Welcome back to the humidity-soaked theater of the absurd. Liberia, a country founded on the optimistic delusion that you can export American-style governance to a place where the local elites view 'the law' as a series of polite suggestions for the poor, has outdone itself. The latest entry in the annals of 'Why Do We Bother?' features Robert McGill, a man whose title—Deputy Minister of Administration at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—is roughly as meaningful as being the Lead Decorator on the Titanic. McGill was accused of rape, an allegation that would, in a functioning society, lead to a rigorous and transparent legal process. In Liberia, it leads to a 'police investigation,' which is the bureaucratic equivalent of asking a fox if it has finished digesting the chicken.

The Liberia National Police (LNP) have finally spoken, and their voice is as predictable as a Gregorian chant. After a period of 'careful consideration'—likely spent deciding which office air conditioner actually works and which palms require the most lubrication—they have exonerated McGill. They’ve cleared him of all charges, citing a lack of evidence that would make a ghost blush. Of course they have. The LNP clearing a government official of a crime is about as surprising as a dog deciding to lick its own tail. It is a closed-loop system of self-preservation. The police in these jurisdictions aren’t there to protect the public; they are the janitorial staff for the executive branch, tasked with mopping up the scandals before they stain the expensive rugs in the Executive Mansion.

Enter Cllr. Sylvester Rennie, the lawyer for the alleged victim, currently performing the role of the 'Shocked Legal Professional.' Rennie is questioning the exoneration. He is citing procedural gaps. He is pointing out, with the weary patience of a man explaining color to a rock, that the police shouldn’t be the final arbiters of truth—that is what courts and juries are for. It’s adorable, really. Rennie is acting as if the Liberian legal system is a precision-engineered Swiss watch when it is actually a rusty sundial sitting in a windowless basement. He’s demanding the case be forwarded to court, apparently laboring under the hallucination that a court in Monrovia is a bastion of impartial justice rather than just another venue where the highest bidder or the most connected participant dictates the verdict.

Let’s talk about the 'suspension.' McGill was suspended by the presidency when the allegations first broke. Suspension, in the lexicon of the corrupt, is the ultimate political gift. It is a paid sabbatical where the official gets to wait for the news cycle to vomit up a fresh tragedy so the public forgets the old one. It’s 'accountability' for people who have never been held accountable for anything more significant than a late library book. The suspension wasn’t a moral stance; it was a PR stunt designed to let the heat die down. And now that the police have provided the necessary paperwork to declare McGill as pure as driven snow, the path to a triumphant, bureaucratic return is being paved with the usual bricks of public apathy and institutional rot.

The broader picture is even more nauseating. On one side, you have the 'civil society' groups—those professional protestors who live for a good press release but wouldn't know how to dismantle a corrupt power structure if it came with a step-by-step IKEA manual. On the other, you have the government hacks who view the state as a private ATM. Both sides treat the actual victim as a secondary concern, a mere prop in a larger game of political chess played by people who don't even know how the knights move. The victim’s trauma is just another line item in a debate over 'due process,' a phrase used exclusively by people who wouldn't recognize a fair process if it hit them with a riot baton.

Historically, this is the Liberian way. From the True Whig Party hegemony to the various juntas and the current masquerade of democracy, the script remains the same: the powerful are shielded by a thin veneer of legality that dissolves the moment a real person gets hurt. The LNP's 'investigation' is a masterclass in institutional gaslighting. They claim there wasn't enough evidence, which usually means they didn't look for any, or they looked at it and decided it was politically inconvenient. In a country where the police are often underpaid and over-leveraged, 'evidence' is a flexible concept that bends toward the person holding the most influence. The law isn't a shield; it's a weapon used to bludgeon the powerless into silence.

So, we wait. We wait for McGill to be reinstated, perhaps with a slight promotion for his 'troubles' and the 'emotional distress' of being accused. We wait for Rennie to realize that his petitions are being used as coasters in the Ministry of Justice. We wait for the next scandal to replace this one, because the factory of Liberian corruption never closes for the holidays. It is a depressing, repetitive cycle of human failure. We are a species that takes the high ideals of justice and turns them into a cynical trade in favors and exonerations. If you expected anything else, you’re part of the problem. Sit down, shut up, and watch the next act of the farce. It’s the only thing these people are actually good at.