chile’s National Literature Prize.

11. Freddy Adu – Ghana to the United States:

A soccer prodigy who signed his first professional contract at just 14, becoming the youngest player in Major League Soccer history.

12. Oscar de la Renta – Dominican Republic to the United States:

World-renowned fashion designer who dressed U.S. First Ladies and global celebrities. He served as a cultural ambassador for his homeland.

13. Steve Chen – Taiwan to the United States and Jawed Karim – East Germany to the United States:

Co-founders of YouTube, which revolutionized online video content and entertainment.

14. Arianna Huffington – Greece to the United States:

Founder of The Huffington Post and one of Forbes’ most powerful women in the world. She also once ran for Governor of California.

15. Mariano Rivera – Panama to the United States:

Legendary New York Yankees pitcher with five World Series titles. Raised in poverty, Rivera rose to become a role model on and off the field.

16. Arnold Schwarzenegger – Austria to the United States:

From bodybuilder to Hollywood star to Governor of California, Schwarzenegger’s career is a testament to bold reinvention and the power of opportunity.

The contributions of immigrants thus apan every aspect of American life. Immigration should not be a crisis. It ought to be a cornerstone of global advancement. It is a clear reminder that physical borders are not barriers to potential. We live in a world that is richer when ideas, talent and hope are allowed to move freely, unhindered by idiosyncratic centrism.

CITIZENSHIP AND IMMIGRATION IN THE BIBLE

What did God say? The Bible, as a foundational text for millions, addresses themes of citizenship and immigration in both the Old and New Testaments. Throughout Scripture, there are numerous passages that emphasize the treatment of foreigners, the responsibilities of citizens, and the divine perspective on belonging. These teachings remain relevant in discussions about immigration policies and the moral obligations of nations and individuals today.

In the Old Testament, one of the clearest examples of God’s stance on immigration can be found in the book of Leviticus. Leviticus 19:33-34 “When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not do him wrong. You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”

The New Testament expands on these themes, particularly through the teachings of Jesus and the apostles. Philippians 3:20 declares, “But our citizenship is in heaven, and we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.” This verse reminds believers that their ultimate allegiance is spiritual rather than national, promoting a broader understanding of identity beyond earthly borders. Additionally, in Matthew 25:35, Jesus teaches, “I was a stranger and you invited me in,” linking the treatment of outsiders to one’s faith and relationship with God.

These biblical perspectives suggest that citizenship and immigration are not merely political matters but moral and spiritual issues. The Bible calls for justice, hospitality, and compassion, emphasizing that nations and individuals have a duty to care for those who seek refuge. While governments must establish policies for order and security, biblical teachings remind people that the treatment of immigrants reflects deeper values of faith and humanity.

Thus, throughout both the Old and New Testaments, the Bible calls for a society that values compassion, justice, and kindness toward immigrants, while warning against the oppression of any group of people. God’s messages not only promote fair treatment of foreigners but also caution against mistreatment and exploitation, revealing His desire for a just society where the marginalized are protected and valued.

CONCLUSION
The United States has long prided itself on being a nation of immigrants, with its founding principles rooted in ideals of freedom, equality, and the pursuit of happiness. American history is a testament to the contributions of people from diverse backgrounds who sought refuge, opportunity, and a better life on its shores. These immigrants, regardless of their country of origin, have played a fundamental role in shaping the nation’s identity and strength. Given this historical context, it is essential that Judges tasked with reviewing President Donald Trump’s executive orders, particularly those affecting immigration, take into account the very essence of what America stands for. If they are truly committed to upholding the American tradition and ensuring the integrity of the nation’s Legal and ethical foundations, they will not accept those orders. At least not every one of those orders.

Moreover, American history is rich with stories of immigrants who faced adversity and contributed immensely to the country’s development. From the Irish immigrants who built the nation’s railroads to the African Americans who, despite centuries of enslavement, fought for civil rights and helped shape modern America, immigrants have always been integral to the country’s progress. To enact policies that limit entry based on nationality, religion, or ethnicity not only betrays these historical values but also contradicts the spirit of inclusion that has allowed the U.S. to thrive as a diverse and vibrant society.

