By Bulus Y. Atsen, Esq.
Nigeria’s new Minister of Defence is new in title, not in terrain. He assumes office already fluent in the system he has been asked to reform. That familiarity is both an advantage and a burden. The country will measure him not by intention, but by whether he can change outcomes long assumed to be fixed.
Nigeria’s security crisis is no longer defined simply by guns, checkpoints or uniforms. It is defined by trust and by its erosion. What the country now confronts is violence that has moved beyond the language of insurgency or conventional crime. Carl von Clausewitz observed that war is a continuation of politics by other means. In Nigeria, insecurity has begun to resemble governance by violence. Armed groups tax communities, control territory, negotiate ransoms and decide movement. The Defence Minister is therefore not confronting a single enemy, but a broken social contract: the strained relationship between the state and the people it exists to protect.
Nigeria’s security architecture was inherited rather than designed, with a measured philosophical evolution away from its origin. From the colonial era through independence, it was built for a centralised state facing conventional threats. The 1963 Constitution reflected this assumption, placing security within a federal framework that presumed cohesion and limited internal fragmentation. The 1979 Constitution, shaped by military rule, reinforced central control over the armed forces, reflecting fears of secession and disorder rather than contemporary dispersed internal threats.
By the 1999 Constitution, Nigeria recommitted to democracy but retained much of the same security logic. Section 14(2)(b) declares that the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government. Yet practice has drifted from promise. The constitutional focus on national security has not been matched with equal attention to community trust, local intelligence and civilian cooperation as pillars of effective defence.
Nigeria’s challenge is not merely that the enemy is within, but that force has been applied without resolving the conditions that sustain violence. Sun Tzu warned that the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. Nigeria has fought extensively, yet the underlying drivers of conflict remain. Operations succeed strategically, but often fail tactically, revealing a strategic defect. Intelligence failure at the implementation level, weak local trust and unresolved grievances continue to regenerate violence.
Recent data support this diagnosis. The Nigerian Bureau of Statistics Crime Experience and Security Perception Report 2024 indicates that a significant proportion of households experienced at least one form of crime within the reporting period, while public confidence in security agencies remained low. The report also notes that fear of crime is widespread, even among those not directly victimised. This perception gap is as damaging as the violence itself.
Banditry illustrates the problem. It is often treated as a crime in isolation. It is not. It is a method. It functions as a cover for deeper criminal economies: illegal mining, arms trafficking, kidnapping markets, cross-border smuggling and organised extortion. A response focused only on armed confrontation addresses symptoms while leaving structures intact.
Sun Tzu also warned that knowing the enemy begins with understanding the nature of the war being fought. Nigeria is not engaged in a traditional war. It is confronting organised criminality operating in spaces created by weak institutions, slow justice and public distrust. Force alone, therefore, struggles to deliver sustainable outcomes.
One visible consequence of this distrust is the rise of opportunistic self-help actors. Across several states, informal negotiators and vigilante groups now claim to mediate kidnappings, arrange ransom payments and guarantee outcomes. They present themselves as filling a vacuum. Many exploit it. Their growth reflects a declining confidence in official channels to deliver timely rescue or accountability.
This is not only a criminal issue but a sociological one. When families turn to unregulated intermediaries in moments of crisis, they are expressing a loss of faith in the state. Parallel power centres emerge. Incentives distort. Criminal activity becomes normalised rather than deterred.
Thucydides opined that societies decay when fear replaces trust in public institutions. Nigeria has reached that point in parts of the country, not because law is absent, but because it is inconsistently felt. Forceful eviction and reoccupation of local communities, and ransom negotiations rather than rescue, are not just a loss of sovereignty, but a pledge of allegiance.
The correctional system offers further evidence. Official figures show that Nigeria’s custodial centres operate far beyond capacity, with occupancy levels exceeding 150 percent nationwide. Many detainees are awaiting trial. Overcrowding strains resources, weakens rehabilitation and reinforces public perception that enforcement prioritises arrest over investigation. This runs counter to the Administration of Criminal Justice Act, which emphasises efficiency, proportionality and the reduction of pre-trial detention.
The courts have repeatedly warned against this culture. In Eda v. Commissioner of Police (1982) 3 NCLR 219, the court held that arrest should not be used as a tool of oppression or investigation. Policing that arrests before investigating undermines legality and public cooperation.
At the centre of the Minister’s task is legitimacy. Security in a constitutional democracy rests on the idea that coercive power is exercised in service of civilian life, not in substitution for it. Soldiers are trained for combat and territorial defence. They are not designed to administer civilian society or resolve routine criminal disputes. Where military force drifts into daily civil affairs, it signals institutional failure elsewhere.
This distinction matters in practice. When communities encounter a uniformed force, where they expect lawful process, cooperation declines. Ambiguity corrodes discipline. Morale within the armed forces suffers when deployments lack clear legal boundaries or public support. Professionalism erodes not from malice, but from uncertainty.
Clear mandates, defined roles and respect for civilian authority protect both the soldier and the citizen. Dwight Eisenhower cautioned that leadership produces results through people, not over them. A security policy that ignores this principle invites resistance rather than compliance.
The Defence Minister’s familiarity with the system places a duty on him to realign roles rather than expand them. His task is to ensure security institutions operate with civil authorities, not as substitutes for them. State resources must target criminal networks rather than political anxieties. Justice must flow from institutions, not bargaining power or desperation.
Helmuth von Moltke observed that strategy is a system of expedients. Nigeria does not need spectacle. It needs coherence. Security policy and implementation must reflect social realities and rebuild confidence patiently.
The Minister is not new to Nigeria’s security story. That may prove decisive. If experience translates into reform, power into restraint, and force into legitimacy, he will have achieved the convergence of strategic and tactical successes. He will have begun the harder work of renewing the terms of the social contract, restoring faith in the idea that the state exists to protect.
Insecurity thrives where law feels distant, and trust runs thin. The task ahead is to bring both back within reach.
Bulus Y. Atsen, fsi, Esq., is a legal practitioner and a Fellow of the Security Institute. He can be reached through [email protected].
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
