Fr. Antoine KELBERT (1925 – 2003)

Obituary

Antoine Kelbert was born on July 24, 1925, in Tagsdorf, in the Sundgau region of Upper Alsace, the first child of Morand Kelbert and Marie-Eugénie Clementz-Herr. He was baptized there on August 8, with August Specker, his father’s cousin, and Léonie Clementz, his mother’s sister, as his godfathers. His father was listed as an innkeeper in Tagsdorf, but his mother was from Hésingue, and it was to this side of the family, where family ties were undoubtedly stronger, that the family soon emigrated. Mr. Kelbert became the manager of an agricultural cooperative, and the family moved to Saint-Louis. His mother was the niece of Father Jean-Fridolin Herr of the Mandalay Mission in Burma, and proud of it. The family retained a vivid memory of their bearded and imposing missionary uncle, who had spent a few months in the country in 1905 and become famous in the mission as the “Patriarch of Shwebo,” where he had founded several Christian villages. In 1926, Bishop de Guébriant received a letter from Hésingue, from Mrs. Clementz-Herr, who apologized for writing to him in German, “except for the fact that she knows French well.” She was in contact with her missionary brother in Shwebo, she said; she had learned that famine was devastating her district and she wanted to help, but she didn’t know how to send money. The Kelbert family thus lived in an atmosphere where service to the Mission was very much alive.
Antoine’s early years were marked only by the arrival of two other brothers and a sister, a family very close-knit by an atmosphere of faith and strong family bonds. His primary education in Saint-Louis was uneventful, as the Concordat system granted the parish priest considerable influence over children’s schooling. In 1934, the news of his great-uncle Father Herr’s death affected him so deeply that on September 7, 1937, he applied to take over the position as a postulant at the Apostolic School of Ménil-Flin, where he entered sixth grade.
However, the declaration of war in 1939 forced the Kelbert family to leave Saint-Louis and seek refuge in the Gers region. When the armistice was signed in June 1940, Antoine was unable to continue his studies in Beaupréau as he had hoped, since the border was closed. He went to stay with an aunt in Dannemarie until his parents returned from the Gers in November 1940, and the entire family reunited in Saint-Louis.
Antoine maintained contact with the Foreign Missions Society through Father Prouvost in Paris. He continued his studies at the Lycée St-Louis, where German was, of course, compulsory. He completed the third and second years of secondary school, but only part of the first. In February 1943, he was drafted into the German army, and in June he received his Abitur, the secondary school leaving certificate. Like all young Alsatians his age, he found himself, against his will, serving Germany and assigned to the anti-aircraft artillery; he was fortunate enough not to be sent to the Russian front, unlike some others. This difficult period allowed him to forge friendships with both his Alsatian and German comrades, friendships that lasted his entire life. It was during this time that he began to suffer from an earache, likely caused by the violent blasts of artillery fire, and developed otitis media (ear infection). He obtained leave in August 1944, when Allied troops were already in Paris and the Russians were on the Vistula River. Without telling anyone, he and two other young Alsatian soldiers had agreed to desert. They managed to slip away to an underground hiding place in Hésingue, where they were able to wait for the arrival of Allied troops in Alsace. But the ear infection Antoine suffered from had become infected, and when he returned home, the doctors could do nothing. Throughout his life, he suffered from this disability: deafness, but especially a deep infection that recurred despite treatment.
On March 9, 1945, he wrote to the Foreign Missions Society to request permission to resume his studies after the Easter holidays. Father Destombes suggested that he improve his French and Latin until the start of the academic year in October. He therefore went to Beaupréau to brush up on his French, which he hadn’t practiced for over two years, and was accepted as a cadet at the Rue du Bac for the start of the 1945 academic year.
The building was packed with 145 cadets, sometimes crammed two to a room, even in the attic rooms on the 5th floor. Antoine felt right at home: he found Alsatians, former Wehrmacht soldiers, a whole group of former prisoners of war, others who had fought on the Allied side, and all these young people gathered under the banner of Christ were full of enthusiasm, even if resuming their studies was difficult for many.
Antoine felt comfortable with everyone, but it was noticeable that he sometimes preferred to use a meditation book in German. He had gotten used to switching languages, and he was one of the few who didn’t have an accent. He clearly made an effort and spoke French very well; his studies did not seem to have caused him any particular difficulties, nor did the discipline of the seminary.
On December 17, 1949, he was ordained a deacon, and on May 28, 1950, he was ordained a priest.
