For the past five weeks in this column, I have returned, insistently, to the killings of Christians in northern Nigeria, situating them within the architecture of extreme persecution engineered by Islamist jihadi groups. I have argued that no semantic evasion, no careful misnaming, can alter the brutal truth that what is unfolding in the Middle Belt bears the unmistakable features of an organised genocide against Christian minorities. The killings recur with a grim regularity, almost ritualistic in their timing, as though death itself has been woven into the calendar. 

And in a cruel irony, they return at Christmas. Last week, Christian communities in Plateau State were once again slaughtered. Even as mass burials were underway, news of yet another attack in a neighbouring town seeped into the funeral rites, thickening the air with fear and dread. In Ayetoro Kiri, Kabba, in Kogi State, the First ECWA Church was attacked, and many were taken captive, later paraded in videos pleading with their families to raise the ransom placed on their lives. Among them were children, some no older than six. It is a sorrow that defies language.

This week, I return once more to these deadly assaults on Christians, compelled to reflect, with care and sobriety, on what it means to count the dead.

To speak of counting is to confront the scale of the catastrophe. In Nigeria today, Christians are under sustained and deliberate attack. The violence is unrelenting, sweeping through villages and towns with equal ferocity. It spares no one: priests, schoolchildren, entire families. These are not random acts of cruelty. The killings are targeted. The abductions are calculated. The destruction is methodical. Between 2019 and 2023, the Observatory for Religious Freedom in Africa recorded 55,910 deaths linked to extremist violence. Of this number, 16,769 were identified as Christians. 

When the many victims whose identities remain unknown are proportionally accounted for, the figure rises to 22,361 Christians. The overwhelming majority were killed in the Middle Belt, the epicentre of attacks by Fulani militia. Churches were reduced to ashes. Homes were razed. Schools were abandoned to ruin. In their wake, entire communities have been uprooted, left wandering, dispossessed, and grieving, while the nation struggles, or refuses, to reckon with the magnitude of what is being lost.

In the first 100 days of 2023 alone, Intersociety reported that 1,041 Christians were killed. In the same period, 707 were abducted. In 2022, 5,068 Christians were killed. These are not abstract figures. They represent fathers, mothers, children, and the elderly. They represent entire communities torn apart. The scale of the violence is staggering. Open Doors, a global Christian advocacy organisation, reported that Nigeria led the world in the number of Christians killed and abducted in 2024. Their figures showed 3,100 deaths and 2,830 abductions in one year. 

In 2025, the violence continues unabated. In the first seven months, over 7,000 Christians were reported killed. The Yelwata massacre in June 2025 claimed between 100 and 200 lives. Families were slaughtered in their homes. Survivors fled for their lives. These killings unfolded against the haunting backdrop of Dogon Nahawa, a Christian community near Jos, where in March 2010, five hundred men, women, and children were brutally slain. The memory of that massacre still lingers, a stark reminder of the human cost of unchecked violence and the fragility of life in regions where faith and identity have become targets. It is a testament not only to the cruelty inflicted but also to the resilience of communities that continue to mourn, rebuild, and demand recognition for lives extinguished too soon.

The pattern is clear. Farmers and villagers are targeted. Attacks are coordinated. Gunmen surround communities. They burn houses. They kill indiscriminately. Women are kidnapped. Children are left to wander in the bush. The trauma lasts for years. The survivors carry the scars in their bodies and in their minds. The Nigerian state often fails to respond adequately. Security forces are deployed too late or in insufficient numbers. Investigations into killings are slow. Justice is rare. In the north central and north east regions, where these killings are common, soldiers and police are overstretched. In others, there is complicity. The absence of decisive action sends a message to perpetrators. Violence continues. Communities live in fear.

There appears to be collusion. The media, for instance, often fail to convey the reality. Attacks are described as “banditry” or “communal clashes”. Such terms obscure the religious identity of the victims. They erase the fact that Christians are deliberately targeted. The international community may hear of violence. But the underlying pattern is hidden. The narrative is softened. Christian suffering is depersonalised. It becomes a statistic, not a moral emergency.

