There is a moment — quiet, almost imperceptible — when a nation’s unresolved past walks back into the room, demanding attention. Sometimes it arrives in headlines. Sometimes in court rulings. And sometimes, as Nigerians witnessed last week, it arrives in the form of a viral video: a minister, a young soldier, a piece of disputed land, and the echo of a country still learning how to breathe freely after decades of enforced silence.
I watched the clip the same way millions did — first with amusement, then concern, and finally a heaviness that sat in my chest long after the screen went dark. Because behind the shouting, uniforms, and the posturing, I could see something deeper: a nation reenacting an old trauma on a new stage.
Nyesom Wike, FCT minister, strode into the scene as a man accustomed to authority. Lieutenant Ahmad Yerima, a junior military officer but wearing the symbolic weight of a uniform that once toppled governments, stood his ground. The land was merely the backdrop. The real confrontation was between civilian power and the ghosts of military rule, both of which still live very loudly in our collective psyche.
Nigeria does not forget easily. Even when we think we have moved on, our nervous system remembers.
The theatre of authority
When Wike demanded passage, and Yerima refused, I didn’t simply see a clash of personalities. I saw two embodiments of Nigerian history colliding:
- the aggressive confidence of civilian political power
- the silent, disciplined defiance of military influence
This is not the first time land in Abuja has become a battleground. It is, however, one of the few moments when the clash was televised, dissected, shared, edited, memed, weaponised, and finally transformed into a national therapy session we did not consent to — but desperately needed.
The Northern Christian Youth Professionals (NCYP) spoke out, framing the soldier’s resistance as a “grave violation of democratic order.” Legal scholars countered that Wike acted outside the bounds of propriety and without the lawful authority needed to enter land under adverse possession. And the Minister of Defence added a final twist: the officer will face no disciplinary action.
Each statement was a mirror reflecting a different fear.
Some feared a return to military intrusion. Others feared unchecked civilian excess. Still others feared a leadership culture drifting toward impulsivity rather than constitutional grounding.
But beneath every argument, every thread, every panel discussion, there was one unspoken question:
Why does Nigeria react so intensely to any moment that resembles our past?
Because trauma unprocessed becomes trauma reenacted.
A nation triggered
In behavioural science, we describe this as historical somatic memory — when nations, much like people, carry unresolved trauma in their collective body. Sounds, symbols, and scenarios can activate old wounds.
A soldier blocking a minister may simply be a disagreement over land. But in Nigeria, it triggers 1966, 1983, 1993.
It triggers coups, decrees, disappearances, and the psychological fragility of a republic struggling to stay upright. And it triggers something else: a conversation about leadership under stress.
Trauma-informed governance requires leaders who understand that:
- heightened emotions distort decision-making,
- unresolved collective fear amplifies conflict,
- and historical memory shapes public reception more than present facts.
When Minister Wike raised his voice, Nigerians didn’t just hear the man. They heard the State.
When Lieutenant Yerima refused to move, Nigerians didn’t just see a soldier. They saw the possibility — no matter how remote — of military defiance.
Sometimes, a disagreement is never “just a disagreement.” In trauma-scarred systems, small sparks ignite old fires.
What behavioural science teaches us about moments like this
Nigeria is, in many ways, a textbook case of a nation attempting to lead while still healing. And this confrontation, minor as it may seem to outsiders, offers us four profound behavioural science reflections, each one a call to examine not just what happened, but why it matters.
- Memory shapes perception: A trauma-informed reassessment of authority
Behavioural science shows that individuals interpret conflict not based on the present moment, but through the lens of their past experiences. Nigeria must strengthen trauma-informed leadership training for ministers, security agencies, and civil servants.
CALL TO ACTION: Embed trauma-awareness modules into all government leadership academies.
- Stress narrows thinking: Leaders under pressure make reactive, not strategic, decisions
Under psychological strain, the human brain defaults to fight-or-flight responses. Leadership becomes impulsive. Nigeria must prioritise emotional regulation and stress-management development across ministries.
CALL TO ACTION: Establish mandatory emotional intelligence and regulatory coaching for all political appointees.
- Power without boundaries creates chaos: Clear protocols prevent emotional escalation
Both the minister and the soldier reacted to ambiguous authority lines. Trauma-informed systems rely on clarity, communication, and procedural discipline.
CALL TO ACTION: Review and codify the boundaries between military roles and civilian land administration in the FCT.
- Collective trauma must be addressed, not avoided: Nations heal through transparency
Silence breeds suspicion; openness builds trust. Nigeria needs a public-facing, psychologically informed inquiry into civil–military relations.
CALL TO ACTION: Launch a national Civil–Military Healing Dialogue using behavioural science frameworks.
Nigeria is at a crossroads — again. Whether this incident becomes another scar or a catalyst for healthier leadership depends on how seriously we treat the lessons beneath the spectacle.
