When a foreign president openly threatens to intervene in your country’s internal affairs and a large portion of your citizens applaud, that is not patriotism misplaced — it is the loudest indictment possible against those in power. When citizens begin to see an outsider as their saviour rather than their own government, it signals a profound collapse of trust, leadership, and legitimacy.
The recent uproar following former U.S. President Donald Trump’s warning that America would “wipe out Islamic terrorists in Nigeria” if the Nigerian government continued to allow the killing of Christians has exposed something deeply troubling about the Nigerian state. Instead of uniting around a coherent national response, the political class rushed into partisan theatrics — some crying “sovereignty violation,” others playing ethnic and religious cards — while ordinary Nigerians, tired of empty promises and endless bloodshed, quietly nodded in agreement with Trump’s bluntness.
This moment reveals a grim truth: the Nigerian government has lost the moral right to demand loyalty from its citizens without earning their trust. For over two decades, Nigerians have lived under the shadow of terrorism and banditry. Since Boko Haram’s emergence in 2009, more than 100,000 lives have been lost, according to estimates by the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR, 2024). The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP, 2023) places the number of people displaced by conflict and insecurity in the North-East alone at over 2.2 million, while over 8 million require humanitarian assistance in Borno, Adamawa, and Yobe States.
Meanwhile, insecurity has spread beyond the North. Between 2020 and 2024, data from the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project (ACLED) show that armed bandit attacks in the North-West accounted for more civilian deaths than Boko Haram insurgency in some periods. Kidnapping for ransom has become a thriving industry — over 5,000 Nigerians were kidnapped in 2023 alone (SB Morgen Intelligence Report, 2024). In states like Zamfara and Niger, local bandits have become parallel governments, collecting taxes and administering crude justice.
And yet, in the face of all this carnage, Nigeria’s leadership class still finds comfort in denial. With over ₦6.57 trillion budgeted for security in 2025 (BudgIT Foundation, 2025), the military remains under-equipped, morale is low, and intelligence failures persist. Reports of “leaked operations,” “phantom contracts,” and “ghost soldiers” continue to dominate headlines. When such systemic rot persists unchecked, it’s no surprise that ordinary people — exhausted, fearful, and desperate — would start to look outward for deliverance.
It is not that Nigerians want foreign invasion; it is that they want protection, and they no longer believe their government can provide it. This collective disillusionment is the most dangerous security threat of all — when the governed stop believing in their governors. It is also a moral failure. Leadership is not about wielding power but earning legitimacy. You cannot sermonize about sovereignty when your people no longer feel safe in their own country.
True leadership doesn’t fear criticism — it confronts failure and rebuilds confidence through tangible results. The spontaneous public support for Trump’s remark was not an endorsement of foreign interference; it was a cry for help — a desperate plea for justice and security in a nation where those promises have been broken repeatedly.
If the Nigerian government were delivering on its constitutional mandate to protect lives and property, no foreign leader’s words would matter. But when presidents speak tough while terrorists control territories, and when official rhetoric sounds bolder than real results, the people’s applause for outsiders becomes a damning verdict.
The Nigerian leadership must understand this moment for what it is — a wake-up call, not an insult. The fact that citizens now clap for the threat of foreign intervention should terrify, not amuse, those in power. Because when a people lose faith in their leaders, they stop defending their sovereignty — they start begging for salvation.
Nigerians are not celebrating invasion; they are demanding redemption. And if governance continues on this path of failure, the next generation may no longer distinguish between foreign rescue and foreign rule. That, truly, is the height of failed leadership.
