By
Idowu Ephraim Faleye
For the efficacy of the proposed National Forest Guard initiative, it is important to begin by facing the bitter reality that Nigeria’s forests are no longer just natural resources; they have now become sanctuaries of terror, crime, and unimaginable violence. From the vast Sambisa Forest in Borno to the thick reserves in Zamfara, Kaduna, and Oyo states, these forests are no longer peaceful habitats of nature.
Nigeria”s forests have become hideouts for bandits, terrorists, and transnational armed groups who exploit Nigeria’s porous borders, rugged terrains, and failing security infrastructure to unleash chaos on communities and the state. This isn’t just a security problem anymore; it is a question of survival, sovereignty, and sanity. If we do not evolve our response mechanisms to meet the unconventional nature of these threats, we may continue to chase shadows while innocent lives and national assets suffer irreparable damage.
Banditry, terrorism, insurgency, and guerrilla warfare have now become familiar terms in the vocabulary of everyday Nigerians. Yet, most people do not fully understand how these forms of violence differ and why they have become so difficult to combat. Banditry, typically driven by profit, involves organized armed groups who kidnap, extort, and kill for ransom or material gain. Guerrilla warfare, on the other hand, is a strategy, often employed by insurgents or ideological fighters, involving hit-and-run tactics, sabotage, and the use of terrain like forests to wear down formal military forces.
The Nigerian experience, sadly, is not limited to just one of these. We are dealing with a toxic mix of all. From so-called repentant Boko Haram fighters who turn out to be double agents within the army, to foreign fighters from the Sahel sneaking into our country with war experience, precision, and audacity, Nigeria is facing an enemy that is hydra-headed, elusive, and deeply embedded.
The problem did not start yesterday, but it has clearly worsened due to politicization of security, lack of synergy among security agencies, and the failure to embrace modern methods of intelligence gathering. It is no secret that several armed groups now hiding in our forests came through Nigeria’s porous northern borders. These fighters are not just mere herdsmen or local criminals. Many are war-tested militias from Mali, Chad, and Libya, with years of battlefield experience and a clear ideological mission. They use the knowledge of old grazing routes and rely on ethnic networks that cut across countries to infiltrate our territory. Their attacks are not random. They are bold, coordinated, and sometimes more precise than the responses of the conventional army.
When such groups commit daily crimes of kidnapping, rape, mass killings, and economic sabotage, especially in rural areas and forest corridors, the question arises: what exactly do we call them? Are they bandits, terrorists, or insurgents? Technically, they fit all three descriptions. They are bandits in the sense that they take ransom and destroy for material gain. They are terrorists because their actions are aimed at instilling fear and destabilizing the state. And they are insurgents when they begin to confront military bases, ambush troops, and try to hold territories.
In many cases, their agenda goes beyond financial gain; it reflects a long-term ideological goal to dominate, conquer, and even forcefully convert communities to their beliefs. So yes, these actors are not just criminals; they are enemies of the state, and any response that does not match the complexity of their operations is doomed to fail.
This is where the proposed National Forest Guard initiative becomes not just timely but essential. It represents a bold shift from the over-centralized, overstretched, and reactive nature of our current security architecture. The idea is simple yet powerful: create a dedicated, state-based security structure that focuses on forests and rural areas, made up of people who understand the terrain, have community trust, and can gather intelligence before crimes happen. These guards, unlike federal forces who are often unfamiliar with local dialects and geography, will know the paths, the people, and the history. That gives them a tremendous advantage when it comes to early detection, rapid response, and building trust among the locals.
Forest guards are not new globally. Countries like India and Brazil have long used similar models to protect forests and tackle forest-based crime. What makes Nigeria’s proposal unique is the context. Here, the guards are not just to prevent illegal logging or wildlife poaching; they are to serve as the first line of defense against armed non-state actors exploiting ungoverned spaces. But for this initiative to be effective, it must be more than just men in uniforms patrolling the bush. It needs to be a smart, well-integrated, and technologically empowered force that complements the efforts of the military and the police.
