Faith, Fear & Failure: Ted Cruz’s Nigeria Bill Tests Abuja’s Moral & Governance Resolve

WHEN U.S. Senator Ted Cruz introduced the Nigeria Religious Freedom Accountability Act of 2025 earlier this month, he reignited an old debate — one that cuts to the heart of Nigeria’s governance failures, its fragile unity, and the uncomfortable question of whether the country’s insecurity crisis is being driven more by religion or by the erosion of state authority.

Cruz’s bill, now before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, calls for Nigeria’s redesignation as a Country of Particular Concern (CPC) under U.S. law, citing “the world’s deadliest persecution of Christians.” His argument draws from a long list of grim statistics — thousands of Christian deaths annually, entire communities razed, and testimonies from Nigerian clergy who describe a silent, undeclared religious war in the country’s north and middle belt.

According to data from Open Doors, Genocide Watch, and Vatican News, over 50,000 Christians — and tens of thousands of Muslims — have been killed since 2009 in attacks linked to jihadist insurgencies and sectarian militias. These numbers, and the inability of successive Nigerian governments to protect citizens, underpin the U.S. legislative push.

But beneath the religious framing lies a deeper indictment — a crisis of governance. Nigeria’s security breakdown is not only about faith; it is about the state’s failure to maintain monopoly over violence. Terrorist and criminal networks operate with impunity, exploiting weak intelligence, poor coordination, and political complicity. When a government fails to secure both churches and mosques, its crisis ceases to be merely religious — it becomes existential.

The Nigerian government has dismissed Cruz’s claims as “misleading and dangerous,” insisting that Muslims, Christians, and even atheists have all suffered under the same violence. Abuja’s rebuttal, however, does not erase the fact that ungoverned spaces have become laboratories of bloodletting. Nor does it answer why large swathes of the country remain hostage to non-state actors who kill, kidnap, and displace at will.

Cruz’s bill, if passed, could have far-reaching consequences. It would reopen a diplomatic rift with Washington, potentially limiting defense cooperation, aid, and U.S. security training. It would also brand Nigeria, once again, as a country incapable of protecting basic freedoms — a painful label for Africa’s largest democracy.

Yet, the symbolism of the bill may matter more than its sanctions. It reflects how the world increasingly sees Nigeria: a nation of immense promise shackled by leadership inertia. In the U.S. view, Abuja’s inaction has turned preventable violence into policy neglect.

Ultimately, whether one calls it genocide or governance collapse, the reality is clear — Nigeria’s citizens are dying because the state cannot protect them. The Cruz bill is less an American interference than a mirror reflecting Nigeria’s most uncomfortable truth: a government that cannot guarantee security cannot claim sovereignty.

As Washington debates and Abuja deflects, the victims — Christian and Muslim alike — remain nameless graves in a land where the line between faith and failure has become fatally blurred.