An archbishop, a car, a night in prison: when the Church in Africa demands the right

Amos 5:12

¹²For I know that your crimes are many, that your sins are great, you who oppress the righteous, who take snatches and who deny justice to the poor at the Gate.

Acts 16:37

³⁷But Paul said to the guards, «They publicly flogged us, Roman citizens, without trial, and threw us into prison; now they want to release us secretly. Not so! Let them come themselves and set us free.»

Acts 12:5

⁵While Peter was thus kept in prison, the Church continued to offer prayers to God for him.

A car, a night in jail, a suspicion of a gag

The facts, as presented by the justice system

On September 28, 2026, the Archbishop of Lusaka appeared before the Zambian Drug Enforcement Commission. He was charged with possessing, between April 2021 and December 2023, a Toyota Hilux "reasonably suspected" of having been illegally obtained from the country's tax authorities. He pleaded not guilty. He spent a night in Lusaka Central Jail and was then released on bail of 80,000 kwacha, approximately €3,600. His passport was confiscated. A preliminary hearing is scheduled for October 14, and the trial will begin on November 3.

I don't have all the details of the procedure, and it would be unwise to claim otherwise. Here is what has been established. The vehicle was allegedly given to the archbishop by the late former president, Edgar Lungu. Archbishop Banda had requested transportation for himself and his parish, and the head of state had promised to help. He did not specify where the car would come from. The Zambian bishops maintain that the vehicle was handed over to the state in December 2023 and that the archbishop is not accused of any involvement in its transfer. A gift received in good faith, then returned, thus becomes an accusation of alleged receiving stolen goods.

This case cannot be viewed in isolation. It comes six weeks after the August 13 election, which gave President Hakainde Hichilema a second term. Several opposition figures have been arrested since then, including the main candidate, Brian Mundubile. Archbishop Banda, who has led Lusaka since 2018, is known for his outspokenness on governance, justice, and national unity. Many analysts therefore link his arrest to his criticisms. This interpretation remains a matter of fact. It is not a judgment, and the Church cannot state it as a certainty.

Suspicion is not proof, but it is a sign.

Two things must be considered together. On the one hand, a bishop is not above the law, and the Church has no interest in claiming for its pastors an immunity that the Gospel does not grant them. If a fault is established, it must be acknowledged, rectified, and it will be painful. On the other hand, a suspicion that arises precisely when a voice becomes problematic ceases to be neutral. It becomes a sign, and this sign primarily troubles those who have no voice.

The archbishop is a well-known figure, surrounded by his fellow bishops, supported by faithful who flocked to the cathedral to pray as soon as his arrest was announced. He has lawyers, a platform, and an international network. What would the same legal process mean for a small shopkeeper in Kitwe, a market vendor in Soweto, or a young activist from a working-class neighborhood? When a government targets such a high-profile figure, everyone wonders how far its hand will go. That is why this case transcends the fate of one man.

Donation, bribe, restitution: the boundary the Church must confront

It would be dishonest to sidestep the question this affair poses for the Church itself. In many African countries, pastors receive vehicles, land, or subsidies from their governments. These are often genuine needs. A vast diocese, laterite roads, parishes several hours apart: a car is not a luxury. But a gift from a powerful figure is never entirely innocent. It creates a debt, and debt eventually weighs heavily on one's word.

The prophet Amos denounced the judges of his time in terms that resonate with our contemporary ears: «I know that your crimes are many and your sins countless, you who oppress the righteous and accept bribes, and at the gate turn away the poor» (Amos 5:12). The text targets those who sell justice. It reminds us that the city gate, the seat of the courts, is where a people's justice is dispensed. It also compels the Church to be vigilant about itself. The return of the vehicle in 2023, as recalled by the bishops, speaks precisely to this: a pastor knows how to return what might hinder him. The law will examine whether the action was sufficient, and that is its role.

The African episcopate speaks with one voice

From Kinshasa to Lusaka: a solidarity that has substance

On October 1st, the Symposium of Episcopal Conferences of Africa and Madagascar issued a statement. Its president, Cardinal Fridolin Ambongo Besungu, Archbishop of Kinshasa, expressed the "fraternal solidarity" and "closeness in prayer" of the continent's bishops. The text speaks of "deep concern" regarding the events that followed the summons of the archbishop. It acknowledges the clarification provided by the Zambian conference: Archbishop Banda is not accused of having participated in the transfer of the vehicle, which he handed over to the State in December 2023.

This stance is not a knee-jerk reaction of self-interest. Cardinal Ambongo Besungu is himself a pastor accustomed to speaking in a difficult context, that of the Democratic Republic of Congo, where the episcopate has more than once paid the price for its outspokenness. When he writes to Lusaka, he understands the weight of such a statement. And the Symposium is not calling for impunity. It is demanding justice, fairness, human dignity, and due process. These are demanding words: they apply to the archbishop, but they also bind the State that is prosecuting him.

The Zambian Episcopal Conference held an extraordinary plenary session on September 29, chaired by Archbishop Ignatius Chama of Kasama. This unscheduled meeting had a pastoral purpose. It demonstrated that the Church would not leave one of its own to the sole purview of the legal system, but rather wished to speak as a whole, with its faithful, in a climate marked by violence that many attribute to the authorities.

Why the rule of law is a matter for the Church

One might object that the Church has no business interfering in criminal proceedings. This would be to forget the most consistent doctrine of its tradition. Augustine of Hippo, in *The City of God*, asks what kingdoms are without justice, if not vast bands of brigands. The phrase is famous, but its consequence less so: a power that uses justice as a tool against its critics no longer deserves the name of order. It resembles what the Doctor of Hippo describes, a power held together only by fear.

