This report reviews Nigeria’s deradicalisation programme, where institutional safeguards collide with viral myths and a fragile search for trust.
When participants first encountered the preaching, it sounded like the truth. But reality soon diverged sharply from the promises the leaders of the terror groups made to them.
Their expectations before they joined the terror groups significantly differed from what they experienced after joining.
Their experiences were not obtained through a direct interview with former insurgents. They were recounted by the Radicalisation and Rehabilitation Coordinator of Operation Safe Corridor (OPSC), Usen Archibong, during a phone interview with this reporter.
According to Mr Archibong, many participants described how religious messaging and visions of a better life initially drew them in. “The things they told us were not what we saw,” he quoted some of them as saying. “The same leaders preaching against wrongdoing were the ones taking drugs and other people’s wives.”
Mr Archibong said the illusion collapsed for many of the former terrorists, who have now abandoned such beliefs.
“If you misbehave even a little, they will just shoot you,” he quoted one of them as saying.
He explained that this stage is often when disillusionment sets in and plans to escape begin.
These indirect insights illuminate the experiences of individuals processed through Nigeria’s flagship deradicalisation initiative.
Across Nigeria, Operation Safe Corridor remains the subject of widespread public debate.
A recurring claim frequently shared on social media, in radio discussions, and in public conversations, alleges that “repentant” Boko Haram members are recruited into the Nigerian military and rewarded by the state.
The narrative resonates deeply, tapping into widespread anxieties over justice, accountability and national security. For many citizens, the notion of former insurgents receiving reintegration support without visible punishment raises profound questions about fairness.
At a media engagement organised by the Centre for Democracy and Development (CDD) in Abuja, OPSC Coordinator Yusuf Ali dismissed the claim as false and misleading. Recruitment into the armed forces, he explained, adheres to rigorous procedures that bar individuals with criminal records. Former Chief of Defence Staff Lucky Irabor has also stated publicly that no such recruitment takes place.
Understanding the gap between perception and reality is central to assessing one of Nigeria’s most contested security initiatives. The question, however, is not only whether the programme works, but whether it is trusted by the public.
Operation Safe Corridor was launched in 2016 as a non-kinetic pillar of Nigeria’s counter-insurgency strategy in the North-East.
Speaking at the CDD event, Mr Ali, a brigadier general, noted that the programme emerged amid intensified military operations, when security forces encountered a heterogeneous mix within insurgent ranks. Not everyone captured or found in camps was a committed fighter; many had been abducted or forcibly conscripted, including farmers, traders and travellers around the Lake Chad Basin.
A purely kinetic approach, Mr Ali said, could degrade insurgent capacity but would not stop recruitment or provide an exit pathway for individuals seeking to disengage. Operation Safe Corridor, he explained, was therefore designed to separate individuals considered low-risk from hardened combatants and to provide a structured process for rehabilitation and reintegration.
He described the programme as a complement to ongoing military operations, aimed at reducing the pool of individuals available to insurgent groups.
Within Nigeria’s broader counterinsurgency framework, Operation Safe Corridor functions as a non-kinetic component intended to support long-term stabilisation efforts.
Entry into the programme begins with a rigorous screening process. Speaking at the CDD media engagement in Abuja, OPSC Coordinator Mr Ali explained that individuals who surrender or are captured undergo profiling by security and intelligence agencies. This includes biometric data collection and background checks to assess each person’s level of involvement in insurgent activities.
He added that only those classified as low risk are admitted to the programme, while individuals linked to serious crimes are referred for prosecution. Even among those accepted, initial trust is often absent.
During a phone interview with this reporter, Mr Archibong said some participants initially believed the deradicalisation process is a trap.
“One of them thought it was a trap,” Mr Archibong said. “He believed the government would kill them. Even when they were flown in, he thought they would be thrown into the sea.”
Mr Archibong said such fears typically ease once participants reach the rehabilitation facility in Gombe State and begin structured counselling. He said participants undergo several months of rehabilitation, including psychosocial support, religious reorientation led by clerics, and vocational training in skills such as farming, tailoring, and shoemaking.
He explained that the aim is not only to disengage individuals from violence, but to address the conditions that made their involvement possible.
For many participants, entering the programme does not immediately erase fear. Mr Archibong said years of exposure to violence shape how participants interpret the rehabilitation process.
He recalled the case of one participant who remained deeply sceptical.
“He did not believe it was real,” he said. “He kept thinking, how can a government take care of people like us?”
Mr Archibong explained that change, when it occurs, is often gradual.
Through repeated counselling sessions and structured engagement, he said, participants are exposed to alternative perspectives on religion, authority, and social life.
He added that responses vary.
