The Armed Forces of Liberia: A Continuum to the Liberian Democracy

By Preston Varkpeh

The Armed Forces of Liberia: A Continuum to the Liberian Democracy examines the Liberian security framework and seeks to explore root causes that have shaped the security landscape in the West African nation. The book considers internal and external links in diplomacy, international relations, politics, economics, and public-policy decisions that have dovetailed into the negative employment of security forces. The Natives–settlers divide in Liberia, the early settlers’ government that excluded the Natives, the ushering in of a military regime that brought an end to Americo-Liberian rule, and the mismatches in doctrinal contexts due to failure of the Liberian government to plan for strategic sourcing of military requirements that meet the current and future needs of security in Liberia are major aspects of this research. Simply put, the research aims at creating a correlation between public-policy decisions (or indecision) and military outcomes as well as how these outcomes affect the animal spirit of investment in Liberia for sustained economic development.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639853793

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Foreword

Acknowledgement

Introduction

Chapter 1: Historical Overview

Chapter 2: The Period After the Rice Riot

Chapter 3: AFL in Post-Conflict Liberia: From 2005 to Present

Chapter 4: Current Challenges

Chapter 5: Conclusion and Recommendations

Bibliography

Index

About the Author

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The Armed Forces of Liberia

A Continuum to the Liberian Democracy

Preston Varkpeh

Copyright © 2023 Preston Varkpeh

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 978-1-63985-378-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63985-379-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To all uniformed service members who answer the call of duty in defense of their countries. To the lone and unknown soldiers whose stories are seldom told. More specifically, to members of the Armed Forces of Liberia—past, present, and future.

Foreword

A new Liberian military was formed in 2006. I found myself (and many others) being part of the process. This process, after fifteen years, has shaped the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) into a force for good and a model to emulate despite numerous challenges. We have been progressively successful by all standards, but it has been a bumpy ride.

Captain Preston Varkpeh (retired) joined the Armed Forces of Liberia in 2007 as part of the 3rd Cohort (Batch). Preston is regarded as one of our finest officers of the restructured AFL. He has always availed himself to share his insights, thoughts, and recommendations for the betterment of the AFL. Now, in this book, The Armed Forces of Liberia: A Continuum to the Liberian Democracy, the author brings out historical perspectives that clearly depict the realities of many people during the Liberian civil crisis.

The book breaks down the historicity of the Liberian Frontier Force which subsequently led to the foundation of the AFL. It further provides a first-hand account of the new AFL's restructuring, building, and formation. In the contents of this book, he also outlined the positive impact that the restructuring process has had on the AFL making this book highly informative, authentic, and educative.

The reader can expect to enhance his/her understanding of what works or does not work when building a system in circumstances like that of the AFL. Usually, when we are faced with obstacles or challenges in our personal or professional sojourn we are tempted to ask, why are we going through this? instead of what can we do to fix it while we are here? It is important to note that Preston's use of analogy to bring out issues makes this book easier to understand and grasp the writer's argument. He also prudently provides recommendations for the past and present challenges Liberia faces which may provoke the intelligent thought processes of the reader. Our past is a great lesson that cannot be ignored, we must learn from it. As Georg Kell, founding director of the United Nations Global Compact, said: And while we cannot expect that everybody will learn the lessons of history, we can at least insist on basic decency and universal values of ethics which must include non-violence, the golden rule of reciprocity and respect for others."¹ The AFL or any institution pursuing growth and development is no exception. Any institution or individual that has a keen regard for history and its abundance of lessons will look to the Liberian experience as expounded in this book to navigate the learning curve of the civil-military relationship.

Roland T. Murphy

Lieutenant Colonel

Military Assistant: Office of the Chief of Staff—Armed Forces of Liberia

Acknowledgement

I am grateful to God, whose blessings strengthened and kept me to begin and finish this project. I appreciate Colonel Sue Ann Sandusky's (US Army—retired) initial idea to start this work when l did not think it possible or believed I could. She edited and gave her input on the first draft of the manuscript and has remained a valuable resource throughout the writing process. Lieutenant Colonel William Denn (US Army) gave meaningful insights and perspectives about how my personal story can be invaluable to the project. Lieutenant Colonel Roland Murphy's US Army War College monograph became a crucial resource for this project when I researched Liberia's post-war security sector reform. Mardea T. Varkpeh (my wife) became a trusted ally, allowing me to use our household finances to sponsor this project. She also helped read the manuscript and gave editorial suggestions and inputs. Finally, Elizabeth (Liz) Bosley, my publication assistant from Fulton books, has been very nudging, especially if she felt I was taking too long a break from writing. I could not mention many others here, but your efforts are appreciated. I was lucky to work with a great team, and thank you!

