Opinion
The Harm In Female Genital Mutilation
Female circumcision which is also known as genital mutilation is the removal of some or all of the external female genitalia. According to research this practise is found in Africa, typically carried out by a traditional circumciser using a blade.
Female circumcision is conducted few days after birth to puberty and beyond. There have been international efforts since the 1970s to dissuade practitioners from the act. It has been outlawed or restricted in most of the countries in which it occurs, although the laws are poorly enforced.
This circumcision comprises all procedures that involve partial or total removal of the external female genetalia or other injury to the female genital organs for non-medical reasons. This act is recognized internationally as a violation of human rights of girls and women.
It reflects deep-rooted inequality between the sexes and constitutes an extreme form of discrimination against women. It is always carried out on minors and is a violation of the rights of children. The practice also violates a person’s rights to health, security and physical integrity; also the right to life when the procedure results in death.
Circumcision of the female genitals has no health benefits; it harms girls and women in many ways. This involves removing and damaging healthy and normal female genital tissue which interferes with natural functions of girls’ and women’s bodies.
Procedures are carried out on young girls sometimes between infancy and adolescence and occasionally on adult women. According to research, more than 3 million girls are estimated to be at risk of female circumcision annually. The reason why female circumcision is performed varies from one region to another.
Over time, socio-cultural factors within families compelling them to conform to what others do or have been doing as well as the need to be accepted socially and the fear of being rejected by the community are strong motivations to perpetuate the act. Female circumcision is often considered a necessary part of raising a girl and a way to prepare her for adulthood and marriage.
Women and girls living with this experience have harmful practise. Female circumcision increases the short and long term health risk to women and girls which is unacceptable from a human rights and health perspective. Educating people on female circumcision shouldn’t be seen as old fashion because it happens everyday around us and people need to be educated on the course.
Female genital mutilation can be prevented through the following ways: (a) challenging the discriminating reasons it is practised. Among the discriminating reasons is a need to control female sexuality. The purpose of female genital cutting is to ensure that a girl behaves properly, saves her virginity until she gets married and then stays faithful to her husband; (b) educate girls on their right to decide what happens to their body. Some of them want to cling to this tradition even though they are aware of the consequences.
Another way to prevent this harmful practice is to speak out about the its risk and realities because it has lasting physical and mental effects that need to be discussed so that girls and women no longer have to suffer in silence.
We should tackle the secrecy that allows cutting to continue in the old days. Genital cutting was an initiation rite for girls to prepare them for their future. The whole community would participate. But nowadays it has become more controversial and it usually takes place discreetly at home.
Let’s keep pushing for female genital mutilation to be banned. Cutting is a violation of children’s rights; the rights to physical integrity, the right to good health and the freedom to make your own choices. It even violates a child’s right to be educated.
Educational rights-based approaches to eradicating female genital mutilation present communities with a package of opportunities for learning. However, such interventions can sometimes be perceived by communities as an unsolicited top-down approach. Therefore, working with communities prior to implementation is of utmost importance
This increases community acceptance of an intervention, leading to its success. Education is often favoured over other rights-based approaches such as legislation because it is less repressive. Although legal restrictions have been found to reduce the rate of female genital mutilation, they have also been found to drive the practice underground, while legal and political measures are necessary to ending female genital mutilation.
Community-based educational initiatives are also critical as well as campaigns worldwide. Government’s actions are necessary to create a political and legal environment that deters people from practising female genital mutilation, but it is ultimately the women, their families and their communities who must be convinced to abandon the practice.
Community empowerment should be taken into account. Consideration of the target population characteristics must be present in order to contextualize educational interventions that use a rights- based approach.
Cultural competitive training can help improve health outcomes and the quality of care. However, female genital mutilation affects men as well. Many men feel they too are victims of this practice. A sense of social obligation is an important indicator for abandoning the practice.
Harry is a Port Harcourt-based freelance journalist
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The events that unfolded in Abuja on Tuesday November 11, 2025 between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike and a detachment of soldiers guarding a disputed property, led by Adams Yerima, a commissioned Naval Officer, may go down as one of the defining images of Nigeria’s democratic contradictions. It was not merely a quarrel over land. It was a confrontation between civil authority and the military legacy that still hovers over our national life.
Nyesom Wike, fiery and fearless as always, was seen on video exchanging words with a uniformed officer who refused to grant him passage to inspect a parcel of land alleged to have been illegally acquired. The minister’s voice rose, his temper flared, and the soldier, too, stood his ground, insisting on his own authority. Around them, aides, security men, and bystanders watched, stunned, as two embodiments of the Nigerian state clashed in the open.
The images spread fast, igniting debates across drawing rooms, beer parlours, and social media platforms. Some hailed Wike for standing up to military arrogance; others scolded him for perceived disrespect to the armed forces. Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question about what sort of society we are building and whether power in Nigeria truly understands the limits of its own reach.
