US Threatens New Tariffs on UK, EU, China, 57 Others

The United States has announced plans to impose fresh tariffs of between 10 and 12.5 per cent on imports from dozens of countries over concerns that they have failed to do enough to curb the trade in goods produced through forced labour.

The move marks the second major tariff initiative by the administration of President Donald Trump since the US Supreme Court struck down a significant portion of his earlier import duties in February.

According to the US Trade Department, the proposed tariffs would affect 60 trading partners that collectively account for almost all goods imported into the United States.

The department said the measures were aimed at countries that have either failed to prohibit the importation of goods made with forced labour or have not effectively enforced existing restrictions.

Announcing the proposal, US Trade Representative Jamieson Greer said the continued trade in goods linked to forced labour created unfair competition for American workers.

“It creates a dynamic where American workers are forced to compete globally on an unlevel playing field,” Greer stated.

The proposed tariffs have yet to take effect, as the Trump administration is expected to complete the necessary legal and regulatory processes before implementation.

The action follows an investigation launched in March by Greer into whether major US trading partners had taken adequate measures to prevent the importation of products made wholly or partly through forced labour.

Findings from the investigation indicated that 54 countries had “failed to impose a legal prohibition on the importation of goods produced wholly or in part with forced labour and to effectively enforce such a prohibition.”

The report further stated that six trading partners — the European Union, Canada, Ecuador, Indonesia, Mexico and Pakistan — had failed to effectively enforce existing bans on imports linked to forced labour.

Under the proposal, a 10 per cent tariff would be imposed on imports from countries and blocs including the European Union, United Kingdom, Canada, Mexico, Pakistan, Argentina, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Guatemala, Malaysia and Taiwan.

The remaining 45 countries, including China and India, would face higher duties of 12.5 per cent.

Reacting to the announcement, the British government maintained that it was taking steps to address forced labour concerns within supply chains, while China rejected allegations that goods produced through forced labour were entering global markets.

The European Union, however, described the proposed tariffs as unjustified.

An Indian trade analyst characterised the move as a pressure tactic aimed at strengthening Washington’s position in ongoing trade negotiations with New Delhi.

Owo Verdict and the Death Warrant Question, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

On June 3, 2026, Justice Emeka Nwite of the Federal High Court, Abuja, delivered what may become one of the most consequential terrorism judgments in Nigeria’s recent history. Four men — Idris Abdulmalik Omeiza, Al Qasim Idris, Jamiu Abdulmalik and Abdulhaleem Idris — were sentenced to death by hanging for their roles in the June 5, 2022 massacre at St. Francis Catholic Church, Owo, Ondo State. A fifth defendant was discharged and acquitted for lack of evidence.

The attack remains one of the most horrific acts of terrorism ever recorded in Southern Nigeria. Worshippers were concluding Pentecost Sunday Mass when gunmen opened fire and detonated explosives. More than 40 people were killed, while over 100 sustained injuries. Children, women and entire families were among the victims.

The judgment was widely celebrated as a victory for justice, a triumph for diligent investigation and a demonstration that terrorism can be successfully prosecuted in Nigeria. Yet beneath the applause lies a difficult question that successive governments have carefully avoided: will these death sentences ever be carried out? That question extends far beyond Owo.

It goes to the very heart of Nigeria’s counterterrorism strategy and exposes one of the biggest contradictions in the country’s criminal justice system. Nigeria has become increasingly successful at convicting terrorists. What it has not demonstrated with equal consistency is the willingness to enforce the ultimate punishment prescribed by law.

The consequence is a justice system that often stops at conviction. For victims and their families, that distinction matters. For terrorists and would-be terrorists, it matters even more.

The Boko Haram insurgency, which began in 2009, has become one of Africa’s deadliest conflicts. Thousands have been killed and millions displaced across Borno, Yobe and Adamawa States. Entire communities have been erased from the map. Schools, churches, mosques and markets have been attacked. The humanitarian consequences have stretched across the Lake Chad Basin and beyond.

For years, however, Nigeria struggled to convert arrests into convictions. The turning point came with the establishment of specialised terrorism trials, particularly at the Kainji Detention Facility in Niger State. Since 2017, successive phases of mass terrorism prosecutions have sought to address the backlog of Boko Haram and ISWAP suspects held in custody.

