In late October 2025, a U.S. congressional report reignited controversy across Africa when Washington hinted at the possibility of “direct intervention” in Nigeria if the alleged “systematic killings of Christians” continue unchecked. The statement sparked outrage within the Nigerian government, proclamations from civil groups and anxiety among citizens, dredging up memories of how foreign powers have historically justified military involvement under the banner of human rights.
For many Nigerians, the question isn’t whether violence exists—it does, tragically and all too often—but whether the world truly understands its complexity. From the Middle Belt’s farmer-herder clashes to Boko Haram and ISWAP terrorism in the Northeast, the country’s insecurity is far more than a religious binary. In Benue, hundreds of farmers have fled attacks by armed herders; in Zamfara and Kebbi, bandits empty whole villages; and in places like Plateau, both Christian and Muslim families grieve loved ones lost to reprisal attacks. Most recently, in Kebbi State, gunmen kidnapped 25 schoolgirls in Maga, killing a vice principal in the process. And the killing of Brigadier General Musa Uba in a deadly ISWAP ambush, confirmed by President Tinubu, underscores that even the military’s highest ranks are not immune. Yet to simplify this as a war on Christians misses the larger problem which is the failure of governance, justice, and protection across all communities.
In recent weeks, violence against places of worship has grown more audacious. On November 18, 2025, gunmen stormed Christ Apostolic Church in Eruku, Kwara State, killed at least two worshippers, abducted the pastor and several congregants, and sent terrified believers scattering as the service streamed live online. The Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) condemned the attack and warned that it reflects a recurring pattern the government has failed to confront. Earlier in the same state, terrorists kidnapped and murdered ECWA Pastor James Audu Issa even after his family paid a ₦5 million ransom. Nigeria has witnessed such horrors before. On June 5, 2022, militants attacked St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church in Owo, Ondo State, opened fire, and detonated explosives during Pentecost Sunday worship. The assault killed more than 50 people including children, and left a wound that still shapes the community’s collective memory.
Muslim worshippers also face deadly targeting. In August 2025, armed bandits invaded a mosque in Katsina State during dawn prayers and killed at least 17 people in one of the year’s deadliest attacks on Muslim congregants. Analysts in local security reports argue that these assaults on both Christian and Muslim gatherings reveal not a religious war, but a profound failure of governance, justice, and national security—one that endangers every faith community in Nigeria.
This failure has consequences beyond security. It erodes economic productivity, destroys livelihoods, and threatens Nigeria’s fragile democracy. According to the UNHCR, over 3.6 million Nigerians are currently displaced by conflict, and food inflation is currently pegged at 13.12 percent year-on-year, fueled by attacks on rural farmers. These numbers represent children out of school, markets abandoned, and families living under constant fear. And at the heart of this is a violation of fundamental human rights: the right to life, to dignity, and to security. Still, the threat of U.S. military intervention raises an even graver question. Who gets to defend those rights, and at what cost?
Under Article 2(4) of the United Nations Charter, no country has the authority to use force against another’s territorial integrity without Security Council approval. History shows that humanitarian interventions, even when cloaked in moral urgency, often unleash more suffering than they stop. The 2011 NATO intervention in Libya, for instance, toppled a dictator but left the country fragmented and chaotic—a warning that foreign intervention cannot manufacture peace. Iraq and Afghanistan tell similar stories: noble intentions, tragic outcomes.
Instead of threats, Nigeria needs partnerships. The United States and other allies can and should support Nigeria through intelligence sharing, counterterrorism training, and human rights education. This cooperative approach would strengthen local capacity rather than undermine national sovereignty. Peace cannot be imposed by force. It must be cultivated through consent and mutual respect. But Nigeria too must confront its own complicity. International pressure exists largely because the Nigerian state has failed to act decisively when its citizens are slaughtered. Years of delayed justice and hollow condemnations have left rural communities to fend for themselves. Few of these violent attacks in rural Nigeria receive formal investigation. This impunity invites foreign scrutiny and domestic despair. A nation that does not defend its own people cannot claim the moral authority to reject external intervention.
The path forward demands accountability, not deflection. Nigeria must empower local peacebuilding councils that include religious leaders, traditional rulers, and women’s groups—those who live at the heart of these conflicts. In Plateau State, for instance, the Interfaith Mediation Centre, founded by a pastor and an imam, has successfully reduced inter-communal clashes through dialogue and trust-building. Scaling such locally led efforts nationwide would prove that homegrown solutions work better than imported troops.
Equally important is communication. The federal government of Nigeria must engage diplomatically with allies to counter the simplistic “Christian persecution” narrative while admitting the real failures fueling insecurity. Establishing a National Human Rights and Security Commission, composed of bipartisan voices and civil society actors, would help Nigeria rebuild both domestic and international trust. Transparency, not silence, is the antidote to misinformation.
Nigeria stands at a crossroads: defend its sovereignty through meaningful reform or lose moral ground to external arbiters. Every life lost—Christian, Muslim, or otherwise—diminishes our collective humanity. But as history has shown, sovereignty means little without responsibility. In the end, the true test of a nation’s freedom is not how loudly it rejects foreign threats, but how justly it protects its people. The U.S. may have its warnings, but Nigeria holds the real power to prove them unnecessary. Because a country that safeguards its citizens’ rights does not need to be rescued. It earns the respect of the world by defending its own peace.
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