MONROVIA – Commencement speakers usually flatter graduates. Mohammed Ali chose instead to diagnose a national illness. The Liberia Water and Sewer Corporation boss told Grand Gedeh University’s Class of 2026 that importance is Liberia’s strange disease. His target was a culture that prizes titles, front-row seats and official cars over results. The indictment carried unusual weight because Ali sits inside that very culture. He measured himself by one test: whether water reaches the family waiting for it. Liberians can now hold him to that standard. His tribute to market mothers and sacrificing fathers rooted the argument in ordinary homes. As THE ANALYST reports, the address doubles as a charge sheet against officialdom itself, his own included.
The Managing Director of the Liberia Water and Sewer Corporation (LWSC), Mohammed Ali, has warned graduates of Grand Gedeh University (GGU) against what he called a “strange illness” in Liberian society: importance.
Delivering the university’s 2026 Commencement Convocation Address, titled “The Danger of Becoming Important: Why Liberia Needs More Useful People Than Big People,” Ali urged the Class of 2026 to become useful before they become important.
The convocation was attended by Dr. Eric Z.M. Gbotoe, President of GGU; Dr. William Towah, Chairman of the Board of Trustees; Hon. Dweh, Representative of the Superintendent of Grand Gedeh County; and members of the Board of Trustees, the university administration, faculty and staff.
Also present were representatives of the Government of Liberia, members of the Legislature, county and local government officials, traditional and religious leaders, parents and guardians, and the President of the Graduating Class.
Ali opened with what he described as a confession. “I came to Grand Gedeh University today with a serious concern,” he said.
“I am worried that some of the young people graduating here today may become very important people.” Before the university President could begin regretting his decision to invite him, and before the Chairman of the Board could start wondering whether he had approved the wrong commencement speaker, Ali asked to be permitted to explain.
The Strange Illness Called Importance
The LWSC boss clarified that he was not worried that the graduates would become ministers, senators, representatives, managing directors, or successful businesspeople.
“I am worried about what might happen to some of them after they become those things,” he declared. “Because, ladies and gentlemen, there is a strange illness in our society. It is not malaria. It is not typhoid. And fortunately, it is not contagious through handshakes. It is called IMPORTANCE!”
Ali described the symptoms as fascinating. “A man receives an appointment letter on Monday. By Wednesday, his telephone becomes difficult to answer. By Friday, his childhood friends must contact his office to request an appointment. And by the following Monday, he has forgotten how to open his own car door!” he quipped.
Some people, he said, become so important that even their names are no longer sufficient, and the title must be announced first. “And if you mistakenly call a man ‘Mr.’ when he expects ‘Honorable,’ you may have committed an offense more serious than violating the Constitution!” he joked.
Beneath the humor, Ali posed what he called a serious question: “What happens when a country produces more people who want to be important than people who want to be useful?” He further asked what happens when society celebrates appointments more than achievements, admires titles more than competence, and values access to power more than the ability to solve problems.
“Becoming important does not automatically mean becoming valuable,” Ali stressed. “A person can occupy an important office and contribute very little. Another can occupy no office at all and change thousands of lives.”
He then put the central question of his address to the graduates: “When you finally become somebody, will anybody’s life become better because of it?”
Liberia’s Dream Of Big People
Addressing the graduates directly, Ali observed that every society has its dreams. Some dream of discovering technologies, while others dream of building companies, advancing science, or curing diseases.
“And in Liberia, many of us have another dream: We want to become big people!” he said.
He then asked what exactly a big person is: someone with a government position, someone whose photograph appears in the newspaper, someone who sits in the front row at public functions, or someone whose name is preceded by so many titles that the introduction takes longer than the speech.
“Sometimes, we confuse the signs of success with success itself,” he argued. “We admire the vehicle before we examine the work. We celebrate the appointment before we consider the responsibility. We applaud the title before we ask what the title has accomplished.”
According to Ali, a country does not develop simply because it produces more important people; it develops when it produces more people capable of doing important things.
“There is a difference between being recognized and being relevant,” he said. “Recognition may attract attention; relevance changes conditions. Recognition may open a door; competence determines what you accomplish after entering it.”
