• Senate’s President, Godswill Akpabio

IN the evolving story of Nigeria’s democratic consolidation, few issues have provoked as much intensity as electoral reform.

The signing into law of the Electoral Act (Repeal and Re-enactment) Bill 2026 by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu marked another chapter in this journey, drawing applause, skepticism, and fierce debate in equal measure.

At the centre of this moment stands Godswill Akpabio, President of the Senate, who has consistently articulated a position that blends institutional caution with reformist intent.

His assertion that the National Assembly met “the aspirations of Nigerians, not a few people who make noise” reflects not merely rhetorical flourish, but a deeper philosophy of lawmaking anchored in constitutionalism, legislative procedure, and national peculiarities.

To understand Akpabio’s positioning, one must situate the reform within Nigeria’s broader democratic trajectory. Since the country’s return to civilian rule in 1999, electoral reforms have often oscillated between technological optimism and structural reality.

The 2026 re-enactment does not discard innovation; rather, it recalibrates it.

In defending the new Act, Akpabio emphasised that the National Assembly undertook a “painstaking” and “thorough” process, mindful of the country’s infrastructural limitations, judicial precedents, and the ultimate objective of preventing disenfranchisement.

A key flashpoint in the debate was the question of electronic transmission of results. For many reform advocates, real-time electronic transmission became symbolic of transparency.

Yet Akpabio’s argument was not against technology; it was against rigidity detached from capacity.

He consistently maintained that technology must serve democracy, not endanger it.

In a country where broadband penetration is uneven, where insecurity disrupts network infrastructure across multiple states, and where power supply remains inconsistent, embedding inflexible “real-time” mandates into statute could, in his view, expose elections to avoidable litigations and invalidation.

This perspective aligns with the constitutional role of the legislature.

The Senate does not conduct elections; it makes laws.

The responsibility for operational modalities rests with the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), which applies the law within its administrative and technical capacity.

By leaving room for INEC to determine timing and modalities of transmission, the Act reflects a respect for institutional boundaries.

Whether history ultimately vindicates every provision of the 2026 Act will depend on future elections. But as of its enactment, the legislative record reflects a deliberate attempt to harmonize innovation with stability.

Akpabio’s defense of this approach underscores his insistence that Parliament legislate for posterity, not for transient political advantage.

At the State House signing ceremony, President Tinubu reinforced this institutional clarity.

He observed that Nigeria’s elections remain “essentially manual.”

Ballots are cast manually, counted manually, and declared by human beings.

While electronic viewing enhances transparency, the core process remains human-centered.

Tinubu’s caution about broadband readiness and cyber vulnerabilities echoes Akpabio’s reasoning.

Together, their statements project a governance philosophy that privileges clarity and feasibility over performative reform.

Perhaps the most celebrated innovation in the new Act is the formal legal recognition of the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) result viewer, commonly referred to as IReV. This recognition represents a significant milestone.

For the first time since independence in 1960, electronic viewing of polling unit results is explicitly grounded in statutory authority.

Under the amended framework, results transmitted electronically—even if delayed due to connectivity issues—must ultimately reflect on the IReV portal once network is restored. This creates a verifiable digital trail that citizens, observers, and parties can scrutinize and interrogate.

Akpabio described this as a landmark safeguard against a historic problem: tampering between polling units and collation centres.

By ensuring that Form EC8A—the primary polling unit result form signed by presiding officers and party agents—feeds into a publicly accessible portal, the law strengthens accountability without discarding manual collation procedures validated by courts.

The Supreme Court’s pronouncements in post-2023 election litigation had clarified that IReV, as previously configured, was not the definitive legal record of results.

Rather than ignore this judicial interpretation, the legislature responded by integrating electronic viewing into statutory text while preserving the evidentiary primacy of signed result forms.

This harmonization of law and jurisprudence illustrates legislative maturity.Critics, including the opposition parties, alleged that the Act’s signing reflected partisan fear.

Civil society voices such as Yiaga Africa described the reform as incremental where transformation was needed. Yet even among critics, a pragmatic thread emerged.

The Civil Society Legislative Advocacy Centre and the Transition Monitoring Group urged acceptance of the law while focusing attention on demanding credible conduct from INEC.

This convergence suggests that while disagreements persist about optimal reform design, there is recognition that institutional strengthening is iterative.

Akpabio’s stance during earlier debates further illuminates his approach.

On February 8, at a public presentation of Senator Effiong Bob’s book in Abuja, he cautioned against hasty conclusions about an amendment process still underway.

His insistence that commentators wait until Votes and Proceedings were finalized before passing judgment reflects a proceduralist ethos. Legislative drafting is iterative.

Clauses are debated, amended, harmonised between chambers, and only then crystallised into final text.

