Code Noir: The Law That Turned Black Humanity Into Property, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

History is often remembered through wars, revolutions, speeches and monuments. Yet some of the most devastating crimes against humanity were committed not on battlefields but on paper. One signature, one royal seal, one legal decree can alter the destiny of millions. Few documents illustrate this reality more chillingly than the Code Noir—the “Black Code” promulgated by King Louis XIV of France in March 1685.

For more than a century and a half, the Code Noir provided the legal architecture for slavery across vast territories of the French colonial empire. It transformed Africans from human beings into commercial assets, established racial hierarchy as state policy, and helped build one of Europe’s wealthiest imperial economies. Even more disturbing is that while slavery itself was abolished in 1848, the decree remained formally unrepealed in French law until the French National Assembly voted in May 2026 to remove it symbolically from the legal record.

The story of the Code Noir is therefore not merely about the past. It is about the modern world’s unresolved relationship with race, memory, justice and power. It is about how the legal codification of Black inferiority continues to cast a long shadow over global perceptions of Black people and over debates concerning reparations, colonial accountability and historical truth.

The origins of the Code Noir can be traced to the explosive growth of the Atlantic slave trade during the seventeenth century. By the 1600s, European empires had discovered that sugar cultivation in the Caribbean generated enormous profits. French colonies such as Martinique, Guadeloupe and Saint-Domingue—modern-day Haiti—became major centres of sugar production.

Sugar was the oil of the seventeenth century. European demand appeared insatiable. Plantations required immense labour forces. Indigenous populations had been devastated by disease and conquest. The solution adopted by European powers was the mass importation of enslaved Africans. Millions were captured, purchased or kidnapped from West and Central Africa and transported across the Atlantic in one of history’s greatest forced migrations.

France entered this trade aggressively. Under the influence of Finance Minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert, the monarchy sought tighter control over its colonial possessions. Officials feared disorder, religious diversity and resistance among enslaved populations. The result was a comprehensive legal framework designed to regulate every aspect of Black existence in French colonies.

That’s when the Code Noir was born. Consisting of 60 articles, the decree combined religious coercion, economic exploitation and racial domination. It ordered the expulsion of Jews from French colonies and declared Catholicism the only permitted religion. Enslaved Africans were required to be baptised and instructed in the Catholic faith. Marriages outside Catholic rites were prohibited.

But the most consequential provision concerned legal status. The Code Noir classified enslaved Africans as meubles—movable property. Human beings became legally equivalent to furniture, livestock or commercial goods. Families could be bought and sold. Labour could be extracted indefinitely. Life itself became a commodity.

Article 13 established another principle whose consequences would echo across centuries, meaning children inherited the status of their mother. If an enslaved woman gave birth, her child was automatically enslaved regardless of the father’s identity. Through this mechanism, slavery became hereditary and self-reproducing.

The punishments prescribed under the Code Noir exposed its brutality. Runaway slaves could have their ears cut off and be branded with the fleur-de-lis. Repeat offenders could have their hamstrings severed. A third escape attempt could result in execution. Assaulting a master could be punishable by death. Gathering in groups without permission attracted severe penalties.

Defenders of the French monarchy occasionally point out that the Code Noir also imposed certain obligations on slave owners. Masters were expected to provide food, clothing and religious instruction. Sick slaves theoretically deserved care. Extreme torture was formally prohibited.

Yet such arguments collapse under historical scrutiny. The issue was never whether the enslaved received slightly better treatment than livestock. The issue was that a legal system authorised the ownership of human beings in the first place. Even provisions presented as protective were largely ignored across plantations. Mortality rates remained catastrophic. Punishments remained savage. Economic profitability consistently outweighed legal restraint. According to documentation, many plantation owners considered even the limited restrictions of the Code Noir too lenient and frequently violated them.

What made the Code Noir especially significant was its scale. It governed slavery throughout major French colonial territories, including Martinique, Guadeloupe, Saint-Domingue, French Guiana, Réunion, Mauritius and later Louisiana. The code became one of the most extensive legal documents regulating race and slavery produced in Europe. Historian Tyler Stovall described it as one of the most comprehensive official texts ever drafted on race, slavery and freedom.

