
08/06/2025
Letter from Saclepea
With Musa Hassan Bility
We Cannot Go Back
I am not writing from Saclepea, not this time. I am somewhere quiet, yes, but not cut off. I am fully awake, fully burdened, and fully heartbroken by the sound of a nation gasping for breath.
Liberia is suffering.
And I say this not as a politician, but as a witness to the slow decay of a dream we once shared. I look around me, and what I see crushes the spirit.
To my left, those who govern, so desperate to cling to power that they will crush any voice, rewrite any truth, and spend the country’s soul just to stay in charge. They are not leading, they are guarding a throne. And the cost is bleeding through the lives of children who die without care, women who labor without hope, and families who feed on despair.
To my right, the so-called opposition, wounded, fragmented, and driven not by a vision of redemption, but by vengeance. They do not challenge the system, they mimic it. They speak of change, but their hands are heavy with the past. The baggage they carry is not just theirs, it weighs down the rest of us, too.
And in the middle of this dark theater, Liberia cries.
We are caught between those who will do anything to hold power and those who will say anything to take it. But neither side is listening to the people anymore. They are trading retribution while our schools fall apart. They are plotting comebacks while our hospitals run dry. They are shaking hands behind closed doors while the rest of us bury our dignity in silence.
So I sit here, not in bitterness, but in deep reflection, and I ask: What if we stopped looking left and right?
What if we looked forward?
The truth is, we cannot go back, not to those who broke this country in the first place, nor to those who watched it break and said nothing. Liberia must not return to her abusers.
We need to look somewhere else.
There are men and women, quiet, uncelebrated, uncorrupted, who are ready to rise. They are not perfect, but they are principled. They are not loud, but they are listening. They are not seasoned in deception, but they are shaped by sacrifice. And they are waiting, not for permission, but for recognition.
The future is not in the usual place. It is in the Third Option. The Third Lane. The one we’ve ignored for too long because it’s not paved with party colors, tribal comfort, or war-era fame. But it is real. It is rising. And it is ours if we dare to see it.
Liberia cannot be rescued by those who broke her. She cannot be healed by those who traded her wounds for wealth. And she cannot be led by those who see leadership as entitlement.
This moment is not just a choice. It is a test of national memory. Will we go back to what failed us, or forward to what frees us?
Let this be the moment we stop searching for saviors and start building a country. Let this be the moment we believe in ourselves again. Let this be the moment we finally say: Enough.
From my solitude,