THE BATTLE BEYOND BULLETS: WHAT THE NIGERIAN ARMY FACES ON SOCIAL MEDIA AND BEYOND

By Austin Peacemaker

“Soldiers can win a town today and lose public trust tomorrow — not because of failure in combat, but because of failure in communication.”

In the heart of war and diverse operations, a soldier lies in wait, not just for the next ambush, but for the next tweet of what will be the social media misrepresentation of fact or headline in his next brave and patriotic act for the country?

In the blistering heat of a sunny northeast or west, a soldier tightens his grip on his weapon, eyes alert for insurgents. Yet, while he battles danger in the bush, another battle rages elsewhere — one he never trained for.

Properly, he’s been on the frontlines for weeks or months, under the sun and the weight of his rifle, surviving on little sleep and even less certainty. Back home, his family says a prayer for him. His wife posts an old picture on WhatsApp, hoping no knock comes at the door saying “sorry ma….”

That battle is on Twitter. On Facebook. On blogs. In WhatsApp groups filled with forwarded messages and doctored clips.

This is the battle beyond bullets — and for the Nigerian Army, it’s becoming just as fierce, just as costly, and dangerously underestimated.

But in the digital streets of social media, his story is buried beneath hashtags, misinformation, and noise, forgetting they are also humans or fellow Nigerians who never started any war, rather called to defend families against the enemies.

We are in a new era where the war of perception is just as important as the war on the ground.

A 20-second clip — stripped of context — can instantly spark national outrage. An unverified tweet, posted thousands of kilometers away from the theatre of war, can spread like wildfire. Meanwhile, nuanced truth struggles to keep pace.

Come to think of it, for the Nigerian Army, the fight against insurgency, banditry, and terrorism is no longer confined to the forests, border towns, or creeks. Today, the military is fighting another kind of war—one that cannot be won with bullets or body armor. It’s a war of narratives, of public trust, and of perception.

And unlike physical combat, this one is constant. Unfiltered. Viral.

In the age of smartphones and instant outrage when facts are outpaced by feeds, a 30-second clip—stripped of context—can travel faster than a convoy of troops. A single unverified tweet can undo months of operational progress. And while scrutiny of state institutions is both necessary and democratic, the line between criticism and sabotage is blurring.

Some of the most shared posts about the military are not written by veterans, journalists, or families of soldiers. They are often authored by warriors behind the keyboard in safe havens, drawing conclusions from granular footage and assumption. And the cost? The morale of troops risking their lives daily, and the trust of a public that only sees part of the picture, or what they choose to see or interpret.

What better way can we advocate for a better military without downplaying the existing one? This isn’t a plea for silence as concerned citizens. It’s a plea for fairness.

The Nigerian Army is not perfect—no institution is. There have been failures, even tragedies. But there have also been victories: towns reclaimed, schoolchildren rescued, peace restored in communities that once lived in fear. These stories rarely trend on our social media pages or walls. They rarely spark outrage or applause. But they are just as real. Let’s not forget that no one truly appreciates a warrior until the enemy is at the gate.

Yes, Nigerians have a right to ask questions and demand better. But unchecked narratives and misinformation don’t just damage reputations — they endanger lives.

The Army is not perfect. It must be held accountable. It must be transparent. But there is a dangerous difference between constructive criticism and narrative sabotage.

We’ve seen soldiers slandered for missions they didn’t command, accused of acts they didn’t commit, and dismissed by a public that barely knows what it means to face a landmine, or go days without sleep.

“We cannot call for national peace while constantly punching holes in the morale of those risking their lives to defend it.”

If we are to build a better nation, we must learn to balance our demand for accountability with our duty to encourage, to correct with compassion, and to hold truth higher than trend or clout chasing with issues of national security of our one and only country.

It’s easy to forget that behind the camouflage are human beings, our soldiers are people too—young men and women who had other dreams but chose this path so others wouldn’t have to. They bleed. They break. They cry in the dark after watching a colleague fall.

The uniform hides more than armor. It hides youth, fear, dreams, and sacrifice. These men and women are not machines— they are someone’s child, someone’s father, someone’s wife.

They’ve missed births. Lost limbs. Held dying colleagues in their arms. And then, they scroll through social media and read: “The Army is useless.”

Can we truly build a nation if we demoralize its defenders?

A post on our part that accuses the Army wrongly without looking at the contextual situation at hand at that moment isn’t just a post. It’s a blow to someone’s spirit. It’s a whisper of defeat in the ear of someone still fighting.

Nigeria cannot win the security war by firepower alone. We must also win the battle of public confidence, accurate storytelling, and shared ownership of our collective safety.

Let social media not become a place where truth goes to die in a bid to trend. Let it become a space where truth is sharpened, stories are humanized, and soldiers feel seen—not just when they fall, but while they stand.

Where are the viral stories of heroism? Of officers who protected schoolgirls? Who rebuilt communities? Who rescued kidnapped children?

The truth is not only in what’s shared — it’s also in what’s omitted.

Yes, expose the wrongs. Yes, question the systems. But let us also honor the good, report with responsibility, and speak with empathy.

The Army cannot fight this media war alone. The Ministry of Information, civil society, traditional media, and digital citizens all have a stake. The future of our national security depends on it. Let us verify before we criticize, balance outrage with insight, tell stories that heal, not just harm the morale of our troops.

“In this war, silence wounds. Words can either protect or destroy.”

We owe it to our nation to speak wisely. We owe it to our soldiers to not let them fight on the ground and online — alone.

Because the Nigerian Army’s battle is not just against insurgents. It is also against misinformation, mistrust, and media warfare.

If we truly want peace, let us not shoot our own with tweets.

Because in the end, we all want the same thing: a safer, stronger Nigeria.

Let’s not shoot down our soldiers with our silence, or worse—with our social media posts or malicious reportage.

Austin Peacemaker Inaede
Writer | Peace Advocate | National Security Communicator