Introduction

For national security to serve its true purpose, its fundamental ideals must be built on the concept of collectivism. Liberalist and realist concepts and influences, notwithstanding, impact the exercising of the security frameworks through distinct and interwoven factors, which include nationalism, fear, (national) pride, and interest.² Nations act as rational actors to secure their public interest and provide national security for all within their boundaries. The military, therefore, is critical to defining and maintaining the national power of states.

In Liberia, however, the security dynamics that influence national change for all do not always reflect the public's interest. Political, social, and economic decisions often promote self-interest to the extent that many Liberians question their trust in the national security institutions. The military experience in Liberia has reflected systemic issues in the Liberian democratic institutions from the onset. To better understand these dynamics, it is crucial we begin by briefly introducing Liberia.

Before moving on to the historical context, a brief dive into the author's personal life, hopefully, would help set the conditions for the fundamental influences behind the framing of public policy narratives relative to national security in Liberia. We will also explore how Liberia's social, political, and economic past has shaped the current military environment.

I was born to the union of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph K. Varkpeh of Salala, lower Bong County. At an early age, my dad was deceased. It was the women in my family that more specifically raised me. Of all the women in my early life, my elder sister, Mrs. Izetta Kroma, influenced my life the most. My sister (or I should say my mother) was the only person I knew as a mother for much of my early life. I met my biological mother—Kulah Varkpeh—later in life. I got to know her better during the Liberian civil wars after we left Monrovia. Trying to integrate into my new life outside of Monrovia, I grew to experience a mother's love toward her child and, for the first time, perhaps really spent that long with my biological mother. I felt two extremes in the village: a mother's love and hatred for the armed forces. Let us consider brief details of the two extremes.

Like most Liberians my age, my childhood was full of ups and downs due to the carnage and prolonged civil wars. The civil war made everything abnormal and helped to increase the hatred from civilians toward the uniformed services. My greatest hatred for the military grew after we arrived in Salala, and I had to spend time in our family village. The two-hour walk outside the main town of Salala often took us to a quiet and serene little town called Nya Kwalla (or the town down the river). As the name suggests, this little village was well-seated on the banks of the Yuba River. The villagers used the river for many purposes, including drinking, laundry, and fishing. The land was also rich in agriculture. I raised my own poultry and other livestock and was privileged to garner the concept of ownership at a very early age. There was an unexplained satisfaction in knowing from a distance that a chicken or goat was in my name. I owned my livestock and enjoyed the sense of private ownership. I still believe that experience in the village later shaped my worldview on private ownership and entrepreneurship. Despite the love shared with my mother and the desire for private ownership, I soon grew immense hatred for the men serving in the armed forces. My hatred for combatants or armed personnel was ignited by two occurrences.

First, an armed man with an AK-47 rifle butt-stroked my dog to death after the dog ran to me for rescue. In those days, rebels or armed combatants ate dogs, chicken, goats, sheep, or any livestock owned by villagers. To avoid risking my dog's life, I spent a lot of time in the woods, trying to hide from the armed combatants. The dog was especially important to me during this time as it became my best companion. Integration with other children in the village was an initial challenge, and my dog became my only best friend outside of my immediate family. We played together, ran in the bushes (woods) together, and the puppy was just the best pet anyone could have (at least as I saw it then).

On one Sunday, I left the woods early to get food and follow my parents to church. While waiting for food and preparing for church, my dog started running toward me. I could tell something was wrong. Although aggressive, perhaps the dog sensed it could better be protected under my care and therefore ran to me for rescue. When I looked up to see what could have scared the dog this much, I saw an armed man with an AK-47 rifle. At this point, the dog crawled under my chair and bent under my feet. I tried to escape with the dog, but the armed man told me he would shoot me and still kill the dog if I took a step. My mother intervened and told me to leave the dog to the armed criminal. I was ready to fight this man with or without a gun. Although I was only a kid and he would have clearly won, I was still not afraid to fight him if that would stop him from killing my dog. For my mother, letting the armed man take the dog was the best option than losing her son. The memory of my dog's death stayed with me for a long time and increased my hatred for armed men.

My second experience that heightened my early hatred for armed combatants occurred a week after my dog was killed. This time, a rebel group entered our village, and their commander demanded that the villagers put together food (rice, oil, and condiments) for the gunmen. The rebels also demanded that the villagers find someone to carry their looted goods. It was at this point I got angry and shouted, Are you going to keep taking people's food and harassing them just because you have guns! At least this was the sentiment I shared even if the words were not verbatim as expressed here.

The villagers panicked and thought it was my end. What gave me the audacity to speak to these armed men as I did? When I consider the situation in hindsight, perhaps the anger from the prior week about the killing of my dog was still fresh on my mind. The actions of the armed men one week after my traumatic experience with the loss of my dog may have influenced my resolve to confront the armed personnel. Whatever was the most realistic cause of my response is still not known up to this day. I just reacted!

