--Three Kidnaps, Three Nations ... and One Giant Slap of Reality -
History has an odd sense of humour. It loves to tell the same story over and over, only changing the names of the characters. More than 2,000 years ago, Julius Caesar was kidnapped by pirates. The pirates thought they had pulled off the crime of the century. They demanded a ransom. Caesar, cool as the moon on a calm night, paid the ransom and walked free.
But Caesar was not done. He went home, raised a naval force, hunted those pirates down, and wiped them out. Every last one of them. That’s what strength looks like -- it speaks softly, then strikes like lightning. Caesar didn’t send them a warning letter or hold a press conference. He showed them the kind of power you don’t forget.
Fast forward to our own times. An American missionary named Philip Walton is kidnapped near the Niger–Nigeria border. The kidnappers probably thought it would be a long holiday for their wallets. But within hours, American intelligence was already racing towards the truth. Within days, U.S. Special Forces landed on foreign soil, stormed in like shadows in the night, grabbed their man, and flew him home. No noise. No delay. No excuses. Just capability at work.
In every age, nations are tested. They face moments when their strength is questioned, their resolve challenged, and their pride wounded. Some rise to the challenge with swift and decisive action, showing the world that their people will never be abandoned or forgotten. Others remain silent, leaving events to write a story of weakness.
Long ago, Caesar himself showed what strength meant. In distant lands, when Roman pride was threatened, he acted with speed and force so overwhelming that no one doubted his power. His enemies understood that harming Rome came with a cost too high to pay. That was the magic of strength -- it was not just the ability to defend, but to make the very idea of attack seem foolish.
Today, America still shows that lesson. When her citizens are taken, far away in foreign lands, the weight of the nation is felt in moments. Rescue missions thunder across skies and seas, and everyone -- friend or foe -- knows that American lives are not up for negotiation. They are reclaimed. The act itself is more than a rescue; it is a warning. It says to the world: "We do not ask, we take back what is ours."
But then came our moment, here in Nigeria. A Brigadier General, Uba -- not just a soldier, but a living emblem of our proud military -- was captured by insurgents. His life was stolen in violence, and his death left more than a family grieving; it left a nation questioning itself. There was no daring rescue. No show of strength to shake the forests and deserts where the killers hide. No retaliation so decisive that it echoed in the hearts of those who would try again. Only silence. Only loss.
It is in moments like this that the difference between nations becomes sharp and clear. In one place, the enemy feels fear before they act. In another, they act without fear at all. Strength is not boastful. True strength is like a wall silently guarding a city, making attacks rare because attackers know they will be crushed. Weakness invites trouble. Where there is no credible response, danger grows bold.
We must understand the lesson. Terror cannot be tamed by weak words. Criminals cannot be frightened by polite warnings. Extremists cannot be stopped by hesitation or delay. A state must have speed to move, power to strike, and the will to punish. Without those, nothing is safe -- not the cities, not the villages, not the people themselves. The nation’s pride becomes empty, and its enemies grow in confidence.
If Nigeria is to change its story, it must embrace the truth: the military must not only defend but deter. Deterrence is like a shadow of power that follows an enemy long before they plan an attack. It is the knowledge that if harm is done, great harm will be returned. Punishment, swift and certain, is what makes the world step back. This is what keeps nations respected, feared, and often left alone.
In this hard world, there are truly only two kinds of nations -- the ones whose citizens are rescued, and the ones whose citizens are mourned. We must choose which kind we wish to be. Strength is not arrogance. It is survival. History has never been a safe road; it has always belonged to the nations powerful enough to walk it without bowing to fear. And Nigeria must decide -- now -- that it will be one of them.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
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