Its economic consequences were enormous. Saint-Domingue alone became the richest colony in the world by the late eighteenth century. It was then said to produce roughly 40 percent of the sugar and 60 percent of the coffee consumed in Europe. Behind those astonishing figures stood the labour of hundreds of thousands of enslaved Africans working under conditions so brutal that death rates often exceeded birth rates.

The wealth generated by these plantations transformed French port cities such as Nantes, Bordeaux and La Rochelle. Merchant fortunes expanded. Financial institutions grew stronger. The French state accumulated revenue. Elegant buildings, cultural institutions and aristocratic lifestyles were funded, directly or indirectly, by Black suffering.

Yet history has a habit of producing its own contradictions. The very system designed to ensure permanent Black subjugation eventually produced one of the most revolutionary moments in modern history.

In 1791, enslaved people in Saint-Domingue launched what became the Haitian Revolution. Led by figures such as Toussaint Louverture, the uprising challenged not merely plantation owners but the entire ideological foundation of slavery. By 1804, Haiti emerged as the world’s first Black republic and the first nation created through a successful slave revolt.

The Haitian Revolution shattered the myth of Black inferiority embedded within the Code Noir. It demonstrated that people classified as property could defeat European armies, build a state and alter global history.

Even after France abolished slavery in 1848, racial hierarchies constructed during the Code Noir era continued influencing colonial governance, economic relations and cultural perceptions. Scientific racism emerged during the nineteenth century. Colonial administrations across Africa borrowed assumptions about racial difference that slavery had helped normalise.

For centuries, Blackness had been associated with servitude, labour extraction and racial otherness within European intellectual traditions. Such perceptions influenced literature, education, media representation and public policy. The legacy survived not because the Code Noir remained actively enforced but because its underlying assumptions became embedded within broader structures of power. This explains why contemporary debates surrounding the Code Noir remain so emotionally charged.

On May 28, 2026, France’s National Assembly unanimously voted to repeal the Code Noir formally. Lawmakers described the move as an act of remembrance and historical recognition. The legislation also called for deeper examination of slavery’s continuing impact on discrimination and educational curricula.

The repeal acknowledges that certain legal texts deserve not merely historical study but explicit moral condemnation.

For centuries, colonial legal systems presented Black people not as equal participants in civilisation but as subjects requiring control, supervision and ownership. Such ideas did not disappear automatically with emancipation. They evolved into stereotypes, institutional biases and unequal power relations that continue affecting education, employment, policing and international representation.

The challenge facing the twenty-first century is not simply to remember the Code Noir but to understand how its logic survives in subtler forms.

When African countries remain disproportionately associated with poverty despite immense resources; when racial profiling persists; when the contributions of African civilisations are marginalised in global narratives; when descendants of enslaved populations continue confronting structural disadvantages, the conversation inevitably returns to the historical systems that created these realities. That does not mean Black futures are defined by Black suffering.

One of the most remarkable developments of the modern era is the growing intellectual, cultural, economic and political influence of people of African descent worldwide. From academia to technology, from literature to global politics, Black voices increasingly shape international discourse. Historical scholarship has also become more willing to confront uncomfortable truths about empire, slavery and race.

The repeal of the Code Noir is part of that broader transformation. It signals an emerging recognition that nations cannot build inclusive futures while remaining evasive about foundational injustices. It reflects growing pressure from historians, activists and descendants demanding that historical memory move beyond selective celebration toward honest reckoning.

The descendants of those once classified as property have become scholars, presidents, judges, artists, entrepreneurs and global citizens. The empires that wrote the Code Noir have faded. The people it attempted to reduce have endured. And that may be the most powerful lesson of all.