He told the graduates that he hoped they would become ambitious and accomplished and that doors would open for them.
“But when they do, do not mistake access for achievement,” he cautioned. “Your success should never be measured only by the distance between you and the people you grew up with. It should also be measured by the distance you help them travel.”
Parable Of The Electrician
To illustrate the difference between status and usefulness, Ali asked the audience to imagine a major public function. The hall is beautifully decorated, distinguished guests have arrived, and protocol officers are arranging seats, while everybody wants to know who will sit in front, who will speak first, and who will receive the longest applause.
Meanwhile, behind the building, an electrician is struggling to repair a faulty generator; nobody has introduced him, nobody has reserved a special chair for him, and nobody has included his name in the program.
“Suddenly, the lights go out. The microphones stop working. The entire ceremony comes to a halt,” Ali narrated. “And at that moment, ladies and gentlemen, the most important person in the room is no longer necessarily the person with the highest title. It is the electrician!” He added: “Until he solves the problem, nobody’s title can restore the electricity.”
“That is the difference between status and usefulness,” he declared. “Status tells people who you are. Usefulness demonstrates why your presence matters.” Ali said Liberia needs engineers who solve problems, teachers who inspire learning, nurses who care for patients, entrepreneurs who create employment, farmers who increase production, and public servants who make institutions work.
He was quick to add that Liberia also needs ambitious people, including young people who aspire to become presidents, ministers, legislators, judges, entrepreneurs, and leaders of institutions. “We should never discourage that ambition,” he said. “But ambition must have a purpose beyond personal advancement.”
“The tragedy is not that someone becomes powerful,” Ali stated. “The tragedy is when that person becomes powerful and nothing changes for the people who need that power to work for them.” A title, he told the graduates, should expand their responsibility, not inflate their ego, and the higher they rise, the greater their obligation to deliver results.
The Disease Of The Front Row
Ali went on to describe what he called the disease of the front row. At many public functions in Liberia, he noted, there are two important activities: the first is the event itself, and the second is determining who is important enough to sit in the front row. “Sometimes, the second receives more attention than the first!” he remarked.
He observed that a person can attend a program about education, agriculture, or healthcare and spend half the event wondering why somebody else received a better seat. “But when did proximity to the podium become a measure of human worth?” he asked. Ali warned that the disease begins with wanting recognition, then comes expecting special treatment, then comes believing that ordinary rules no longer apply, until ambition becomes entitlement, and entitlement becomes arrogance.
“The moment you believe your success makes you more human than other people, your success has already begun to corrupt you,” he cautioned. “Never allow education to convince you that the farmer is beneath you. Never allow a government appointment to convince you that the security guard is insignificant. Never allow financial success to make you ashamed of the market woman who raised you.”
Ali reminded the class that not everybody in it would become a minister, legislator, or managing director. “And thank God for that! Because if everybody becomes a managing director, who will do the actual work?” he quipped. The country, he said, needs competent professionals at every level, and he urged the graduates not to measure their lives by the height of the chair they occupy but by the problems they help solve.
Usefulness, he continued, requires more than humility. It requires educated people who are prepared to confront the problems of the country that educated them.
Education Must Answer Liberia’s Problems
Ali told the graduates that they were leaving the university with knowledge, qualifications, and the promise of greater opportunities, and that they had every right to celebrate. “But tomorrow, Liberia’s problems will still be waiting,” he said.
He listed young people searching for employment, communities struggling to access reliable public services, schools needing resources, health facilities needing stronger systems, businesses struggling to grow, and institutions needing to become more effective.
“These problems will not disappear because we have produced another graduating class,” he declared. “They will begin to disappear when educated people decide that solving them is part of their responsibility.”
He clarified that he was not suggesting that graduates should carry the responsibilities of government on their shoulders, insisting that government must govern, institutions must function, public resources must be managed responsibly, and the private sector must be encouraged to invest and create employment.
Still, Ali maintained, educated citizens also have a responsibility to contribute knowledge, challenge poor practices, and develop solutions.