The figures are revealing. Between 2017 and 2018, Nigerian courts convicted 163 terrorism suspects while 887 others were discharged or acquitted after evidence failed to support the allegations against them. Those acquittals were significant because they demonstrated that the courts were not functioning as mere conveyor belts for convictions but were insisting on evidentiary standards.

The process accelerated in July 2024 when another 125 Boko Haram fighters and terrorism financiers were convicted during Phase Five of the Kainji trials. Eighty-five of those convicted were found guilty of terrorism financing offences, while others were convicted for terrorism-related crimes and offences linked to international criminal law.

Subsequent phases have produced additional convictions, making Nigeria’s terrorism prosecution programme one of the largest judicial counterterrorism efforts on the African continent. Yet convictions alone do not tell the whole story. The real dilemma begins after sentencing.

Under Nigerian law, a death sentence does not automatically translate into execution. The convicted person is entitled to exhaust all appeal processes up to the Supreme Court where applicable. Even after the judicial process is concluded, the sentence still requires executive authorisation through a death warrant.

This is where politics enters the courtroom. Governors and presidents frequently find themselves caught between legal obligations and political realities. Human-rights organisations oppose executions on moral grounds. International partners often discourage the use of capital punishment. Religious leaders remain divided. Civil society groups raise concerns about miscarriages of justice. Consequently, death warrants are rarely signed.

The result is a peculiar legal contradiction. Courts pronounce death sentences. Governments preserve the sentences. But executions seldom occur. The condemned remain on death row indefinitely.

The most notable exception in contemporary Nigeria occurred in June 2013 when authorities in Edo State executed four condemned prisoners at Benin Prison after then Governor Adams Oshiomhole signed execution warrants. Human-rights organisations described the hangings as the first known executions in Nigeria since 2006. The action generated immediate national and international controversy. What followed is instructive.

Rather than encouraging wider enforcement of death sentences, the Edo executions appeared to deepen official caution across the federation. Governors became increasingly reluctant to sign warrants, fearing political backlash and international condemnation. Since then, Nigeria has largely operated a de facto execution moratorium despite retaining capital punishment in its statute books.

This ambiguity raises serious questions. Can a state maintain the death penalty as a lawful punishment while simultaneously refusing to implement it? Can a sentence remain credible if everyone understands that it is unlikely to be carried out? Can deterrence exist where punishment lacks certainty?

The Owo massacre was not a spontaneous crime. According to court findings, the convicted men belonged to a terrorist network, participated in planning meetings and executed a coordinated attack involving firearms and explosives against unarmed worshippers. The court also convicted them on counts relating to terrorism financing, hostage-taking, kidnapping and membership of a terrorist organisation.

These are not ordinary criminal offences. Terrorism is designed to intimidate populations, undermine state authority and destabilise society itself. That reality explains why many countries impose exceptional penalties for terrorism-related offences. The issue, therefore, is not whether Nigeria should execute the Owo convicts tomorrow.

The issue is whether Nigeria should continue operating a system in which courts impose punishments that governments appear unwilling to enforce. A mature democracy cannot indefinitely inhabit such a contradiction.

There are only two intellectually coherent options. The first is retention with enforcement. If Nigeria believes terrorism warrants capital punishment, then the state must develop the political courage to implement lawful sentences after all appeals have been exhausted.

The second is abolition through legislation. If policymakers conclude that executions are inconsistent with contemporary human-rights standards, then death sentences should be replaced with life imprisonment without parole for the gravest terrorism offences.

What undermines confidence is the current middle ground. The uncertainty affects victims as much as it affects convicts.

Families who lost loved ones in Owo, Chibok, Baga, Dapchi, Madagali and countless other communities deserve clarity about what justice means under Nigerian law. The rule of law depends not merely on convictions but on consistency.

The Owo judgment has therefore done more than punish four terrorists. It has reopened a national conversation that Nigeria has postponed for too long. The country has invested billions of naira in intelligence gathering, military operations, counter-radicalisation programmes, detention facilities, prosecutions and rehabilitation initiatives. It has improved investigative capacity. It has strengthened terrorism legislation. It has demonstrated increasing competence in securing convictions.