Surprisingly, however, the commander stopped one of his men who wanted to save face and keep the dignity of his boss intact by trying to hit me. The commander, according to him, liked the fact that I was able to stand up for the villagers while all the men in town sat and allowed strangers to take over their town and belongings. The commander believed I was the only person fit to defend my village, and he would train me to do that. At this point, the gravity of my actions hit me: I was about to become a rebel and joined what came to be known as the SBU or Small Boys Unit of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia led by then rebel leader Charles Taylor.

My mother protested that I would not leave her sight unless the rebels killed her. Again, the leader of the armed men gave in due to the actions of my mother. The armed commander said to my mother, Now I know where your son took his stubbornness and bravery from. Bravery? I was scared to death, and this armed general and his boys thought I was brave. What remained true, however, was that killing my dog and the actions of armed combatants in the local villages ignited my hatred for soldiers at a very early age. I became afraid of anything related to military life, especially serving in the armed forces. My hatred for the military grew even worse as I got older and studied Liberian history. I found through research that, what we witnessed as prolonged conflicts and civil wars were generally reflections of the failures of Liberian democratic institutions and the inability to cater to Liberia's military-industrial complex. The AFL, consequently, was at the center of these historical trends in shaping public perception while establishing the military's role in Liberia.

The civil wars were mostly driven by inequality in the Liberian social, political, and economic institutions. The natives and Americo-Liberians (as the settlers from the US and elsewhere who settled in Liberian became known) struggled over equal access to politics, social integration, and economic benefits from the wealth of the nation. The inequality ratio later widened to include access to education and social ascensions and will later take on military dimensions, which heightened in the late 1970s up to the coup d'état of April 12, 1980. The Liberian civil wars and the misapplication of military life in Liberia, therefore, were mostly derivatives of long-standing political and social differences that had economic consequences. I will now turn my attention to how I joined the AFL despite my earlier hatred for the military.

My hatred of the military lingered from childhood into early adulthood and up to college. Like most Liberians, I viewed military service with disdain and felt the Liberian military was reserved for the dregs of society. This lowly perception of the military as a place reserved for the underprivileged still holds true for many Liberians. As we will come to see in subsequent chapters, issues with soldiers' general welfare from whole-of-society perspectives had historically been overlooked as an essential component of the Liberian democracy. The essence of the military as an instrument of national power that contributes to national development and long-standing domestic, regional, and international peace was never fully considered as a functional need for national existence. Consequently, the military has been historically mismanaged.

By the time I was entering the AFL, not many of the early conditions that affected public sentiments about the military had changed. Some even argue that the conditions had grown worse. The need to raise a new army free of past corruption and human rights abuses led recruiters to seek high school and university students (or college graduates to serve as officers) to serve in the military. It was this search for new breeds that led my recruiter to me one afternoon right after I left one of my classes at the African Methodist Episcopal University on Camp Johnson Road. Andrew Jarjou, a Senegalese working for DynCorp (the US-based private company hired to train the initial two thousand men to serve in the AFL), at the time approached me and introduced himself.

Like many recruiters trying to lure people to serve in the armed services, Andrew was fast to show how joining the AFL was a golden opportunity for me and the rest of my family. I quickly argued the opposite based solely on historical precepts. For me, the unemployment in post-war Liberia had little to do with my joining the AFL. The major selling point that at least got me was the fact that Americans were leading the selection process. First, I felt anything led by the US had to be the best. To date, the US military is the best in the world. Having a chance to connect with this level of thought gave me the chance to think that joining the military would not be a waste of my time. A second factor, perhaps my best motivation to join the AFL, was the chance to see the US if I did my best in training. I had read from local newspaper advertisements that outstanding performers during basic training in Liberia had the chance to get follow-up and advanced training in the US after they concluded their in-country training with DynCorp. The power of the American brand gave me hope that I could be the best version of myself void of my social status or connection in Liberia. If I did my best, the results would come to me based on my efforts. Arguably, the success of SSR in Liberia for the initial recruits was most likely driven by these thoughts than the idea of service to the country.

The concept of why I agreed to join the AFL still shows a problem in the Liberian democracy and serves as a critical part of why this book was written. Liberia has not been able to structurally align public policy objectives from a whole-of-society standpoint that will drive its citizenry to put the country above self-service. In a no-man's-land, Liberians have historically gotten accustomed to not receiving just services and integration into their country. The lack of health care, access to education, economic and social integration, etc. have led many to seek means of existence void of public service governance mechanisms. Liberian officials have not cared for the needs of the people. In public offices, officials of government think of a dispensation or political tenure as this is our time—an idea that serves as a justification for corruption in all spheres of society. The military-industrial complex is directly affected by these interactions in Liberian society. It is therefore understandable that many men and women who first joined the AFL in post-war Liberia did so based on getting just rewards for their labor and the ability to have a better future. In my case, access to America was part of that success factor. I think this statement holds true for all recruits in the early days of security reforms in post-war Liberia.

