By Sidiki Fofana | Truth in Ink
He arrived not just with a “new face,” but with new hope. His credentials were unquestionable, his records unimpeachable,showing that success could be achieved outside the corridors of government and beyond feeding on the public purse. Alexander B. Cummings, the corporate giant who rose through the ranks of Coca-Cola to become one of its most recognized executives, emerged at a moment when Liberia yearned for an alternative.
And indeed, the Alternative National Congress (ANC) reflected that very philosophy; a party that promised to be different, led by a man who was, by all accounts, different.
Cummings’ arrival was a disruption to the political establishment. He was unscarred by corruption scandals, untouched by Liberia’s civil war politics, and unbound by traditional party loyalties. Former President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf herself would later confer upon him the nation’s highest honor, an endorsement that signaled he was no ordinary aspirant. And so he won not just honor, but the hearts and attention of Liberians.
His name traveled from Wologisi in Lofa to the Saint John River in Bassa, from the hills of Bomi to the mountains of Nimba, and into the congested dwellings of the slum communities and rural farmlands . As one elderly market woman said at the time:
“This man na come to eat, he na get hungry mouth. He come because he already make it.”
But in Liberia, politics is less about making it and more about surviving it. And in that survival game, even the most polished man can stumble.
That stumble came not on a campaign stage, or through a presidential debate, but behind the microphone of one of Liberia’s most polarizing talk show hosts, Attorney Mamadee Dakita.
“People expected a heated exchange , but they also expected reassurance,” recalled Dr. Augustine Konneh, a political scientist at the University of Liberia. “The problem was not that Cummings failed to answer questions. The problem was that he answered them in a way that confirmed fears of being too foreign, too detached, too corporate for the realities of Liberian politics.”
Professor Alaric Tokpa also of the University of Liberia disagreed arguing that if the nation rejected Alex, it could missed an opportunity:
“Cummings was perhaps too refined for our rough politics, but refinement is exactly what governance needed.”
From the moment Cummings walked into the studio, the country stood still. Employers turned a blind eye to absent workers. Teachers quietly skipped class. Taxi drivers parked their cars by the roadside just to listen. It was, as one student in Paynesville described it, “like Liberia itself was on trial.”
But the trial ended with a verdict Cummings least expected. Cummings was pressed on his “Liberian-ness,” on his connection to the soil, on whether he truly understood “the ordinary man.” His polished, corporate responses meant to project competence, were heard instead as distance, though it confirmed he was not only of Liberian origins but also from one of its forgotten neighborhoods.
“I wanted to hear a son of the soil,” said the late former lawmaker Prince Johnson in a later reflection. “What I heard was a corporate presentation.”
political commentator at the time Abraham Darius Dillon, double down:
“Liberians wanted a voice they could feel, not just admire. And Cummings never bridged that gap.”
Ordinary people disagreed; Market women recalled it as the day they realized, “the man can not only talk book, but he showed from his work with coca – cola that he lor do ley job.”
Intellectuals divided dissected at hatia shops; some pointing to the dissonance between cosmopolitan aspiration and grassroots politics. While others highlighting his skills, integrity and experience as ingredients critically needed in our politics. Politicians, fearful of his rising popularity, amplified the missteps into myths.
As one opposition figure told supporters in Buchanan:
“Cummings came with Coca-Cola, but we drinking palm wine. We will not change our taste.”
Yet none of those answers erased the fact that the man was competent, with a vision validated by his past record and achievements at Coca-Cola. Had the interview ended there, Cummings might have emerged not only as a “different” leader but as a solid contender, elevated even further.
But then came the last question, a question many had wanted asked, but few dared to say aloud. And so, when Mamadee asked the most dreaded yet anticipated question, the country became silent, waiting for Cummings’ answer.
The question coming after Cummings had shown competence, laid out vision, and, though distant, proved himself credible was depending on the answer, could either cement him as the next president or destroy his presidential ambitions.
And so, when Mamadee Dakita leaned forward and asked that question, the studio became a courtroom and Cummings, the witness. Across the country, listeners fell into silence, holding their breath in anticipation of his response. To be continued: The interview that destroyed Cummings’ rise.
