Cllr. Boakai Kanneh, head of the Law Reform Commission and now a nominee to the Supreme Court, has set off a stormy debate by boldly suggesting that Liberia needs a total rewrite of the 1986 Constitution. Not just a few amendments; not a tune-up. He is calling for a complete overhaul.
While we acknowledge that all constitutions, may at one point or another, require reviews and/or amendments, in order to adequately address this ideology proffered by Cllr. Kanneh, perhaps, we should first seek to answer the "Why."
Why should a country seek to revise or rewrite its constitution?
In times of change -- especially in nations emerging from the shadows of war, political upheaval, and/or persistent poverty -- revising a constitution is both a practical necessity and a hopeful act of renewal. A country undertakes constitutional revisions to adapt to new political, social, or economic realities. And, for post-conflict societies, these changes can address deep-seated inequalities, rebuild fractured institutions, and foster greater national unity. Amendments may be essential to protect fundamental rights, clarify the structure of government, and ensure the nation's laws reflect evolving values and priorities.
Keep up with the latest headlines on WhatsApp | LinkedIn
Such revisions can also respond to shifts in public opinion, correct failures in governance, or harmonize the country's standards with international norms. Ultimately, for any nation -- but especially those facing instability and hardship -- revising the constitution serves as a powerful tool to sustain legitimacy, restore hope, and enable the effective functioning of the country's institutions, paving the way for healing and a more just future.
But do we really need to consider it at this point in our nation's history?
It's a question that cuts to the very heart of who we are as a nation. A constitution isn't just words on paper; it's the blueprint for our democracy and the rules for how we live together. It is, in essence, our social contract. Constitutional scholars argue that you only throw out and rewrite such a document when it is fundamentally illegitimate (born out of dictatorship or injustice), when it has become unworkable (failing to prevent or resolve crises), or when it no longer reflects the values and identity of the people it serves.
So, does Liberia's 1986 Constitution meet these tests?
On one hand, yes. It was drafted under the heavy shadow of Samuel K. Doe's military rule -- a period more about consolidating power than fostering true democracy. Its flaws are glaring it grants sweeping authority to the presidency, leaves the legislature and judiciary weaker than they should be, and lacks clear mechanisms for resolving deadlocks like the recent chaos in the House of Representatives over who was Speaker. In moments like these, the Constitution seems less like a guide and more like a hurdle. Is that reason enough to scrap the entire framework?
On the other hand, this is also a constitution that, for nearly 40 years, has held the country together -- however imperfectly -- through civil war, elections, and changing governments.
Herein lies the real debate: do these flaws mean we need to demolish the house and start over? Or can we renovate the structure -- remove the bad sections, strengthen the weak spots, and add what's missing -- without losing its foundation?
History offers lessons. Ghana's 1992 Constitution, like ours, emerged from a military regime. But instead of totally discarding it, Ghanaians have amended it through a combination of parliamentary and referendum processes, gradually strengthening its democratic character. By contrast, Kenya in 2010 decided to rewrite its entire Constitution after years of political unrest, ethnic tensions, and public demand for a fresh start. But that rewrite came after massive public consultations, a broad-based national dialogue, and a political consensus that the old constitution simply could not carry the country forward.
Which path makes sense for Liberia? Do we need Ghana-style reform or Kenya-style reinvention?
And then there's the other big question: who should lead this charge?
This is where Cllr. Kanneh's role complicates things. As a citizen, legal expert and Law Reform Commission Leader, he has every right -- even a duty -- to speak up about constitutional reform. But as a nominee to the Supreme Court, the institution charged with an unbiased role of interpreting and defending the very Constitution he now seeks to rewrite, his outspokenness raises real concerns. Can someone so vocal about reshaping the Constitution truly be seen as neutral when called upon to interpret it? Should a future Justice be advocating for sweeping changes to the document he will soon be sworn to uphold?
For the record, this isn't a question of Cllr. Kanneh's competence. Few can doubt his legal mind or his contributions to law reform. But the role of a Justice is different. It demands restraint, neutrality, and fidelity to the law as it is, not as one wishes it to be. The moment a judge -- or a would-be judge -- is seen as pushing for a particular political outcome or skew, the line between impartiality and activism becomes blurred. This raises serious concerns about whether or not the candidate is capable of remaining objective on all matters before the Supreme Court as opposed to being unmistakenly subjective, given his shared perspectives.
Still, this debate isn't about the esteemed Cllr. Kanneh, as he is only one man. It's about us.
As a nation, what do we want from our Constitution? Should we amend it carefully, cutting out or revising those sections that don't work -- like unchecked presidential powers -- and adding clear solutions for the legislative stalemates that paralyze government? Or, as Cllr. Kanneh suggests, do we need to throw out the old framework and start afresh with one that reflects who we are today and where we want to go?
Sign up for free AllAfrica Newsletters
Get the latest in African news delivered straight to your inbox
Rewriting a constitution is no small thing. It is complex. It is costly. And it is risky -- especially in a country where political trust is already fragile. But so is doing nothing.
Perhaps the real work ahead is to open this conversation to the people. A Constitution belongs to its citizens, not to any single government, lawyer, or political party. Whether we choose bold reinvention or careful reform, Liberians deserve and must have a say in shaping the supreme law of the land.
So, let's debate it -- openly, loudly, and fearlessly. And let's ensure that ALL Liberians participate. Start the dialogue in every language and in Simple English so that everyone gets a firm understanding of what's at stake, and what role they have to play in making Liberia a better place for all.
And after that debate has been settled, let's finally answer the burning question: should we repair the house we live in, or do we need to build a new one?
Staff Editor in Collaboration With Binyah Kesselly
