By Adonis Byemelwa
The brutal attack on Father Dr. Charles Kitima, priest, intellectual, and Secretary-General of the Tanzania Episcopal Conference (TEC), is sending shockwaves across Tanzania. It was just after midnight on May 1 when Kitima, having concluded a long day of meetings with religious leaders, headed to the restroom near the TEC canteen in Kurasini.
There, in the quiet, dim corridors of that sacred compound, two unidentified men struck him violently on the head with a blunt object. He collapsed, bleeding, disoriented, calling out for help. It was a matter of moments, but it echoed like thunder across the nation.
Kitima was rushed to Aga Khan Hospital, where he remains under medical care. His condition is said to be improving, but the scar left on his body, on the Church, and the national psyche is deep.
The police quickly arrested one suspect, Rauli Mahabi, a resident of Kurasini, for questioning. Investigations continue, but the deeper question persists: Was this just a random assault, or is there something darker at play?
Only days earlier, a disturbing tweet from an account bearing the name Dr. Frey Edward Cosseny had gone viral.
In crude, mocking language, Cosseny ridiculed Father Kitima, questioning his role in the Church and politics, alluding to prison, homosexuality, and even linking him, through veiled accusations, to “those who seek trouble.”
The timing now feels too sharp to ignore. Was this tweet just hot air, or was it a spark that helped light the fire?
The nation is restless. Kitima, after all, is not just any cleric. He is a towering figure in Tanzania’s socio-political discourse—a calm but unflinching voice for the rule of law, democratic governance, and human dignity.
Over the years, he’s walked the tightrope between faith and civic engagement, becoming a moral compass for many who feel voiceless. His sermons, statements, and public presence have never shied away from confronting the powerful or speaking out against injustice. And in a country where “the unknown” can quickly become lethal, that courage now looks all too costly.
Zitto Kabwe, the former leader of ACT Wazalendo and an outspoken figure in Tanzanian politics, didn’t mince his words. He condemned the attack on Kitima as “cowardly and dangerous,” insisting that this wasn’t just an assault on a man, but on the nation’s conscience. “When voices like Kitima are silenced through violence, we all lose,” Kabwe wrote. “Disagreement must never escalate to bloodshed.”
Adding to the growing chorus, social media activist Maria Sarungi also reacted with a mix of fury and sorrow. In a powerful thread, she challenged not just the attack itself but the broader environment of shrinking civic space.
“You can attack the body,” she wrote, “but you cannot kill conviction. Father Kitima represents what this country desperately needs: fearless truth-telling. And that scares people who prefer silence.”
But perhaps the most soul-stirring response came from Bishop Dr. Benson Bagonza, the revered leader of the ELCT Karagwe Diocese. Reflective and poetic, he asked the hard question no one wants to face: Who’s next?
In his message, Bishop Bagonza wondered aloud whether this was an assault on Kitima as a man, or something more profound: “Is it an attack on our Church? On the Nation? On the President? On Christianity itself? On a political party? Or was this one of those chilling messages from the so-called ‘the unknown’?” He called Kitima’s suffering a mirror of Christ’s persecution, a reminder that truth-tellers have always walked a path lined with thorns.
Bagonza’s reflections reached deeper still: “Among the twelve Apostles, only one died of old age. The rest—stabbed, hanged, burned—died for speaking the truth. Truth has never been our friend. May you heal fast, Fr. Charles. We are praying for you, but more importantly, pray for us. God is closest to those who suffer because of injustice.”
Indeed, in the last few days, the country has been forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. If a man of God can be attacked within Church grounds, who is safe? Are we watching the slow unraveling of our democratic fabric? Is this just another case of unchecked violence, or the symptom of a larger disease?
Fr. Kitima is still recovering, but the moral wound he now carries speaks louder than any pulpit sermon. His pain is a national alarm. And perhaps, now more than ever, Tanzania must decide whether it will protect those who carry the torch of justice or allow that light to be snuffed out, one blow at a time.
