In a nation long scarred by the wounds of tribal divisions, Vice President Jeremiah Koung's recent endorsement of Representative Samuel Kogar's senatorial bid has opened a fresh and perilous chapter in Liberia's political story. Speaking with unmistakable candor on a local radio station, Koung ditched the language of unity and progress in favor of the tired, toxic script of tribal allegiance. His message to Nimba County? Ethnicity--not competence, not vision--should decide leadership.
This is a dangerous gamble with Liberia's fragile social fabric. By invoking tribal sentiments to secure votes--urging the Gio to mobilize for Kogar while appealing to the Mano to "join the coup"--Koung has crossed a line many thought the nation's leaders had long vowed never to revisit. His words were not the rhetoric of a statesman but the rallying cry of a war-time tactician, steeped in the polarizing playbook of his political godfather, the late Senator Prince Yormie Johnson.
Liberians should not be fooled: Koung's calculated appeal to tribal identity is no accident. It is a strategy--a deliberate attempt to consolidate power in Nimba County, the nation's second-largest voting bloc, and establish himself as its new political overlord. With Johnson gone, Koung sees a vacuum, and he's racing to fill it--not with ideas, not with service, but with the blunt force of ethnic loyalty.
This editorial is not an indictment of a political endorsement. As a citizen, Koung has every right to support a candidate. But as Vice President of the Republic, his words carry weight far beyond the campaign trail. They set the tone for national discourse. They shape the character of our democracy. When those words divide instead of unite, inflame rather than inspire, they cease to be politics--they become poison.
It is telling that Koung refuses to even court the Gio, declaring that "when you want to eat dog, you can't look in the ear," implying their loyalty is guaranteed. It is not leadership to take people's votes for granted; it is political arrogance. And when he speaks of "balance" between the Gio and Mano in the Senate, he ignores the very diversity that defines Nimba--the Mandingo, the Gbei, and others who have just as much stake in the county's future.
Worse still, his anointed candidate, Samuel Kogar, arrives not with a platform of hope, but with the baggage of controversy. Kogar's involvement in a rebellion against House Speaker Fonati Koffa, and the shadowy weeks spent at RLJ Hotel with like-minded lawmakers, reek of the kind of elite politicking that has left ordinary Liberians disillusioned and destitute.
Yet, amid the noise, there is a glimmer of an alternative. Candidates like Edith Gongloe-Weh, a lone female voice in the race, represent a different path--one of inclusion, civility, and competence. That she is met with six male contenders, most draped in political alliances and patriarchal entitlement, speaks volumes about the odds she faces. But it also highlights the critical crossroads Nimba finds itself at: Will it continue down the path of identity politics, or will it embrace the future?
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Koung's defense--that President Boakai consults him on Nimba--only heightens concern. If the Vice President is the administration's primary lens into Liberia's second-most-populous county, then that lens is dangerously distorted. It reflects not unity, but tribal entrenchment. Not nation-building, but king-making.
This by-election is not just about who will represent Nimba. It is about what kind of politics Liberia will accept in the 21st century. Will we reward those who divide us by tribe? Or will we elevate those who unite us by purpose?
Liberia has paid dearly for the politics of exclusion and identity. We must not pay that price again.