By defending this process against what he termed premature media trials, Akpabio positioned himself as a guardian of institutional integrity.His critique of “retreat politics” is equally telling.

Consultative retreats, he argued, are valuable but not binding.

Final authority rests on the Senate floor, where clauses are debated and voted upon. This distinction reinforces parliamentary sovereignty within Nigeria’s constitutional framework.

It also shows a deeper democratic principle: advocacy informs lawmaking, but elected representatives deliberate and decide.

Another noteworthy provision in the amended Act concerns internal party democracy.

By empowering party members to vote directly for candidates during primaries, the law dilutes the dominance of small delegate blocs.

In theory, this broadens participation, reduces transactional politics, and enhances legitimacy.

Akpabio’s highlighting of this reform signals an understanding that electoral integrity begins within parties, not merely at polling units.

The Act also addresses scenarios where leading candidates are disqualified by courts. Mandating fresh elections in such circumstances, it prevents outcomes where significantly lower-polling candidates assume office by default.

This provision closes a loophole that had generated controversy in past cycles. In doing so, the legislature strengthens the moral authority of electoral outcomes.

The reduction of statutory notice for elections from 360 days to 300 days, may appear technical but carries practical implications.

It allows scheduling flexibility, including the possibility of avoiding sensitive religious periods such as Ramadan and Lent.

This demonstrates legislative sensitivity to socio-cultural realities—a recurring theme in Akpabio’s rhetoric about Nigeria’s peculiarities.

Opposition criticisms deserve engagement.

The PDP characterized the signing as hurried and partisan.

Yet the legislative timeline reflects deliberation across chambers, conference committee harmonisation, and eventual executive assent.

Moreover, the principle of legislative-executive cooperation is intrinsic to constitutional governance. The swift assent by President Tinubu can be interpreted not as haste but as responsiveness to parliamentary consensus.

Support from figures like Nyesom Wike reinforces the perception that the reform commands cross-sectional backing within the governing architecture.

Wike’s description of democracy as a “work-in-progress” aligns with Akpabio’s incrementalist philosophy. Reform, in this view, is evolutionary rather than revolutionary.

Central to Akpabio’s defense is the rejection of absolutism.

Mandating real-time electronic transmission in a context of infrastructural fragility could render entire states’ results vulnerable to nullification due to network outages.

He invoked comparative examples, including electoral disputes in advanced democracies, to illustrate that even technologically sophisticated systems encounter anomalies.

The lesson he draws is humility: laws must anticipate worst-case scenarios.

This caution is not synonymous with conservatism. By embedding IReV recognition in statute, the Act advances transparency beyond previous frameworks.

It creates a hybrid model—manual voting and collation complemented by electronic visibility. Such hybridity may represent a uniquely Nigerian pathway, blending global best practices with domestic constraints.

Akpabio’s rhetorical framing—distinguishing “noise” from lawmaking—has attracted attention.

While critics may interpret it as dismissive, it also speaks to a tension in contemporary democracies: the amplification of vocal minorities through media ecosystems. Legislative legitimacy, however, derives from electoral mandate and constitutional procedure.

By emphasizing the “generality of Nigerians,” Akpabio situates himself within a majoritarian democratic theory tempered by rule of law.The question of disenfranchisement further illuminates his position.

If technological failure in insecure or rural areas invalidated results, marginalized communities could bear disproportionate impact.

By allowing delayed electronic uploads once connectivity is restored, the Act seeks to reconcile inclusivity with transparency.

This compromise reflects distributive sensitivity.

In evaluating Akpabio’s stewardship, one must also consider his broader legislative philosophy.

He repeatedly asserts that laws must outlast individuals. This intergenerational perspective discourages tailoring statutes to immediate partisan contests.

Whether one agrees with every clause, the emphasis on durability highlights a statesmanlike orientation.The reactions from civil society, though critical, implicitly acknowledge the dynamic nature of reform.

Calls to continue advocating improvements indicate that the 2026 Act is part of an ongoing process. Akpabio himself has stated that doors remain open. This openness suggests confidence rather than defensiveness.

Ultimately, the measure of electoral reform lies not only in statutory text but in implementation.

INEC’s capacity, political party behaviour, judicial adjudication, and citizen vigilance will shape outcomes. Yet legislation provides the framework within which these actors operate.

By integrating electronic viewing, clarifying collation hierarchies, strengthening internal party democracy, and closing disqualification loopholes, the National Assembly has recalibrated that framework.

In positioning Akpabio in a favourable light, it is important to avoid hagiography. Democratic leadership entails contestation.

However, his consistent themes—respect for process, infrastructural realism, institutional boundaries, and posterity—form a coherent narrative. Rather than capitulate to populist maximalism or resist reform altogether, he charted a middle course.

Nigeria’s democracy, like many across the globe, navigates between aspiration and capacity.

