An examination of the growing disconnect between the transitional authorities’ security narrative and the daily experiences of communities exposed to armed attacks.
A promised rupture that has yet to materialise
They pledged to regain control. To restore security. To return Niger’s sovereignty and dignity. Three years after the July 2023 coup d’état, the Conseil national pour la sauvegarde de la patrie (CNSP) continues to frame its seizure of power as a historic break with the past.
Yet far from Niamey, a different reality is taking shape.
In areas regularly targeted by armed groups, local populations continue to live with fear, uncertainty and, at times, a sense of abandonment. Villages are attacked, families displaced, economic activities paralysed. And one question persists: where are the leaders when attacks occur?
This may well be one of the most troubling contradictions of the military transition.
Security as a governing promise, distance as a governing practice
Since taking power, the CNSP has placed the security issue at the heart of its claim to legitimacy. The overthrow of President Mohamed Bazoum was justified in part by the deterioration of the security situation.
The promise was unambiguous: to do better.
However, in the regions most exposed to violence, particularly in the west of the country, attacks continue to shape the rhythm of daily life. In the face of this reality, a troubling observation fuels questions: the officials who embody the transition rarely appear in the areas directly affected, at the very moment when residents are confronting the aftermath of attacks.
The authorities communicate from the capital. They announce operations, commend military victories or promise responses. But for populations living near the most dangerous zones, the question is far more concrete: who comes to assess the damage? Who meets the affected families? Who explains what happened and what will be done to prevent it from happening again?
A government that has made security its principal justification cannot indefinitely content itself with discussing war from the offices of the capital.
Niamey under surveillance, the periphery under pressure
This is one of the most visible paradoxes of the system established since the coup.
At the summit, the regime’s own security has become an absolute priority. Signs of mistrust within the military apparatus, changes in the hierarchy and the multiplication of control mechanisms all point to a power preoccupied with its own stability.
Meanwhile, far from the political centre, populations remain confronted with a different kind of insecurity: one that kills, displaces, closes schools, destroys local economies and upends daily life.
Two realities appear to coexist.
On one side, a power focused on its survival and the protection of its apparatus. On the other, citizens still waiting for the promise of protection made after the coup to translate concretely into their daily lives.
Sovereignty, after all, should not stop at the gates of Niamey.
Communities bearing the cost of war
Behind every military communiqué lies a reality that official figures rarely capture in its full dimension.
There are families leaving their villages.
Farmers hesitant to return to their fields.
Traders whose businesses have been paralysed.
Children whose schooling has been disrupted.
And entire communities living in anticipation of the next attack.
It is precisely in these territories that the success or failure of the transition should be measured.
Not only in official ceremonies.
Not solely in speeches about sovereignty.
But in the state’s capacity to protect those who have neither escort, nor palace, nor special security detail.
The problem is not merely military. It is also political.
For when a population feels that its leaders are visible for ceremonies, speeches and announcements, but absent when danger strikes, trust inevitably begins to erode.
A transition that communicates more than it confronts the ground
The CNSP has built a significant part of its image on a break with the former system. New partners, a new diplomatic discourse, denunciation of foreign influence: communication around sovereignty has become one of the pillars of the regime.
But communication does not replace presence.
A state can announce victories. It can denounce its adversaries. It can mobilise the vocabulary of patriotism and resistance.
Yet one question remains: do populations genuinely feel more protected?
This is where official discourse meets its limits.
For sovereignty is not measured solely by the number of foreign partners one expels or welcomes. It is also measured by a state’s capacity to control its territory and protect its citizens, particularly those living in the most vulnerable areas.
When attacks continue and populations remain exposed, slogans ultimately collide with a reality far more difficult to disguise.
The silence of the field, the echo of speeches
The question now facing Niger extends beyond General Abdourahamane Tiani alone.
It concerns an entire system of governance.
Can a seizure of power continue to be justified by the former regime’s security failures without accepting, three years later, to be judged on the same ground?
Can a claim of closeness to the people be maintained while leaving populations in the most exposed areas waiting for a more visible state presence?
And above all, how long can a transition ask the population to wait while the promise that served as the foundation of its arrival in power remains largely unfulfilled?
True patriotism is not measured by the power of a speech.
It is also measured by a leader’s capacity to look his people’s suffering in the face.
To go where the state is expected.
To acknowledge failures as well as victories.
And to understand that a government does not protect a nation from the offices of the capital alone.
The true test
In Niger, the authorities continue to speak of sovereignty, security and rupture.
But in the areas where attacks persist, another reality imposes its own questions.
Can a regime present itself as the saviour of a people without meeting those who live daily with the consequences of insecurity?
This may be where the true assessment of the transition lies.
Not in slogans.
Not in ceremonies.
Not in televised statements.
But on those roads, in those villages and among those families who, when attacks occur, are still waiting to know whether the state will truly come to them.
For governing a country at war does not consist solely of protecting the government. It consists first and foremost of not leaving the people alone to face the war.
