Every few months, headlines appear suggesting that Christians are being slaughtered in Nigeria for their faith. Yet for those who have lived through the nation’s painful years of insecurity, that claim could not be further from the truth. The reality is simpler and sadder: Nigerians are being killed, not Christians, not Muslims, just Nigerians.
This recurring narrative, often amplified by foreign media and sometimes echoed by local voices, paints a picture of religious persecution that does not reflect Nigeria’s complex reality. Our nation has endured terrorism, banditry, communal clashes, and kidnappings, but none of these are rooted in a coordinated religious war. To frame them that way is to misrepresent the truth and deepen the divisions that have already cost us too much. The truth is that both Christians and Muslims have fallen victim to the same forces of chaos, insecurity, poverty, corruption, and weak governance.
The roots of this misleading narrative trace back to the early days of Boko Haram’s insurgency. Because the group cloaked its terror in extremist Islamic rhetoric, international observers quickly assumed its violence was directed primarily against Christians. Western news outlets, advocacy organizations, and even some humanitarian campaigns began to describe Nigeria’s insecurity as ‘a war on Christians.’ But this framing was built on shallow observation. In reality, Boko Haram’s ideology was political and power driven, not religious. The group declared war on anyone who rejected its twisted version of Islam, including Muslims. They bombed mosques, killed imams, murdered Qur’anic teachers, and wiped out entire Muslim villages. To call their victims ‘Christian martyrs’ is to ignore the tens of thousands of Muslims who also perished at their hands.
Let the facts speak. Reports from organizations like the United Nations, Amnesty International, and the International Crisis Group have shown that the majority of Boko Haram’s victims were Muslims. From Baga to Konduga, from Monguno to Gwoza, the group unleashed terror on communities that were overwhelmingly Muslim. When Boko Haram attacked the Central Mosque in Kano in 2014, hundreds of Muslims were killed while offering Friday prayers. When they invaded Bama and Gwoza, they massacred Muslim men and abducted Muslim women. In the early years of their campaign, they even executed Muslim clerics who denounced them as heretics. Yes, churches were attacked and Christian communities suffered, but these attacks were never about religion, they were about control, intimidation, and chaos. The same bandits who kidnap Christian schoolgirls in Kaduna also raid Muslim villages in Zamfara and Katsina. The same terrorists who burn down a church in Chibok kill Muslims in Damboa and Yobe.
The Nigerian tragedy has been indiscriminate. No faith group has been spared. To claim otherwise is to weaponize human suffering for political ends. Once we start counting corpses by religion, we lose sight of our common humanity. The moment a Muslim’s death becomes less tragic than a Christian’s, or vice versa, we have all lost our moral compass. Labelling Nigeria’s insecurity as ‘Christian persecution’ fuels mistrust between communities that have coexisted for centuries. It allows extremists, opportunistic politicians, and foreign actors to thrive on our divisions. The danger lies not only in the falsehood of the claim but in its consequences, every time we turn insecurity into a religious debate, we make reconciliation harder and suspicion stronger.
The truth is simple: Nigeria’s security failures are not faith based; they are systemic. Our problem is not Islam or Christianity, it is bad governance, corruption, unemployment, and the absence of justice. Those are our common enemies. Whether in a mosque or a church, the cries of mourning echo with the same agony. Our people are not dying because of their religion, they are dying because their government failed to protect them. In Borno, Muslim farmers are slaughtered while tending their fields. In Kaduna, Christian teachers are abducted on their way to school. In Sokoto and Zamfara, Muslim traders are kidnapped for ransom. Across Nigeria, children of every faith have been orphaned, widows have been created, and futures destroyed.
Grief knows no religion. It does not ask whether the victim prayed facing east or west, or whether he called God Allah or Jehovah. It only asks why a human life was lost, and why a nation of such potential allows its citizens to perish so easily. Sadly, part of the blame lies with the media, both international and domestic. For years, Western journalists have painted Nigeria as a theatre of religious warfare because that sells better to their audiences. It simplifies a complex story and invites sympathy, funding, and political pressure. Locally, some political and religious leaders exploit this same narrative to score points. They speak of persecution to attract foreign support or to rally their followers, not realizing the damage they inflict on interfaith trust. Such exploitation of tragedy is morally wrong. It undermines national unity and feeds the perception that Nigerians are enemies of one another.
What Nigeria needs is responsible journalism, one that sees insecurity as a national tragedy, not as a Christian or Muslim problem. We need leaders who speak the language of unity, not division. If there is any lesson to draw from our years of insecurity, it is that division only multiplies pain. The bullets that killed our people did not ask for their baptismal names. The bombs that tore our markets apart did not check prayer times. Nigerians must reject every narrative that pits one faith against another. We must rise above religious and ethnic fault lines and recognize that what threatens one Nigerian threatens all. The solution lies in cooperation, in interfaith dialogue, in community policing, in rebuilding trust among neighbours, and in holding leaders accountable for every life lost, regardless of faith.
Nigeria’s wounds are deep, but they are shared wounds. If we must rise again, we must do so as one people, not as Christians or Muslims, but as Nigerians bound by hope, history, and destiny. A lie repeated often enough becomes the truth, until truth itself speaks. The truth is that in Nigeria, no faith owns the monopoly of pain. Our collective duty is not to argue over who suffers more, but to ensure that no one else must suffer at all.