Technological for determinism offers seductive simplicity; constitutional prudence demands complexity.

In the crucible of electoral reform, Akpabio has presented himself as a custodian of that prudence.

Whether history ultimately vindicates every provision of the 2026 Act will depend on future elections. But as of its enactment, the legislative record reflects a deliberate attempt to harmonise innovation with stability.

The broader democratic project requires precisely this balance.

Transparency without feasibility breeds litigation. Feasibility without transparency breeds distrust.

By embedding electronic visibility within a manual backbone, the Act seeks equilibrium. In championing this architecture, Akpabio aligns himself with a vision of reform that is incremental yet substantive, cautious yet forward-moving.

As Nigeria approaches future electoral cycles, the real test will be whether citizens experience greater confidence, fewer disputes, and clearer outcomes.

Should that occur, the painstaking deliberations defended by the Senate President may be remembered not as noise, but as necessary groundwork.

In that sense, Akpabio’s insistence that lawmaking differ from clamor may prove less a rebuke than a reminder: democracy flourishes not only through passion, but through patient construction of rules capable of enduring the storms of politics.

Nigeria’s Electoral Future shall have Senator Godswill Akpabio positively mentioned in its repository.

• Rt Hon Eseme Eyiboh is the Special Adviser on Media/Publicity and official Spokesperson to the President of the Senate.

By Rt. Hon. Eseme Eyiboh, mnipr

Nigerian politics is not for the faint-hearted. It is noisy, dramatic, and often unforgiving. In a space where rumours travel faster than facts and headlines are written before the full story is known, substance can easily be drowned out. Real governance — the slow, patient work of building consensus, following procedure, and making tough decisions — rarely makes for exciting news.

The tenure of Senate President Godswill Akpabio has unfolded in that same charged atmosphere. It has drawn criticism, sparked debate, and generated its share of controversy — some sincere and rooted in genuine concern, some exaggerated for effect. That is the terrain of public life in Nigeria: intense, watchful, and rarely quiet.

Yet to evaluate this leadership solely through the prism of passing storms is to overlook the structure rising beneath the scaffolding. It is to confuse the weather with the architecture. Akpabio’s defining legacy will not be found in the daily churn of sensationalism, but in something far more consequential and far less clamorous: the deliberate stabilization of the legislature and its purposeful alignment with the executive in service of national progress.

Perhaps the most critical — and least celebrated — achievement of the current Senate is the restoration of constructive collaboration between the arms of government. After years in which legislative-executive friction often stalled governance in cycles of ego and brinkmanship, Akpabio has presided over a quiet but decisive shift.

What has emerged is a more mature, problem-solving partnership anchored in the understanding that Nigeria’s challenges transcend partisan divides. Under his stewardship, the 10th Senate has fostered an atmosphere in which policymaking rises above inherited animosities, enabling a focused pursuit of national interest.

Stability has been the oxygen of this Senate. It explains the timely consideration of executive communications, the passage of complex reform bills, and ministerial screenings that have been firm without being obstructionist.

From the presiding officer’s chair, this coherence has given government a more unified voice. In a federation as intricate and delicately balanced as Nigeria, coherence is not optional; it is essential. By prioritizing unity of purpose, Akpabio has repositioned the Senate from a potential arena of paralysis to a functioning engine of reform.

The most visible dividend of this stabilized framework is legislative output. The figures speak for themselves. In two years, the Senate has introduced over 844 bills, passed more than 90, and seen over 58 receive presidential assent under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

This pace — noticeably faster than that of recent assemblies — reflects what many observers describe as Akpabio’s leadership style: one that values efficiency, transparency, and measurable results over political theatrics.

Consider the Minimum Wage Act, a reform with a distinctly human impact. The law more than doubled the national minimum wage from ₦30,000 to ₦70,000 and exempted minimum wage earners from personal income tax. This was not an abstract fiscal adjustment; it was direct relief for millions of households navigating economic pressure.

Complementing this reform is a suite of tax legislation, including the Nigeria Tax Bill and the Nigeria Tax Administration Bill. Together, they represent a structural recalibration of Nigeria’s fiscal framework. By streamlining administration, responsibly broadening the tax base, and introducing targeted relief measures, these reforms have encouraged healthier fiscal competition among states and strengthened revenue generation. Nigeria’s GDP expansion from ₦314.02 trillion in 2023 to ₦372.8 trillion in 2024 stands as one indicator — among many complex factors — of renewed economic momentum supported by legislative-executive synergy.

Beyond macroeconomic indicators, Akpabio’s legislative vision reflects a keen appreciation of Nigeria’s geopolitical realities. His focus has not been confined to national aggregates. Under his leadership, the Senate has established five Regional Development Commissions covering the South East, South West, South South, North West, and North Central zones. These commissions are designed to reduce bureaucratic bottlenecks and accelerate infrastructure and social investment in regions long accustomed to delay.

