In a televised appearance on Sunday Politics, Anambra State Governor Charles Soludo delivered a sharp rebuke to former U.S. President Donald Trump’s threat of military action in Nigeria, condemning what he dismissed as a tin-ear approach to a deeply complicated security crisis. “What are you coming to Nigeria to do?” Soludo asked, rhetorically. “To beat the policeman? The government? Or take over policing?”
By Abdulrahman Aliagan, Abuja
In a televised appearance on Sunday Politics, Anambra State Governor Charles Soludo delivered a sharp rebuke to former U.S. President Donald Trump’s threat of military action in Nigeria, condemning what he dismissed as a tin-ear approach to a deeply complicated security crisis. “What are you coming to Nigeria to do?” Soludo asked, rhetorically. “To beat the policeman? The government? Or take over policing?”
Trump’s position is rooted in his narrative that Nigeria is tolerating a systemic “genocide of Christians,” and that unless the federal government acts, the U.S. should intervene militarily. But Soludo insisted that much of the violence in the South-East is not religiously motivated—or at least, not reducible to a Christian-vs-Islam framework. “People are killing themselves — Christians killing Christians. The people in the bushes are Emmanuel, Peter, John … It has nothing to do with religion,” he said. For Soludo, the international alarm signals yet another failed attempt to flatten Nigeria’s security challenges into a binary religious narrative.
To frame Nigeria’s security crisis as purely “Christian genocide” is to ignore the messy entanglements of ethnicity, political economy, land disputes, weak institutions, and armed criminal networks. The facts on the ground defy neat categorization. Although Christian communities in certain regions have suffered grievously, Islamist insurgencies such as Boko Haram and ISWAP operate predominantly in the Northeast—where many victims are themselves Muslim. In the central zones and Middle Belt, clashes between pastoralists (often Muslim) and farmers (often Christian) have led to tit-for-tat attacks that defy simple “religious persecution” labels. Human rights monitoring suggests that many of the attacks attributed to “religious persecution” are in fact motivated by land encroachment, resource scarcity, ethnic rivalry, or impunity.
The horrific Yelwata massacre of June 2025, in which around 100–200 internally displaced Christians sheltering at a Catholic mission were attacked in central Nigeria, underscores the real danger to Christian communities—but it does not, by itself, support the broader claim of state tolerance of genocide. Moreover, the Akpanta killings in Benue State (March 2025), where houses, churches, and livelihoods were razed in suspected herder raids, illustrate how conflict in the so-called “Middle Belt” takes on religious overtones due to demographics—but is deeply rooted in land and resource contention. Plateau State also continues to haunt Nigerian memory: in late 2023, coordinated attacks left around 200 dead across rural communities, many victims Berom Christians—but the perpetrators and motivations remain entangled with ethnic militias and vengeance cycles.
A recurring thread in analysis is the Nigerian state’s inability—or unwillingness—to enforce the rule of law. Investigative reporting and academic studies warn against sensationalist portrayals that ignore the overlapping causes of violence. Some analysts argue that religious framing is often co-opted by political entrepreneurs: using the language of persecution to mobilize bases or draw foreign sympathy, especially in election cycles. The danger is that simplistic narratives demand equally simplistic “solutions”—like military invasions.
Trump’s directive to the Pentagon to plan possible military strikes in Nigeria—“fast, vicious, and sweet,” in his words—escalates the rhetoric to a new plateau. The U.S. has indeed relisted Nigeria as a “Country of Particular Concern” for religious freedom violations. But this kind of heavy-handed pressure risks undermining Nigeria’s sovereignty, fueling anti-Western narratives, and oversimplifying root causes. Indeed, Nigeria has already rejected such threats. A government spokesman called Trump’s statements “coercive tactics,” built on “misleading reports” and an outdated understanding of Nigeria’s reality. Moreover, analysts caution that U.S. intervention grounded in an instrumental religious narrative may do more harm than good—provoking backlash, empowering armed groups, or creating new conflict flashpoints.
What might constructive engagement look like instead? Supporting capacity-building for intelligence, policing, border control, judicial reform, and conflict resolution mechanisms—while ensuring any support respects Nigeria’s request, consent, and sovereignty. Soludo himself acknowledges that Nigeria may need technology, military hardware, or training—but only through proper channels and with respect to international law.
The Nigerian government must also break out of mono-narrative thinking. It should promote nuanced public messaging that conveys the multi-layered nature of violence because reducing insecurity to Christian versus Muslim does disservice to victims across faiths. Reforming security architecture through intelligence-led policing, community engagement, demilitarized conflict mediation, and improved citizen protection should be prioritized—not just counterterrorism response. The country must prosecute crimes with transparency, ensuring that perpetrators face swift, impartial justice. Additionally, reforms in land and resource management, including clearer land tenure systems, grazing reserves, ranching models, and environmental restoration, could defuse many conflict flashpoints. Across religious and ethnic lines, genuine dialogue—locally and nationally—can reduce fears, build trust, and resist external meddling.
Governor Soludo’s blunt acknowledgment—“Christians killing Christians”—is more than rhetorical provocation. It is an attempt to pierce the cloak of easy narratives. The security crisis engulfing Nigeria is not a theater of religion, but a tangled drama of governance failures, economic desperation, land pressure, criminality, and political fractures. Donald Trump’s warlike posturing over alleged Christian killings amplifies spectacle over substance. If the international community genuinely cares about peace and justice in Nigeria, the first step is humility: stop casting nations as religious battlegrounds, start listening to local complexities—and help Nigerians build security, not hand them a foreign boot.
