THE PRICE OF FREEDOM: When Governments Talk to Bandits — The Confusing, Dangerous Rescue of 38 Worshippers in Kwara.

By George Omagbemi Sylvester | Published by saharaweeklyng.com

“DSS and the military say they “CONTACTED” kidnappers and secured the release — critics ask whether the state paid a hidden ransom and whether any deal will deepen Nigeria’s kidnapping economy.”

On November 18, 2025, gunmen stormed the Christ Apostolic Church in Eruku, Kwara State, killing two congregants and abducting 38 worshippers. The kidnappers immediately slapped an extraordinary demand (₦100 million per captive) a sum that made headlines and sickened relatives. The nation watched in horror as the familiar script of mass abduction and ransom negotiation ran again across our airwaves.

By November 24 the worshippers were free. But the sequence that led to their release has produced more questions than comfort. The Presidency’s information aide, Bayo Onanuga, told reporters that the Department of State Services (DSS) and the military had “CONTACTED the BANDITS” and, through real-time tracking and pressure, secured the release without paying ransom. “THEY REACHED OUT TO THE KIDNAPPERS AND DEMANDED THE RELEASE OF THE VICTIMS AND THE BANDITS COMPLIED,” Mr. Onanuga said. The Presidency insisted no ransom was paid.

That official narrative (CONTACT, MONITORING, PRESSURE, RELEASE) sounds tidy. It is also deeply unsettling. For decades families, communities and sometimes local governments have paid to get loved ones back. Analysts and international observers have documented millions of dollars exchanged in secret transactions between captors and the captive’s handlers; such payments become part of the criminal ecosystem, emboldening more abductions. “The motivation of these groups appears purely economic,” SBM Intelligence’s head of research once told Sahara when discussing the KIDNAP-FOR-RANSOM boom. History shows payments (whether explicit or concealed) can have perverse consequences.

So which is it in Eruku? The Presidency’s line is that security agencies negotiated and that the bandits, confronted by surveillance and the prospect of force, “COMPLIED.” Critics ask whether the state’s words conceal a quieter transaction: a back-channel transfer of funds, local payments by community leaders, or a tacit bargain that leaves the bandits enriched and empowered. Nigerian reporting after the releases has been mixed: some outlets relay Onanuga’s position that no ransom was paid, while others note continued local reports of community-level payments or murky negotiations.

There are three hard, non-negotiable truths we must hold in mind.

First: in a country where kidnapping for ransom has metastasized into a criminal economy, any release that lacks transparent forensic explanation will breed suspicion. Between 2011 and 2020, some firms estimated that tens of millions were paid to kidnappers across Nigeria (largely by families and intermediaries) a fact that demonstrates both the scale and the secretive cash flows sustaining the crime. When governments insist “NO RANSOM WAS PAID” without opening records or allowing independent verification, cynicism grows.

Second: the ethical and strategic dilemma is real. Security experts, criminologists and ethicists describe an agonizing choice: refuse to negotiate and risk lives, or negotiate/pay and save people now while encouraging more abductions later. A growing body of research argues that ransom payments produce a perverse feedback loop: immediate human relief at the cost of long-term national insecurity. “Paying the ransom may save a life immediately, but it causes more harm in the long run by encouraging further kidnappings,” a recent ethical review summarized. Policymakers must reckon honestly with that calculus.

Third: secrecy is the enemy of accountability. If security agencies can secure releases by non-lethal means (surveillance, pressure, targeted operations) the public should be presented with credible, verifiable steps explaining how danger was neutralized and how captors were prevented from using the same methods again. If, instead, releases depend on opaque deals or payments through intermediaries, then the state is, in effect, subsidizing criminality with impunity.

Voices from the field amplify these concerns. Ikemesit Effiong of SBM Intelligence described the kidnap economy as mostly financially motivated, fed by poverty and the breakdown of social controls; each successful payout is a business case for the next abduction. Academics who study the phenomenon have similarly warned that ransom markets create perverse incentives and institutional corruption that erode state capacity. In other words: when the state or its proxies pay to free today’s victims, it often pays tomorrow, through renewed crime and weakened trust.

This is not an argument for cold-hearted refusal to save lives. It is a demand for honesty and strategy. If the DSS and the military really relied on real-time tracking, coordinated intelligence and pressure to force a surrender without money changing hands, the Presidency should publicize a clear after-action account: what assets were used, what intelligence nodes tracked the gang, whether arrests were made, and what follow-up operations will prevent recurrence. That would be a template for accountability and learning.

If, on the other hand, a payment (direct or indirect) secured the release, Nigerians deserve to know that too. Concealing payments achieves two dangerous ends: it normalizes secret deals between the state and criminals, and it institutionalizes a shadow market where bandits calculate the expected payout for every attack. Either outcome corrodes the rule of law.

There are practical reforms the federal government must pursue, simultaneously and without further delay. First: transparency and publish factual, declassified after-action reports of rescue operations that explain who did what, and how outcomes were achieved. Second: a national policy on ransom negotiations, designed with input from security services, legal scholars, community leaders and international partners, that specifies when and how officials may engage with captors and under what safeguards. Third: invest aggressively in community resilience such as rural patrols, credible policing, emergency funds for forensic investigations, while prosecuting collaborators and vigilantes who profit from abduction markets. Fourth: strengthen prosecutions and asset-forfeiture regimes that clamp down on the financial networks banking ransom payments. Evidence-based suppression of the economics of crime is as crucial as boots on the ground.

Finally, we must have a public conversation about responsibility. Families and communities pay because they lack confidence in their state. Governments that want to break kidnapping’s business model must first restore trust: by showing that the state can protect citizens, secure rescues lawfully, and deny bandits the currency they crave. Anything less is appeasement dressed as rescue.

The Eruku case should be a moment of clarity for Nigeria. If the DSS and military achieved a no-cash rescue through skillful intelligence and pressure, the agencies should make that model public and replicable. If they relied on payments (however camouflaged) the country must confront the cost of that choice and act to end the market those payments prop up. Either way, secrecy benefits only the criminals and deprives Nigerians of the truth.

The 38 worshippers are home and for that we give thanks; but GRATITUDE must not silence ACCOUNTABILITY. The state’s job is not only to recover victims; it is to ensure the recovery does not fuel the next crime. Until the full facts of the Eruku release are laid on the table and scrutinized, the “MIRACLE” of a mass release will always carry the sour aftertaste of suspicion; and Nigeria will remain trapped in a vicious cycle where rescue equals reward and reward equals repeat.