Tinubu, Benue and When Empathy Comes After the Funeral
By Kabir Abdulsalam
As I watched the latest wave of horror sweeping through Benue State, villages flattened, families erased, farmlands abandoned and I found myself haunted by one aching question: How many more must die before leadership transcends ceremony and confronts reality?
For weeks, while bullets tore through the peace and bodies piled into mass graves, Nigeria’s seat of power in Abuja remained disturbingly silent. It was only after sustained public outrage that President Bola Tinubu finally cleared his schedule for a long-overdue condolence visit to the ravaged state.
That visit, though welcome, came after staggering losses and a silence that exposed deep and troubling fissures in Nigeria’s security structure—and in the moral resolve of its leadership.
The human toll defies imagination. Communities in Guma, Gwer West, Logo, Ukum, Otukpo, and other local government areas have been repeatedly overrun.
Men, women, and children have fallen in droves to the bullets and machetes of armed invaders—widely believed to be herders and their criminal accomplices. Entire families have been annihilated. Homes reduced to ash. Schools, health clinics, churches, and boreholes—obliterated.
Official figures fall short of reality. From April 1 to June 1 alone, at least 270 people were slaughtered across 10 local government areas, according to Daily Trust.
Amnesty International estimates that out of more than 10,000 Nigerians killed in violent attacks over the past two years, nearly 6,900 were in Benue alone—making it the most bloodied state in the federation. The survivors? They are clinging to the margins of existence.
Farmers now fear their own fields. Traders dare not take the highways, lest they fall prey to bandits. Markets are dying. Hunger is rising. The once-proud “Food Basket of the Nation” can no longer feed even itself.
But beyond the bloodshed, it is the chilling silence of leadership that hurts most. President Tinubu’s late response has deepened the sense of abandonment.
Only after scathing criticism from opposition voices like Atiku Abubakar and Peter Obi did the presidency announce plans for a visit. In advance of the president’s arrival, a high-level federal delegation was dispatched to Benue.
It included the Secretary to the Government of the Federation, George Akume; the Inspector-General of Police, Kayode Egbetokun; the Chief of Defence Staff, General Christopher Musa; the National Security Adviser, Malam Nuhu Ribadu; heads of intelligence agencies; and senior lawmakers.
On paper, this appears as federal concern in motion. On the ground, however, grieving families see it as too little, too late. Leadership is not defined by protocol, press releases, or motorcades.
True leadership means showing up in pain, in grief, in resolve. President Tinubu’s delay has only reinforced the belief across Benue that they have once again been forsaken by those meant to shield them.
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To compound the crisis, Governor Hyacinth Alia recently made a damning allegation: that top politicians, including those serving in Abuja and the National Assembly, are actively sponsoring the violence.
In his words, “They are the architects and arrowheads of not just instigating but harbouring, keeping, feeding, and equipping these people in the bushes.” Such a claim is not one to be made lightly.
If Governor Alia possesses credible evidence, he is duty-bound—legally and morally—to name names and initiate legal proceedings. Otherwise, his words become reckless conjecture, further fraying trust in already fragile institutions.
The opposition Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) swiftly responded, accusing the governor of politicizing tragedy while failing to protect his people. The ensuing blame game, played out as citizens die, is itself a cruel subversion of justice.
This crisis did not begin yesterday. It has festered for years, rooted in longstanding land disputes between indigenous farmers and nomadic herders. It has been worsened by climate change, porous borders, lax policing, and a toxic culture of impunity.
Each unpunished atrocity becomes a green light for the next. Justice delayed has become justice denied. The Nigerian government must act decisively.
The killers, whether they carry guns in the forest or pens in the corridors of power—must be named, apprehended, tried, and convicted. Anything short of this will only embolden the next round of butchers. The solution cannot be reactive.
Nigeria must rethink its security doctrine. This includes seamless intelligence sharing across agencies, deployment of modern surveillance tools such as drones and satellite tracking, and the legal empowerment of vetted community policing units.
Justice must be swift, transparent, and unrelenting. Moreover, peace-building must become a national priority. Clerics, traditional rulers, youth leaders, and civil society must be brought to the table—not for politics, but for peace.
The path to healing must run through the hearts and hands of the people. The Nigerian Constitution, in Section 14(2)(b), declares that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” This is not a suggestion.
It is a mandate. And the continued bloodletting in Benue is a violation of that constitutional promise. As President Tinubu finally sets foot in Benue tomorrow, he must rise above the optics. This is not a time for ceremonial rhetoric.
He must walk the broken roads, stand among the ruins, hold the hands of the bereaved, and speak with sincerity and intent. Above all, he must act..Benue cannot remain a killing field. Its people are not pawns. They are farmers, teachers, mothers, traders, children.
They deserve not pity, but protection. Now is the time to end the carnage. Now is the time to repair the broken trust. Now is the time for true, fearless, accountable leadership. Nigeria owes Benue that—and far more.
*Kabir Abdulsalam writes from Abuja. He can be reached via: [email protected].*
