Because they remain beyond the reach of the law, terror kingpins in our forests are gradually acquiring the mystique of folk heroes. That is why Bello Turji boldly goes online and flaunts the latest weapons of war before a helpless nation that can only watch, wonder and wait.

The spectacle recalls Robin Hood, England's legendary outlaw. In one of the medieval ballads, Robin invites the King to dinner. The King comes disguised as a humble monk.

Before the meal begins, Robin raises his hunting horn and blows a single blast into the forest. The response is immediate. One hundred and forty hardened outlaws emerge from the woods and kneel before him.

The king watches in astonishment. Here is a man outside the law commanding a loyalty that rivals the crown itself.

Unable to conceal his amazement, the king murmurs: "What a remarkable sight this is! By God's passion, it seems to me that this man has more followers ready to obey his command than I have ready to obey mine."

When the state fails to enforce the law, outlaws begin to acquire legitimacy, mythology and even political capital. Persistent impunity creates an aura of power around men who should simply remain fugitives.

There is a similar scene in Florencio Luis Parreño's 1868 novel about the Spanish bandit Jaime el Barbudo. A military lieutenant sent to capture the outlaw finds himself bewildered by the devotion Jaime commands among his followers.

Unable to understand how such discipline exists without formal structures, he asks the bandit chief: "How do you get your men to obey you without formal rules or discipline?"

Jaime's answer is as simple as it is profound: "By being the bravest among them, by knowing more than anyone else, by being the first to face danger, and the last to take a share of the loot."

Interesting stories. I did not invent them. I found them in a fascinating 2011 essay by Ben Dodds titled 'Jaime el Barbudo and Robin Hood: Bandit Narratives in Comparative Perspective' published in 'Social History' in November 2011. Dodds places the English outlaw Robin Hood alongside the Spanish bandit Jaime el Barbudo and explores why men who lived outside the law often commanded extraordinary loyalty from their followers even as society watched in feeble wonderment.

Which brings us back to Nigeria.

We wonder why the Nigerian state appears helpless before some of its most notorious bandit leaders. Is it true that the Katsina State Government sponsored terrorists to perform Hajj? Why do some northern governors and influential leaders appear reluctant to confront figures such as Bello Turji and the various Kachallas publicly and unequivocally?

Today they negotiate with terrorists; tomorrow they lament that the understanding has collapsed. Who will tell them that you do not negotiate with terror? It is strange that they fail to see that terror feeds on concession and that every compromise enlarges its appetite.

A further journey into the Robin Hood story is instructive.

In 'A Gest of Robyn Hode', the outlaw is eventually reconciled with the King, but the peace proves temporary. Robin accepts royal service only on his own terms. He acknowledges the King's authority, yet insists that he reserves the right to return to the greenwood whenever he pleases.

He tells the King:

"But me lyke well your servyse,

I wyll come agayne full soone,

And shote at the donne dere,

As I am wont to done."

In modern English, Robin is saying: "I like your service well enough, but I shall soon return to the forest and hunt the King's deer, just as I have always done."

The lesson is obvious. An outlaw who bargains from a position of strength does not surrender his outlawry. He merely pauses and restructures it for greater profitability.

In Yorubaland, we say that when an iroko acquires witchery, no sacrifice can appease it. You go for the roots.

That is where those who urge us yesterday and the day before not to name, examine and call out the source of Nigeria's insecurity get it wrong. They misunderstand the nature of curing and healing. Dante Alighieri understood this. In 'The Divine Comedy', he demonstrates that the journey to Paradise begins not in Paradise but in Hell. Before redemption comes confrontation. Before ascent comes descent. The road to salvation passes through an honest reckoning with what is broken.

The Nigerian state must sit up or go down.

Every state claims a monopoly of legitimate force. That monopoly exists for a reason. As Max Weber observed, the state alone is entitled to the legitimate use of force within its territory. Hobbes expressed the same principle more starkly: "Covenants, without the sword, are but words." A government that cannot suppress those who massacre, abduct and terrorise its citizens begins to erode the very social contract on which its authority rests. Citizens surrender the right of private vengeance in exchange for public protection. Once the state can no longer protect the innocent or punish those who prey upon them, the foundation of the social contract begins to crack.

The first duty of government is security. Not roads. Not bridges. Not ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Without security, every other achievement stands on borrowed time.

Which is why the debate over terrorism should not begin with how to accommodate or negotiate with terrorists but with how to defeat them. Yet defeating terrorism starts long before the first gunshot. It begins in the home, the classroom and the community. It begins by bringing into the world only the number of children we can nurture, educating those children, equipping them with marketable skills, and protecting them from destructive socio-religious dogmas and violent influences. Those are responsibilities shared by parents, society and government.

But a government that appears more eager to negotiate with terrorists than to destroy their capacity for violence sends a dangerous message to both criminals and citizens.

Bernard Shaw's prescription may have been severe. Some will reject it. Yet his central point remains difficult to dismiss: there are moments when society must decide whether it exists primarily to protect the innocent or to indulge the violent.

The lesson is simple. Appeasement does not merely fail to prevent atrocities; it encourages them. Nigeria must stop cuddling terror. You do not negotiate with an evil iroko; you bring it down. Iroko tó bá gba'bodè, gígé ni wọ́n máa ń gé e. Anything less is an invitation to the next massacre, the next mass abduction.