US president threatens to sue US newspaper for publishing details of lurid letter he allegedly wrote to deceased sex offender in 2003.
United States President Donald Trump has asked Attorney General Pam Bondi to request a court release grand jury testimony in the Jeffrey Epstein case, as uproar over the controversy widens.
The case of deceased high-profile sex offender Epstein has dominated news recently after the Trump administration reversed course last week on its pledge to release documents it had suggested contained damning revelations about Epstein and his alleged elite clientele.
That reversal enraged many of Trump’s most loyal followers and prompted allegations that his administration is covering up lurid details of Epstein’s crimes to protect rich and powerful figures.
Trump himself had been associated with Epstein and once called him a friend.
“Based on the ridiculous amount of publicity given to Jeffrey Epstein, I have asked Attorney General Pam Bondi to produce any and all pertinent Grand Jury testimony, subject to Court approval. This SCAM, perpetuated by the Democrats, should end, right now!” Trump wrote on his Truth Social platform late on Thursday.
Shortly after Trump’s statement, Attorney General Bondi said on social media that the Justice Department was ready to ask the court on Friday to unseal the grand jury transcripts.
“President Trump – we are ready to move the court tomorrow to unseal the grand jury transcripts,” Bondi wrote.
The latest development comes just hours after Trump threatened to sue The Wall Street Journal after it published a story about an alleged risque letter he wrote to Epstein that featured a drawing of a naked woman. The WSJ story, which quickly reverberated around the US capital, says the note to Epstein bearing Trump’s signature was part of a collection assembled for Epstein’s 50th birthday in 2003.
The newspaper said it reviewed the letter but did not print an image.
“The Editor of The Wall Street Journal… was told directly by [White House Press Secretary] Karoline Leavitt, and by President Trump, that the letter was a FAKE,” Trump wrote on his social media platform.
“Instead, they are going with a false, malicious, and defamatory story anyway,” he said.
“President Trump will be suing The Wall Street Journal, NewsCorp, and Mr. [Rupert] Murdoch, shortly. The Press has to learn to be truthful, and not rely on sources that probably don’t even exist,” he added.
The alleged letter, which Trump denies writing, involves several lines of typewritten text, contained in an outline of a naked woman drawn with a marker.
“The future president’s signature is a squiggly ‘Donald’ below her waist, mimicking pubic hair,” the Journal reported.
“The letter concludes: ‘Happy Birthday — and may every day be another wonderful secret.’”
Trump told the WSJ: “This is not me. This is a fake thing.”
“I don’t draw pictures of women,” he said. “It’s not my language. It’s not my words.”
Epstein took his own life in a New York prison in 2019 – during Trump’s first term – after being charged with sex trafficking in a scheme where he allegedly groomed young and underage women for sexual abuse by the rich and powerful.
The Trump-supporting far-right has long latched onto the scandal, claiming the existence of a still-secret list of Epstein’s powerful clients and that the late financier was, in fact, murdered in his cell as part of a cover-up.
Health Department says immigrants will lose access to 13 more federal programmes, including an educational project for low-income children.
United States officials are cutting down further on undocumented immigrants’ access to healthcare programmes and benefits as part of President Donald Trump’s widening immigration crackdown.
On Thursday, the US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) announced that it was broadening its interpretation of a 1996 law that prohibits most immigrants from receiving federal public benefits.
The decision means that undocumented immigrants will no longer be eligible for an additional 13 programmes.
They include Head Start, a pre-school educational programme, and projects that address family planning, mental health, substance abuse and efforts to reduce homelessness.
“For too long, the government has diverted hardworking Americans’ tax dollars to incentivise illegal immigration,” HHS Secretary Robert F Kennedy Jr said on Thursday.
“Today’s action changes that – it restores integrity to federal social programmes, enforces the rule of law and protects vital resources for the American people.”
Critics fear the added restrictions will further marginalise a vulnerable group of immigrants who often have scarce resources, exacerbating public health crises in the US.
The new restrictions relate to the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA) of 1996.
That law — passed under Democratic President Bill Clinton — barred those living in the country without valid immigration documents and those on temporary visas, like students or foreign workers, from receiving major benefits from the federal government.
