By ALO360 Editorial Board
Forty-one days into 2026, Nigeria has already lost 1,256 lives, according to a Vanguard tally of media-reported killings. That figure alone should unsettle the nation’s conscience. It translates to roughly 27 deaths every single day. And because the compilation relies strictly on media reports, it almost certainly understates the scale of the tragedy. Many killings in remote communities never make the headlines.
What this means is simple: Nigerians are dying at a rate that should trigger emergency-level action. Instead, the country appears trapped in a familiar cycle of outrage, official assurances, and continued bloodshed.
The killings are not confined to one region or one pattern. Terror attacks, banditry, kidnappings, communal clashes and violent crimes have spread across the map. Even accidents and domestic incidents add to the grim picture. The Vanguard tally indicates that insecurity and violence alone accounted for over a thousand of the deaths within that short window, representing a sharp and worrying escalation compared to the same period last year. This is not a marginal increase. It is a warning flare.
Particularly alarming is the shift in the geography of violence. The North-Central, once described as the nation’s food basket, has now emerged as the deadliest zone in the country, overtaking the North East. States like Kwara, Kogi and Niger have recorded staggering casualties. That transformation from agricultural heartland to killing field signals not just insecurity, but a dangerous expansion of conflict into territories once considered relatively stable.
The reports from Kwara state are especially chilling. In communities such as Woro and Nuku, dozens of residents were massacred in a single day. It is even more disturbing that, according to local accounts, the attackers reportedly informed the community beforehand under the guise of preaching. They allegedly operated for hours without any meaningful security intervention. If such brazen violence can unfold for that long without resistance, it exposes deep cracks in response systems that are supposed to protect citizens.
In contrast, when citizens assemble to protest government policies, security personnel are deployed in overwhelming numbers. Yet when heavily armed groups descend on rural communities, security operatives are often conspicuously absent. This disparity fuels a growing perception that the state reacts faster to dissent than to terror.
In December 2025, President Bola Tinubu announced that kidnappers and bandits would henceforth be designated as terrorists, declaring an end to what he described as ambiguous nomenclature. The move was welcomed in some quarters as a sign of seriousness. But months later, Nigerians are asking whether the shift has gone beyond semantics. Changing labels does not automatically dismantle networks. It does not prevent attacks. It does not bring back the dead.
Since November 2025, the president has also signalled approval for state policing — a reform long advocated as a way to strengthen local intelligence and improve rapid response. It was a significant acknowledgement that Nigeria’s centralised policing structure is overstretched. Yet, like many bold declarations before it, the promise appears to have stalled at the level of announcement. There has been no visible urgency in translating that approval into operational reality. Once again, a potentially transformative reform risks remaining on the podium on which it was proclaimed.
The pattern feels familiar. Under former President Muhammadu Buhari, Nigerians repeatedly heard of fresh “marching orders” to security agencies. Strong words followed each new wave of violence. Yet insecurity persisted. Today, similar assurances echo from the highest levels of government — coordinated operations, intelligence-driven strategies, improved surveillance, shrinking ungoverned spaces. Security forces reportedly neutralised hundreds of criminals within the same 41-day period cited by Vanguard.
But 1,256 Nigerians are dead.
Operational gains, however real, cannot be the sole measure of success. The true test is whether attacks are prevented, whether communities feel safer, and whether the daily rhythm of grief slows. By that measure, the country is failing.
Leadership also carries symbolic weight. At a time when communities are burying scores of victims, Nigerians expect visible empathy and urgency from the highest office. The optics of attending celebratory events while villages mourn can deepen public frustration, even if security efforts continue behind the scenes. In times of national trauma, presence matters.
Meanwhile, political calculations ahead of 2027 appear to dominate the national conversation. Alliances are forming. Parties are positioning. Speeches are multiplying. Yet the right to campaign and contest office means little if citizens cannot survive long enough to exercise it. Security should not be secondary to politics; it is the foundation upon which democracy stands.
This moment demands more than recycled rhetoric. It requires a clear reassessment of strategy, rapid response in flashpoints, accountability for lapses, and the urgent implementation of reforms such as state policing. It requires political will that treats each killing not as a statistic but as a direct failure of the state’s primary responsibility.
Twenty-seven deaths a day must not become normal. Over a thousand deaths in just 41 days must not be absorbed into routine headlines. If such a staggering toll does not provoke a decisive shift in approach, then the promise of protecting life and property rings hollow.
Promises no longer persuade Nigerians. They want results. They want to farm without fear, travel without anxiety, and sleep without listening for gunshots. They want action that interrupts the rhythm of mourning that has become far too common.
History will not remember how many times fresh orders were announced. It will remember whether the body count dropped. Right now, the numbers tell a story that no government should be comfortable defending.
