Ex-Boko Haram fighters deradicalized, but still unreconciled
Ibrahim Dubji, a former Boko Haram conscript, sits by his tent house in a camp for displaced people in Maiduguri, Nigeria, on Oct. 27, 2020. Mr. Dubji, banished from his village, has tried to seek forgiveness from his community members with no success.
Sani Adam
Lagos and Borno, Nigeria
When Ibrahim Dubji began the journey home to Gwoza in 2017, he was bubbling over with conflicting emotions.
There was the joy that his daughter was getting married聽鈥 and the dread of seeing neighbors who had lost loved ones to Boko Haram. Mr. Dubji had fought for the terror sect for years after being conscripted, he says. But in the past few months, he had completed a state-sponsored deradicalization course. He was returning a new man.
The people of Gwoza thought otherwise. At the entrance of the fragile town, devastated from years of raids and brutal attacks, soldiers positioned at the gates arrested and questioned him: Why had he come back? Was he still a fighter? After a night in detention, Mr. Dubji was thrown out of Gwoza, away from his daughter鈥檚 wedding, the house he built, and his family.
Why We Wrote This
Can radical militants be rehabilitated? Deradicalization is only part of the equation. The rest depends on wounded communities deciding whether to accept them back 鈥 and deep, difficult dialogue.
鈥淭hey told me I won鈥檛 enter even though I provided evidence that I have been cleared,鈥 says a still-stunned Mr. Dubji. He sits on a mat in the camp for people who have been displaced that鈥檚 now his home, a city of tents tucked into a corner of Maiduguri, the city at the heart of the insurgency. Mr. Dubji鈥檚 face is gaunt, eyes sunken into sockets. 鈥淪ince I had been cleared I don鈥檛 see any reason why they denied me entry to the town.鈥
Hundreds of former fighters like Mr. Dubji have undergone the government鈥檚 course, touted as a way to reintegrate repentant fighters. Yet it鈥檚 vehemently opposed by many citizens, and unclear how many 鈥済raduates鈥 have really returned to their communities 鈥 and how many are floating around northeast Nigeria, unable to go home.
Since 2016, the Nigerian military has run the 16-week course, Operation Safe Corridor (OPSC), in the sleepy northwest city of Gombe, away from the bloodshed farther northeast where Boko Haram factions lay claim. With OPSC, the government hopes to help low-risk defectors live again in the communities they left behind, by teaching them to let go of extremist ideals. The program is also a soft strike at the terror group, an attempt to frustrate recruiting activities and encourage more foot soldiers to surrender.
But to deliver on that promise, critics say, OPSC must reform. Successful reintegration depends on two things: defectors themselves, and the towns being asked to reaccept them, even as they struggle to heal聽鈥 which will require deep dialogue and cooperation.
鈥淲ithout justice, there can鈥檛 be any forgiveness,鈥 says London-based security analyst , of the for Global Change. And justice, in the eyes of many survivors, has yet to arrive.
From combatants to clients
Over the past decade, Boko Haram鈥檚 Islamist insurgency has killed more than 30,000 people and displaced 2.5 million. The Nigerian military has struggled to stamp out the threat, as Boko Haram factions continue to recruit volunteers and capture forced conscripts. But the group鈥檚 powers have been significantly clipped over the years, and hundreds of fighters have escaped its forest enclaves.
More than聽 ex-fighters graduated from OPSC by August 2020, with some 2,000 men currently enrolled or being prepped for the course. About聽聽have been transferred to a separate, shorter deradicalization, rehabilitation, and reintegration program set aside for women and children, run by international organizations including UNICEF.
Once detained, or after turning themselves in, repentant fighters undergo a profiling process and appear before a judicial panel to provide testimonies. The process helps the military determine their level of radicalization.
鈥淭hose captured in combat are processed for prosecution, but the ones that have not been ideologically indoctrinated because they were conscripted, they were abducted, are the ones being rehabilitated,鈥 army spokesperson Brig. Gen. Onyema Nwachukwu聽. 鈥淭hey call them low-risk combatants. Those do not buy into Boko Haram agenda; they were forced into it. These repentant members have been assisting the military by providing intelligence on Boko Haram activities.鈥
础蹿迟别谤听 non-threats, participants (referred to as 鈥渃lients鈥) go through therapy, religious re-education, and literacy and vocational skills training. Mr. Dubji, who learned to make perfumes and soaps, says the last was most important for him. Poverty and a lack of opportunities in the arid region have motivated many men to join groups like Boko Haram. Mr. Dubji鈥檚 case is different since he鈥檚 a forced conscript, but he says those skills helped him start a small trading business he survives on 鈥 though the startup loan that the Borno state government had promised never came.
OPSC鈥橲 funding information is not public; an email requesting funding details from the program director, Maj. Gen. Bamidele Shafa, as well as other information about OPSC received no response. In February 2020, the legislature 聽to establish a national agency devoted to rehabilitation, though there has been no further deliberation.
Funds for survivors
But OPSC has received major backlash, on everything from its existence to its administration. Many Nigerians say the program diverts much-needed funds to people who do not deserve them amid a recession. Politicians from the states worst-hit by Boko Haram have voiced their displeasure, and there is heavy pressure from civil organizations to abandon the bill and divert funds to survivors.
