For nearly two decades, Nigeria fought Boko Haram and its offshoots, the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) and Ansaru, largely with bombs, bullets, and casualties announced in press briefings. However, the slow process of delivering justice through prosecution was the part of the counterterrorism machine that never quite got built properly.
Thousands of suspects, many of them innocent, disappeared into the barracks and detention facilities of Giwa, Wawa, and the Borno Maximum Security Prison, some for a decade or more, without ever seeing a judge. HumAngle has reported extensively on that. Now, that is visibly changing.
At least 865 convictions were secured between January and July 2026 alone, according to Nigeria’s Office of the National Security Adviser (ONSA). The convictions are part of the country’s Mass Trial Programme, a series of tribunal sittings. That figure represents more than half of all terrorism-related convictions the programme has produced since its inception, according to Zakari Mijinyawa, the ONSA’s Director of Legal Services.
However, ONSA has not released comprehensive data on acquittals, dismissals, plea agreements, or pending cases within this period, making it difficult to assess the programme’s overall prosecutorial performance or conviction rate.
In April, a federal court in Abuja convicted 386 people in a single sitting after four days of hearings before a panel of 10 judges, with sentences ranging from five years to life. In June, 12 more defendants were sentenced to death by hanging in cases spanning terrorism financing, kidnapping, and the 2022 massacre at St. Francis Catholic Church in Owo, Ondo State, where terrorists killed more than 40 worshippers.
The charges themselves read like a mirror of how an insurgency actually sustains itself: not only fighters but financiers, couriers, and suppliers. One man was sentenced to 20 years for selling cattle and goats to Boko Haram; the presiding judge, Justice Binta Nyako, called the offence “so gruesome” and rejected pleas for leniency. Another received ten years for exchanging roughly ₦750,000 with the group. A woman was convicted for ferrying hundreds of rounds of ammunition to a terror leader in the country’s northwestern region.
This is prosecutorial attention to the economic scaffolding of terrorism – financing, logistics, and information-withholding; rather than a fixation on the terrorist with the gun, which has historically been the easiest and least useful person to punish.
Justice delayed – now being served
Just as significant, though less publicised, is what has been happening on the other side of the ledger. The Department of State Services, under its current Director-General, Oluwatosin Adeola Ajayi, has spent the past year and a half reopening what officials describe as “inherited” detention files, including cases dating back to 2021 and 2022 involving people held for years on suspicion of terrorism before internal review panels ultimately found the allegations baseless.
A Kaduna farmer and herder, Nura Idris, arrested in 2024 over alleged Boko Haram links, was cleared and paid ₦3 million. A Yobe State resident, Ya’u Mohammed, received a similar package after two years in custody. Perhaps the starkest case is that of Sunday Ifedi, arrested with his wife, Calista, in 2021 over alleged links to the separatist group IPOB; Calista died in detention before either of them was ever tried. Sunday was released in December 2025 and paid ₦10 million, and the DSS says it now intends to rebuild the restaurant Calista once ran, in her name. Agency sources say more than 30 such cases have been reviewed and over ₦300 million has been paid out in total.
None of this restores what was lost. Years of a life lost, families destroyed, or a wife who did not come home. But as a matter of institutional behaviour, it is a genuine departure. Public compensation for wrongful terrorism detention remains unusual among West African security services.
Even though it comes after years of pressure from human rights groups and media organisations, the reviews suggest a shift in institutional practice under the current DSS leadership, in which “we got this wrong” is no longer an unspeakable sentence inside Nigeria’s intelligence services. However, it is too early to know whether the approach will endure.
For a country whose counterterrorism record has been shadowed for years by allegations of arbitrary detention, torture, and enforced disappearance in military custody, allegations HumAngle and other outlets have documented extensively, that is not a small shift.
Communities in the North East, particularly in Borno and Yobe, where terrorism has been ravaging lives, have long complained that indiscriminate sweeps net far more innocent men than actual insurgents. In 2014, for instance, 42 men from Gallari, a community in Borno State, were arbitrarily arrested and detained by the Nigerian Army. By 2025, more than a decade later, only five were still alive. Of those five, only three were eventually released.
Each acquittal or compensation payout, in theory, is a data point against that particular grievance, and a small deposit into public trust that has been overdrawn for a generation.
Still, an important puzzle remains why this shift is happening, and if there are measures in place to prevent further arbitrary or illegal arrests and detention of innocent citizens. An official with the DSS, who pleaded anonymity because they were not authorised to speak to the media, offered some insight into this.
“The Director-General, on assuming office, directed that no arrest is made until all reasonable evidence is gathered about the offence being committed or believed to be about to be committed and the evidence is substantial enough to secure conviction in court,” they said.
The halt of Operation Safe Corridor?
It is against this backdrop that the Senate’s intervention on July 8 lands. Meeting to discuss a wave of attacks on military personnel, prompted by the abduction and death in captivity of retired Major General Rabe Abubakar, the Senate adopted a resolution urging the federal government to halt Operation Safe Corridor (OPSC), the decade-old programme that screens, deradicalises, and reintegrates former Boko Haram terrorists who surrender rather than fight to the end.
In July, Senator Joseph Ikpea, who represents Edo Central Senatorial District, made an additional prayer, seconded by former labour leader and Edo North Senator Adams Oshiomhole, arguing that pardoning and rehabilitating people responsible for atrocities makes no sense while their victims and the families of fallen soldiers receive comparatively little. The Senate wants surrendering fighters prosecuted instead, and “made to face the full wrath of the law”.
