By George K. Werner (former education minister)
There is an unease in the country, and you can hear it everywhere.
It is echoing across radio stations from Monrovia to the counties — in morning call-in shows, community talk programs, and in the voices of citizens trying to make sense of what is changing around them. It is in the marketplaces, where women selling pepper, fish, cassava, and charcoal are quietly adjusting prices.
It is in taxis, buses, and kekehs, where passengers and drivers negotiate yet another fare increase. It is in homes, where families sit at night and recalculate school fees, transport costs, food budgets, and what must now wait until next month.
And now, hanging over all of this, is the renewed anxiety along Liberia’s border with Guinea.
Recent tensions near Foya and Sorlumba in Lofa County, including reports of cross-border incidents, flag disputes, and diplomatic engagement at the highest level, have unsettled citizens and revived old memories of border insecurity. Government has sought to reassure the public that diplomatic efforts continue and that the situation is being managed through dialogue and regional channels.
This is not simply anxiety.
It is the sound of a social contract under strain.
At ELWA Junction, the kekeh rider begins the day before sunrise with the arithmetic of survival. Fuel prices have moved again, pushed upward by the war in the Middle East and the volatility of global oil markets. Before the first passenger even climbs in, he has already recalculated the fare, the owner’s cut, the fuel for the day, and what must go home for food and school fees.
The yellow taxi driver at Red Light is doing the same.
The motorbike rider in Paynesville adds another hundred dollars to the school run and the market drop-off.
By dawn, the economy has already changed.
Then comes the lappa be door.
The woman serving the cooked bowl outside the ministry has quietly increased the price. Transport costs have risen. Pepper from Bong, fish from Buchanan, cassava from the counties, and the charcoal for the stove all now cost more to bring in. By the time the civil servant stops for breakfast, the price of rice and greens is already telling the story of a war far away.
This is how global events become local pressure.
Now layer onto this the domestic reality.
The Liberia Revenue Authority (LRA) has officially adjusted the Goods and Services Tax from 12 percent to 13 percent, effective May 1, 2026, as part of Liberia’s transition toward a full VAT regime scheduled for January 1, 2027.
At the same time, the Liberia National Tourism Authority (LNTA) now has a new official fee structure affecting tourism, hospitality, entertainment, and parts of the creative economy.
Then comes the Liberia National Fire Service (LNFS), with fire safety certificate and inspection fees for businesses and commercial establishments.
One measure from the LRA.
Another from the LNTA.
Another from the National Fire Service.
And now, over all of this, the country is also listening nervously to news from the Guinea border.
For policymakers, these are separate issues — fiscal policy, sector regulation, and border security.
For the ordinary Liberian, they land as one thing:
pressure.
The shop owner is no longer thinking only about GST. He is now also thinking about fire safety certification, inspection fees, licensing, and operating costs. The market woman may not know the technical names of the institutions involved, but she feels the consequences when transport, storage, and operating costs are passed into the price of pepper, fish, and rice.
At the same time, families are asking another question:
what happens if the border situation worsens?
Because border anxiety is never just about territory.
It is about livelihoods.
It is about trade routes.
It is about farming communities in Lofa.
It is about market flows.
It is about the possibility that scarce public resources may have to be redirected toward defense, diplomacy, and security at a time when households are already under economic strain.
This is why the unease is real.
Citizens are not reacting to one event.
They are reacting to accumulation: war-driven fuel shocks, rising transport costs, GST increments, the coming VAT conversation, tourism levies, fire service charges, and now the psychological burden of border insecurity.
That is what is echoing on the radio.
That is what is being discussed in homes.
That is what is being argued in taxis and buses.
And at the center of this unease lies a deeper democratic question:
what do my taxes and fees do for me?
This is not a complaint.
It is the most important question a citizen can ask in a democracy.
Taxes are the price of running the state. They pay the teacher in the classroom, the nurse in the clinic, the police officer on the street, the immigration officer at the border, the firefighter responding to emergencies, and the civil servant who keeps ministries and agencies functioning.
Taxes keep the state alive.
But the democratic contract runs both ways.
If government asks citizens to absorb higher taxes, new levies, and additional compliance costs, it must explain clearly why, sequence reforms carefully, and demonstrate visible public value.
Citizens deserve to know what the LRA’s tax changes are funding.
They deserve to understand the transition from GST to VAT.
They deserve clarity on why LNTA fees and Fire Service charges are being introduced.
Without that clarity, taxation begins to feel less like nation-building and more like burden.
This moment is therefore not only about taxes.
It is about trust.
Trust in the state.
Trust in the fairness of public policy.
Trust that when citizens are asked to pay more, they will see and feel the value in their daily lives.
Because in the end, a democracy does not run on taxes alone.
It runs on consent.
It runs on confidence.
It runs on the belief that the burdens citizens bear today will translate into a safer, stronger, and more responsive republic tomorrow.
And trust, once strained, is far harder to rebuild than revenue collection.
