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<p>Nigeria turned 65 this October, yet the country feels older than its years, tired, battered, and staggering under the weight of conflicts that never end. For decades, we have told ourselves the story of resilience, of a nation too big to fail. But today, that narrative rings hollow. Nigeria is sliding into an untenable situation, one that forces us to ask if the union can truly hold.</p>
<p>The bloodletting began early seven years after independence, Nigeria plunged into the civil war of 1967–1970. Over one million lives were lost, many starved to death in the southeast. The war was waged in the name of unity, yet it left behind scars that never healed and grievances that still echo.</p>
<p>The 1980s brought the Maitatsine riots in Kano, Kaduna, Maiduguri, and Yola. Thousands were killed in religious clashes that exposed how fragile the state really was. Rather than tackling the roots of extremism, poverty, hopelessness, and inequality, the government opted for brute force. The embers smoldered, waiting to flare again.</p><div class="5HkqnKVR" style="clear:both;float:left;width:100%;margin:0 0 20px 0;"><script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script>

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<p>By the 1990s, the farmer-herder conflict had exploded across the north-central states. In Plateau, Benue, and Nasarawa, communities turned into war zones. Entire villages were wiped out in cycles of revenge. What began as disputes over land and water became a long-running war with no victor, only victims.</p>
<p>Then came the Boko Haram insurgency, which erupted from nowhere. Since 2009, the group has unleashed carnage across the northeast, killing over 35,000 people and displacing more than two million. Its offshoot, ISWAP, now entrenched in the Lake Chad Basin, has only deepened the crisis. Billions of dollars have been poured into this war, but ask Nigerians to name one major terrorist trial they have witnessed, and there is silence. Arrests are announced, but prosecutions vanish into thin air. Justice is absent, and impunity flourishes.</p>
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<p>While Boko Haram dominated the northeast, the northwest was overrun by banditry. By 2018, heavily armed gangs were sacking villages in Zamfara, Katsina, and Kaduna. They abducted children in their hundreds, burned homes, and demanded ransoms that crippled poor communities. In response, state governments sat across the table from warlords, signing “peace deals” that only gave the criminals more leverage.</p>
<p>The southeast faces a different storm where the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) revived secessionist agitation, energizing a generation that sees Nigeria as a failed promise. Heavy crackdowns have followed, but they have not silenced the anger. Meanwhile, another terror group identified as Lakurawa emerged in a broad day light terrorize rural communities in the far north, adding yet another layer of violence to an already bleeding nation.</p>
<p>All of this is worsened by the daily grind of hunger and despair. More than 133 million Nigerians live in multidimensional poverty. Youth unemployment hovers around 40 percent. Families go hungry while politicians flaunt wealth. The judiciary, meant to be the last hope, is slow, compromised, or outright incapable of dispensing justice. For most citizens, the system exists only to protect the powerful.</p>
<p>The real tragedy is not just the violence, but the absence of accountability. Who has been held responsible for the killings in the Northwest, East, or Central? Who has faced trial for the mass school children abductions in Chibok, Dapchi, Jangebe or Kankara? Who has answered for the massacres in Zamfara? The state promises justice but delivers none. This silence emboldens killers, alienates victims, and corrodes faith in the Nigerian project itself.</p>
<p>At independence in 1960, Nigeria’s founding fathers dreamed of a great democracy. Even after years of military dictatorship, the return to civilian rule in 1999 was hailed as a triumph. For a time, it seemed unshakable. But 25 years later, democracy feels like an empty shell, elections scarred by violence, leaders shielded from accountability, and citizens reduced to survival.</p>
<p>Sixty-five years on, Nigeria should be celebrating progress. Instead, it is asking whether the state can endure. Unless the government confronts corruption, delivers justice, and dismantles impunity, the future will be even darker than the past.</p>
<p>Nigeria is not too big to fail. It is too fragile to ignore.</p>
<p>Long Live the Federal Republic of Nigeria!</p>
<p>Happy Independence Day!</p>
<p>Idris Mohammed is a journalist and conflict researcher who writes from the University of Alabama, United States.</p>
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