Driving through the Southeast feels like a mission through a warzone. From Enugu to Abia, Anambra to Imo, the roads are littered with security checkpoints, each one manned by stern-faced officers demanding explanations, IDs, and sometimes bribes. According to data from SBM Intelligence, there are over 130 active checkpoints across the five Southeastern states—more than in any other region of Nigeria. It’s a security architecture that seems designed for a warfront, not a peaceful civilian population.
The official justification remains the same: rising insecurity from separatist agitation, banditry, and the so-called “unknown gunmen.” But the effect on ordinary Nigerians is far-reaching and deeply disruptive. On average, travelers now spend an additional 1.5 to 2 hours on routes that used to take under four hours due to prolonged stops at multiple checkpoints. A trip from Enugu to Owerri—a distance of just 164 km can involve 12 to 15 stops, depending on the day. Commercial drivers report losing ₦3,000 to ₦5,000 daily to bribes across these checkpoints. That’s not counting the extra fuel costs and lost working hours.
For the local economy, the numbers are even starker. A 2022 analysis by the International Centre for Investigative Reporting (ICIR) estimated that the informal payments made at checkpoints in Nigeria total over ₦50 billion annually. A disproportionate amount of that comes from the Southeast, where movement of agricultural produce, retail goods, and people is stifled by extortion and delays. Traders moving perishable goods suffer the most, with spoilage and missed market windows eroding their already thin profits.
Beyond the economic cost is the psychological toll. In a region still carrying the scars of the civil war, the sight of sandbags, AK-47s, and uniformed men every few kilometers is a chilling reminder of conflict. What should be a simple drive to a family event or business meeting feels like navigating a hostile territory. The youth, in particular, internalize a message: that they are threats in their own land. And this breeds resentment, fear, and mistrust poison to any democratic society.
Globally, over-policing of specific regions often reflects deeper fractures in state-citizen relations. Nigeria’s Southeast is no exception. Instead of offering security through smart, data-driven policing, the state seems to have opted for an oppressive show of force. Yet, history and global practice show us that peace built on intimidation never lasts. Community trust, civic engagement, and social investment are more effective at achieving real security.
It’s also worth asking: what are the opportunity costs for the state? Security personnel deployed to man checkpoints for hours could be used in intelligence gathering, patrolling forest belts where actual threats hide, or responding to emergency calls. The human resources tied down in roadside theatrics could be doing real work to make Nigerians safer. Instead, the state bleeds public trust—and the economy bleeds money.
The southeast is not a battlefield. It is home to some of the country’s most industrious citizens, many of whom have built global businesses, led innovation, and powered local economies. Treating them as suspects before citizens only deepens national wounds.
Many believe there are no enough efforts to make up for the civil war.
What Nigeria needs now is smart security, not show-of-force intimidation. It is time to dismantle fear, rebuild trust, and embrace a new patriotism, one that protects without punishing and secures without suppressing.