Let’s start with the facts
Benue State is once again in the national spotlight, and not for reasons anyone would celebrate. In April 2025, coordinated attacks in the state claimed dozens of lives—men, women, and children—burning homes and farmlands to ashes. These weren’t isolated incidents. They were the latest in a pattern of violence largely rooted in a bitter, long-standing struggle between farmers and pastoralist herders.
Now, in response to the escalating bloodshed, Benue is reviving a law it first pioneered back in 2017: the Anti-Open-Grazing Law, officially called the “Open Grazing Prohibition and Ranches Establishment Law.” But this isn’t just a rehash. It’s a strategic revamp—stronger, more assertive, and deeply controversial. Whether you’re a farmer whose crops have been trampled by herds or a herder trying to preserve a way of life, the stakes are incredibly high.
And this isn’t just a Benue problem. It’s a national dilemma—about land, identity, survival, and the power of state governments to defend their people. What Benue does now could set a precedent for other states grappling with similar conflicts.
So, what’s really changing in this revamped law? Why is it happening now? And what does it mean for the people who live in the eye of this storm?
Let’s unpack this—clearly, honestly, and without glossing over the hard truths.
Historical Context of the Anti-Open-Grazing Law
To understand why Benue is tightening the grip on open grazing in 2025, you have to go back to 2017—the year the state became the first in Nigeria to outlaw the practice outright. The move was not symbolic; it was born from bloodshed.
For years before the law was passed, Benue’s predominantly agrarian communities found themselves under siege. Armed herders, often unidentified but widely linked to Fulani pastoralist groups, were clashing violently with farmers over land use. Crops were being destroyed by roaming cattle. Farms were abandoned. Rural communities lived under constant threat. Between 2014 and 2016 alone, hundreds of lives were lost in what were initially dismissed as “farmer-herder disputes,” but quickly escalated into what Amnesty International later described as “systematic killings.”
By May 22, 2017, Benue had had enough. The state government enacted the “Open Grazing Prohibition and Ranches Establishment Law,” a landmark piece of legislation aimed at putting an end to open grazing across the state. It mandated the establishment of ranches as the only legal form of cattle rearing. The law was clear: anyone found grazing livestock openly, without proper authorization or outside designated ranches, would face arrest, confiscation of livestock, fines, and even imprisonment.
Initially, the law received massive public support from Benue’s farmers and traditional leaders. Many saw it as a bold step toward reclaiming safety and dignity. But support didn’t guarantee smooth implementation. Enforcement mechanisms were underfunded and undermanned. Livestock guards were deployed, but not at the scale needed to cover the sprawling rural terrain. Many herders either defied the law or claimed ignorance of its contents. Arrests were made, but they triggered backlash—sometimes deadly.
The federal government’s response was muted. Key officials at the time, including the Inspector General of Police and the Minister of Defense, publicly questioned the law’s legitimacy, suggesting it targeted a specific ethnic group. This only deepened the rift between Benue and federal authorities.
Despite the criticism, Benue stood its ground. Over the next few years, at least 300 people were prosecuted under the law, according to the state’s livestock guards. However, the violence didn’t stop. In fact, some argued it worsened. Critics pointed out that the law, while noble in intention, had little support infrastructure for herders who genuinely wanted to transition to ranching. No financial subsidies. No clear land allocation for ranches. No training.
And so, while the law stayed on paper and in the courts, in practice, Benue remained volatile. Open grazing didn’t disappear—it just went underground. Clashes continued. And in some cases, retaliatory attacks became more coordinated and more lethal.
That brings us to today. After a lull in national conversation, the recent resurgence of violence and the heartbreaking human toll has pushed the law back into the headlines. But this time, it’s not just a reiteration—it’s a revision. A revamp. And unlike in 2017, the tone in 2025 is firmer, the political will stronger, and the penalties much steeper.
Recent Amendments and Revamp Efforts
Now let’s talk specifics—because this isn’t just about bringing back an old law. It’s about changing the rules of engagement completely.
In January 2022, the Benue State House of Assembly passed a set of sweeping amendments to the 2017 Anti-Open-Grazing Law. These weren’t cosmetic changes. They were targeted upgrades—crafted in response to the flaws and loopholes that had become obvious over the five years of enforcement. The goal? Eliminate ambiguity, escalate deterrents, and close the door on impunity.
