By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
The recent massacre of over 60 civilians in Darajamal village, Borno State, has once again starkly highlighted the fragility of life in north-eastern Nigeria.
The details of the attack are harrowing, the grief is profound, and the public’s outrage is entirely justified. In the wake of this tragedy, Governor Babagana Umara Zulum, a leader widely respected for his dedication and courage, publicly accused the National Security Adviser (NSA), Malam Nuhu Ribadu, of inaction and a failure to provide timely military support.
As a Nigerian citizen who has followed the Borno crisis for years, I find myself in deep reflection.
My reflection isn’t born out of a desire to question Governor Zulum’s sincerity, but rather because of what this moment reveals about a larger, more problematic issue in our political culture, our over-reliance on blame as a political response to national tragedies.
This reflection isn’t a defence of the NSA, nor is it an attempt to deny the justified frustration of a state governor who has had to lead his people amidst unimaginable human suffering and chaos.
Instead, it’s an invitation to pause and look beyond the immediate anger. When tragedy strikes in Nigeria, the instinct is rarely to interrogate systems and institutions; we rush to find a face to blame.
We turn individuals into scapegoats, confusing condemnation with accountability, and in doing so, we miss the opportunity to fix what is fundamentally broken.
The killing of innocent villagers in Borno isn’t an isolated event. It’s part of a long and painful history of violence that has haunted the region since the rise of Boko Haram in the late 2000s.
The problem is far bigger than one administration and far more complex than one person’s failure to act.
Time and again, when security collapses, we respond with outrage, followed by blame, and then silence. This pattern isn’t just unhelpful—it’s dangerous.
It creates a false sense of resolution, allowing us to believe that if only a certain person had done their job, everything would be fine. But we know the truth is more complicated.
Nigeria’s security crisis is the product of deeply embedded structural dysfunction. The military is overstretched and underfunded. Our intelligence agencies operate in silos, with minimal coordination.
Security operations are often reactive rather than strategic, and there is a persistent failure to build meaningful relationships with the very communities most affected by the violence.
Several systemic issues continue to fester beneath the surface, issues that no single appointment or dismissal can resolve.
Troops are often under-equipped, poorly motivated, and deployed for extended periods without adequate support.
The lack of coherent intelligence sharing remains a weak link in Nigeria’s counter-insurgency efforts.
Organisations like the Department of State Services (DSS), military intelligence, and the police often operate on different wavelengths, sometimes even competing instead of collaborating.
The war against insurgency cannot be won with bullets alone.
Communities must be engaged, respected, and treated as partners. Yet, many local populations in the north-east still view security forces with suspicion or fear. Documented cases of abuse and extrajudicial killings have made rebuilding trust nearly impossible. Without this trust, gathering community-based intelligence is an insurmountable challenge, leaving the military effectively blind.
Perhaps the most corrosive factor is the politicisation of security. It is often reduced to talking points and power plays. Governors and federal officials speak past each other, while opposition figures weaponise tragedies for political gain.
This fragmentation is not just unseemly—it’s deadly. Insecurity doesn’t recognise party lines, and neither should our response to it.
Governor Zulum’s outcry has understandably dominated headlines.
He is a respected leader who has done more than many in his position would. However, when blame is directed at a single individual—in this case, the NSA—it shifts public focus from institutions to personalities.
It creates the illusion that removing or chastising one official will change the situation. Unfortunately, we’ve seen this before.
Ministers, service chiefs, and advisers have come and gone, but the core problems have remained.
We must resist the urge to oversimplify. Terrorism, insurgency, and state fragility are complex phenomena that require multi-layered, long-term responses.
Nigeria needs more than strong individuals; it needs strong systems.
If we truly want to honour the lives lost in Darajamal and elsewhere, we must demand more than rhetoric.
We need a truly integrated national security strategy that links federal, state, and local efforts.
This strategy must survive beyond election cycles and personality changes.
We need stronger parliamentary oversight of defence and security spending, ensuring that budget allocations translate into real capacity on the ground and we must ensure reinvestment in civil-military relations, including community liaison structures, local vigilante accountability, and victim support systems.
The depoliticisation of national security, with clear protocols for crisis coordination that transcend party affiliation is equally important.
The pain in Borno is real, and the anger is justified. But we cannot afford to keep repeating the same responses and expect different results.
We must rise above the noise and demand systemic change. Our leaders must be held accountable—yes.
But accountability isn’t achieved by assigning blame in press statements. It is achieved by strengthening institutions, enforcing transparency, and building trust.
The people of Borno have borne the brunt of this protracted insurgency for far too long. While the Federal Government and military have made efforts, it’s clear that more needs to be done.
We must move beyond the cycle of reactive responses and adopt a more proactive and sustainable approach.
The entire north-east needs a coordinated and robust intervention that addresses not only the security crisis but also the humanitarian and developmental challenges that have been left in its wake.
The Federal Government must seriously consider more financial assistance for Borno State.
The state’s resources are stretched thin, with a huge population of internally displaced persons (IDPs) and communities that need to be rebuilt from scratch. Rebuilding homes, schools, hospitals, and livelihoods requires massive investment that the state government cannot handle alone.
The Federal Government should create a special fund dedicated to the post-conflict reconstruction and rehabilitation of Borno and other affected states.
This fund should be managed with utmost transparency and accountability.
I would also like to call on the Federal Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs to step up its efforts.
The humanitarian crisis in Borno is a national emergency. A more decisive and streamlined approach from the ministry is crucial. It must ensure that aid reaches the most vulnerable populations in a timely manner, without the bureaucratic delays and logistical hurdles that have plagued past efforts.
The ministry needs to improve its coordination with both local authorities and international partners to prevent duplication of efforts and ensure a more comprehensive reach.
Furthermore, the North East Development Commission (NEDC) was established for a reason, to be the primary driver of the region’s recovery and development.
The NEDC must be more visible and more impactful in its operations in Borno. The commission must intensify its focus on durable solutions for IDPs, including the construction of permanent homes and the creation of economic opportunities that allow people to return to their communities and regain their independence.
Ultimately, solving the crisis in Borno isn’t a one-person job. It requires a collaborative effort from all levels of government and society.
The time for finger-pointing is over. The time for a unified, strategic, and compassionate response is now. The lives of innocent people depend on it.
Leman is a former National Secretary of the Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ).