This is development with strategic intent. It signals inclusion and reassures every zone that it is not peripheral to the national project.

Equally significant is the Local Government Financial Autonomy Act, which strengthens local councils’ control over their resources. By decentralizing both power and accountability — from Kaura Namoda to Urue Offong/Oruko — the law reduces dependency and narrows the space in which petty corruption thrives.

In the sphere of human capital development, the Students Loans Act stands out. Through the Nigerian Education Loan Fund, it provides zero-interest loans to students, directly addressing one of the most persistent barriers to social mobility. It is an investment in Nigeria’s most renewable asset: the intellect and ambition of its youth.

Akpabio’s influence has also extended beyond national borders. His leadership roles in international parliamentary forums have contributed to strengthening Nigeria’s voice in global conversations on climate resilience, migration, and development. At home, he has confronted controversy with openness rather than evasion. Allegations of budget padding were addressed in plenary debate, reinforcing institutional credibility.

His support for the removal of fuel subsidies — politically risky yet economically consequential — further demonstrates a willingness to endure short-term discomfort in pursuit of long-term stability. It reflects political courage anchored in conviction.

This posture is consistent with a career marked more by continuity than reinvention. From Governor transforming infrastructure in Akwa Ibom, to Minister of Niger Delta Affairs prioritizing regional development, to Senate President stabilizing the national legislature, the thread is unmistakable. It is this consistency that has led many to regard him as among the most effective Senate President in Nigeria’s political history. The claim is not one of perfection, but of performance — an operational legislature that works, visibly and persistently.

When history eventually asks what Senator Godswill Akpabio will be remembered for, the answer may not lie in the headlines of his era. It will lie in structure. His enduring contribution is the consolidation of legislative stability — transforming the Senate from a potential theatre of obstruction into a nucleus of collaborative policymaking.

That achievement is the platform upon which all else rests. It explains why bills move, why reforms gain traction, and why noise can gradually be shaped into governance. In a polity often pulled apart by centrifugal pressures, Akpabio has chosen to function as a centripetal force — holding the center not through coercion, but through deliberate and strategic harmony

And in doing so, he has supplied what a nation in transition requires most: stability — the firm foundation upon which a more secure future can be built.

Rt. Hon. Eseme Eyiboh, mnipr, is the Special Adviser, Media/Publicity, and official Spokesperson to the President of the Senate.

By Samuel Aruwan

PROLOGUE

Nigeria is once again trapped in a familiar and dangerous cycle: confronting a grave national security threat through emotionally charged narratives, partisan framings, and poorly differentiated solutions that blur the line between grievance and criminality.

The armed banditry plaguing Northern Nigeria—particularly across the North-West and parts of the North-Central—has generated an avalanche of commentary for and against dialogue with bandits. While supporters of dialogue are often cast as well-intentioned, their opponents frequently argue that such a stance is insensitive to the victims of banditry.

This essay intervenes in that conversation. Its purpose is not to provoke a sterile debate between advocates of ‘dialogue’ and proponents of ‘kinetic action,’ nor to dismiss non-kinetic tools wholesale.

Rather, it seeks to interrogate the assumptions, misdiagnoses, and conceptual errors that increasingly shape public discourse on banditry, often in ways that undermine Nigeria’s national security rather than strengthen it.

What is urgently required is clarity of threat, precision of categorisation, and discipline in policy response.

Banditry in Northern Nigeria is neither monolithic nor reducible to a single narrative of grievance.

Treating it as such—through emotional understanding, ethnic profiling, or indiscriminate calls for amnesty—risks legitimising violent criminal enterprises, emboldening perpetrators, and eroding the state’s monopoly over the use of force.

Author’s Background

I write neither as a passive observer nor as a theorist detached from the theatre of violence.

Before entering public service, I spent over a decade as a journalist covering conflict and insecurity in Northern Nigeria.

I later served as Spokesperson to the Government of Kaduna State and pioneer Commissioner of Internal Security and Home Affairs.

For nearly a decade, I was a member—and later Secretary—of the State Security Council, actively involved in security operations, liaison between the Government of Kaduna State and security forces, coordination of intelligence gathering and internal security, among other responsibilities.

Bandits Frontline Areas

My work took me repeatedly into frontline areas: Birnin Gwari and its adjoining corridors; the forests and flashpoints of Zamfara, Katsina, and Niger States; and into out-of-reach locations in Chikun, Igabi, Giwa, Kajuru, Kachia, Kagarko, Kauru, Kubau, and other high-risk zones across the state and beyond. My submission is, essentially, a summary of the practical knowledge from my involvement.

Banditry in Northern Nigeria today is not primarily a grievance-based phenomenon seeking political redress.

