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Nigeria today is bleeding; not from a lack of resources, not from a lack of laws, but from a dangerous absence of political will. While citizens bury their dead, flee their ancestral homes, and live under the constant shadow of fear, the political class appears singularly obsessed with one thing: power, how to win it, keep it, and recycle it.

From Abuja to the states, governance has taken a backseat. Security, the most fundamental responsibility of any government has been reduced to rhetoric, press statements, and hollow assurances.

At the center of this national anxiety is President Bola Tinubu, the Commander-in-Chief, the Chief Security Officer of the federation. Nigerians are asking, with increasing frustration and urgency: What is the President doing with the enormous powers at his disposal? Because the reality on the ground tells a grim story.

Across the country, Islamist insurgents, bandits, kidnappers, and heavily armed non-state actors operate with alarming boldness. Communities are overrun. Farmlands are seized. Churches are destroyed. Christians, in particular, have increasingly become soft targets in coordinated attacks that leave devastation in their wake.

On the most solemn of days, Easter, many Christians in Plateau State were slaughtered. That such killings could occur on a day symbolizing peace and resurrection underscores how deeply insecurity has eaten into the fabric of national life. Worse still, the violence has not abated.

This is not just a rural crisis. It is national.

In a deeply embarrassing development, the United States took the extraordinary step of shutting down its embassy operations in Abuja, citing security concerns. That decision sent a loud, unmistakable message to the world: Nigeria is no longer perceived as safe,  even at the highest diplomatic levels.

Delta State, listed among over 20 high-risk states, quickly validated those fears. Within days, gunmen abducted the chairman of Sapele Local Government Council, Bright Abeke, a man who, by virtue of his office, is regarded as the chief security officer of his locality.

The irony is staggering. If those entrusted with securing others cannot secure themselves, what hope is left for ordinary citizens?

Yet, what is perhaps even more troubling is the culture of indifference that has taken root in governance.

In Delta State the warning signs have long been visible. Farmers live at the mercy of armed herdsmen who invade and destroy farmlands with little to no resistance. Anti-open grazing laws exist but are weakly enforced, if at all. Rural communities are left exposed, abandoned to their fate.

And then there is the legislative paradox.

The Delta State House of Assembly, recognizing the urgency of grassroots security, did what was expected: it passed a bill to re-establish the Delta State Community Security Corps Agency, a potentially transformative, community-based security framework designed to bridge the glaring gaps in local intelligence and rapid response.

The bill went through public hearings. It had public support. It offered hope. Yet, nearly a year later, it remains in limbo; unsigned, unimplemented, gathering dust on the shelf awaiting assent.

Governor Sheriff Oborevwori owes Deltans an explanation. Why has such a critical piece of legislation not been assented to? What justifies this delay in the face of escalating insecurity?

Because beyond enhancing security, the bill represents something more: opportunity. It could create jobs, empower local communities, and establish a structured defense mechanism rooted in local knowledge, something Nigeria’s overstretched federal security architecture desperately lacks. Its continued stagnation is not just a policy failure; it is a moral one.

At the federal level, the pattern is no different. Military personnel, men and women sent to defend the nation, are increasingly vulnerable, often falling prey to the very cause they are meant to combat. This raises hard questions about strategy, equipment, intelligence, and leadership. But even more fundamentally, it raises questions about priorities. How did Nigeria arrive at a point where political maneuvering for the next election cycle takes precedence over the protection of lives today?

The primary duty of government is not complicated. It is captured in the very essence of the social contract: the protection of life and property. This principle is not theoretical, it is foundational. Without security, there is no economy. Without safety, there is no freedom. Without protection, there is no state. Build roads, build bridges and connect communities. Very sound initiative. Yet, it must be understand that it’s only the living that can use them, victims killed as a result of insecurity complications will not.

Today, Nigerians cannot travel safely between cities. They cannot farm without fear. They cannot worship without looking over their shoulders. Fear has become a constant companion in daily life. And that is an indictment; not of the people, but of those elected and appointed to serve them.

This is a moment for urgent course correction.

President Bola Tinubu must move beyond speeches and take decisive, visible, and measurable actions to reclaim the country from the grip of terror. Security strategies must be overhauled. Intelligence systems must be strengthened. Accountability within the security architecture must be enforced.

At the state level, governors must stop treating security as a secondary responsibility. It is not. It is central. They must act with urgency, implement laws already passed, and invest in structures that bring security closer to the people.

Governor Sheriff Oborevwori, in particular, must sign the Community Security Corps bill without further delay. Every day wasted is another day communities remain exposed.

Nigeria cannot continue like this.

A nation where leaders chase power while citizens chase safety is a nation on the brink.

The time to act is not tomorrow. It is now.