In recent months, the frequency and intensity of attacks in northern Nigeria have shattered the comforting illusion that the region’s long insurgency has receded into the background of national life. As violent incidents have proliferated, many Nigerians have refused to confront this uncomfortable reality and have opted instead to embrace conspiracy theories suggesting that the resurgence is somehow tied to renewed American involvement in Nigeria’s counterterrorism efforts.
It is not difficult to see why the theory of foreign collusion with terrorist groups resonates in Nigeria. In February 2025, United States Congressman Scott Perry claimed that the US Agency for International Development (USAID) had funded Boko Haram, but offered no evidence for the allegation. Richard Mills, then the US ambassador to Nigeria, rejected Perry’s statement, but by then the claim had already acquired a life of its own in the public space and on social media.
Then, American officials like Congressmen Ted Cruz and Chris Smith made statements that fuelled the “Christian genocide” narrative, which falsely claims that the killings in Nigeria exclusively target Christians.
Attacks on Christians have happened, including most recently on a church in Kaduna state on Easter Sunday, but Muslim communities have also been regularly targeted. The truth is that terrorist groups have long operated indiscriminately.
What this moment demands, therefore, is to go beyond the seduction of easy explanation, and embark on serious analysis of what is really happening in northern Nigeria.
That diagnosis must begin with clarity about what the attacks reveal. First, they reveal that the insurgency has adapted in both form and method. Second, northern Nigeria’s insecurity can no longer be understood in isolation from the rest of the region; it is part of the wider regional disorder across the Lake Chad basin and the Sahel. And third, the violence continues to feed on deeper domestic vulnerabilities that extend far beyond the battlefield: chronic poverty, educational exclusion, weak local governance, and the long erosion of the social contract in parts of the North.
Let us begin with the first point. Recent attacks demonstrate that the insurgent ecosystem has learned, adapted, and expanded beyond the old image of a crudely armed rebellion fighting in predictable ways. The ISIL affiliate in West Africa Province (ISWAP), in particular, has become more adaptive in structure and tactics, while its conflict with Boko Haram has weakened the latter and left ISWAP as the more organised and deeply entrenched threat in the Lake Chad region. It has consolidated its presence in parts of the Lake Chad basin and expanded into Sambisa Forest, widening the space from which it can threaten civilians and military formations alike.
This matters because insurgencies are sustained not by ideology alone, but by terrain, supply routes, local economies, and the ability to move men and materiel through spaces where the state is weak or absent. In that sense, the insurgency is no longer merely surviving in familiar hideouts; it is entrenching itself in a broader and more fluid battlespace, with ISWAP’s control of trade in and around Lake Chad now a major pillar of its resilience.
ISWAP has also refined the way it fights, demonstrating a growing capacity for coordinated assaults, night raids, ambushes, and operations designed not merely to inflict casualties, but to isolate military positions and slow the movement of reinforcements. This challenge is magnified by the sheer scale of the theatre itself.
Borno, Yobe, and Adamawa states are each comparable in size to entire European countries: Borno is slightly larger than the Republic of Ireland; Yobe is roughly the size of Switzerland; and Adamawa is slightly larger than Belgium. Policing territories of that scale would test any state, all the more so when they border a fragile regional neighbourhood.
The terrain has also shaped the rhythm of the conflict, with the dry season, particularly the first quarter of the year, ushering in an intensification of attacks.
At the heart of this adaptation is the evolution of technology. What once seemed unthinkable in this theatre has now entered the insurgent repertoire. Drones, including commercially available models modified for combat, are now part of the operational environment. The significance of this shift is not merely technical; it is also psychological and strategic.
Beyond technology, the insurgency’s growing mobility has sharpened the threat further. Rapid assaults by motorcycle-mounted units demonstrate the extent to which insurgent violence now depends on speed, concentration, and dispersal. Fighters can assemble quickly, strike vulnerable locations, and disappear into difficult terrain before an effective response can take shape.
The advantage here lies not in holding territory in the conventional sense, but in imposing uncertainty, stretching the state’s defensive attentions, and proving that the insurgents can still choose where and when to shock the system.
Perhaps the most dangerous dimension of this adaptation is the infiltration of foreign fighters. Their significance lies not only in their numbers, but in what they bring with them: technical knowledge, battlefield experience, tactical imagination, and links to wider militant networks.
Their presence points to a deeper cross-fertilisation between local insurgency and global terrorist currents. More troubling still, they are now playing a more active role in the conflict, not only refining tactics and skills but also participating directly in combat.
That is why the regional dimension must be central to any serious analysis. The weakening of regional cooperation has come at the worst time, creating openings that insurgents are only too ready to exploit. A threat that has always been transnational becomes harder to confront when neighbouring states no longer act with sufficient cohesion.
Niger’s withdrawal from the Multinational Joint Task Force after the reaction of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) to the military coup there has sharpened that challenge and weakened the perimeter defences of the north-east theatre. The force, comprising troops from Nigeria, Niger, Cameroon, and Chad, with a smaller Beninese contingent at its headquarters in N’Djamena, was instrumental in earlier gains and remains vital for reinforcing positions, conducting operations in difficult terrain, denying insurgents safe havens, and intercepting the movement of foreign fighters.
Yet even regional analysis, necessary as it is, does not fully explain the problem. Insurgencies endure not only because they move across borders, but because they can recruit, regroup, and exploit social weakness at home.
Violence in northern Nigeria is sustained by a combination of doctrinal extremism, chronic poverty, educational exclusion, and a state whose presence is often too limited to command confidence in the communities where armed groups seek recruits. The argument, therefore, cannot remain confined to the military sphere.
Poverty and lack of education do not directly produce terrorism, but they increase vulnerability, especially where alienation, weak institutions, and manipulative ideological narratives are already present. This is why the educational crisis in northern Nigeria should be seen not only as a developmental challenge, but as part of the wider security landscape. Education does more than impart literacy and numeracy; it provides structure, routine, and pathways to self-actualisation and social belonging.
It is important to note that the government is not without a response. In 2024, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu signed the Student Loans (Access to Higher Education) Act into law, and the rollout of the Nigerian Education Loan Fund has since opened a wider path to post-secondary education and skills development. But the more decisive educational challenge lies earlier, at the basic level, where literacy begins, habits are formed, and attachment to institutions is either built or lost. By the time a young person reaches the threshold of higher education, the foundational work has already been done or neglected.
This is why local governance matters more to security than is often recognised. In Nigeria’s federal structure, primary education sits closest to the weakest and most politically distorted tier of government. If local government remains fiscally weak, administratively paralysed, or politically captured, one of the country’s most important long-term defences against radicalisation will remain fragile.
That is why local government autonomy, though often framed in dry constitutional terms, has direct implications for security. President Tinubu, an ardent champion of local autonomy, welcomed the Supreme Court’s July 2024 judgement affirming the constitutional and financial rights of local governments and has pressed governors to respect it. Resistance, however, is unsurprising: many governors have long treated local governments as subordinate extensions of their authority.
So what does the present moment demand from Nigeria? It demands, certainly, continued military pressure on insurgent sanctuaries. It demands stronger force protection, sharper intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance, improved rural and urban security, and a more serious approach to trans-border diplomacy. It demands that regional diplomacy be treated not as a luxury of peacetime statecraft, but as part of the operational infrastructure of security.
But the crisis cannot be addressed by military action alone. It also calls for social, institutional, and educational measures across all tiers of government. The state must confront extremism not only through force, but through education and functioning local institutions. It must rebuild governance, restore trust, and close the social and institutional fractures through which violence renews itself.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