Judges reviewing Trump’s executive orders should ask themselves: What kind of nation do we want to be? Do we want to continue being a land of opportunity, a place where people from all corners of the world can find safety and success? Or do we want to embrace a policy of exclusion, creating an America that is less diverse, less welcoming, and less true to the values enshrined in their very own Constitution?

If judges are genuinely concerned with upholding American history and tradition, they must recognize that these executive orders do not reflect the ideals upon which the nation was built. The U.S. has long been a sanctuary for those fleeing oppression, war, and hardship, and its laws have consistently sought to protect the rights of the most vulnerable. Any attempt to restrict immigration based on arbitrary factors such as religion or nationality not only contradicts these ideals but also tarnishes America’s reputation as a global leader in human rights and freedom.

As the legal battles over Trump’s order as it affects the current status of citizenship continue in the states and beyond, Nigerian Dreamers face an uncertain future in the United States. The inconsistencies of the position of American citizenship make it difficult for Nigerians and Africans to plan their lives. By staying informed, seeking legal aid, and advocating for long-term solutions, Nigerians can navigate this challenging landscape while hoping for a permanent solution from Congress.

The fight for a more equitable and just immigration system is not just about policy change but also about recognizing the inherent value of people from all backgrounds. It’s time for systemic change that supports the aspirations and rights of Nigerians and Africans worldwide.

Concluded…

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

Yelwata in Benue state has been drenched in blood. Last October, I launched 50 books at the same time in Abuja to mark my birthday. One of the books is titled “Blood on the Niger and Benue: Nigeria’s Grim Insecurity Situation”. Everything said in that book has just bee reenacted in Yelwata, Benue State.

In the quiet hours of Friday night, June 13, 2025, the farming village of Yelwata in Guma Local Government Area of Benue State lay cloaked in the familiar darkness of rural Nigeria. There was no forewarning, no alarm. Only sleep. Then, like a storm without thunder, horror descended.
Armed men, suspected to be killer Fulani terrorist herders, emerged from the shadows and set upon the defenceless community with brutal precision. For more than two hours, they maimed, slaughtered, burned and razed. By the time the sun rose on Saturday morning, the landscape had transformed into a grotesque tapestry of charred ruins, still-smouldering debris and lifeless bodies sprawled across crimson soil. Over 200 people were reportedly confirmed dead at the scene and the toll would rise in the days that followed, with some reports placing the number of victims at over 300. Among the dead were children, pregnant women and elderly farmers, civilians caught in the indiscriminate cruelty of a calculated massacre. I most unequivocally condemn this horror, this man’s inhumanity to man. It must never happen again. NEVER!
Witnesses recounted how petrol was doused on thatched homes before they were set ablaze. Whole families perished in their sleep, trapped by flames and collapsing roofs. The night echoed with the crackling of the burning and the screams of the wounded and the orphaned. Survivors stumbled through the darkness, scorched and bleeding, in search of refuge. At the Benue State University Teaching Hospital in Makurdi, doctors worked frantically, overwhelmed by the influx of casualties. Medical personnel issued urgent calls for blood donations as the wards filled with the critically injured, many clinging to life with little more than hope.

In a land where yam festivals should flourish, the earth has instead flourished with drunk blood. A serene and prosperous village, producing large quantity of food is now a ghost community, no thanks to deadly attacks by killer herdsmen, who pose as innocent cattle rearers.

A PEOPLE LEFT FOR DEAD: THE HUMAN TOLL

What occurred in Yelwata cannot be dismissed as a “clash,” nor cloaked in the diplomatic cowardice of euphemisms that seek to sanitize horror. This was not a skirmish. It was not a misunderstanding. It was a massacre! A premeditated act of mass violence, executed with recklessness and impunity against a defenceless civilian population, in total defiance of laws and moral conscience. The people of Yelwata have become mourners in their own homeland, dressed in black, forever gathering the bones of the innocent. The village has been painted over with the sorrow of the grieving and the brushstrokes of trauma.

