How internal sabotage, institutional rot, and foreign scrutiny undermine Nigeria’s sovereignty and credibility.
Given all the conversation around security, insecurity, the alleged Christian genocide, and the multiple conflated narratives emerging from the face-off between Minister Nyesom Wike and Navy Lieutenant A.J. Yerima, the issue of the security saboteurs who denied Nigeria the opportunity of international support in rescuing the Chibok girls in 2014 should not be allowed to fall through the cracks. It goes to the very root of our national credibility and institutional decay. The moral and operational breach that Professor Akinyemi described is not just history; it is a mirror reflecting how internal betrayal continues to undermine national sovereignty, global partnerships, and public trust in our security institutions.
According to Professor Akinyemi:
“When the Chibok girls were picked up by Boko Haram … the Americans came in quietly at the invitation of the Jonathan administration … They discovered the camp … and they said, all right, we will throw gas into those camps … The Americans sent the reconnaissance aircraft … what did they find? Boko Haram militias were wearing masks; which means somebody within the Nigerian army had leaked to Boko Haram what the plan was. The Americans pulled out. They were not going to subject their troops to this.”
— Prof. Akinwande Bolaji Akinyemi on Arise “Morning Show” programme on Tuesday November 11, 2025
Akinyemi’s revelation remains one of the most disturbing illustrations of how the Nigerian state has become its own saboteur. It exposes a nation in which the line between patriot and betrayer is blurred, where decay within institutions is as dangerous as the insurgents outside them. This episode reveals a philosophical failure of collective morality, a political collapse of institutional discipline, and an economic burden that continues to erode national credibility and external confidence. It underscores how moral compromise within governance structures weakens diplomacy, drains investor trust, and fuels the cycle of insecurity that perpetuates underdevelopment. In essence, it is a sobering portrait of a state trapped in self-inflicted paralysis, unable to reconcile its ideals with its realities.
The Chibok betrayal speaks to a broken social contract. The state exists, first and foremost, to protect life and community. When it fails to do so, worse still, when its own institutions compromise such efforts, it forfeits its moral authority. A state that leaks the coordinates of its own rescue mission cannot credibly claim to be sovereign. This is the tragedy of Nigeria’s moral corrosion: citizens no longer trust that those in uniform or in power will act in the nation’s best interest. Patriotism becomes a private virtue rather than a public creed. The foundation of civic trust, which underpins every functional state, is eaten away from within. And when moral legitimacy collapses, the symbols of statehood, the flag, the anthem, the constitution, lose their unifying force. Cynicism replaces faith, self-preservation overtakes duty, and the idea of Nigeria itself begins to fracture. True sovereignty, therefore, cannot rest on military might or constitutional form alone; it must be anchored in moral integrity and a collective belief that the state stands for justice, fairness, and protection of all citizens.
Akinyemi’s account underscores how far Nigeria’s security institutions have drifted from professionalism. Internal compromise is not a one-off event; it is systemic. The infiltration of the armed forces and the politicisation of intelligence have made it nearly impossible to conduct joint operations with credibility. In the Chibok case, the Americans did not withdraw because of fear, they withdrew because of mistrust. Trust is the ultimate currency of international security cooperation, and Nigeria spent it recklessly in that instance.
The reverberations of that mistrust are visible even today. When U.S. President Donald J. Trump recently declared that America could consider deploying troops or conducting airstrikes in Nigeria, he was not merely making a provocative statement — he was reflecting a deep-seated perception that Nigeria’s institutions have failed to maintain internal control. Nigeria’s measured response, reaffirming its sovereignty while expressing willingness to cooperate on counterterrorism, was diplomatically sound but strategically constrained. Yet beneath that restraint lies a bitter reality: a country that cannot police its own command structure invites external interference in the name of “assistance.” Each scandal of leaked intelligence or compromised mission deepens this reputational wound. A nation that cannot enforce discipline within its own ranks is perpetually at risk of being lectured, labelled, or even threatened by external powers, not because of external bias, but because of internal decay.
