If Christians in Nigeria are going to survive the escalating violence engulfing their country and the wider Sahel, transparency must be a top priority. Without transparency, there is no accountability for the injustices Christians are facing.

On January 18, that reality became even clearer when armed men stormed churches in Kurmin Wali, Kaduna State during Sunday worship. Local church leaders reported that as many as 177 worshippers were abducted, many of them women and children, in what could be the largest mass abduction of Christians in the area. Hours later, initial statements minimized the incident or suggested it could not be confirmed due to the remoteness of the area. It took more than three days after the tragedy for the Nigerian police to finally admit the kidnappings occurred. This action by the government only adds to the confusion about what Nigerian Christians are facing and fuels fear for those facing persecution.

This pattern is tragically familiar to Christians across Nigeria’s Middle Belt and northwest. Communities report mass kidnappings. Churches release names. Families wait in agony. And government responses arrive slowly, partially, or not at all.

In the immediate aftermath of the Kaduna attacks, local Christian leaders attempted to bring outside organizations into the area to verify facts and assess needs. They were blocked. Meanwhile, local accounts tell a different story than the one emerging from authorities.

One pastor shared what many Nigerian Christians are feeling to our team: “I was terrified. My heart almost stopped functioning. The trauma might never leave. Nowhere is safe. The question is — where next?”

Nigeria is widely recognized as one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a Christian. International religious freedom watchdog groups have repeatedly identified the country as the epicenter of faith-based killings in recent years. Yet for much of the past decade, the violence has been framed primarily as “banditry” or “farmer-herder conflict,” language that obscures both who is targeted and why.

Narratives about what is unfolding in Nigeria and the greater Sahel region from official sources matter. How a crisis is described often determines whether it triggers sanctions, diplomatic pressure, or merely development aid from the Western world. When religious persecution is reduced to criminality or land disputes, other countries leave it up to the local government to address, which is failing to protect the most vulnerable.

This is why transparency is so critical — and why its absence is so damaging.

In recent months, the Nigerian government has sought to “correct misinformation” abroad and has retained U.S.-based lobbying firms to help shape how the crisis is understood internationally. That may be legally permissible, but it begs the moral question: why invest in narrative management abroad while communities on the ground are simply pleading with the government to acknowledge what they are enduring?

Messaging cannot substitute for truth. And truth cannot emerge where access is denied.

Transparency is particularly critical in Nigeria’s Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camps. Across the Middle Belt and northwest, hundreds of thousands of exiled Christians live in camps that are chronically under-resourced and poorly monitored. Restricted or inconsistent access for third parties like faith-based groups, journalists, and international NGOs leads to unreported abuse and a lack of aid.

In other conflict zones around the world, independent inspection of displacement camps is standard practice in order to provide verified data, deter abuse, and inform policy decisions. Nigeria should be no exception. If authorities have nothing to hide, transparency should not be feared.

One of the most haunting details of the Kaduna kidnappings is that churches did what authorities would not: they identified the victims.

Local pastors and volunteers compiled a detailed list of 177 names. Men. Women. Children. Entire families taken together. These were not statistics. They were people known by name, by face, by community.

Transparency begins there, with facts and acknowledgment.

When governments refuse to confirm what communities can already document, they do more than obscure the truth. They damage trust with families and communities and show perpetrators that even mass violence can be buried.

Transparency would not end the violence overnight, but it would transform the response. Independent verification of attacks would prevent denial and delay. Full access to IDP camps would ensure aid reaches those who need it. Policy would be formed based on credible data of kidnappings and killings. And accountability would become possible, ending the cycle of inaction and impunity.

Most importantly, transparency would show Nigeria’s Christian communities that others recognize their suffering, and they are not fighting their battle alone.

The international community must require transparency from authorities. International engagement and aid offered in the absence of access and credibility risks enabling harm rather than alleviating it.

Christians in Nigeria are not asking for special treatment. They are asking for honesty and visibility. Simply shining a light on these issues will not solve everything. But without doing so, real change cannot begin.

Clint Lyons is the executive director of iReach Global, a nonprofit organization that supports and advocates for persecuted Christians in Africa.