President Tinubu’s swift military intervention, which played a decisive role in foiling a coup in Benin Republic at the government’s formal request, has bolstered Nigeria’s diplomatic standing as a regional leader committed to democratic norms but has simultaneously ignited fierce domestic criticism over perceived security priorities and a glaring contrast in the urgency applied to internal crises.
by Nij Martin
The swift roar of Nigerian fighter jets over Cotonou on a Sunday morning was more than a military maneuver; it was a geopolitical statement. President Bola Tinubu’s decisive order to assist the Republic of Benin in crushing an attempted coup has sent shockwaves radiating in two distinct directions: outward across the diplomatic landscape of West Africa, and inward, striking the raw nerve of Nigeria’s own domestic security anxieties. This intervention, while a clear tactical success, is not a simple victory. It is a complex event that illuminates Nigeria’s aspirational role on the continent while holding up an unforgiving mirror to its internal contradictions.
From a foreign policy perspective, the intervention is a significant, multi-layered win for the Tinubu administration and for the broader architecture of West African stability. First and foremost, it represents a robust reassertion of Nigerian leadership. In recent years, Nigeria’s influence has been perceived as waning, challenged by a wave of coups in the Sahel and the departure of Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger from ECOWAS to form the Russia-friendly Alliance of Sahel States. By acting with unprecedented speed and efficacy—deploying air and ground forces within hours of a formal request—Nigeria demonstrated that it remains the region’s indispensable security power. It showed a capacity for rapid power projection that few on the continent can match.
Secondly, the operation was a textbook application of collective regional principles. President Tinubu correctly anchored the action in the “ECOWAS Protocol on Democracy and Good Governance,” which enshrines a zero-tolerance policy for unconstitutional changes of government. Unlike the complex, stalled negotiations with the junta in Niger, this was a clean operation in support of a sitting, recognized government. It bolstered the credibility of ECOWAS, which pledged its own standby force afterward, and aligned perfectly with the African Union’s stance. For international partners, particularly the United States and France, who view Benin’s President Patrice Talon as a key democratic ally in a fragile region, Nigeria’s action was a welcome demonstration of local capacity to solve local problems, potentially countering the narrative that only external actors like Russia’s Wagner Group can provide effective security.
Furthermore, saving Benin has profound strategic importance. Benin is not just any neighbor; it is a critical economic corridor for Nigeria, housing the vital port of Cotonou, which handles a significant portion of Nigeria’s informal trade. A successful coup, especially one potentially sympathetic to the new Sahelian alliance or exploiting popular grievances Talon has faced, could have destabilized Nigeria’s entire western flank and worsened the jihadist spillover from the north. By securing the Talon government, Nigeria protected its own economic and security interests. The intervention sends a stark deterrent message to would-be putschists elsewhere: attempting to overthrow a government that enjoys Nigeria’s firm backing carries immense risk.
However, the triumphant statements from Abuja and Cotonou have been met with a torrent of scepticism and anger within Nigeria itself. This domestic backlash is perhaps the most consequential implication of the intervention, revealing a deep and dangerous chasm between the government’s international ambitions and its citizens’ lived reality.
The primary critique is one of glaring contradiction in capability and urgency. Across social media and public discourse, Nigerians posed a piercing question: If our military can orchestrate a complex, cross-border operation to secure another nation’s capital within hours, why does that same efficiency seem eternally elusive at home? Citizens highlighted the relentless scourge of banditry in the northwest, where villages are routinely sacked; kidnappings on major highways that have become industries; and the persistent insurgency in the northeast. The sentiment, as one commentator starkly put it, is that “the government has the capability to help the people but refused.” This fuels a powerful narrative of misplaced priorities, where the political capital and military resources expended on a foreign adventure are seen as a direct diversion from the existential threats strangling Nigerian communities.
This action has also sparked a fierce debate on sovereignty and hypocrisy. Critics were quick to draw parallels to statements from figures like U.S. President Donald Trump, who has threatened unilateral action against terrorists in Nigeria. The argument posits a double standard: if it is impermissible for a foreign power to intervene in Nigeria based on its own assessment of a threat (e.g., to protect Christians), how can Nigeria justify its intervention in Benin, regardless of the request? “If you argue that Donald Trump lacks powers… then you’ll be the greatest hypocrite,” one observer noted. This challenges the consistency of defending the principle of sovereignty, warning that Nigeria may have set a precedent it will not appreciate being used against it in the future.
Underlying all this is a profound crisis of trust and credibility. For many Nigerians, the intervention did not inspire pride but deepened a sense of neglect. It became a symbol of a state that is potent abroad but seemingly impotent at home. The operation underscored a bitter truth: the Nigerian state can act with devastating speed and coordination when the threat is to the regional order or a fellow government, but appears slow, bureaucratic, and ineffectual when the victims are its own citizens. This perception is toxic to social cohesion and national morale.
The aftermath of the Benin intervention leaves the Tinubu administration at a critical crossroads. Diplomatically, it has earned Nigeria short-term leverage and praise. It has strengthened the Talon government, likely ensuring continued cooperation on security and trade, and repositioned Nigeria as a proactive ECOWAS chair. However, this capital is fragile. It will be quickly squandered if perceived as a one-off act of prestige rather than part of a consistent, principled regional strategy, especially in dealing with the more entrenched juntas.
Domestically, the government faces a much more urgent task: bridging the credibility gap. The undeniable competence displayed in Benin has raised public expectations sky-high. The administration’s most pressing challenge is now to demonstrably channel that same operational resolve, intelligence coordination, and rapid-deployment capability into addressing internal security crises. Anything less will confirm the public’s worst fears and cement the narrative of a government indifferent to its people’s suffering.
To bring it all down, the foiling of the coup in Benin was a successful foreign policy execution with significant regional benefits. Yet, its most lasting impact may be domestic. It has provided Nigerian citizens with an undeniable benchmark for what their military and government are capable of achieving. The intervention, therefore, is not just a story about saving a neighbor’s democracy; it is a story that has handed the Nigerian people a powerful new frame of reference to judge their own leaders. The ultimate implication is clear: the same decisiveness that secured Cotonou must now, visibly and relentlessly, be turned toward securing Kaduna, Zamfara, Sokoto, and Borno. If not, the domestic fallout from this foreign success could become Tinubu’s most unmanageable crisis.