ABUJA — Nigeria’s fragile security architecture is collapsing under the relentless weight of terrorism, armed banditry, communal killings, and an increasingly absent state. Across vast swathes of the country, the police and military have become ghostly institutions—overwhelmed, underfunded, and often nowhere to be found when violence erupts. In this growing vacuum, desperate communities are picking up arms—not just in defence, but in defiance of a government they no longer trust to protect them. From volunteer guards and ethnic militias to local hunters and vigilante leagues, a patchwork of informal security structures has emerged—filling the gaps left by failed governance. But what began as survival has become a dangerous gamble, where misjudged threats and raw panic often spark deadly consequences.

That grim reality came into full view in June 2025, when Yelewata, a quiet farming village in Benue’s Guma LGA, became a bloodbath. Heavily armed assailants—allegedly herders supported by foreign mercenaries—descended in the night, torching homes and executing residents, including children and the elderly. In just a few hours, more than 100 people were slaughtered, and over 3,000 others displaced. Human rights groups estimate that over half a million people have now fled their homes across Benue State in 2025 alone. In just two months, at least 160 people—including two soldiers and a police officer—were killed in a spate of coordinated attacks across Guma, Logo, Gwer West, and Agatu. For many in Benue and other vulnerable regions, the message is clear: no one is coming to help.

In Edo State, the violence took a different but equally horrific turn. On March 28, 2025, sixteen hunters traveling through Uromi, Esan South-East Local Government Area, were lynched by a mob and burned alive after being falsely identified as kidnappers. They were on their way to Kano from a hunting expedition in the forest and had Dane guns in their vehicle. Local vigilantes raised the alarm, triggering a wave of panic. In minutes, the crowd swelled, fuelled by suspicion, ethnic tension, and anger over recent abductions in the area. Rather than hand the men over to the police, the crowd set them on fire. Days later, the Edo State Police Command confirmed the victims were innocent hunters. Their identities were traced to communities in the North, sparking outrage from northern leaders and civil society, who demanded justice and warned that the country was slipping into ungoverned anarchy.

Friendly Fire

At the same time, the risks of this vigilante reliance were tragically illustrated in Zamfara State, where a military airstrike intended for bandits mistakenly targeted—and killed—local vigilantes and members of the Civilian Joint Task Force in Tungar Kara. Residents counted up to 20 bodies, with ten more wounded. The victims had been pursuing criminal gangs but were misidentified as fleeing bandits by the military aircraft.

These chilling incidents reveal how Nigeria’s fractured security system is breeding both desperation and deadly error. With many parts of the country effectively abandoned by security agencies, informal groups like the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF), Amotekun Corps, Yan Sakai, Ebube Agu, and local vigilantes have emerged as the first and often only line of defence. Initially set up to repel insurgents or deter bandits, many of these groups now operate with limited oversight, scant training, and little support. Their effectiveness, once praised, is now shadowed by concerns over mistaken identity, human rights abuses, and ethnic profiling.

The CJTF was first established in Maiduguri in 2013 during the peak of the Boko Haram insurgency. Young men, many of them unemployed and displaced, began patrolling the city, providing intelligence to the military and even engaging Boko Haram fighters directly. Their efforts earned praise and official support. But over time, the CJTF has been accused of extrajudicial killings, torture, and recruiting underage boys. In Benue, a similar civilian security outfit was formed around 2014 with the backing of local governments. Intended to protect farmers and schoolchildren, it became highly politicised, leading to its eventual disbandment and replacement with the less centralised Benue Volunteer Guards.

In the South-West, the Amotekun Corps was launched by six governors in January 2020 to tackle herder-farmer clashes and kidnapping in the Yoruba heartland. Although backed by state legislation, Amotekun has faced challenges ranging from poor funding and inter-agency rivalry to allegations of ethnic bias and overreach.

Meanwhile, the South-East has witnessed the rise of two distinct actors: the state-sanctioned Ebube Agu and the Eastern Security Network (ESN), an armed group linked to the proscribed Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). While Ebube Agu reports to the Department of State Security and works with the police and other security agencies on some operations, the ESN has been blamed for enforcing sit-at-home orders, killing locals and security personnel, attacking government infrastructures, and creating widespread fear in the region. Human rights organisations estimate that over 700 people have been killed in the South-East since 2021 as a result of activities linked to IPOB and its armed wing—the ESN.