It is a violent, profit-driven criminal ecosystem that has evolved into a quasi-corporate enterprise, with diversified revenue streams, transnational arms supply chains, and entrenched leadership structures.

To treat it otherwise is to misread the threat.

Banditry is not new to Northern Nigeria. Historical accounts trace cattle rustling and armed robbery as far back as 1891 around Dansadau, where some traditional rulers were accused of colluding with bandits.

From Cross -Border to Rural criminality

Cross-border criminality involving some Tuareg, Fulani, Gobirawa, and Asebenawa actors existed during the colonial period, but these activities were limited in scale and lethality, constrained by the absence of widespread small arms proliferation.

The contemporary mutation of banditry emerged gradually but decisively in the post-2011 period.

What began as rural criminality—cattle rustling, highway robbery, and communal disputes—metastasised into mass kidnapping, village annihilation, sexual violence, arms and drug trafficking, territorial control, and many other challenges.

The turning point was not merely grievance but weaponisation: the transition from sticks and swords to pump-action rifles and, eventually, AK-47s and other high-calibre weapons.

First modern bandit gang

Scholarly work, including that of Dr. Murtala Rufai, identifies Alhaji Kundu and Buhari Tsoho (Buharin Daji) as architects of the first modern bandit gang.

Their operations expanded rapidly across Zamfara and neighbouring states, eventually spawning over 120 gangs by 2021.

Between 2011 and 2021 alone, these groups reportedly killed over 12,000 people, displaced tens of thousands, destroyed entire villages, and stole hundreds of thousands of livestock.

Crucially, the early victims of modern banditry were Fulani herders whose cattle were rustled en masse by bandits of the same Fulani extraction.

Eventually, these legitimate cattle owners resorted to self-help by also acquiring low-calibre weapons to protect their livestock from being rustled by the bandits, as police and traditional rulers’ interventions failed and the authorities turned a blind eye—not seeing the dangers ahead and just perceiving the development as usual intra-Fulani herders feud. In return, because of their contacts and resources, the bandits started acquiring automatic weapons and overpowered these legitimate cattle owners and massively rustled their cattle.

It also got to a stage where bandits were kidnapping these cattle owners and demanding herds of cattle or its equivalent in cash as ransom.

Many cattle owners who had no herds of cattle to present nor money to pay as ransom were killed, and some of their daughters and wives were forcibly taken as sex slaves.

This trend impoverished these owners, driving many of their kin to join banditry to recover stolen cattle.

Others joined gangs like the ‘Kungiyar Gayu’ to demand pastoral unity and justice in response to cattle rustling, extortions, allegations of injustices by local traditional rulers, police partialities, politicians, local court corruption, and other abnormal practices that exposed them to extreme poverty without a source of livelihood.

Some were also brainwashed by bandits to join banditry in the name of resisting a perceived agenda against their ethnicity in view of social discrimination and stereotyping.

The Kundu and Tsoho’s gang

As I have previously argued, the first main targets of Kundu and Tsoho’s gang were the legitimate Fulani cattle owners.

Once they were finished with them, they turned to rustling the farming cattle (Shanun Huda) of Hausa farmers, alongside killings, kidnappings, gender-based violence of the Hausa women, confiscation of properties, and the destruction of farms.

In response, Hausa farming communities formed volunteer groups, commonly referred to as ‘Yan-Sakai’ or ‘Yan-Banga’.

The excesses of these volunteers—generalising and categorising all Fulani, including herders who were also victims, as complicit—drew a dangerous ethnic battle line.

The rural Fulani herders could no longer access towns and markets, while Hausa farming communities could not access their farms deep in the forest.

Markets became inaccessible. Farms were abandoned. Forests became battlefields.

This development set in motion killings and counter-killings, even as cattle rustling intensified.

Kidnapping for ransom

In the midst of this, kidnapping for ransom emerged, with bandits carrying out abductions and the ‘Yan-Sakai’ organizing counter attacks—excesses that affect the innocent based on shared ethnicity.

This dynamic further compounds the crisis, as aggrieved innocents seek vengeance, since there is no justice system to dispense justice, while the bandits and ‘Yan-Sakai’ pursue their own, parallel cycles of retribution.

The ‘Yan-Sakai’ killing of a Fulani leader, Alhaji Isshe of Chilin village in Maru Local Government Area of Zamfara State—an event recorded as occurring on 16th August 2012—marked a decisive escalation.

As Rufai noted in his thesis, they carried out the public murder on the accusation that he was harboring criminals and rustlers. Reprisal followed reprisal.

What began as criminality hardened into an ethnicised cycle of violence, even as bandit gangs expanded operations against all communities regardless of identity.

