When tragedy strikes in Nigeria, it has become the pattern of government officials to respond with familiar words: “We condemn this attack.” “Investigations are ongoing.” “Security has been reinforced.” “This will never happen again.”
In fact, former President Muhammadu Buhari was disrepute to always say, “We assure you.”
But somehow, it happened over and over.
That is the painful cycle Nigerians have become used to. This is a country that responds emotionally after disaster instead of acting intelligently before disaster.
After Boko Haram bombings and mass killings shook different parts of northern Nigeria years ago, many expected a complete overhaul of the nation’s security structure. The insurgents attacked churches, mosques, markets, motor parks, military formations, and eventually schools. The abduction of the Chibok girls in 2014 shocked the entire world and exposed the frightening vulnerability of Nigerian students.
The outrage was global. Hashtags trended. Speeches were made. Promises filled the air.
One of the major responses that followed was the Safe Schools Initiative. Launched in 2014 by the Nigerian government, the United Nations, and business leaders, its aim was to protect schools, especially in conflict-prone areas. Students and teachers deserved protection from armed attacks and kidnappings. The idea sounded noble: improve school security, strengthen infrastructure, deploy safety measures, and ensure children could learn without fear. In 2021, it transitioned to a national policy when Nigeria signed the International Safe Schools Declaration.
Five years later, Nigerians are still asking the same question: how safe are our schools really?
This is because despite the initiative, school abductions have not ceased. From Kankara in Katsina State to Jangebe in Zamfara, Greenfield University to Kuriga both in Kaduna State, armed groups repeatedly invaded schools and kidnapped students almost like there were no lessons from previous attacks. Each incident came with fresh outrage, fresh sympathy visits, and fresh promises.
Yet the pattern remained painfully reactive.
In many of these cases, security only increased after people have died or been kidnapped. Authorities suddenly deploy personnel after attacks. Surveillance rises after destruction. Officials conduct emergency meetings after families have already been devastated.
But proactive governance works differently.
Being proactive means identifying risks before they explode. It means asking difficult questions early: Which schools are vulnerable? Which communities lack security presence? Which roads have become kidnapping routes? Which intelligence warnings are being ignored?
Countries that are serious about security invest heavily in prevention, not just reaction.
Unfortunately, Nigerian authorities often wait for blood before action begins.
And the consequences have been devastating. Beyond the headlines and statistics are real families that have been permanently damaged by insecurity. Parents live in fear each time their children leave for school. Some families have withdrawn children entirely from boarding schools. Others can barely sleep after hearing stories of midnight abductions and ransom negotiations.
The psychological damage alone is colossal.
These children who are exposed to violence and fear carry those memories for years. Communities lose trust in institutions that are meant to protect them. Education suffers because parents begin to associate schools with danger rather than opportunity.
And the problem goes beyond terrorism or kidnapping.
Nigeria has developed a dangerous culture of reacting late to national issues. Until flooding happens before drainage systems are discussed. Building collapses happen before regulations are enforced. Disease outbreaks happen before healthcare systems receive attention. Economic hardship worsens before meaningful reforms appear.
How everything has become emergency management is the sad reality of our political class and administrators.
Part of the problem is that proactive governance is not dramatic. Prevention rarely makes headlines because successful prevention means disaster never happened. Politicians often gain more visibility responding to crises than quietly investing in systems that stop crises from occurring.
But nations cannot progress by constantly operating in survival mode. It is surely not an indices of good governance when you react to issues rather than being proactive.
True leadership is not measured only by how leaders respond after tragedy. It is measured by whether tragedy could have been prevented in the first place.
The painful reality is that many Nigerian families today are carrying wounds that better planning, stronger institutions, and proactive security measures could have reduced or avoided entirely.
How can a country continue learning the same lesson through repeated funerals, kidnappings, and tears?
At some point, and now is, that Nigeria must move from condolence governance to preventive governance.
Because when evil is anticipated and stopped early, families remain whole, children remain safe, and communities continue to live rather than merely recovering from disaster after disaster.
