In a bold political move, members of the Nimba County Legislative Caucus have publicly rejected the Speakership ambition of their own county colleague, Representative Musa Hassan Bility, and have instead pledged full support to Honorable Richard Nagbe Koon.
The statement, signed by six key members of the caucus, emphasized their critical role in the ousting of former Speaker J. Fonati Koffa, citing his failure to uphold legislative principles like transparency and accountability. With Koffa out, the lawmakers say they are backing Koon to usher in a new era of leadership at the House of Representatives.
But beneath the surface of political declarations and principled arguments lies a deepening controversy, one that has quietly simmered in the background but now demands attention.
Nimba County, Liberia’s second most populous and one of its most politically active counties, has long boasted of unity among its people regardless of tribe or district. From the campaign trail to community meetings, the narrative has remained constant: “Nimbaians are united, and we support our own.” Yet, in the case of Musa Bility, a prominent son of Nimba and the only Mandingo lawmaker from the county, that pledge of unity appears to be cracking.
Despite Bility’s political influence and his national recognition, his own colleagues from Nimba have flatly rejected his Speakership bid without a single public word of support from within the caucus. Instead, they have aligned with Richard Koon, who hails from Grand Kru County, raising difficult questions about whether the unity Nimbaians proudly proclaim is only skin-deep.
“Is this rejection truly about political principles, or is it something deeper?” asked one political observer. “When it’s time to stand behind a fellow Nimbaian, why does it seem that tribal lines still matter?”
Bility, who is Mandingo and represents District #7 in Nimba, has often been viewed as a divisive figure by some within the county’s political circles, not just for his assertive style but because of long-standing ethnic and cultural divisions. While no lawmaker has openly stated tribal bias, the silence of his own caucus in defending his candidacy has raised eyebrows.
Critics argue that the very people who have long championed Nimba unity have now exposed an inconvenient truth, that unity in the county may be more rhetoric than reality when tested by tribe and personal interest. Others contend that the rejection of Bility is based purely on his political dealings and personality, not his ethnicity.
Still, the optics remain troubling: when the only Mandingo candidate from Nimba seeks the Speakership, he is shut out by his peers, and a non-Nimbaian is endorsed in his place. For many in the county’s Mandingo community, this is not just political, it’s personal.
“Unity is not just about waving the Nimba flag at rallies,” a community elder said privately. “It must be demonstrated when decisions like this are on the table. Otherwise, we are just pretending.”
As the race for the Speakership intensifies, the Nimba Caucus may have won praise for taking a stand, but they now face a deeper reckoning, one that challenges their credibility on the unity they so often preach. Whether their actions are a reflection of principle or prejudice, the political divide has been exposed, and the conversation around true Nimba solidarity can no longer be avoided.