His appointment on June 29th to the Mandalay Mission came as no surprise to his family, and his first Mass at Saint-Louis was an opportunity for all relatives and friends to celebrate both the young missionary’s departure and the memory of Father Herr. The future was secure…
Nineteen missionaries were leaving that year, including three for Burma. News from that country was not reassuring: the rebellion had spread almost everywhere since independence; three missionaries had been killed in the delta region. The government did not refuse visas, but it was so slow in issuing them that the three “Burmese” missionaries were sent to England for an internship. Antoine took advantage of the delay to go to the hospital in December, probably for treatment of his ear before going to study English. On January 13, 1951, Father Destombes warned the trio Kelbert-Loiseau-Cormerais: “Starting tomorrow, we will arrange for you an internship in England… In case of impossibility of entering Burma, the Council will change your destination…” The least one can say is that it is an eventuality that no one wants.
On July 24th, Bishop Lemaire wrote to Kelbert: “It has been over a year since you were assigned to Mandalay… Little hope, and the Council has decided to send you to Mysore, Cormerais and Loiseau to Pondicherry. We are going to begin the process for India…” And on the same day, he warned Bishop Falière: “The confreres assigned to Burma in June 1950 will be sent to India, unless the visas for Burma were given before their departure. It was dangerous to let these young men wait any longer…” Fortunately, the visas were granted in August and the three finally prepared to embark.
When they disembarked in Rangoon on Thursday, January 3, 1951, at 9 p.m., the atmosphere was surreal: the city was surrounded by rebels, crowded with refugees on every sidewalk; The gloomy Clergy House and Riouffreyt, the prosecutor, having nothing left to do at this hour, led them to the Chinese restaurant.
In Mandalay, it seems to be better than in Rangoon. All the French Fathers are there, gathered for their retreat. Young Kelbert was able to see his future companions from the Chin Hills, for that is of course where he will go in a year, after studying Burmese. First, he will have to do an internship in Amarapura, a few miles south of Mandalay, where he will have opportunities to learn and be of service to the Sisters and the orphanage, and it is a quiet area where there is no fear of attacks by rebels or bandits.
Antoine Kelbert has a gift for languages; he speaks English with such a strong accent that people ask him which part of England he’s from. He practices Burmese with the schoolchildren, the Sisters, and old Father Carolu, who comes every week to hear confessions and tell his stories as an old missionary among the Katchins, where he worked with Father Herr. For Antoine, despite some discomfort due to the climate and the food, this is a time of intense preparation for his work. He knows that soon someone else will come to replace him in Amarapura. In September, three new people arrived in Burma, including Joseph Ruellen, who is coming to replace him in Amarapura. The two become even closer, especially after Ruellen makes a very brief hitchhiking trip to Saint-Louis, where Antoine’s brother, Gérard, goes to visit the Ruellen family. And this will eventually lead to marriages; two Kelbert brothers will marry two Ruellen daughters…
Antoine Kelbert then spends a few months in the small village of Megong, founded near Shwebo by Father Herr, where about twenty Christian families make it their duty to care for him well, as his health is fragile. When Ruellen visits him, each family brings a dish, and the two friends are obliged to taste each specialty, the ingredients of which are explained by each woman. They have never forgotten the hospitality of these kind people!

In the Chin Hills.

Bishop Falière was the first visitor to the Chin Hills in 1939, and the first priests arrived at Christmas 1940: Father Pierre Blivet and Father Moses U Ba Khin, a Burmese man. In 1953, Father Moses was tired, and Father Kelbert replaced him in January. His post was Tonzang, a large village where the traditional chief of the entire region resided. It was there that the Mission began and flourished, especially after the end of the war. The traditional chief had lost his political power since independence, but his influence remained significant. He was the one who had allowed Bishop Falière to send priests despite the opposition of American Baptists. In 1948, Franciscan Sisters of Mary also arrived and opened a dispensary.
Father Kelbert’s initial task was to learn the language. In Tonzang, he was fortunate to have a catechist of Carian origin, Saya Alphonse Aung Min, who allowed him to use Burmese to have the local dialect explained to him. In the Chin Hills, practically every valley has its own dialect, but from the beginning, the missionaries, with the agreement of the authorities, had used “Kamhau,” the Tonzang dialect, the language of the chiefs, taught in all the schools in the region. Father Kelbert set to work with zeal and soon, with the catechist’s help, he began preparing a short text for each evening, which he rehearsed with the most precise pronunciation and the solemn tone that was the hallmark of eloquence in the chiefs’ speeches.