The instinct is neither irrational nor new. Communities that watched OPSC graduates return home with vocational grants while widows of soldiers got condolence visits have voiced exactly this complaint for years. HumAngle’s own reporting from Borno has documented residents’ fury, alongside cases of the programme’s supposed “clients” turning out to be non-combatants swept up in raids and warehoused there simply because army cells were overcrowded.
HumAngle understands that not everyone who goes through a deradicalisation programme was once a terrorist. Some of them can, in fact, be described as victims. Sources confirmed to HumAngle that whenever Boko Haram or ISWAP terrorists storm a village, they often prevent anyone from leaving and force residents to choose between joining the insurgents or being killed. For some people, the instinct to survive leaves them with little choice but to go along with the terrorists, hoping they will eventually find an opportunity to escape and surrender to the military.
Even after surrendering, such individuals are usually required to undergo the deradicalisation process because of the time they spent under the control of the insurgents and the possibility that their beliefs or worldview may have been influenced.
There are also people who are made to undergo deradicalisation because they spent long periods in military detention facilities or prisons alongside high-profile terrorist suspects. The concern is that prolonged exposure to extremist inmates could have affected their thinking, even if they are later cleared and released. That was the case for Abubakar, a man who was once accused of belonging to Boko Haram but was later freed after authorities established that he was innocent. He told HumAngle that because of the years he spent in detention, he was still required to pass through the deradicalisation programme at Mallam Sidi, a facility in Gombe State that serves as the OPSC rehabilitation centre.
However, civil society groups such as the Civil Society Legislative Advocacy Centre (CISLAC) and the CREAP Africa Initiative, in response to the Senate’s move, called for something more surgical: an evidence-based review of the programme’s screening and transparency, not its abolition.
“CISLAC commends the Senate for responding to earlier calls drawing national attention to the worsening security situation and reiterates that protecting the lives of Nigerians, upholding justice, and restoring public confidence in national security institutions must remain central to all government responses to terrorism and violent extremism,” stated its director, Auwal Rafsanjani.
But the Senate’s prescription runs into an operational reality that the mass trials should make obvious: Operation Safe Corridor and the tribunal system are not rivals competing for the same defendants. They were designed, from the start, to sort two different populations: hardened commanders and financiers who should be prosecuted, and conscripted or coerced low-level members whom the military itself has long argued should not be, because there would be nowhere to put tens of thousand of them, and because the promise of a “safe corridor” home is one of the few incentives that reliably pulls terrorists out of the bush faster than bullets do.
Babayo Sule, a security analyst, put it this way in response to the resolution: the programme exists precisely because years of a purely kinetic strategy failed to end the insurgency on its own; scrapping it removes one of the few levers that can shrink Boko Haram’s manpower without a single shot being fired.
“The Nigerian government will not have opted for the choice of deradicalisation except that Nigeria’s security architecture is overwhelmed by the multi-pronged and multidimensional challenges of insecurity across the country,” he said.
There is also a due-process irony the Senate seems not to have registered. The same week lawmakers called for suspending rehabilitation in favour of prosecution, courts were demonstrating, at unprecedented volume, that prosecution is now genuinely available and increasingly being used.
The danger of the Senate’s resolution, then, is less that it is emotionally wrong (grief for a murdered general and for civilians killed for a generation is entirely legitimate) than that it collapses two distinct instruments into one, at the exact moment when both are showing, separately, signs of working.
That distinction has, in fact, just been reinforced by the federal government itself. On Monday, July 13, the ONSA, through the National Counter Terrorism Centre (NCTC), unveiled a comprehensive set of Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) for Nigeria’s Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration (DDR) programme. Rather than expanding eligibility for rehabilitation, the framework seeks to formalise a process that has often been criticised as opaque by defining institutional responsibilities, referral pathways, case management procedures, human rights safeguards, and mechanisms for inter-agency coordination.
Perhaps more importantly, officials were explicit that DDR is not intended to replace criminal accountability. Abimbola Wońosikou, the NCTC’s Director of Preventing and Countering Violent Extremism, stressed during the validation workshop that individuals accused of serious crimes would continue to face prosecution through the appropriate legal processes, while only those who meet established eligibility criteria would proceed through rehabilitation and reintegration.
In effect, the SOPs are intended to codify the distinction between those who should stand trial and those whose circumstances warrant disengagement and rehabilitation, an area critics have long argued lacked sufficient clarity and transparency.
“What needs to be done is to look at what is wrong, how to amend it and how to make it better. It is even better to expand the programme rather than discard it,” Babayo said.
This, HumAngle gathered, could include reforming screening, introducing tighter oversight of who qualifies as a “low-risk” defector, and ensuring faster referral of the genuinely culpable into the tribunal system. The newly adopted DDR SOPs appear designed to achieve many of these objectives by clarifying institutional mandates, strengthening oversight, and embedding human rights safeguards throughout the process. Such measures would address almost every grievance the Senate raised without discarding the one mechanism that has, for a decade, given terrorists still in Sambisa and the Lake Chad Basin forests a reason to walk out instead of dig in.
Whether these safeguards restore public confidence will depend less on the existence of the SOPs than on how consistently they are applied, particularly in deciding who qualifies for rehabilitation and who is referred for prosecution.