Secrecy in the name of safety

Whatever the contents of its final chapter, and we fervently hope it is positive, the compelling story of Otaki ¯ nurse Louisa Akavi is one to which the word extraordinary comfortably applies on several counts.

There is her extraordinary courage, spending decades putting her skills and undoubted passion for nursing into practice in some of the world’s most dangerous places for the International Red Cross. Remarkably, despite her mother’s pleas, she continued to place herself in harm’s way after living through the sheer terror of a 1996 attack on a Chechnyan hospital in which fellow Kiwi Sheryl Thayer and five other colleagues were killed.

Working in Iraq and Syria, she would have been constantly aware of how precarious her situation was, and of the possibility of falling into the hands of Islamic State, which happened when she was taken hostage on a medical run in Syria in 2013.

There is also the extraordinary stoicism of her family, who have had to wait, fearing the worst, knowing that paying a ransom for her release was not a possibility, and clinging to every flimsy thread of hope for more than five years. At one point it is understood American forces were mobilised to extract Akavi from Isis captivity, only to be stood down due to a case of mistaken identity.

They would have been unable to share what they knew of Louisa’s fate beyond the circle of family out of fear for her ongoing safety. Her frail mother, who is believed to have died in 2016, had not been told of her capture, and the family were terrified of what the shock of finding out might do to her. Being called to a meeting with Government

ministers last week, where Foreign Affairs Minister Winston Peters asked them to pray for her, would have been especially tough.

Then there are the extraordinary lengths to which successive governments, and media, have gone to keep Louisa Akavi’s story out of the public arena, due to well-grounded fears for her safety. Isis had warned the families of captives not to contact the media, threatening their execution. It was believed there was a ‘‘queue’’, a rough order of planned killings, and that putting the spotlight on her could move her closer to the front of it.

Stuff was the first New Zealand news organisation to approach the Government for comment on Akavi’s situation, and agreed to a request from then Foreign Affairs Minister Murray McCully not to publish the story until there was certainty it would not put her at risk. Since then, other New Zealand and foreign media also agreed to keep the story secret for the same reasons.

That secrecy finally ended on Monday when the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) decided to appeal for news of Akavi through the New York Times, after searches found no sign of her following the fall of the last Isis stronghold in the Iraqi town of Baghuz. The ICRC is also seeking information about two missing drivers, Nabil Bakdounes and Alaa Rajab, both Syrians.

With the benefit of hindsight, some may now question Stuff’s decision to keep a lid on the story for so long, but it was done to protect a remarkably courageous New Zealander. Even if it turns out this extraordinary story does not have the happy ending we hope for, we believe it was done for the right reason.

Her family . . . have had to wait, fearing the worst, knowing that paying a ransom for her release was not a possibility, and clinging to every flimsy thread of hope for more than five years.