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United States President Donald Trump recently redesignated Nigeria as a Country of Particular Concern (CPC) for severe violations of religious freedom. His threat of military action, if the situation persists, sparked immediate defensiveness from sundry quarters, insisting the designation was unfair.
Yet the reaction ended up revealing how deeply Nigeria has avoided confronting one of its most pressing national crises; the systematic targeting and killing of Christians and the state’s failure to hold perpetrators accountable, as epitomised by the Nigerian authorities’ unwillingness to release the identities of terrorism financiers.
For years, the heartbeats of villages burned at night still echo, mothers weep over empty beds where their sons once slept, churches that once rang with hymns now stand as quiet shells, and fields once green with harvest are littered with graves. For years, warnings have been whispered, screamed, documented, denied, politicised, and ignored.
The blood of Nigerians, Christians and Muslims alike, has soaked into the soil, yet those elected to protect them debate technicalities, perform public relations gymnastics, and trade blame while citizens are hunted and homes are erased.
This crisis did not begin with the Trump administration, nor was it invented by international observers. It is a phenomenon with decades of history, evolving through cycles of ignored warnings, political compromises, and inconsistent law enforcement responses. The end result is a society where, in certain regions, violence against Christians has become a normalised sport, and prosecutions are almost nonexistent.
Nigeria’s religious tensions trace back, at least, to the 1980 Maitatsine uprisings and continued through the 1990s with periodic sectarian riots in cities, such as Kano and Kaduna. The introduction of Sharia criminal law in twelve northern states in the early 2000s marked a turning point. While supporters framed the move as cultural restoration, it also reinforced a religious and political boundary that shaped how justice would be administered, or withheld.
By the 2010s, a dangerous combination of armed herder militia activity, extremist ideology, and weak local governance had coalesced into a pattern of mass attacks on farming communities, many of which were Christian-majority villages in Plateau, Benue, Kaduna, and Taraba states.
Yet government messaging frequently described these incidents as “farmer-herder clashes,” suggesting symmetrical conflict. In reality, many attacks involved armed militia groups assaulting largely defenceless rural communities, often at night, often repeatedly, and rarely facing arrest or trial.
The CPC designation was neither invented by the Trump administration nor international observers. It is a phenomenon with decades of history, evolving through cycles of ignored warnings, political compromises, and inconsistent law enforcement responses.
Over time, brash statements from some officials associated with Fulani herders’ organisations, particularly Miyetti Allah, appeared to justify violence or threaten retaliation, especially when livestock were harmed. In many sane societies, such statements would prompt investigation.
In Nigeria, however, they were often treated as part of the political landscape. The result was a perception, reinforced by visible events, that certain armed groups operated with de facto immunity.
Meanwhile, government proposals, such as grazing reserves, cattle colonies, and federally funded ranching initiatives for wholly private enterprises appeared to prioritise the movement and protection of cattle over the citizens displaced by violence.
This dynamic intensified the belief among affected communities that the state was not neutral. Whether or not this was the government’s intent, the effect was real.
The adoption of a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket in 2023, while constitutionally valid, became, in the eyes of many Christians, a signal that religious balance was no longer considered an important stabilising principle in national leadership. The use of actors posing as bishops during campaign events further damaged trust, suggesting that religious identity could be treated as a public relations tool rather than a lived reality in a deeply plural society.
These tensions are not abstract. They are reflected in specific, widely documented cases in which Christian citizens were killed in public settings, often following accusations of blasphemy, and no meaningful legal accountability followed. Among them: In 2023, a female member of Deeper Life Bible Church was attacked and killed while sharing her faith in a public area. Eyewitness testimony and recordings circulated widely. Despite public shock, there have been no prosecutions or convictions in the case.
Earlier in 2022, a student at Shehu Shagari College of Education in Sokoto, Deborah Samuel, was beaten and burned to death by fellow students, following a disagreement in the school’s WhatsApp group. Videos of the attack were public. The faces of some perpetrators were identifiable.
The following day, street demonstrations took place not against the murder, but in support of the accused. The primary suspects were released, and there is no record of a final conviction.
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In 2016, a Christian woman teaching at an adult education centre in Kano was accused of insulting religion and was subsequently attacked and beheaded by a mob in broad daylight. While investigations were announced, the case did not lead to a known successful prosecution. Even cartoons in far-flung lands led to brutality on innocent Nigerians.
In each of these cases: The attacks occurred in public; there were witnesses; identities of participants were known or knowable. Yet the justice system did not produce clear accountability.
This pattern sends a broader national message: In certain contexts, mob justice now overrides the rule of law.
While the victims in these highlighted cases are Christians, it must be acknowledged that Muslims are also victims of violence in Nigeria, particularly in northern states where banditry, insurgency, and kidnapping have devastated communities. Entire Muslim villages have been displaced in Zamfara, Katsina, and Niger states by armed criminal groups.
Thus, the crisis is not solely religious; it is a collapse of state capacity to protect citizens. A government that cannot reliably prevent mob executions or secure rural farmlands has lost a foundational function of sovereignty: the monopoly on legitimate force.
When citizens are told by government officials to “defend themselves,” it is a tacit admission that the state can no longer guarantee safety. And when the government negotiates publicly with armed groups while failing to prosecute violent actors, it creates parallel centres of power.
The CPC designation by the United States was not an act of hostility nor an attempt to shame Nigeria. It was a recognition, based on documented trends, that the right to religious freedom, safety of worship, and equal protection under law were deteriorating.
The appropriate response is definitely not the cacophony of noises from state and non state actors, vilifying Trump. Some have threatened to deal with the United States, even when bandits are holding the country by the balls and they could do nothing; others called for severance of relations with the country. I laugh in Swahili!
What the government should do is to jettison this journey in self-denial and rein in its contending disparate aides; take a cohesive stand and conduct a national security audit of violence against religious communities. Warnings ignored do not disappear; they accumulate.
Nigeria stands at a critical juncture. A sustainable path forward requires: consistent prosecution of mob killings and rural terror attacks; security deployment, not political negotiation; and a reaffirmation that the Nigerian state belongs to all citizens.
This is not simply a matter of protecting Christians, Muslims, or any group; it is a matter of preserving the legitimacy of the state itself. A nation cannot endure when its citizens believe the law does not apply equally.
The CPC designation was not the crisis.
It was the signal of a crisis that had already taken root. It is hypocritical to descend on Trump for saying the obvious. The level of bloodbath in this country is a matter of particular concern to both Nigerians and the world. Whoever thinks that this evil can be covered is deceiving himself.
The question now is whether Nigeria will treat what Trump’s threat portends as an insult to reject, or a warning to heed. This is not North vs. South; Christian vs. Muslim or tribe vs. tribe,but about the collapse of justice, the abandonment of duty, and the normalisation of death.
Nigeria does not need to attack Trump. However, it has a choice: To continue pretending while blood flows and graves multiply. Or to wake up, confront the truth, and reclaim the dignity of a country built on the sanctity of life.
The CPC designation was not a condemnation. It was a siren. Will Nigeria keep covering its ears, or finally listen?
