The Politics of Persecution: How The US Is Weaponizing Nigeria’s Enduring Insecurity Crisis

On October 31st, U.S. President Donald Trump announced that Nigeria was being placed on the “Countries of Particular Concern” list maintained by the U.S. State Department. The list, which identifies nations deemed to be engaging in violations of religious freedom, includes China, Myanmar, North Korea, Russia, and Pakistan. On the same day, via a post on X, Trump declared: “The United States cannot stand by while such atrocities are happening in Nigeria, and numerous other countries. We stand ready, willing, and able to save our Great Christian population around the World!”

For the last two months, there have been mounting claims emerging from the United States Senate which describe Nigeria’s insecurity crisis as an Islamist, government-backed genocide against Christians

On Saturday, President Trump escalated this rhetoric, announcing that he had instructed the Pentagon to begin planning for potential military action in Nigeria. “If the Nigerian government continues to allow the killing of Christians,” he wrote, “the USA will immediately stop all aid and assistance to Nigeria, and may very well go into that now disgraced country ‘guns-a-blazing’ to completely wipe out the Islamic terrorists who are committing these horrible atrocities.”

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu swiftly dismissed Trump’s claims, saying the characterization of Nigeria as a religiously intolerant country “does not reflect national reality.” Yet Trump doubled down yesterday, telling reporters he was “considering a range of military options” and adding, “They’re killing the Christians and killing them in very large numbers. We’re not going to allow that to happen.”

The question, then, is whether Nigeria is truly witnessing a Christian genocide. The short answer is no. Alongside several other experts, Information and National Orientation Minister Mohammed Idris acknowledged that the country faces serious security challenges, but argued that the claim of a deliberate, state-backed extermination of Christians is “inaccurate and harmful.” Analysts and survivors of the violence agree that Nigeria’s insecurity cuts across religious and ethnic lines. It is driven less by theology than by resource competition, poverty, climate change, and weak governance.

Nonetheless, the optics remain troubling. Northern Christians often live under legitimate fear. The coexistence of Sharia law, blasphemy statutes, and the absence of anti-grazing legislation undermines any claim to secularism or equal protection in a multicultural nation. In Adamawa this year, the Supreme Court upheld the death sentence of a Christian man who defended himself during an attack by Fulani herdsmen, and it is precisely this kind of sentiment that crystallizes the perception of systemic bias. It is this imbalance, born of blatant neglect rather than any targeted policy, that makes Nigeria vulnerable to accusations like Trump’s.

Even beyond Nigeria’s borders, the regional context paints an equally grim picture. The Sahel region – spanning Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger – has become the epicenter of terrorist activity in Africa. Armed groups such as Jama’at al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) and ISIS-Sahel (formerly ISIS in the Greater Sahara) have entrenched themselves in central Mali and northern Burkina Faso, exploiting political transitions, weak state institutions, and successive military coups. Their growing influence poses a direct threat to Nigeria’s already fragile northern frontier, where porous borders, climate-induced migration, and arms trafficking create fertile ground for radicalization. 

Yet the Nigerian government appears almost oblivious to the implications of this expanding regional crisis. As extremist networks gain ground just beyond its borders, the Nigerian government remains largely reactive, unable – or unwilling – to anticipate the inevitable spillover and act to prevent it. When a government displays this level of blindness and inaction, its negligence begins to resemble intent – and the world, watching from afar, will read its apathy as persecution.

To present Trump’s crusade as one of moral urgency, however, is to miss the point. His rhetoric is not motivated by compassion but by convenience. His administration is besieged on all fronts: the American economy is slowing, unemployment is rising, and the federal government shutdown that began on October 1st has left millions without pay or food assistance. Internationally, the White House is losing credibility over its complicity in the destruction of Gaza. Confronted with these crises, Trump has reached for a familiar political tool – moral panic dressed in the garb of religious protection.

By framing himself as the defender of global Christianity, Trump revives a narrative that plays well with his conservative, evangelical base. It distracts from domestic failures, shores up waning political support, and reasserts America’s long-standing tradition of white Christian exceptionalism. His moral grandstanding on Nigeria’s “Christian genocide” is little more than a diversion. The playbook is hardly new. The U.S. used a similar narrative in South Africa, fabricating claims of “white genocide” to justify repeated political interference and sanctions. Nigeria is simply the latest arena for this kind of rhetorical imperialism.

But if Trump’s opportunism is predictable, Nigeria’s susceptibility to it is self-inflicted. The country’s government has, for decades, turned a blind eye to the spiraling insecurity in its North and Middle Belt. The bloodshed that now defines those regions has become normalized, its victims reduced to statistics. Since Tinubu’s inauguration in mid-2023, over 10,000 people have been killed and hundreds abducted. Nearly three million have been displaced. Each attack further highlights the hollow core of a government more preoccupied with greedy power plays than with governance.

What makes this situation particularly damning is the Nigerian government’s inability to defend itself diplomatically. Nigeria currently has no ambassadors present in any country in the world – a vacuum that leaves the country voiceless at a time when its reputation is under direct assault. President Tinubu’s decision in September 2023 to recall all ambassadors without replacements effectively dismantled Nigeria’s global diplomatic presence. With embassies now run by chargé d’affaires with limited authority, there is no one capable of shaping or even responding to Nigeria’s international narrative. The government’s response to Trump’s allegations – disjointed press releases scattered across social media – exemplifies the same bureaucratic dysfunction that has long undermined the country.

To some extent, Trump’s comments have forced Nigeria’s leadership into an image-rehabilitation frenzy, but the irony is bitter. The same political class which is now rushing to prove Nigeria’s tolerance once weaponized insecurity for political gain. At the height of the Chibok kidnapping crisis of 2014, then-opposition leaders Bola Tinubu and Muhammadu Buhari capitalized on the tragedy to question President Goodluck Jonathan’s competence, citing the vulnerability of Christian victims. Today, they have each presided over an even deadlier crisis, offering little beyond denial and empty assurances.

Nigeria’s placement on the “Countries of Particular Concern” list carries tangible risks. It could disrupt security cooperation, affect arms procurement, and deter foreign investment at a moment when the economy is already strained. But beyond these immediate costs lies a deeper one: the erosion of Nigeria’s credibility as a state capable of managing its own affairs.

Trump’s declarations may be reckless, but they expose a truth the Nigerian elite prefers to ignore; that years of neglect and misrule have left the country defenseless not only against violence, but also against perception. The tragedy is not simply that an American president can malign Nigeria on the world stage, it is that the Nigerian government has made it so easy for him to do so.