“Governance … has been turned into a mad rush to empty the treasury for private use. This means the core business of governance has disappeared for decades, and the outcome has been a State that does not do its work”. – Professor Jibrin Ibrahim
In response to the recent resurgence of Boko Haram militants in Borno State, Governor Babagana Zulum raised fresh concerns about the group’s reoccupation of certain areas around the Lake Chad Basin and the Sambisa Forest, often described as “ungoverned spaces.”
It is common for security experts, academics, and politicians to reference this term when explaining the persistence of insecurity in parts of Nigeria. The idea is that terrorists and bandits operate from areas beyond the control of the Nigerian state.
This article explores the concept of “governed” versus “ungoverned” spaces within the context of national security. As I have argued in previous writings, one of the most critical obstacles to effectively addressing insecurity in Nigeria is our persistent misdiagnosis of the problem. Just like medicine, an accurate diagnosis is essential before any meaningful treatment begins. If we start with the flawed assumption that these territories are “ungoverned,” we risk misunderstanding the dynamics at play, and as a result, our responses will be misguided and ineffective.
Ungoverned spaces generally refer to geographical areas where the state is either absent or unable to exercise effective authority and provide basic governance functions such as security, justice, infrastructure, and public services. These spaces are typically characterised by a lack of institutional presence, enabling non-state actors, such as insurgent groups, terrorists, and criminal networks, to assert influence or control.
The idea has deep roots in classical political theory, particularly in the Westphalian notion of the state, which assumes that states hold sovereign authority over a clearly defined territory. According to this model, governance entails a state’s ability to maintain law and order, implement policies, and regulate activities within its borders. When parts of a state’s territory fall outside its effective reach, they are deemed “ungoverned.”
However, the term gained global prominence in the aftermath of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, when U.S. and Western national security strategies began to link “ungoverned spaces” to the rise of transnational threats. In the 2002 U.S. National Security Strategy, failed and weak states were identified as potential sanctuaries for terrorist groups like al-Qaeda, whose operations thrived in areas lacking strong state presence, such as Afghanistan’s mountainous regions. This perspective positioned ungoverned spaces as local challenges and international security risks.
Since then, ungoverned spaces have become central to global security and development discourse. These areas are often found in remote or rural regions with weak infrastructure, Conflict-affected zones where the state has lost control, borderlands where jurisdiction is unclear or contested, in some cases, armed-controlled urban slums, and increasingly, non-territorial domains such as cyberspace.
In many conflict-affected regions of Africa, Asia, and Latin America, non-state actors often step into governance vacuums by providing basic services, enforcing rules, or offering protection. These actors create alternative governance systems that either compete with or entirely substitute for formal state authority. This conception of ungoverned spaces is particularly salient in regions like the central Sahel, where the absence of effective state presence in the northern territories has been widely cited as a key driver of insecurity. Security analysts frequently highlight these zones on maps, categorising them as “ungoverned spaces” due to the state’s limited or non-existent control. In Nigeria, such spaces are typically found in forest reserves, sparsely populated rural areas, and rugged terrains, especially across the northern part of the country, where state presence is minimal and non-state actors, including insurgents and criminal networks, operate with relative impunity.
The reality, however, is that these so-called “ungoverned spaces” are not devoid of governance, they are governed, just not by the Nigerian state. Instead, they are alternatively governed spaces where non-state actors have supplanted official authority. Armed groups, bandits, terrorists, and criminal networks dominate these areas, imposing their own systems of control over the populations. While their authority is neither democratically sanctioned nor benign, often enforced through coercion and brutality, it nonetheless constitutes a form of governance. These groups enforce rules, collect taxes or levies, control access to land and resources, manage local economies, adjudicate disputes, and even appoint local leaders. In some communities, farming activities are tightly regulated: criminal authorities allocate land, oversee agricultural production, and in some cases operate communal farms using forced labour. They also provide a form of “security,” paradoxically protecting residents primarily from their own or rival violence, while determining who may live, work, or travel within the territory. This form of governance reflects not a vacuum, but a contested and deeply fractured sovereignty, where state absence has enabled the rise of violent, parallel orders.
Take, for example, the flow of cash within these territories. While many Nigerians struggle with access to cash due to banking constraints, criminal networks in these “ungoverned” areas seem to operate with fluid and untraceable financial systems. Ransoms worth billions of naira are paid and received without a trace. While it is often assumed that this money is used to buy more weapons, there is a more complex and organised system at play, one that suggests these groups are not just violent actors, but economic and political ones as well.
Labelling areas as “ungoverned spaces” is, in essence, an admission of state failure, a self-indictment. Governance is the fundamental responsibility of the state; when the state fails to govern, other actors inevitably step in. Like animal groups, human societies will always find mechanisms to organise and manage themselves. These mechanisms may not align with formal legal or ethical standards, but they often serve functional purposes for the people living within those spaces. If we are serious about tackling insecurity in Nigeria, we must start by challenging the concept of “ungoverned spaces.” We must recognise that these are territories governed by alternative authorities, criminal, violent, and illegitimate though they may be. Until we acknowledge this reality, our strategies will remain misaligned, and our response ineffective.
