In the East, It’s Christians K!lling Christians: Dissecting an Alleged Soludo Statement and the Troubling Reality of Southeast V!olence

In the swirling atmosphere of Nigeria’s political and security discourse, few statements have drawn as much intrigue and quiet controversy as the one recently attributed to Anambra State Governor, Professor Charles Chukwuma Soludo.

The remark — “In the East, it’s Christians killing Christians” — allegedly came during a wider commentary on insecurity, religion, and international perceptions of violence in Nigeria. According to versions of the quote circulating online, Soludo was addressing the nature of killings in the Southeast, stressing that the violence ravaging the region was not religious but rooted in internal contradictions, socio-political disillusionment, and criminal opportunism.

However, a closer look reveals that the statement did not appear on any of Soludo’s official communication channels — not on his verified social media handles, not in state press briefings, nor in official government transcripts. Still, the words have ignited intense public debate, particularly because of the unsettling truth they seem to capture: the Southeast’s crisis is increasingly self-inflicted.

This report investigates the origins of the alleged statement, its veracity, and, more importantly, the grim reality it describes — one where communal trust has collapsed, identity politics has metastasized into armed violence, and ordinary citizens are trapped between fear and futility.

The alleged statement began circulating across Facebook, WhatsApp, and X (formerly Twitter) in late October 2025. It was formatted like an excerpt from a press interview — punctuated with ellipses, quotation marks, and phrases familiar to Soludo’s diction: “deeper conversation,” “introspection,” “the Nigerian call.”

Several versions credited it to a foreign media exchange, possibly during a diplomatic roundtable or a think-tank forum. Yet no video, transcript, or independent confirmation emerged.

When the Anambra State Government’s Press Unit was contacted for comment, officials maintained that the Governor had not issued such a statement through any official channel. However, they did not disown the sentiment entirely — one senior aide, who spoke on condition of anonymity, remarked:

“Even though that quote didn’t come from the Governor directly, anyone who listens to his past speeches would agree he believes in depoliticizing the Southeast crisis. He has often said the violence here is not religious. It’s internal — brothers against brothers, sometimes people manipulated by greed or grievance.”

That nuance matters. Because whether Soludo actually said those words or not, the reality they describe is now too visible to deny.

To understand the resonance of that alleged quote, one must confront the chilling evolution of violence in Nigeria’s Southeast.

Once the most peaceful zone in the country, the region has in the past five years descended into a cycle of assassinations, arson, kidnappings, and politically motivated killings. While militants and separatist agitators often frame their actions as political resistance, the violence has increasingly turned inward, targeting civilians, traditional rulers, and even church leaders.

The rise of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) in the mid-2010s was initially couched in civil agitation for self-determination. But by the late 2010s and early 2020s, a splintering of factions — notably the Eastern Security Network (ESN) — blurred the lines between political agitation and criminal insurgency.

By 2023, the “unknown gunmen” phenomenon had become a household term. They emerged as shadowy enforcers of Monday sit-at-home orders, allegedly punishing defiance with gruesome violence. Businesses collapsed, roads emptied, and fear became a way of life.

Today, many of those enforcing this terror bear names that mirror the Christian heritage of the region: Emmanuel, Peter, John, Chibueze, Ifeanyi. The irony — and tragedy — of Christian-on-Christian violence is no longer theoretical. It is existential.

The temptation, especially in Western narratives, has been to view Nigeria’s violence through a religious lens — Muslims versus Christians, North versus South. This framing has sometimes influenced diplomatic perceptions, humanitarian aid priorities, and international advocacy.

But the alleged Soludo statement challenges that reductionism. His supposed comparison to America’s internal racial and police violence — invoking “Black Lives Matter” as a metaphor — implies that every society has its contradictions, and not all conflicts are religious.

In Eastern Nigeria, the conflict is less about theology and more about identity, politics, and economic despair.
The Christian label is near universal in the region; hence, attackers and victims often share the same faith, even the same denominational affiliations. Churches have been burnt not by jihadists from the North, but by local gangs angry at a clergyman’s sermon or perceived bias.

Underneath this internal conflict lies a cultural dislocation — the erosion of communal authority. Traditional institutions once served as custodians of morality and peacekeeping. Today, they are targets.
In 2021, unknown gunmen assassinated the traditional ruler of Orsu Obodo in Imo State. In 2023, they beheaded HRH Eze Okechukwu Okereke in Ihitte Uboma. Clergymen and youth leaders have suffered similar fates.

Each killing echoes the same horror: the attackers are not outsiders. They are sons of the soil.

Beyond the ideological rhetoric, the Southeast’s violence is powered by poverty and disillusionment. The collapse of manufacturing hubs, youth unemployment, and the failure of political leadership have turned rebellion into enterprise.