“A university degree should not merely improve your chances of escaping difficult circumstances. It should increase your capacity to change those circumstances,” he said.
He lamented that education is too often treated as a personal ladder, which people climb to reach a better position before pulling it away from those coming behind them. Education, he argued, “should also be a bridge: between knowledge and opportunity, between professional success and community progress, and between the Liberia we have inherited and the Liberia we want to build.”
He told the class: “You have not studied only to explain what is wrong. You have studied to develop the ability to help make things right.”
Education, Work, And Responsibility
Ali then addressed the graduates by their future professions. He urged future accountants not simply to learn how to prepare financial statements but to learn how to protect resources from waste and dishonesty, and future teachers not simply to complete the syllabus but to help children discover abilities they never knew they possessed.
Engineers and technical professionals, he said, should not simply admire infrastructure projects but help design, build, operate, and maintain systems that serve people reliably.
Those entering business, he advised, should not measure success only by profits but also by the jobs they create, the standards they uphold, and the opportunities they open for others. To those who will enter government, he said: “When that day comes, remember that the office belongs to the public, even when your name appears on the door.”
Ali acknowledged that not every graduate will find employment immediately, noting that some may spend months searching for opportunities while others will encounter disappointment, rejection, or uncertainty.
“I will not pretend that a university degree automatically guarantees a job. It does not,” he said. “And it would be unfair to place the burden of unemployment entirely on young people when job creation requires sound economic policies, investment, infrastructure, and functioning institutions.”
He nonetheless urged the graduates not to allow the absence of immediate employment to convince them that their education has no value, but to continue learning, build practical skills, explore enterprise, collaborate, and identify problems their knowledge can help solve.
“Liberia cannot afford an educated generation that knows everything that is wrong with the country but feels no responsibility to help make anything right,” he warned. “We need graduates who criticize intelligently, propose realistically, and contribute constructively. The country needs your voices—but it also needs your ideas, discipline, skills, and work.”
Names Missing From The Certificates
Ali identified another danger that sometimes comes with success: forgetting the people who made it possible. He described a young person who grows up in a modest community, where neighbors contribute to school fees, friends share books, relatives provide accommodation, a mother sells in the market, and a father sacrifices what little he has.
Eventually, that young person succeeds and everybody celebrates, he said, but sometimes, years later, telephone calls go unanswered, old friends become inconvenient, visits home become rare, and the people who once made sacrifices become embarrassing reminders of a difficult past.
“Graduates, I hope this never becomes your story,” Ali said. “There is something profoundly wrong about using the sacrifices of ordinary people to climb into a position from which you can look down on them.”
He then pointed to something about the ceremony that he said he found deeply unfair. Certificates, he noted, would be awarded in a few moments, each carrying the name of a graduate. “But there are other names that deserve to be written on those certificates. Names that will never appear there,” he said.
The Invisible Signatures
Ali spoke of a father somewhere in the gathering who wore the same pair of shoes for years because his child’s tuition was more important than his own comfort, and who postponed repairing his house, abandoned personal plans, and worked through exhaustion because he wanted his child to have opportunities he never enjoyed.
“His name will not appear on the certificate,” he said. He spoke, too, of a mother who sold pepper, rice, palm oil, or charcoal in the market, who woke before sunrise, returned home after sunset, and sometimes went to bed wondering where the next tuition payment would come from.
That mother, Ali said, may never have entered a university classroom but understood that her child’s education could change the future of an entire family. “Her name will not appear on the certificate either,” he stated.
He extended the tribute to the grandmother who contributed more prayers than money, the uncle who paid fees when a parent could not, the aunt who provided a home, and the guardian who assumed responsibilities that were never originally theirs, noting that their names will not appear on the certificates.
He also remembered graduates whose mothers or fathers did not live long enough to witness the moment.
“There may be an empty seat in this gathering, but there is no emptiness in the contribution that person made. Their love, sacrifices, and hopes remain part of this achievement,” he said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is something unequal about the way we celebrate success,” Ali observed. “The graduate receives the certificate. The graduate receives the applause. The graduate takes the photographs. But the people who carried the greatest burdens often return home quietly.” He said he wanted the gathering to correct that, even if only for a moment.
