Places of worship are not battlegrounds to be defiled by violence
In the wake of their June plenary, Kenya's Catholic bishops have placed two urgent questions before the nation's conscience: whether organized violence against public gatherings now enjoys the quiet blessing of power, and whether a government that builds an Ebola facility in secret — on soil belonging to its own people — can still claim to serve them. Speaking from the ancient tradition that human dignity is not a privilege granted by the state but a foundation that precedes it, the bishops are not merely criticizing policy; they are asking whether the covenant between leaders and the led still holds in Kenya.
- Organized thugs have disrupted gatherings in sacred spaces — including a Nairobi cathedral — with such brazenness that bishops now openly suspect the violence carries official protection.
- The government quietly approved an Ebola quarantine facility at Laikipia Air Base, designed primarily for American patients, without informing parliament, consulting communities, or disclosing the terms of the arrangement.
- The secrecy has already cost lives: protests in Laikipia turned deadly, residents were arrested, and fear of an Ebola outbreak spread rapidly through the region.
- The bishops are demanding more than apologies — they want a police investigation that names both perpetrators and sponsors of the violence, and genuine public consultation before the health facility proceeds any further.
- Beneath both crises runs a single thread: Kenyan citizens are being acted upon rather than consulted, and the church has placed itself on record as the institution that will keep watching.
On June 23rd, Kenya's Catholic bishops concluded their plenary meeting with a statement addressing two crises they believe are eroding the country's democratic and moral foundations.
The first concerns what Kenyans call 'goonism' — the use of organized thugs to disrupt, intimidate, and silence. Archbishop Maurice Muhatia Makumba of Kisumu pointed to the violent disruption of a meeting at All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi, where individuals even threatened police officers present. The bishops were clear: this was not random lawlessness. It was part of a pattern, and its most disturbing feature was its apparent impunity. They asked the government directly whether this violence was operating with tacit official support, and challenged the Inspector General of Police to launch a swift, transparent investigation — one that would identify not only the perpetrators but whoever was funding and directing them.
The second crisis had already drawn blood. Without parliamentary oversight, public consultation, or transparent disclosure of terms, the government had approved an Ebola quarantine facility at Laikipia Air Base — intended primarily for American citizens. When communities learned of it, protests erupted. People died. Residents were arrested. Panic spread across the region at the thought of one of the world's most lethal viruses being treated nearby. The bishops asked plainly: what does Kenya gain from accepting patients that other countries will not receive, while placing its own citizens at risk?
The bishops called on the government to do what it had failed to do — engage religious leaders, healthcare workers, civil society, and affected communities before proceeding. They extended their demand for transparency beyond the health facility to include arrangements around Kenya's mineral resources, reminding leaders that those resources belong to the people. They also raised ongoing concerns about the Social Health Authority insurance system.
Grounding their statement in Catholic social teaching and the words of the Prophet Jeremiah, the bishops insisted they were speaking as pastors, not politicians — committed to accompanying both government and people toward a just society. But their message carried an unmistakable edge: Kenya's leaders have serious work to do, and the church intends to hold them to account.
On June 23rd, Kenya's Catholic bishops emerged from their plenary meeting with a statement that cut to the heart of two crises they see unfolding in the country: organized violence that appears to operate with impunity, and a health facility being imposed on Kenyans without their knowledge or consent.
Archbishop Maurice Muhatia Makumba of Kisumu, speaking for the Kenya Conference of Catholic Bishops, pointed to a specific incident that had crystallized their alarm. At All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi, a meeting had been violently disrupted by individuals who went so far as to threaten police officers on the scene. The bishops did not treat this as an isolated incident of street lawlessness. Instead, they saw it as evidence of something more systematic: a deepening pattern of what Kenyans call "goonism"—the deployment of organized thugs to intimidate, disrupt, and silence.
What troubled the bishops most was not just the violence itself, but the brazenness with which it occurred. These disruptions were happening in houses of worship, in spaces meant to be inviolable. The bishops had raised concerns about this trend before, but now they were asking a harder question: Was this violence enjoying official support? Were the goons operating with tacit permission from those in power? The bishops challenged the government directly: Can you dispel this suspicion? Do you have the political will to stop this, or does it serve your interests? They warned political actors that places of worship are not battlegrounds, and they called on the Inspector General of Police to launch a swift, transparent investigation that would identify both the perpetrators and whoever was sponsoring them.
