Nigeria’s Boko Haram Rehabilitation Efforts Ignore The Emotional Trauma Of Soldiers: Why This Matters

By Celestina Atom

Nigeria has a policy of de-radicalisation of former Boko Haram fighters, but overlooks the voices of soldiers who have to carry out the policy

Since 2009, Boko Haram has waged one of the deadliest insurgencies in Africa. Concentrated in north-east Nigeria and the Lake Chad Basin, the group has killed more than 35,000 people and displaced at least 2.5 million.

Its attacks on schools, markets, religious centres, and entire villages have torn at the fabric of Nigerian society, creating not only a humanitarian emergency but also a profound crisis of trust and cohesion.

In 2016, Nigeria launched Operation Safe Corridor, a state-run initiative for low-risk former Boko Haram and Islamic State West Africa Province members who have surrendered or been captured.

The programme involves various ministries, departments and agencies of the Nigerian government, alongside the armed forces and other security institutions. It is coordinated by the Office of the Chief of Defence Staff and receives both technical and partial financial support from non-state partners such as the Centre for Democracy and Development, a Nigerian NGO. Its core mandate is to help rehabilitate ex-combatants and reintegrate them into society.

Participants undergo a six to 12-month rehabilitation process. This includes psychological counselling, religious reorientation, civic education, literacy classes and vocational training. As of 2025, the programme has processed over 2,000 ex-combatants. Around 789 participants were still in rehabilitation in February.

The logic of the programme is simple: peace cannot be won by force alone. Nigeria must offer pathways out for those willing to abandon violence.

Despite its ambitious design, few studies have evaluated the outcomes of Operation Safe Corridor beyond community perceptions. There is limited evidence on long-term indicators such as employment stability, psychological recovery, family reintegration and reduced recidivism. Other measures such as economic independence, social cohesion and follow-up support also remain underexplored. This gap raises questions about the programme’s effectivenes and sustainability.

On paper, the programme looks promising. Public ceremonies, such as the mass oath-taking of nearly 600 former fighters in March and another 390 in April 2025, have been highly publicised. But Operation Safe Corridor remains deeply controversial.

Victims and affected communities accuse the government of prioritising perpetrators over survivors. Others doubt the sincerity of those passing through the programme. They cite the risk of ex-fighters rejoining the group if their needs are not met, or acting as spies.

The focus has been on public perception, victims and community members. The perspectives of the soldiers responsible for carrying out these initiatives have received far less attention in both research and policy discussions. My recent study drew on in-depth, face to face interviews with eight soldiers and other security personnel. It examines their perceptions and lived experiences of the Operation Safe Corridor programme.

These soldiers now find themselves responsible for rehabilitating the very people they have long fought against. Their perspectives expose an underappreciated dimension of peacebuilding: the emotional labour of those asked to facilitate reconciliation.

Betrayal on three fronts

The soldiers’ testimonies reveal recurring feelings of betrayal – by the state, by colleagues, and by the communities they are meant to protect.

They described how soldiers fighting the insurgents had been neglected by the state. Despite Nigeria’s rising defence budget, frontline troops reported poor welfare, inadequate equipment, and delayed salaries. Many saw the government as channelling resources into high-profile rehabilitation schemes while neglecting the needs of soldiers.

They also spoke of soldiers who, due to institutional neglect and financial strain, had leaked sensitive information to Boko Haram. Such betrayals are devastating in a conflict that depends on trust and cohesion.

Soldiers in our study also spoke of incidents where villagers shielded insurgents, misdirected patrols, or remained silent under coercion. While many civilians acted out of fear or kinship ties, soldiers interpreted such actions as complicity. For them, the distinction between victims and perpetrators often blurred, leaving them isolated in a morally ambiguous terrain.

Between scepticism and redemption

These experiences of betrayal fuel deep scepticism about Operation Safe Corridor’s effectiveness. Much like community members, many soldiers doubt the sincerity of ex-combatants’ repentance. They suspect that hunger, dwindling supplies, or factional infighting – not moral transformation – drive surrender. Some fear that the programme may serve as a way for insurgents to regroup before rejoining the fight.

Yet glimpses of hope emerge. Soldiers described moments when ex-combatants provided actionable intelligence that disrupted Boko Haram operations, saving lives and reducing violence. Others witnessed genuine remorse among participants.

This tension between betrayal and redemption captures the psychological complexity of implementing deradicalisation. For some soldiers, supporting reintegration becomes a way to reclaim a sense of moral purpose amid the chaos of war. For others, it remains a bitter pill.

Why soldiers’ perspectives matter

Soldiers are not neutral functionaries; they are emotionally invested actors whose wellbeing and outlook directly shape programme outcomes.

Neglecting their perspectives risks undermining peacebuilding. When soldiers feel unsupported, cynicism festers. When they doubt the sincerity of reintegration, they may disengage or resist. Conversely, their fragile optimism can sustain long-term commitment to peace.

Deradicalisation, rehabilitation and reintegration programmes in Sierra Leone, Colombia and Uganda have shown similar dynamics: practitioners carry heavy emotional burdens, often without adequate support. The United Nations has acknowledged this, urging that staff welfare and psychosocial needs be met. Nigeria’s experience reinforces this lesson.

Towards a more holistic peace

What does this mean for policy? My study suggests three key steps.

1. Support the supporters. Deradicalisation, rehabilitation and reintegration staff, especially soldiers, need structured psychosocial support. This includes counselling, trauma debriefing, and safe spaces to reflect on moral dilemmas, with feedback mechanisms to share their experiences and perspectives.
2. Reform welfare and recognition systems. Timely salaries, leave policies, and acknowledgement of frontline sacrifices are not luxuries. They are essential for sustaining morale and countering perceptions of institutional betrayal.
3. Strengthen monitoring and community engagement. To address fears of recidivism and community resentment, reintegration must include follow-up and victim support.

An imperfect yet necessary step

Operation Safe Corridor has clear shortcomings, from weak transparency to limited attention to victims, but abandoning it would mean reverting to military solutions that have already failed. Soldiers’ testimonies show that reintegration is not hopeless, only incomplete.

Peace depends on rebuilding trust: between the state and soldiers, soldiers and communities, and communities and ex-combatants. Nigeria’s soldiers are guardians of peace, yet many feel betrayed. Acknowledging their experiences is essential, for reintegration is not only about transforming fighters but also supporting those guiding them back.

Celestina Atom is Postgraduate Researcher and Part-time Lecturer in Politics and International Relations., Teesside University

@The Conversation