Sixty-Five Years of Independence, Zero Years of Peace -By Jepson Pwamaddeino Morris

Sixty-five years ago, we celebrated the birth of a nation. Today, that celebration feels like a bitter joke. As the national anthem speaks of “land of our fathers,” a painful question hangs in the air: Is this still our land, or have we traded it away for the hollow gains of money, fame, and power?

While officials give speeches, our reality is written in blood. Activists are right to call our independence anniversaries meaningless when gunmen and Boko Haram move through our communities as if they own the roads.

A Trail of Broken Promises
Look at Madagali, the very hometown of Governor Fintiri. In February, it suffered its fourth attack in just five months. In Krichinga village, dozens are feared dead. Survivors don’t talk about “progress”—they talk about markets turned into slaughterhouses. They talk about the back-breaking work of digging mass graves for their neighbors and finding bodies dumped in local streams like trash.

In Maiduguri, the terror is just as constant. Only last night, explosions ripped through a tea shop near the Gwange barracks and across Abaganaram. Seven lives were cut short in an instant; many more are fighting for their lives in hospital beds. This comes just weeks after triple suicide bombings at a hospital and two markets killed 23 people.

When did a trip to the market or a hospital become a death sentence?

The Cost of Silence
We were promised a nation of peace and justice. Instead, we see our brothers butchered like animals. The pledge to “serve and protect” rings hollow when innocent blood is wasted as easily as a lamp burned out during a candle night celebration.

Amnesty International reports a staggering statistic: more than 10,000 people have been killed by gunmen in just two years. This isn’t just a security failure; it’s a moral one. It feels as though our national pride and honor have been sold off by those in power to secure their own positions.

The Breaking Point
When the government fails to provide safety, people naturally start looking to themselves for protection. We stay alert, we stay vigilant, and we try to guard our own doors. But a collection of frightened neighbors cannot replace a functioning state.

Insecurity isn’t just a “problem”—it is a crack in the very foundation of our democracy. If these cracks aren’t mended, the whole house will eventually fall.

We are a people filled with grief and rage. The greatest challenge we face now is how to use that anger to demand change without letting it turn into more violence. We must ask our leaders: Whose land is this? And what are you doing to win it back?

Jepson Pwamaddeino Morris