By Lemmy Ughegbe, Ph.D
Nigeria is once again confronting one of the most difficult questions in its long battle against insurgency: what should be done with those who once took up arms against the state but now claim to have renounced violence?
The controversy surrounding the relocation of deradicalised Boko Haram members to Abuja has brought that question into sharp focus. It has stirred public anxiety, provoked intense debate, and exposed a deeper tension within Nigeria’s security strategy.
At its core is a dilemma that every society facing violent extremism must eventually confront: how do you balance justice for past crimes with the possibility of redemption?
Nigeria’s answer to that question has, in recent years, taken institutional form through Operation Safe Corridor, a deradicalisation and reintegration programme initiated under the administration of former President Muhammadu Buhari. The programme reflects a deliberate shift from a purely military response to a hybrid approach that combines force with rehabilitation.
The logic is straightforward. Not all insurgents are the same. Some were coerced. Some were indoctrinated. Others have shown genuine remorse and undergone structured programmes designed to reorient their thinking and prepare them for reintegration into society.
Globally, this approach is not unusual. Countries such as Saudi Arabia, Indonesia and the United Kingdom have experimented with deradicalisation strategies aimed at disengaging individuals from extremist ideologies. These efforts recognise a fundamental truth: insurgency is sustained not only by weapons, but by belief systems. To fully defeat it, those belief systems must also be dismantled.
But while the theory is compelling, the reality is far more complex. Nigeria’s encounter with Boko Haram is not an abstract policy issue. It is a lived experience marked by mass killings, abductions, displacement and the destruction of entire communities. The wounds are deep, and in many cases, still fresh.
In that context, the reintegration of former insurgents, particularly into major population centres, raises understandable concerns. It is, above all, a question of trust. And trust, in this case, is in short supply.
Public scepticism toward Operation Safe Corridor has been shaped by a perception that the programme leans too heavily toward compassion and not enough toward accountability. Statements from senior officials have reinforced that perception. The National Security Adviser, Nuhu Ribadu, has referred to insurgents as “our brothers,” while the Chief of Army Staff has described them as “prodigal sons.” Such language may be intended to promote reconciliation. But it has also unsettled many Nigerians.
For victims and affected communities, these expressions can appear to blur the moral boundaries between perpetrators and those who suffered at their hands. It raises legitimate concerns about whether the state is placing greater emphasis on reintegrating offenders than on delivering justice to victims.
This perception is not trivial. Public policy derives its legitimacy not only from its intentions but from how it is perceived. If citizens begin to feel that the state is more responsive to the needs of former insurgents than to those of victims, resentment becomes inevitable.
There is also the issue of risk. Deradicalisation is not a guaranteed outcome. It is a complex, long-term process involving psychological evaluation, ideological reorientation, skills acquisition and continuous monitoring. Even in countries with more developed systems, success rates vary, and recidivism remains a concern.
This raises important questions. What criteria are used to determine that an individual has been successfully deradicalised? How long does the process take? What mechanisms are in place to monitor those who have been reintegrated? And what safeguards are in place to protect the communities receiving them?
Without clear answers, public confidence will remain fragile. None of this suggests that deradicalisation is unnecessary. On the contrary, a purely punitive approach to insurgency is unlikely to succeed. Rehabilitation, where genuinely possible, can weaken extremist networks, reduce recruitment and offer a pathway away from violence.
But rehabilitation cannot replace justice. Those who have committed crimes must be held accountable. Deradicalisation must complement, not substitute, prosecution. Otherwise, the state risks sending a troubling message that participation in terrorism may ultimately be negotiated rather than punished. That would undermine deterrence.
It is in this context that the recent prosecution of over 500 Boko Haram suspects before the Federal High Court in Abuja assumes particular significance. That effort, led by the Attorney General of the Federation and Justice Minister, Prince Lateef Fagbemi (SAN), represents a clear attempt to restore faith in the justice system and demonstrate that the state is serious about holding perpetrators accountable.
For many Nigerians, it is a long-awaited development. It signals that, beyond military operations, the government is willing to pursue justice through lawful and transparent means. It also suggests a shift from the perceived inertia of previous years, when prosecutions of terror suspects were often limited in scope or visibility.
Taken together, these developments point to a dual-track approach: prosecution on one hand, rehabilitation on the other. In principle, this is a sensible strategy. But in practice, it requires clarity and consistency.
Citizens must be able to understand who is being prosecuted, who is being rehabilitated, and why. Without that clarity, the system risks appearing inconsistent, or worse, arbitrary. And when justice appears uncertain, trust begins to erode.
Ultimately, Nigeria’s deradicalisation effort will be judged not by its intentions but by its outcomes. It must demonstrate credibility in identifying those genuinely reformed, transparency in communicating its processes, and balance in ensuring that victims are not forgotten. Because in the end, security is not only about preventing violence. It is about sustaining public confidence.
And when citizens begin to feel reassured that justice is being pursued with seriousness, they are more likely to engage with other aspects of the state’s security strategy, including rehabilitation.
The real challenge, therefore, is not whether Nigeria should pursue deradicalisation; it is whether it can do so in a way that complements justice, strengthens trust, and reassures a nation still grappling with the scars of insurgency. Because in a country that has suffered so much, justice must be seen, and rehabilitation must be earned … because without both, security becomes a promise people no longer believe.
Dr Lemmy Ughegbe, FIMC, CMC
lemmyughegbeofficial@gmail.com
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