Among the victims was the family of Michael Ajah, a survivor now left hollowed by grief. Ajah lost twenty members of his family in a single night! Eleven perished in one house. Eight were killed in another. The others died in the chaos, scattered across a village that now exists only in ashes. His stores were burnt. His home was destroyed. Standing barefoot in the ruins, he described how he escaped only with the clothes on his back. “This is the only thing that I have now,” he said. “There is nothing else with me.” Bature Bartholomew, Joseph Kwagh and countless others suffered a similar fate.
Apparently, prior threats had been made, as they often are, but villagers had grown used to such messages. The community had seen warnings before. And in the past, some security forces had pushed back similar threats. The villagers believed it would be the same this time. They likened it to the story of the crying wolf. They were wrong.
Let the world hear it: the peaceful people of Yelwata were not victims of chance. They were targeted. They were hunted. And they were massacred.

DEAFENING SILENCE AND DEADLY INACTION BY GOVERNMENT

The massacre in Yelwata is not just a story of blood and loss. It is a harrowing indictment of leadership failure, systemic neglect and institutional cowardice. In the face of rising tensions and repeated warnings, those entrusted with the security of Benue State and Nigeria at large chose silence. Security forces knew the fragility of peace in Yelwata. They were not blind to the pattern. From Guma to Agatu, Logo to Turan, the script has played out over and over: villages burnt, families erased, justice deferred. Yet, no preventive measures were taken. No fortified presence. No aerial surveillance. Only the eerie stillness of a nation too used to the scent of scorched earth.

When the killers struck again, it was not a surprise. It was an inevitability made possible by deafening silence and deadly inaction. The people of Benue have cried themselves hoarse, year after year, massacre after massacre. But their grief has been met with bureaucratic apathy and public relations condolences. Governor Hyacinth Alia’s response to the massacre was not merely inadequate; it was an affront. His delay in visiting the scene, his refusal to speak, tweet, or even mourn publicly until after President Tinubu’s very belated visit, has been interpreted not just as incompetence but as possible complicity. In the face of over 200 dead, the Governor offered the nation a figure of 59, thus inimizing the scale of bloodshed and insulting the graves of the murdered. What even if it were one? Instead of naming the perpetrators, he set up an investigative panel that tactfully avoided attributing blame, as if the truth was inconvenient, as if justice might provoke too much discomfort.
When President Tinubu finally arrived in Benue, the expectations of a grieving people were clear: solidarity, seriousness, swift action and restitution. What they received instead was a grotesque display of political theatre. Placards bearing the President’s image lined the roads. Schoolchildren, soaked and shivering, were forced to line the streets under a heavy downpour, waving soggy banners while mass graves still steamed in the earth nearby. What should have been a moment of solemnity turned into an unofficial 2027 re-election rally, a tasteless spectacle that traded the blood of Yelwata for photo ops. This was not condolence. This was campaign optics.
This playbook is not new. On New Year’s Day in 2017, over 200 people were slaughtered in Benue for resisting the destruction of their crops by cattle. On December 25th, 2024, as Christians marked the birth of Jesus Christ, suspected armed herders invaded Ityuluv, Tse Azege and Innyiev Ya in Kwande Local Government, killing eleven people mid-celebration. The images are consistent: corpses laid out under church roofs, burning homes, the wails of mothers who will never again hold their children. Yet from the corridors of power, the same recycled rhetoric flows: “We condemn,” “We are investigating,” “We urge calm.” But no arrests. No convictions. No justice. Just the thud of fresh bodies hitting the ground.
Even the words of comfort are now hollow. President Tinubu’s lamentations, “Enough is enough… perpetrators must be arrested… communities must dialogue”, ring with irony. Dialogue with whom? With the men who crept through the rain to burn babies alive? With those who hacked entire bloodlines to death because they were asked not to graze on people’s farmland? Dialogue implies equal grievance. This is not war. This is terrorism. Pure and simple. And to place dialogue and reconciliation above accountability is to trample on the memory of the dead.

Dr. Daudu Ayu of Yelwata captured the fury of a betrayed people when he denounced the President’s framing of the massacre as a “conflict between warring communities.” There is no parity here. The Fulani attackers were not defending; they were invading. Their aim was clear: seize ancestral lands, decimate indigenous populations and spread fear as a weapon of conquest. To reduce this to “herder-farmer clashes” is to excuse genocide with semantics.

