Why maturity, not muscle, must define our response to the U.S.

In diplomacy, as in life, restraint is not weakness; it is wisdom. Great nations are not defined by how loudly they shout in moments of provocation, but by the clarity, steadiness, and moral coherence they display under pressure. Nigeria now faces such a test.

The latest diplomatic strain between Nigeria and the United States over alleged human rights abuses and mass killings is more than a spat between two governments. It is a mirror reflecting the fragility of Nigeria’s governance, the erosion of institutional credibility, and the recklessness of our public discourse.

Rather than responding with quiet confidence, Nigeria’s reaction has followed a depressingly familiar script: patriotic outrage, social media posturing, and selective denial. Officials and online surrogates have turned statecraft into spectacle, waging digital wars against perceived Western hypocrisy while the real crisis, a domestic one of insecurity and unaccountability, deepens.

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Let us be clear: the United States may have its double standards, but Nigeria’s problem is not foreign interference; it is domestic implosion. Sovereignty is not defended by hashtags or slogans; it is earned through institutional credibility. And that, sadly, is in short supply.

Across much of the country, violence has become banal. From the North-West’s bandit enclaves to the Middle Belt’s ethno-religious flashpoints, insecurity has metastasised into an unending cycle of impunity. Thirty-three of Nigeria’s thirty-six states now require active military deployment, a statistic that should alarm any serious government. When a country becomes militarised without a declared war, the world takes notice, not because of bias, but because of failure.

So when U.S. lawmakers, advocacy groups, or international watchdogs raise concerns about killings, persecution, or internal displacement, Nigeria’s first instinct should not be to scream “interference”. It should be to ask: why do outsiders find our citizens’ testimonies more credible than our official reports?

Nigeria’s foreign relations have entered a dangerous phase, one dominated by impulsive statements, emotional nationalism, and what might be called “digital diplomacy”. Anonymous accounts and government-affiliated influencers now act as unofficial spokespersons, while press aides respond to complex allegations with combative tweets.

“Nigeria’s foreign relations have entered a dangerous phase, one dominated by impulsive statements, emotional nationalism, and what might be called ‘digital diplomacy’.”

This “keyboard diplomacy” might rally online followers, but it damages Nigeria’s moral capital. Real diplomacy is not performance. It is a quiet negotiation, rooted in competence and consistency. The country once boasted a generation of strategic thinkers, from Bolaji Akinyemi to Ibrahim Gambari, who could frame Nigeria’s interests with moral force and intellectual precision. Today, that tradition has eroded into echo chambers and propaganda threads.

At the heart of this crisis lies a deeper governance problem. Each time Nigeria dismisses evidence of atrocities or rebuffs calls for investigation, it reinforces the perception that the state is more interested in perception than in protection.

If Nigeria truly wants to reclaim its global standing, it must begin by confronting uncomfortable truths. The government should commission an independent, multi-faith, multi-ethnic inquiry into the recurring patterns of violence, led not by politicians, but by credible Nigerians. Such a process should be transparent, its findings published, and its recommendations acted upon.

Truth is not a threat to sovereignty; it is its foundation. Without it, every diplomatic defence becomes hollow theatre.

Instead of weaponising nationalism, Nigeria should recalibrate its diplomacy around integrity and intelligence. True sovereignty means owning your story and fixing what’s broken without waiting for external pressure. That requires three urgent shifts:

Rebuild the diplomatic corps: Competence, not connections, must drive appointments. Nigeria’s embassies should once again serve as engines of persuasion, not patronage.

Institutionalise credibility: Establish a National Commission on Religious and Ethnic Harmony — independent, data-driven, and empowered to monitor patterns of violence, mediate conflicts, and report findings publicly.

Engage quietly, firmly, and smartly. Rather than public quarrels, Nigeria should deploy respected figures, retired diplomats, religious leaders, and economists as envoys to rebuild trust with Washington and regional partners.

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Transparency should become Nigeria’s first line of defence. Each verified reform, each credible report, and each measurable outcome rebuilds the currency of trust that loud statements cannot buy.

There is also an opportunity here. Instead of framing U.S. criticism as an attack, Nigeria could use this moment to negotiate for stronger support in rebuilding its internal capacity. America’s concerns, however imperfectly expressed, are not all cynical. They are often proxies for global anxiety about Nigeria’s fragility and the ripple effects of its instability across West Africa.

A mature response would not deny that fragility; it would leverage it to attract technical aid, intelligence-sharing, and development partnerships that strengthen governance.

The real question is not whether the U.S. respects Nigeria’s sovereignty. It is whether Nigerians still respect their own government’s word.

Our loudness cannot substitute for legitimacy. Our defensiveness cannot conceal decay. And our sovereignty means nothing if the people it’s meant to protect are dying unheard.

To restore dignity, Nigeria must rediscover the quiet power of truth, the discipline of accountability, and the humility to reform before condemnation forces its hand.

True strength lies not in shouting at the world but in proving, through evidence and justice, that we have nothing to hide.