Between Public Anger and Tolerating Repentant Terrorists
By Kabir Abdulsalam
When the Chief of Defence Staff, General Olufemi Oluyede, spoke in Abuja recently about the need to rehabilitate “repented terrorists,” he likely anticipated resistance. Still, the backlash that followed was swift, emotional, and deeply revealing.
Across Nigeria, especially in the North-East, many did not hear strategy in his words but they heard injustice.
“How do you forgive those who have killed innocent people?” some Nigerians asked. It is a question that captures the mood of a country still grappling with the scars of more than a decade of insurgency by Boko Haram.
Yet, despite the anger and the moral discomfort, there is a difficult reality the military is trying to confront: this war may not end by force alone.
Operation Safe Corridor was introduced in 2016 when authorities began to quietly accept that defeating Boko Haram purely on the battlefield might be unrealistic. The idea was straightforward, to create a safe exit for fighters willing to surrender, de-radicalise them, and reintegrate them into society.
On paper, it made strategic sense. Many of those within Boko Haram’s ranks were not hardened ideologues. Some were coerced, others joined out of desperation, and many became disillusioned over time. If even a fraction could be persuaded to lay down their arms, it could weaken the insurgency from within.
But from the outset, the programme faced one stubborn obstacle: public trust.
Why Nigerians Are Angry
For communities that have buried loved ones, lost homes, and endured years in displacement camps, the idea of rehabilitation feels like an insult. To them, justice should be visible, swift, and uncompromising.
So when Gen Oluyede referenced the biblical “prodigal son” advocating second chances for the repented terrorists many saw it as detached from reality.
The anger is not just about policy; it is about memory.
People remember bombings, abductions, and entire villages wiped out overnight. In that context, any programme that appears to offer ‘leniency’ risks being interpreted as rewarding violence.
Again, there is also a lingering perception that victims have been neglected while former fighters receive training, counselling, and support. Whether entirely accurate or not, this perception has shaped public opinion around Operation Safe Corridor.
Meanwhile, the debate intensified when Babagana Umara Zulum called for a review of the programme, warning that some rehabilitated individuals might have returned to insurgent groups.
Given his proximity to the conflict, the concerns struck a chord. However, findings referenced by the International Crisis Group suggest that such cases are extremely rare. The organisation confirms only one verified instance of a former participant returning to Boko Haram. Several officials and experts involved in the programme also insist that the vast majority of graduates have remained civilians.
This disconnect between perception and evidence resulted into controversy. For many Nigerians, the fear of relapse outweighs statistical reassurance.
Despite the criticism, Operation Safe Corridor has recorded some quiet successes.
According to the International Crisis Group, it has created something that did not previously exist, a credible pathway out of insurgency. For fighters who are tired, disillusioned, or fearful, knowing that surrender does not automatically lead to execution can be a powerful incentive.
Some former participants have gained literacy skills, vocational training, and psychological support that helped them prepare for civilian life.
In a conflict sustained by fear and coercion, that opportunity matters. It also serves a broader military objective: every defector reduces the insurgency’s manpower.
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Still, the programme is far from perfect. One major issue is poor screening. International Crisis Group argued that Many individuals admitted into Safe Corridor are not fighters but civilians who fled Boko Haram-controlled areas. This misclassification not only overcrowds the system but also raises ethical concerns.
Even more troubling are reports about what happens before participants reach the rehabilitation camp. The Group documents accounts of prolonged detention, harsh conditions, and, in some cases, deaths in custody.
For a programme designed to encourage surrender, such experiences risk becoming a deterrent.
Reintegration also remains fragile. Many returnees face suspicion or rejection from their communities. Without sustained support, they risk isolation while undermining the very goal of rehabilitation.
Meanwhile, Operation Safe Corridor forces Nigeria to confront a difficult question. What does victory actually look like in this war?
If victory means eliminating every insurgent, then rehabilitation may seem unnecessary. But if it means achieving long-term stability, then creating pathways for disengagement becomes essential.
This is the lesson from modern conflicts. Insurgencies are rarely defeated by force alone; they weaken when fighters lose motivation and when alternatives to violence become viable.
Nigeria is not alone in adopting this approach. Countries such as Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, and Colombia have implemented rehabilitation and reintegration programmes as part of broader counterterrorism strategies. Others, including Pakistan, Singapore, and Yemen, have experimented with similar models.
The common thread is clear: force can suppress insurgency, but it rarely ends it.
Still, one issue continues to trouble many Nigerians, the slow pace of visible justice.
Critics argue that while low-level fighters are being rehabilitated, accountability for those responsible for major atrocities remains limited or delayed. Without consistent and transparent prosecutions, the programme risks being seen as an unofficial amnesty.
There are also growing calls for stronger legal frameworks to fast-track the prosecution of terrorism suspects, particularly members of Boko Haram and ISWAP. Yet, many government efforts remain underreported. Initiatives such as mass trials of suspects, convictions for terrorism-related Sexual and Gender-Based Violence in 2023, and planned prosecutions of senior Ansaru figures have not fully entered public consciousness.
This gap between action and awareness reinforces the perception that justice is either absent or insufficient.
Rehabilitation may be necessary, but it must be balanced with accountability. Those responsible for grave crimes cannot simply fade into the system. Justice is not only about punishment, it is about restoring public confidence and offering victims a sense of closure.
Part of the challenge also lies in communication. Many Nigerians do not clearly understand who qualifies for Operation Safe Corridor. The distinction between hardened terrorists and low-level or coerced recruits is often lost, leading to blanket judgments.
The truth is, both sides of the argument have valid concerns.
Those opposed to the programme are driven by real pain and a desire for justice. On the other hand, the military’s position reflects the practical realities of a long and complex war.
The task, therefore, is not to choose one side, but to find a balance between them.
Operation Safe Corridor may never enjoy universal acceptance. But abandoning it outright could eliminate one of the few non-kinetic tools available in this conflict.
What is needed is reform, not rejection. Improved screening, better detention conditions, stronger reintegration support, and a clearer justice framework could address many of its weaknesses. Above all, rebuilding public trust must become a priority.
Because in the end, this is not just about former fighters, it is about the society they are returning to. And for a country still searching for peace, that tension may be unavoidable.
Kabir Abdulsalam is a Public Affairs Analyst, can be reached via: [email protected]
