The West African sub-region is currently grappling with a renewed, harrowing crisis as the practice of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) pushes back against human rights gains. In early August 2025, the tragic death of a one-month-old infant in The Gambia—a casualty of a brutal, clandestine cutting ritual—ignited widespread public fury, fueling massive street protests and reigniting a fierce national debate. While the Gambian government successfully navigated a perilous legislative challenge to keep its ban on FGM intact, the tragedy serves as a grim reminder that legal prohibitions are only as effective as their enforcement. Across the border, in Liberia, the situation is increasingly fraught with contradiction.
As Gambian activists demand accountability, Liberia is witnessing a troubling resurgence of the practice, casting a long, dark shadow over the administration of President Joseph Boakai and raising fundamental questions about the role of traditional institutions in a modern democracy. The persistence of FGM in Liberia—a practice that induces life-altering physical trauma, severe obstetric complications, and profound psychological scars—is not merely a cultural relic; it is a violent manifestation of systemic gender-based inequality that continues to thrive in the vacuum left by legislative inaction. In February 2023, the National Council of Chiefs and Elders of Liberia made a landmark declaration to ban FGM. At the time, this was heralded as a watershed moment by international stakeholders, including the United Nations and the European Union, who had spent decades advocating for the rights of women and girls in the country.
Yet, as of mid-2025, the optimism surrounding that announcement has curdled into suspicion. The recent emergence of viral video evidence showing 502 graduates from a 'bush school' in Konia, Lofa County—President Boakai’s home turf—has laid bare the fragile nature of these agreements. These graduates, predominantly underage girls, were reportedly initiated into traditional societies where FGM remains a core, mandatory ritual. The spectacle of these graduations, captured and shared with disturbing impunity, suggests that in many rural enclaves, the word of the National Council of Chiefs carries more weight than the principles of international human rights or the soft promises of the state.
The political implications of this resurgence are profound. President Boakai, a figure deeply embedded in the traditional Poro society, faces a complex balancing act. The Poro, a clandestine and powerful male-only traditional network, holds immense sway over the social and political life of the Liberian hinterland. Critics argue that the President’s perceived proximity to these traditional power structures has effectively signaled a 'green light' to local practitioners, who feel empowered to disregard modern reforms.
When the Minister of Internal Affairs, Francis Nyumalin, suspended local officials in the wake of the Konia incident, the act was viewed by many as a cosmetic maneuver intended to appease the international community without fundamentally challenging the status quo of the Poro and Sande societies. For many Liberian women and activists, the government’s response is seen as a deliberate theater of optics rather than a genuine shift in policy. The persistence of FGM in 11 out of 15 Liberian counties is not an accidental oversight; it is a systemic choice. Because the 2023 ban was issued as a traditional moratorium rather than codified into the national penal code, it lacks the 'teeth' required to prosecute offenders in a court of law.
There is no national legislation that specifically criminalizes FGM as a distinct act of violence, leaving the judiciary in a state of paralyzing ambiguity. The draft Anti-FGM bill has lingered in the halls of the legislature, trapped in a cycle of political procrastination while thousands of girls continue to undergo the knife. This legal void is a profound failure of the Liberian state. In the context of Liberia’s history—a nation that has navigated decades of civil conflict and social reconstruction—the struggle against FGM is intrinsically linked to the struggle for democratic maturity.
The 'bush schools,' which serve as the epicenter for these practices, historically operated as centers of cultural preservation. However, when those institutions utilize their influence to normalize the mutilation of young bodies, they cease to be vehicles of tradition and become agents of state-sanctioned harm. The economic and social implications are equally devastating. Studies have consistently shown that survivors of FGM face significantly higher risks of hemorrhage, neonatal death during childbirth, and long-term reproductive health crises.
By allowing these practices to continue, the Liberian government is essentially burdening its already fragile public health system with unnecessary, preventable trauma. Moreover, the psychological impact on these young girls—who are coerced into silence by the threat of spiritual and social ostracization—creates a cycle of intergenerational trauma that stifles the agency of women in the political and economic spheres. The regional contrast between The Gambia and Liberia is stark. In The Gambia, the threat to repeal the FGM ban mobilized a national consciousness that transcended political party lines, highlighting a vibrant, if embattled, civil society.
In Liberia, the narrative is clouded by the conflation of culture and violence. The defenders of the practice often invoke 'tradition' to shield themselves from accountability, ignoring the fact that global human rights standards, to which Liberia is a signatory, categorically reject FGM as a violation of physical integrity. The silence from the highest levels of the Liberian government on the recent surges suggests a strategic hesitation—an unwillingness to alienate the influential traditional blocs that are critical to electoral power. However, this silence is now being challenged.
The imagery of the Konia graduates has catalyzed a growing, if desperate, movement among civil society organizations demanding an end to the charade. They argue that if Liberia is to progress, it must decouple its traditional identity from practices that infringe upon the most basic human right: the right to live a life free from violence. The regional significance cannot be ignored. The African Union and various international human rights bodies are increasingly viewing the persistence of FGM as a major barrier to the 'Africa We Want' initiative.
Liberia, a nation that has historically played a leading role in regional diplomacy, now finds itself on the wrong side of this history. As the tragic headlines from The Gambia continue to serve as a stark warning, Liberia stands at a crossroads. The government can either continue to shield itself behind the veil of 'traditional custom,' or it can finally exhibit the political courage to codify the ban and enforce the rule of law. The lives of thousands of girls depend on this transition.
Until the government moves beyond the rhetoric of the National Council of Chiefs and commits to a binding, legally enforceable, and strictly monitored national prohibition, the cycle of violence will continue. The 'courage' to end FGM must finally come from the executive, the legislature, and the traditional leadership itself. Otherwise, the nation’s promise of protection for its youth remains nothing more than a hollow, dangerous myth.