Tougher Penalties for Open Grazing
The revamped law now imposes a fine of ₦500,000 for the first offense of open grazing and ₦1 million for each subsequent offense. That’s per individual—not per herd. It’s an intentional move to make illegal grazing economically unviable. It also introduces a mandatory jail term if fines aren’t paid—sending a clear message that the state is done negotiating on this front.
Livestock Confiscation Now Comes with Steep Recovery Costs
Previously, when livestock was seized, many herders simply reclaimed them after paying token fines or through political connections. That’s over. Under the amended law, anyone who wants to reclaim impounded animals must now pay ₦50,000 per cow. For goats or sheep, it’s ₦10,000 per head. If the fines aren’t paid within seven days, the livestock becomes state property and may be auctioned or donated to IDP camps.
Child Herding Is Now a Crime
In one of the most discussed updates, the amended law prohibits the use of underage children for herding. Anyone caught sending a child to herd cattle faces a 14-year jail sentence or a ₦5 million fine—or both. The reasoning here is twofold: protect children from exploitative labor and reduce the likelihood of untrained minors wandering into farmlands and sparking conflict.
Movement of Cattle on Foot Is Completely Outlawed
Even more importantly, the new law bans the movement of livestock across public roads or through communities by foot. In effect, this cuts off the traditional nomadic routes that have historically led to trespassing on farms. Any herder found leading cattle on foot without transport or without clear authorization will be arrested on the spot.
New Enforcement Mechanisms and Interagency Collaboration
Along with the amendments, Governor Hyacinth Alia’s administration directed a full-scale reactivation of enforcement through the Benue State Livestock Guards. These units are now working closely with federal security agencies, including the police and civil defense corps. The idea is not just to arrest violators, but to prevent further bloodshed by enforcing the law in real time. Surveillance has also been upgraded—drone mapping and community informant systems are being considered to monitor livestock movement in high-risk zones.
Clarifying Rumors of Repeal
By mid-2024, rumors began to circulate that the new state administration was quietly backing away from the Anti-Open-Grazing Law. This prompted widespread criticism, particularly from civil society and farming communities. In June 2024, the Benue State House of Assembly publicly clarified that the law had not been repealed. Speaker Aondona Dajoh insisted that the law remained in full effect and was being strengthened, not abandoned. This clarification came after internal legislative reviews were misinterpreted by media outlets and interest groups.
Public Endorsements and State Commitment
More recently, Governor Alia reaffirmed the government’s resolve to enforce the law strictly. In a statement issued in May 2025 following another wave of attacks in Apa and Guma LGAs, he instructed all security agencies to “commence immediate arrests and prosecution of offenders without delay.” This wasn’t just rhetoric—multiple herders were reportedly arrested within 48 hours, and hundreds of cattle were impounded in joint patrol operations.
What we’re seeing now is not a policy for show. It’s a deliberate, calculated strategy to tighten the noose on illegal open grazing. And it’s working its way from the Assembly chamber to the last remote community farm.
Impact on Local Communities
Now let’s shift focus to where the law hits hardest—the people living it out day by day. The farmers. The herders. The families caught in between.
For Benue’s farmers, the law is more than a policy—it’s a shield. Many of them have spent years watching their farms being trampled, their harvests devoured, and their communities destroyed. For them, the Anti-Open-Grazing Law is a lifeline. Since the 2025 revamp, several local farmers in Gwer West, Logo, and Guma LGAs have reported a reduction in the frequency of night-time grazing raids. Though attacks still occur, there’s a growing sense that someone is finally taking the law seriously.
“We don’t want revenge,” said one rice farmer in Makurdi. “We just want to be able to farm without fear. That’s all. The law gives us that hope.”
But for Fulani herders and nomadic pastoralists, the story is drastically different. Many feel unfairly targeted, criminalized for simply living the way their ancestors have for centuries. Some argue that the law, while well-intended, punishes those who lack the resources to build ranches. It’s not just a transition—it’s an economic upheaval.
“How can I afford a ranch?” asked a herder near the Nasarawa border. “Even if I want to obey, where is the land? Who will give me money for fencing, water, feed? We are not criminals. We are just poor.”