Thomas Aquinas echoes this sentiment when he distinguishes just law, ordered toward the common good, from law that is merely disguised violence. The modern rule of law, with its safeguards, does not derive directly from the Gospel, but it does draw upon its profound insights: the dignity of every person, the presumption of innocence, and the prohibition against punishment without trial. Defending these safeguards is not partisan politics. It is defending what faith teaches about humanity.

Recent Magisterial teachings emphasize this link between peace and justice. Since his election, Pope Leo XIV has called on political leaders to build peace through dialogue and respect for individuals, and not to confuse it with fear. In Africa, where many democracies are young and where peaceful transitions of power sometimes come at a high price, the episcopate often maintains this delicate balance. It is no one's party, but it refuses to allow the law to be a garment to be put on or taken off according to circumstances.

What the law owes to every accused person, bishop or not

The Bible offers here a strikingly relevant story. In Philippi, Paul and Silas are beaten and thrown into prison without trial. The next day, the magistrates order them to leave quietly. Paul refuses: «They publicly beat us, citizens of Rome, without trial, and threw us into prison; and now they want to release us secretly? No! Let them come and release us themselves» (Acts 16:37).

Paul is not litigious. He demands that justice be served openly, because what has been done in public must be rectified in public. He invokes his status as a citizen, and this action shows that a disciple can rely on the law of his country, far from despising it. He also acts for his more vulnerable companions, for the fledgling church in Philippi did not benefit from his protection. The apostle remembers that his right serves to protect others.

This is what the African bishops are asking for in their own way: that the proceedings be conducted openly, that the charges be clear, that the accused be able to defend themselves, and that the decision not be dictated from above. If the case is strong, the hearing on October 14 and the trial on November 3 will demonstrate this. If it is not, it will be the moment to declare that justice has prevailed. In either case, transparency will benefit all of Zambia.

Pray, keep watch, do not hate

«"The Church prayed earnestly for him."»

When news of the arrest spread, the faithful gathered in the Lusaka cathedral. This gesture was unspectacular, but it was the first response from the Church since its origins. In Jerusalem, when Herod had Peter arrested, the Book of Acts simply notes: «So Peter was kept in prison, and the church was earnestly praying to God for him» (Acts 12:5). The text contrasts two forces: a king with his soldiers, and a community with no weapon other than its prayer.

Lectio divina

This is not a retreat. The Christians of Jerusalem are not giving up on action, but they know that prayer first transforms those who pray. It opens their eyes to the fragility of power, it protects them from resentment, it holds them together. And history tells us that on the very night Peter was imprisoned, an angel awakened him. This liberation is not a fairy tale: it shows that prayer cannot be confined by any cell.

In Lusaka, this prayer has a tangible form. It manifests as a vigil, a rosary recited by mothers, and Masses offered for justice and peace. It also bears the names of those who, since August 13, have been detained without their parishes even knowing them. The archbishop released on bail is not the only prisoner from this period. Praying for him means remembering all the others.

The prophet is not an opponent

One confusion remains to be avoided, one that current events make tempting: portraying the archbishop as an opposition leader, or using his accusation as proof of his sanctity. The Church does not canonize a prelate because a government is prosecuting him, nor does it condemn him before a verdict. What Archbishop Banda says about justice, governance, and national unity falls within the prophetic mission of every bishop. The bishop's mission is to teach and defend human dignity. It has nothing to do with a partisan agenda.

Ambrose of Milan offers a model of this. Facing Emperor Theodosius after the massacre of Thessalonica, he did not seek to overthrow him. He reminded him that penance also applies to the powerful, and he invited him to acknowledge his guilt. The bishop addressed the individual before confronting power, and it was on this condition that his words remained free. He could criticize without hating, he could warn without conquering.

This stance is difficult during election periods, when every word is interpreted as a biased statement of party. The fact that the archbishop supported the opposition candidate, as some have reported, complicates matters. The Church must therefore exercise twofold caution: not to give the impression that it is siding with a party, and not to allow a pastor to be punished for expressing a preference or a moral judgment. The line is thin. It demands constant discernment from bishops and great patience from the faithful.

What everyone can do today

From afar, what can a Catholic in France, Belgium, Canada, or Lebanon do? First, to pray concretely: to offer a decade of the rosary, a time of adoration, or a Mass for the Church in Zambia, for its archbishop, for the magistrates handling the case, and for the government. Praying for the government is not a matter of politeness: it is an ancient apostolic instruction, and it protects against bitterness.

Next, seek information rigorously. Rumors spread quickly in these kinds of cases, and the opinion press thrives on them. A Christian must distinguish between what is established (the arrest, the charges, the bail, the court dates), what the bishops have stated (the return of the vehicle in 2023), and what is a matter of interpretation (the connection to politics). This restraint is an act of charity, for it protects the truth on both sides.

Finally, look around you. Every country has its places where justice falters: protracted pretrial detentions, proceedings whose bias is suspected, voices silenced. Supporting an African Church under pressure also means committing oneself within one's own society to independent courts and the protection of the most vulnerable. The universality of the Church is at stake here, in this solidarity that requires neither a platform nor a budget.

Finally, there is the waiting, and waiting is a Christian virtue. On October 14, a hearing will determine the status of the proceedings. On November 3, a court will begin hearing the evidence. Until then, the bishops of Zambia will continue to serve their dioceses, parishes, schools, and clinics, as they have done every day for decades. This ordinary faithfulness is the best answer to all suspicions, and perhaps the most convincing. A Church that prays, serves, and seeks justice without hatred has nothing to hide, and it reminds the entire nation that justice belongs to no one in particular.

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