We are all victims of insecurity and kidnappings, whether the blow lands on our doorstep or on the newsfeed we scroll through each night.
I just stumbled on passionate prayers that struck a chord because of how urgent they felt.
It reads: “Daily News in Nigeria is now always about banditry and kidnapping 😭 May you and your family never be a victim of them 🙏”.
The words carried emotional weight, the kind that steadies a trembling heart, thereby stimulating passionate reactions or emotions.
Yet as I read them, I sensed the prayer was framed more by idealism than by the harsh texture of reality. It offered a kind of selective immunity, as if distance from the crime scene could shield us from its consequences.
Social psychologist Albert Bandura’s theory of moral disengagement warns us about this tendency: when harm happens “to others,” we unconsciously reframe it so our conscience stays quiet. But humanity has never thrived on self-preservation alone. Research on collective trauma by scholars like Kai Erikson shows that when a society lives under persistent threat, fear leaks beyond direct victims and saturates schools, markets, highways, and even family conversations, eroding trust and paralyzing progress.
I therefore replied: “Ameen, and thank you for the prayers 🙏 However, I think we should rather pray to God to help us end or halt the insecurity. As long as it persists, more people could become victims, either directly or indirectly. Besides, we are all victims of the insecurity and kidnappings that have created so much tension, paranoia, and fear that many people are afraid of traveling far from their homes. In essence, if our neighbors are affected by the insecurity or there is so much tension in the country over kidnappings to the extent that the news scare could cause stampede in schools and communities, it will still not lead to any meaningful progress or peace of mind. May God come to the rescue.”
The idea came from a place of shared anxiety. Criminologists have called this the “indirect victimization effect,” whereby families who never meet a kidnapper still change routes, cancel trips, hoard cash for ransom, and live with the low hum of dread.
Political scientist Charles Tilly observed long ago that insecurity does not just steal lives; it steals the freedom to live normally. That is why the daily appeals for financial contributions for classmates, neighbors, or communities whose relatives have been taken do not leave us untouched. Each donation stretches already thin wallets and binds us tighter to the pain, because empathy is not a spectator sport. Symbolic gestures of solidarity matter deeply, yet they also reveal how far the net of victimhood has spread.
I have not stopped thinking about Kwara State, a place I need to visit. The truth is, fear has preceded me. Kwara once enjoyed deep patronage, faith, and confidence because of its reputation for relative peace and harmony. Now kidnappings have begun to define its story, and that shift is psychologically disorienting. Environmental psychology research suggests that when a “safe space” turns volatile, people experience a loss of place attachment, a grief for a home that no longer feels like home.
No doubt, the most powerful prayer is not for selective immunity but for an end to insecurity itself. Because whether the gun is pointed at us or at our neighbor, whether the ransom note names our child or our community, the wound is collective. We bleed together, we pray together, and only a collective rescue will restore the peace of mind we all crave.
Bagudu Mohammed
bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com
