Letter to the Editor
Sir,
I wish to add my voice to the growing chorus calling for the immediate and unconditional release of Rev. Fr. Berinyuy. No servant of God should ever face the trauma of kidnapping. At the same time, however, this painful incident forces us to confront deeper questions about leadership, consistency, and the moral responsibilities of the Church in moments of crisis.
Like many Catholics, I was struck by the unprecedented decision of Archbishop Andrew Nkea to shut down schools, hospitals, and parishes across the Archdiocese of Bamenda. I understand the emotional weight of seeing a priest taken hostage, and I sympathise deeply. But I must ask, respectfully and honestly:
Why has this level of institutional outrage never been shown for the thousands of ordinary civilians — including women, children, farmers, teachers, and entire families — who have been kidnapped, tortured, or killed during this long and bitter conflict?
This is not the first abduction in the Archdiocese. It is not the first killing. It is not the first moment of anguish. For eight years, communities have been devastated, and the Church has buried victims almost weekly.
Yet we have never seen the Archbishop lead a peaceful march to the BIR base at Bamenda Airport. We have never seen Catholic institutions shuttered in protest when state forces killed civilians. We have never witnessed this kind of dramatic action when children were massacred, homes burned, or villages emptied.
Why now?
Why only when a priest is the victim?
If school closures are a legitimate response to injustice, then why were they not applied when innocent parishioners — the very people those institutions serve — were dying?
This selective empathy has left many faithful with troubling questions. Is the Archbishop’s concern being guided by the value of every human life, or only by the status of clergy? Is this shutdown truly meant as a protest against injustice, or is it unintentionally punishing the same communities already suffering from violence and displacement?
More painfully, some see in this decision a desire to signal political loyalty — especially given the Archbishop’s public insistence that “Amba fighters” are responsible, and not the state. The optics, at minimum, are unfortunate.
Leadership in the Church is not measured by titles or ceremonies but by the courage to stand with the vulnerable without discrimination.
We have seen examples of such courage in other parts of the world. In 2023, when children were kidnapped in Israel, Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, publicly offered himself in exchange for them. That was the language of sacrifice. That was the posture of a shepherd.
No one is asking Archbishop Nkea to imitate heroism recklessly. But the contrast is unavoidable. For many of us, it is painful to see institutions closed rather than leadership physically present with the terrified faithful.
The Church does not close its doors because fear knocks; it opens them wider.
A shepherd does not abandon the flock under attack; he draws nearer.
Archbishop Nkea still has the opportunity to demonstrate this kind of pastoral courage. But as things stand, his decision sends the wrong signal — to the faithful, to the kidnappers, and to a society already fragile from eight years of war.
I write not out of hostility, but out of love for the Church and the people it serves. We deserve leadership that is consistent, compassionate, and impartial in defending life — whether the victim wears a cassock or carries a farm hoe.
May Fr. Berinyuy be released swiftly and safely.
May the Church rediscover its prophetic voice.
And may every human life be valued with equal dignity in the eyes of its shepherds.
Respectfully,
Ghainwi Akamentsu
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