But the bishops' statement addressed a second crisis that had already drawn blood. The government had decided to establish an Ebola quarantine and treatment facility at Laikipia Air Base, intended primarily for American citizens. The decision had been made, the bishops said, without adequate public consultation, without parliamentary oversight, and without transparent disclosure of the terms. Kenyans were not asked. They were not informed. They simply learned that a facility designed to treat patients with one of the world's most lethal viruses would be built on their soil.
The consequences were already visible. People had died in Laikipia during protests against the facility. Residents had been arrested. Panic had spread across the region at the prospect of an Ebola outbreak. The bishops posed a question that cut through the official language: What is in this for Kenya? Why should the nation accept the treatment of foreign patients—people not welcome in their own countries because of the infection risk—while placing Kenyan citizens in danger? Given what Ebola demands in terms of containment and control, the bishops argued, any government acting with wisdom would have engaged the public, built consensus, and explored alternatives before proceeding.
The bishops called on the government to do what it had not done: engage religious leaders, civil society, healthcare workers, and the communities directly affected. They demanded transparency in all government dealings, not just this one—including arrangements around Kenya's mineral resources. They reminded leaders that those resources belong to the Kenyan people, and that accountability is not negotiable. They also flagged the ongoing problems with the Social Health Authority insurance system, which continues to burden ordinary Kenyans.
Underlying the statement was a theological conviction. The bishops invoked the Prophet Jeremiah's words about God's plans for welfare and not for evil, for a future and a hope. They grounded their critique in Catholic social teaching, which places human dignity at the foundation of all justice. They were not speaking as political actors but as pastors, they suggested, committed to walking alongside the government and the people in the work of building a just society. Yet their message was unmistakable: Kenya's leaders have work to do, and the church will be watching.
Citas Notables
The increasingly visible weaponization of goons to disrupt lawful public gatherings, including in houses of worship, and the intimidation of citizens seeking to participate in democratic dialogue, pose a grave threat to the rule of law and the fundamental freedoms guaranteed by Kenya's Constitution.— Kenya Conference of Catholic Bishops
What is in this for Kenya? Is it in the interest of the nation to welcome the treatment of foreign Ebola patients, individuals not welcome in their own country for fear of infection, while placing Kenyan citizens at risk?— Kenya Conference of Catholic Bishops
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Why did the bishops focus on these two issues together in a single statement?
Because they're symptoms of the same disease—a government that acts without consulting its people, whether through violence or through policy. The goonism suggests a state that uses force to silence dissent. The Ebola facility suggests a state that makes decisions affecting public health and safety in secret. Both undermine trust.
The bishops seem to be suggesting the violence might be state-sponsored. How confident are they in that claim?
They're not claiming certainty. They're asking the government to dispel the suspicion. But the fact that they're asking at all—and that they've raised this concern before—tells you how visible the pattern has become. When organized thugs can threaten police and disrupt a cathedral without apparent consequence, people notice.
What's the actual risk from the Ebola facility, in their view?
It's not just epidemiological. It's about sovereignty and dignity. The bishops are saying: you didn't ask us, you didn't tell us the terms, you didn't explore whether Kenya's own health system could be strengthened instead. And now people are dead because they protested something they were never consulted about.
Is this the bishops breaking new ground, or have they been critical of the government before?
They've been critical before—they mention a previous statement on goonism. But this statement is notable because it connects the dots. It's not just condemning individual acts. It's describing a pattern of governance that excludes the public from decisions that affect their lives and safety.
What are they asking for, concretely?
A police investigation into the violence and who's behind it. Public consultation on the Ebola facility. Transparency in all government deals. Engagement with religious leaders, civil society, and affected communities before major decisions are made. It's not radical—it's asking for the democratic process to actually function.
And if the government doesn't respond?
The bishops have signaled these issues remain on their pastoral agenda. In Kenya, the Catholic Church has moral authority. They're not going away.