The future of Black people will not be determined by the laws that once enslaved them, but by how honestly humanity confronts those laws, learns from them and refuses to reproduce their assumptions in new forms. The repeal of the Code Noir cannot erase centuries of injustice. But it reminds the world that no legal system, however powerful, can permanently suppress the dignity of a people whose humanity was never dependent on recognition from their oppressors.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

When Silence is no Longer Golden, by Boniface Ihiasota 

There are moments in a nation’s life when silence stops being a virtue and becomes a form of complicity. The recent reported abduction of schoolchildren and teachers in Oyo State is one of such moments—an unsettling reminder that insecurity in Nigeria is no longer confined to distant headlines or isolated rural whispers, but is steadily creeping into the everyday spaces where innocence is supposed to be safest: schools.

From available reports, the incident has thrown families into anguish and communities into confusion, as security agencies intensify efforts to locate the victims and apprehend those responsible. While details remain fluid and official confirmations continue to evolve, what is clear is that yet another attack has targeted the education space—an institution that should represent hope, stability, and the future.

For Nigerians in the diaspora, watching from afar often comes with a painful contradiction: the distance offers safety, but not detachment. Each report of mass abduction, each update of missing children, and each delayed rescue effort lands like a personal blow. It raises difficult questions—how did we get here, and why does it keep happening?

This is not the first time schools in Nigeria have come under attack. Over the past decade, various regions have experienced waves of kidnappings that turned classrooms into hunting grounds for criminal networks and armed groups seeking ransom or leverage. The psychological impact has been profound: fear has become an uninvited co-teacher in many schools, especially in vulnerable communities.

In Oyo State, a region often perceived as relatively stable compared to some parts of the country, the latest incident has shattered assumptions of safety. It reinforces a disturbing reality—there are fewer truly “safe zones” left. Whether in the North-East, North-West, or parts of the South-West, insecurity has become adaptive, shifting terrain and targets with alarming ease.

The targeting of children and teachers is particularly cruel. It is not merely an attack on individuals; it is an assault on the future itself. Teachers represent continuity, knowledge, and nation-building, while children represent possibility. To disrupt that chain is to weaken the very foundation of society.

In response, authorities have reportedly launched search-and-rescue operations, with security formations coordinating intelligence efforts to track the perpetrators. Yet, as with many similar incidents, public confidence remains fragile. Nigerians have seen too many press statements that promise swift action but are followed by prolonged uncertainty, negotiations, or worse—silence.

What makes this cycle even more troubling is its familiarity. Communities are often left to rely on prayers, informal networks, and fragmented updates, while families of victims endure an agonising wait for news. Over time, this has created a dangerous normalisation of crisis—a condition where shock is quickly replaced by resignation.

The education sector is already burdened by strikes, underfunding, and infrastructure deficits. Adding insecurity to the mix deepens an already fragile system. Parents in affected regions may begin to withdraw children from schools, not because education is undervalued, but because survival takes precedence over learning. The long-term cost of such decisions is immeasurable.

For the diaspora community, there is also a growing sense of responsibility—not just to express concern, but to sustain pressure for accountability and reform. Advocacy, engagement, and investment in educational safety initiatives become more than abstract ideas; they become necessary interventions in a system struggling to protect its most vulnerable.

At the heart of this tragedy is a simple but urgent truth: a society that cannot protect its children cannot claim to be secure. Every abducted child represents a broken promise, every missing teacher a disrupted legacy.

As Nigeria confronts yet another episode of school-related kidnapping, the question is no longer whether the state is aware of the crisis—it clearly is. The question is whether awareness will finally translate into decisive, sustained action that restores confidence in public safety.

Because silence, in the face of such recurring pain, is no longer golden. It is costly. And the price is being paid in fear, in broken families, and in stolen childhoods that should never have been interrupted in the first place.

On the Killing of ISIS Second-in-Command in Nigeria, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

For years, the global war against terrorism was framed largely through the lens of the Middle East — Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan and the broader Arabian Peninsula. Yet, in the last decade, the epicentre of extremist violence has quietly shifted toward Africa, particularly the Sahel and the Lake Chad Basin. The reported killing of Abu-Bilal al-Minuki, described by both American and Nigerian authorities as the second-in-command of the Islamic State, ISIS globally, therefore represents far more than another battlefield casualty. It is a defining moment in the evolution of terrorism and counterterrorism in Africa.

