From Pulpit to Parade: The Tragedy of Governor Alia’s Celebration Amid Benue’s Massacre

From Pulpit to Parade: The Tragedy of Governor Alia’s Celebration Amid Benue’s Massacre

By Fidelis Toochukwu Okoro
Torchlight News | June 18, 2025

In moments of profound national grief, the soul of leadership is tested—not just in policy, but in posture. And in Benue State today, the people are not just mourning the dead of Yelwata; they are mourning the silence of their government’s conscience.

In the aftermath of the gruesome massacre in Yelwata, Guma LGA—where over 100 lives were lost to suspected Fulani herdsmen—the expectation across the state was clear: Benue should mourn. Instead, Governor Hyacinth Alia, a Catholic priest turned politician, declared a public holiday and organized a ceremonial welcome for President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

There were no flags at half-mast. No statewide moments of silence. Instead, schoolchildren were lined up to wave at the President, as if nothing had happened, as if Benue wasn’t still burying its dead.

This is not just poor optics. It is a painful paradox.

Governor Alia is not just a politician; he is a Reverend Father, a man ordained to serve both God and the people, to weep with the grieving and cry out against injustice. In times like these, his spiritual authority should amplify the voices of the oppressed, not muffle them under the drumming feet of a reception band.

The Gospel he once preached teaches that leadership is service, that grief is sacred, and that justice must speak louder than political expedience. Yet, what the people of Benue saw today was not a shepherd standing in solidarity with his wounded flock, but a host rolling out red carpets for presidential cameras.

This is not to say President Tinubu’s visit is unimportant—on the contrary, it is necessary. But what does it say about us when we turn tragedy into theatrics? When we trade the language of loss for the symbols of celebration? When children, some likely orphaned by this violence, are made to smile for dignitaries under a scorching sun?

The dissonance between Governor Alia’s clerical identity and his political performance is jarring. His role as a priest should have heightened his sensitivity to communal trauma, not muted it. Where is the prophetic voice crying out in the wilderness? Where is the governor who should declare a statewide fast, lead prayers for the slain, and demand justice from the center with the force of moral authority?

Instead, what the world witnessed was a government trying too hard to appear “receptive” and not nearly enough to appear righteous.

Benue is bleeding. The people do not need parades. They need their leaders to rage, to mourn, to kneel by mass graves, and to hold Abuja accountable—not host it with pomp and pageantry.

It is not too late.

Let this moment be a turning point—not just for Governor Alia, but for every Nigerian leader who confuses power with pageantry. We must stop dancing while the land is soaked in blood. We must remember that to be truly reverend is to revere life.