Let them know that Nigerians are fed up with insecurity
In the first days of June 2026, Nigeria's classrooms fell silent and its streets filled with voices, as teachers, parents, and citizens across Borno, Oyo, and Ogun states rose together against a wave of school abductions that had claimed over a hundred students and teachers in a matter of weeks. The grief was compounded by a deeper wound: residents of the Northeast watched a high-level federal delegation rush to the Southwest while their own kidnapped children received no such urgency, raising a question that haunts every fractured nation — whose suffering counts? The protests were not merely a cry for security, but a reckoning with the unequal value a government places on its people's lives.
- Over 100 students and teachers were abducted across Borno, Oyo, and Ogun states within weeks, including 416 people seized in Ngoshe and 42 students taken from Askira Uba — a pattern of violence that felt less like isolated crime and more like systemic collapse.
- At least one teacher, mathematics instructor Michael Oyedokun, was killed by his abductors, transforming an already desperate crisis into a moment of irreversible human loss.
- Borno residents publicly accused the Federal Government of preferential treatment after a high-powered delegation — including the National Security Adviser, Minister of Defence, and a presidential helicopter — responded swiftly to abductions in Oyo while the Northeast received nothing comparable.
- The Nigeria Union of Teachers ordered nationwide demonstrations, shutting down public schools across all 33 local councils in Oyo State and emptying classrooms that had only recently reopened to frightened children.
- Protesters in Ibadan and Abeokuta took to the streets with placards that captured a nation's exhaustion — 'The crime they committed is they went to school' — demanding that the government treat the security of every Nigerian life as equally worth defending.
In early June, teachers locked classroom doors and residents marched through city streets across three Nigerian states, united by a single demand: the government must act. The immediate cause was a brutal wave of school abductions — over 100 students and teachers seized in recent weeks — but the deeper wound was the perception that not all victims were being treated equally.
The frustration ran sharpest in Borno State. When 39 pupils and seven teachers were kidnapped from a school in Oyo State, a high-powered federal delegation arrived swiftly, complete with the National Security Adviser, the Minister of Defence, and a helicopter. But after 416 people were abducted in Ngoshe on May 3 and another 42 students taken from Askira Uba on May 16, no delegation came to the Northeast. Civil society leaders in Borno named the disparity plainly: the government was not treating its victims equally, and the message to the region was unmistakable.
The Nigeria Union of Teachers responded with a nationwide directive to demonstrate. In Oyo State, public schools across all 33 local councils shut down entirely, with only final-year examination students permitted inside. At Mokola Roundabout in Ibadan, members of the Take-It-Back Movement marched through major roads, their placards reading 'Security for all, not for a few.' One protester spoke for the crowd: 'Let them know that Nigerians are fed up with insecurity.'
In Ogun State, the grief was sharpened by death. Michael Oyedokun, a mathematics teacher, had been killed by his abductors. Youths and nursing mothers marched through Abeokuta carrying signs that read, 'The crime they committed is they went to school.' A pastor addressing demonstrators described a state of siege — no one could sleep soundly, no one knew who would be taken next, and the country, he insisted, had reached a tipping point.
Across three states, the message was the same: the abductions were no longer isolated incidents but a wave that felt systematic and beyond the government's capacity to stop. Teachers had walked out. Citizens had marched. The question left hanging over every empty classroom was whether those in power were listening — and whether they would act before the fractures deepened further.
Across three Nigerian states, teachers locked classroom doors and residents took to the streets in early June, united by a single demand: the government must act. The trigger was immediate and brutal—dozens of students and teachers had been abducted from schools in recent weeks, and the Federal Government's response felt, to many, unequal and inadequate.
In Borno State, the frustration ran deepest. Residents pointed to a pattern they saw as discriminatory. When 39 pupils and seven teachers were kidnapped from a school in Oriire Local Council in Oyo State, a high-powered Federal delegation arrived swiftly—the National Security Adviser, the Minister of Defence, the Chief of Staff to the President, even a helicopter. But in Borno, where 416 people were kidnapped in Ngoshe on May 3 and another 42 students taken from Askira Uba on May 16, no such delegation came. No helicopter landed. Abubakar Suleiman, chairman of Civil Society Organisations in Borno, laid out the disparity plainly: the government was not treating victims equally, he said. The message to the Northeast was clear—your children matter less.
