By a vote of forty-nine members, Montserrado County District #10 Representative Yekeh Y. Kolubah has been expelled—the first sitting lawmaker removed from office in post-war Liberia. Whatever one thinks of the outspoken critic, let us be clear: this action was neither a need, nor a want, nor a necessity for the Liberian people. And worse, it was an avoidable overreach when a lesser penalty—suspension—was plainly available and far more appropriate.
No one argues that Representative Kolubah is an easy colleague. His language has been sharp, his accusations unfiltered, and his refusal to fully cooperate with the Committee on Rules, Order, and Administration was undoubtedly provocative. But since when is provocation grounds for political execution?
The Constitution and House rules provide a spectrum of disciplinary measures. Suspension—temporary removal with pay withheld, privileges revoked, and a clear path back upon changed behavior—has been used in legislatures around the world, including in Liberia’s own recent history. Suspension would have sent an unmistakable message: the House will not tolerate misconduct, but it also will not destroy a member’s career, silence a constituency’s voice, or set a dangerous precedent over a single heated confrontation.
Expulsion, by contrast, is the legislative death penalty. It says there is no redemption, no learning, no return. It says the people of Montserrado District #10 no longer have a representative—not for a week, not for a month, but for the remainder of the term. Thousands of voters who chose Kolubah, for better or worse, have been disenfranchised by forty-nine of their colleagues. That is not justice. That is vengeance dressed in procedural clothing.
The timing alone is indefensible. While forty-nine lawmakers busied themselves with procedural hearings, walkouts, recesses, and finally a historic expulsion, ordinary Liberians struggle under concession agreements that give away our iron ore, rubber, and timber for pennies on the dollar. Our mothers die in childbirth at rates that shame the continent. Our daughters face violence without justice.
The legislature’s investigative report against Kolubah ran dozens of pages. It cited Rule 11, Rule 42.1, Article 38 of the Constitution, and even a Senate precedent from 1998. But ask any Liberian in the market, on the taxi rank, or in the clinic queue: Has any committee been empaneled to renegotiate the disastrous concession agreements signed over the past decade? Has any motion been made to audit the billions of dollars in resource extraction contracts?
Instead, the same forty-nine lawmakers who signed Kolubah’s expulsion resolution—from Bomi to Rivercess, from Lofa to Grand Gedeh—have remained largely silent on severe issues affecting Liberia in different sectors. They have offered no comprehensive bill to address Liberia’s maternal mortality rate, among the highest in the world. They have not advanced gender equity legislation beyond campaign-season promises.
Had those forty-nine directed even half the energy they spent expelling Kolubah toward any of these crises, Liberia would be measurably better off today. Instead, we have a political spectacle and an empty seat. This body expelled no one when ex-Speaker J. Fonati Koffa was removed last year in the “Majority Bloc” battle. Lawmakers were suspended, then unsuspended. Political scores were settled. But the people’s business? It waited.
Now, Kolubah—a man hailed by the current administration when he attacked the previous government—has been cast out for doing exactly what he has always done: speaking loudly, often crudely, but always claiming allegiance to “the people of Liberia, not to any single political party.”
We do not defend every statement Kolubah has made. Some have been reckless. The Inspector General raised legitimate national security concerns. But expulsion? Suspension would have protected the dignity of the House while preserving the democratic rights of District #10’s constituents. The fact that the House skipped straight to the ultimate penalty suggests that this was never about discipline—it was about elimination.
The Committee on Rules rejected Kolubah’s legal team’s requests for audio, video, and written evidence. They refused additional preparation time. When the lawyers walked out—perhaps unwisely—the Committee simply proceeded without the respondent present. Then they cited Kolubah for walking out. Even the Supreme Court reportedly issued a stay of proceedings on April 16, though the House claims it received no communication. If true, that alone is a constitutional crisis.
If false, then confusion reigns at the highest levels.
Prominent voices—Alexander B. Cummings, Senator Amara Konneh, and Cllr. Tiawan Saye Gongloe—have rightly condemned the decision. Gongloe called it “a serious constitutional violation.” He is not alone.
Here is the editorial challenge we issue today: To the forty-nine representatives who signed that resolution, we say this—direct your energy and commitment where it is needed.
Turn that same coordination toward fixing our education system. Turn that same determination toward renegotiating concession agreements that have impoverished communities while enriching foreign corporations. Turn that same legislative machinery toward passing a gender parity bill, establishing specialized courts for sexual and gender-based violence, and funding public health facilities outside Monrovia.
If Kolubah’s behavior was truly intolerable, suspend him. Give him thirty days, sixty days, even ninety days to reflect. Withhold his salary. Bar him from the chamber. But leave his seat intact, because that seat belongs to the people of District #10—not to the forty-nine, not to the Speaker, not to the President. Expelling Yekeh Kolubah may satisfy a political grudge. It may silence a critic. But it will not feed a single hungry child.
It will not stop a single woman from dying in labor. It will not bring one lost acre of Liberian land back from a bad concession deal. Liberia has real enemies: poverty, disease, illiteracy, corruption, and the predatory contracts that sell our future for short-term gain. Yekeh Kolubah, whatever his faults, is not among them.
The House of Representatives has expended enormous political capital to remove one man.
That capital would have been better spent on the millions who elected them. And the punishment they chose—expulsion rather than suspension—reveals more about their intentions than any committee report ever could. We call on the Supreme Court to clarify whether its stay was issued and ignored. We call on the forty-nine signatories to explain why suspension was never seriously considered. We call on them to publish their legislative agenda for the remainder of this session—not on process or punishment, but on policy that lifts Liberians.
And we call on the public to remember: while the powerful fight among themselves, it is the powerless who pay the price. This expulsion was not a necessity. It was not a want. And certainly, it was not a need of the Liberian people. It was a distraction—and a dangerous one at that. Suspension was the wiser, fairer, more democratic path. The House chose otherwise. History will not forgive them lightly.
The truth is, you cannot build a nation by tearing down your own. And you cannot claim to serve the people while silencing their chosen voice—permanently and unnecessarily.
