Editorial: Death of Gen. Oseni Braimah and Tinubu’s Security Failure

The death of Brigadier General Oseni Braimah is not just another tragic entry in Nigeria’s long roll call of fallen soldiers. It is a brutal, undeniable verdict on the catastrophic failure of the Nigerian state under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu; a failure drenched in hypocrisy, indifference, and a staggering disconnect

between rhetoric and reality. What happened in Benisheikh on April 9, 2026, was not merely a terrorist attack. It was the final act of a slow-motion betrayal. A betrayal engineered far from the battlefield—in polished offices, behind sealed procurement contracts, and within a political class that has mastered the

art of pretending to govern while doing little of substance.

 

Brig. Gen. Braimah was not an ordinary officer. He was the embodiment of professionalism: a product of the Nigerian Defense Academy, a scholar with advanced degrees from institutions like King’s College London, a seasoned commander, a mentor, and a United Nations peacekeeping contributor. This was

not a man unprepared for war. This was a man abandoned in it. And the details of his final moments

make that abandonment painfully clear. While on a routine midnight call with his twin brother in the United Kingdom; a ritual of closeness between two lives separated by geography but bound by blood, Braimah reportedly paused. Something was wrong. Then the line went dead. That silence was not just

the sound of an attack beginning. It was the sound of a system collapsing. His brother called repeatedly. No answer. Hours passed in dread. By dawn, the truth arrived: communications had failed, the base had been overrun, and the Brigade Commander, alongside his men, had been killed.

 

There is something profoundly haunting about that image: a decorated general, mid-conversation with his twin, cut off not just by gunfire but by the cumulative weight of institutional neglect. No air support. No reliable communications. No functional backup. Just men left to fight with what they had; and what they had was not enough. This is where the Tinubu administration’s failure becomes indefensible.

Because this was not an unforeseeable tragedy. It was the predictable outcome of a system riddled with corruption, inertia, and performative governance. Billions are allocated to security, yet soldiers lack basic operational capacity. Equipment is delayed, degraded, or diverted. Logistics fail at the exact

moment they are needed most. And when the inevitable happens, the response is always the same: statements, condolences, and hollow promises.

But perhaps the most galling aspect of this entire episode is the political theater that followed.

Enter Monday Okpebholo.

 In the wake of Braimah’s death, the governor moved swiftly to grant full educational scholarships to the general’s three children - Farida, Amir, and Yasmeen - covering their education through university. On the surface, it is a gesture of compassion. A recognition of sacrifice. A nod to responsibility. But scratch beneath that surface, and the hypocrisy becomes unbearable. Where was this “responsibility” when Braimah was alive and pleading, directly or indirectly for the tools needed to survive? Where was this urgency when soldiers were deployed with inadequate equipment, faulty vehicles, and no reliable support? Where was this moral obligation when systemic failures were stacking the odds against men like him long before the first bullet was fired?

It is easy, far too easy, for politicians to become generous with the dead. Scholarships are announced.

 

Tributes are written. Words like “hero,” “sacrifice,” and “patriotism” are deployed with rehearsed solemnity. But these gestures, however well-intentioned, cannot erase the fundamental truth: the same system now offering to educate Braimah’s children is the one that failed to protect their father.

That is not honor. That is damage control. It is a grotesque cycle. Neglect the living, glorify the dead, and compensate the survivors just enough to quiet the outrage. Then repeat. Governor Okpebholo’s statement frames the scholarship as “a moral obligation” and “responsible governance.” But real

responsibility would have meant ensuring that Brig. Gen. Braimah had the resources, intelligence, and operational support to repel the attack in the first place. Real governance would have meant a system where a brigade commander is not left exposed in a high-risk zone with failing infrastructure and

delayed reinforcements.

 

Instead, what we see is a reactive morality; one that activates only after tragedy strikes. And this hypocrisy is not isolated. It is symptomatic of a broader political culture under Tinubu’s leadership that prioritizes optics over outcomes, gestures over governance, and narratives over reality. The Nigerian

state has become frighteningly adept at posthumous patriotism. It celebrates the dead because it has

failed the living.

 

Meanwhile, the structural issues remain untouched. Security votes remain opaque. Procurement processes remain compromised. Accountability remains elusive. And the frontline remains exactly what it was before Braimah’s death: under-equipped, under-supported, and dangerously exposed.

Tinubu’s administration cannot continue to hide behind inherited problems or bureaucratic complexity. Leadership demands ownership. And ownership means confronting the uncomfortable truth that Nigeria’s insecurity crisis is being exacerbated; not alleviated by the very institutions tasked with resolving it. The death of Brig. Gen. Braimah should have been a turning point. A moment of reckoning.

A catalyst for sweeping reform. Instead, it risks becoming just another episode in a grim, familiar script: a brave officer dies; a grieving family is spotlighted; a politician announces a gesture; the system moves on, unchanged. This is what makes the situation not just tragic, but shameful. Pathetic. Inexcusable.

Because behind every scholarship announcement is a question that refuses to go away: why did it take

death to trigger responsibility?

Braimah was reportedly on the verge of leaving Borno for a posting at the Ministry of Defense. He had survived years of service, commanded elite units, and contributed to global peacekeeping efforts. He had done everything expected of him; and more. And yet, when it mattered most, the system he served did not show up for him. That is the ultimate indictment of Tinubu’s security architecture. Not that it is underfunded. Not that it is overwhelmed. But that it is fundamentally misaligned- prioritizing everything except the survival and effectiveness of those on the frontlines. Until that changes, no amount of scholarships, tributes, or presidential visits will suffice. They will remain what they currently are: belated gestures in the aftermath of preventable deaths. And the silence that ended Braimah’s final phone call will continue to echo; not just as a personal tragedy, but as a national betrayal and failure.