However, the scope of the restrictions was not spelled out, as the law did not define what counted as “federal public benefits”.
To make things clearer, the HHS issued a legal interpretation in 1998, which prevented access to 31 programmes. Medicaid — an insurance programme for low-income households — and Social Security were among them, as was the Children’s Health Insurance Program.
In a statement released on Thursday, the HHS claimed “the 1998 policy improperly narrowed the scope of PRWORA”, allowing undocumented immigrants to access programmes which “Congress intended only for the American people”.
With Thursday’s additions, the total number of restricted programmes rises to 44.
The HHS’s new policy, which is subject to a 30-day public comment period, will take effect when it is published in the Federal Register.
Since starting his second presidential term in January, Donald Trump has made it a priority to tackle undocumented immigration.
Critics have accused his administration of violating human rights and the US Constitution, as well as exceeding his presidential authority.
As part of Trump’s campaign of mass deportation, for example, the president invoked a controversial wartime legislation to deport hundreds of Venezuelan immigrants to a notorious prison in El Salvador in March. Opponents argue that Trump falsely declared undocumented immigration to be an “invasion” in order to justify denying the immigrants their right to due process.
The spate of insecurity in Nigeria is turning many local communities into ungovernable spaces. As the secular government withdraws from these communities, terrorist groups expand their influence, consolidate authority, and accumulate illicit wealth. Traditional leaders—once the primary link between the people and governance—now operate under the coercive control of armed factions, which have established parallel administrations and seized the reins of the local economy.
North East
The government’s absence is nearly absolute in northeastern Nigeria, around the Lake Chad basin. Here, the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) and remnants of Boko Haram terrorists operate not as fugitives but as rulers. Their authority is layered, structured, and chillingly effective.
ISWAP has organised its territory into mantikas (localities), which are regional districts aligned with Nigeria’s federal structure. These mantikas oversee taxation, zakat (alms-giving), farm levies, education (Qur’anic schools and ideological reprogramming), security, courts, and patrols.
Several communities in Abadam, Guzamala, Kukawa, Marte, and Mobbar no longer wait for state forces; they negotiate directly with insurgent-appointed administrators. The group’s brutality is, for many, accompanied by a disturbing sense of order within a context devoid of hope.
North West
While ISWAP’s rule is ideological, in North West Nigeria, it encompasses a chaotic mix of economic, ethnic, and religious factors. In Zamfara, armed groups now operate like proto-states. The forests of Maru, Bakura, and Anka are home to well-defended camps with command hierarchies, blood-draining tax systems, and armouries supplied via Sahelian trafficking routes and after raids on military positions.
HumAngle investigations found that communities like Tungar Doruwa, Maitoshshi, Chabi, and Kwankelai—once protected under the Dankurmi Police Outpost—are now under the firm control of Kachalla Black and Kachalla Gemu. Further south, Kungurmi, Galeji, and Yarwutsiya are governed by Kachalla Soja and Kachalla Madagwal. Up north, Kango Village and Madafa Mountain serve as fortresses for terrorists like Wudille and Ado Aleru, who command loyalty through a combination of fear and patronage.
Here, terrorism is no longer sporadic. It is systemic. It is territorial governance without borders, aided by the region’s gold trade, deep forests, and a broken justice system. Entire LGAs now function as autonomous war zones where Nigerian laws hold no sway.
The little-known Lakurawa terror network is enforcing a form of stealth insurgency in the areas of Isa, Sabon Birni, and Rabah in Sokoto State. Schools are shuttered, roads are mined, and civilians pay levies for survival. The group’s cross-border tactics, using the Niger Republic as a tactical fallback, make them elusive and resilient.
Many villages with large populations, like Galadima, Kamarawa, and Dankari in Sokoto, now survive on whispered warnings and ritual bribes. Lakurawa’s governance is less visible but equally firm, with taxation, curfews, and brutal retribution. Residents say sporadic military raids offer little relief; the terrorists return hours later, more vengeful than before.
The fractures in Kaduna State mirror the broader problems in Nigeria. In Chikun, Giwa, and Birnin Gwari, attacks by Ansaru factions and criminal warbands have pushed out state institutions. Southern Kaduna adds another layer, with ethnic violence fused with terror raids, leaving villages like Jika da Kolo and Tudun Biri in ruins.