In the North-West, groups like Yan Sakai and Lakurawa have gained notoriety. Yan Sakai started as a local vigilante network among Hausa farmers in Zamfara but was later banned by the state due to its role in reprisal killings against Fulani herdsmen. Lakurawa, designated as a terrorist group in 2024, began as a self-defence network but has since evolved into a radical Islamic militia. In March 2025, it launched deadly attacks in Sokoto and Kebbi, killing scores and enforcing parallel laws in rural areas.

The Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) and Boko Haram continue to stage deadly attacks in the North-East. In April and May 2025 alone, over 40 soldiers and civilians were killed in Adamawa and Borno states during a series of coordinated ambushes and IED blasts. Security sources report that ISWAP now uses armed drones and encrypted communications, making their operations harder to intercept. There are fears the group has re-established training camps in Lake Chad and parts of Sambisa Forest.

Despite the growing threats, Nigeria’s security agencies remain underfunded and overstretched.

Underfunding and Inadequate Police and Military Manpower

The Nigeria Police Force reportedly has just over 370,000 officers serving a population of over 220 million—a far cry from the United Nations’ recommended ratio of one officer to every 450 citizens, which would require roughly 2.5 million officers. Yet the effective ratio is even worse, with around 150,000 of these officers reportedly assigned to VIPs and private individuals, leaving the vast majority of communities under-protected. The government spends an estimated ₦131 billion annually on salaries for police officers designated as escorts and orderlies.

In many cases, a single senator may be trailed by ten armed police escorts, and the most competent officers are redeployed from patrolling streets to guarding the elite—turning public security into a class privilege.

This misallocation exacerbates insecurity, leaving rural and vulnerable communities dependent on ill-trained vigilantes while highly-trained officers are stationed as escorts to individuals or politicians.

Nigeria’s Federal Government budget allocations to security have increased marginally in recent years, but they remain inadequate. Defence spending stood at just over ₦2 trillion in 2025, with the police receiving less than ₦900 billion. Experts argue this is insufficient given the multiple security challenges facing the country. Many military officers complain of delayed salaries, insufficient ammunition, and lack of medical care for injured soldiers. A recent audit revealed that over 30 per cent of police patrol vehicles across Nigeria are broken down or inactive.

Unchecked vigilantism without integration and oversight

As community-based security outfits multiply across Nigeria in response to deepening insecurity, experts are warning of unintended consequences—chief among them the erosion of state authority and the legitimisation of unregulated power structures.

Dr. Kabir Adamu, a leading security analyst and founder of Beacon Consulting, recently noted that while the rise of vigilante and ethnic militias may be a “predictable response to state failure,” it poses grave long-term risks to Nigeria’s national cohesion and democratic governance.

“When communities start enforcing their own rules, brandishing weapons, and pledging loyalty to ethnic or religious identities instead of the Constitution, you’re already staring at dangerous fragmentation,” he said. “The challenge is not just about public safety anymore—it’s about who controls the use of force in a state that’s supposed to have a monopoly on it. Local defence forces can be helpful, but only if they are properly trained, regulated, and formally integrated into the national security architecture.”

This tension—between necessity and legitimacy—has become a central dilemma for Nigeria’s security planners. While the state struggles to extend formal protection to rural and volatile areas, local actors have stepped in, filling the vacuum. But many of these groups operate without clear guidelines, oversight, or accountability—leaving room for human rights abuses, tribal reprisals, or outright criminal capture.

Chris Adigwu, National President of the Association of Licensed Private Security Practitioners of Nigeria (ALPSPN), told Open African Tribune that the proliferation of community-led security formations is not, in itself, the problem. Rather, the issue is their uneven training and often ambiguous relationship with formal law enforcement.

“Security is a shared responsibility, and communities have a right to protect themselves,” Mr Adigwu said. “But the question we must ask is: what kind of training do these vigilantes receive? How do they coordinate intelligence with the police or the military? What laws govern their engagement? That’s where the risk lies.”

He further expressed concern that while informal security outfits—such as hunters, ethnic militias, and vigilante leagues—are often emboldened and supported by local governments, licensed private security operators remain underutilised and underfunded.