In Tonzang, as in most villages where there were a few Christian families, there was at least an hour-long gathering every evening in the chapel, with prayers, hymns, and catechism. Father Kelbert would therefore speak each evening, and his poise and precise pronunciation made him a true “Tonzang mi,” a worthy representative of the eloquence for which this village was renowned.
Despite the Sisters’ care, his health, however, was a cause for concern, and by October he had to go down to Mandalay to consult a doctor. Bishop Falière then decided to send Father Ruellen, also destined for the Chin Hills in the north, to accompany him on his return. The country was still in turmoil: after a journey by steamer, then by oxcart, they reached the Old Christian village of Chaung-U, then by Monywa military truck, and finally by Kalemyo plane at the foot of the mountains.
There was still neither a chapel nor a house: a good Catholic who ran the gas station put up the two priests, and the next day they left by truck. A sign at the foot of the mountain prohibited exceeding 10 miles per hour. In fact, it took eight hours to travel the 75 kilometers to Tiddim, the government center, where Father Dixneuf had fortunately just built a proper house out of planks. Spending November 3rd in the heat of the plains at an altitude of over 2,500 meters had given the poorly equipped travelers the feeling they were going to freeze to death!
At that time, the Catholics of Tonzang were not yet very numerous, but they were very devout, and little by little, neighboring villages began calling for the priest. The Sisters were doing wonderful work with their dispensary, but they were so busy there that most of the time only the priest went on his rounds. People who brought sick people to the dispensary often came to visit him, and it was through these conversations that many gradually learned the first elements of the doctrine. Everyone appreciated Father Kelbert’s seriousness and his elegant and universally understandable language.
Father Ruellen stayed with him in Tonzang to study the language before going to practice in the neighboring district of Mualpi to the north, but it was in Tonzang that the priests met once every three months: Pierre Blivet, who tirelessly traveled the trails of his vast district for 20 days a month; Dixneuf, the group’s superior, who resided near Tiddim but was already considering opening stations far to the south; and Louis Garrot, who was the apostle to the Zos, in the mountains to the northeast.
The year 1954 was marked by the inauguration in April of the house in Tiddim by Bishop Falière. From then on, the meetings were held there. All the catechists in the region were required to study for one month each year, during that time of year when fieldwork paused before the monsoon, and Father Kelbert’s mastery of the language was highly valued. Father Dixneuf was a leader in organization, Father Blivet a model of apostolic zeal, but none had had the opportunity to fully practice the Kamhau language, which people of all dialects considered the most beautiful.
During these meetings, the catechists took turns preaching to the others in the chapel. One day, Father Ruellen arrived with a new catechist from his district, and a resonant, rhythmic voice rang out in the chapel: “Another ‘Tonzang mi’ showing off his eloquence!” said the catechist. It was Father Kelbert, of course!
Father Kelbert’s main handicap was his health. The chronic ear infection in his ear subsided during the cold, dry winter months, and the nurse sister had a knack for reaching deep inside his ear with a long needle. But the diet was difficult for him, especially the lack of greens for several months of the year. Attacks of liver pain exhausted him, and several times he had to go down to see the doctor in Mandalay, which meant at least two days’ travel to catch the flight from Kalemyo to Mandalay.
In 1955, he had to go all the way to Rangoon, where the medical staff found nothing serious, but his spirits remained low. This didn’t stop him from undertaking memorable errands, like the one he had to run with Father Blivet to help Father Louis Garrot. Christians had come to Tonzang to say that their father was dying. After two days of forced marches, Kelbert and Blivet found him practically unconscious and accompanied him on a stretcher for another two days until they reached the road on the plains, where a truck finally took them to the plane at Kalemyo. Garrot recovered quickly in Mandalay, while Kelbert was completely exhausted. “But,” said Bishop Falière, “for an old hand like Pierre Blivet, such journeys were just routine!”
That year, transportation had improved considerably in the Chin Hills, and Bishop Falière took advantage of this to bring the Apostolic Delegate, Bishop Lucas, by jeep to Tonzang. The visitor was able to appreciate the work of the Fathers and Sisters in the region and promised to help build a hospital there. Other visitors also came to enjoy the mountain air: Father Bürck, in charge of the formation of minor seminarians in Maymyo, and Father Loiseau from Rangoon were warmly received. The Catholic Chins appreciated the visit. But the following year was much better: the Apostolic Delegate had decided that the centenary of the Foreign Missions’ assumption of responsibility for Burma would be celebrated in February 1956 with a Eucharistic Congress.
