Letter from Saclepea. The Plight of Womanhood
There are moments in life that quietly change the way you see the world. Not through speeches, not through books, not through politics, but through memory. Through reflection. Through standing still long enough for your soul to speak to you.
A few weeks ago, I had friends visiting me, and as we traveled through my district, I decided to show them where my mother lived. When we arrived at her town, I stopped for a moment and looked around. I showed them the old house. I told them stories about my mother, her sacrifices, her struggles, her strength, and the difficult life she endured so that I could become who I am today.
I spoke about the sleepless nights. The suffering. The determination. The sacrifices mothers make without applause, without recognition, and often without reward. And while I spoke, something deeper began to trouble my spirit.
I began to reflect on the plight of women in our society.
I thought about the women who built this nation with their bare hands, yet were denied the right to vote for generations. I thought about women who carried this country on their backs through war, poverty, and hardship, yet still have to fight every single day just to be treated fairly.
I thought about Liberia today.
A country that has produced a female President, a female Chief Justice, female ministers, lawmakers, educators, business leaders, and professionals across every sector. Yet despite all of this, the struggle for fairness and equal treatment remains painfully alive.
I come from Nimba County, one of the most politically powerful counties in Liberia, yet the election and participation of women in leadership remain an uphill battle. Women in politics are still judged differently and scrutinized differently. Atta, scrutinizedtly.
And beyond politics, society itself often becomes unfair to women in ways we barely notice anymore.
A man can openly cheat and be celebrated by his friends. Society laughs about it. Sometimes it even praises him for it. But let a woman be accused of the very same thing, and suddenly she becomes a target of public shame, condemnation, insults, and humiliation.
The imbalance is painful.
The hypocrisy is dangerous.
And the saddest part is that we have normalized it.
These are the same women who carry us in their wombs. The same women who raise us, protect us, feed us, pray for us, and sacrifice their lives so that we may have a chance at a better future.
Yet somehow, society continues to burden them with harsher judgment, fewer opportunities, and unequal treatment.
Sometimes I wonder whether part of our suffering as a nation is connected to how we treat women. Whether our inability to build a fair and compassionate society begins with our failure to give fairness and compassion to those who give life itself.
A nation cannot truly prosper while disrespecting its women.
A society cannot claim to be moral while applying two different standards to men and women.
And no amount of development will ever fully heal us until women are given the same dignity, fairness, and freedom we so easily reserve for ourselves as men.
I hope that we begin to see women differently.
Not as competitors.
Not as subjects of control.
Not as easy targets for public ridicule.
But as equal human beings deserving of fairness, opportunity, protection, and respect.
I hope we learn to treat women the same way we treat men. To judge fairly. To criticize fairly. To forgive fairly.
And maybe, just maybe, when we finally begin to lift women to the place they deserve in our society, Liberia itself will begin to rise.
There is no better way to honor your mother, your wife, your daughter, your sister, or your niece than to help create a world where they feel just as valued, just as protected, and just as free.
The day Liberia truly respects its women will be the day Liberia truly begins to heal.
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