Gbarnga — In Bong County, the former heartland of support for Charles Taylor, Liberia's former president and warlord, a passing pehn-pehn (motorbike) throws up a cloud of dust in the orange-tinged afternoon sky. Apart from the occasional honk on the distant main road and the rustling of chickens searching for food, it is quiet outside the tin shack-turned-neighbourhood-bar where a group of women have gathered around a bottle of locally-distilled gin.
The owner of the makeshift bar looks on indifferently as Esther, Mary, and Marilynn take turns downing shots. An otherwise regular participant of this women's gathering, the bar owner is sitting this one out due to stomach illness. Meanwhile, her teenage daughter rotates sausage kebabs on a small grill and monitors the pot of water from my guesthouse, waiting for it to boil.
A warlord's reputation
I ask the women about the upcoming re-election campaign of Bong County's Senior Senator, Jewel Howard Taylor - the former president's ex-wife. In 2005, Jewel Taylor rode to power on the coattails of her ex-husband's continuing popularity in Bong County.
"She will win", says Esther without any signs of doubt. The other women nod their heads approvingly.
During Liberia's 14-year civil war, Charles Taylor's rebel group, the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), used Gbarnga, the capital of Bong County, as its headquarters. And ten years after the Liberian civil war officially ended, and more than a year after Taylor was convicted by the Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL) of war crimes and crimes against humanity committed during the country's civil war, he remains a popular figure in Gbarnga.
Reflecting the widespread solidarity with Taylor still found in the region, Esther maintains that instead of plunging Liberia into war, "he brought peace; he opened our eyes".
Tough to stomach peace on an empty belly
Throughout Taylor's reign, Gbarnga represented a modicum of tranquillity in an otherwise volatile and fragmented Liberia where competing rebel factions, vying for power and access to resources, roamed around the countryside, wreaking havoc and preying upon local populations. Although Taylor's NPFL was responsible for massive human rights violations, many residents say life in Gbarnga was more endurable during the war than it is now.
Arguments like 'peace can't run on an empty stomach' are used by many Liberians as rationalisations for the ongoing support for Taylor in vast swathes of the country. The cost of rice, the main staple in Liberia, was reportedly much lower in NPFL-occupied territories during the war than it is in present-day Liberia. Indeed, the NPFL's control of harbours and its seizure of ships importing food products during the war allowed for these artificially low costs.
However, what many beneficiaries of cheap rice during Taylor's insurrection fail to recognise - either as a result of a lack of information or wilful ignorance - is that while the NPFL's seizure of cargoes kept the prices low for their constituency in order to win its hearts and minds, it simultaneously served to cut off Monrovia's food supply, leaving the population there to starve. But, in Gbarnga, you don't bite the hand that feeds you - and Taylor fed a lot of people.
Ghankay's Ma
Charles Taylor is also known as 'Ghankay' in the region, an indigenous name he adopted for broader appeal among the indigenous population. And Esther's mother, still a fervent support of Taylor, is known throughout the community as "Ghankay's Ma".
Esther tells me that Ghankay's Ma was devastated by the verdict handed down by the SCSL last May. Judge Richard Lussick sentenced Taylor to 50 years in prison for his role in aiding, abetting, and planning "some of the most heinous and brutal crimes recorded in human history". Ghankay's Ma considers the court's ruling an abomination and, according to Esther, has threatened to "beat" anyone who dares criticise Taylor in her presence.
Choosing my words carefully, I ask Esther whether she denies the well-documented atrocities committed by the NPFL during the war. To my dismay, Esther readily acknowledges that the NPFL was responsible for mass human rights violations but she absolves Taylor of any wrongdoing, insisting that it would have been impossible for him to exercise control over his troops' conduct at all times. Shockingly, she reveals that she even lost a brother to the NPFL. According to Esther, her brother had served as a senior NPFL official until he was ordered to be killed following allegations that he had leaked information to enemy forces.
Given that her brother belonged to Taylor's inner circle, Esther suspects that Taylor had a hand in plotting his death. But Esther's reverence for Taylor seems to take precedence over remorse for her brother. Suddenly, the infamous 1997 campaign slogan Taylor's supporters used to help him capture the presidency - "He killed my Ma, he killed my Pa, I'll vote for him" - doesn't seem so shocking.
And it felt like a kiss
Esther believes that if Taylor were released from prison and flown back to Liberia tomorrow, the road stretching from Roberts International Airport to downtown Monrovia would be awash with people celebrating and lining up for a chance to greet him. Even as a market woman with little means, Esther says she too would make the sacrifice of travelling 3 hours on the pot-hole laden road to Monrovia in order to welcome the man she believes authorised the killing of her brother.
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My mind drifts to the 1973 Stockholm bank holdup in which four hostages were forcibly detained for 131 hours by two machinegun-wielding criminals. After their ordeal, the hostages displayed a rare sense of affection towards their captors. The bond forged between the captors and their hostages was so strong that one of the hostages ended up getting engaged to one of the captors, while another hostage started a legal defence fund to help pay for the captors' legal fees. This perplexing phenomenon in which an abused person develops affections for his or her abuser was coined the "Stockholm Syndrome" by psychologists.
After the NPFL's ruthless campaign of pillage, arson, rape, torture, murder and all kinds of atrocities under Taylor's command, I start to wonder whether those who continue to revere Taylor have been afflicted with some version of Stockholm Syndrome.
I am tapped on the shoulder; my water has boiled. As I stand to take leave of the women's gin club, I ask Esther to extend my greetings to Ghankay's Ma. I secretly hope that Ghankay's Ma reads this article - just not in front of me.
