By Hassan Husaini mni
What is unfolding in Plateau State— and across parts of Nigeria is not simply a pattern of violence followed by routine arrests. It is something deeper and more troubling: a widening gap between crime, investigation, and justice. At the centre of this gap lies an uncomfortable truth. Our policing and prosecutorial systems have, over time, drifted towards speed over accuracy, narrative over evidence, and appearance over truth. When this institutional weakness meets political opportunism, the result is a cycle of violence that is poorly understood and frequently misrepresented.
The incident in Anguwan Rukuba in Jos is instructive. It was tragic. But beyond the tragedy lies a deeper concern about how we respond. The precise cause of the incident has not been transparently established in a manner that commands broad public confidence. Yet arrests were made swiftly, suspects charged, and the machinery of prosecution set in motion. On the surface, that suggests efficiency. In reality, it raises a difficult question: are we discovering perpetrators, or merely producing suspects?
Families of those arrested have insisted that some of the accused were not involved. Local accounts, in some cases, support these claims. These are not unusual denials; they are consistent assertions that deserve to be tested against evidence. Whether the courts uphold or dismiss them is a matter for due process. But the perception that arrests may precede investigation is damaging. It reinforces a growing belief that, in moments of crisis, the system prioritises closure over truth.
To understand this properly, we must look beyond the incident itself. There are accounts suggesting that tensions had been building before the violence, particularly around the siting and allocation of a market in Jos North. It has been alleged that although the market was located within one community’s area, allocation patterns created grievances, with claims that a significant portion went elsewhere and was subsequently transferred to third parties. There are also concerns from residents about the social consequences, including alleged illicit activities affecting local youth. These claims are contested and must be carefully verified. But they point to a recurring reality: underlying socio-economic disputes are often ignored until they explode.
At the same time, competing narratives quickly emerged about the identity of the attackers. Such claims, especially in an environment shaped by historical mistrust, must be treated with caution. Initial interpretations are often filtered through fear, bias, and existing narratives. That is precisely why investigation must be evidence-driven and insulated from public pressure. Where speculation replaces fact, accusation replaces proof—and justice is compromised.
What is most troubling is how quickly such incidents are forced into the familiar but reductive “indigene-settler” framework. This framing may carry historical weight, but it has increasingly become a political shortcut. It simplifies complex local disputes into identity-based narratives that are easy to mobilise but difficult to resolve. In doing so, it obscures immediate triggers—land use, economic access, governance decisions—and redirects attention away from accountability.
We must be honest. Conflict narratives in Plateau State are not always neutral. They are sometimes shaped and amplified by political actors pursuing advantage. By appealing to identity and fear, they mobilise support, deflect responsibility, and entrench divisions. In that process, truth becomes collateral damage.
Nigeria has seen the consequences before. The Apo Six Killings showed how quickly individuals can be labelled criminals, with tragic consequences, only for their innocence to emerge later. The abuses of the Special Anti-Robbery Squad, exposed during the #EndSARS protests, revealed a system where profiling, arbitrary arrests, and coerced confessions had become normalised. These are not isolated cases. They reflect systemic tendencies that persist.
When arrests are driven by the need to show results, errors become inevitable. When prosecution is built on weak evidence, the burden shifts to the courts to correct investigative failures—often after innocent people have suffered irreparable harm. And when all this occurs within a politically charged environment, the risk of misdirection becomes even greater.
On the Plateau, concerns about uneven justice persist. High-profile cases, including the killing of Major General Idris Alkali and attacks on travellers, have drawn national attention. Yet there remains a perception that justice is selective—that some cases are pursued vigorously while others fade without resolution, and that suspects in serious offences sometimes move freely under conditions that do not reflect the gravity of their alleged crimes. Whether entirely accurate or not, such perceptions weaken confidence in the system.
Perception matters. A justice system that is seen as selective loses legitimacy. When people no longer trust the process, cooperation declines. Witnesses withdraw. Communities become defensive. Security efforts lose effectiveness.
This erosion of confidence is compounded by visible actions on the ground. When major roads are blocked and innocent travellers attacked or killed, the message to outsiders is clear: the rule of law is under strain. When security formations are confronted and overrun by civilian groups—sometimes without consequences—the impression is one of selective enforcement. Whether isolated or not, the absence of accountability undermines deterrence and emboldens further violations. The credibility of the state depends not just on force, but on consistent and impartial enforcement.
There is also a deeper misunderstanding that must be addressed. The tendency to reduce herder–farmer conflict into a single narrative— often blaming “the Fulani” as a uniform actor— ignores complexity. The pastoral Fulani life is centred on cattle, which represent livelihood, identity, and survival. Threats to livestock are therefore perceived as existential. This does not justify violence, but it explains its intensity.
The experience in Zamfara State shows how cycles of dispossession can escalate. As herders lose cattle, some drift into banditry and kidnapping, and over time, criminal networks emerge. What begins as a resource conflict becomes a broader security crisis.
On the Plateau, similar pressures are at play. Historically, Fulani pastoralists and communities such as the Berom coexisted, with established mechanisms for resolving disputes—particularly over grazing and crop damage. Elders mediated. Compensation was negotiated. Conflicts were contained. Today, those systems have weakened. Population pressure, land scarcity, and the erosion of traditional authority have changed the dynamics.
It is also important to distinguish between settled and nomadic groups. Settled Fulani are citizens, integrated into local economies, often engaged in farming as well as pastoralism. Nomadic groups move in search of pasture and may pass through farmlands, sometimes causing destruction before moving on. In the absence of effective accountability, responses are often directed at those who remain, not those responsible. This fuels cycles of grievance and retaliation.
From the perspective of farmers, repeated crop loss is devastating. Without compensation or justice, frustration builds. Over time, that frustration may translate into retaliatory action—often against the wrong targets. Thus, the cycle deepens.
The real danger lies in how these realities are interpreted. When political actors frame such conflicts in identity terms, they entrench division. When emotion replaces evidence, truth is lost. And when truth is lost, justice becomes impossible.
The way forward is clear, even if difficult. Investigations must be evidence-driven and insulated from political pressure. Arrests must follow proof, not precede it. Prosecution must be rigorous and transparent. At the same time, underlying disputes—land use, economic access, governance—must be addressed before they escalate.
Above all, we must reclaim the narrative. This requires honesty—the courage to acknowledge complexity and resist simplistic explanations. It requires leadership that values truth over expediency.
Until then, the cycle will continue: violence, arrests, doubt, and division. Breaking that cycle begins with a simple but profound step— telling ourselves the truth, and acting on it.
Hassan Husaini mni can be reached via hassanhusainil009@gmail.com, 08027000115
