Aare Amerijoye Dotb
There are moments in a nation’s life when silence itself becomes bloodstained. Moments when the refusal of leaders to speak becomes a sentence passed on the entire population. Moments when a country’s tragedy is met with an indifference so chilling that it exposes the moral bankruptcy of those entrusted to govern. The killing of Brigadier General M Uba is one such moment. His death is not merely a news headline. It is a violent crack in the soul of the nation.
A senior officer. A husband. A father. A patriot who carried the weight of the Nigerian flag with unbroken devotion. Humiliated. Captured. Murdered. And the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria could not find a single breath to mourn him. Not one public remark. Not a moment of national sorrow. Not an acknowledgment of a man who died protecting the very nation whose leader could not honour him. That silence was not accidental. It was deliberate. It was a revelation. It was a heartless declaration that Nigerian lives are invisible to those in power.
The anguish in the country is now a living thing. A presence. A shadow that follows citizens everywhere. You can feel it in the markets where mothers now count coins with trembling hands. You can feel it in schools where teachers pray before every lesson. You can feel it in night buses where passengers grip their bags with fear, uncertain if the journey will end in a safe destination or in the forests where kidnappers rule. The Nigerian people are in excruciating pain. When hunger becomes routine, desperation becomes natural. When suffering becomes daily, survival becomes a crime. And when a nation continuously bleeds, even good men may be driven to terrible things.
This pain is creating a new darkness. Crimes are rising because hunger is rising. Violence grows because hopelessness grows. A country that abandons its citizens should never be surprised when those citizens lose faith in its laws. A nation where survival becomes a gamble cannot expect morality to thrive. These are the consequences of a leadership that feeds fat while the people starve.
General Uba’s fate sits at the centre of this national grief. I imagine him on the dusty ground, surrounded by enemies of the state he served. I imagine him struggling for breath, still believing that Nigeria would honour him. Yet Nigeria offered silence. Silence so cold that it feels like betrayal. Silence that says more than an entire speech could. Silence that has become the signature of this administration.
And his tragedy is only one among thousands.
In Maga in Kebbi State, twenty five schoolgirls were dragged out of their beds by armed men who walked freely through the school perimeter. In Borno State, in Malam Karanti, villagers watched their loved ones die as militants stormed their homes. In Benue, more than forty people were murdered in a single night. In Niger State, entire communities were emptied within days as bandits invaded village after village. In Kaduna, children now walk to school with fear as their constant companion. In Abuja, criminals now break into homes with the confidence of men who know the authorities are sleeping.
The National Human Rights Commission recorded five hundred and seventy killings and two hundred and seventy eight kidnappings in just one month. And every statistic is a story. A child. A mother. A father. A life extinguished in a country where leaders host parties while citizens bury their dead.
Nigeria has become a theatre of trauma. Everywhere you turn, there is another tale of sorrow. And instead of confronting reality, the government has normalised tragedy. Violence is now expected. Safety is now a privilege. Fear is now a national language.
This is the Nigeria of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. A Nigeria where power is for celebration, not for responsibility. A Nigeria where the ruling party engages in self worship while citizens suffer. A Nigeria where empathy has been exiled. A Nigeria where the Commander in Chief is present during political battles but absent during national mourning.
If Atiku Abubakar were President today, this nation would not be left in this emotional wasteland. Atiku understands leadership as service, not spectacle. He understands that every fallen soldier is a national monument. He understands that where a nation refuses to mourn, it loses its soul. His own words echo with the clarity of responsibility when he said that if he were President, any state under siege would be fully occupied by the military until peace was restored because the men and women who defend Nigeria must never be abandoned.
Imagine now the woman in Benue whose children cry themselves to sleep because gunshots echo every night. Imagine the farmer in Niger whose life’s work rots away because terrorists rule the fields. Imagine the trader in Zaria whose only dream is to return home safely after each journey. Imagine the soldier in Borno who fights with courage by day but faces silence by night when he falls. This is the anguish that fills Nigeria today.
The death of Brigadier General M Uba should have shaken the entire country. But instead, the rulers continued their banquets. They celebrated milestones. They commissioned projects. They chased opposition members. They smiled for cameras. And Nigeria cried alone.
General Uba deserved better. The people deserve better. And the country deserves a leadership that can feel, think, act and protect.
Two thousand and twenty seven is no longer just an election year. It is a crossroads. A choice between continuation of sorrow and the possibility of healing. Between a future where Nigerians continue to live as prey or a future where Nigeria begins to breathe again. Between the cruelty of silence and the hope of leadership that cares.
The death of Brigadier General M Uba must not be a forgotten tragedy. It must be a turning point. A national alarm. A reminder that Nigeria is approaching a breaking point.
A nation that refuses to cry will eventually forget how to live.
Nigeria must learn to cry again.
And after tears must come the courage to choose change.
Aare Amerijoye DOT B
Director General
The Narrative Force
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