By Joke Kujenya
THERE ARE moments when silence says more than words ever could. This is one such moment.
For days now, I have struggled to understand the deafening silence surrounding the abducted teachers and pupils in Oyo State.
Every passing day without clear information deepens the anguish of their families and leaves the rest of us wondering whether those entrusted with protecting lives still appreciate the weight of this tragedy.
How do schoolchildren simply vanish into the hands of armed men, and then almost disappear from the national conversation?
That question refuses to leave my mind.
When the gunmen struck, the nation reacted with outrage. Government officials condemned the attack. Security agencies promised swift action.
Nigerians expected a determined response, marked not only by action behind the scenes but also by regular reassurance that every available effort was being made to bring the victims home safely.
Yet, as I look around today, that sense of urgency appears to have slipped quietly from public view.
The headlines have become fewer. Official briefings have almost disappeared. Public assurances are increasingly rare.
Meanwhile, families continue to endure the torment of uncertainty while millions of Nigerians are left asking one simple question: What has become of the abducted teachers and pupils?
I am not suggesting that security agencies should disclose operational plans or conduct intelligence work in public. No responsible citizen expects that.
But there is an important distinction between protecting sensitive operations and leaving an anxious nation with almost nothing to hold on to.
Have security agencies established where the victims are being held?
Have negotiations begun, stalled or concluded?
Have there been credible signs of life?
Are the abductees receiving food or medical attention?
Have rescue efforts been attempted?
Most importantly, are they still alive?
These are not unreasonable questions. They arise naturally when innocent children and their teachers are taken from their classrooms and disappear into uncertainty.
I do not believe the families are asking for miracles. They are asking for communication.
Both the Federal Government and the Oyo State Government have repeatedly assured Nigerians that protecting schools remains a priority.
Those assurances should not end with the first round of press statements. Leadership during moments like this is measured not only by what happens behind closed doors but also by consistent engagement with the citizens whose confidence government is expected to uphold.
Periodic updates matter.
Even where operational details cannot be disclosed, authorities can reassure the public that rescue efforts remain active, intelligence is being pursued and the victims have not been forgotten. Such communication strengthens public confidence without compromising security.
Instead, an information vacuum has emerged.
And whenever government stops speaking, rumours quickly begin speaking in its place.
Social media becomes flooded with recycled videos, fabricated rescue stories and false claims, while desperate families cling to speculation because verified information is unavailable.
That should never happen when the lives of schoolchildren and teachers are at stake.
There is something else that worries me.
Silence has a dangerous way of reducing a nation’s sense of urgency. Once official voices grow quiet, public attention begins to drift elsewhere. Other crises dominate the headlines.
Political arguments take centre stage. Before long, those still in captivity risk becoming another forgotten chapter in Nigeria’s painful history of insecurity.
Who, then, keeps the pressure on?
Who reminds the authorities that Nigerians are still waiting?
Who reassures anxious parents that every available resource is still being deployed to bring their loved ones home?
To be fair, security operations often demand patience, confidentiality and careful planning. Some successful rescues have depended on quiet intelligence work rather than public declarations.
That reality should be acknowledged.
But confidentiality should never become an excuse for prolonged silence.
Somewhere tonight, parents will once again stare at an empty bed and wonder whether their child has eaten, slept or survived another day.
Somewhere, brothers and sisters will ask questions that no family should ever have to answer.
Their nightmare continues even as the nation moves on.
The abducted teachers and pupils deserve better.
Their families deserve better.
Nigeria deserves better.
Until every abductee is rescued—or government provides credible information about their condition and the progress being made—the questions will remain.
Where are they?
What condition are they in?
What progress has truly been made?
Why have official updates become so scarce?
And why has the public conversation grown quieter while families continue to live through unimaginable uncertainty?
I keep returning to those questions because they refuse to go away.
In any democracy, silence should never become official policy when citizens’ lives hang in the balance.
Governments will come and go. Headlines will change.
But for the parents waiting for a child who never came home from school, time has stood still.
Until those children and their teachers return safely, silence should never be allowed to have the final word.
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