By Sidiki Fofana | Truth in Ink
With the backing of its Ministry of Information and the quiet consent of many senior officials, the Unity Party has spent its close to three years in power not building bridges but raising walls; not calming tensions but beating war drums; not forging the unity promised in its name but sowing division. Where hope should have taken root, despair grows. What was sold to voters as a national rescue now feels to many like a state drifting toward rascality and excuses.
The Ministry of Information, the arm of government meant to connect government vision with ordinary citizens’ reality, has become a podium of propaganda. Its legal duty is to articulate government policy, explain decisions, and build a bond so that citizens feel part of national programs and services; it should educate, clarify, and celebrate the country’s culture and diversity. Instead, it has turned combative and defensive, and those two impulses are not just bad communication; they are symptoms of failure.
A confident administration does not fear criticism. It absorbs it, clarifies where needed, and demonstrates through delivery. When an administration becomes defensive and reactive, it is often because its lifeblood is draining out. A government certain of its path does not need to shout. It shows strength through vision and results. But when all that’s left is the urge to attack critics and shift blame, it speaks desperation and an instinct to hold on to power while losing the real grip that keeps power -delivery and public trust.
In the late 1990s, Charles Taylor’s government, once carried on the shoulders of those who believed he would bring peace and prosperity, responded to growing dissent with intimidation and propaganda.
It lost its moral authority long before it lost its legitimacy. Ellen Johnson Sirleaf came with sky-high hopes and a promise to rebuild institutions after war; yet when corruption and joblessness festered, her surrogates turned defensive, attacking critics rather than addressing hard truths.
Even George Weah had a one term not merely because of a lack of performance, but because of the inability to communicate accomplishments or make corrections where necessary. His information machine was built to cheer him and dismiss diverse concerns rather than to listen and solve, leaving him exposed by 2023.
The mood in the country is shifting; Liberians are bracing for a new government as they move from being patient and hopeful to angry and despairing. And when those become the prevailing mood, historians remind us of the recent past.
The 1979 rice riot started over a food price increase but became a spark for broader discontent. The 2011 student protests that rattled Sirleaf’s second term began with tuition frustration but spilled into questions about corruption and exclusion. When ordinary pain meets defensive governance, history teaches, the road ahead gets dangerous.
Close to three years after a hopeful mandate in January 2023, the Boakai administration appears unable to recalibrate or steer the nation in a positive direction. International reports raise alarms about stagnation; local protests reflect ordinary people’s frustration. Inside the government itself, the focus has shifted from governing to survival. Many senior officials now spend more energy calculating their 2029 legislative runs than confronting today’s urgent problems.
Down at Red Light Market, Martha K., balancing a set of dry fish, spoke with visible frustration:
“We hear plenty talk from that other man, shouting whole day but prices keep going up. My children still can’t find work, what kind na rescue is this?”
On the Grand Kru to Harper corridor highway, truck driver Emmanuel S. shook his head:
“They promised no car stuck in the mud, but look at us; does this place look like no car will stick here? We are still sleeping on the road in mud.”
At the University of Liberia, student activist Ruth J. added soberly:
“We voted for change, but nothing is different. They talk unity but make people feel left out.”
One communications strategist summarized what many sense:
“When a man is drowning, he grabs for straw, anything that looks like it can float.”
The Unity Party’s information strategy feels exactly like that; desperate distraction, not purposeful leadership.
These voices echo across radio and Facebook talk shows. They are not organized opposition slogans; they are daily Liberian frustrations. A rescue mission that once inspired has drifted into one more government on the brink of failure; plenty of excuses but limited deliverables.
The rescue agenda was bold. Fix the roads, restore public trust, create jobs, fight corruption; these were powerful commitments. These promises now only live in slogans and shouts from the ministry’s megaphone, as they have no tangibility in the community. People measure these things not by what they hear but by what they see and feel.
Some defenders of the Ministry say the government must fight back against distortion. But fighting back is not the same as reacting. A true response informs, clarifies, and when necessary, admits failure and shows course correction. A reaction is anger spewed from the official podium of the government. Every combative press conference, every insult thrown at critics, every deflection to past administrations undermines not only the government’s credibility and sustainability but also citizens’ hope.
As the clock ticks toward verdict period, the ruling party must choose whether to keep fighting shadows or return to the work that earns public confidence. If the Ministry of Information continues to wage war instead of building trust, and if officials remain more obsessed with being Representatives and Senators in 2029 than focusing on the promises and commitments of 2025, the verdict will come, and it will be one term for the Unity Party.
