Nigeria’s persistent decline on the Global Peace Index (GPI) should not be dismissed as a statistical curiosity. It is a barometer of profound dysfunction in a country where insecurity is no longer the exception but the rule. Ranking consistently among the least peaceful nations globally, Nigeria has not only tarnished its international reputation but is now walking on the edge of institutional irrelevance. What is at stake is not merely the perception of instability but its economic and developmental consequences.
“Nigeria’s adoption of community security, in contrast, appears rushed, under-resourced and dangerously unregulated.”
This chronic insecurity comes at a significant cost. Investor confidence is steadily eroding. Tourism, once a potential growth sector, has all but collapsed. Economic planning becomes an exercise in futility when violence, terrorism and banditry remain constants in national life. The result is a paralysing uncertainty, one that undermines job creation, stymies infrastructure development and compounds endemic poverty. Without peace, there can be no prosperity and certainly no meaningful national development.
Rather than rise to meet this moment, however, the Nigerian state appears to be retreating into a concerning form of governance by resignation. Increasingly, citizens are being called upon to assume responsibilities that rightly belong to the state. Under the banner of “community security”, ordinary Nigerians are being encouraged, even applauded, for taking up the defence of their communities. Such an approach, though framed as innovation, amounts to an abdication of duty.
In February 2025, the Director-General of the Department of State Services, Tosin Ajayi, lauded the residents of Azare in Bauchi State for repelling a Boko Haram assault. He cited this as evidence of the efficacy of grassroots resilience. Similarly, stories have emerged from Tafawa Balewa, where civilians reportedly seized weapons from attackers. These anecdotes are held up as examples of local courage, and indeed they are. But they also expose a deeper and far more uncomfortable truth: the Nigerian state has become a spectator in its own security theatre.
The theoretical case for community-led security is not without merit. Locals, with their intimate knowledge of terrain and social dynamics, are often best positioned to detect early warning signs and mobilise rapid responses. International examples provide useful precedents. Kenya’s Nyumba Kumi initiative has shown that structured, community-based surveillance can reduce crime. South Africa’s Zwelethemba model of local peace committees has succeeded in mediating disputes. Côte d’Ivoire’s vigilance committees have restored order in parts of Abidjan.
Yet none of these models succeeded in a vacuum. They thrived because they were embedded within accountable systems of oversight, professional support and legal clarity. Nigeria’s adoption of community security, in contrast, appears rushed, under-resourced and dangerously unregulated. There is little evidence of clear policy frameworks, legal boundaries or ethical guardrails. Nor is there a coherent strategy to prevent abuse, politicisation of the gradual morphing of citizen defenders into informal militias.
The risks are not hypothetical. Where community groups operate without scrutiny, there is a high likelihood of human rights violations, misuse of power and the erosion of civil trust. Nigeria already has a fraught history with extrajudicial actors. To unleash a new wave of armed civilian entities, however well-intentioned, without mechanisms for accountability, is to invite new forms of insecurity under the guise of protection.
The responsibility for national security cannot be downloaded to communities without consequence. Such a policy shift, particularly when encouraged by senior officials such as General T.Y. Danjuma and former Defence Minister Bashir Magashi, signals more than a tactical evolution; it suggests a quiet retreat from constitutional obligations. Nigeria’s Constitution is unequivocal: the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government. The current approach falls far short of that mandate.
Community involvement, if pursued, must be part of a broader, more rigorous framework. This includes a reinvestment in professional policing, better intelligence coordination, and sustained efforts to address the underlying causes of violence — poverty, exclusion and impunity. Crucially, any form of citizen-led security must operate within a legal and ethical architecture, complete with training, civilian oversight and institutional safeguards.
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There is, undeniably, a case for greater civic engagement in security. But it must not become a smokescreen for governmental failure. Nor should citizens be asked to shoulder arms in one breath and then be expected to pay taxes in another, while the state shirks its most fundamental duties.
Transforming Nigeria’s current vulnerability into national resilience demands more than fleeting slogans and reactive policies; it necessitates a fundamental shift in approach. This transformation hinges on a conscious and sustained effort to cultivate a deep renewal of trust between citizens and institutions, fostered through transparency, accountability, and consistent delivery on promises.
Furthermore, a robust reassertion of the rule of law, applied equitably and without fear or favour, is paramount to creating a stable and just society where rights are protected and obligations are enforced.
Ultimately, it requires a clear and unwavering reaffirmation that in a democratic society, the fundamental burden of ensuring the safety and security of all citizens lies not with the people themselves but squarely with the state that is entrusted to serve and protect them.
This entails proactive strategies, well-resourced security agencies operating within the bounds of the law, and a commitment to addressing the root causes of insecurity through inclusive governance and equitable development.
