A Nation at War with Itself: From Abuja’s Land Dispute to the Battlefields of Borno. By Chidi Ekeh
A Nation at War with Itself: From Abuja’s Land Dispute to the Battlefields of Borno By Chidi Ekeh
Two seemingly unrelated events — a verbal clash between Nyesom Wike, the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), and a young soldier in Abuja, and a violent confrontation between Boko Haram and ISWAP fighters in the North-East — mirror a deeper national malady. They are not isolated stories of power struggle or terrorism; they are symptoms of Nigeria’s chronic dysfunction, its confused sense of authority, its moral decay, and its loss of collective dignity.
Scene One: The Abuja Confrontation
A serving minister of the Federal Republic of Nigeria stands before an armed soldier. Both represent institutions — the civil and the military — that should cooperate under the Constitution. Yet, what unfolds is a theater of arrogance and defiance.
In a video now viral across social media, the Minister calls a young officer “a fool” for allegedly blocking access to a disputed parcel of land. The soldier, refusing to cower, responds calmly but firmly: “I am not a fool, sir.” The moment freezes in time — two Nigerians locked in mutual contempt, each asserting authority in a country where the boundaries of power and decency have long blurred.
The land in question is reportedly linked to a former Chief of Naval Staff — a symbol of how the military elite, once defenders of national territory, have become actors in Abuja’s lucrative real estate drama. The FCT minister, in his characteristic bluntness, accuses the soldiers of land grabbing and obstruction. The soldiers counter that they are obeying superior orders.
It almost escalates into a firefight — Nigerian soldiers and the minister’s security detail drawing weapons against each other in the heart of the nation’s capital. The incident is diffused, but not without leaving a stain on the country’s institutional fabric.
And then came the public reaction — not one of sober reflection, but of mockery, tribal cheerleading, and schadenfreude. Many Nigerians rejoiced, not because justice prevailed, but because “Wike was finally humbled.” The conversation quickly shifted from the legality of the land to the personality of the minister. In a nation that judges right and wrong by sentiment, not principle, we once again proved our disdain for order.
Scene Two: Boko Haram vs. ISWAP — A War Within the War
At the other end of the country, in the dusty plains of Borno and Yobe, another confrontation rages. Boko Haram and ISWAP — two terror factions born of the same violent ideology — turn their guns on each other. Scores are reported dead. The media headlines call it “a welcome development.” Nigerians on social media laugh, saying, “Let them finish themselves.”
But is it really victory when terrorists kill terrorists?
Every square foot of land they fight over is Nigerian soil — land where farmers once planted millet, where children once played, where teachers once taught. When terrorists “kill themselves,” it only means the land remains ungoverned, unsafe, and unclaimed by lawful authority. The Nigerian state is absent, and we, the citizens, have grown too numb to care.
We celebrate the self-destruction of terrorists because we have lost confidence in our military’s capacity to secure the nation. We find consolation not in justice, but in chaos. That, again, is symptomatic of a nation that has normalized failure.
The Connecting Thread: A Crisis of Authority and Self-Respect
Both the Abuja confrontation and the Boko Haram-ISWAP clash reveal one painful truth: Nigeria is a country at war with itself — morally, institutionally, and psychologically.
In the Wike-soldier confrontation, we see a breakdown of civil-military relations. A young officer feels emboldened to defy a minister because institutional respect has been replaced by personal bravado. A minister, in turn, insults a soldier because leadership in Nigeria is too often expressed through aggression, not law.
Instead of pursuing legal redress or seeking presidential or judicial intervention over the land, both sides resorted to self-help — the same behavior pattern that fuels jungle justice, ethnic clashes, and corruption.
In the Boko Haram-ISWAP clash, we see the vacuum of sovereignty — the state’s failure to maintain a monopoly on violence. When terrorists freely occupy Nigerian territory and we console ourselves that “at least they’re killing themselves,” it means we have surrendered our moral compass. Sovereignty is not just about flags and borders; it’s about the sanctity of every inch of land and every citizen’s dignity.
Why We Celebrate Disorder
Why do Nigerians rejoice when chaos reigns — when a minister is insulted, or when terrorists kill one another?
Because we have been psychologically conditioned to hate authority. Not out of principle, but out of frustration. Decades of corruption and impunity have made Nigerians see every leader as a thief and every soldier as an oppressor. So when conflict arises, we root for the underdog, even if the underdog is wrong.
But hatred for leadership is not the same as love for justice. Our reflexive cynicism blinds us to the real issues — legality, accountability, and nationhood.
When we celebrate the humiliation of a public official instead of demanding due process, we endorse anarchy. When we cheer terrorists killing each other instead of demanding their total annihilation, we endorse moral decay.
We have lost the ability to distinguish between justice and vengeance, between freedom and lawlessness.
A Mirror to Our Decline
Let us look in the mirror
The land grab by powerful individuals shows how public property has become private spoil.
The minister’s insults reflect the arrogance of political office.
The soldier’s defiance reveals a loss of institutional discipline.
The public’s reaction exposes our collective moral confusion.
The terrorist clashes underscore the vacuum of national control.
And our celebration of their deaths reflects our numbness to the sanctity of life and land.
All of it — from Abuja to Borno — paints one picture: a nation that has lost its internal compass.
The Path Forward: Reclaiming Our Dignity
Nigeria’s healing will not come from noise or confrontation, but from a rebirth of self-awareness and institutional respect. We must first admit that our crisis is not merely political or economic — it is existential.
1. Citizens must learn to defend principles, not personalities. The rule of law must matter more than who enforces it.
2. Leaders must model civility. Wike’s outburst was unbecoming of a minister; restraint and recourse to the law should have been his weapon.
3. The military must remember its constitutional boundaries. A soldier’s duty is to defend the nation, not to guard private land linked to retired officers.
4. The media and citizens must stop trivializing national decay. When institutions clash, we must demand accountability, not entertainment.
5. The government must reclaim every inch of land lost to terrorists. Nigeria’s soil must not be a theatre for insurgent rivalries. Every square kilometer should be governed, not abandoned.
Conclusion: The Urgency of National Reawakening
We cannot continue to oscillate between chaos and laughter, corruption and justification, outrage and apathy. Our dignity as a people is dying not because outsiders have conquered us, but because we have surrendered to cynicism.
When a minister and a soldier almost exchange blows over land, and we cheer; when terrorists kill each other, and we clap — we have become participants in our own undoing.
Nigeria must rise again, but that resurrection begins within.
We must remember who we are: a people once defined by discipline, respect, and shared purpose. Until we recover that inner sovereignty — the sovereignty of conscience — we will keep losing both land and dignity.
Nigeria does not need new heroes or villains. It needs citizens — awake, aware, and unwilling to applaud madness.
Chidi Ekeh a public affairs commentator writes from Abuja FCT Nigeria
chidiekeh@yahoo.com
