The emotional reaction of social commentator VeryDarkMan (VDM) to the disturbing video of the kidnapped Oyo schoolchildren and teachers has once again forced Nigeria into a painful national conversation about insecurity, state failure, and the gradual transfer of government responsibilities to ordinary citizens.
In a visibly emotional statement, VDM declared that if the Nigerian government fails within days to rescue the victims or secure their release, he may consider opening a GoFundMe account to raise money and negotiate directly with the kidnappers himself. He admitted that such a move could carry legal and moral implications, but insisted that he could no longer bear watching the suffering of innocent children abandoned in captivity.
Ordinarily, such a statement would sound unthinkable in any functioning state. Yet in today’s Nigeria, many citizens did not react with shock. Instead, many responded with sympathy, support, and desperation. That response alone reveals the depth of public frustration and the dangerous erosion of confidence in state institutions.
At the heart of this issue lies a constitutional question that can no longer be avoided. Section 14(2)(b) of the Nigerian Constitution clearly states that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” Not political propaganda. Not endless campaign slogans. Not media optics. Security and welfare.
Yet increasingly, Nigerians are becoming the ones performing duties that belong to the state. Citizens now crowdfund hospital bills because public healthcare systems are failing. Communities contribute money to repair roads abandoned by government. Parents privately fund security in schools and neighborhoods.
Philanthropists feed displaced persons in camps. Activists raise funds for victims of violence. And now, frighteningly, citizens are openly discussing crowdfunding ransom negotiations with terrorists because confidence in government rescue capacity appears dangerously weak.
This is not normal. It is a symptom of institutional exhaustion. Nigeria remains one of Africa’s highest security spenders, allocating trillions of naira to defence, intelligence, and internal security over the years.
Successive governments have repeatedly announced the procurement of military hardware, deployment of special operations, and renewed offensives against insurgents, bandits, and kidnappers. Security agencies also regularly announce the neutralisation of criminal elements across various regions.
To be fair, the Nigerian military and other security personnel continue to operate under extremely difficult conditions, confronting multiple security threats simultaneously — from Boko Haram and ISWAP insurgency in the North-East, to armed banditry in the North-West, kidnapping networks across highways, and violent communal conflicts in parts of the Middle Belt. Hundreds of security officers have also lost their lives in the line of duty while attempting to contain these threats.
But despite these sacrifices and official claims of progress, public perception remains heavily shaped by recurring tragedies, mass abductions, ransom demands, and the haunting images of terrified victims pleading for help in viral videos circulated online.
That is the deeper crisis Nigeria now faces: not just insecurity itself, but the collapse of public trust in the state’s ability to guarantee protection.
When citizens begin to emotionally believe that influencers, activists, or crowdfunding campaigns may succeed where government institutions might fail, the implications go far beyond one kidnapping incident. It signals a dangerous weakening of state legitimacy itself.
No serious nation should normalize a situation where schoolchildren are abducted, heartbreaking videos emerge from captivity, and public debate shifts toward whether private citizens should negotiate with terrorists because the state appears too slow, too weak, or too ineffective to secure their release promptly.
That is not merely a security problem. It is a moral, institutional, and governance emergency.
There is also the dangerous precedent such actions could create. Security experts have long warned that ransom payments and unofficial negotiations may strengthen criminal enterprises, incentivize further kidnappings, and create parallel systems of authority outside state control. Governments around the world struggle with the ethical dilemma of negotiating with kidnappers because every successful ransom cycle risks financing future violence.
Yet the desperation of citizens today reflects a society emotionally exhausted by repeated trauma and increasingly willing to embrace unconventional solutions simply to save lives.
This is why the outrage surrounding the kidnapped Oyo students and teachers goes beyond politics. It touches the emotional nerve of a nation where parents are beginning to question whether schools are still safe, whether highways are secure, and whether the average citizen is ultimately alone in moments of danger.
A functioning government is not measured only by press releases after tragedy strikes. It is measured by the confidence citizens have that institutions will act swiftly, competently, and effectively before despair replaces trust.
And perhaps that is the most heartbreaking reality exposed by this moment: millions of Nigerians no longer fear only the terrorists. Increasingly, they fear abandonment.
Until the Nigerian state decisively restores both security and public confidence, the country risks drifting into something even more dangerous than terrorism itself — a society where citizens slowly stop believing that government can protect them at all.