12 September, 2026.
When a man who swore an oath to protect every Nigerian stands on national television and draws a line between "our people" and the rest of us, the country needs to sit up and pay attention. General Christopher Musa, the Minister of Defence and until recently the Chief of Defence Staff, did exactly that on September 3, 2026, during an appearance on Channels Television. Speaking about the killings in Southern Kaduna, Musa declared that "we can never be happy with somebody who deliberately planned for the killing of our people".
Our people. Not Nigerians. Not citizens. Not the people he is constitutionally obligated to defend. Our people.
That single phrase, spoken by the man who controls the Nigerian military's arsenal, exposes a troubling truth: Christopher Musa has taken a side. And for those of us who do not fall under his definition of "our people," the question is no longer whether he is neutral. The question is whether we can trust him with our lives.
Consider the record. Under Musa's watch, whether as Chief of Defence Staff or as Minister of Defence, a pattern has emerged that is impossible to ignore. In December 2023, a military drone strike hit a religious gathering in Tudun Biri, Kaduna State, killing at least 85 civilians, mostly women and children, who had gathered to celebrate Maulud. The military called it a mistake, claiming the victims were mistaken for bandits. Two soldiers were later court-martialed for "acts of omission or commission".
In December 2024, Nigerian Air Force jets bombed Gidan Sama and Runtua in Sokoto State during an operation targeting Lakurawa terrorists. A fact-finding investigation confirmed that 13 civilians were unintentionally killed and eight others injured. The Air Force eventually paid compensation and expressed its "deep sadness".
In January 2025, an airstrike in Tunga Kara, Zamfara State, killed at least 16 civilians. Residents said the victims were local vigilantes returning after chasing away bandits. Amnesty International put the death toll at 20. The military acknowledged conducting strikes but insisted it had dealt "a decisive blow to bandits".
Then came April 2026. A Nigerian Air Force strike hit the Jilli village market on the Borno-Yobe border. Amnesty International cited survivors saying at least 100 people were killed. Local officials told Reuters the death toll exceeded 200. The military said it targeted a "terrorist enclave and logistics hub".
And just one month later, in May 2026, another airstrike hit the Tumfa weekly market in Zamfara State. Amnesty International reported at least 100 civilians killed, many of them women and girls. The Defence Headquarters dismissed the reports, claiming there was "no verifiable evidence of civilian casualties".
Five incidents. Hundreds of dead. All in predominantly Muslim communities. All under the watch of one man.
Now ask yourself: what did Christopher Musa say about these deaths? For the Jilli market strike, he declared: "A friend of a thief is a thief" and warned that anyone found trading or supporting terrorists would be dealt with accordingly. He said, "nobody in that area was innocent". He defended the strike as a precision operation against insurgent collaborators.
For Tudun Biri, he described it as "a mistake that should never have happened." For the others, he largely defended the operations or dismissed the casualty reports. Not once did he use the phrase "our people." Not once did he speak of the victims with the same personal anguish he reserved for Southern Kaduna.
This is the crux of the matter. When Christians were killed in Southern Kaduna, Musa's language was personal, possessive, emotional. He spoke as a man who felt the pain. When Muslims were killed by military airstrikes in Tudun Biri, Tunga Kara, Gidan Sama, Jilli, and Tumfa, his language was clinical, defensive, legalistic. The contrast is not subtle. It is glaring.
The pattern of these airstrikes has been documented by human rights organisations for years. Between January 2017 and September 2024 alone, at least 17 documented accidental airstrikes resulted in over 500 civilian deaths. A separate tally by the Associated Press found that at least 500 civilians had died in such misfires since 2017. Amnesty International has repeatedly condemned the military's "shocking disregard for the lives of those it supposedly exists to protect".
But the numbers alone do not tell the full story. The numbers do not capture the terror of a market vendor who watches a jet return to bomb a crowded square. They do not capture the grief of a family burying thirteen loved ones after a Christmas Day strike. They do not capture the rage of a community that has now buried its dead five times over while the man in charge of the military tells them that "nobody in that area was innocent."
What they do capture is a pattern of impunity. After every incident, the military announces an investigation. After every investigation, promises of compensation and improved targeting protocols are made. And then the cycle repeats. The court-martial of two soldiers for Tudun Biri is the exception, not the rule. For the other incidents, no one has been held accountable. No officer has been publicly named. No disciplinary action has been disclosed.
This is what makes Musa's "our people" comment so dangerous. It is not just a slip of the tongue. It is a window into a mindset. When the man who controls the military's air power sees some Nigerians as "our people" and others as collateral, the entire architecture of national security becomes suspect. Every Muslim community in the North now has reason to wonder: if the bombs fall on us, will the man in charge defend the strike or defend us?
The answer, based on the record, is already clear.
Christopher Musa is not on a revenge mission in any crude, personal sense. But he has taken a side. He has drawn a line. And for those of us who are not his people, the question is simple: if he will not speak for us when we are bombed, who will?
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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