Kidnapping has become a parallel economy. Communities pay “taxes” to armed groups. Some “freedom fighters” now act as mercenaries for politicians, switching allegiances during election seasons.

In this environment, faith offers little restraint. Churches, which once functioned as sanctuaries, now host funerals almost every week. Pastors preach resilience, but the pews are emptying. The psychological toll is immense — a slow unraveling of hope.

Even though the authenticity of the statement remains unconfirmed, its logic mirrors Soludo’s documented worldview. Since assuming office in 2022, the Anambra governor has consistently argued that development, not division, is the antidote to insecurity.

In speeches and interviews, he has said:

“We must heal the Southeast through jobs, infrastructure, and renewed civic faith. The guns will fall silent when our youths find meaning again.”

Soludo’s administration has since rolled out initiatives like the One Youth, Two Skills programme, aimed at training 10,000 young people annually in vocational and digital skills. His government has also pushed aggressive urban renewal projects in Onitsha, Awka, and Nnewi — cities once abandoned to crime and decay.

These programs may not yet have reversed the region’s insecurity, but they represent a shift from blame to responsibility — the kind of “introspection” hinted at in the alleged statement.

The statement’s other half — where Soludo allegedly referenced U.S. foreign policy and “international law” — offers a sharp diplomatic subtext. It reflects a frustration many Nigerian leaders share: external powers often misunderstand Nigeria’s internal complexities.

When the United States designates Nigeria a country of “particular concern” on religious freedom, it tends to read Southern violence through the same lens as Northern extremism. Yet in the Southeast, religion is not the fault line — political legitimacy is.

The Federal Government, for its part, continues to insist that it is addressing insecurity nationwide through military operations, intelligence coordination, and youth engagement. But the results in the Southeast remain mixed.
Military raids in Orsu, Ihiala, and Nnewi South have neutralized some camps but also displaced civilians. Human rights groups accuse security agencies of extrajudicial killings and mass arrests.

Thus, the region is caught in a paradox: fighting violence with violence, while the root causes persist unaddressed.

In today’s media landscape, a stray sentence — or even a fabricated one — can ignite national firestorms. The alleged Soludo quote illustrates how digital virality now outruns factual verification.

Political opponents and online influencers quickly weaponized the statement, interpreting it as an attempt to deflect blame or to court Western sympathy. Yet, when viewed carefully, the line about “Christians killing Christians” is less provocative than diagnostic. It describes a tragedy, not endorses it.

This underscores a larger problem in Nigeria’s political communication: the hunger for outrage often eclipses the demand for understanding.

History is replete with examples of regions consuming themselves from within. From Rwanda’s Hutu-Tutsi genocide to South Sudan’s civil implosion, identity can mutate into self-destruction when leadership fails to channel grievances into progress.

In Eastern Nigeria, memories of the Biafran War (1967–1970) still haunt the collective psyche. The unhealed trauma of defeat, marginalization, and economic exclusion has simmered for decades, manifesting in waves of separatist sentiment.

Yet, what is unfolding today is not a replay of 1967. It is worse in one respect — it lacks ideological clarity.
The “freedom fighters” are not mobilizing for a structured Biafra; many are simply fighting for survival, money, or revenge.

Several civic and faith-based groups are now attempting to reclaim the narrative.
Organizations like the Southeast Peace and Development Initiative (SPDI) and the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Nigeria (CBCN) have launched community dialogues and amnesty appeals for repentant gunmen.

In Anambra, the Solution Innovation District — an initiative under Soludo’s administration — is designed as a hub for tech and entrepreneurship, offering youths an alternative identity beyond militancy.

But these efforts require time, patience, and partnership. As Soludo himself has often said, “You cannot rebuild a house on fire while ignoring the flames.”

The alleged statement closes with a hopeful vision: “Nigeria will overcome and it will end in conversation.”
That sentiment, though simple, carries profound weight. It shifts the solution from militarization to dialogue, from external blame to internal correction.

If the Southeast must heal, it will not be through denial or finger-pointing, but through honest reflection on how a region of literacy, industry, and faith became a theatre of fratricide.

Whether or not Governor Soludo uttered those precise words, the reality remains unchanged:
The Southeast’s crisis is not driven by religion — it is the collapse of moral order, economic justice, and civic faith.

The men in the bushes bear Christian names, but their actions mock every tenet of that faith. The solution will not come from foreign commentary or diplomatic reports, but from within — through leadership, re-education, and reconciliation.

Nigeria’s tragedy has never been diversity; it has always been denial.
And until the nation can confront its internal contradictions without masking them as religious wars, peace will remain elusive.

The alleged Soludo statement — whether myth or message — therefore serves a higher purpose. It forces an uncomfortable truth into the open: we are our own undoing, and only through conversation, courage, and compassion can we become our own salvation.