Nigeria鈥檚 northeast, the site of most fighting, faces a looming food crisis, and is home to many of the country鈥檚 poorest and least literate communities. Many residents insist they cannot put Boko Haram鈥檚 atrocities behind them and heal while living with their attackers, especially as some areas continue to experience attacks.
鈥淏ringing them [ex-fighters] here is very wrong,鈥 says Mohammed Buba Dada, a Gwoza businessman. 鈥淭hey are the set of people that burned our homes, they are the reasons we left our community, and they are the people still being used to kill our relatives, our mothers, our children, our wives, our sons. It鈥檚 a good thing the government empowers them, but one thing that鈥檚 not fair is bringing them to stay at our side again.鈥
Gwoza, near the border with Cameroon, is particularly devastated. In 2014, when the sect 聽as the headquarters of its caliphate, fighters slaughtered 聽in the public abattoir. Mr. Dada鈥檚 brother was killed and his cousin is still missing. The military claims Gwoza is now safe, but many stay back in Maiduguri camps, still fearing attacks 鈥 the same camps housing some ex-fighters like Mr. Dubji.
The government has not about the program, muddling an already tense situation, some analysts say. 鈥淭here are issues around financial transparency and accountability and there鈥檚 the lack of an explicit curriculum on what鈥檚 to be done at each stage or how to measure impact,鈥 says Mr. Bukarti, a northeasterner himself and one of few outsiders to step foot in the Gombe camp. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 have a scientific way to determine if they are ripe for integration.鈥
There are also questions about some of the men painted as ex-fighters, points out Murtala Abdullahi, another security analyst from the region, and Mr. Bukarti. Local observers speculate that participants could include some of the thousands of men whom rights groups of randomly arresting and torturing in the first years of the insurgency.
Others point out that stigma and poverty could drive defectors back to Boko Haram. As for Mr. Dubji, he has no plans to return. What he wants is forgiveness and acceptance. But it may be too late.
鈥淭he way they killed and slaughtered people in our community, it鈥檚 like they鈥檒l never become like normal humans again,鈥 says Abdullahi Abdullahi, a trader in Maiduguri (not related to the security analyst). 鈥淲hat I will tell the government to do is extend the time of [deradicalization]. Creating another place for them is the best idea. They killed our loved ones. I don鈥檛 think we will accept them again in our community.鈥
Justice, then forgiveness
Yet some observers insist OPSC is crucial and has achieved some level of success. Mr. Bukarti doubts any graduates have fully reintegrated, but affirms that the program can combat extremist ideologies, noting that men he spoke to on his visit in 2018 were eager to read and speak to him in English聽鈥 the kind of secular Western education that Boko Haram kills for.
Save for continued detentions聽鈥 or , for which human rights organizations have hounded the Nigerian military聽鈥 there are few other options for 鈥渟olving鈥 the problem of thousands of ex-fighters, analysts say.
鈥淎 lot of the pushback we are seeing is very emotional, but what is the security implication of neglecting such people [ex-fighters] who are probably dealing with psychological issues?鈥 asks Tanwa Ashiru, founder of Bulwark Intelligence, which provides defense and security services.
What is most lacking, critics point out, is support for rehabilitation聽鈥 especially community engagement. Many victims continue to face attacks and languish in camps, without a clear process or funds to help restart their lives. OPSC may re-tune minds, but it fails at reintegration because there鈥檚 no agency tasked with preparing communities, Mr. Bukarti points out.
鈥淵ou need to rehabilitate members of communities, restore livelihoods, and then start discussing with communities if they want some traditional form of justice, forgiveness, and reconciliation mechanism facilitated by government,鈥 he says. 鈥淒isplaced victims tell me, 鈥楾he government feels Boko Haram are better than us. We have lost everything we have and Boko Haram is given preferential treatment. They are better than us economically. They have been psychologically treated while no one has treated us.鈥欌
Appeasing communities, all three analysts say, will take the military eliminating Boko Haram, firstly. It will take clear communication on the program鈥檚 risks, costs, and effectiveness. And it will take counseling, dialogue, and community-focused sentencing to ensure they feel justice is meted out. Survivors care little about evidence in courts, or the fact that ex-fighters probably played minor roles in Boko Haram.
Gacaca courts, , may offer lessons, although they faced their聽. Based on traditional models of restorative justice, the courts聽鈥 whose judges did not need legal training聽鈥 would oversee confession, assign sanctions, and often prescribe community-based reparations. Ex-Boko Haram fighters could also be sentenced to community service, Mr. Bukarti suggests, such as rebuilding destroyed schools and houses.
Ultimately, if communities don鈥檛 want ex-fighters, they should be resettled elsewhere, Ms. Ashiru says.
鈥淭here鈥檚 a lot of psychological hurt so you can鈥檛 do things haphazardly,鈥 she says. 鈥淏efore bringing these guys back there must be psychological help and you need to seek the community鈥檚 blessings. It鈥檚 one issue our governments have; they鈥檙e not too keen on listening.鈥