Nigeria is bleeding. That chilling cry echoed from a rare gathering of respected voices across the country — elders, leaders, and influencers from every corner who set aside politics, tribe, and religion to speak one truth: silence is now deadlier than the bullets tearing through our land.
They painted a picture that is hard to ignore. Over 10,200 Nigerians killed in just two years, according to Amnesty International — numbers that look like a warzone, even though Nigeria is not officially at war. In Benue alone, almost 6,900 lives have been lost, with over 450,000 people driven from their homes. Plateau has buried more than 2,600 souls, entire villages burnt, farmlands poisoned, families scattered. In Zamfara, 638 villages wiped out — survivors forced to pay criminal “taxes” just to stay alive. From Sokoto to Katsina, Niger to the Northeast, Boko Haram is quietly regaining ground, while farmers dare not return to their fields.
What started years ago as farmer-herder clashes has now exploded into something much darker: sectarian battles, bandit fiefdoms, armed gangs with military-grade weapons, and a state struggling to hold the monopoly of force. The leaders warned that governance is collapsing, and with it, the very fabric that holds Nigeria together.
But they didn’t just dwell on the pain. They drew lessons from Rwanda, Colombia, Northern Ireland — places that once stood at the edge of destruction but found a path to peace. Their message was clear: this is not about Hausa vs. Tiv, Fulani vs. Berom, Christian vs. Muslim. The rot is systemic — poverty, injustice, illegal arms, failed local governance. “Criminals come from every group,” they said firmly. “Justice must be blind to identity.”
They put forward a bold solution: a Presidential Task Force on National Security — a special body with extraordinary but constitutional powers to coordinate intelligence, disarm militias, reintegrate displaced citizens, and issue quarterly public reports to rebuild trust. They called for early-warning systems in local communities, rapid-response networks, and a serious reintegration program across the North East, North Central, and North West.
For this to work, they insisted, the task force must be staffed with seasoned security professionals and men and women of unquestionable integrity — no political baggage, no party loyalty, directly answerable only to the President. “These are unusual times,” they said. “They demand unusual courage.”
Their closing words carried the weight of history: Nigeria is standing on a knife-edge. Whether we descend into full chaos or climb toward peace will depend on the choices made now. If Rwanda, Colombia, and Northern Ireland could rise from deeper darkness, then Nigeria can too.
They reminded the nation of the simple but sacred truth: every child in Bokkos, Gwoza, Maru, or Yelwata has a right to grow up without fear. That right is not negotiable. And they placed the burden squarely where it belongs — on those in power. “History will not judge the bandits,” they warned. “It will judge us — the ones with the power to protect, who either rose to this moment or shrank from it.”
