I find it endlessly amusing—in that dark, 'the world is a dumpster fire' sort of way—that we are expected to treat the administrative paralysis in Monrovia with anything resembling gravity. The latest news out of Liberia concerns President Joseph Nyuma Boakai, Sr. and his 'inner circle' suffering a sudden, agonizing split over the re-enacted Liberia Sea and Inland Ports Regulatory Act. To the uninitiated or the hopelessly optimistic, this looks like a high-stakes legislative drama. To me, it looks like a group of vultures fighting over who gets the prime cuts of a carcass that has been rotting since the mid-19th century.

Let’s be clear: when a politician’s 'inner circle' splits over a regulatory act concerning ports, they aren’t debating the finer points of maritime law or the socio-economic upliftment of the Liberian laborer. They are debating the plumbing of the nation’s primary cash artery. In a country where the economy is essentially a series of IOUs written on the back of empty rice bags, the ports are the only thing that actually functions as a source of hard currency. To 'regulate' the ports is, in the vernacular of the West African political elite, to decide which hands get to hold the buckets under the leaking pipes of international trade. Boakai, a man whose primary political asset during the election was that he wasn't George Weah, now finds himself in the unenviable position of having to actually govern. Or, more accurately, he has to decide which segment of his fractious coalition he wants to disappoint first.

The summary tells us that Boakai is weighing whether to veto the act—again. This is the hallmark of a leadership that is either paralyzed by its own indecision or waiting for the highest bidder to finally clear their throat. We are told the administration is in a state of 'political and legal ambivalence.' What a delightful euphemism. 'Ambivalence' is what you feel when choosing between two types of artisanal mustard; when a head of state can’t decide on a piece of legislation critical to the nation's infrastructure, it isn't ambivalence—it's an admission of impotence. The 'inner circle' isn't a brain trust; it's a collection of stakeholders in a venture that seems to view the Liberian state as a private equity firm currently undergoing a hostile takeover by its own board of directors.

Historically, the Executive Mansion in Monrovia has been many things: a fortress, a tomb, a stage for some of the most gruesome political theater the 20th century had to offer. Under Boakai, it seems to have transformed into a very expensive waiting room. The President’s hesitation to sign or veto this re-enacted act reveals the fundamental flaw of the 'reform' candidate. Once you are in power, the 'reform' usually stops at the front door because the people who put you there are the very ones who benefit from the status quo. If he signs it, one faction of his handlers wins and the other loses. If he vetoes it, he risks a legislative revolt that might actually force him to do some work. It is a classic Catch-22, served with a side of palm butter and profound disappointment.

I look at this 'divide' and I see the same old story. The Left will scream about sovereignty and the need for local control, while the Right—if such distinctions even exist in a system purely defined by patronage—will argue for the 'efficiency' of whatever private interest has promised them the biggest kickback. Both sides are, as usual, full of it. The Liberian people, meanwhile, are treated as an afterthought, a demographic nuisance to be managed with platitudes while the 'intense, high-level deliberations' continue behind closed doors. There is something truly pathetic about a government that can’t even agree on how to regulate its own ports without falling into a civil war of memos and whispers. It suggests that the 'Rescue Mission' Boakai promised was less about saving the country and more about rescuing the previous regime’s abandoned lunch money.

Ultimately, this isn’t about ports. It’s about the soul-crushing reality that power, regardless of the continent or the decade, is allergic to transparency. The 'Sea and Inland Ports Regulatory Act' is just a fancy name for the gatekeeping of the nation. Whether Boakai vetoes it or signs it with a trembling hand, the outcome for the average citizen remains the same: the prices of imported goods will stay high, the infrastructure will continue to crumble, and the 'inner circle' will continue to sharpen their knives for the next time a piece of paper with a dollar sign on it crosses the President’s desk. I’d say I’m surprised, but that would require a level of hope I haven’t possessed since the turn of the millennium. In the end, we are all just spectators watching a group of men in suits argue over who gets to hold the keys to a house they’ve already set on fire.