On May 16, 2026, the United States and Nigeria announced a joint military operation that reportedly eliminated al-Minuki in the Lake Chad Basin, one of the most volatile theatres of insurgency in Africa. United States President Donald Trump described the operation as “meticulously planned and very complex,” while President Bola Tinubu hailed it as a major blow against the Islamic State network operating across West Africa.

The significance of the operation lies not merely in the elimination of a single terrorist commander, but in what it reveals about the changing architecture of global jihadism. Africa is no longer a peripheral front in extremist warfare; it has become its strategic centre of gravity.

Abu-Bilal al-Minuki was not an ordinary insurgent commander. Security assessments and intelligence reports linked him to the Islamic State West Africa Province, the ISWAP faction that emerged after Boko Haram’s split in 2016. He was reportedly involved in coordinating logistics, financing, propaganda operations and regional expansion across the Sahel. American authorities had designated him a “Specially Designated Global Terrorist” in 2023, an indication of the seriousness with which United States viewed his activities.

According to multiple intelligence-linked reports, al-Minuki was born in Borno State around 1982 and rose through the ranks of Boko Haram before aligning with the Islamic State network after Boko Haram pledged allegiance to ISIS in 2015. It was believed that his alias “al-Minuki” or “Mainok” derived from Mainok town in Borno State, following the regional tradition of identifying individuals by hometowns or clan affiliations.

This detail is important because it underscores a painful truth Nigeria has long struggled to confront: terrorism in the country is not simply an imported ideology; it is also a product of domestic fractures linking weak governance, ideological radicalisation, porous borders and decades of state neglect in the North-East among others.

The Lake Chad Basin itself has become one of the world’s most dangerous ungoverned spaces. Spanning Nigeria, Chad, Niger and Cameroon, the region’s marshlands and difficult terrain have enabled insurgent groups to establish fortified enclaves largely beyond the reach of conventional military operations. It is within this environment that ISWAP evolved from a regional insurgency into an internationally connected terror franchise.

The rise of ISWAP marked a strategic shift from Boko Haram’s earlier indiscriminate brutality. While Boko Haram under Abubakar Shekau relied heavily on mass civilian killings, village burnings and suicide bombings, ISWAP adopted a more calculated approach. It targeted military formations, imposed taxation systems in occupied communities and sought to present itself as an alternative governing authority. That strategic sophistication reportedly made figures like al-Minuki invaluable to ISIS central leadership.

What perhaps alarmed Western intelligence agencies most was the increasing integration between African jihadist networks and the broader Islamic State structure. American officials reportedly linked al-Minuki to ISIS’s General Directorate of Provinces and the al-Furqan media apparatus, structures central to the group’s global coordination and propaganda. This explains why his killing has drawn such international attention.

For Nigeria, however, the matter goes beyond global security calculations. The country has endured nearly two decades of insurgency since Boko Haram launched its violent uprising in 2009. According to estimates from humanitarian agencies and conflict monitoring groups, more than 35,000 people have been killed directly by the insurgency, while millions have been displaced across the North-East. Entire communities have been erased, agricultural systems disrupted and local economies destroyed.

The insurgency also exposed serious institutional weaknesses within Nigeria’s security architecture. Successive governments repeatedly claimed victory over terrorists, only for attacks to intensify afterward. Indeed, the controversy surrounding al-Minuki’s death illustrates this credibility challenge. Nigerian military sources had reportedly listed a commander bearing similar names among insurgents killed in Kaduna operations in 2024. The Presidency later explained that the earlier identification was likely a case of mistaken identity or battlefield misattribution.

Such contradictions have historically fuelled public scepticism. Nigerians have heard repeated declarations about the elimination of notorious terrorist leaders, only for those same figures to resurface later. The late Boko Haram leader, Abubakar Shekau, was reportedly declared dead multiple times before his actual death was confirmed in 2021. This pattern has understandably weakened public confidence in official military claims. Yet, if current reports are accurate, the elimination of al-Minuki would indeed represent a major operational success.