It was a resounding success: 50,000 Catholics from all over Burma gathered for three days, with prayer and singing sessions separated by language, and a large assembly followed by a magnificent procession through the streets of the capital’s center. Bishop Falière had paid for train tickets for about forty catechists from the Chin Hills. Father Bürck led the crowd in Latin hymns, and they were astonished to have one voice to praise God, even though most of them, coming from diverse ethnic groups, couldn’t even hold a conversation. The Chin catechists, upon returning home, recounted the wonders they had witnessed and the astonishing unity of the Catholics. A film had been made, and it was decided to show it in all the villages. Father Kelbert then performed a miracle. The gasoline generator that powered the projector was carried along the tracks on a stretcher and jostled considerably. Once, when the crowd was gathered before a sheet on which a living image was to appear, the likes of which no one in the country had ever seen, the machine refused to start. The operator, and especially Father Kelbert, and the Catholic Church with him, were about to lose face. Inspired, the Father donned his surplice and stole, consulted his Ritual for the blessing ad omnia, added the phrase “machina electrica,” and as soon as he sprinkled holy water, the engine started. Yet another proof of the power of God and his servant!

Visit of Bishop Joseph U Win

The year 1956 was marked by another event: the newly appointed Burmese auxiliary bishop of Mandalay, Bishop Joseph, came to visit the northern Chin Hills for a confirmation tour. Father Jourdain accompanied him throughout the Zo district, which he had inherited from Father Garrot, and the bishop was finally very pleased to arrive in Tonzang, where he found people who spoke Burmese: Father Kelbert, his catechist, two nuns, and also a number of former soldiers. The bishop was able to appreciate the progress made in this large village after his exhausting journey through the impoverished hamlets of Zo country, and the respectful welcome he received from the people. The catechist gave a talk in Burmese, and Father Kelbert then had the opportunity to act as interpreter between the bishop and the people. Burmese was only just beginning to be taught in schools at that time, but the example of the nuns was already inspiring religious vocations. Father Kelbert accompanied the bishop beyond Manipur to Father Blivet’s home, and throughout this journey Bishop U Win observed how overwhelmed his priests in the Chin Hills were. When he returned to the plains, he was undoubtedly pleased to have seen so many nascent Christian communities, but one thing troubled him somewhat: were these new Christians, who seemed to organize themselves so well without seeing a priest, truly Catholic? As Bishop Falière had requested, the young Burmese priests needed to be prepared to go on missionary work in the Chin Hills.
The sisters had likely praised Father Kelbert’s ability to preach equally well in Burmese, Chin, and English, and that year he was invited to Mandalay to preach a retreat to the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary.

With Ruellen away on leave, Kelbert preferred to wait for his return to enlist his help, especially for the bell tower: the ground was unstable, and they had to dig very deep to set sturdy posts. The locals had found some fine pine trees, and carrying 45-foot timbers on men’s backs was both a challenge and a feat: the atmosphere on the construction site was excellent this time. This new church in Tonzang promised to be a masterpiece, with a large stained-glass window and an immense crucifix being crafted by a local artisan. Father Kelbert would have liked the bishop to come for the ordination of Timothy, who had returned from Penang, at the same time as the blessing, but it wasn’t possible: the bishop was to receive a government award, and any friction with the authorities had to be avoided.
This was an opportunity to finally enjoy some free time, and he set off with Father Pierre Blivet to Mergui, in the far south of Burma, happy to see another bushman, Father Feuvrier, who was beaming from his boat.
In February 1962, the solemn blessing of the church in Tonzang and Father Timothy’s first Mass took place. The young priest’s mother was still pagan, but it was an unforgettable celebration for the entire Catholic community of Tonzang: it had only been about twenty years since the first baptisms had been performed!
That same year, Blivet and Kelbert also went to the blessing of the church in Haka in April before returning to teach at the catechists’ meeting in Saizang, despite their fatigue: the truck that was bringing them back had left them on the road, and they had had to walk 45 kilometers through a terrible storm, crossing the summit at 2,500 meters in freezing rain. A fine example for the 26 catechists…
But another storm had swept over Burma: the army had just seized power again, and this time everyone knew the missionaries’ situation would change.
