posted 15th April 2025
Why Igbo Youths are Shunning the Nigerian Army
In Nigeria, a country where military service was once a source of pride, a stark shift has occurred in Igbo land. The Nigerian Army, struggling to fill its ranks, now finds itself going from village to village in Igbo communities, pleading with young men and women to enlist. This is a far cry from a decade ago, when Igbo youths eagerly applied to serve, only to face rejection in droves. What has changed? Why have Igbo youths turned their backs on the military? The answers lie in a painful history of violence, distrust, and systemic marginalisation.
In 2014, the Nigerian military launched Operation Python Dance I, followed by Operation Python Dance II, targeting Igbo communities in south-eastern Nigeria. These operations, ostensibly aimed at curbing unrest, left a trail of devastation. Igbo youths were hunted down, brutally killed, and, in some cases, denied proper burials. Reports emerged of bodies being dumped in borrow pits and doused with acid, with mass graves allegedly uncovered in cities like Aba and Enugu. One particularly harrowing incident occurred in Afara Ukwu Ibeku, where 28 youths were reportedly killed at the family compound of Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). No one has been held accountable for these atrocities.
The military’s actions have left deep scars. In towns like Awommama, Ugwuta, Ihiala, and Orsu, Igbo residents accuse soldiers of burning homes and terrorising communities, often after attacks by Fulani herdsmen, whom the military allegedly fails to pursue. For many Igbo, the sight of a military convoy now triggers fear rather than reassurance. Children flee, and adults brace for harassment. This pervasive dread has reshaped perceptions: the military is no longer seen as a protector but as an oppressor.
The sense of alienation is compounded by systemic issues within the military itself. Igbo officers are routinely overlooked for promotions, with many claiming that Yoruba and Fulani candidates are prioritised for senior roles. In the past three decades, only one Igbo officer, General Ihejirika, appointed under President Goodluck Jonathan, has risen to the top echelons. Igbo soldiers sent to fight Boko Haram in the north often face sabotage and inadequate support, leading to disproportionate casualties. Meanwhile, northern recruits, some allegedly lacking basic education, are said to climb the ranks with ease.
The IPOB, under Kanu’s leadership, has capitalised on this discontent, campaigning against Igbo participation in the military. Their message—that the Nigerian Army treats Igbo people as second-class citizens—has resonated widely. For many Igbo youths, joining an institution that appears to target their own communities holds no appeal. This boycott is not merely a rejection of military service but a broader statement of frustration with the concept of “one Nigeria.”
As the Nigerian Army struggles to recruit in Igbo land, some politicians have resorted to offering incentives, urging young people to enlist. Critics, however, argue that these leaders should send their own children to the front lines before preaching to others. The growing divide between the Igbo and the military raises urgent questions about Nigeria’s unity and the treatment of its diverse ethnic groups.
Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, currently detained, remains a polarising figure. His supporters argue that his calls for truth and justice have exposed the military’s failings, while his detractors warn of escalating tensions. Yet, as the chasm widens, Kanu’s influence grows. Some suggest that engaging him in dialogue could avert further unrest, but time may be running out.
For now, the Nigerian Army’s recruitment drives in Igbo land are met with scepticism and resistance. Until the wounds of the past are addressed and the military rebuilds trust, Igbo youths are unlikely to answer the call to serve.
By Ekere Ọrụ Eke, The Eagle Eye, 15 April 2025
