By George K. Werner (former education minister)
“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” — William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
The comments came quickly.
Under an op-ed about young Liberians standing in the heat outside the Barclay Training Center—waiting for a chance to join the Armed Forces of Liberia—came the usual anonymous voices. Not questions. Not arguments. Not even disagreement of substance.
Just insults.
“Moron.”
“FAIL.”
“Only you know how to write.”
The usual grammar of cowardice.
It was predictable.
Because truth makes some people uncomfortable.
When you write that the young people lined up outside Barclay are not lazy but hopeful, not idle but desperate for dignity, you force the country to confront an uncomfortable reality: the problem is not our youth. The problem is the systems that continue to fail them.
That truth disturbs people.
So instead of engaging the argument, they attack the messenger.
They do not ask: Why are thousands of young people lining up for one military recruitment drive?
They ask: Were you not the moron that supported George Weah?
They do not ask: Why are young people with talent still trapped by weak literacy and numeracy?
They shout: YOU FAIL!
They do not ask: What should government, universities, and employers do differently?
They reduce everything to insult.
Because insult is easier than introspection.
It is easier to mock a young applicant struggling to read than to ask how a nation allowed him to reach adulthood without foundational literacy. It is easier to laugh at rugged young men standing in the sun than to ask why formal employment remains a miracle instead of a norm.
It is easier to insult than to think.
And before anyone says this is about free speech, let us be clear: it is not.
Freedom of expression is sacred. Democracy depends on criticism. Citizens must question leaders. Writers must be challenged. Public servants must answer for decisions.
Criticism is necessary. Silence is dangerous. To ask, What happened to education reform? is legitimate. To ask, Did the Bridge Program work? is fair.
To question teacher standards, payroll corruption, public examination credibility, and youth unemployment is not disrespect. It is citizenship.
But to say, You are a moron, from behind “Anonymous Member 327,” is not accountability.
It is vandalism. Freedom of speech protects your right to speak. It does not turn vulgarity into wisdom. It does not transform insults into intelligence. It does not make anonymous abuse patriotism. Real courage signs its name.
Real courage says: I disagree with you, and here is why.
Real courage accepts the possibility of being challenged in return.
The coward prefers masks.
He hides behind fake profiles, borrowed pictures, and usernames like “Son of the Soil” because truth is heavy and anonymity is light. He wants the privilege of attack without the burden of responsibility.
Social media has given too many people a dangerous illusion—that noise is intelligence, that rudeness is honesty, and that capital letters are courage.
They are not.
Some of the same people insulting online will meet you tomorrow, lower their eyes, shake your hand, and call you “my big brother.” Online, they are lions. Offline, they are whispers.
Because courage is expensive. It requires evidence. It requires ownership. It requires character.
The young people outside Barclay showed courage. They stood publicly in the heat, exposed to rejection, mockery, and disappointment, still willing to try.
They came with plastic folders, borrowed pens, worn shoes, and hope.
They came because dignity begins with showing up.
The anonymous abuser hiding behind a fake account showed the opposite.
As William Shakespeare wrote, “Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.”
The young applicant standing under the Monrovia sun is valiant.
The faceless insult in the comment section is not.
One is building a future. The other is hiding from one. History will remember which one mattered.