The concept of “ungoverned spaces” significantly shapes how such territories are perceived and treated. Areas labelled this way often exist outside Nigeria’s sovereign geographic and administrative space. As a result, they are approached as though they are detached from the state, with little consideration for the innocent civilians who live within or near them. In many instances, these populations become collateral damage, caught between aerial bombings targeting criminal groups and the retaliatory violence of those same groups.
Insurgent or bandit groups typically view unarmed civilian populations in or near these territories with deep suspicion. Locals are often perceived as outsiders or potential collaborators with state forces. Consequently, they are subjected to violence and reprisals when security forces target the armed groups. Because state forces, especially through airstrikes, are difficult for insurgents to retaliate against directly, the insurgents often direct their anger at civilians, accusing them of conspiracy or information-sharing.
This situation also mirrors a disturbing logic sometimes adopted by state actors, in which civilians living under the control of armed groups are viewed not as victims of state absence, but as complicit by mere proximity. In such a framework, the presence of civilians in these territories becomes suspect, and state security responses often fail to distinguish between coercion and collaboration. This blurring of lines exacerbates the suffering of already vulnerable populations, who find themselves caught between brutal non-state governance and indiscriminate state violence. It further alienates communities from the state, deepens mistrust, and undermines any long-term efforts at stabilisation, peacebuilding, or reintegration. The state’s inability, or unwillingness, to recognise the complex survival dynamics in these spaces ultimately contributes to the persistence of alternative orders.
To be clear, this is not an argument for legitimising alternative governance structures, especially those that are violent, coercive, or terroristic. However, we must acknowledge that these structures often exhibit the characteristics of statehood, and their presence complicates the security landscape. Ignoring their capacity for control and violence will only escalate the crisis. The raging question, then, is: How do we deal with such realities?
Nigeria has experienced a gradual erosion of governance since the 1980s. Neoliberal economic reforms, grand corruption and the centralisation of power, first under military rule and later under a civilian government, have hollowed out state presence in many areas. The forest reserves now occupied by bandits and insurgents were once under the effective control of the Nigerian state. Authorities were present and functional. Many of those institutions still exist and continue to receive budget allocations. Consider the Lake Chad Basin Authority, the National Park Service, and various forest management agencies. Some of these institutions even operate extensive training and research facilities intended to build conservation and land management capacity. So, why did they retreat?
It wasn’t only the threat of armed groups that drove them out. Governance itself has been withdrawing from these spaces for decades, crippled by corruption, poor funding, unpaid staff, demotivated staff, unfilled vacancies, decaying infrastructure and over centralised and increasingly partisan leadership. The rise of non-state armed groups merely accelerated a process that was already well underway.
It is important to recall that wildlife conservation in Nigeria dates back to the 1930s, during the colonial era. While conservation was the official rationale, these efforts were also shaped by political and demographic imperatives, especially in Northern Nigeria, where the colonial administration faced significant challenges in governing a vast and sparsely populated landscape. Even before colonial rule, pre-colonial polities struggled to exert full control over some of their frontier zones, which historically lay beyond the reach of centralised authorities. In response, the British colonial government implemented policies aimed at consolidating control. These included restrictions on population movement and discouragement of dispersed rural settlements. Forest reserves were not only created for ecological purposes but also to encourage population concentration and urbanisation, thereby facilitating tax collection and enabling more effective security operations. The post-colonial Nigerian state inherited and continued many of these policies, often without critically examining or fully understanding the ideological and strategic objectives that had originally informed them.
Whether we recognise these alternative systems or not, they exist, and often fill the vacuum left by state institutions. The real question, then, is not whether they should exist, but how the state should respond. The answer is straightforward: formal governance must return to these abandoned or contested spaces.
The broader point I’ve been making in this piece and previous ones is that security is not solely about armed force or tactical operations. It is not just about what the military or police do but also about how citizens live, how they feel, and whether they believe they belong to a functional society. Security is deeply tied to the quality of life, socio-economic inclusion, and access to opportunities.
Societies plagued by poverty, exclusion, and marginalisation are inherently difficult to secure. These conditions are socially corrosive. They unravel the social fabric, erode trust, and weaken the very systems that sustain peace and stability. The situation becomes even more dangerous when compounded by grand corruption and elite indifference. In such environments, alternative power structures find fertile ground to thrive, no matter how illegitimate or violent. In the face of expanding alternatively governed spaces, military operations cannot stand alone. They must be integrated with political, social, and economic interventions. The role of the security forces cannot be limited to “hit-and-run” tactics. Security forces must engage, hold ground in the medium term, support rebuilding civil institutions, and help create avenues for economic renewal.
When security forces strike from afar or withdraw immediately after engagement, non-state armed groups inevitably return, often with greater vengeance and brutality, targeting unarmed civilians. This cycle breeds frustration and desperation, leading communities to seek self-help solutions, including arming themselves, which I have warned is a dangerous trajectory for our national security.
Mr Abdu is an International Development and Humanitarian expert based in Abuja. He can be reached at hussainiabdu@yahoo.com.