The teachers responded first. The Nigeria Union of Teachers issued a directive from its national office in Abuja, calling members across the country to stage peaceful demonstrations. In Oyo State, the order was swift and total. Public schools across all 33 local councils shut down. Classrooms sat empty. In Ibadan, the state capital, schools in 11 local councils locked their gates. Students who had arrived for classes turned back home. Only final-year secondary students sitting terminal examinations were permitted inside school buildings.
The shutdown became a platform. On the same day, members of the Take-It-Back Movement converged at Mokola Roundabout in Ibadan, marching through major roads, their placards held high. "Security for all, not for a few," one read. "Government must end kidnapping in Oyo State," said another. "We demand safer roads and communities." The demonstrators—traders, farmers, students, commuters—spoke of a security crisis that had metastasized beyond schools. One protester captured the mood: "Let them know that the people of Nigeria are not at peace. Let them know that the people of Oyo are not smiling. Let them know that Nigerians are fed up with insecurity."
In Ogun State, the anger took a different form. Youths and nursing mothers marched through Abeokuta's streets carrying signs that cut to the bone. "The crime they committed is they went to school, release our children and teachers," one placard read. Another: "Our future is crying for help!!! help!!! help!!!" The abductions had claimed at least one life—Michael Oyedokun, a mathematics teacher from Community Grammar School, was killed by his abductors. Speaking for the demonstrators at Panseke skating ground, a pastor named Juwon Owolabi described a state of siege. Residents could no longer sleep soundly, he said. No one knew who would be next. The rich were not safe. The poor were not safe. Businesses could not function. The country, he insisted, had reached a tipping point.
The scale of the crisis was stark. Over 100 students and teachers had been taken across multiple incidents in just weeks. The abductions were not isolated events but part of a wave—a pattern of violence that had begun to feel inevitable, systematic, and beyond the government's capacity to stop. Teachers had walked out. Citizens had marched. The message was the same across three states: act now, or watch the country fracture further.
Notable Quotes
The Federal Government visited Oyo with a high-powered delegation, including the National Security Adviser, Minister of Defence, Chief of Staff to the President, among others, with a helicopter and landed at the local council where the abduction took place. In the case of Borno, around 416 people were kidnapped in Ngoshe on May 3. There has not been any Federal Government intervention.— Abubakar Suleiman, Chairman of Civil Society Organisations in Borno State
Residents could no longer sleep well as they do not know who the next victim will be. The country is at a tipping point where no one, including the rich or poor, is safe.— Pastor Juwon Owolabi, speaking for demonstrators in Abeokuta, Ogun State
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Borno residents feel singled out? The abductions happened in multiple states.
Because when Oyo was hit, the President sent his National Security Adviser, his Defence Minister, his Chief of Staff—they landed by helicopter. In Borno, 416 people were kidnapped and nothing. Then 42 more students. Radio silence. It felt like the government was saying: your children don't matter as much.
And the teachers—why did they shut down schools instead of, say, demanding better security at the gates?
Because the union saw this as a moment to amplify the crisis. A shutdown affects everyone—parents, businesses, the whole state. It forces the government to listen. It says: this is not a Borno problem or an Oyo problem anymore. This is a national emergency.
The placard that said "The crime they committed is they went to school"—that's devastating.
It is. It captures the absurdity. Children are being abducted for going to school. A teacher was killed. The protesters in Ogun were saying: we've normalized violence so much that we're now punishing the act of education itself.
Do you think the government will respond to these protests?
That's the question everyone's asking. The protests show the system is breaking. When teachers walk out and residents march, it means trust is gone. The government has to do more than send a delegation. It has to actually secure the schools and the roads.
What happens if it doesn't?
Then you get what the pastor said—a tipping point. People stop believing in the state. They stop sending their children to school. The education system collapses. And the insecurity spreads.