To achieve this, the National Forest Guard initiative must be backed by a strong legal framework that clearly defines their powers, responsibilities, and limits. There must be national coordination to prevent fragmentation or abuse. We cannot afford to turn them into political thugs under the control of state governors, or else they will become part of the problem they are meant to solve. Their recruitment must be based on competence, local knowledge, and integrity, not political affiliation. Their training must include intelligence gathering, community engagement, first aid, bush survival skills, and digital tools for surveillance and reporting.
Furthermore, they must be integrated into the national security architecture. They should not work in isolation or be ignored by the police and military. There must be clear communication channels, joint task forces, and regular briefings where forest guards feed local intelligence into the broader security framework. Without this synergy, they will remain underutilized or even endangered.
Beyond human resources, technology must be at the heart of this initiative. Nigeria can no longer rely on boots on the ground alone. The threats we face are 21st-century problems and they require 21st-century solutions. This is where military drones become critical. Drones equipped with night vision and thermal cameras can monitor vast forest areas that are impossible to patrol manually. They can detect movement, track heat signatures, and relay real-time images to command centers. When a drone identifies unusual activity, the forest guard can be mobilized immediately, saving precious time and lives.
In addition to drones, robot dogs and AI-powered ground surveillance units can play an important role in the most dangerous terrains. These robots can enter caves, trails, and hideouts that human patrols may avoid for fear of ambushes or landmines. They can be fitted with cameras, microphones, and sensors to detect explosives, firearms, or human presence. Such tools are especially useful in states like Zamfara, Borno, or Niger, where forests have become combat zones.
Solar-powered surveillance cameras should also be deployed at forest entry and exit points, along grazing routes, and near vulnerable communities. These cameras must be tamper-resistant and connected to satellite or GSM networks to allow real-time monitoring. They can record criminal activity, detect suspicious movements, and help track suspects over time. This provides not just evidence for prosecution but a pattern for crime prevention.
To connect all these elements, a centralized digital repository must be created. This database would serve as the brain of the National Forest Guard initiative. It should store reports, drone footage, camera images, suspect profiles, biometric data, and intelligence gathered from field agents. With modern analytics, it can detect patterns, predict possible attacks, and help prioritize operations. This database must be protected with the highest cybersecurity standards and linked to national police and military systems to ensure interoperability.
Of course, the question arises: will all these high-tech tools not cost a fortune? Yes, they will. But the cost of doing nothing is far greater. Every day, Nigerians lose lives, properties, and peace of mind due to unchecked violence emerging from our forests. The economic damage, social trauma, and loss of national cohesion are immeasurable. Therefore, investing in this initiative is not a luxury; it is a necessity. We can start small by focusing on the most vulnerable states, create pilot projects, learn, and expand based on results. Donor agencies, foreign partners, and private tech companies can also be brought in to support the funding and technical training.
However, all of these will come to nothing if the forest guard initiative is not protected from corruption, abuse, and politicization. Nigeria has had too many examples of good ideas being destroyed by bad implementation. If forest guards are used to settle political scores, or if they become extortion gangs in uniforms, the trust of the people will evaporate, and criminals will once again dominate the forests. This initiative must be managed with transparency, regular audits, community feedback mechanisms, and strict disciplinary measures for misconduct.
In conclusion, the proposed National Forest Guard initiative represents a powerful opportunity to reclaim our forests, restore community safety, and reinforce national security. It acknowledges the reality that today’s enemies are no longer just hiding in cities but are spread across forests, armed with both guns and ideologies. With a combination of local knowledge, technological tools, centralized intelligence, and strong governance, the forest guard can become Nigeria’s most effective response to a crisis that has defied conventional solutions. It is not just a matter of policy; it is a matter of national survival. We must act now, and we must act smart. For the efficacy of the National Forest Guard initiative is not just in its creation, but in its commitment to excellence, accountability, and the will to adapt to the evolving threats of our time.
IDOWU EPHRAIM FALEYE WRITES FROM ADO-EKITI
