President Donald Trump has thrust Nigeria into the centre of the world’s attention, warning of possible US sanctions and even military action if the government in Abuja fails to curb the “mass killings of Christians.” In quick succession, the White House moved to re-designate Nigeria a “Country of Particular Concern” under the US International Religious Freedom Act, an action that opens the door to penalties on non-humanitarian aid. The President also told reporters he had ordered the Pentagon to prepare options up to and including air strikes. Nigeria’s government has rejected the characterisation as “misinformed” and insists it is committed to interfaith harmony.
Regardless of rhetoric, the facts on the ground are harrowing. Nigeria remains among the most dangerous places in the world to be a Christian. Open Doors lists the country in its 2025 World Watch report and continues to document systematic violence against churches and Christian communities, with analysts noting disproportionate targeting in the Middle Belt and north. Recent briefings from UK and US sources put the human toll in sobering figures: thousands killed in recent years, vast numbers displaced, and a long pattern of attacks on churches and Christian properties.
Nor is Nigeria an outlier in a tranquil world. Religious harassment is now near-universal. Pew Research recorded harassment of religious groups in 192 of 198 countries in 2022, with Christians harassed in 166 countries, more than any other faith community. In Open Doors’ reporting, more than 380 million Christians live under “high” levels of persecution or discrimination. Roughly one in seven Christians worldwide faces such conditions, rising to one in five in Africa.
In Nigeria, the mosaic of violence defies simple labels: jihadist insurgencies, banditry, communal land conflicts and criminal kidnappings overlap. Yet even controlling for this complexity, multiple monitors conclude that Christian communities are disproportionately targeted for killings, abductions and the destruction of places of worship. That is not to deny Muslim suffering in the north; indeed, many civilians are victims of the same insecurity based on religious persecution, but it is to acknowledge a specific, religiously inflected pattern that the Nigerian state has struggled to disrupt.
Against that backdrop, Mr Trump’s intervention does three things. First, it re-internationalises a crisis that too often cycles in and out of headlines. Second, by restoring Nigeria to the “Country of Particular Concern” list, it raises tangible policy levers such as sanctions, conditionality and targeted support for vulnerable communities. Third, it tests diplomatic prudence: talk of going in “guns-a-blazing” is certain to rankle Abuja and risks overshadowing quieter, essential work, from security-sector reform and community reconciliation to better early-warning systems and the prosecution of perpetrators. The Nigerian presidency’s swift rebuttal shows how delicate this terrain is.
For Catholics, two points bear emphasis.
First, the Church’s witness teaches that persecution is normalised in history. Our Lord’s own warning is bracingly frank: “If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also” (Jn 15:20). This is not counsel of despair; it is a call to steadfastness, solidarity and prayer for enemies, even as we bind up the wounds of the innocent.
Second, while persecution tests the saints, it also tests statesmen. Political authority exists for the common good, to secure peace, protect the innocent and uphold justice. In a Christian anthropology, believers are “no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (Eph 2:19). That vision of citizenship and belonging implies concrete duties for governments, domestic and foreign, to safeguard freedom of worship, to defend communities at risk and to resist any ideology, religious or secular, that would make the faithful second-class citizens.
Whether admired or disliked by major commentators, one uncomfortable fact remains: Christians today often find their most forceful international advocate in Donald Trump. This is not primarily a judgment about his personal sanctity or policy nuance, but a recognition of political scale. No other head of government commands comparable global reach or is willing to speak so bluntly about Christian persecution as a matter of foreign-policy urgency. Smaller nations have, at times, been more consistent or more refined in their advocacy, but given the geopolitical weight of the United States, the mere fact of a US president raising the alarm carries a magnitude no other state can match. One may debate the tone or tactics of Mr Trump’s warning, yet it is difficult to deny that, in a world where persecuted believers are too often treated as an afterthought, boldness has its uses.
So let the world hear Nigeria’s legitimate sensitivities. Let us also hear the cries of the villages, the abducted schoolchildren, the widows standing amid charred beams where a church once stood. Diplomacy and development, sanctions and security assistance, faith-based relief and local reconciliation all have their place. The persecuted Church asks for nothing more than what politics at its best ought to give: honesty, protection and resolve.
(Photo by Andrew Harnik/Getty Images)
