Nigeria is at the junction of multiple overlapping security crises, with communities across the country increasingly caught in the crossfire of insurgency, communal violence, banditry, and farmer-herder conflict. The ripple effects transcend immediate physical attacks: they reach deep into livelihoods, food security, displacement, and long-term stability. The scale of the challenge is enormous.
In the north-east of Nigeria, the insurgency led by Boko Haram and its splinter Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) continues to impose a heavy toll. Recent reporting shows a sharp uptick in attacks: across several states and months, the death toll among civilians and security personnel has risen. The actions of these armed groups have grown more complex with increased use of improvised explosives, ambushes on convoys, and attacks on internally displaced persons camps. In March 2025, suspected insurgents attacked two military bases in Borno State, on the Cameroon border, killing at least four soldiers and burning equipment.
Compounding this is a rising tide of communal violence and banditry in other parts of the country, such as the north-west and north-central regions. The National Human Rights Commission, in collaboration with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), reported over 44,000 new displacements in just the February–April 2025 quarter, and the country had an estimated 3.4 million internally displaced persons (IDPs) as of the end of 2023, even before 2024–25 escalations.
The displacement is not a side story: it is the story. In north-west states such as Kaduna, Katsina, Zamfara, and others, banditry, kidnappings for ransom, and raids on villages are now common. A humanitarian situation report published in June 2025 by UNICEF noted that over 718,000 IDPs were recorded across those states, representing a 12% increase over the previous cycle. These numbers reflect a country trying to absorb multiple crises at once.
The human consequences are stark: entire villages emptied, farms abandoned, crops unharvested, and food security undermined. In Benue State, a study found that an increase in insecurity corresponded to measurable drops in crop and livestock output. Farmers who once tilled the land that produced food for the nation now live in displacement camps, unable to resume farming. Amputations, killings, burned granaries, and destroyed homes are among the tactics of violence being used.
Amid this backdrop of rising violence and displacement, the presidency has inserted itself more visibly into the security architecture. In October 2025, Bola Ahmed Tinubu announced a sweeping overhaul of the military leadership, replacing the Chief of Defense Staff, Chief of Army Staff, Chief of Air Staff, and Chief of Naval Staff, while retaining the Chief of Defense Intelligence. The appointments were immediate and framed as part of efforts to strengthen Nigeria’s national security architecture.
General Olufemi Oluyede was appointed Chief of Defense Staff, replacing General Christopher Musa; Major-General W. Shaibu became Chief of Army Staff; Air Vice-Marshal S.K. Aneke became Chief of Air Staff; Rear-Admiral I. Abbas became Chief of Naval Staff. The President, in his statement, asked the new service chiefs to “deepen professionalism, vigilance and comradeship” within the Armed Forces of Nigeria. The presidency described the reshuffle as a routine exercise in line with constitutional prerogatives of the Commander-in-Chief.
While the reshuffle is within the President’s rights, the real question remains whether the appointments will yield operational change. The timing of the shake‐up raises several immediate questions: one, whether it is a response to the rising insecurity across the country; two, whether it reflects internal military dynamics (including rumours of a coup plot in September 2025); and three, whether the new leadership will be granted the resources, freedom, and institutional backing to alter Nigeria’s security trajectory.
The decision came amid a backdrop of multiple warnings and increasing frustration. Security experts have noted that replacing leadership without addressing structural problems, such as weak intelligence, logistical shortfalls, poor inter-service cooperation, inadequate troop welfare, and limited access to remote hot zones, may merely shift the marginal responsibility rather than change the outcome. In some quarters, the shuffle is seen more as a signal to the public and to the military than a guarantee of change.
One key challenge remains continuity. Frequent changes at the top can disrupt institutional memory and undermine operational cohesion. For example, troops in the field might experience shifting directives, new command styles, altered chain of command, and adjustments to coordination processes. In a country fighting insurgency, banditry, and communal violence across disparate terrains, coherence of command matters. If the change of leadership is purely cosmetic and not accompanied by systemic reform: logistics, intelligence, training, funding, community engagement, and local governance, the same crises may continue.
While the scale and intensity of violence are alarming, the government’s response has also been criticized for being inconsistent, delayed, or under-resourced. In Benue State, for instance, an international rights organization concluded that the state government had “failed the people again and again” in protecting them. At the national level, the new Defense Chief has publicly recommended that Nigeria fence its borders with neighbouring countries to reduce infiltration by armed groups. While this signals ambition, it also highlights how far the gap is between strategy and capability.
Another troubling dimension is the humanitarian funding gap. In May 2025, the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) said that out of US$15.1 million needed for sexual and reproductive health and gender-based violence services in 2025, only US$1 million had been received (just 6.6 %). The implication is clear: displaced women and girls, already at heightened risk, are facing a deepening protection vacuum.
In practical terms, what does this mean for families? Imagine the farmer in Gwer-West or Agatu in Benue: overnight, armed men arrive, burn their homes, shoot, and loot food stores. The household flees, salvaging what little they can. They arrive at a camp with inadequate shelter and limited services. The next planting season passes, and they have lost access to land, seed, fertilizer, income, and social networks. Meanwhile, a child carries trauma from the attack, robbed of schooling for months or years. Multiply this across thousands of households, and you see how long-term human capital is being eroded.
On the security front, the nature of violence is shifting. It is no longer confined simply to large-scale insurgency in the northeast; it is spreading. The north-central region is now one of the worst hot zones. In one attack in May 2025 in Benue, four communities were hit over a weekend, and 42 people were killed. These attacks reflect a pattern of armed groups exploiting remote rural areas, combining ethnic tensions, land pressure, and climate stress into lethal violence. Between farmer-herder conflict driven by land loss and water scarcity, population growth, and economic hardship, the conditions for conflict are piling up.
Even when the government or security forces respond, the challenge remains large. Successes such as the military freeing hostages in the northwest and air strikes killing militants show some capability. But these operations happen amid a broader backdrop of persistent attacks, displacement, and insecurity. Leadership change at the top gives a chance at renewed momentum—but the structural issues remain.
One of the deepest risks is normalization. When hundreds of villages are attacked or evacuated, when farming cycles are repeatedly disrupted, when children spend years in displacement rather than school, when local economies collapse, and social trust erodes, the trajectory is for declining state legitimacy, weakened institutions, and increased grievance. Institutions need more than new faces at the top: they need systems that work, resources that arrive, local engagement, governance, and follow-through.
For Nigeria, a large oil-producing and populous country, the implications are profound. The insecurity undermines agricultural output, restricts access to basic services, drives internal migration, increases humanitarian needs, and threatens stability. The displacement numbers alone (3.4 million IDPs as of end-2023) should ring warning bells. Without significant shifts in policy, security strategy, and coordinated humanitarian action, the human cost will continue to rise.
In summary, Nigeria’s security crisis is not just about insurgency in the northeast; it is a national-level failure to protect, stabilize, and rebuild. Violence is morphing, extending into previously less-affected areas, and the fallout is multi-dimensional: displacement, economic loss, human trauma, and lost development. The presidency’s leadership changes signal intention but not yet outcome. The question remains: will the new guard bring real change, or just new names to the same battles?
Samuel Aina