The numbers are staggering. Since 2009, Nigeria has lost millions of lives to insurgency and herder-farmer violence. Benue alone has absorbed blow after blow, turning its farmlands into open graveyards. The government’s failure to act, its refusal to label this terrorism for what it is, has emboldened the killers. Why would they stop when they face no consequence? Why retreat when their path is cleared by political hesitation and legal paralysis?
President Tinubu’s muted outrage and calculated ambiguity do not typify exemplary leadership. They are avoidance wrapped in grammar. His failure to draw a red line, to name the aggressors, to galvanize decisive military action, makes his ambition for a second term in 2027 more than politically distasteful; it makes it morally flawed. How do you govern the living if you preside over the slaughter of the forgotten?

Each delayed response, each muted condemnation, adds one more body to the pile. For years, as statistics ballooned into genocidal proportions, the government sermonized from podiums while the fields of Benue ran red. This latest atrocity in Yelwata is not the beginning of the story, but it must be the final warning. Because if Nigeria cannot protect its citizens, if the Constitution’s promise of security and welfare is conditional on tribe, location, or silence, then it is not a nation; it is a lie, a scam.

Enough, please. Condolences do not resurrect the dead. Nor do photo-ops rebuild homes. The people of Yelwata need more than pity; they demand justice. And if this government cannot deliver it, then it must step aside for one that will. The land of yams is now the land of tombs. And history will remember who stood up and who stood back while it all burned.

TERROR HAS A NAME! CALL IT BY ITS NAME!!

According to Fr. Remigius Ihyula, a long-time witness to these cycles of violence and trauma in Benue State, this is a coordinated effort to wipe indigenous Christian communities off the map. “These Fulani militias are not just killing, they’re clearing land to claim it,” he stated in what should have been a national alarm bell. “And they’re being allowed to do it.”

The silence that follows such clarity is complicity. These attackers do not crawl out of caves. They cross state lines. Emboldened, equipped and unchallenged. From neighboring Nasarawa. Armed groups are said to find safe haven in Lafia, the state capital; yet successive Nasarawa governors have refused to act. Not out of ignorance, but from calculation. What kind of leadership turns its face away while death marches across its borders in open daylight? What kind of democracy tolerates this level of carnage and calls itself whole?

And when the few voices brave enough to speak the truth rise, they are met with digital disinformation and diversion. Fr. Ihyula has strongly condemned attempts to scapegoat the Tiv people, refuting online rumors that Tiv militias orchestrated the massacre. “There were no Tiv fighters involved,” he said. “This is a deliberate attempt to muddy the truth and shield the real perpetrators.” In a country already fracturing under the weight of ethno-religious mistrust, such deflections are more than cowardly. They are dangerous.
David Onyillokwu Idah of the International Human Rights Commission gave name to what many have been too afraid to utter. “This is what the Nazis did to the Jews,” he warned. “It’s ethnic cleansing, step by step. First, they displace them. Then they come back and finish the job.” This is not sensationalism. It is a fact pattern. Entire villages emptied. Men and women slaughtered. Children hacked to pieces. Homes razed. Crops destroyed. Entire communities transformed into ghost towns with only ashes left to speak.

And where is the state? Where is the machinery of justice, the constitutional promise of safety, dignity and equal protection? Every law in Nigeria, beginning with the Constitution, affirms that the right to life is sacred. That the state has an inviolable duty to protect it. Yet in Yelwata, life was treated like expendable surplus. Background casualty in the theater of statecraft. Amnesty International has catalogued the horrors, calling attention to the government’s complete failure to stem the tide of violence. “Gunmen have been on a killing spree with utter impunity,” it reported, warning that the mass displacement of farmers would have ripple effects on food security and economic stability. Their statement, clinical yet urgent, highlighted not only a humanitarian disaster but also the erosion of constitutional order. “Without immediate action, many more lives may be lost.” The question is: does the government intend to act, or merely wait until there are no more villages left to bury?

POLICY OR HUMANITY FAILURE

What occurred in Yelwata is not only a breach of human dignity. It is a breach of law, of the very fabric that claims to hold Nigeria together. These are not mere attacks; they are crimes against humanity. Under international law, under the Rome Statute to which Nigeria is a signatory, a systematic attack directed against a civilian population qualifies as such. Ethnic cleansing, political protection of armed militias and the use of displacement as a weapon, all point towards a dangerous descent Nigeria cannot afford. This is not just Yelwata’s burden. This is a national stain.