The implications of insecurity and internal betrayal are devastating. Insecurity is a tax on productivity. It raises the cost of logistics, drives away investors, and discourages international partners from engaging in high-risk environments. Each act of institutional betrayal, like the Chibok leak, compounds the perception that Nigeria cannot safeguard sensitive operations or sustain reform. The result is a shrinking appetite for investment, even in promising sectors like mining, energy, and technology. Economic growth becomes hostage to uncertainty, and policy reforms are met with skepticism rather than support. Internationally, it diminishes Nigeria’s soft power, turning Africa’s most populous country into a case study of how corruption corrodes capacity and credibility.
Nigeria’s challenge goes beyond rebutting Trump’s rhetoric. It must rebuild credibility through competence. Credibility is not asserted in press releases; it is earned through consistent performance and demonstrable integrity. This means aligning foreign policy messaging with domestic discipline, ensuring that words and actions mirror each other. The nation’s diplomatic corps must evolve from reactive defence to proactive engagement, presenting evidence, shaping narratives, and cultivating allies through transparency and professionalism. In an era where perception shapes policy, sovereignty in the 21st century is not just about borders; it is about trust, and trust, once lost, is expensive to rebuild, both in money and in time.
Beyond diplomacy and defence, Nigeria’s struggle is one of national orientation, a crisis of identity and collective purpose. A people who no longer believe in the moral authority of their state will not defend it. The same moral corrosion that undermines security operations also fuels electoral fraud, economic mismanagement, and social division. It creates a society where citizens seek personal escape rather than collective renewal. Rebuilding Nigeria’s national orientation requires more than propaganda; it demands a deliberate cultural shift toward public virtue, civic duty, and institutional integrity. Schools, religious institutions, the media, and community leaders must become vehicles for national reawakening, not agents of cynicism. National orientation is not about slogans or jingles; it is about restoring shared values that make patriotism rational again. The war for Nigeria’s survival is no longer just in the forests of Sambisa, it is in the minds of Nigerians, where the true contest for nationhood and moral redemption must now be fought and won.
Another dimension of internal security compromise is the silence and controversy surrounding the recruitment of so-called “repentant terrorists” into the Nigerian military and security agencies. While reintegration programmes are theoretically designed to convert former militants into law-abiding citizens, the lack of transparency around these processes raises serious operational and ethical concerns. Reports suggest that some individuals with proven allegiance to insurgent groups are being integrated without adequate vetting, creating potential vectors for insider sabotage and intelligence leaks. This policy, or lack thereof, mirrors the same internal vulnerabilities revealed during the Chibok rescue operation, highlighting how attempts at reconciliation without institutional rigour can inadvertently weaken national security rather than strengthen it.
From a constitutional perspective, the Chibok betrayal underscores a profound tension between the state’s duties and its operational realities. The 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria mandates that the government protects life and guarantees security for all citizens. When internal sabotage compromises operations designed to uphold these constitutional obligations, the state is not merely failing tactically, it is failing legally and morally. Such breaches weaken the rule of law, undermine the social contract, and raise fundamental questions about the enforceability of constitutional guarantees. Ensuring compliance with these provisions requires rigorous institutional reform, transparent accountability mechanisms, and a recommitment to constitutional principles as the foundation of both sovereignty and public trust.
Akinyemi’s story, Trump’s warning, and Nigeria’s defensive diplomacy all converge on one undeniable truth: Nigeria’s greatest threat is not foreign; it is internal. The world no longer doubts the courage of Nigerians, it doubts the coherence, discipline, and reliability of the Nigerian state. To reclaim credibility, Nigeria must undertake a comprehensive restoration of moral and operational discipline within its security agencies, enforce accountability at the highest levels, and rebuild an ethical framework that underpins governance across all sectors. This is not a cosmetic or sentimental exercise; it requires a strategic, systemic reawakening of the civic and institutional conscience that once defined the republic.
The Chibok tragedy was a lesson in how betrayal from within can be far deadlier than any external attack. Every leak, every compromised operation, and every failure to enforce internal discipline erodes not only national security but also the trust of citizens and partners alike.
A decade later, the critical question remains: will Nigeria finally reform its institutions, confront the rot within, and reclaim its sovereignty and global standing, or continue to outsource its security while defending a hollow notion of independence? The future of the republic, its dignity, and the safety of its citizens depend entirely on the answer. Strategic renewal is no longer optional, it is an existential imperative.