What remains unresolved is the final stage of it. The Owo case now stands as a test. Not simply of the guilt of the convicted men, which the court has already determined, but of the Nigerian state’s willingness to reconcile law with policy.

Whether the answer ultimately favours execution or abolition, one fact is beyond dispute. Justice cannot permanently exist in suspension.

A nation fighting terrorism cannot afford ambiguity where certainty is required. The families who buried their loved ones after that dark Pentecost Sunday in Owo deserve justice. And Nigeria deserves a criminal justice system courageous enough to decide what it truly believes about the death penalty.

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

Commercialisation of Banditry and Its Consequences for Nigeria, by Boniface Ihiasota

By all indications, banditry in Nigeria has evolved from a security challenge into a lucrative criminal enterprise. What began as sporadic attacks by armed groups in parts of the North-West has transformed into a sophisticated economy of violence, sustained by ransom payments, extortion, illegal taxation, cattle rustling, and human trafficking. The latest abduction of schoolchildren and teachers in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo State has once again exposed the dangerous commercialisation of insecurity and the grave implications for Nigeria’s future.

On May 15, 2026, armed terrorists attacked schools in Esiele, Yawota and Alawusa communities in Oyo State, abducting dozens of pupils and teachers. Reports indicate that a teacher was killed during the attack, while another was reportedly murdered in captivity. The kidnappers subsequently made a series of demands, including a reported ₦1 billion ransom, release of detained associates and other conditions. While some claims regarding ideological demands remain unverified, the ransom component underscores a familiar pattern that has become central to Nigeria’s kidnapping economy.

The Oyo incident is not an isolated case. Over the past decade, schoolchildren have increasingly become targets because they represent high-value bargaining assets. From the abduction of the Chibok girls in Borno State in April 2014 to the Kankara schoolboys in Katsina State in December 2020, criminal groups have discovered that mass kidnappings attract publicity, pressure governments and often generate substantial financial rewards. According to reports, nearly 1,900 students have been abducted from schools across Nigeria since the Chibok tragedy.

What is particularly alarming is that banditry is no longer driven solely by ideology or communal grievances. It has become a business model. Armed groups now maintain supply chains, informant networks, negotiators, financiers and logistical operatives. Some communities pay protection levies to avoid attacks, while families are compelled to sell land, livestock and lifelong savings to secure the release of loved ones. The result is a parallel criminal economy that thrives on fear and weak state presence.

The financial incentives are enormous. Security analysts have repeatedly warned that ransom payments, whether made publicly or secretly, encourage further kidnappings. Criminal gangs quickly learn that abducting vulnerable targets such as schoolchildren, teachers, farmers and travellers guarantees attention and potential profit. In many cases, successful ransom collections finance the purchase of motorcycles, communication equipment and recruitment of additional fighters, thereby sustaining the cycle of violence.

The consequences for Nigeria are devastating. First is the erosion of public confidence in the state’s ability to protect lives and property. When parents fear sending their children to school, education suffers. Communities affected by repeated attacks experience population displacement, declining agricultural productivity and economic stagnation. Reports from several conflict-affected areas show that many children have abandoned schooling due to fear of abduction.

Second, the spread of kidnapping from traditional hotspots in the North-West to states in the South-West demonstrates that no region is immune. The Oyo abduction signals a troubling geographical expansion of criminal networks and raises concerns about the security of educational institutions nationwide.

Third, commercialised banditry threatens national cohesion and investment. Investors are reluctant to commit resources where insecurity is pervasive, while citizens become increasingly distrustful of public institutions. The economic cost is measured not only in ransom payments but also in lost productivity, reduced foreign investment and rising security expenditures.

Nigeria must therefore move beyond reactive responses. Security operations should be complemented by financial intelligence, prosecution of ransom facilitators, disruption of criminal funding channels and stronger community-based intelligence gathering.

Equally important is ensuring that schools, particularly in vulnerable rural areas, are adequately protected.

The tragedy unfolding in Oyo is a reminder that banditry flourishes when crime becomes profitable. Unless the economic incentives driving kidnapping are dismantled, Nigeria risks allowing a criminal marketplace to become permanently embedded within its national security landscape.