An Army Without a Sword
For decades, Nigeria’s military was seen as a regional heavyweight. But when Boko Haram surged, the cracks showed. Soldiers in the northeast found themselves short of radios, armoured vehicles, and even basic equipment.
On paper, the defence budget was enormous: more than a third of a $5.8 billion security allocation. In practice, only about 10% went to capital spending. Senior officers were widely accused of skimming funds meant for procurement, leaving frontline troops to face a ruthless insurgency with inadequate gear.
Abuses that Fuel the Flames
As Boko Haram attacks multiplied, the state answered with crackdowns that often swept up the innocent. Human rights organisations documented extrajudicial killings, torture, and mass detention.
In 2012, the U.S. State Department catalogued a grim list: prisoners beaten and raped, protesters shot with live ammunition, suspects executed without trial, and whole neighbourhoods razed in reprisal operations.
Thousands died in custody. In one six‑month period in 2013, Amnesty International received credible reports that over 950 inmates perished in detention centres, mainly in Maiduguri and Damaturu.
Each abuse deepened local distrust. For many villagers, soldiers and police came to look less like protectors and more like another armed faction to fear.
Politics, Labels, and Denial
At the elite level, politics shaped even the language of the crisis. Analysts note that some Nigerian leaders preferred the media to call Boko Haram “bandits” rather than “terrorists,” a euphemism that downplayed the threat and avoided uncomfortable questions about state failure.
When the military announced in 2015 that all Boko Haram camps had been destroyed, attacks continued. President Muhammadu Buhari later claimed the group was “technically defeated” and “ousted” from its strongholds, even as suicide bombers struck Maiduguri and rural communities.
These victory declarations may have been aimed at calming the public and reassuring investors, but they contrasted sharply with the lived reality of those still dodging bombs and kidnappers.
When Counterinsurgency Backfires
One telling example was the 2013 mobile phone blackout in three northeastern states. By cutting service, the military hoped to disrupt Boko Haram’s communications and remote detonation of bombs. Tactically, the move had some success; strategically, it was costly.
Citizens suddenly found themselves unable to call for help, run businesses, or contact family members in danger. Anger at the disruption translated into resentment toward the state, while Boko Haram adapted by shifting from a dispersed network to a more centralised structure in the Sambisa Forest.
Corruption, Then a Course Correction
The combined effect of corruption and heavy‑handed tactics was to strengthen Boko Haram’s recruiting story: that the Nigerian state was predatory, unjust, and un‑Islamic.
By 2014, even the governor of Borno, Kashim Shettima, admitted that Boko Haram fighters were better armed and motivated than government troops.
Later, high‑level corruption probes and arrests signalled some willingness to confront the rot. A 2016 U.S. defence assessment observed that morale improved once certain senior officials were indicted.
But the legacy of years of abuse lingers. In any counterinsurgency, legitimacy is as vital as firepower. Nigeria’s struggle against Boko Haram shows how quickly that legitimacy can be squandered—and how hard it is to win back once people conclude that those sent to rescue them may be just another source of fear.