The numbers are no longer just statistics; they are a bleeding indictment. When the 2026 Global Terrorism Index (GTI) was released last week, it confirmed what millions of Nigerians have lived through in silence: the country is rapidly becoming the world’s most dangerous frontline in the war against extremism. In a staggering leap that defies global trends, Nigeria climbed two places to secure the unenviable position of the fourth most terror-affected nation on earth. While the world’s attention is fixed on the Sahel and the Middle East, the data reveals a horrifying reality unfolding in West Africa’s largest economy—where the Islamic State’s footprint has expanded by 360 percent in a single year.
According to the 2026 GTI report, the numbers tell a story of systemic collapse rather than sporadic violence. Terror attacks within Nigeria surged by 43 percent, jumping from 120 incidents in 2024 to a staggering 171 in 2025. Deaths followed the same trajectory, rising 46 percent to reach 750 fatalities—the highest body count recorded since the darkest days of 2020. This escalation is not merely a continuation of the old Boko Haram insurgency; it represents a mutation. The Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) has effectively operationalized its presence, with attacks linked to the Islamic State jumping from 20 in 2024 to a chilling 92 in 2025. The epicenter remains Borno State, a graveyard of ambition where 67 percent of all attacks and 72 percent of all deaths occurred, turning the region into a fortress of rubble and fear.
What makes Nigeria’s descent particularly alarming is its geographic isolation in a region that is ostensibly healing. The report highlights a cruel paradox: while neighboring nations in the Sahel—such as Burkina Faso and Niger—recorded significant declines in both attacks and fatalities, Nigeria stands alone as the only country in sub-Saharan Africa to witness an increase in both categories. As Burkina Faso saw fatalities drop by 45 percent and Niger experienced a sharp decline in incidents, Nigeria recorded the largest increase in terrorism-related deaths globally, with 237 more Nigerians killed in 2025 than in the previous year. This divergence raises a terrifying question: if the region is stabilizing, why is Nigeria burning?
The first critical area of concern lies in the sincerity of the leadership. In the wake of a devastating attack in Maiduguri that left at least 23 dead and 108 injured in March 2026, President Bola Tinubu issued a defiant statement, vowing that “there is no place in Nigeria where terrorists will find safety” and directing service chiefs to relocate to the frontlines. Yet, despite these rhetorical salvos, the data suggests a disconnect between official pronouncements and operational reality. Peter Obi, a former presidential candidate, captured the national frustration perfectly, describing the GTI ranking as “a painful indictment of failed leadership” and a direct result of “misplaced priorities, weak governance, corruption, and a lack of the rule of law”. When a nation’s security architecture permits a 43 percent rise in attacks while the President promises total victory, the gap between words and action becomes a credibility chasm that emboldens the enemy.
Perhaps the most uncomfortable truth emerging from the shadows is the extent of inside collaboration—a second area of deep concern. The insurgency is not merely an external invasion; it is an ecosystem nurtured by local informants, compromised officials, and criminal racketeers. Security experts have warned that the phenomenon of “citizen collaborators” is fueling the fire. In Katsina State, authorities recently revealed that a staggering 80 percent of bandit attacks were aided by informants within local communities—individuals who sell soft drinks to fighters at inflated prices, or worse, supply them with medication and intelligence regarding the flight schedules of military jets . There are documented cases of individuals conspiring with terrorists to kidnap their own relatives for ransom, turning the horror into a perverse business model.
The Committee for the Defence of Human Rights (CDHR) has demanded a time-bound investigation into these “intelligence and operational lapses,” noting that in recent attacks in Gwoza, insurgents transported heavy arms using tricycles, indicating a level of coordination and local complicity that should be impossible if the state’s intelligence network was functioning.