By the time the government acted, the criminality had become entrenched across several centres of gravity in Zamfara State and neighbouring corridors. Kidnapping and attacks intensified around 2013 and resurged in 2016 across Zamfara, Kaduna, Katsina, Kebbi, Sokoto, Niger, Plateau, and Benue.

A major obstacle to an effective response has been the tendency of some media sections to fracture the banditry narrative along ethnic and religious lines: one story for Zamfara and Katsina, another for non-Hausa communities in Plateau and Benue.

The Tiv and The Fulani

The criminality perpetrated by the bandits—for instance, in Benue and Plateau states—further ignited the long-standing farmers-herders, land-grabbing, and indigene-settler tensions and crises, which usually take on religious and ethnic dimensions because the farmers are largely non-Fulani Christians while the herders are Fulani Muslims.

This escalation occurred despite a positive history of Fulani-Tiv and Fulani-Berom relations built on complementary farming and pastoralism over time.

The good side of Tiv and Fulani brotherhood was well captured by Akiga Sai (1898-1959) in his book ‘History of the Tiv’.

The exact passage is: “Besieged with animosity from their neighbours, the Tiv pulled out from their neighbors, the Tiv pulled out from their midst and migrated north-east, if one uses a modern compass, until they met with another alien group called Fulani and mingled with them. The Fulani never troubled them by interfering with their way of life.

They formed close bonds with each other. In case of any attack by another group, the Fulani would easily repel such an attack.

The Tiv marvelled at the dexterity with which the Fulani fought and defeated aggressor ethnic groups and nicknamed the Fulani pul, meaning ‘conqueror’ in the Tiv language.”

Akiga Sai was a man of historic firsts.

He was the first Tiv man to declare himself a Christian in 1912 and was among the first group of four to be baptised in 1917.

He became the first Tiv to read and write, edited the first Tiv newsletter (Mwanger u Tiv) published by the Gaskiya Corporation, served as the first Tiv elected politician in the Northern House of Assembly, was one of the delegates sent to the London constitutional conference in 1953, and authored the first book ever written by a Tiv person.

He completed the Tiv language manuscript for his book, ‘History of the Tiv’, in 1935. An edited English translation by Rupert East was first published by the International African Institute in 1939 under the title ‘Akiga’s Story: the Tiv tribe as seen by one of its members.’

Ethnic Conflicts in Plateau State

In a separate 2016 article on Nigerian linguistics, the scholar Farooq Kperogi notes: “Again, although the Fulani and the Berom of Plateau State see themselves as belonging to the furthest poles of northern Nigeria’s political and cultural divide, especially in light of the recent internecine ethnic conflict in Plateau State, they not only belong to the larger Niger Congo language family (to which many languages in central and southern Nigeria belong); they actually belong to the same Atlantic Congo subfamily of the Niger Congo family.”

These historical and linguistic ties underscore how the contemporary framing of conflict along rigid ethnic lines is dangerous, one that bandits and partisan narratives exploit.

Much as there’s a problem, the better part of the past can be used in reframing narratives to halt bloodshed and exploit the strengths of diversities and the ubiquitous of all humans.

Furthermore, the fact that banditry is perpetrated by criminals whose ethnic identity is traceable to Fulani has exacerbated the problem.

I have argued elsewhere that, despite the symbiotic nature of banditry and farmers-herders conflicts, there is a fundamental difference between the two; and all parties (farmers and herders communities) are ultimately victims of the banditry perpetrated by these criminals and their collaborators who are driven by economics and terror.

The book ‘The Root Cause of Farmers-Herders Crisis in North Central Nigeria’ by Plangshak Musa Suchi and Sallek Yaks Musa explores this problematic nexus in greater detail.

Media Reportage

The media’s selective framing fuels polarization and obscures the underlying criminal logic that drives the violence. Banditry is not tribal or identity-based violence but a form of terrorism and criminality perpetrated by criminal elements who must be viewed and treated as such.

Ethnic profiling weakens the collective battle against crime, complicates counter-banditry campaigns, and strengthens the bandits’ emotional narratives.

At its core, contemporary banditry is sustained by money.

What began as cattle rustling evolved into a sophisticated criminal economy with multiple income streams: ransom payments, cattle sales, arms trafficking, illegal mining, protection levies, forced taxation, mercenary killings, drug peddling, and collaboration with transnational criminal networks across borders.

Some kingpins transitioned from field operations into full-time arms dealing, supplying weapons not only to their own gangs but to other criminal actors. In certain forest corridors, weapons became easier to obtain than food.

Bandits Shadow Goverance

The accumulation of wealth allowed bandits to establish shadow governance structures in ungoverned spaces and thrive in their lucrative enterprise of crime.

Faced with mass casualties and public pressure, several state governments in the past turned to dialogue and peace accords.

Early attempts at negotiation were documented, such as a reported meeting with the bandit leader Buharin Daji at Gobirawa Chali village in December 2016.