Katari, once a symbol of Kaduna’s transport link to Abuja, is now a ghost zone, haunted by the memory of the 2022 train attack. Trains now pass, but the residents remain missing, displaced or dead.
North Central
In Niger State, rural districts like Shiroro, Mashegu, and Borgu are steadily slipping from state and federal control. After attacks such as the 2021 Mazakuka mosque massacre, entire villages fled, leaving behind ghost towns. ISWAP and affiliated terror cells have since moved in, using dense forests to launch ambushes and collect tribute.
In Rafi, Allawa, Bassa, and Zazzaga, residents speak of “government by gun”, which is enforced through nighttime raids and extortion rackets. What began as raids has metastasised into permanent displacement. Farming has ceased. Children grow up never having seen a police officer.
Niger State is next to Abuja, Nigeria’s federal capital territory.
South East
The secessionist group known as the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) has transformed parts of Imo and Anambra States into shadow states. What began as ideological agitation has evolved into fragmented shadow governance, particularly in Orsu, Oguta, and Nnewi South, where IPOB’s Eastern Security Network (ESN) now operates checkpoints, enforces lockdowns, and levies informal taxes. Police presence is almost nonexistent; courts are shuttered; schools function sporadically.
This pattern is not isolated. As Mgbeodinma Nwankwo reports for HumAngle in Onitsha, “Southeast Nigeria has greatly changed from a region with historical landmarks and trade centres to areas of gunfire that make life deadly for civilians and law enforcement officers.” States like Anambra, Imo, Abia, and Ebonyi have become centres for violence. Non-state armed groups routinely block roads and attack police stations. Businesses close early, travel routes are avoided, and fear governs daily life.
IPOB’s camps, hidden in forest belts, serve as training grounds and operational bases – funded by diaspora networks and sustained by black-market arms. The state’s coercive apparatus has collapsed in these ungoverned interiors, like Ihiala and stretches of rural Imo. Local vigilante outfits like Ebube Agu and Operation Udo Ga Chi strive to maintain a fragile order, often overwhelmed by better-armed non-state actors.
As Nwankwo describes, uniforms have become “magnets for attacks.” Police and military personnel are hunted, ambushed, kidnapped, or executed. One soldier, attending a party in Imo while off duty, was identified and found dead the next morning.
“Wearing a uniform here is like painting a target on your back,” said a police officer in Imo, speaking anonymously. “We go to work in mufti and only change when necessary. Even then, we operate in groups, as solo patrols pose a significant risk.”
The psychological toll is immense. Morale among security forces is at an all-time low. Many seek transfers, and while some still consider the southeastern region postings financially rewarding, the life-threatening risks overshadow any incentives.
The violence is driven by a volatile mix: separatist agitation, criminal opportunism, and state withdrawal. IPOB and ESN are often suspected to be responsible for many of the terror attacks, though they frequently deny involvement. Criminal gangs, exploiting the chaos, further destabilise the region.
State response has focused on increasing highway checkpoints, leaving interior communities exposed. Critics argue this reactive approach exacerbates tensions. “Deploying more soldiers is not enough,” warns Dr Chioma Emenike, a conflict resolution expert based in the southeast. “There must be dialogue, economic empowerment, and trust-building between security agencies and local communities.”
Ultimately, the region faces a dual crisis of security and legitimacy. As uniforms vanish from the rural southeast, so does any semblance of state authority. What remains is a precarious state of fear and survival—residents trapped between hostile non-state actors and a disengaged state, teetering on the edge of anarchy.
South East Nigeria is home to ungoverned spaces. Map illustration by Mansir Muhammad/HumAngle.
Nigeria’s unseen frontlines
Nigeria’s forests have become its most telling metaphor. Once tourist destinations and biodiversity treasures, they are now frontlines of insurgency. No-go zones include Kamuku, Kainji, Falgore, and Sambisa. Dumburum and Kagara are insurgent capitals.
