When defensiveness replaces accountability, condolence becomes policy and citizens pay the price.

When Donald J. Trump’s administration recently re-designated Nigeria as a Country of Particular Concern (CPC) under the International Religious Freedom Act (IRFA), the immediate public reaction was not introspection, it was outrage. Many Nigerians, including government spokespersons and loyal commentators, responded with loud proclamations of sovereignty, national pride, and firm rejection of “foreign interference.”
But behind the thunder of ultra-patriotism lies a quieter, more painful question: what truly counts for government in the face of Nigeria’s chronic insecurity? Is it optics or outcomes? The image of the nation, or the lives of its citizens?
For too long, the Nigerian state has reduced its moral and administrative response to insecurity to a ritual of condemnations, condolences, and promises of “decisive action.” The pattern has become predictable, almost mechanical. Villages are attacked, citizens are slaughtered, officials arrive to commiserate, the press carries the photos, and then silence follows.
This cycle reflects not empathy, but exhaustion of imagination. In a country where, according to National Bureau of Statistics data and independent monitors, over 614,000 Nigerians were killed between May 2023 and April 2024 in incidents linked to insurgency, banditry, and communal violence, the most visible sign of government action remains the condolence message.
A 2025 study from Benue State found that a one percent increase in insecurity correlates with a 0.21 percent decline in crop production and a 0.31 percent decline in livestock output. Across the North-Central region, farmlands are abandoned, markets destroyed, and migration patterns disrupted. According to the World Bank’s Nigeria Development Update (2024), conflict-driven disruptions may be shaving off nearly two percent of annual GDP growth, mainly through agricultural loss and investor withdrawal.
And yet, instead of urgency, we hear defensiveness, a politics of denial masked as patriotism.
The first duty of the state is the protection of life and liberty. Every condolence statement without structural reform represents, in moral terms, a broken social contract. Plato warned that justice demands courage to confront uncomfortable truth; it is easier to rally citizens around pride than to admit failure. True patriotism, therefore, is not comfort, it is correction.
Politically, Nigeria’s defensiveness stems from a fragile conception of sovereignty, one that equates criticism with subversion. A responsible state invites scrutiny, because scrutiny strengthens governance. When officials label critics “unpatriotic,” they convert accountability into disloyalty. But democracy thrives on disagreement. As Hannah Arendt reminds us, “The essence of power is the ability to act in concert.” In our context, that means the government must act with citizens, not against their questions.

Economically, insecurity is both a fiscal and developmental disaster. According to the 2024 budget, Nigeria allocated about ₦3.25 trillion to the defence and security sector, and yet the security situation remains deeply fragile. Investors are hesitant, farmers are displaced, logistics costs soar, and the economy absorbs what might be called a stealth tax: productivity falls, food prices rise and private capital shrinks. Every incident of violence adds to poverty, dislocation and opportunity cost.
The United States’ designation of Nigeria as a Country of Particular Concern underlines these realities. It is not an act of aggression but an act of observation. The U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom stated plainly: “Violent attacks against religious communities in Nigeria have become tragically commonplace.”
Rather than dispute semantics, a responsible government should examine why such a judgment is possible in the first place. For context, the CPC list includes countries such as Iran, North Korea, and Myanmar, states accused of systemic failure in protecting freedom of belief and human life. Nigeria’s inclusion should provoke institutional introspection, not shallow nationalism.
Indeed, Section 14(2)(b) of the 1999 Constitution (as amended) declares that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” When the state struggles to fulfil that duty, it is not foreign governments that shame us, it is our own record.
The performative patriotism that followed the CPC announcement reveals a deeper insecurity, not of territory, but of conscience. Across social media, government supporters accused critics of “selling out the country.” Some insisted that Nigeria’s challenges were exaggerated by Western media. Others deployed the tired defence: “We have our problems, but outsiders have no right to judge.”
This is not new. It echoes a long post-colonial reflex, the urge to defend national dignity even when dignity is not under attack. But ultra-patriotism, left unchecked, becomes political amnesia. It blinds us to suffering, normalises failure, and transforms accountability into heresy.
There is no contradiction between loving Nigeria and demanding better from those who govern it. Patriotism and accountability are not opposites; they are partners. When the government collapses them into one, citizens lose both voice and trust.
At this point, what counts should be unmistakable. For victims and communities, it is safety, justice, and the restoration of livelihoods. For the government, it must be measurable outcomes, reduction in attacks, improved intelligence coordination, transparent spending, and support for displaced populations. For citizens and civil society, it is the freedom to critique and mobilise, to remind those in power that silence is not loyalty.
A farmer in Benue does not measure patriotism by social media outrage; he measures it by whether he can return safely to his field. A trader in Zamfara does not need an American report to know her country has failed her; she knows from the emptiness of her market stalls. A pastor in Southern Kaduna or an imam in Borno does not seek sovereignty debates; he seeks protection from killers.
Nigeria must rediscover a higher form of patriotism, one grounded in truth, empathy, and responsibility. We must resist the lure of performative nationalism: the tendency to shout “we are sovereign!” while our people perish.
True patriotism demands courage, the courage to face what our statistics, our newspapers, and our collective conscience already tell us. As Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka once wrote, “The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.” Silence, today, is not golden. It is consent.
Our leaders must remember that governance is not theatre. Condolence is not a strategy. Defensiveness is not a policy. The measure of state capacity is not how loudly it rejects criticism, but how swiftly it rescues citizens from danger.
If we are to transform this moment from shame to renewal, several reforms are essential. Nigeria must begin by professionalising security coordination, establishing a unified intelligence clearinghouse to harmonise the work of the military, police, and civil agencies — since fragmented command structures breed inefficiency. Equally vital is prioritising community policing and intelligence, as data show that nearly 70 percent of rural attacks occur in areas without a local security presence; effective protection must begin at the grassroots. Defence budgeting must also become transparent and subject to independent audit, because oversight strengthens both efficiency and trust. Beyond institutional reform, restoring victims’ dignity must become central to governance: compensation, trauma care, and community rebuilding should replace the recurring cycle of condolence statements.
Finally, there is a need for civic re-education, one that teaches citizens that critique is patriotic and reminds the government that listening is not weakness but leadership.
In the end, the question before us is as moral as it is political: What counts for us as a nation?
If the answer is image, then we will continue to trade sympathy for strategy. But if the answer is life, human life, then our path is clear. We must reform, we must act, and we must listen. Nigeria does not need more speeches; it needs sincerity. It does not need louder patriots; it needs braver leaders.
As I have often said, patriotism is not blind loyalty, it is tough love. The CPC designation is not an insult to Nigeria; it is a mirror to our conscience. And if we are wise, we will look into that mirror, not to argue, but to heal.