It is tragic that, more than two decades into civil rule, the relationship between the civilian arm of government and the military remains fragile and poorly understood. The presence of soldiers in a land dispute between private individuals and the city administration is, by all civic standards, an aberration. It recalls a dark era when might was right, and uniforms conferred immunity against accountability.
Wike’s anger, even if fiery, was rooted in a legitimate concern: that no individual, however connected or retired, should deploy the military to protect personal interests. That sentiment echoes the fundamental democratic creed that the law is supreme, not personalities. If his passion overshot decorum, it was perhaps a reflection of a nation weary of impunity.
On the other hand, the soldier in question is a symbol of another truth: that discipline, respect for order, and duty to hierarchy are ingrained in our armed forces. He may have been caught between conflicting instructions one from his superiors, another from a civilian minister exercising his lawful authority. The confusion points not to personal failure but to institutional dysfunction.
It is, therefore, simplistic to turn the incident into a morality play of good versus evil.
*********”**** What happened was an institutional embarrassment. Both men represented facets of the same failing system a polity still learning how to reconcile authority with civility, law with loyalty, and service with restraint.
In fairness, Wike has shown himself as a man of uncommon courage. Whether in Rivers State or at the FCTA, he does not shy away from confrontation. Yet courage without composure often feeds misunderstanding. A public officer must always be the cooler head, even when provoked, because the power of example outweighs the satisfaction of winning an argument.
Conversely, soldiers, too, must be reminded that their uniforms do not place them above civilian oversight. The military exists to defend the nation, not to enforce property claims or intimidate lawful authorities. Their participation in purely civil matters corrodes the image of the institution and erodes public trust.
One cannot overlook the irony: in a country where kidnappers roam highways and bandits sack villages, armed men are posted to guard contested land in the capital. It reflects misplaced priorities and distorted values. The Nigerian soldier, trained to defend sovereignty, should not be drawn into private or bureaucratic tussles.
Sycophancy remains the greatest ailment of our political culture. Many of those who now cheer one side or the other do so not out of conviction but out of convenience. Tomorrow they will switch allegiance. True patriotism lies not in defending personalities but in defending principles. A people enslaved by flattery cannot nurture a culture of justice.
The Nigerian elite must learn to submit to the same laws that govern the poor. When big men fence off public land and use connections to shield their interests, they mock the very constitution they swore to uphold. The FCT, as the mirror of national order, must not become a jungle where only the powerful can build.
The lesson for Wike himself is also clear: power is best exercised with calmness. The weight of his office demands more than bravery; it demands statesmanship. To lead is not merely to command, but to persuade — even those who resist your authority.
Equally, the lesson for the armed forces is that professionalism shines brightest in restraint. Obedience to illegal orders is not loyalty; it is complicity. The soldier who stands on the side of justice protects both his honour and the dignity of his uniform.
The Presidency, too, must see this episode as a wake-up call to clarify institutional boundaries. If soldiers can be drawn into civil enforcement without authorization, then our democracy remains at risk of subtle militarization. The constitution must speak louder than confusion.
The Nigerian public deserves better than spectacles of ego. We crave leaders who rise above emotion and officers who respect civilian supremacy. Our children must not inherit a nation where authority means shouting matches and intimidation in public glare.
Every democracy matures through such tests. What matters is whether we learn the right lessons. The British once had generals who defied parliament; the Americans once fought over states’ rights; Nigeria, too, must pass through her own growing pains but with humility, not hubris.
If the confrontation has stirred discomfort, then perhaps it has done the nation some good. It forces a conversation long overdue: Who truly owns the state — the citizen or the powerful? Can we build a Nigeria where institutions, not individuals, define our destiny?
As the dust settles, both the FCTA and the military hierarchy must conduct impartial investigations. The truth must be established — not to shame anyone, but to restore order. Where laws were broken, consequences must follow. Where misunderstandings occurred, apologies must be offered.
Let the rule of law triumph over the rule of impulse. Let civility triumph over confrontation. Let governance return to the path of dialogue and procedure.
Nigeria cannot continue to oscillate between civilian bravado and military arrogance. Both impulses spring from the same insecurity — the fear of losing control. True leadership lies in the ability to trust institutions to do their work without coercion.
Those who witnessed the clash saw a drama of two gladiators. One in starched khaki, one in well-cut suit. Both proud, both unyielding. But a nation cannot be built on stubbornness; it must be built on understanding. Power, when it meets power, should produce order, not chaos.
We must resist the temptation to glorify temper. Governance is not warfare; it is stewardship. The citizen watches, the world observes, and history records. How we handle moments like this will define our collective maturity.
The confrontation may have ended without violence, but it left deep questions in the national conscience. When men of authority quarrel in the open, institutions tremble. The people, once again, become spectators in a theatre of misplaced pride.
It is time for all who hold office — civilian or military — to remember that they serve under the same flag. That flag is neither khaki nor political colour; it is green-white-green, and it demands humility.
No victor, no vanquish only a lesson for a nation still learning to govern itself with dignity.
By; King Onunwor
