Between Hope and Betrayal: Rethinking Peace Accords in Katsina
By Ahmed Abdulkadir
As Katsina renews its push for dialogue with bandits, recent attacks in Faskari, Musawa, and Zamfara raise troubling questions. Can this new peace accord succeed where past efforts under Governor Masari collapsed—or is the state once again walking into a cycle of fragile promises and broken trust?
Katsina State has once again chosen the path of dialogue with the bandits who have tormented its rural communities for years. The idea of a peace accord is not new here. During the tenure of former Governor Aminu Bello Masari, such deals were struck in the hope of ending bloodshed. Yet history records that many of those promises were short-lived. The bandits often went back on their word, and villages that had celebrated the truce soon found themselves under siege again.
Today, under the new administration, the story seems to be replaying itself. In Faskari, where community leaders sat with notorious commanders to pledge peace, the ink on the deal was hardly dry before gunmen ambushed a military convoy. Two soldiers were injured before the attackers were repelled. In neighboring Zamfara, gunmen stormed a mosque at dawn and carted away worshippers—even though peace talks were also underway there.
Now, a disturbing example has emerged from Tuge Ward in Musawa Local Government Area. Residents there lament that since their council entered into a peace arrangement with armed groups, life has become unbearable. Before the deal, locals carried weapons to defend themselves. But once they were told peace had been secured, they laid them down, trusting that dialogue would bring safety. Instead, bandits now stroll into their community armed, harass people openly, abduct residents at will, and take property without challenge.
On September 14th, bandits invaded Tuge by night and abducted two people. Reports also came in from nearby Gin-gin and Danjanku Karachi where abductions occurred in the same week, despite the so-called peace. The very next day, September 15th, bandits again entered Tuge in broad daylight, demanding fuel, seizing a petrol dealer’s phone, and later dispossessing a trader of his motorcycle and goods along the Tsabe road. Villagers now wonder aloud whether this “sulhu” is truly a peace agreement—or merely a license granted to criminals to continue humiliating innocent citizens.
Such testimonies expose the cracks in Katsina’s approach. They show how communities that ought to be the beneficiaries of peace instead feel more vulnerable, stripped of self-defense while bandits exploit the deal as cover for unchecked atrocities. The people of Tuge Ward have called on their leaders and the government to intervene, clarify the terms of the peace, and restore order before despair sets in completely.
These incidents lay bare the fragility of such accords. They highlight a reality many communities already understand: the armed groups ravaging the northwest are not a single, unified force. They are fragmented, with rival leaders, splinter groups, and freelance gangs. When one commander shakes hands at the negotiation table, another may be planning an attack in the next village.
The risk for Katsina’s government is clear. By signing an agreement without building strong enforcement and monitoring, it may repeat the mistakes of the past. Communities could be left disillusioned, seeing the state as naive or even complicit, while the bandits use the cover of “peace” to regroup, rearm, and strike again.
Yet abandoning dialogue altogether would also be costly. Force alone has not defeated the crisis; military operations have often pushed fighters across borders only for them to return later. The challenge, then, is not whether to talk, but how to talk—and how to back words with credible action.
If this renewed peace effort is to succeed, it must be different from Masari’s experiment. Agreements should be specific, enforceable, and inclusive of as many factions as possible. Independent monitors—community elders, security representatives, even neutral NGOs—must track compliance and report violations. Any breach should carry swift consequences, otherwise the deal loses meaning.
At the same time, the government must protect communities throughout the process. Publicity around peace meetings should be handled with caution, lest bandits exploit them for ambushes. Security patrols should remain active, so villagers do not feel abandoned once talks begin. And above all, promises made must be promises kept. Failure to deliver incentives, disarmament, or rehabilitation programs was one of the key reasons earlier deals collapsed.
Katsina’s leaders stand at a crossroads. They can either allow history to repeat itself—entering into another round of hollow peace that ends in betrayal—or they can craft a new model that learns from past mistakes. The people of Faskari, of Musawa’s Tuge Ward, of Tsafe, and countless other towns are watching closely.
Peace is possible, but only if it is pursued with eyes open, ears tuned to the cries of affected communities, and hands firm enough to enforce the commitments made. Anything less, and Katsina risks another painful cycle of hope dashed by gunfire.
Ahmed Tijjani Abdulkadir is a seasoned media executive, journalist, teacher, entrepreneur, and public servant
