By Sherman C. Seequeh
On Monday, September 14, President Joseph Nyuma Boakai went before the nation with what sounded like very good news: Liberia had, for the first time in its 179-year history, raised more than one billion United States dollars in domestic revenue in a single year.
He called it an achievement of the Liberian people – money earned at home, not borrowed from abroad. The drums might as well have rolled. From Red Light to Pleebo, people began to imagine what one billion dollars could mean for bad roads, empty clinics, struggling schools and families who can hardly put food on the table.
Then, three days later, Finance Minister Augustine Ngafuan went on OK FM’s Morning Rush and put the matter another way. “We finished spending the one billion,” he said. “Only less than fifty million is left in the government bank account.”
Now, the way I see this, those two statements cannot simply be placed side by side and treated as ordinary government communication. On Monday, the President called the country to celebrate a full barn. By Wednesday, the man keeping the government’s books told us the barn was almost empty.
That is the heart of the matter. The problem is not merely that the money was spent. Governments collect revenue to spend it. The problem is that the government celebrated as though a fresh fortune had arrived, when nearly all of it had already passed through the account.
A PARTY OVER AN EMPTY ACCOUNT
Let us be fair to the arithmetic. One billion dollars raised during a fiscal year does not mean one billion dollars is sitting somewhere in a vault, waiting for the President to decide what to do with it. Revenue comes in and government pays salaries, services debt, supports agencies and carries out public programmes. Nobody should pretend that spending the national budget is, by itself, wrongdoing.
But that explanation does not rescue the celebration. In fact, it makes the celebration harder to defend. The government knew how much remained in its account when the President addressed the nation.
It knew that the market woman’s table was just as empty on Monday as it had been the week before. It knew that rice had not become cheaper, hospital shelves had not suddenly filled with medicines, and muddy roads had not turned into highways because the revenue figure crossed one billion dollars.
The point is simple: if almost all the money had already been spent, the government had a duty to tell the whole story at the same time. It could have celebrated stronger revenue collection and then shown the public, dollar by dollar, where the money went and what ordinary people received from it. Instead, citizens first heard the music. The accounting came three days later, on the radio.
THE TENSE THAT FOOLED A NATION
Listen carefully to the language of the President’s speech. The billion dollars, he said, “has enabled us to raise salaries”; “we have placed” thousands of volunteers on the payroll; it “strengthens” the drug agency; and it “supports” road work and the recruitment of new soldiers. These are words of achievement. They leave the listener with the impression that the money is present, working and still available to improve people’s lives.
I think this is where the message went wrong. The ordinary citizen listening in Paynesville, Ganta, Zwedru or Greenville was not conducting a technical analysis of government cash flow. He heard one billion dollars and understood that Liberia had money. She heard that the billion was strengthening institutions and believed that relief was on the way. That understanding did not come from nowhere. The speech created it.
Yet one of the most honest words in the address was almost buried beneath the celebration. The President said the market woman “must receive support” and hospitals “must receive medicines.” Must receive. That means the benefit had not yet reached them. More often than not, that is where government pronouncements and the people’s lived reality part company: officials speak in the language of achievement while citizens are still waiting for the achievement to enter their homes.
WHY THE TREASURER WENT TO THE RADIO
As far as we are concerned, the Finance Minister’s radio appearance is the most revealing part of the whole episode. Why would the man responsible for the national purse go on air, only three days after the President’s proud address, to announce that the celebrated one billion dollars had been spent and less than fifty million remained? A finance minister does not normally advertise an almost empty account unless public expectation has risen beyond what the account can support.
The way I see it, Ngafuan was not extending the celebration. He was managing the expectation the celebration had created. He had to bring the public back from the picture of one billion dollars in the bank to the reality of less than fifty million dollars remaining. Whether he intended to correct the President or merely clarify the government’s cash position, the effect was the same: the finance minister punctured the balloon.
It goes without saying that a serious government should coordinate such an important national message before the President speaks. The milestone, the spending, the balance and the benefits should have formed one honest account. When the explanation comes three days later, it begins to look less like clarification and more like damage control.
THE BILLS ARE STILL COMING
There is another question the celebration cannot answer. If less than fifty million dollars remained when the announcement was made, what obligations were still outstanding? How much was owed to contractors, service providers, hospitals, schools and public institutions? What revenue was expected during the remaining months, and would it cover those commitments? These are not hostile questions. They are the questions responsible citizens should ask when the government says the account is nearly empty.
A state does not stop receiving money because its current balance is low, and a bank balance on one particular day does not tell the whole fiscal story. But neither can a government use an annual collection figure as proof of prosperity while withholding the fuller picture of expenditure, arrears and results. Revenue is only one side of the ledger. The other side is what the money produced and what bills remain unpaid.
The government therefore owes the public more than slogans. It should publish a clear breakdown showing how the one billion dollars was spent, which sectors benefited, what measurable results were achieved, what balance remained and what liabilities were still due. Without that accounting, the celebration asks the people to applaud a number they cannot connect to their lives.
A MILESTONE WITHOUT RELIEF
Let nobody misunderstand the argument. Crossing one billion dollars in domestic revenue is a real milestone. The Liberia Revenue Authority and the taxpayers whose money produced it deserve recognition. Better collection, stronger compliance and reduced leakages can give Liberia more control over its own development. That achievement should not be dismissed.
But collection is not development. A billion dollars passing through government accounts does not, by itself, mean the country has moved forward. The proper test is what happened after the money was collected. Did clinics receive medicine? Did schools improve? Did roads become passable?
Did farmers gain access to markets? Did young people find work? Did the market woman feel any relief? If the answer for most citizens is no, then the government has celebrated its capacity to collect without proving its capacity to deliver.
That is why the empty barn matters. It is not an accusation that somebody stole the money. It is a warning about political presentation. The President celebrated the size of the harvest. The Finance Minister disclosed that almost all of it had already been consumed. Meanwhile, the people in whose name both men speak are still outside the barn, holding empty bowls.
DO NOT ASK THE HUNGRY TO CHEER
I think the administration should take a lesson from this episode. Tell the people the whole truth the first time. If the country collected one billion dollars and spent more than nine hundred and fifty million, say so in the same speech. Show the results. Name the projects. State the debts. Explain the remaining obligations. Then allow Liberians to decide whether the spending justifies the celebration.
What government cannot reasonably do is stage a coronation over money already spent, before citizens whose suffering remains untouched, and then send the finance minister to the radio to lower expectations. That is how confidence is lost. People can understand difficult facts. What they resent is being invited to dance before they are told that the food is finished.
So yes, Liberia crossed the billion-dollar mark. That achievement belongs to the taxpayers. But the final judgment belongs to the people who paid the taxes and still wait for public services. As far as we are concerned, the billion was not yet a blessing in the market woman’s hands. It was a party held in her name, over an almost empty barn. She was not invited to eat. She was only asked to clap.