Antoine Kelbert had always been in poor health, and sometimes his morale suffered as a result. Tired missionaries had the right to take a break in Hong Kong, and he considered it, but how could he leave Burma in these troubled times? Father Alazard wrote to him, and on August 7th he thanked him: “Thank you for your letter of June 4th… It is sometimes very hard to overcome discouragement… Perhaps I will go to Hong Kong after all… It’s a shame we can’t stop to visit our colleagues and see what they are doing… Rather than languishing in Hong Kong for a few weeks, I prefer to visit some parts of Burma…”
At the end of November, he and Blivet went down to Rangoon to see the doctor, but they were in Mandalay for the retreat, preached by Father Harou, and by all accounts, it was the best they had ever attended. It was exactly what they needed.because the future was bleak. No new missionary would

At the January 1957 retreat, there was a celebration because two new members had arrived, Roy and Lespade, and they brought parcels from France: each offered something: Kelbert some “Traminer” and Bishop Falière some rum that an Irish Sister knew how to obtain from military friends. They also worked hard: they finalized the book of prayers and hymns in “kamhau,” and Kelbert went to Rangoon for the printing: it would take him a month, maybe even longer, but at last the Tiddim district had a beautiful book. When the Bishop visited his beloved mountains once again, 30 catechists were at their annual meeting. Blivet and Kelbert were teaching doctrine, liturgy, and methods of teaching catechism. The atmosphere was studious: everyone prayed and sang, and the day ended around 10:00 a.m. with a film screening or verbal sparring among the catechists on a given theme. For instance, an old pagan might encounter a young catechist and accuse him of betraying his ancestors; a new catechumen might extol his faith to his hesitant father. The topics were addressed in the most realistic way possible before an audience that laughed but appreciated the allusions to the shortcomings of the various ethnic groups.
The Bishop was very keen on these meetings and would even like to hold more of them, even if it meant the priests had less time for their rounds. Meetings were also held for the village chiefs, but they were shorter.

The long hikes, and especially the repeated crossing of the Manipur Valley with its thousand-meter elevation gain, eventually took their toll on Father Blivet’s health: in October 1957, typhoid fever nearly killed him, and despite the care of the Sisters in Saizang, where he had been taken, his heart gave out several times. Kelbert, urgently summoned, walked the fifty kilometers from Tonzang to Saizang in a single day, as Ruellen had left on a tour of the Indian border, where Father Blivet had promised to go. Then Bishop Falière himself came, but he had to face the facts: all his missionaries were exhausted. It was decided to send them on leave in rotation: Blivet in 1958, then Kelbert in 1959. Everywhere, the number of requests was increasing. In 1958, about a hundred new catechumens had registered in Tonzang, and even more elsewhere. Fortunately, young Burmese priests were already prepared and took charge of districts.
At Father Dixneuf’s request, a replacement was needed for him in the Tiddim region, and Antoine Kelbert was appointed. He already had various apostolic projects in mind and had obtained a projection device from the Americans of the Information Service. At the end of February, everyone gathered in Tonzang around Antoine Kelbert to establish a work program: each had their district to visit, but the catechists’ meeting on April 10, after Easter, in Saizang, had to be scheduled, where everyone would participate in the teaching. The division of Father Blivet’s district also needed to be defined, as well as the work entrusted to Father Augustine in Tiddim, where he would be responsible for the boarders studying at the Government College. But all these activities eventually took their toll on Father Kelbert. As soon as Father Blivet returned in October, he himself went to France for a much-needed year’s leave.
In October 1959, he was expected in Tiddim for the regional leaders’ meeting. The rains had washed out the roads, but two trucks of rice had been brought up to the mission in time. The number of Christians had increased significantly, and every family in the region was expected to contribute: from Saizang, two pumpkins per household; Suangpi gave potatoes, Mualbeem cabbages, Vangteh various leaves, and Tiddim wood and tea… The shopkeepers provided sugar, “and we, the saliva…” Ruellen said. There were 74 leaders that year.
The atmosphere had been prepared by the meeting of the Fathers, the MEPs and those from the country: Kelbert arrived on Monday, just as Jourdain disembarked with a whole cavalry after a four-day march. A bottle of “Fleur des Alpes” was drunk to the health of the Kelbert family. It was a lively affair for two days, but by the third, tensions were running high, as everyone saw things differently…
The atmosphere with the 74 leaders was both deeply pious, with prayer before morning Mass and the Stations of the Cross at noon, and very studious, with lectures and discussions. There was a day of recollection in relative silence, but also another where everyone could speak freely: each Father heard some interesting things, but so did they, as there was a right of reply… The leaders were given instructions again and a census sheet: the number had exceeded 10,000, including both baptized and catechumen members…
Then Jourdain set off again with his cavalcade: a stallion, a mare, and a 3-month-old foal. Kelbert, who had left the day before in a jeep, had breakdowns and arrived on foot around 3:00 a.m. in Tonzang. As a return to the reality of the Chin Hills, it was quite something… His people welcomed him like Santa Claus, because they hoped he would bring all sorts of things, and even an electric generator. But he found that his shack had been looted even more than he had imagined. He still harbored illusions about the honesty of his colleagues.

