Campaigning Over Corpses

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

There is something about the current Nigerian atmosphere that feels profoundly unsettling. Not merely because people are being abducted, killed, displaced and traumatised across different parts of the country. Not merely because communities that once considered themselves relatively safe are suddenly looking over their shoulders. Not merely because fear has become a regular travelling companion on our highways and byways. What feels particularly disturbing is the growing impression that while ordinary Nigerians are counting the dead, many politicians have already moved on to counting delegates.

The contrast is impossible to ignore. On one side are grieving families, frightened communities, disrupted livelihoods and anxious citizens wondering where the next attack might occur. On the other side are the familiar sounds of political drums warming up for another electoral season: meetings, alignments, consultations, endorsements, consensus arrangements, strategic defections, coalition talks and political mathematics. The usual cacophonous orchestra of ambition, performed with impressive confidence over a nation that is still trying to catch its breath.

One begins to wonder, at what point did Nigerian politicians become comfortable campaigning over corpses? For many years, insecurity felt like a distant tragedy to some parts of the country. It happened somewhere else. Another state. Another region. Another community. People watched disturbing television reports, shook their heads sympathetically, offered prayers and continued with their lives. Increasingly, however, that distance is disappearing. Communities once considered relatively insulated are becoming uneasy. Parents are more anxious. Travellers are more cautious. Farmers are more apprehensive. Businesses are recalculating risks. Fear, if we are honest, has become one of Nigeria’s fastest-growing industries.

The tragedy is that fear does not merely affect movement; it alters psychology. It changes how people think, invest, relate and plan. It erodes confidence, weakens trust and quietly inserts itself into everyday routines. A nation can survive economic hardship for surprisingly long periods. What eventually becomes corrosive is when citizens begin losing confidence in their collective safety and future. Yet, just as these anxieties deepen, the political class appears increasingly engrossed in its favourite pastime: the pursuit of power. There is nothing wrong with politics; democracy requires organisation, competition and coalition-building. What is troubling is the emotional detachment from the lived realities of those whose votes are being courted.

A citizen worried about surviving a highway journey is unlikely to lose sleep over consensus candidacies. A farmer uncertain about returning safely from his farm is not particularly fascinated by zoning calculations. A parent struggling to protect children from both economic hardship and physical danger is not especially moved by the latest wave of defections. Yet public discourse often suggests otherwise, as though these are secondary inconveniences rather than matters of life and death. One can almost imagine a future historian concluding that Nigerians were under attack while their politicians were under consultation.

 Even more troubling is the quietness of many civic and religious voices. Where is the sustained moral pressure? Where is the collective outrage? Where are the institutions that once forced uncomfortable truths into national consciousness? To be fair, statements are issued, prayers are offered, condemnations are expressed, sermons are preached and press conferences are held. Then the nation moves on, until the next tragedy arrives and the ritual begins again. Perhaps we have all become victims of repetition fatigue, where even horror loses its shock value because it arrives too frequently.

There is hardly a week without reports of abduction, violent attacks or communal tragedies. Over time, Nigerians have begun to consume insecurity the way they check weather forecasts: with resignation rather than surprise. That should worry us deeply. When abnormality becomes routine, societies begin to lose moral direction. When killings become statistics, compassion weakens. When fear becomes normal, freedom shrinks. When citizens feel abandoned, trust evaporates. And when trust evaporates, every institution begins to suffer silent collapse.

Yet beneath this visible surface lies a deeper structural failure. Insecurity in Nigeria did not descend from the sky one rainy afternoon. It has been cultivated over decades by a toxic combination of factors – the product of accumulated pressures that have been ignored for too long. A rapidly expanding population continues to outpace planning and opportunity. A dying industrial base has failed to absorb the energies of a restless youth population. Educational institutions continue to produce millions of graduates annually into an economy that has neither structured pathways nor sufficient absorption capacity. Unemployment and underemployment remain dangerously high, creating a pool of frustration that is too often exploited or misdirected.

Layered onto this are the manipulation of religious sentiment for political and ideological ends, persistent security lapses and occasional compromises within the system itself, inconsistent or poorly conceived government policies, and the unfortunate reality that political competition in some instances has, directly or indirectly, encouraged violent actors who later evolve beyond control. What we are witnessing is not merely insecurity; it is the accumulated consequence of neglected warnings and deferred responsibility.

The response must therefore go beyond military deployments and emergency statements. Nigeria urgently requires a massive vocational, technical and digital training revolution capable of absorbing millions of young people into productive enterprise. Agro-allied incentives must be expanded deliberately to make agriculture and food production attractive, modern and profitable, especially in safer regions where opportunity is vast but underutilised. Long-deferred structural solutions such as a properly implemented ranching system must be pursued to reduce the recurring cycle of farmer-herder conflicts that has claimed countless lives and displaced entire communities.

Religious institutions, too, must reflect more deeply on their societal role. Beyond building ever-larger auditoriums and worship centres, there is an urgent need to invest in skill acquisition programmes, vocational hubs and community-based economic empowerment initiatives. Faith cannot exist in isolation from the material conditions of its followers. In a period where danger is increasingly creeping into once-safe spaces, spiritual leadership must also translate into practical social responsibility.

 Ultimately, before the next coalition is announced or the next endorsement is staged, the nation must confront a more uncomfortable question: what are we doing, collectively and deliberately, to ensure that Nigerians remain alive, productive and hopeful? Until that question receives honest attention, the noise of politics will continue to compete with the silence of blood. And that is not a contest any serious nation should ever become comfortable losing.