In a nation where the military once stood as an emblem of strength, discipline, and courage, it’s hard to comprehend how stories now circulate of Nigerian soldiers retreating in the face of kidnappers. These are not enemy combatants in a declared warzone, but criminals—ragtag bands of opportunists exploiting a broken system. How did we get here?
Once upon a time, the mere sight of a military uniform brought reassurance to citizens and fear to wrongdoers. Today, that same uniform is worn by men and women who are either outnumbered, under-resourced, demoralized, or in some tragic cases—compromised. The question, “How can Nigerian soldiers be scared of kidnappers?” is more than just a rhetorical lament; it is a cry for accountability in a country where insecurity has become a dark shadow over everyday life.
In June 2025, Nigerian troops launched a daring raid in Mbulu community, Bauchi State, and rescued a kidnapped victim while neutralizing a suspected kidnapper. The operation was carried out by troops of the 33 Artillery Brigade, operating under Operation Lafiyan Jama’a. The suspect led the troops to the gang's hideout, where a gun battle ensued, resulting in the death of one kidnapper and the rescue of the victim ¹.
In another operation in Delta State, troops of the 63 Brigade, Nigerian Army, killed three suspected kidnappers and rescued a female victim in a forest raid. The kidnappers had been under surveillance for weeks, and the troops recovered an AK-47 rifle, a magazine, and other items from the scene.
Despite these successes, there are concerns about the effectiveness of the security agencies in addressing the root causes of insecurity in the country. The proliferation of kidnappings and banditry has led to a situation where citizens are forced to take matters into their own hands, with some communities forming vigilante groups to protect themselves.
The silence of the state grows louder each day. Communities are attacked, children are taken, and families pay ransom with hopes, not guarantees, of their loved ones’ return. And where is the military in all of this? Watching from a distance. Sometimes because they have no orders. Other times because the orders never come. And most painfully—sometimes because they are forbidden to act by the very hands that should empower them.
Our nation’s security seems crippled, watching injustice unfold without lifting a hand. The average citizen, once protected, now shoulders the burden of their own defense. Vigilante groups rise. Hunters take up rifles. Communities contribute money to dig trenches, install streetlights, and feed volunteers keeping watch at night. These are not scenes from a war documentary; they are the daily reality of Nigerians in towns from Kaduna to Zamfara, Borno to Benue.
This shift is not just a sign of failure—it’s a signal of abandonment. When a government cannot guarantee the safety of its people, it silently tells them: You are on your own.
And so, the Nigerian story changes again. This time, it is a story of extraordinary citizens rising from the ashes of a system that has failed them. Farmers now double as security guards. Market women trade during the day and keep watch at night. Students fundraise to install surveillance cameras in their communities. People are doing what governments and security agencies were created to do.
But it must not end like this.
A failed system will always force ordinary people to do extraordinary work—but that should never become the norm. We must not glorify survival as success. The strength of a nation lies in its ability to protect its weakest—not in how hard the weakest must fight to survive.
So we return to the haunting question: How can Nigerian soldiers be scared of kidnappers?
The real answer may lie not in the soldiers themselves—but in the command that guides them, the leadership that deploys them, the system that arms them, and the will that governs them. If the root is rotten, the fruit will not flourish.
It is time to stop patching a sinking boat and start building a new one. Nigeria needs reform—not just of policies, but of purpose. Of leadership. Of conscience.
Until then, the people will continue to do the extraordinary. But they deserve better. And they should not have to.