Even southern states are not spared. In Ondo, Edo, and Lagos, the forests harbour kidnappers and traffickers. In the Niger Delta, mangroves shelter oil theft rings bleeding billions from the national treasury.
These green belts mark the outer limit of Nigeria’s practical sovereignty. Beyond them lies another Nigeria: unrecognised, ungoverned, and rapidly growing.
Kabir Adamu, a seasoned security analyst and the CEO of Beacon Security and Intelligence Limited–a security risk management and consulting firm– expressed concerns over the scarce presence of governance and secular leadership in territories overrun by terrorists.
“Where they exist, they typically include poorly staffed and under-resourced police posts, non-functional or abandoned local government offices, dilapidated schools, and health and medical centres with little to no medical personnel or supplies,” he told HumAngle, noting that, in some locations, especially in northern Borno and remote areas of Zamfara and Katsina, such structures have been destroyed or taken over by terrorists, further eroding state presence.
Adamu added that, as the state recedes, communities have been forced to adapt in ways that challenge conventional notions of governance. He said many communities have resorted to local self-help mechanisms, including forming or reviving armed vigilante groups, with support from traditional rulers or local elites in some cases.
“These groups often serve as the first and only line of defence against armed groups, conducting patrols, manning checkpoints, and gathering intelligence. Unfortunately, the formation of the vigilantes continues not to reflect the communities’ diverse residents,” the security analyst noted.
Forest guard corps
The federal government’s response to these problems offers a glimmer of optimism, as it established the new Forest Guard Corps to reclaim these wild spaces. Trained in guerrilla warfare and intelligence, these units, drawn from local populations, are tasked with intercepting armed groups and restoring order.
However, without systemic reforms such as real policing, honest governance, and economic renewal, the corps risks becoming merely a temporary solution to a persistent problem. These affected communities nationwide need more than just soldiers; they need schools, courts, trust, and opportunities.
Although Adamu admitted that the Nigerian government has taken various actions in and around ungoverned spaces to reduce the influence of armed groups, he insisted that these approaches remain fragmented and often lack the institutional follow-through needed to fill the broader governance vacuum.
“There are clear signs that the ungoverned spaces in Nigeria are expanding, consolidating, and in some cases, connecting across local government and state boundaries in mostly the northern regions but also affecting some of the southern areas,” he said, adding that although military operations have resulted in the arrest or killing of militants, and recovery of weapons, the gains are often temporary in the absence of sustained civilian governance.
The rise of an economy of fear
As formal taxation collapses, ransoms rise in northwestern Nigeria. In Dansadau, HumAngle found that farmers trade goats and sorghum to retrieve kidnapped relatives. In Zugu and Gaude, families pay monthly levies to criminals to avoid attacks. Pay tribute is the only way to ensure public safety in some places.
This economy of fear has reshaped entire communities. Young men, disillusioned and broke, join gangs and terrorist groups as an alternative to starvation. Each payment made strengthens the enemy and weakens the state.
In many rural communities, ransoms are paid in cash, livestock, or entire harvests. Local leaders admit to pooling security levies from residents to meet ransom demands — institutionalising these payments and strengthening the criminals’ hold.
“Displacement remains a widespread coping strategy; fearing violence or oppressive demands from armed actors, entire villages have fled to IDP camps or relocated to safer towns and cities, leaving behind homes and livelihoods,” Adamu stressed, confirming the overwhelming fear consuming locals in these communities.
“Others, unable or unwilling to flee, have turned to informal negotiations with insurgents or bandits — offering payments in cash, crops, or livestock in exchange for relative peace. In some areas, communities have adapted to insurgent-imposed governance systems, accepting taxation or dispute resolution by armed non-state actors to maintain a semblance of normal life,” he added.
This cycle of violence is self-sustaining. As armed groups become richer and better armed, their reach extends deeper into communities. Interviews by HumAngle revealed that young men claimed that they saw joining kidnapping gangs in the forests as their sole means of escaping the oppressive poverty they faced.
Every community across the country visited or examined by HumAngle reveals the same grim logic: when the state withdraws, someone else steps in. Whether they come in the name of religion, gold, or secession, these armed groups usurping Nigeria’s justice system are redrawing the country’s map from the grassroots up.
