The Army General, The God’s General and The Republic

By Lanre Ogundipe

Nigeria is a country overflowing with generals.

Some command battalions. Others command congregations.

Some command budgets. Others command belief.

Some once directed troops armed with rifles. Others lead followers armed only with faith.

Yet between these vast centres of influence stands a troubled republic still searching for security, prosperity and direction.

That reality should compel a difficult conversation.

Not about personalities.

Not about denominations.

Not about military branches.

But about responsibility.

For influence without responsibility eventually becomes performance, while power without accountability soon degenerates into commentary.

In recent weeks, Nigerians have listened to retired military commanders speak forcefully about the nation’s worsening security situation. They have also listened to prominent religious leaders issue declarations, warnings and spiritual ultimatums against terrorists, kidnappers and criminal networks.

Both interventions attract attention.

Both generate headlines.

Both provoke reactions.

Yet beneath the speeches lies a more fundamental question:

What obligations accompany influence?

A retired military commander possesses something most citizens do not: the experience of command.

He has sat where decisions were made.

He has read intelligence reports.

He has supervised troops.

He has operated within the highest circles of national security management.

He understands complexities that ordinary citizens may never fully appreciate.

Yet citizens remain entitled to ask questions.

Not hostile questions.

Not disrespectful questions.

Necessary questions.

If insecurity remains one of Nigeria’s greatest challenges, should scrutiny end the moment a commander leaves office?

Should lessons learned remain trapped within memoirs, interviews and television appearances?

Should there not be a culture of institutional review in which periods of command are examined against objectives, resources and outcomes?

This principle is hardly unique to the military.

Corporations evaluate performance.

Governments conduct audits.

Projects undergo assessment.

Why then should national security management be exempt from rigorous post-service examination?

The issue is not blame.

The issue is learning.

The issue is accountability.

And accountability should never be mistaken for hostility.

A nation that refuses to interrogate its experiences condemns itself to repeating them.

Security challenges do not emerge overnight. They accumulate through years of decisions, omissions, successes and failures. The public therefore has a legitimate interest in understanding what worked, what failed and what lessons ought to shape future strategy.

Such conversations should not be viewed as attacks on individuals. They are investments in institutional memory.

For a country battling insurgency, banditry, kidnapping, violent criminality and growing insecurity cannot afford to treat security outcomes as matters beyond public reflection.

The same principle applies elsewhere.

Nigeria is home to some of the most influential religious institutions on the African continent.

Their memberships run into millions.

Their conventions attract populations larger than many cities.

Their assets span universities, schools, hospitals, media platforms and vast landholdings.

Their influence extends far beyond worship.

They shape attitudes.

They influence public discourse.

They define moral conversations.

They mobilise people with a speed many governments can only envy.

Because that influence is real, questions naturally follow.

If insecurity threatens communities, what practical role can institutions of faith play beyond declarations?

If unemployment continues to produce frustration and vulnerability, what economic interventions are possible?

If vast stretches of rural land remain underdeveloped, can faith-based institutions become engines of agricultural transformation?

If thousands of young people drift between idleness and uncertainty, can the organisational strength of religious institutions be deployed towards skills development, cooperative enterprise and productive engagement?

These are not anti-religious questions.

They are pro-society questions.

They arise because influence invites expectation.

The larger issue is that Nigeria has become comfortable with a culture in which powerful institutions comment on national crises while remaining relatively insulated from demands for measurable contribution.

Politicians blame their predecessors.

Retired officials critique incumbents.

Religious leaders admonish society.

Business leaders lament policy failures.

Traditional institutions express concern.

Everyone speaks.

Few are asked what more they can do.

Yet a nation confronting profound challenges cannot afford that luxury.

The time may have come to subject influence itself to examination.

Not merely government.

Not merely elected officials.

Influence.

For where there is power, there should be scrutiny.

Where there is authority, there should be responsibility.

Where there is capacity, there should be contribution.

This is not a radical proposition.

It is common sense.

The military remains one of the largest recipients of public expenditure because security is indispensable. Citizens therefore expect outcomes, transparency and continuous institutional learning.

Religious organisations enjoy extraordinary trust, voluntary support and significant exemptions because society recognises their social value. Citizens are therefore entitled to ask how such capacities can be deployed more aggressively in support of national development.

Neither expectation is unfair.

Both arise from the same democratic principle.

Responsibility should grow in proportion to influence.

Perhaps this is where Nigeria’s national conversation needs to evolve.

For too long, discussions have revolved around what government should do.

Government remains central. It carries constitutional obligations that cannot be transferred elsewhere.

Yet government alone cannot carry a nation of over two hundred million people through its present challenges.

The country requires a broader coalition of responsibility.

It requires institutions willing to move beyond observation into participation.

Beyond declarations into measurable action.

Beyond diagnosis into contribution.

The irony of modern Nigeria is that many of its most powerful institutions possess enormous capacities that remain only partially deployed in the national interest.

The military possesses strategic knowledge accumulated over decades of confronting security threats.

Religious institutions possess organisational reach extending into virtually every community in the country.

Traditional institutions command grassroots legitimacy.

The private sector controls investment, innovation and employment opportunities.

Universities produce research and expertise.

Yet these capacities often operate in parallel rather than in concert.

The result is a nation rich in influence but poor in coordination.

Imagine the possibilities.

Imagine retired military leaders forming independent strategic councils dedicated to extracting lessons from decades of counterinsurgency and internal security operations.

Imagine periodic public reviews that focus not on blame but on institutional improvement.

Imagine security expertise being systematically transferred rather than casually discussed after retirement.

Imagine faith institutions collaborating on large-scale agricultural initiatives capable of creating employment while opening neglected rural corridors to legitimate economic activity.

Imagine churches, mosques and faith-based organisations pooling resources to establish mechanised farming clusters, vocational centres and cooperative enterprises capable of engaging thousands of young people.

Imagine coordinated youth development programmes reaching vulnerable communities before criminal networks do.

Imagine social influence being measured not only by attendance figures but also by developmental outcomes.

Imagine institutions competing not merely for visibility but for measurable national impact.

That would represent a different kind of patriotism.

A patriotism rooted not in speeches but in contribution.

Not in declarations but in outcomes.

Not in influence alone but in responsibility.

For ultimately, the republic does not suffer from a shortage of influential voices.

It suffers from a shortage of coordinated national effort.

The Army General speaks.

The God’s General speaks.

The politician speaks.

The traditional ruler speaks.

The business leader speaks.

The citizen listens.

Then returns to the same insecurity, the same uncertainty and the same unanswered questions.

Perhaps the next phase of Nigeria’s journey requires a different test.

Not who can diagnose the nation’s problems most eloquently.

Not who can issue the strongest warning.

Not who can command the largest audience.

But who can convert influence into tangible national renewal.

That is the challenge before every institution that seeks the trust of the Nigerian people.

For in troubled times, influence is not merely a privilege.

It is an obligation.

And history is invariably kinder to those who build than to those who merely speak.