Applause For Those Who Sacrificed
Ali then asked the graduates, if they were able, to stand, turn toward their parents, their guardians, and the people who helped bring them to that day, and applaud them.
He urged them to applaud the father who struggled but never surrendered, the mother who sacrificed her comfort so that they could pursue their dreams, the grandmother who prayed when there was no money, and the guardians who gave when they had very little to give.
“And as you applaud, remember those who are no longer here to hear it,” he said. Thanking the graduates and asking them to be seated, Ali told the class: “Your name may be the only name printed on your certificate, but your achievement carries the invisible signatures of many people. Never forget those signatures.”
If one day they become wealthy enough to build a beautiful house, Ali counseled, they should not become too proud to enter the humble home where their journey began. If they become powerful enough that people stand when they enter a room, they should remember those who stood beside them when they had nothing, and if the world begins calling them important, they should remember the people who loved them long before they became important.
“The true measure of success is not how far you rise above the people who raised you. It is whether you still have the humility to reach back and lift them,” Ali declared. That responsibility, he added, extends beyond families to communities, counties, and the country.
Grand Gedeh Needs More Than Fame
Turning to the host county, Ali acknowledged that Grand Gedeh has contributed significantly to Liberia’s political history and national life, producing influential personalities and people who have occupied important positions.
“But the future of Grand Gedeh cannot be measured only by the prominence of those who come from this county,” he said. “We must also ask: What difference does their success make to the people who live here?”
He posed further questions: “What does political influence mean to a mother who cannot afford school fees? What does a prestigious appointment mean to a young graduate searching for an opportunity? What does public recognition mean if communities experience little improvement in their daily lives?” Development, Ali noted, requires institutions, public investment, private enterprise, and collective effort, but success should deepen responsibility to society, not diminish it.
According to him, the greatest contribution a county can make is not merely to produce powerful individuals but to produce people whose knowledge, influence, and resources improve society. He said GGU must produce problem-solvers, innovators, entrepreneurs, and professionals prepared to serve, and told the graduates that they do not have to wait until they become nationally prominent before contributing to Grand Gedeh.
“A successful local enterprise matters. An improved school matters. A functioning health facility matters. A young person trained for employment matters. A community initiative that brings people together matters,” Ali said.
“These may not attract national headlines. But they change lives.” The development of Grand Gedeh, he maintained, will not be determined only by the number of important people it produces but will also depend on the number of useful things its people accomplish, a principle he said applies just as strongly to those already occupying positions of authority.
Power Must Produce Results
Ali then turned the challenge on public officials, himself included. “Let me speak to those of us who hold public office, including myself,” he said. “It is easy to challenge young graduates to become useful. But those of us already entrusted with authority must accept the same challenge. In fact, the standard should be higher for us.”
He noted that public office comes with resources, influence, responsibilities, and opportunities that ordinary citizens may not possess. When someone is appointed to lead an institution, he argued, the appointment is not the achievement; the achievement is what that person accomplishes with the responsibility entrusted to them.
Ali observed that new appointments are sometimes celebrated as though the work has already been completed, with congratulatory messages filling social media, photographs published, friends organizing celebrations, and everybody addressing the official by a new title.
“But citizens are entitled to ask a different question: What will improve because this person has been appointed?” he said. He asked whether services will become more reliable, whether resources will be managed responsibly, whether employees will be better supported and held accountable, whether projects will be completed, whether citizens will receive better treatment, and whether the institution will be stronger when the official eventually leaves.
“These are the questions that should define leadership,” he stated.
Ali said he spoke with an awareness of his own responsibilities as Managing Director of the LWSC.
“For the family waiting for water, my title means very little if water does not reach their home. For a community struggling with poor sanitation, an official vehicle and an impressive office provide no comfort,” he admitted. “What matters is whether the institution makes measurable progress toward delivering the services people need.”
Accountability Is Leadership’s Test
The same standard, Ali insisted, applies across government. A minister, he said, should be assessed not simply by meetings attended but by policies implemented and improvements achieved; a legislator not merely by public visibility but by the quality of representation, lawmaking, and oversight; and a public manager not by the number of people who salute them but by the performance of the institution they lead.
