By Boney Akaeze
When the U.S. government recently designated Nigeria as a “Country of Particular Concern” (CPC) under the International Religious Freedom Act (IRFA), reactions across Nigeria were swift and emotional. Commentators, politicians, and pundits have filled the airwaves with anger, indignation, and nationalist rhetoric—some defending Nigeria’s honour, others denouncing Washington’s audacity.
But before we join the contest for who can shout loudest in defenceof Nigeria or in condemnation of America and President Donald Trump, wisdom demands we pause. This is not a subject for rash opinions or sentimental patriotism. It requires sober reflection, informed understanding, and the rare gift of second-order thinking.
If one lacks these qualities, silence may, in fact, be the greatest service one can render to Nigeria at this moment.
The Context
The United States employs the CPC designation as a foreign policy tool under the IRFA. Countries placed on the list are those accused of engaging in or tolerating “systemic, ongoing, egregious violations of religious freedom.” Nigeria first appeared on this list in 2020, during Trump’s first term, and was removed in 2021 under President Biden. Its reinstatement in 2025, however, has reignited old debates about fairness, motive, and sovereignty.
Yet, the harder truth is that Washington’s judgment, however politically motivated, did not arise in a vacuum. It was shaped by a decade of horrific events—many of which Nigerians themselves would rather forget.
The Hard Questions
Before we dismiss America’s classification, let us confront some difficult questions:
• Where is Leah Sharibu? Who abducted her, and why has she remained in captivity to this day?
• Who kidnapped the Chibok and Dapchi schoolgirls? Why were those schools—attended mostly by young Christian girls—specifically targeted?
• What do you remember of the 501 men, women, and children massacred on 7 March 2010 in Dogo Nahawa, Zot, and Ratsatnear Jos? Were those deaths not worthy of justice, or even remembrance?
What explains the pattern of repeated attacks on churches and Christian communities across Nigeria’s Middle Belt?
If we are truly searching for understanding, we must go beyond rhetoric and examine the record—one soaked with blood and silence.
The Grim Record
Consider these reminders:
• December 25, 2011: St. Theresa’s Catholic Church, Madalla—dozens killed during Christmas Mass.
• June 10, 2012: Two CAC churches attacked in Kaduna.
• August 7, 2012: Deeper Life Church, Okene—worshippers massacred mid-service.
• June 2015: Five churches attacked in Maiduguri.
• June 5, 2022: St. Francis Catholic Church, Owo, Ondo State—massacre during Sunday service.
• December 23–25, 2023: Multiple churches and seventeen villages attacked in Plateau State.
• May 24, 2025: United Methodist Church, Taraba State.
Each of these incidents bears a common signature—the deliberate targeting of Christians by extremist groups claiming religious justification.
Can we, in good conscience, deny the intent behind such systemic attacks? Have we held even a fraction of the perpetrators accountable? Why do so many of these assaults occur mere kilometers from police and military posts, yet the attacker operate undisturbed for hours?
These are the questions that must precede any emotional defense of Nigeria’s honour.
The Ethical Challenge
We bristle at the term genocide—and perhaps rightly so. But indignation cannot replace truth.
Let us be reminded of how the 1948 UN Genocide Convention and Article 6 of the Rome Statute define the crime. They impose on every state not only the duty to refrain from committing genocide, but also to prevent and punish it. Furthermore, in Bosnia v. Serbia (2007), the International Court of Justice (ICJ) affirmed that once a state “knows or should have known” of a serious risk of genocide, it must act decisively to prevent it. Can Nigeria, with its long record of warnings, intelligence reports, and ignored signals, truly say it has met that obligation?
The Double Standard Debate
Yes, America has its moral blemishes—from racial discrimination to foreign policy hypocrisy. But while the U.S. fought a civil war to end slavery and has, however imperfectly, held itself to account, Nigeria has mastered the art of denial.
When John Kerry came preaching “religious tolerance” in 2014, it was seen by some as diplomacy. When Trump now thunders warnings, it is denounced as interference. Hypocrisy is not an exclusive American export. This is not about taking sides with Washington. It is about facing our own contradictions. A state that moves swiftly to quell peaceful protests but cannot prevent recurring massacres in its villages cannot convincingly claim moral high ground.
The Call for Introspection
The blame for Nigeria’s religious violence is not President Tinubu’salone, nor should his government bear the sins of the past. But leadership means inheritance—of both glory and failure. Therefore, what Nigeria needs now is not diplomatic fury, but institutional reform; not defensive outrage, but honest introspection.
Until the Nigerian State demonstrates, through justice and equity, that it protects all faiths and communities equally, our protests against the CPC label will ring hollow. If Washington’s classification jolts us awake from our national slumber, then perhaps it has served an unintended good.
A Time for Wisdom
In moments like this, when nations are tested by truth and pride, the wise speak less and think more. Even the silent may be counted wise—and the restrained, honourable.
I write as a proud and patriotic Nigerian, and I challenge all Nigerians to critically assess whether this designation by the U.S is baseless—or whether, tragically, the evidence has long been before us.
Boney Akaeze, a Nigeria political historian and development expert writes from Asaba, Nigeria.
