A General Betrayed: Death Of Maj-Gen Abubakar And The Failure Of Nigeria’s Security Apparatus

Roland OGBONNAYA —

The news that retired Major-General Rabe Abubakar had been taken by kidnappers while travelling to a wedding with his wife in Katsina state landed like a thunderclap. Here was a man who had spent more than three decades serving his country in uniform — a decorated general, a former commander, a symbol of the very institution charged with protecting the lives and property of Nigerians. Yet, in his hour of need, that same institution proved utterly incapable of securing his release. When the announcement came that he had died in captivity, the tragedy was not merely personal. It was a damning indictment of the state of Nigeria’s security apparatus and the abject failure of the Federal Government to confront the hydra-headed menace of kidnapping, banditry and terrorism.

The details are as harrowing as they are avoidable. The general and his wife were ambushed along the road, presumably by bandits operating with impunity in the North-West. They were taken to an undisclosed location. The military and security forces launched operations, but the rescue never materialised. Days passed. Negotiations, if they occurred at all, went nowhere. Then came the official narrative: General Abubakar died of complications arising from diabetes and high blood pressure. The family, predictably, rejected this explanation. The general’s son, Isyaka Abubakar, told the press that his father had never suffered from either condition. The implication is clear: the official version is either a cover-up for neglect or an attempt to sanitise a humiliating operational failure.

Let us be blunt. A retired major-general should not be a target for kidnappers. But the fact that he was, and that the state could not save him, exposes a rot that runs deep into the marrow of Nigeria’s security architecture. If the military cannot protect one of its own — a man who commanded troops, who understood the terrain, who had access to the highest levels of command — what hope is there for the ordinary farmer, trader or schoolteacher in Zamfara, Kaduna or Katsina? The answer is chillingly obvious: very little.

The question that must be asked, and asked repeatedly, is why the Nigerian Army, with its vast budget, its decades of experience, and its supposedly modernised equipment, cannot deal decisively with kidnapping, banditry and terrorism. The official response is always the same: the challenges are asymmetric, the terrain is difficult, the bandits have local support, the security forces are overstretched. These are not explanations; they are excuses. Every country faces asymmetric threats. Every military contends with difficult terrain. The difference is that competent, well-led forces adapt, innovate and prevail. Nigeria’s forces, for all their individual bravery, have been let down by systemic failures that no amount of press releases can mask.

Part of the problem is strategic confusion. For years, the military has been engaged in a counter-insurgency campaign in the North-East against Boko Haram and the Islamic State West Africa Province. That campaign has made progress, but it has not achieved lasting peace. At the same time, the North-West has been overrun by bandits — armed gangs that operate with near-impunity, kidnapping for ransom, raiding villages, and terrorising communities. The military, already stretched thin, appears unable to pivot effectively. There is no coherent national security strategy that coordinates the efforts of the army, the police, the Department of State Services, and local vigilantes. Instead, we see ad hoc operations, denials, and a reliance on media management rather than results.

Corruption, too, plays a role. Funds allocated for security disappear into black holes of procurement fraud, ghost soldiers, and inflated contracts. Soldiers often lack the basic equipment needed to operate effectively — functional armoured vehicles, night-vision goggles, drones, reliable communications. The bandits, by contrast, ride motorcycles across open terrain, use sophisticated mobile phones, and are often better informed about military movements than the military itself. When a retired general can be snatched from a public road in broad daylight, it is not because the bandits are superhuman. It is because the state has allowed a vacuum to develop, and chaos has filled it.

Then there is the question of political will. Successive administrations have paid lip service to security, but have not taken the hard decisions required: declaring a state of emergency in affected areas, committing to a sustained and well-funded multi-agency operations, addressing the root causes of rural poverty and alienation that fuel banditry, and holding commanders accountable for failures. Instead, we hear statements of condolence, promises of investigations, and the inevitable deflection of blame onto the victims or the previous government. General Abubakar’s death should have sparked a national reckoning. Instead, it has been met with the usual cycle of outrage and amnesia.

The family’s insistence that the general did not die of diabetes or hypertension is significant. Even if one accepts that captivity-induced stress could exacerbate pre-existing conditions — which the family denies existed — the fact remains that he died while in the custody of criminals whom the state had failed to neutralise. The government and military authorities should have been transparent about what exactly happened. By rushing to attribute his death to natural causes, they appear to be closing ranks and avoiding uncomfortable questions. Was adequate medical care provided during the rescue efforts? Were the negotiations botched? Was there a chance to secure his release that was squandered? The Nigerian public deserves answers, but it will likely receive only silence.

For General Abubakar himself, the tragedy is almost Shakespearean in its cruelty. A man who dedicated his life to the defence of the nation, who commanded troops, who swore an oath to protect Nigeria from all enemies, foreign and domestic, was left to die at the hands of criminals. One cannot help but imagine the regrets that must have crossed his mind in those final hours. Did he wonder whether his service had been in vain? Did he think of the young soldiers he had trained, the operations he had led, the promotions and accolades — and realise that none of it mattered when the system he trusted failed him? The army that he served for over 30 years could not save him. The country for which he risked his life left him to perish in a bush camp, far from the family and honours he deserved.

This is not an isolated incident. It is a symptom of a broader collapse of state capacity. Kidnapping has become a lucrative industry in Nigeria, with thousands of victims taken each year. The government’s response has oscillated between clumsy military operations and quiet ransom payments, neither of which addresses the underlying security deficit. Bandits have become bolder, operating in large groups, attacking military targets, and even dictating terms to state governments. The abduction of a retired general should have been a red line. Instead, it has become another item on a long list of national humiliations.

Where do we go from here? First, the authorities must conduct a full, independent and public inquiry into the general’s kidnapping and death. The family deserves the truth, and so does the nation. Second, the military must undergo a fundamental overhaul of its operational doctrine for dealing with non-state armed groups. This means investing in intelligence, mobility, and community engagement. It means holding commanders accountable for failures to protect civilians. It means treating the crisis in the North-West with the same urgency as the insurgency in the North-East. Third, the Federal Government must adopt a comprehensive national security strategy that goes beyond military force to address the economic and social drivers of banditry — unemployment, illiteracy, land disputes, and the proliferation of small arms.

We must be willing to speak the truth: Nigeria’s security establishment has failed, and it continues to fail. The death of Major-General Rabe Abubakar is not a tragedy to be mourned and then forgotten. It is a mirror held up to the nation, reflecting our collective inability to protect even the most distinguished among us. If the military cannot protect a retired general, it cannot protect anyone. And if the government cannot learn from such a stark lesson, then we should not be surprised when the next general, the next politician, the next farmer, or the next schoolgirl is taken and never returned.

The general served his country. His country did not serve him. That is the shame of our time.