Trump And His War Trumpets

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

Donald Trump never disappoints in the art of global drama. One minute he’s railing against immigrants; the next, he’s threatening to “send in the troops” to a sovereign nation – in this case, Nigeria. Yes, Nigeria. From his comfort zone on a social-media platform, the ever-campaigning U.S. president declared that America might have to intervene militarily to “stop the slaughter of Christians.” Cue the global eyebrow raise – and the familiar question: what sort of intelligence briefing ends with a war threat issued via smartphone?

  To be fair, Washington’s “intelligence” on religious persecution doesn’t usually arrive in brown envelopes stamped Top Secret. It often comes in glossy dossiers prepared by evangelical lobby groups, think tanks, and human-rights NGOs. Their graphs show grim figures – thousands of Christians allegedly killed by Islamic extremists across Nigeria. Tragic? Absolutely. But these reports rarely account for the complexity of Nigeria’s violence: a combustible mix of land conflict, ethnic rivalry, criminal gangs, politics, and poverty. What Trump heard was likely a simplified version: “Christians dying, Muslims killing, government sleeping.” Add a generous splash of election-season pandering to his conservative base, and presto – the “war trumpets” start blaring.

  The technical term behind his bluster is CPC – “Country of Particular Concern.” Under the U.S. International Religious Freedom Act, it’s Washington’s naughty list for nations accused of severe religious violations. It opens the door to sanctions, trade restrictions, and diplomatic side-eye. On paper, it’s meant to push governments toward tolerance; in practice, it’s often a political megaphone disguised as moral outrage. For Nigeria – a secular country split almost evenly between Christians and Muslims – it’s a dangerous label, one that paints our internal bloodshed in one hue and ignores the rest of the rainbow.

 Trump, of course, thrives on such noise. His microblogging outbursts are his version of foreign policy. The man prefers “diplomacy by declaration” – short, loud, and instantly viral. He did it with North Korea (“fire and fury”), with Iran (“great destruction”), and with NATO (“pay up or else”). Now Nigeria joins the hall of fame. He tweets; the world gasps; the diplomats scramble; the Pentagon coughs politely. It’s theatre with nuclear overtones.

  But let’s not pretend Nigeria’s house is in perfect order. The violence in our north and middle belt has grown monstrous. From Boko Haram’s unending terror to the herder-farmer bloodbaths, from mass kidnappings to community raids, the Nigerian state often looks like a bystander at its own funeral. Over the past decade, tens of thousands have been killed, millions displaced, and billions lost in livelihoods. Is it genocide? That depends on who’s counting and who’s dying. What it certainly is – is a failure of governance on an epic scale.

  And here’s where the American sermon gets sticky. Washington’s reports speak of “Christian persecution,” but the average Nigerian knows that Muslims, Christians, and traditionalists alike have buried victims of the same marauding terror. The tragedy is not one faith’s monopoly – it’s a national trauma. The Nigerian government is not so much complicit as complacent: issuing condemnations by day and attending political rallies by night. We fight terrorists with press releases and call i Trump’s “war trumpets,” therefore, may sound ridiculous – but they echo because of our own deafness. When a nation cannot secure its own citizens, outsiders will claim moral licence to “save” them. The Nigerian military keeps announcing “technical defeats” of Boko Haram, yet the killings persist. Our borders leak like a broken sieve, and our police often act like part-time tax collectors. Even the immediate past Chief of Defence Staff recently proposed fencing the country – as if the terrorists would politely wait for the gate to close.

 Have we done enough? Certainly not. We keep shifting blame between state and federal levels, north and south, faith and tribe. Meanwhile, the bloodletting continues. Real reform – security, judicial, social – remains trapped in bureaucracy and political ego. If this continues, the next “war trumpet” might not come from Washington alone; others will join the band.

  Some analysts whisper that the success of the Muslim-Muslim ticket in the 2023 elections might have emboldened extremists, given the optics of prolonged Muslim leadership after Buhari’s eight years. That’s speculation, of course, but perception is powerful fuel. For some radicals, it looks like divine validation; for some Christians, it feels like political exclusion. Either way, the result is suspicion – and suspicion breeds violence faster than any sermon can cure. The truth is simpler: extremists are encouraged not by ballots, but by weakness. When the state loses monopoly of force, ideology fills the vacuum.

 So, if Trump’s threat is bluster, what can the international community really do? The answer isn’t in air strikes or marines landing in Maiduguri. It’s in patient, strategic help – training our security forces, improving intelligence-sharing, controlling illicit arms, and supporting genuine peacebuilding. The U.S., EU, and even China can assist – but not dictate. Nigeria needs capacity, not occupation. We must lead our own rescue.

  Interestingly, China has already played the loyal friend, warning Washington not to meddle in Nigeria’s “internal affairs.” The European Union, ever polite, has called for dialogue and restraint. Translation: “Donald, calm down.” But geopolitics has no saints. Beijing’s embrace comes with debt strings; Europe’s concern comes with policy interests. Nigeria must tread carefully between sympathisers who come bearing chequebooks and those who come bearing crusades.

  Still, the symbolism of Trump’s threat stings. It reminds us that the world sees Nigeria less as Africa’s giant and more as a wounded animal limping through its own forest fires. When outsiders brandish moral swords, it’s often because we’ve dropped our shields of credibility. A country that cannot protect its people, count its dead honestly, or punish its killers will inevitably invite saviours – sincere or cynical.

Trump’s threat, then, is another of his trademark war trumpets – blaring from the bandstand of half-baked intelligence and homegrown politics, echoing across social media like a man rehearsing for history. Yet it lands awkwardly on Nigeria – a secular country still trying to separate faith from fraud. The CPC badge may give Washington new toys to rattle, but the real work lies in our own backyard: fixing institutions, reforming politics, and restoring a state that no foreign army can rescue by decree. And as Trump’s war trumpets fade into the usual campaign noise, the question remains: when does advocacy become intervention, and when does sovereignty slip quietly away in the name of protection?