As kidnappings and banditry surge, fears grow over alleged ethno-territorial ambitions. Is the Nigerian state losing control, or is this a crisis exploited by misinformation?
In recent years, Nigeria has found itself teetering on the edge of a national crisis. From the kidnapping of schoolchildren to the mass displacement of rural communities, violence has become a disturbing feature of daily life in many parts of the country. A growing sense of helplessness pervades public discourse, with many Nigerians increasingly convinced that the state has surrendered to non-state actors. Among the most unsettling elements of this crisis is the widespread belief that some of the perpetrators, often labeled as “Fulani bandits,” are part of a larger, clandestine plan to establish a Fulani homeland within Nigeria.
Whether this theory is grounded in fact or is merely a manifestation of deepening ethnic suspicion, it underscores a profound breakdown in trust between the Nigerian people and their government. It also raises critical questions about national unity, identity, and the future of Africa’s most populous country.
The scale of Nigeria’s current security crisis is staggering. According to various security tracking organisations, tens of thousands have been killed across the country due to armed violence, with several hundreds of thousands more displaced, especially in states like Zamfara, Kaduna, Katsina, Niger and parts of Plateau and Benue. These areas have been hit hardest by the wave of rural banditry and kidnappings, with occasional but equally brutal incursions in the South.
Bandits have established de facto control in many ungoverned rural spaces, levying taxes, running markets and exacting brutal punishment on communities that resist. Victims often recount stories of heavily armed men riding motorcycles, abducting villagers en masse and demanding ransom payments ranging from modest sums to millions of naira. The sheer frequency and ferocity of these attacks have left citizens in a perpetual state of fear.
But who are the bandits? Let’s unpack the label.
A key feature of the discourse surrounding this crisis is the widespread labelling of these criminals as “Fulani bandits.” The Fulani, or Fulbe, are a widespread ethnic group found throughout West Africa, known for their pastoralist traditions. While it is true that many of the bandits arrested or identified have Fulani origins, it is dangerously reductive, and socially explosive, to equate an entire ethnic group with criminality.
Criminal gangs composed of various ethnicities operate across Nigeria. However, the dominant narrative has linked the Fulani identity with the wave of rural violence. This connection has exacerbated ethnic tensions, particularly between Fulani herders and largely agrarian communities in the Middle Belt and southern Nigeria. The problem is further compounded by the blurring of lines between Fulani herders who are peacefully pursuing their livelihood and those engaged in armed criminality.
Among the most alarming developments in public discourse is the belief that the rising insecurity is not random but part of a strategic plan to carve out a Fulani homeland within Nigeria. Proponents of this theory point to repeated attacks on indigenous communities, the occupation of farmlands, and alleged government indifference as evidence of a covert agenda.
Some trace the origins of this fear to controversial comments by figures allegedly linked to Fulani advocacy groups, such as Miyetti Allah. Even a certain governor had been shown on a video canvassing the agenda of founding a Fulani homeland in Nigeria. And people are asking,how and why Nigeria? Although no credible public document or official policy has confirmed any such homeland plan, the opacity of government actions and the recurrent failure to prosecute known bandits have given room for such theories to fester.
Critics of this narrative warn that it is more a reflection of Nigeria’s deepening ethnic fault lines and the state’s dereliction of duty than a coordinated plan for territorial conquest. However, without transparency and decisive action from the government, suspicion thrives in the vacuum left by silence and inaction.
At the heart of the crisis is the Nigerian state’s apparent inability, or unwillingness, to fulfill its most basic responsibility: Protecting the lives and properties of its citizens. Despite repeated promises, military deployments and the establishment of various task forces, the violence persists. In many areas, security forces are either overwhelmed, under-resourced, or accused of colluding with criminals.
State governors have often expressed frustration at their limited control over security apparatuses, which are federally managed. Prof. Babagana Zulum of Borno State has cried himself hoarse over the seeming helplessness, even accusing politicians and government officials of fraternizing with Boko Haram.
Meanwhile, the federal government has been criticised for its slow, inconsistent and often tone-deaf responses. President Bola Tinubu’s administration, like those before it, faces mounting pressure to not only act but to be seen acting impartially and effectively. People had high expectations of Tinubu but, strangely, even his native Yoruba have not been spared the carnage, as monarchs have been sacrilegiously abducted or killed.
Compounding this failure is a judicial system that has rarely delivered justice in cases involving high-profile violence. Bandits are occasionally arrested but prosecutions are few and convictions rarer still. This lack of accountability has emboldened criminal networks and deepened public cynicism. Even confirmed sponsors of this heinous crime have remained untouchable years after indictment.
The alleged plan for a Fulani homeland sits at the crossroads of genuine fear and potential misinformation. On one hand, it reflects legitimate concerns about ethnic displacement, land rights, and historical grievances. On the other hand, it risks becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy by inflaming ethnic divisions and inciting retaliatory violence.
The role of social media in amplifying unverified claims cannot be understated. In the absence of clear, factual communication from the government, social media platforms have become the primary battleground for public opinion. Videos of alleged attacks, emotional appeals, and conspiracy theories spread rapidly, often without verification. Some of the videos have been proven to be imports from crime scenes far removed from Nigeria.
This digital wildfire has further eroded trust and led to an information environment where truth and rumour are indistinguishable. In such a climate, narratives that once seemed far-fetched begin to take on a veneer of plausibility.
The crisis raises uncomfortable questions about Nigeria’s fragile ethnic balance. With over 250 ethnic groups, the nation has long struggled with the challenges of pluralism. The civil war of the 1960s, multiple coups, and recurring sectarian violence serve as stark reminders of what happens when ethnic tensions are left to fester.
Unless the state takes urgent steps to reassert its authority, protect vulnerable communities, and address the root causes of rural banditry, including poverty, climate displacement, and land-use conflicts, there is a real danger that the crisis could spiral into something far more devastating. A major plank of this is the immediate discontinuance of open cattle grazing that has made it possible for roaming and marauding criminals to brazenly invade hapless communities and wreak havoc. Also, the source of the AK-47 rifles the purported herders wield needs to be established and plugged.
More importantly, there must be a national dialogue, open, inclusive, and honest, about the structural issues underlying Nigeria’s security problems. Ethnic profiling, scapegoating, and divisive rhetoric will only deepen the wounds. Nigeria’s survival as a united country depends on its ability to rise above fear and forge a common vision of justice and equity.
Nigeria is indeed at a crossroads. The surge in banditry and the rumours of a Fulani homeland plan may not be entirely grounded in coordinated fact, but they are real in their impact, destroying lives, fraying trust, and pushing the nation to the brink.
The Nigerian government must recognise that silence is not neutrality. Failure to act, failure to speak, and failure to reassure citizens in the face of such fear only deepens the crisis. Addressing this multifaceted problem requires clear leadership, coordinated security reforms, economic investment in rural areas, and above all, a rejection of ethnically charged narratives.
Nigeria’s path forward must be defined not by division but by a recommitment to the principles of unity, justice, and peace. Anything less risks unraveling the fragile threads that hold this diverse country together.