The consequences are severe. Millions have been displaced. ORFA reports 3.3 million internally displaced persons in Nigeria as of 2023. Many live in camps. Others hide in forests or abandoned buildings. Children do not attend school. Adults cannot farm. Communities lose their livelihoods. Generational poverty increases. Mental health suffers. Trauma passes to the next generation. The killings also erode social cohesion. Communities live in suspicion and fear. Trust is broken. Interreligious relations suffer. In areas with a history of coexistence, these attacks create lasting divisions. Entire regions are destabilised. Fear dictates movement and behaviour. People hide their faith to survive. This is erasure by violence.

Religious leaders are often targets. Priests have been abducted. Churches have been destroyed. The spiritual leadership of communities is under threat. Clergy face daily risks. Despite these dangers, many continue to minister to their communities. Their courage is remarkable. They provide hope and continuity. But the threats don’t abate. Until President Trump threatened to wipe out Islamic terrorists in Nigeria, the international responses were limited. Nigeria receives aid and development support. But the global focus on terrorism or insurgency often ignores religious persecution. Christian communities are left exposed. Their plight is rarely highlighted in international forums. Governments condemn attacks but rarely intervene directly. Statements of concern are insufficient. Action is needed.

The legal framework in Nigeria does not adequately protect religious minorities. Existing laws against terrorism or communal violence do not capture the religious targeting of Christians. Law enforcement agencies often lack training or resources. Victims are left without protection. Justice is elusive. Perpetrators remain free. This legal vacuum allows violence to continue. But historical context matters. Nigeria has experienced waves of religious violence since the late 20th century. Boko Haram emerged in the Northeast in the 2000s.

Fulani militia attacks have increased steadily in the Middle Belt. Patterns of displacement, abduction, and killing show continuity over time. The state’s inability to prevent recurring attacks has exacerbated suffering. Communities adapt to survive, but adaptation comes at a high cost. The international community must recognise the scale of the problem. The killings meet the criteria of systematic religious persecution. They constitute a genocide of a defined group. The evidence suggests a deliberate pattern. The persecution is based on faith. It is targeted and organised. Global recognition is necessary.

The killings are well documented. Those behind them are also known. But, there must be a way out of this cauldron of mass murders. Accurate reporting is essential to give victims a voice and ensure the violence does not remain hidden. Religious organisations must go beyond prayer and advocate for accountability while mobilising support from governments, international bodies, and human rights agencies. Communities need protection, legal aid, and long-term stability. Children must be safeguarded, schools rebuilt, and displaced families supported not only with food and shelter but also with security and psychological care to address trauma comprehensively. The state must strengthen itself to protect all citizens. The cost of silence is too high. Inaction allows violence to escalate. Each death reinforces impunity. Each attack without response emboldens perpetrators. Communities cannot rebuild without justice. Recognition of the problem is a prerequisite for effective solutions.

The moral imperative is clear. Humanity must respond. Christians in Nigeria face existential threats. Their faith marks them for violence. Their communities are destroyed. The world cannot turn away. Counting the dead is necessary. Recognising their suffering is urgent. Protecting the living is critical.

Nigeria’s Christians face sustained violence. Killings, abductions, and destruction are part of a deliberate campaign. Security forces are insufficient. The media often underreports the faith-based dimension. International recognition and intervention remain limited. The cost is enormous. Lives are lost. Communities are shattered. Generations suffer trauma. Action is necessary. Advocacy, protection, and justice are urgent. Recognition of the systematic targeting of Christians is critical. The dead must be counted. 

The silenced must be heard. The killers show no mercy, and their campaign continues unabated. The responsibility to protect the innocent cannot be left unfulfilled. Governments, international organisations, faith communities, and civil society must act decisively to prevent further bloodshed. The lives of Christians under siege demand urgent attention, and the moral obligation to intervene is immediate and non-negotiable. The time for hesitation has passed. Action is not optional; it is the only way to halt genocide and restore hope to those living under constant threat. Hello!

Abdul Mahmud, a human rights attorney in Abuja, writes weekly for The Gazette