By Julius T. Jaesen II
juliusjaesen@gmail.com
Oh Liberia, my homeland, what have you become? What will Tecumsay Roberts say in his grave as the nation that once sang his praises now sings for his murderer? What words would he find to describe the betrayal of his memory, the dishonour done to his soul, and the silence that smothers the truth of his death?
Tecumsay Roberts, a man of music and grace, whose voice brought light to our darkest days, whose songs carried hope when our hearts were heavy—what will he say now, lying cold in his grave, as Prince Yormie Johnson, the man who took his life, is honoured as a hero?
On that day, amidst the horrors of the war, Tecumsay was dragged to Caldwell Base, not as a soldier, not as an enemy, but as a man of peace, a man whose only weapon was his gift of song. His life was snatched in brutality, his brilliance extinguished without mercy. His blood cried out from the ground, but who listened? Who mourned for him when his voice was silenced?
And now, the very man who ordered his death is lifted high, given a state funeral, and adorned with glory. What will Tecumsay say in his grave, as Liberia gathers to honour the one who made him a victim of violence?
Will he cry out to the heavens, asking why justice has turned its back on this land? Will he whisper to the winds, mourning the country that has forgotten its own pain? Or will he weep in silence, knowing that his death, like so many others, has been erased by the passage of time and the fog of forgetfulness?
Oh Liberia, what will Tecumsay Roberts say of a nation that rewards warlords and ignores the cries of their victims? What will he say of a people who celebrate those who tore the fabric of our society, who turned our songs of unity into cries of despair?
The halls that once echoed with his music now echo with the praises of his killer. The same Liberia that cheered Tecumsey’s songs now cheers for the man who silenced him. How do we reconcile this contradiction? How do we explain this betrayal to Tecumsay, whose grave lies cold and forgotten?
What will he say of the people who turned their backs on justice? What will he say of a nation that glorifies violence and calls it patriotism? Will he sing a lamentation of his own, a song of sorrow for a country that has lost its way?
Perhaps he will say, “Oh Liberia, you have chosen to forget. You have buried your guilt alongside your dead and built monuments to those who destroyed you. You have turned the graves of the innocent into stepping stones for the powerful. How long will you let this continue?”
Or perhaps he will say nothing, for what words could capture the depth of this betrayal? What words could express the pain of a life taken too soon, the injustice of a world that rewards the oppressors and ignores the oppressed?
Oh, Tecumsay, your grave may be silent, but your memory cries out. It cries out for justice, for truth, for the Liberia you dreamed of but never saw. It cries out against the false honours given to those who brought death and destruction to our land.
Liberia, what will Tecumsay Roberts say in his grave when we, the living, remain silent? What will he say when we fail to defend the dignity of those who suffered, when we fail to demand accountability for the countless lives lost?
Let this lamentation be a reminder, not just of Tecumsey’s death, but of all the voices silenced by war. Let it be a call to conscience, a plea for us to rise above our past and seek the justice we owe to those who can no longer speak for themselves.
Oh, Liberia, let Tecumsay Roberts rest in peace, not in the shadow of dishonour, but in the light of truth. Let us remember his life, his music, and his legacy, not by glorifying his killer, but by standing for the justice he was denied. Until we do, his grave will speak louder than any song we could ever sing.