Zamfara, Katsina, and others experimented repeatedly with negotiations, arms surrender ceremonies, and promises of reintegration.

Key events include a peace agreement in Katsina on 15th January 2017, a major surrender ceremony in Zamfara on 16th December 2019, and another peace accord enacted by the Zamfara state government in 2019.

Each time, violence temporarily subsided—only to return with greater ferocity.

Former Governor Aminu Bello Masari’s frustration was telling: peace accords rarely lasted beyond a few months. Bandits regrouped, rearmed, and resumed operations.

In Kaduna State, an attempt to suggest dialogue was rebuffed, and the state maintained an outright rejection of negotiation—a stance hardened by major attacks in 2021 and 2022.

This position stemmed from a hard-earned assessment: financially incentivised criminals have little reason to abandon lucrative violence. Dialogue is not inherently wrong. Its error lies in misapplication.

A central failure in Nigeria’s discourse is the refusal to distinguish between categories of armed actors involved in the banditry cycle.

There exists a group of low-risk non-state actors: individuals who armed themselves defensively after suffering attacks from bandits or vigilantes, as earlier discussed.

They do not engage in predatory kidnapping but in violence associated with the repercussions of attacks and criminality perpetrated by bandits.

These actors and communities can be engaged through dialogue, disarmament, and state protection, alongside an emphasis on recourse to the law and the avoidance of stereotyping that creates chains of serial attacks and counter-attacks resulting in killings and displacement while banditry flourishes.

But there is a second group: heavily armed, profit-driven bandit networks responsible for mass killings as hired mercenaries; serial kidnappings of students, citizens and expatriates; cattle rustling; attacks on schools and hospitals to cripple education and healthcare service delivery; attacks and killings of worshippers at mosques and churches, as well as at markets, farms, and rivers during fishing; the burning of communities and territorial control; the displacement of communities; the enslavement of community members to run errands and service their logistical needs for petrol and food; and the conscription of others from these enslaved communities into armed banditry and other related crimes.

They impose protection levies on communities and levies for the clearing of farms, farming, and harvesting.

They engage in armed robbery, maintain informant networks that aid targeted kidnappings, and coerce communities to place their wards on routine sentry duty to report security force movements while forbidding them from volunteering information or responding to official inquiries—a directive enforced by the threat of execution.

They are also involved in illegal mining, procuring and trafficking in arms and drugs, carrying out joint operations and fusing with ideologically based terror groups, attacks on critical national infrastructure, and gender-based violence, including the impunity with which they make minors and married women into sex slaves, and attacks on security forces—carting away arms and committing other forms of violent attacks for monetary gain and objectives that undermine national security and Nigeria’s sovereignty.

These actors operate criminal franchises.

Kid-glove approaches

Appeasement or kid-glove approaches only strengthen them, as practical study shows they rush to embrace truces when weakened by the coercive power of the state, buying time to restock and rebalance their armoury.

Within this category are those they conscripted; if these individuals surrender voluntarily and give up their arms, it should be honoured while they are profiled, further disarmed, and processed as guaranteed by law and protocols.

Advocates of dialogue

Advocates of dialogue often underestimate the intelligence advantage held by security agencies.

Lawful interception, human intelligence networks, and post-operation verification provide a far clearer picture of bandit intentions than any forest-level engagement.

For those familiar with security management trends, these capabilities provide intelligence agencies with crucial advantages.

They enable the collection of real-time details and background intelligence on armed groups, putting strategic communications, tactics, and decoys at the agencies’ fingertips—all without the knowledge of the groups themselves or of the commenting public.

Bandits stage theatrical performances for emissaries: choreographed displays of arms, rehearsed grievances, emotional appeals.

These are psychological operations designed to conceal their real motive, which is fundamentally criminal and nothing more.

What emissaries hear is not truth—it is an emotional narrative, as many advocates do not engage in post-intelligence verification that security agencies conduct and from which they glean actionable intelligence.

From Maitatsine, Boko Haram, and now banditry

Nigeria has paid dearly for ignoring early warning signs: Maitatsine, Boko Haram, and now banditry.

Each followed the same trajectory—dismissal, appeasement, escalation, catastrophe. Recent statistics underline the cost.

Banditry Statistics

According to a report issued by the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) in December 2024, which calls for deeper reflection on the economy of banditry, between May 2023 and April 2024, the nation recorded more than 600,000 deaths from insecurity, with 614,937 citizens killed nationwide.

The North-West had the highest figure with 206,030, followed by the North-East with 188,992, while the least was recorded in the South-West at 15,693.

The Bureau, in the said report which has not been countered, added that 2,235,954 Nigerians were kidnapped and a total of ₦2,231,772,563,507 (approximately $1,438,040,707) was paid in ransom.