In January 1960, Bishop Falière resigned and was succeeded by Bishop Joseph U Win, who insisted on personally ordaining the first Chin priest, Flavian, at Father Muffat’s church. This was a significant step for the Church in the Chin Hills, and delegations came from all over the region. Kelbert brought his catechists along with those from Blivet and Ruellen. Fortunately, Latin helped unite everyone, as the dialects were too different. Father Lespade spoke briefly about the grandeur of the priesthood, and Roy conducted the ceremonies. At that time, there were 12 priests in the Chin Hills, each responsible for 15 to 20 villages, thriving Christian communities, and three convents of nuns with a school and clinic.
Father Kelbert had already sent two girls to the plains to prepare for the nunhood, and a seminarian from Tonzang, Timothy, would soon be returning from Penang. The hospital promised by the Apostolic Delegate had caused him considerable worry: the political changes, with the army’s seizure of power followed by a resurgence of Buddhism, were unsettling, and the people of Tonzang had been slow to do their part. Finally, construction was progressing, and a doctor had just arrived at the Franciscan Sisters’ convent and had already established a strong reputation in the region. People came from far and wide, and it was an opportunity for contact with Catholics; the Sisters’ devotion was opening many hearts.
On July 18, the four MEP priests from the north met in Tonzang. They talk about Algeria, the generals’ putsch, the artichoke war in Brittany, and so on. Everyone recounts their ups and downs: Kelbert is trying out different crops—artichokes, asparagus, melons—but especially grapevines, which produce fruit “the color of the bluish-red grapes from the vineyards of Alsace.” But he has problems with horses: a mare that fell into a ravine was healed by the Sisters, but she is skittish and refuses to cross bridges, so he replaced her with a black stallion from Manipur. His hospital-maternity ward has been progressing well for a month now, with seven carpenters, and finally the roof is on!
Then, in September, Father Kelbert is invited by Jourdain to a catechist meeting in Tuisa, at Father Alphonse’s house at the foot of the mountains, and then they hold another ten-day meeting in Mualpi from October 17th to 28th. The east-to-west crossing at this time of year had been arduous: hundreds of leeches attacked animals and people, and the current swept them several meters upstream in the stream. The Jordan Valley is still a veritable jungle. Furthermore, Bishop U Win, unable to go everywhere, had delegated Kelbert to administer confirmation in Father Blivet’s district from November 17th to 24th. It was upon his return from this tour that he was finally able to begin construction of the new church in Tonzang.
The hospital is finished, but not without difficulty, as he recounts in a letter: “The former mayor of Tonzang tried to sabotage me by sending a slanderous letter about me to the bishop in Mandalay. It caused quite a stir throughout the country. This was solely because I was too kind to lend a rather large sum of money to this scoundrel who, unable to repay it on the agreed date and feeling humiliated by what I told him, tried to intimidate me by demanding that the bishop remove me from Tonzang, otherwise he would take me to court over land and clinic disputes that, of course, have no basis whatsoever. This will have been a lesson I will remember.”
The people of Tonzang are eloquent, but many are still opposed to the Father, the Sisters, and all their projects. The Catholic community, however, is strong and enterprising: it has two hundred new catechumens, and 130 of them will soon be baptized.
In 1961, Father Joseph Alazard visited Burma. To reach the Chin Hills, he was fortunate enough to find a jeep and a Gurkha driver with whom he could chat for a while. The country reminded him of Sikkim, where he had worked. In Tonzang, water was scarce, especially for the needs of the Sisters and the hospital. He promised Father Kelbert he would find a friend who was a water diviner, capable of indicating, even on a map, the accessible water sources.
That year, the catechists’ meeting led to an incident: two catechists who had spent two years training in the plains began advocating for greater independence for the Chin people. Kelbert explained it to Father Alazard: “The catechists have just taken the initiative to request a major superior at Chin Hills, even a bishop if possible. We had more or less dissuaded them, given the current situation. But we couldn’t prevent them from making their wishes known to their bishop…” Bishop Joseph U Win sometimes had difficulty understanding the initiatives of some at Chin Hills, but fortunately Father Mainier, his vicar general, was a friend who knew how to calm tempers, and everything settled down.