Illicit economies: Bandits and power struggles

In Nigeria’s North-West, tragedy has become a slow, creeping presence. Fear shapes daily life—travel is risky, farming is uncertain, and education is a gamble. Banditry, kidnappings, cattle theft, farmer-herder clashes, and violence against women are no longer rare events but a constant reality. The security crisis is not just about violence and displacement; it is deeply tied to illicit economies.

Guns are used to collect money, forests become sites for illegal deals, and victims are sources of income. Illegal mining, kidnapping for ransom, and stolen livestock ddon’t operate in isolation—they feed each other and thrive where the state is weak. Crime has become an industry, and stopping it requires more than speeches or raids; it demands attacking its root causes.

“When cash is king, ransom payments move easily; when suspicious inflows face weak scrutiny, the proceeds of violence learn to wear suits.”

A key factor is the weakness of local governance. Where institutions are feeble—where local councils are mere salary-collecting posts, police rarely appear, justice is distant, and services are unreliable—a power vacuum emerges. Armed groups don’t just attack; they take control. They decide which roads are safe, which markets operate, which farms work, and what communities must pay to be left alone. Violence isn’t just a weapon; it becomes a system of governance.

Gold plays a central role. Small-scale mining could help rural communities if properly regulated and linked to legal markets. But in the North-West’s war economy, gold fuels conflict. It’s portable, valuable, and hard to trace. Armed groups tax mines, seize gold, force people to work, and use the proceeds to buy weapons, pay informants, and secure protection. Violence is not just near communities—it feeds on what they produce.

Kidnapping for ransom has become a business. Targets are chosen, routes watched, negotiations handled, payments arranged, and releases planned.

Read also: Abuja owns the mines, bandits run them

Families pay because they don’t trust timely help; communities pay because refusal invites more violence. Each payment doesn’t solve the problem—it professionalises crime. Predictable payoffs make the crime spread faster and further undermine government authority.

Cattle rustling has shifted from opportunistic theft to organised asset seizure. Livestock is rural wealth in motion. When herds are stolen, households collapse; when households collapse, recruitment into criminal groups becomes easier. Layered on top is the “protection economy”—fees demanded for grazing corridors, safe passage, or access to farmland—turning fear into steady income. Communities unable to move freely cannot trade freely, making them easier to dominate.

This crisis is not purely domestic. Nigeria’s North is connected to the Sahel and beyond. Transhumance routes, cross-border kinship ties, informal trade, and often, arms and criminal expertise, flow across northern borders. Armed self-help is normalised, violence rationalised, and authority negotiated outside formal institutions. Porous borders and shared networks allow armed groups to find sanctuary, recruit, trade, and return stronger.

Ignoring these influences treats a regional ecosystem as a local nuisance.

The darkest layer is who benefits. Illicit economies do not survive without enablers—buyers, transporters, financiers, informants, and protectors. The idea of “political bandits” is more than a metaphor: politicians and associates who divert fertiliser meant for farmers, capture allocations meant for services, shield illegal mining, or quietly profit from disorder while commissioning press statements about security. The bandit with a rifle is dangerous; the one with influence and cover is more dangerous, turning public power into private armour.

Our financial culture also plays a role. When society celebrates sudden wealth without scrutiny, illicit proceeds find cover. When cash is king, ransom payments move easily; when suspicious inflows face weak scrutiny, the proceeds of violence learn to wear suits. When “success” is measured by display rather than value creation, crime gains not only money but also status. Status lowers the social shame that should restrain criminality and teaches the next recruit that violence can be a ladder.

The security conversation must shift from capacity to incentives. Our security apparatus has not yet made banditry unattractive. Where arrests are rare, investigations compromised, prosecutions slow, convictions uncertain, and sentences inconsistent, violence remains a rational choice for those inside the enterprise. A state defeats an armed industry by making participation costly and outcomes certain—not by appearing and withdrawing predictably.

A serious strategy must make hard choices: choke the money by disrupting illegal mining and ransom supply chains; rebuild grassroots governance so the state is present where people live; redesign deterrence so banditry becomes a bad investment; strengthen financial intelligence and anti-money laundering enforcement; revive skills and livelihoods at scale; and treat border governance as internal security policy. Nigeria must decide what it is confronting: scattered criminals or a parallel economy with armed enforcement, cross-border linkages, and political insulation. If it is the latter, our response must match the threat’s complexity. We will not win by only counting boots on the ground. We will win when we dismantle the business model, dislodge the structural roots, and build institutions that make violence a losing proposition.

Dr Dakuku Peterside is the author of two books—Leading in a Storm and Beneath the Surface.

Join BusinessDay whatsapp Channel, to stay up to date