By Victory Ukadike
In a land where being law abiding feels like being foolish, the Nigerian government just handed out the newest version of hope, titled “a handshake with the bandits”.
They didn’t storm the forest with fighter jets. They didn’t drag them to court in handcuffs. No. They sat across the table, nodded in understanding, and sealed the deal with photos and applause. In Danmusa, Katsina State, twelve hardened bandit leaders’ men with a history of blood on their hands, were welcomed into the spotlight like returning kings.
And what did they surrender? A few guns. A few hostages. A few smiles.
This is Nigeria’s latest recipe for peace: if you shoot, loot, kidnap, and terrorize enough, you won’t just be heard, you’ll be hosted.
The New Normal: Criminals as Negotiators
Once upon a time, peace deals were signed after war tribunals and justice served its due. Today, in Nigeria, justice bows before “strategic dialogue.”
Let’s not forget, these so called repentant bandits didn’t operate in shadows. They burned homes. They raided markets. They kidnapped children, raped women and mothers, slaughtered farmers and sanctioned famine. They held communities hostage sometimes for months and even forced them to pay tax.
But somehow, a few words and a weapon drop have rebranded them as partners in peace. Soft landing and accolades for heroes of our time!
Meanwhile, thousands of innocent citizens, who never lifted a gun, sleep with one eye open. Communities in Benue, Plateau, Katsina, Zamfara, Niger, and Kaduna are still burying their dead, rebuilding from ashes, and praying their towns don’t become the next negotiation table.
Because in this Nigeria, peace isn’t a right. It’s a privilege bought with blood or brokered with bullets.
When Terror Becomes a Ticket
Make no mistake! This is not a peace agreement. This is a promotion disguised as diplomacy. What message does this send?
To the farmer whose wife, daughter were kidnapped and raped, it says: Your pain is negotiable.
To the soldier who died in ambush, it whispers: Your sacrifice has no policy memory.
To the unemployed youth with no connection or capital, it screams: Violence may be your fastest route to relevance.
Because, let’s be honest, if forgiveness is so easy for those who terrorize, why is it so hard for those who struggle?
A Country That Compensates Chaos
This isn’t the first time. In the past, similar “peace pacts” were signed with militants in the Niger Delta, with mixed results. Some laid down arms. Others upgraded their arsenals.
But this one? It feels different. It feels desperate.
It’s as if the government is saying: We can’t protect you, but maybe we can beg your attackers to chill.
We must ask ourselves what happens to justice? What happens to deterrence? And what happens to the law when warlords sit where widows can’t even get a police report?
Between Fear and Fatigue
Nigerians are tired. Tired of headlines that read like horror stories. Tired of watching killers become kings while victims become statistics.
Take Benue State, for example. Just last Sunday, over 150 people were gruesomely killed in coordinated attacks across Yelwata and surrounding communities in Guma LGA. According to Amnesty International and survivor reports, the attackers heavily armed herdsmen stormed homes after midnight, setting fire to shelters where displaced families were sleeping.
Many victims were burned alive. Others were shot while trying to flee. Survivors said the markets were “rooms filled with charred bodies.” Around 3,000 people were displaced, most of them seeking refuge at a nearby Catholic mission. The tragedy was so overwhelming that Pope Leo XIV, during his Sunday Angelus at the Vatican, called out the attack by name. He prayed for justice in Nigeria and condemned the “unholy silence” of leadership in the face of such cruelty.
This massacre wasn’t the first in Benue and sadly, it won’t be the last. For years, the state has been held hostage by recurring waves of violence. But what makes this one different is how loud the silence is afterward.
No convictions. No high level resignations. No national mourning. Just more promises and press releases while the blood dries and the survivors bury.
Peace is sacred. But peace without justice? That’s just a pause button on chaos.
We want peace, yes.
But not the kind that claps for bandits while civil servants die in silence. Not the kind that forgets the orphans. Not the kind that turns a blind eye to the blood still drying on village walls.
So What Now?
If this is the peace we must accept, then let us at least call it what it is a fragile performance of safety. A deal signed in the absence of real solutions.
And the next time our leaders want to pose with peace partners, maybe they should also visit the mass graves. Speak to the mothers who still wait for their daughters. Face the soldiers’ widows. And tell them, with their eyes wide open, that this is what justice now looks like.
Because if criminals are the new negotiators, then the real victims are not just those who died. It’s also those of us still alive, watching this tragic theatre unfold.
Nigeria doesn’t just need peace. It needs truth. It needs justice. And above all, it needs leaders with the courage to do right, not just what’s easy.
According to a report by “Arab News (AFP)” published on June 24, 2025, “a dozen bandit kingpins met with local officials and community leaders in the town of Danmusa, where they renounced violence and pledged to turn a new leaf.” The Katsina State Commissioner for Internal Security, Nasiru Mu’azu, confirmed that the bandits initiated the peace talks and surrendered weapons as a gesture of goodwill.