This feeling of exclusion has led to tension. Some herders now move under the cover of darkness, avoiding checkpoints and livestock guards. Others have abandoned Benue entirely, migrating to more lenient neighboring states. But a fraction have chosen resistance, arming themselves and fighting back. And this is where the human cost escalates.
Displacement is another pressing issue. The National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) estimates that over 1.5 million people in Benue are currently displaced due to farmer-herder violence. Many live in IDP camps under precarious conditions. For these communities, the law is only part of the solution. Safety may be increasing in some areas, but without compensation, rehabilitation, and reintegration, the trauma remains raw.
There’s also a generational impact. Children from farming families have had to drop out of school due to insecurity, while many herder children—once used to accompanying livestock across regions—are now uncertain about their futures. With child herding now criminalized, many families face cultural identity crises, unsure how to preserve their traditions within the law’s constraints.
And yet, across both sides, there’s one common desire: peace. Almost everyone interviewed—farmer or herder—expressed a longing to coexist. But peace, they agree, can’t come without fairness. If the law is going to work long-term, it must address the power imbalances and practical realities each group faces. Enforcement alone won’t solve the crisis. But combined with empathy, investment, and dialogue, it just might begin to.
Political and Legal Implications
The implications of the Benue anti-open-grazing revamp stretch far beyond state boundaries. Constitutionally, it revives the debate over the limits of state power versus federal authority—especially in regulating land, security, and ethnic rights.
Under Nigeria’s Land Use Act of 1978, land is technically held in trust by state governors. This gives Benue the legal mandate to regulate land use, including grazing. But enforcement becomes tricky when federal law enforcement agencies are slow to act—or worse, refuse to comply.
In past years, officials like the former Minister of Defense publicly blamed the anti-open-grazing law for “provoking herders” and suggested that it should be repealed. Statements like this embolden violators and send conflicting messages to security agencies. In 2018, for instance, a group of arrested herders in Agatu were released without prosecution following pressure from “above.” This type of interference weakens state laws and deepens mistrust among local communities.
But 2025 marks a turning point. Governor Alia’s administration is openly demanding greater autonomy over internal security. The Benue House of Assembly has also intensified efforts to build local enforcement structures that do not rely entirely on federal command—like the Livestock Guards and community vigilante groups. These are not without controversy, especially given fears of abuse or extra-judicial actions. But for now, they remain a critical piece of the enforcement puzzle.
At the national level, the Benue law is reigniting calls for state policing and restructuring—issues that have long stalled at the federal legislature. Southern states, particularly in the South-East and South-West, are closely watching Benue’s moves, with some governors hinting at similar legal upgrades. Ekiti, Ondo, and Oyo already have anti-open-grazing laws, but enforcement has lagged. Benue’s bolder stance might encourage them to follow through more aggressively.
There’s also the legal precedent to consider. If the Benue law is ever challenged at the Supreme Court—and it likely will be—the outcome could redefine how Nigeria balances state versus federal authority over agricultural regulation and internal security. As it stands, the Constitution does not mention grazing routes or give any ethnic group the right to transhumance (seasonal migration). This gives Benue’s legal team confidence that their actions are constitutional. But the political temperature suggests the battle is far from over.
Whether this becomes a template for peace or a legal quagmire depends on how it’s enforced, challenged, and revised in the years ahead.
Conclusion
What’s happening in Benue right now isn’t just law enforcement. It’s survival politics. It’s land rights. It’s historical trauma meeting modern governance. And it’s forcing Nigerians to confront difficult questions: Can a state defend its people without federal interference? Can tradition adapt without being erased? Can peace be achieved without justice?
By reviving and revamping the Anti-Open-Grazing Law, Benue is taking a stand that many other states have only talked about. The law is not perfect—few laws born in conflict ever are. But it is a starting point. A line drawn in defense of lives and livelihoods that have too often been treated as collateral damage in a national silence.
Still, for the law to succeed long-term, it must be more than a threat. It must come with infrastructure: ranching support, compensation schemes, dialogue platforms, and reintegration programs. Herders who want to obey the law need realistic pathways to do so. Farmers need protection and justice. And displaced families need healing—not just headlines.
What Benue does next—how it balances strength with fairness, enforcement with support—will determine whether this moment becomes a turning point or just another chapter in a long, bloody history.
But for now, the message from Makurdi is clear: open grazing in Benue is no longer tolerated. And this time, they mean it.