He conceded that those who serve must be honest enough to recognize that not every challenge can be solved immediately, as resources are limited, institutions face constraints, and development takes time. “But constraints should demand greater discipline, not provide permanent excuses for inaction,” he said. “Leadership is not the absence of difficulties. It is the responsibility to confront difficulties and demonstrate progress.”
Leaders, Ali said, must set priorities, explain decisions, account for public resources, acknowledge shortcomings, and accept legitimate criticism. “Citizens are not inconveniences interrupting our work. Serving citizens is the reason the work exists,” he declared.
He urged graduates who enter public service to carry that principle with them. “Do not become the official who makes ordinary people feel small. Become the professional who makes institutions work. Do not become the leader who confuses obedience with respect. Become the leader whose integrity earns trust,” he said. “Power is not evidence of greatness. What you accomplish with power gives it meaning.”
The Day Nobody Calls You Honorable
Ali reminded the graduates that, no matter how powerful they become, that power will one day pass to somebody else, and whatever position they acquire will come to an end. A minister will one day no longer be minister, a legislator may no longer occupy that seat, and somebody else will eventually occupy a managing director’s office. “The official vehicle may be returned. The telephone may stop ringing. The invitations may become fewer. And the people who once hurried to greet you may suddenly become very busy!” he joked.
“That is not tragedy. That is life,” Ali continued. “Positions are temporary. Authority is temporary. Public attention is temporary. But the consequences of our actions can last far beyond the offices we occupy.” He asked the graduates to imagine the day after their last official appointment, with no security escort, no protocol officer, no special chair, and nobody announcing their arrival. “Just you. Who are you then?” he asked.
“What relationships have you preserved? What institutions have you strengthened? What lives have you improved? Will people remember someone who demanded respect, or someone whose conduct earned it?” Ali queried. “If your importance disappears the moment your title disappears, perhaps you were never as important as you believed.” Character, he said, must always be greater than position, and service must always be greater than status.
He told the graduates that they do not have to become famous to live an extraordinary life, citing a teacher whose encouragement transforms a child, a nurse whose compassion restores hope, an entrepreneur whose business supports families, or a parent who raises children with integrity. “A meaningful life is not necessarily a celebrated life,” Ali said. “The most meaningful evidence of your success may be found in the opportunities other people gained because you existed.”
Become Useful Before Becoming Important
Addressing the Class of 2026 in closing, Ali said education can make a person arrogant, impatient, and convinced that a title makes him or her superior, or it can make that person wiser, more compassionate, more capable, and more committed to service. “The choice belongs to you,” he said. “I hope you become successful. I hope some of you become wealthy, influential, and entrusted with the highest offices in our country. But above all, I hope you become useful—to your families, your communities, your institutions, Grand Gedeh, and Liberia.”
He asked the graduates to think about a tree, which does not announce its importance, does not demand a special chair, and does not insist on being called Honorable. “It simply grows. And as it grows, it provides shade, bears fruit, and shelters life. Its value is not in the noise it makes. Its value is in what it gives,” he said. Ali urged the graduates to become like that tree, growing in knowledge, character, and achievement, providing shade for somebody else as they rise, creating opportunities for others as they prosper, and helping somebody still struggling as they become stronger.
“One day, your titles may disappear and your photographs may fade. But the people whose lives you improved may carry your influence into generations you will never meet,” he said. He charged them to earn respect through their conduct, trust through their integrity, and their place in society through their contribution, and to become as important as their abilities would take them, while making sure their importance matters to someone beyond themselves.
“Do not spend your entire life trying to become a big person. Spend your life becoming a person whose absence would leave a meaningful gap,” Ali urged. “When the titles are gone and the applause has ended, one question will remain: WAS YOUR LIFE USEFUL? May your answer be written not merely in the positions you occupied, but in the lives you touched.” He congratulated the GGU Class of 2026 and prayed God’s blessings on their future, Grand Gedeh University, Grand Gedeh County, and the Republic of Liberia.