By Emmanuel Ado
In a country thoroughly battered by terrorism, banditry, kidnapping, and communal violence, suspicion has become almost instinctive. It is a reflex action born out of trauma and the repeated failure of the Federal Government of Nigeria to fully secure the lives and property of its citizens. This failure is particularly painful because the 1999 Constitution (as amended) is unequivocal on this point. According to Section 14(2)(b) of the 1999 Constitution, “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” This provision is not aspirational; it is the foundational social contract between the Nigerian state and its citizens.
Unfortunately, this constitutional provision is largely observed in the breach and, being non-justiciable, offers citizens no legal remedy. The result is a grim paradox: a people constitutionally promised security, yet practically compelled to endure its absence. In many instances, citizens become victims of jungle justice at the hands of vigilante groups “protecting” their communities.
When suspicion born of unmet constitutional obligations is allowed to harden into assumptions, and assumptions into collective judgment of a people, it mutates into prejudice. In a fragile federation like Nigeria, where diversity is both a strength and a fault line, such prejudice is deeply troubling because it is politically and socially combustible. When the state fails to meet its constitutional duty to protect, citizens and subnational actors like Amotekun step in, but without the necessary caution, that vacuum can easily lead to a national crisis.
The recent arrest by the Ondo State Security Network Agency, popularly known as Amotekun, of travelers from Sokoto State is worrying. Initial reports suggested they were fleeing military pressure in the North and relocating to forests in the South-West. Drawing such conclusions without any evidence or thorough investigation was alarming. Social media predictably amplified these unverified claims, framing innocent travelers as invading bandits or terrorists. Nigeria stood on the brink of what could easily have escalated into an ethnic crisis, with suspicion hardening into resentment on one side and outrage threatening to boil over on the other.
In what is becoming a worrying pattern, the same experience of the travelers from Sokoto State has played out again. A coal-laden truck conveying 38 young men from Gombe State was intercepted, and the occupants were quickly tagged as terrorists. On the surface, the circumstances justified concern, especially with the passengers supposedly unable to clearly state their destination, having no verifiable addresses or contacts, unexplained items including a uniform bearing the inscription “Commander,” charms, and a route reportedly linked to extremist activity. For a security outfit operating in an environment of heightened alert, stopping the vehicle and detaining the occupants for questioning was not only reasonable, it was responsible.
But the real issue does not lie solely in the interception itself. It lies in what follows such incidents—how those arrested are framed, how their Northern identities are interpreted, and how quickly legitimate security operations slide into narratives that collapse suspicion into ethnicity. Beyond the immediate arrests is a larger national question of how Nigeria can pursue security without sacrificing fairness, and how community policing should be conducted, especially in a country where identity politics remains deeply sensitive.
What prevented escalation over the arrest of the Sokoto State citizens was quiet diplomacy. The Sokoto State Government chose restraint and dialogue. Instead of trading accusations in the media, it engaged quietly and directly with Ondo State authorities and the relevant security agencies. The identities of the travelers were verified and their claims examined. Thankfully, the matter was amicably resolved without violence, mass hysteria, or the kind of retaliatory rhetoric that has often deepened Nigeria’s fault lines. It must be stressed that despite the security challenges confronting the country, Nigerians have an inalienable constitutional right to move freely within it.
That episode remains deeply instructive. It underscored the reality that Nigeria’s security challenges cannot be resolved by arrests, detentions, or public parades of suspects alone, without investigation. Rather, they require deliberate intergovernmental cooperation, constant communication, and a shared commitment to managing crises in ways that do not inflame existing fault lines. It also revealed how quickly the careless framing of events, especially when tied to a particular region, can further polarize the country. In a nation as diverse and delicate as Nigeria, words and actions can be as dangerous as weapons. Even as we confront genuine and evolving security threats, we must remain conscious that national unity is neither automatic nor indestructible; it is a fragile asset that must be actively protected at all times.
