Question 2.28

2.28 Your life as a bishop is in some ways parallel to that in Krakow of Karol Wojtyta, who fought against Communism, is it not?

I would not dare compare myself to Saint John Paul II, but it was in fact both an enriching and a trying time. Until his death on March 26, 1984, Sékou Touré never stopped watching my least actions and gestures. Several months before his death, he had even planned in minute detail my arrest and execution, according to secret intelligence that was revealed to me after his burial.

After the consecration, Monsignor Barry advised me to set out immediately on the roads of the archdiocese to meet the faithful. For two years, therefore, I crisscrossed my ecclesiastical territory so as not to be cut off from reality. I understood that the State Party revolution was literally destroying all the mainstays of the country. In particular, the educational system was in a chaotic state; the only thing that mattered was the dissemination of official propaganda, inspired by Soviet Marxism-Leninism. Clinics and hospitals had all but disappeared or were appalling in their lack of hygiene. The weakest, in particular the children and the elderly, were left to fend for themselves in terrible suffering.

Political opponents had no rights as citizens. The mere act of voicing a simple criticism about the poverty of the people could lead to imprisonment at the Boiro camp, where the soldiers committed indescribable tortures of which I would prefer not to speak.

In fact, the country was sinking into a hellish spiral, and nothing seemed to be able to stop the ideological frenzy of Sékou Touré. Despite the risks, I decided to speak. I could not remain silent faced with such a tragic situation. Repeatedly, I explained my point of view about the poverty of the people, the fear or the lies of the leaders, and the disastrous political and economic management of our country. In a public speech, I even launched the remark for which Sékou Touré never forgave me: “Power consumes those who do not have the wisdom to share it!”

Thinking to myself, I reasoned: “I am thirty-five years old. In Africa, that is much more than half a lifetime. There are many children who die at birth and a multitude of people who have finished their life at age fifty or even before reaching the age of twenty. I should consider myself blessed by the Lord to have reached my age. Now, it is important that I dedicate myself totally to God and to his people. What more could I hope for than a death for the glory of God and for the defense of truth, for the dignity of the human person and freedom of conscience! We must agree to leave this earth for the sake of the Gospel. Jesus died because he testified to the truth: ‘For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Every one who is of the truth hears my voice’ (Jn 18:37).”

After hundreds of hours of prayer, I came to the conclusion that the worst that could happen to me was death; my life was nothing compared to the blatant injustices, the horrible poverty, and the unspeakable horrors that I saw each day. Terror reigned even in families, where a father might fear that his children would side with the dictatorship for the sake of expediency. I had to speak, even if my life was at stake.

I therefore decided to use my homilies at the cathedral and the ceremonies on January 1, when the archbishop traditionally presented his greetings to the president, to make some remarks about the degradation of the country. Without any provocative comments and with great respect, I formulated several proposals so the people might benefit from less trying conditions. Similarly, I called on the regime to grant greater freedom to the Guineans. The Catholics and many Muslims no longer knew what to do to convince me to take fewer risks. I was not afraid, and if I had to be arrested, it would be for a worthwhile reason.

Of course, no one wants to be tortured in a concentration camp. Nor was I unaware of the fact that Sékou Touré was capable of the worst against an opponent. However, I continued to consider my battle more important than my own survival. If God preferred to have me in heaven, I felt ready to meet him after defending my people against oppression.

Moreover, I sought to organize programs for youth. Sékou Touré in fact refused to allow anyone to work with young people. The State Party alone was in charge of education. Back in 1959, Sékou Touré had created the “Youth for the African Democratic Revolution”, which was supposed to promote all artistic, cultural, and athletic activities for young people. Any other youth movement was forbidden.

I wanted young people to have available a different point of view from that of the forces of the revolution. Therefore, I started a survey, asking the priests to approach young people and to ask them to write to me and tell me their grievances. In the overwhelming majority of the letters that I received, there was a thirst for spiritual and human formation. From then on, each year, in late August, I decided to gather young people who wished to participate for twoweek courses on the Bible and human formation. I took care of the religious questions, and some experts came to answer their questions, which were often very specific, about work, management, marriage, and family. The human and financial investment was burdensome, because my diocese was not rich. Quickly I saw that the desires of these young people were profound. Needless to say, Sékou Touré took a very dim view of my initiative.

I also tried to help families; I saw how harmful Communism could be to them. Often inside the same home was a fear of what one of the spouses might do. The children literally escaped from education by their parents.

Generally speaking, the most important measures taken by revolutionary governments always affect the family. In addition, during the first five years of my episcopate, my pastoral letters were all dedicated to the defense of the Christian family.