The issue is no longer one of mere policy failure. It is a test of our collective humanity. It is the measure of whether we, as a people, as a nation under law, believe rural Nigerian lives matter. Because every time a tactical unit is deployed after the massacre, every time officials show up after the mass burial, every time condolences are uttered while killers remain nameless and free—it tells the people of Yelwata that their blood is cheap. That their lives are expendable. That they are alone.

But the Constitution says otherwise. Section 14(2)(b) of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, 1999 (as amended), declares the security and welfare of the people to be the primary purpose of government. Section 33 guarantees the right to life. Section 34 guarantees the right to dignity. Yet in the fields of Yelwata, once alive with farming, festivals and laughter, there is now only ash, silence and death. These rights, on paper, are being buried beside the people they were meant to protect.

If Nigeria still believes in its own laws, in its own humanity, then Yelwata must not be forgotten. Their stories must outlive the silence. Their names must echo louder than the rain that hid the footsteps of their killers.

This is no longer a rural crisis. It is a national reckoning. And history is already watching.

FROM CRIES TO JUSTICE: WHAT MUST NOW BE DONE

The carnage in Yelwata, like so many before it, leaves behind more than scorched homes and mass graves. It leaves a nation at a crossroads. In the place of swift justice, we have seen a cycle of condolences without consequence. In the place of leadership, we have seen silence, sluggishness and in some quarters, chilling complicity. And so, once again, a grieving people are left to ask: must our cries be louder than gunfire before we are heard? Must the soil drink more blood before the state will act?

The Northern Senators Forum, in a rare and firm voice, echoed the frustration of a people brutalized beyond measure. Chairing the statement, Senator Abdulaziz Musa Yar’adua called upon President Tinubu to ensure that his visit to the ashes of Yelwata would not dissolve into a photo-op footnote. “What the people of Benue and indeed all Nigerians, deserve is lasting protection, not repeated mourning.” In a nation where impunity now travels in convoys, that statement carries the weight of a challenge, not a courtesy.

But lip service will no longer suffice. Nigerians are not beggars at the gate of justice. They are constitutional citizens entitled to life, dignity and safety. Yet these rights have been violated repeatedly in Benue State, a region that has endured more than its fair share of bloodletting. Rural communities have become theatres of unrelenting terror. Ungoverned spaces stalked by militias, abandoned by the state and forgotten by a government too slow to respond, too quick to excuse. Yelwata is but a metaphor of what goes on across the length and breadth of Nigeria.

This moment demands more than mourning. It demands reckoning. The Constitution empowers the President to declare a state of emergency where there is a serious breakdown of public order and a clear and present danger is presented. That threshold has long been crossed. As Sir Ifeanyi Ejiofor, Esq, rightly noted, what we are witnessing is not communal misunderstanding. It is a transnational siege. Militants from across the Cameroon border continue to pour in, slaughtering with impunity, while the federal and state governments grope in the dark of denial.
And where was the governor, the supposed shepherd of the people? Governor Hyacinth Alia, elected to protect lives, stood muted while bodies were piled. The faint whisper of his voice came days after, long after the wails of the bereaved had risen to the heavens, long after Pope Leo XIV. It is not enough to wear a cassock; one must wield courage. It is not enough to call for prayer; one must demand justice. And if political office now weighs heavier than his conscience can bear, perhaps the pulpit is where he truly belongs. The hood does not make the monk after all.

RECOMMENDATIONS

1. Immediate Deployment of Adequate Security Forces
The first and immediate line of intervention must be the swift deployment of sufficient, well-trained and fully-equipped security personnel to the affected communities. But this cannot be business as usual. Our military and other security agencies must stop operating in separated silos. What we need is joint intelligence gathering, joint operations and joint accountability. Anything less is a betrayal of the people already left exposed and bleeding.

