When the Chief of Defence Staff of a sovereign nation advises citizens to learn combat skills for self-defence, it is not just an ordinary statement—it is an indictment. It is an admission that the Nigerian state, with all its might, institutions, and resources, has failed in its most basic duty: to protect the lives and property of its people. It is, quite frankly, a call that makes the heart heavy and the spirit weary.
The Nigerian Constitution is unambiguous on this matter. Section 14(2)(b) of the 1999 Constitution (as amended) boldly declares: “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” Yet here we are, in 2025, being told that Nigerians should embrace karate, taekwondo, and judo as though we were living in a lawless jungle where only the strong survive. Is this what our nation has been reduced to—a place where citizens must learn to fight like gladiators in order to simply stay alive?
General Musa may have spoken from a place of sincerity, but his words paint a grim picture of a country adrift. To suggest that self-defence should become part of everyday life is to acknowledge, in plain terms, that the government has lost grip on its constitutional mandate. In Europe, swimming may be compulsory, but it is for recreation and safety. In Nigeria, we are being told that unarmed combat should be compulsory, not because of sportsmanship, but because survival now depends on individual fists and reflexes. What a tragic contrast.
Nigeria has become a nation where fear sits at the dinner table with families, where travelers embark on journeys with bated breath, and where parents send their children to school praying that they return unscathed. To live in constant anxiety is no life at all. Citizens pay taxes, yet what do they get in return? Endless grief from bandits, kidnappers, and terrorists who operate with impunity, while leaders admit that “bad roads” and “logistical challenges” prevent swift intervention. Must Nigerians continue to be sacrificial lambs on the altar of state incompetence?
The suggestion that the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) should be turned into a combat training camp is perhaps the most alarming part of the General’s submission. NYSC was envisioned as a programme to foster national unity and integration, not a survival boot camp for defenceless graduates. Are we now preparing our young men and women to trade their khaki uniforms for makeshift weapons because their country cannot shield them from the darkness that lurks on the highways and in the villages?
Worse still, the Defence Chief admitted that terrorists fund their operations through gold networks that stretch beyond our borders. The question is: what has become of intelligence gathering, financial monitoring, and international cooperation? Why should the same terrorists outwit a state apparatus with billions of naira allocated yearly to security? Each passing day, Nigerians see more excuses than solutions, more rhetoric than results.
To ask citizens to defend themselves is to shift responsibility from government to the governed. It is to tell a grieving widow in Zamfara that if only she had known karate, her husband would not have fallen to the bullets of bandits. It is to whisper to a child orphaned by Boko Haram that had his father mastered judo, he would have survived. These are not survival tips. They are salt on the wounds of a broken people.
Nigeria’s leadership must be reminded: governance is not about explaining away failures with flowery words. It is about confronting them head-on. If the military is handicapped by bad roads, then let the government fix the roads. If communication networks are poor in rural areas, then let investments be made to improve them. If terrorists are exploiting gold to fund operations, then let Nigeria tighten its financial intelligence and work with global partners to choke the pipelines. That is the job of government, not citizens who can barely make ends meet.
We cannot continue to be a nation where tragedy is normalized and survival is privatized. The social contract between citizens and the state is built on trust: people surrender certain freedoms to government in exchange for protection and welfare. But when protection fails, trust erodes, and when trust erodes, the very foundation of democracy begins to crumble. How long shall Nigerians continue to live under this suffocating climate of insecurity?
Every new excuse, every new “logistical challenge,” every suggestion that citizens must do for themselves what government ought to do only deepens the wound. Nigerians are resilient, yes, but resilience is not the same as justice. We cannot keep applauding survival instincts when what we need is systemic protection. We cannot keep learning to swim in an ocean of blood while those meant to rescue us sail comfortably in secure convoys.
The truth is simple: no government can outsource security to its people. The responsibility lies squarely on the shoulders of those in power. Citizens can remain vigilant, yes, but they cannot and should not become their own army. Nigeria has a constitution, and that constitution demands accountability. If General Musa’s words are to mean anything, they should serve as a wake-up call, not to the citizens, but to the government itself—that Nigerians are tired of empty assurances.
The Nigerian people deserve more than fear and frustration. They deserve a government that does not just promise to secure them but proves it in action. Until then, every call for citizens to defend themselves will remain a painful reminder of how far we have drifted from the promises of our Constitution.
Stanley Ugagbe is a seasoned journalist with a passion for exposing social issues and advocating for justice. With years of experience in the media industry, he has written extensively on governance, human rights, and societal challenges, crafting powerful narratives that inspire change. He can be reached
via stanleyakomeno@gmail.com