Closely linked to the issue of collaboration is the dangerous presence of sympathetic groups and self-styled “negotiators” who, under the guise of peacemaking, provide legitimacy to terror groups. Ambassador Abayomi Nurain Mumuni, a prominent security expert, recently called on the government to take swift action against individuals who publicly sympathize with terrorists, warning that these “apologists” are often more dangerous than the fighters themselves. He argued that involving such elements in peace negotiations is counterproductive, as they “may not have the country’s best interests at heart” and instead exploit public sympathy while emboldening criminal networks. These groups often act as a soft underbelly for the insurgency, providing ideological cover, recruitment pipelines, and a semblance of political legitimacy to organizations like ISWAP and the emerging Lakurawa sect, which alone recorded 74 deaths in 2025.
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However, the most bewildering layer of Nigeria’s counterterrorism strategy lies in its foreign policy—the third area of scrutiny. Why is a nation struggling to contain an internal insurgency signing a dizzying web of security agreements with the United States, Turkey, the United Kingdom, and France simultaneously? The diplomatic calendar in early 2026 was packed: a defense pact with the US involving potential troop deployments and a “country of particular concern” designation by the Trump administration; a strategic deal with Turkey signed in Ankara on January 27 covering defense cooperation; and continued military modernization talks with the UK under the Nigeria-UK Security and Defense Partners Dialogue. On the surface, this looks like global solidarity. But digging deeper reveals a strategic paradox. These alliances often come with conflicting geopolitical interests—Turkey’s acquisition of Russian missile systems, for instance, triggered US sanctions, yet Nigeria is trying to marry both powers into its security doctrine.
Analysts warn that without a unified national counterterrorism doctrine, these bilateral agreements risk becoming a “patchwork of competing military philosophies” rather than a cohesive fighting force. As one security think tank noted, when a nation invites multiple allies with differing threat perceptions and intelligence-sharing protocols into its fold, it risks multiplying protection only to complicate sovereignty. The danger is that Nigeria’s military might end up with incompatible equipment, fragmented intelligence, and a loss of operational coherence. There is a growing consensus that the government must “move from diplomatic expansion to strategic consolidation”—a sentiment echoed by civil society groups who fear that the current approach prioritizes symbolism over the tangible protection of Nigerian lives.
The consequences of this chaos are no longer abstract. Civilians now account for 67 percent of all fatalities in terrorist attacks, a harrowing statistic that underscores the state’s failure to uphold its primary duty. The violence is also expanding geographically, spilling over from the Northeast into the once-peaceful Southwest. The pan-Yoruba socio-political organization Afenifere has raised alarms over the “influx of terrorists and bandits” into the forests of Ondo, Oyo, and Osun states . In a horrifying preview of what is to come, 162 people were massacred in Kwara State, near the Benin Republic border, in February—one of the deadliest single attacks in recent history . Traditional rulers are being murdered, farmers are abandoning their lands, and school children are being withdrawn from classes in regions that were previously considered safe havens.
As Nigeria stares into the abyss of violence, the looming danger is one of normalization. When 750 deaths in a year is treated as a statistical increase rather than a national emergency, the fabric of the state begins to fray. The government’s denials and its reliance on a fragmented alliance of international partners may buy time, but they do not buy security. The insurgents are no longer just fighting for territory; they are fighting to delegitimize the state itself. For every community in Borno that is abandoned, for every collaborator who goes unpunished, and for every foreign agreement signed without a clear doctrine, the state loses a little more of its monopoly on violence.
The time for diplomatic symbolism has passed. As security experts and human rights groups now argue, the Federal Government must institute a transparent investigation into the operational lapses that allowed a 43 percent increase in attacks. It must criminalize apologists and flush out collaborators hiding within the security apparatus. And crucially, it must define the terms of its alliances, ensuring that the training and intelligence provided by the US, Turkey, and the UK serve a singular goal: the safety of Nigerian citizens. The world is watching, but the guns are firing in Maiduguri, Gwoza, and now, Owo. If Nigeria cannot secure its own soil, all the memoranda of understanding in the world will amount to nothing more than ink on paper washed away by the blood of the innocent.
By: Allen Durueke