Nigeria’s leaders – past and present – owe young people more than declarations. They owe them a future where schools are safe, where farmers can work without fear, where forests are restored as shields for both the environment and national security, and where communities are not blackmailed into silence. Until intelligence becomes action, and action becomes justice, insurgency will keep coming home. Chaos will continue returning to our doorsteps. And if nothing changes, the next generation will inherit a wounded nation built not on the crimes of bandits, but on the failures of those who knew the truth and refused to act
FOR over a decade, my weekly column – published both in The Sun Newspaper, across digital platforms and recently the Pointer – has evolved into an unexpected source of inspiration for many young Nigerians. They often reach out with comments, questions, and reflections that reveal a shared hunger: the longing for a nation that finally delivers on its promise. Their curiosity and persistence have confirmed something important-the conversation about building Nigeria must no longer be a solo effort. It is time to pass the torch, to invite younger voices into this journey, and to nurture a continuity that outlives any single columnist.
This week’s column was initially slated to continue Part 3 of the series, Between Ages: Conversations That Connect. Yet, the country is facing a crisis so urgent that silence would be a failure of responsibility. Nigeria is sinking deeper into the chaos of insecurity, insurgency, and a troubling wave of “copycat” banditry. These crises are not random; they are consequences of choices made and ignored over decades. And among the least discussed, but most devastating causes, is the destruction of our environment.
Once upon a time, communities facing danger could escape violence by retreating into dense forests or distant farmlands. Nature acted as both shield and refuge. Today, that possibility has faded. Our forests have been burnt, logged, and depleted. What once offered camouflage and safety has become open savannah – exposing the very people who depend on it for protection.
During a weekly discussion with some of our young writers and readers, one of them, Chidera Melissa Onyia, decided to deepen the inquiry. Driven by her own curiosity and guided by my environmental activism, she conducted research that once again confirms a disturbing truth: Nigeria’s security challenges are not merely political battles. They are ecological emergencies born from negligence, greed, and shortsightedness.
Nigeria’s endless struggle with banditry has produced countless headlines, promises, and political declarations. Yet every now and then, a single statement cuts through the noise and exposes the depth of the nation’s insecurity crisis. That moment arrived recently during a Senate plenary when Senator Garba Musa Maidoki of Kebbi South made a startling revelation. Speaking about the tragic kidnapping of schoolgirls in his constituency, he declared with striking confidence that the identities of the bandits terrorizing the country are already known. In his exact words: “We know who they are, where they are, and what they want.”
To many Nigerians, this declaration sounded bold and even reassuring at first. But to a country that has endured kidnappings, mass school abductions, community invasions and unending ransom negotiations for more than a decade, those words raised deeper and more troubling questions. If the criminals are known, why are they still operating with such boldness? If their locations are identified, why do they remain untouchable? If their motives have been understood, why do their attacks continue to multiply? Why do rescue operations drag on endlessly while families cry into emptiness, hoping for their children to return alive?
These questions expose a truth that many citizens have whispered for years: Nigeria’s insecurity crisis is not a mystery. It is a neglected problem. This is not a matter of not knowing who the enemies are, but failing to confront them with the courage and coordination required. What Nigerians witness is not a lack of intelligence, but a lack of decisive action. Banditry thrives not because these criminals are ghosts hiding in unreachable places, but because the system confronting them remains weak, divided and, in some cases, compromised by political interests and social complicity.
For decades, the public has been told that bandits retreat into deep forests and unreachable hideouts. Governments and security agencies repeat this narrative as though the forests of Nigeria still possess the same density they had 60 or 70 years ago. Yet environmental evidence paints a very different and sobering picture. Renowned environmentalist Newton Jibunoh, who has traversed nearly all of Nigeria’s major forest regions, has repeatedly warned that the country has lost more than sixty per cent of its forest cover since independence. Thick forests that once stretched for miles have degraded into dry savannah landscapes, leaving nowhere for large criminal operations to survive unnoticed for long periods of time. The reality is that the image of thousands of bandits living comfortably in deep, untouched forests is no longer geographically or environmentally realistic.
Even in the remaining patches of forest, the lifestyle and logistics required by modern banditry make permanent forest dwelling impossible. These criminals depend heavily on drugs, supplies, communication tools, and, most importantly, reliable access to mobile networks for ransom videos, negotiations and threat broadcasts. There is hardly any natural forest in Nigeria that offers the kind of stable connectivity needed to sustain these operations. If they cannot survive solely in the wilderness, then where do they live? The answer is unsettling: they live among us. Their true safe havens are not thick trees or remote caves, but compromised communities, informal networks, and local systems that enable them. Some community actors provide access, food and protection. Others remain silent out of fear, obedience or financial gain. In places where speaking up can result in death, silence becomes a survival strategy, and fear becomes a currency more powerful than the law.
Banditry has evolved far beyond random violence. It has become a structured enterprise with recruitment models, economic incentives, and ideological manipulation. Young men are enticed with promises of wives, access to money, and even distorted religious claims about glory in the afterlife. In these criminal camps, human trafficking often becomes a resource. When the commanders run out of women within their circles, they turn to vulnerable targets, especially schoolgirls. This is not a crime born from desperation; it is a system carefully constructed around exploitation and reward. School abductions become profitable businesses. The ransom from one kidnapping funds the next attack. Every successful operation, especially one unchallenged by security forces, immediately inspires others. This creates what analysts describe as the “copy-cat syndrome,” a chain reaction of crime driven by financial incentives rather than ideology.
This is why Senator Maidoki’s statement sent shockwaves across the country. If the government already knows who these actors are, where they operate, and what drives them, then the question facing Nigeria is no longer: Who are the bandits? It is: Why has the government not acted? Why do communities remain unprotected? Why do children continue to disappear from schools? Why do families live with the constant terror of uncertainty? Why has knowing replaced acting?
Environmental experts have provided evidence. Security agencies claim to possess intelligence. Politicians admit that information exists. Yet, the cycle of violence continues. The more authorities insist they know, the more the public wonders whether knowledge has become an excuse rather than a tool. A nation cannot fight crime with information alone. Intelligence without action becomes mere observation. Knowledge without accountability becomes another form of negligence.
Nigeria stands at a crossroads where silence is as dangerous as violence itself. If government officials continue to acknowledge the problem without acting on it, criminality will become normal. Kidnappings will no longer shock anyone. Communities will adapt to paying ransom the way they once paid school fees or local levies. A whole generation will grow up believing that the state cannot protect them.
Nigeria’s leaders – past and present – owe young people more than declarations. They owe them a future where schools are safe, where farmers can work without fear, where forests are restored as shields for both the environment and national security, and where communities are not blackmailed into silence. Until intelligence becomes action, and action becomes justice, insurgency will keep coming home. Chaos will continue returning to our doorsteps. And if nothing changes, the next generation will inherit a wounded nation built not on the crimes of bandits, but on the failures of those who knew the truth and refused to act.