Nigeria wakes up once again to grief. The death of the popular singer, Ifunanya Nwangele, a Catholic chorister whose voice lifted many in worship and joy, has reopened an old national wound: the painful sense that life in this country is insufficiently protected and too easily lost. Beyond the condolences and social media tributes lies a more troubling question – how often does Nigeria fail those who place their lives, talents, and hopes within her care?

This editorial must say what is becoming impossible to ignore. Our crisis is not only economic or political; it is moral. From recurring cases of insecurity that leave communities vulnerable, to avoidable tragedies on unsafe roads, to overstretched hospitals and prolonged strikes in the health sector, or even inadequate funding to our various sectors – the pattern is familiar. Add to this the hardship following major economic reforms, the displacement caused by floods, and the growing number of young people forced to choose between migration and despair. These are not isolated failures; they form a story of a nation struggling to uphold the common good.

Providentially, the readings of the 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time confront this moment directly. “You are the light of the world,” Christ tells His disciples. Light, by its nature, does not decorate darkness; it exposes it. If faith is truly light, then it must illuminate the uncomfortable realities of our national life—those places where negligence, indifference, and self-interest quietly erode human dignity.

The death of Ifunanya Nwangele is therefore not just a personal tragedy; it is a symbol. It points to a society where systems too often fail before compassion arrives, and where accountability is delayed until outrage fades. A nation that cannot consistently protect life – whether in matters of security, health, infrastructure, or basic welfare – cannot claim to be advancing in any meaningful sense.

At the heart of this challenge lies the steady erosion of the common good. Leadership frequently collapses into the pursuit of personal advantage, while citizenship becomes a daily struggle for survival rather than shared responsibility. Yet the Gospel proposes a different vision: a society where light shines through justice, care for the vulnerable, and structures that serve people rather than sacrifice them. How many more deaths do we need to awaken to the reality that too many have died due to a failed system? The appeal, therefore, is unavoidable. To those entrusted with power, policy, and public resources: securing lives is not an act of generosity; it is a sacred duty. Authority exists for service, and public office finds its meaning only when ordered toward the good of all, not the comfort of a few.

The articles lined up for publication this week are worth reading because they refuse easy answers. They examine loss and leadership, faith and public responsibility, and the cost of forgetting our shared humanity. Together, they invite readers not merely to mourn another death, but to ask harder questions about the kind of nation Nigeria is becoming – and the kind of nation she must still strive to be. Christ calls His followers “light for the world.” Whether Nigeria chooses to protect that light, or continue dimming it through neglect of the common good, remains a question history will not ignore.