By Rekpene Bassey
From missile strikes in Nigeria’s northwest to closed-door briefings along the Potomac, Abuja’s war against insecurity, particularly terrorism and insurgency, has acquired a second theatre. It is no longer only fought with drones or battalions, but with white papers, talking points and access; an exercise in persuasion that treats Washington as both jury and arsenal.
This is the logic of modern power: when conflicts are asymmetric at home, states seek symmetry abroad. Nigeria’s leaders have concluded that the battle for security cannot be won solely in Sambisa or Zamfara; it must also be won in committee rooms, think tanks and evangelical networks where narratives are minted, and policy is nudged.
The cast is eclectic. Lobbying firms such as the DCI Group, some members of Congress, and influential evangelical leaders form a loose coalition pressing Nigeria’s case. On the other hand, Biafra-aligned advocates argue for sanctions, recognition and the moral legitimacy of a breakaway Nation State. The contest is less about slogans than about leverage.
Image matters, but not for vanity. The stakes are sanctions relief, arms sales, intelligence cooperation and the latitude to conduct military operations without a reputational penalty. In Washington, perception is often the precondition for permission.
Nigeria’s detractors have learned the same lesson. They frame the conflict as state repression and religious persecution, seeking to trigger punitive tools embedded in US law. Their success would constrict Nigeria’s access to equipment and intelligence at the very moment insurgent violence has metastasised across regions.
Abuja’s response has been to professionalise persuasion. Reports of a multimillion-dollar contract, which converts into billions of Naira, with a US lobbying firm that began in late 2025, underscore the belief that influence is an investment. The price tag, widely discussed in policy circles, signals seriousness even as it invites scrutiny at home.
The firm’s Washington pedigree is part of the appeal. Connections to Republican networks, including figures such as Justin Peterson, who served during President Donald Trump’s first term, are not incidental. They are the currency of access in a city where doors open more readily for the familiar.
Critics deride this as “image laundering.” Supporters call it strategic communication. Both miss a more profound truth: states under pressure seek to tell their story before others tell it for them. As Cicero warned, “Silent enim leges inter arma”—laws fall silent amid arms. In Washington, silence is filled by adversaries.
At the centre of Nigeria’s pitch is a reframing of the conflict as a frontline struggle against jihadism, with an emphasis on the protection of civilians and religious minorities, particularly Christians. The message is tailored to audiences for whom religious freedom and counterterrorism resonate.
This framing is not without evidence. Insurgent groups have targeted churches and communities, and the regional spill over threatens US interests from the Sahel to the Gulf of Guinea. Yet selective storytelling risks flattening a complex reality that includes abuses by security forces and governance failures that fuel insurgency.
Washington’s scepticism is earned. US lawmakers remember previous arms transfers complicated by human rights concerns. Intelligence sharing, too, is conditioned on trust that information will be used responsibly. Lobbying can open doors, but it cannot substitute for reform.
Still, the strategic calculus is shifting. The withdrawal of Western attention from parts of Africa has created vacuums that non-Western partners now fill.
Nigeria argues that denying support does not produce virtue; it produces alternatives less aligned with US values.
Evangelical engagement adds another layer. Faith-based advocacy has proven potent in shaping congressional priorities. When pastors brief legislators, theology becomes geopolitics, and the language of persecution can accelerate policy momentum.
The Biafra campaign counters with its own moral vocabulary: self-determination, historical grievance, and the right to resist. Their goal is not merely sympathy but legal recognition that would internationalise a domestic conflict.
Washington is thus asked to adjudicate narratives rather than facts. The danger is policy by pamphlet, where nuance is sacrificed to urgency. As Tacitus observed, “In times of fear, falsehoods flourish.”
Nigeria’s leaders would do well to remember that credibility is cumulative. Lobbying can amplify progress, but it cannot invent it. Security gains, accountability for abuses and credible elections are the raw materials of persuasion.
For the United States, the choice is not binary. It can provide assistance, expand oversight and still engage a pivotal African state confronting transnational threats. Strategic patience, not moral absolutism, has often yielded better outcomes.
The extension of Nigeria’s war against insecurity to Washington reflects a broader trend: conflicts are now fought simultaneously on battlefields and in narratives. Power is exercised through hashtags and hearings as much as through hardware.
Whether this soft-touch offensive succeeds will depend less on lobbyists’ brilliance than on events at home. Progress against insurgents, protection of civilians and visible reforms will either validate or undermine the story being sold.
In the end, influence follows substance. As the ancients counselled, “Veritas temporis filia”—truth is the daughter of time. Washington may be persuaded for a season, but time will judge whether fighting Nigeria’s insecurity crisis in Washington rests on rhetoric alone or on a security strategy worthy of support, given the high lobbying costs.
*Rekpene Bassey is the President of the African Council on Narcotics, Drug Prevention and Security Specialist.