“If government can fund vigilantes and hunters to secure our forests, why are professional, licensed private security providers not given the same support?” he asked. “Hunters should be in the forests protecting wildlife and natural resources—not engaging in firefights with bandits without adequate training or legal protections.”

According to both men, the current trajectory—where vigilante groups continue to grow unchecked while formal security institutions lag behind—risks entrenching a dangerous dual system of justice. “In a democracy, the rule of law must never be outsourced,” Dr. Adamu warned. “Otherwise, you’re just managing chaos.”

Police muted endorsement of community collaboration.

Amid rising insecurity and the proliferation of armed non-state groups across Nigeria, police authorities are walking a delicate line—welcoming collaboration with legitimate vigilante groups while warning against the dangers of criminal infiltration and rogue violence.

Multiple police commands across the country told Open African Tribune that community-led security initiatives—when properly sanctioned and supervised—have become vital allies in Nigeria’s overstretched fight against crime and terrorism. Yet, the police also condemn the actions of non-state actors operating outside the law, especially those responsible for attacks on civilians and security personnel alike.

In Edo State, the police praised the synergy between the Nigeria Police Force and the Edo State Security Network. “We’ve had strong collaboration with the Edo Security Corps, which was established by the government. They’ve worked effectively alongside the police and local hunters in tackling criminal activity,” said SP Moses Joel Yamu, the Public Relations Officer of the Edo State Police Command.

He revealed that following the killing of several northern hunters in Uromi, Edo State, multiple suspects were apprehended and transferred to the Force Criminal Investigation Department (FCID) in Abuja. “We are making progress in dismantling such networks. Those involved have been arrested and are currently under investigation,” Yamu added.

In the volatile South-East, SP Henry Okoye, Public Relations Officer of the Imo State Police Command, told Open African Tribune that coordinated operations involving the police, Department of State Services (DSS), and government-backed Ebube Agu cadets are ongoing to root out criminal gangs, including members of the Eastern Security Network (ESN). He made a critical distinction between Ebube Agu and ESN—two groups often confused in public discourse.

“Ebube Agu is a legitimate state-backed outfit. Though not directly under the police, they work closely with us and the DSS. The ESN, on the other hand, is a proscribed group responsible for violent attacks in the region,” Okoye clarified.

He argued that community policing remains the future of sustainable security in Nigeria. “You cannot secure every community from a central command in Abuja. Local security outfits, drawn from the same communities they protect, know the terrain and the people. Yes, arming them comes with risks, but with proper vetting and training, they can be effective partners,” he said.

In Plateau State, where intercommunal violence has recently spiked, police officials urged Nigerians to reject ethnic profiling. Speaking with Open African Tribune, SP Alabo Alfred, the command’s spokesperson, said perpetrators of attacks are not confined to one tribe.

“Criminals in Plateau are from various ethnic backgrounds. Crime doesn’t wear one face. Our duty as police officers is to arrest and prosecute offenders, regardless of their identity,” Alfred said.

The call for improved community policing gained further traction earlier this year when the Director-General of the DSS, Adeola Oluwatosin Ajayi, addressed the matter at a national security summit in Abuja. He admitted that no federal agency—no matter how well equipped—could be physically present in every corner of the country.

“You cannot expect the Army, Police, or DSS to guard every village in Nigeria. That’s simply not feasible,” Ajayi said. He proposed a formal framework for community policing—one that empowers local actors to take responsibility for intelligence gathering, early warning, and first-line defence, but within a nationally coordinated security ecosystem.

His remarks reignited debates over the need for police reform and the long-standing call for the creation of state police. While critics argue such a move could be exploited by state governors to settle political scores, a growing number of policymakers now support a hybrid approach—one that merges grassroots vigilance with federal oversight.

However, even community security structures are not immune to compromise. In Zamfara State, intelligence reports have revealed that some vigilantes were secretly collaborating with bandits—supplying them with information and logistics in exchange for kickbacks. Similarly, in Benue, some local defence volunteers have been implicated in cattle rustling and armed robbery, raising alarm over the lack of a national vetting system.

As Nigeria’s security crisis deepens, the line between protector and predator continues to blur. What remains clear; however, is that without a coherent strategy to manage and professionalise community-based security—and to reclaim police personnel from VIP duties—the country risks not just lawlessness—but a permanent breakdown of trust between the people and the state.