Bago’s Defiance in the Time of Banditry – Abdul Mahmud

By Abdul Mahmud

“They dress it up as negotiation and baptise it as dialogue, but it is nothing more than doublespeak. A masquerade of words. Behind the velvet of their language lies deceit”. Those were the opening lines in ‘Love in the Time of Banditry’, an op-ed I wrote a few weeks ago that examined the strange intimacy between northern politicians and the warlords who torment their people. I described it as the theatre of affection performed under the shadow of fear, a ritual where surrender is dressed up as peace.

Weeks later, Governor Umaru Bago of Niger State appears to have heard that rebuke. He now says he will not play love in the time of banditry. He declared, “I will not negotiate or pay ransom to bandits. The moment we start paying, they will open shop on our heads and keep kidnapping people… We are surrounded by enemies, but we will not give up. The constitution gives us the right to defend our lives and property, and we will do just that. There is no going back”.

Governor Bago’s words sound bold. They sound new. But are they the beginning of a genuine change or another round of performance? Far from being an epicenter, Niger State has become a vast theatre of fear.

Eight local government areas live daily under the control of armed men. Entire villages have been emptied. Farmers have abandoned their lands. Children now know the sound of gunfire more than the sound of school bells. This is the true measure of governance failure. When Governor Bago says he will not negotiate, he is breaking from a long northern tradition of appeasement. Many of his predecessors and peers have mistaken fear for strategy. They sat across from killers, called it dialogue, and signed agreements that mocked both justice and grief. What they bought was not peace but silence that never lasts. If Bago truly means his words, he deserves praise for finding courage where others found excuses. But his defiance must be interrogated in the light of our country’s continuing reality. A state governor carries the title of “Chief Security Officer”, but he does not control the police or the army. He commands no battalions.

The instruments of coercion remain in the hands of the Federal Government. So, when he speaks of fighting back, we must ask: with what? Bare hands? With whom? The children of the poor? And for how long? As long as the war against Boko Haram has lasted in the North East?

Mere words do not stop bullets. Declarations do not secure highways. It takes weapons, intelligence, and coordination. It takes a system that works. Niger State, like most states, depends on federal security forces that are overstretched, underpaid, and poorly motivated. To say “we will defend ourselves” is easy. To do so effectively is something else. Yet, refusing to pay ransom is the right instinct.

Each ransom fuels the next round of kidnappings. Paying criminals is like watering a poisonous tree; it grows back stronger. Every payment emboldens the killers and weakens the State. The current wave of insecurity in our country grew from years of weak choices of leaders who preferred to pacify than to prosecute. Governor Bago must therefore turn his declaration into a plan. He should work with federal security agencies to build a joint command structure that prioritises hotspots in his State. He must invest in local intelligence. Villagers know the terrain better than soldiers flown in from distant barracks. Their knowledge can help predict and prevent attacks. But that cooperation requires trust, and trust grows only where government presence is visible and fair. He must also strengthen local vigilantes, but with strict oversight. Uncontrolled vigilantes can easily become another source of abuse and extortion. They must be trained, registered, and supervised under a clear legal framework.

The governor’s second task is economic. Banditry thrives where poverty is deepest. The barren lands of Niger are full of young men who see no future beyond the barrel of a gun. When the State withdraws, outlaws fill the vacuum. A bag of rice offered by a warlord buys loyalty faster than any sermon on patriotism. If Bago wants to dry up the recruiting grounds of the bandits, he must return hope to the rural poor. Schools, small industries, and farming cooperatives can give the people reasons to live beyond survival; but bullets cannot do same. The third task is moral. The same political class that condemns banditry has often courted it in secret. Ransoms are sometimes paid through back channels. “Peace committees” are set up to launder submission as diplomacy. Governor Bago must ensure that no one within his circle is sending cash or comfort to those he publicly condemns. Consistency is the soul of credibility. He should also speak to his people with honesty. The fight ahead will not be short or simple. There will be setbacks. There will be tears. The people must know this so that they can share ownership of the struggle.

A war fought with half-truths cannot be won.
It is also important to recognise that not every conflict in Niger is purely criminal. Some are rooted in resource competition between farmers and herders, in community grievances, or in the long neglect of border regions. Security responses that ignore these social roots will only push resentment underground. The governor must therefore pair force with justice, and policing with dialogue among peaceful citizens. Real peace comes from fairness, not fear.

Governor Bago’s courage will face its greatest test when tragedy strikes again. When schoolchildren are taken. When a convoy is ambushed. When the cry for ransom grows loud and the pressure to compromise rises. That is when we will know whether he truly rejects the politics of surrender. Many before him have spoken like warriors and acted like courtiers. The people of Niger have learned to measure leaders not by their speeches but by the silence of the guns. If he keeps his word, Bago could begin a new chapter in the fight against banditry. He could show that firmness need not mean cruelty, and that compassion does not require capitulation. He could restore a measure of faith in a region where citizens feel abandoned. But if his statement is only for applause, then it will fade like all the others: a soundbite swallowed by the next massacre. Leadership in the time of fear is not about romance. It is about duty. It is about standing where others fall back. It is about protecting lives without buying peace with blood money. The people of Niger State are watching. The killers are watching too.

In Love in the Time of Banditry, I wrote that what passes for dialogue between governors and terrorists is “a theatre of intimacy staged under the shadow of violence”. Governor Bago says he will no longer act in that play. The stage is set. The script is his to write. The question is whether his courage will endure beyond the sound of his own voice.

Only time will tell.