Nigerian soldiers do not just carry the weight of a rifle and ammunition, nor the exhaustion of long deployments in hostile terrain; they carry the burden of knowing that, for all the rhetoric of patriotism and sacrifice, the nation they defend does not always defend them in return.
Across the many theatres of insurgency, terrorism and banditry across Nigeria, military and law enforcement personnel stand between chaos and order. Yet, their courage and sacrifice are too often repaid with neglect and silence.
Nigeria has been at war with itself for over a decade. What began as a localised insurgency has metastasised into a complex web of terror: Boko Haram, ISWAP, bandits, and armed militias. The violence has become routine, almost normalised.
In early 2026 alone, multiple attacks across Borno, Zamfara, and Kaduna states claimed the lives of soldiers and civilians alike. In one series of coordinated assaults, insurgents overran military bases, killing scores of troops and abducting civilians. Elsewhere, ambushes on patrol units and drone-assisted attacks on army formations revealed a disturbing evolution in the sophistication of these groups.
Behind every statistic is a soldier who did not return home. A family that received a dreaded call. A child who must now grow up without a parent. Yet, for those who remain on the frontlines, the war continues with limited resources, stretched logistics, and growing fatigue, while those at the helm of affairs live in opulence.
It is difficult to overstate the strain on Nigeria’s rank-and-file personnel. Soldiers have repeatedly raised concerns about poor pay, delayed allowances, and inadequate welfare. Some have spoken often anonymously of salaries that no longer reflect the harsh economic realities of the country, of entitlements that are either delayed or never paid and of obsolete equipment that is hardly a match for the enemy’s arsenal.
Even when official statements insist that welfare is being prioritised and reforms are underway, the lived experiences of many personnel tell a different story. The gap between policy and practice remains wide. This is not merely an economic issue. It is a question of morale.
A soldier who goes into battle uncertain about his family’s welfare is already fighting two wars—one on the battlefield, and another in his mind. When basic needs such as accommodation, healthcare and nutrition are lacking, it erodes the very foundation of military effectiveness.
History has shown that poorly supported troops are more vulnerable not just to enemy fire, but to disillusionment. During earlier phases of the insurgency, soldiers complained of lacking even basic equipment and provisions, including buying their own uniforms, leaving them feeling abandoned in the face of a determined enemy.
In the United States, however, when a fighter jet was shot down over Iran, an extraordinary rescue operation involving more than 150 aircraft and elite forces was launched to retrieve a single pilot—risking lives, assets, and escalating tensions to ensure no soldier was left behind. Yet in Nigeria, the recent killing of a senior military general in active service passed with far less urgency, reflection, or visible national mobilisation.
The Cost of Speaking Up
Reports have emerged of personnel who raise concerns about welfare, corruption, or operational deficiencies being threatened or silenced. In a system where discipline is paramount, dissent is often viewed not as a call for reform, but as insubordination. But patriotism should not demand silence in the face of injustice.
A professional military must be able to confront its internal challenges honestly. Suppressing grievances does not eliminate them; it merely pushes them underground, where they fester and grow. Without addressing these issues, the military will continue to fight a war it cannot win.
Recent developments, including the arrest and trial of military officers over alleged subversive activities, have further heightened tensions within the ranks. While discipline and accountability are essential, they must be balanced with fairness, transparency, and respect for rights. A soldier who feels unheard is a soldier whose loyalty is being tested not by ideology, but by neglect.
The most painful contradiction however lies in how Nigeria treats those who defend the state versus those who have taken up arms against it.
In the name of peacebuilding and deradicalisation, repentant terrorists are often offered rehabilitation, reintegration programmes, and support systems designed to ease their return into society or the military. While such initiatives are important and globally recognised as part of counter-insurgency strategy, they raise difficult questions when juxtaposed with the realities faced by serving and retired personnel.
What message does it send when a former insurgent appears to receive more structured support than a wounded soldier? What does it say about national priorities when families of fallen heroes struggle to access pensions, benefits, or even basic recognition? The optics and the reality are deeply troubling. We must be careful not to create a moral imbalance where violence appears more rewarded than service.
A Nation’s Obligation After the Uniform
After service, a different kind of struggle begins. Retired personnel often face delays in pension payments, inadequate healthcare, and limited opportunities for reintegration into civilian life. For those who are injured in service, the challenges are even more severe with physical disabilities compounded by insufficient support systems.
For families of the fallen, the situation can be heartbreaking. Bureaucratic hurdles and delayed compensation leave many feeling forgotten. These are not isolated incidents. They reflect systemic gaps in how Nigeria values service beyond active duty. To ask men and women to risk everything for their country is one thing. To abandon them when they can no longer serve is another.
Nigeria is not lacking in rhetoric about its armed forces. Political leaders routinely praise their bravery and sacrifice. There have been recent announcements of salary reviews and welfare initiatives aimed at improving conditions.
But rhetoric is not enough. Those who serve our country deserve to be honoured, protected, and supported. What is needed is a comprehensive, transparent, and accountable system that places the welfare of military and law enforcement personnel at the centre of national security strategy.
This means competitive and timely remuneration that reflects economic realities; guaranteed and efficient pension and compensation systems; healthcare and insurance for personnel and their families; psychological support for those dealing with trauma; clear, safe channels for reporting grievances without fear of reprisal; and structured reintegration programmes for retirees. It also means a shift in mindset from viewing welfare as an afterthought to recognising it as a core component of operational effectiveness.
Nigeria asks a great deal of its soldiers. It asks them to go where others will not go, to confront dangers most citizens will never see, and to make sacrifices that cannot be fully repaid. The least we can do is ensure that their service is met with dignity, fairness, and care.
A country that fails its defenders risks more than just low morale. It risks weakening the very institution that stands between order and anarchy. Those on the front lines are not asking for charity; they are asking for justice — to be valued not just in words but in action.
Nigeria must do better for its soldiers, for their families, and for the future of a nation that still depends on their courage to survive. We honour the courage and sacrifice of our men and women on the frontlines, whose unwavering commitment keeps our nation safe, often at great personal cost.
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
