PYJ’s Fall Leaves Indelible Imprints -Rep. Bility Pens How “The reality of the Day Settled In”

MONROVIA – The death, cerebration and burial of Nimba County’s three-term Senator, Prince Y. Johnson, mean different things to different people. For most of his Nimba kith and kin if not all, he was a political godfather and hero. For presidential politicians and their lackeys, he was a political savior. For other politically minded Liberians, he was a kingmaker. And for his foes, he was an uncouth villain. Whatever the case, events shortly before his interment projected him a national sensation, leaving stubborn memories that many will find difficult dissipating soon. Representative Musa Hassan Bility agrees, as his latest opinion piece, “Letter from Seclapea”, articulates. See BELOW.

Sitting in the convoy, flanked by twelve of my colleagues from the Rule of Law Bloc, I found myself reflecting on the weight of the moment. We were on the final journey, the last escort, to pay our respects to Prince Yormie Johnson. We had started from Saclepea, and as we arrived in Ganta, the reality of the day settled in.

There, before us, was a scene unlike any other—a town transformed by the magnitude of the occasion. The preparations were grand, the execution flawless, a testament to the dedication of those who took charge. But beyond the ceremony, what struck me most was not the scale of the event, nor the dignitaries in attendance. It was the presence of an entire nation, gathered to say goodbye to a man who, regardless of how history may judge him, was undeniably a towering figure in the story of Nimba and Liberia.

As I walked along my colleagues to take my seat, I felt the weight of history pressing upon us. The tension in the air was unmistakable—political, social, and generational. Even in this moment of mourning, the divisions that define our legislature and our nation were present. Some of us, the so-called minority bloc, were made to sit at the back while others took their places at the front. But we took no offense. That was not why we had come. We had come to bury a man who shaped Nimba.

One by one, tributes were paid. Some words were comforting, others controversial. But in death, the man called many names around the world was simply “The Godfather” to Nimba. And as we laid him to rest, I could not ignore the lingering uncertainty in the air.

Nimba, as Prince Yormie Johnson left it, is on edge. The road ahead is unclear. The balance of power is shifting, and history tells us that such moments are often turbulent. We have seen it before—when Gorbachev left Russia, when Saddam’s Iraq collapsed, when Gaddafi’s Libya fell into chaos. Power vacuums are dangerous, and Nimba has already endured too much.

So I pray. I pray for peace. I pray for unity. I pray that we do not allow ourselves to be swallowed by the divisions of the past. I pray that the sacrifices, the struggles, the injustices that Nimba has faced will not be in vain. That we will rise, not as factions, but as a people determined to build a better future for our children.

The path ahead is uncertain, but uncertainty does not have to mean destruction. It can also mean opportunity. Opportunity to mend, to heal, to rewrite the future.

As we bid farewell to the Godfather, let us also bid farewell to the divisions, the turmoil, and the pain that have held us back for too long. Let us honor his legacy—not with more conflict, but with a commitment to a stronger, more unified Nimba, and a Liberia where all of us, regardless of where we come from, can find peace, prosperity, and a shared future.

This is our moment. Let us rise to meet it.

From Saclepea,

Musa Hassan Bility