FOR over a decade, my weekly column – published both in The Sun Newspaper, across digital platforms and recently the Pointer – has evolved into an unexpected source of inspiration for many young Nigerians. They often reach out with comments, questions, and reflections that reveal a shared hunger: the longing for a nation that finally delivers on its promise. Their curiosity and persistence have confirmed something important-the conversation about building Nigeria must no longer be a solo effort. It is time to pass the torch, to invite younger voices into this journey, and to nurture a continuity that outlives any single columnist.
This week’s column was initially slated to continue Part 3 of the series, Between Ages: Conversations That Connect. Yet, the country is facing a crisis so urgent that silence would be a failure of responsibility. Nigeria is sinking deeper into the chaos of insecurity, insurgency, and a troubling wave of “copy-cat” banditry. These crises are not random; they are consequences of choices made and ignored over decades. And among the least discussed, but most devastating causes, is the destruction of our environment.
Once upon a time, communities facing danger could escape violence by retreating into dense forests or distant farmlands. Nature acted as both shield and refuge. Today, that possibility has faded. Our forests have been burnt, logged, and depleted. What once offered camouflage and safety has become open savannah – exposing the very people who depend on it for protection.
During a weekly discussion with some of our young writers and readers, one of them, Chidera Melissa Onyia, decided to deepen the inquiry. Driven by her own curiosity and guided by my environmental activism, she conducted research that once again confirms a disturbing truth: Nigeria’s security challenges are not merely political battles. They a reecological emergencies born from negligence, greed, and shortsightedness. Nigeria’s endless struggle with banditry has produced countless headlines, promises, and political declarations. Yet every now and then, a single statement cuts through the noise andexposesthe depthof the nation’sinsecuritycrisis.
Thatmomentarrived recently during a Senate plenary when Senator Garba Musa Maidoki of Kebbi South made a startling revelation. Speaking about the tragic kidnapping of schoolgirls in his constituency, he declared with striking confidence that the identities of the bandits terrorizing the country are already known. In his exact words: “We know who they are, where they are, and what they want.”
To many Nigerians, this declaration sounded bold and even reassuring at first. But to a country that has endured kidnappings, mass school abductions, community invasions and unending ransom negotiations for more than a decade, those words raised deeper and more troubling questions. If the criminals are known, whyare they still operating with such boldness? If their locations are identified, why do they remain untouchable? If their motives have been understood, why do their attacks continue to multiply? Whydo rescue operations drag on endlessly while families cry into emptiness, hoping for their children to return alive?
These questions expose a truth that many citizens have whispered for years: Nigeria’s insecurity crisis is not a mystery. It is a neglected problem. This is not a matter of not knowing who the enemies are, but failing to confront them with the courage and coordination required. What Nigerians witness is not a lack of intelligence, but a lack of decisive action. Banditry thrives not because these criminals are ghosts hiding in unreachable places, but because the system.