Security operations that alienate entire regions ultimately undermine the very stability they seek to protect.
The clamour for community policing emerged from necessity. The federal policing system has been overstretched, underfunded, and often distant from local realities. In many communities, response times were slow, intelligence shallow, and presence minimal. Outfits like Amotekun have no doubt filled a vacuum, offering quicker response, better local knowledge, and a sense of ownership over security. Going by their activities, whatever successes they may have recorded can easily be wiped out by the arrest of innocent people. It is important to stress that they are not under pressure to “deliver” results at all costs, and must therefore resist reaching assumptions based on tribe.
Community policing certainly carries inherent risks, especially in a country like Nigeria, which is why many members of the National Assembly have been slow in passing the relevant legislation. There are fears that such outfits could be misused by governors. Unfamiliar faces, even if from regions associated in public discourse with insecurity, should not be automatically equated with danger. Without public confidence in fairness, community policing would most certainly lose legitimacy. Legitimacy is the oxygen that sustains such an initiative, and once lost, it is difficult to regain.
This is where language and framing matter profoundly. Repeated references to “northerners fleeing into forests,” “suspected terrorists,” or “influx from the North” unfortunately paint innocent people as criminals. In a nation still haunted by civil war memories, indigene-settler conflicts, and religious tensions, such careless generalizations only serve to further divide us.
It bears repeating that millions of Northerners traverse Nigeria daily for legitimate reasons—trade, farming, seasonal labor, education, and family ties. Mobility is not a crime. Soon, Southerners may be compelled to travel north to buy foodstuffs such as onions, potatoes, cattle, and beans, just as people travel to Aba for fabrics or Nnewi for motor spare parts.
None of this is to deny Nigeria’s security realities. Armed groups are known to relocate when pressure mounts, and ungoverned spaces—especially forests—serve as hideouts. They also exploit Nigeria’s porous borders. These are facts that cannot be wished away. But acknowledging them does not mean that an entire region should be criminalized.
We must avoid humiliating the innocent, because it breeds resentment and creates new grievances. Every innocent person detained or stigmatized becomes a potential carrier of bitterness, and bitterness is fertile ground for future insecurity. A nation cannot police its way out of mistrust.
Amotekun, like other community-based security outfits, therefore bears a heavy responsibility. It must be painstaking without being reckless, and decisive without being inflammatory. Profiling suspects is necessary, but profiling must be professional, transparent, and insulated from ethnic bias. Investigations must precede accusations, and public communication must reassure rather than alarm.
The experience of the travelers from Sokoto State offers a template worth studying. Diplomacy worked. Dialogue worked. Leadership worked. It showed that Nigeria’s diversity, often portrayed as a weakness, can be a strength when well managed. Security agencies, state governments, and political leaders must learn to see these moments as tests of national unity.
Nigeria today is not only battling criminals; it is battling narratives that will ultimately shape the country’s future. If community policing becomes synonymous with ethnic profiling, it will deepen divisions and undermine the very peace it seeks to secure. But if it is anchored in professionalism and fairness, it can strengthen trust and enhance security.
Amotekun was right to intercept a suspicious truck; vigilance in the face of real and present danger is not optional. However, it will be even more right to ensure that every investigation is painstaking, every prosecution firmly anchored on credible and verifiable evidence, and every innocent citizen shielded from the crushing weight of collective stereotyping. In a country as delicate as Nigeria, fairness, justice, and mutual respect are our sure guarantee for nationhood.
Going forward, Amotekun must deliberately refine its mode of operation by placing greater emphasis on intelligence-driven policing and avoid the discredited practice of rushing to the press without the benefit of proper investigation. This requires improved intelligence gathering, deeper collaboration with sister security agencies, and sustained investment in the continuous training and retraining of its personnel. Only through professionalism, discipline, and adherence to best practices can the outfit effectively achieve its objectives without undermining public trust or national cohesion.
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