2. Declaration of a State of Emergency in the Affected Areas
The Federal Government must now invoke its constitutional mandate under Section 305 of the 1999 Constitution to declare a targeted state of emergency in the devastated areas. This should not be done as a mere political gimmick like in Rivers State but as a constitutional necessity. Such a declaration would allow for a unified, coordinated and rapid security response, free from the red tape that has too often cost lives. It would restore public order, unlock emergency relief and send a powerful message, not just to the perpetrators, but to the bereaved that Nigeria has not entirely lost its soul.

3. Establishment of a Judicial Commission of Inquiry
A robust, truly independent Judicial Commission of Inquiry must be established to thoroughly investigate these atrocities. It must dig deep; not just into who pulled the triggers, but into who enabled them, who funded them, who looked away. Justice must be more than ceremonial. It must be seen, heard and felt. Otherwise, we embolden the next set of killers.

4. Government Assistance to Victims and Survivors
The dead must not be buried with the silence of the state. Survivors must not be left to wander with grief as their only companion. The government must offer immediate and sustained relief, medical care, shelter, financial assistance, food, clothes, relocation support and psychosocial services. Compassion must walk hand in hand with justice. Not as charity, but as a right.

5. Tackling the Root Causes: Annexation and Occupation by the Fulani Herders; Poverty, Unemployment and Illiteracy
Peace is not built on military boots alone. It is built on dignity of the human person; opportunity and hope. The structural causes of this continuous violence must be tackled. First, the government must extirpate this sense of irredentist annexation and occupation of the land of the Natives all over Nigeria by fully armed Fulani herders. The grinding poverty, monumental unemployment and educational exclusion must be confronted and dealt with boldly. These are not background issues; they are the fuel that ignite the crises. A country that fails to invest in its people will eventually have to bury them.

6. Inclusive Dialogue with Traditional Rulers and Community Leaders

Security is not the exclusive preserve of the state. It must be co-owned by the people. Traditional rulers, faith-based leaders, youth groups and local stakeholders must be at the table, not as spectators but as partners. Their voices carry legitimacy and their cooperation carries weight. The road to peace must pass through the hearts of the people who live there.

Nigeria must abandon the lie that some lives are worth more than others. Whether in Lagos or Yelwata, the right to life is not negotiable.

Justice must rise. Not as a whisper but as a national roar. For each charred body in Yelwata cries out; not for pity, but for prosecution. Not for platitudes, but for policy. Not for remembrance, but for reform. Let the government stop sermonizing and start securing. Let the Presidency remember that it was elected to protect, not to pontificate. And let the nation rise to say: enough. Not one more grave before we act. Not one more child buried before we move.

IF NOT NOW, WHEN?

I have decried this nightmare too many times. My voice is now hoarse from screaming into the void. And if I, one far removed from; a mere citizen and a conscience with pen and protest feel this ravaged, this worn, then what must be the state of mind of the grieving people of Yelwata, of Benue? What must it be to live in constant dread, to bury child after child, to rebuild only for fire to raze it again?
The people of Benue State deserve better. They deserve a government that does not look away, a system that does not delay and a nation that does not devalue their suffering. The Yelwata massacre was not just a tragic event. It was an indictment. A blistering exposure of governance gone cold and a security architecture collapsed under the weight of its own rot. It laid bare the double standards that govern Nigerian responses to violence: swifter when it affects the elite and sluggish, if not silent, when it happens in the farmlands of the forgotten.

This was not just a failure of one government. It was the betrayal of institutions. A brutal failure by Governor Hyacinth Alia, who watched from within the state without uttering a word while the ashes of his constituents cooled. A glaring failure by the Tinubu administration, that merely sent condolences before justice and optics before concrete action. A catastrophic failure by the Nigerian state itself, whose primary constitutional duty, to protect life and property, was abandoned the moment the first gunshots rang out in Yelwata.

This massacre cannot be allowed to happen again. Not under any guise. Not cloaked in politics. Not silenced by power. Not dulled by time.

We end not in quiet despair, but in thunderous resolve. This grief will not make us mute. This pain will not make us passive. The dead of Yelwata are not numbers to scroll past—they are names, families, futures. They are stories etched into our conscience.

And so we write and will monitor the implementation of our recommendations.
We will not stop until the soil of Yelwata no longer tastes of blood, but of justice. Until the lives lost become the spark for national reckoning. Until silence is replaced by outrage and condolences give way to action.