The report stated that the North-West remained dominant in Nigeria’s kidnap-for-ransom landscape, recording 425 incidents, or 42.6 per cent of total cases nationwide.

The region also accounted for 2,938 victims, representing 62.2 per cent of all abducted persons.

This report and the recent one issued by SBM Intelligence in December 2025 are worrisome, presenting a clear scenario and a sign that the nation must tread with caution.

Banditry in Northern Nigeria is not a misunderstanding to be resolved through sentiment and politicking.

It is a national security threat that demands conceptual clarity, differentiated responses, and state resolve.

Dialogue has a place—but only where actors are willing to genuinely disengage.

Criminal enterprises masquerading as aggrieved must be confronted with lawful, proportionate, and decisive force. Nigeria’s future security depends not on emotional understanding, but on strategic honesty.

To move forward, Nigeria must formally abandon the tendency to treat “bandits” as a single category.

A National Threat Differentiation Doctrine

A national threat differentiation doctrine should be adopted across federal and state security architecture, clearly distinguishing between low-risk armed non-state actors, who are defensive and grievance-driven, and high-risk entrepreneurial bandit networks, which are profit-driven, transnationally connected, and heavily armed criminal franchises.

This distinction should guide who may be engaged, who must be disarmed, and who must be confronted with the might of the state.

If emotional narratives continue to override intelligence, law, and experience, the country risks repeating the very mistakes that produced its gravest security catastrophes

Without this clarity, dialogue and force will continue to be applied blindly, with counterproductive results.

Dialogue, reconciliation, and reintegration

Consequently, dialogue, reconciliation, and reintegration must be surgically applied, not morally universalised. Engagement should be limited to individuals who do not engage in kidnapping for ransom, do not command armed groups, have no history of mass killings or sexual violence, and are willing to submit to biometric registration, vetting, and monitoring.

Such processes must be embedded within formal Demobilisation, Disarmament and Reintegration (DDR) frameworks, not ad hoc political expediency arrangements. Any negotiation with high-value bandit leaders constitutes strategic appeasement and should be reconsidered.

Bandit Economy

The bandit economy survives on cash flow.

Therefore, payments by communities for “peace,” protection, access to farms, mining, or ceasefires must be officially discouraged because they are indirect terror financing and a source of oxygen for the crisis.

Community Protections

Communities must be protected so that survival payments and ransom do not become their only option, and networks in communities involved in ceasefire payments or facilitation ought to be dismantled.

Ending violence requires cutting revenue, and no line enabling or sustaining a revenue source should be taken lightly.

For entrenched, profit-driven bandit groups, force must be lawful, precise, relentless, and intelligence-led. Operations should prioritise command nodes, arms supply chains, logistics corridors, financial intermediaries, and forest-based staging areas.

This is not collective punishment; it is targeted state enforcement of the monopoly of violence.

The Kaduna-bound train attack of 2022 and similar incidents demonstrate a dangerous convergence between bandit networks and ideological terrorist elements.

Nigeria must treat this convergence as an early-stage insurgency risk, disrupt funding overlaps, shared training, and weapons transfers, and prevent bandit networks from evolving into full-spectrum terrorist organisations, as happened with Boko Haram.

History shows the cost of ignoring this phase is catastrophic.

Bandits thrive where the state is absent. Security operations must be followed immediately by permanent security presence, the reopening of schools and health facilities, the restoration of markets and rural livelihoods, and the reinstatement of administrative control through courts and civil authority. Clearing operations without holding and governing will only recycle violence.

Furthermore, the state must lead a deliberate narrative reset.

Official communication should describe banditry as criminal violence—a threat to the common good that must be addressed.

Wrong Media Profiling

Media framing that profiles entire communities must be actively discouraged, and law enforcement actions must be visibly even-handed. While community self-defence emerged from necessity, its excesses escalated violence.

The security outfits being established by some states must be regulated and trained in human rights and rules of engagement, placed under clear legal authority, and held accountable for abuses. Unregulated activities compound the crisis and fuel cycles of attacks.

Nigeria’s history—Maitatsine, Boko Haram, now banditry—reveals a pattern of ignored warnings. Intelligence assessments must translate into early action, not delayed consensus.

Political hesitations

Political hesitation in the face of clear threat indicators must be treated as a national security failure. Prevention is always cheaper—in lives, legitimacy, and resources—than containment.

Conclusion

Finally, Nigeria must stop debating banditry primarily as a sociological misunderstanding.

It is a violent criminal economy, and a threat to national security and all the negative consequences earlier discussed.

The central lesson from the foregoing is simple: If emotional narratives continue to override intelligence, law, and experience, the country risks repeating the very mistakes that produced its gravest security catastrophes.

• Aruwan is a postgraduate student at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria.

aruwansamuel@aol.com