Still, history teaches that terrorism rarely collapses because of the death of a single leader. Terrorist organisations are designed to survive decapitation strikes. Leadership replacement mechanisms are usually embedded within their structures. In many cases, younger and even more radical commanders emerge after senior figures are killed.

The United States learned this lesson after the killing of Osama bin Laden in 2011. Al-Qaeda weakened but did not disappear. The death of ISIS founder Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi in 2019 similarly failed to extinguish the group. Instead, ISIS decentralised further, shifting operational focus toward Africa where fragile states, weak borders and local grievances created fertile conditions for expansion.

Indeed, security analysts now estimate that a substantial percentage of ISIS-linked attacks globally occur in sub-Saharan Africa. This is a deeply troubling development for Nigeria because it means the country increasingly occupies a frontline position in global counterterrorism efforts. The implications are both strategic and political.

Strategically, Nigeria’s military partnership with the United States appears to be entering a new phase. The joint operation against al-Minuki signals growing intelligence sharing, surveillance cooperation and operational coordination between both countries.

This is notable because relations between the two countries had recently experienced friction over allegations concerning religious persecution and broader security concerns. Yet, the al-Minuki operation suggests that mutual security interests ultimately prevailed over diplomatic disagreement.

However, foreign military cooperation also raises difficult sovereignty questions. Nigeria must avoid becoming excessively dependent on external powers for internal security management. Counterterrorism support is valuable, but no foreign partner can permanently secure Nigeria if the country fails to address the internal conditions feeding extremism. And this is perhaps the most important lesson from the al-Minuki episode. Terrorism in Nigeria cannot be defeated solely through military force.

Military operations may eliminate commanders, destroy camps and recover territories, but they do not automatically erase extremist ideology. The North-East crisis has always been multidimensional. In several insurgency-affected communities, the Nigerian state remains largely absent except through military presence. Schools are inadequate, hospitals scarce and infrastructure severely underdeveloped. In such environments, extremist groups exploit grievances and recruit vulnerable youths with alarming ease.

The challenge becomes even more dangerous when insurgency merges with banditry, arms trafficking and transnational organised crime. The Sahel today is experiencing precisely this convergence. Terrorist groups increasingly finance themselves through kidnapping, smuggling and illegal taxation networks. The ideological and criminal dimensions reinforce each other. This is why the killing of al-Minuki should not become an excuse for premature triumphalism. Rather, it should serve as an opportunity for sober reflection.

Nigeria must now ask itself difficult questions. Why has the insurgency endured for nearly seventeen years? Why do extremist groups continue regenerating despite repeated military offensives? Why do fragile communities remain vulnerable to radicalisation? And perhaps most importantly, what kind of post-conflict reconstruction framework truly exists for the North-East?

Counterterrorism victories are meaningful only when they translate into lasting civilian security. The humanitarian cost of the insurgency remains staggering. Millions remain displaced. Thousands of children have lost access to education. Farmers in many communities still cannot safely cultivate their lands. Women and girls continue facing profound vulnerabilities within displacement camps. These realities are often overshadowed whenever attention shifts toward high-profile terrorist killings.

There is also the broader African dimension. The instability stretching from Nigeria through Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso and Chad reflects a continental security crisis that conventional military responses alone cannot solve. Governance deficits, military coups, climate stress, ethnic rivalries and economic despair collectively create conditions in which extremist networks flourish. Africa’s terrorism crisis is therefore inseparable from its governance crisis.

This reality explains why ISIS increasingly views Africa as its future operational base. Weak institutions create strategic opportunities. Vast ungoverned territories provide safe havens. Fragile states offer limited resistance. Unless African governments collectively address these structural weaknesses, extremist networks will continue adapting regardless of how many commanders are eliminated.

For grieving communities across the North-East, every disrupted terror network matters. Every prevented attack matters. Every dismantled command structure matters. The operation demonstrates that coordinated intelligence and military cooperation can produce significant results.

The true test will lie in what follows next, whether Nigeria can consolidate tactical gains into strategic stability; whether communities devastated by conflict can be genuinely rehabilitated; whether governance can return to neglected territories; and whether the cycle of radicalisation can finally be broken.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com