Andrew was therefore right for thinking joining the AFL was a golden opportunity. My fear, however, was that this may not be true. What would happen if I joined and now found otherwise? I was in my senior year in college with prospects of joining the central bank staff. My professors liked me, and a few were trying to get me into the banks. I had a clearer chance of getting into the banks juxtaposed with a promising, but unknown, future in the military. That was my dilemma. What choice should I make? My ambivalence kept me from going in with the second batch of recruits up to when the third batch was being actively vetted. Andrew was still in contact with me. I was now a college graduate and would be joining as a commissioned officer, assuming I made up my mind in time before the third batch was shipped to initial entry training.

Despite my prolonged reluctance, Andrew never gave up. We met on many occasions, sometimes just to have drinks and talk as friends. What we discussed may not have been related to joining the military. We built a bond, and that helped me get some of my questions answered as I trusted Andrew more. On one of these visits, Andrew asked if I had made up my mind to be a part of the third batch. My answer was the same as before—no!

Andrew's response left me astonished. He said in a loud pitch, People like you are the problems for this country. You think you're too good to serve your own people and then complain about how bad the system is. If you refuse to serve, who will?

I was speechless for a while after Andrew's outburst. Many questions ran through my mind: why did he speak to me this way? Why had he taken a special interest in me despite my continual delays in reaching a decision? He was not a Liberian, so why was he so concerned about the quality of personnel who joined the AFL? Could it be that I truly did not care?

These questions continued in my mind for days and soon ignited new thinking toward national service. I asked myself, If not me, then who? Fast-forward, I joined the military with the third batch of recruits in November 2006 and later got commissioned as a second lieutenant. My thoughts about the military shifted immediately after I joined. Before getting on the bus for the training camp, doctors and nurses finalized medical checks and shaved our hair. We got rid of our civilian attires and wore one color: the Army green! A day ago, I knew none of the people next to me. Now, I was sitting with these strangers, and drill sergeants on the bus were telling us that all the recruits were now a new band of brothers and sisters! How? I soon found out the hard way.

The drill sergeants who accompanied us on the bus were kind and gentle. I heard horror stories about boot camp, and so far, the drill sergeants on the bus seemed to be some of the kindest people I ever met in my life! This was not until about thirty minutes outside of Monrovia as we entered Camp Sandi Ware in Careysburg, a small city in Monsterrado County, Liberia.

About the time we arrived at the training camp, I saw huge men who seemed rugged and fearful running to the bus. I told myself, This is hell! We spent hours in the hot sun doing flutter kicks, push-ups, sit-ups, runs, and the list goes on. The suffering of a day seemed a lifetime. I did not think I could survive another day. Even my dream to see America if I would prove an outstanding performer dwindled. I doubted myself and my resolve to continue. Drill sergeants talked so close to you in your personal space to the extent you could be tempted to hit them. I was a young and hot-tempered man who grew up under very tough early-life conditions. My greatest ability to continue in training was not just based on physical performance but also on my ability to tame my emotions. On day 1, we saw at least ten people quit. The next day, the instructors started the day by asking, Who is ready to quit today? The bus is ready to take you home! I almost put my hands up. Then I remembered my mother's voice when I told her about my desire to join the military: you can be anything you want to be! I realized I would be failing her and proving her wrong if I came home as a quitter. At that moment, something happened to me internally that I have not been able to explain.

I made up my mind on day 2 that no matter what happened, I would rather die than go home as a quitter. I still felt the pain, but now the pain helped me get better instead of giving up. I did more push-ups and sit-ups in my spare time in the squad bays (as our dormitory was called). I realized two critical life lessons when I decided to stay and finish my training no matter what obstacles I faced.

First, whatever goals we have will be tested, and the true meaning or source of strength of a man is brought up through the most difficult circumstances. Albert Einstein was right: in the middle of difficulties lies opportunities. I had the opportunity to rediscover myself, and in the center of this rediscovery stood my mother's voice telling me I can be anything I really want to be. Before now, those statements had been heard so many times from my mother, and they became mere clichés. Today, here, standing on the verge of giving up, those words meant everything!

Second, purpose is the most important ingredient behind achieving anything worthwhile in life. All failures, therefore, have their roots in ill-defined purposes. I wanted to be an outstanding performer and thought only of access to the American dream as to why I would join the AFL. Service to Liberia was not the main purpose behind my joining the military. I probably thought, Why would I care for a country that has never really cared for me? Within twenty-four hours of suffering in basic training, I was ready to change my mind and return home because of an ill-guided unifying purpose (why I really wanted to be a soldier). What happened to the desire to be an outstanding performer and one day have a chance to attend advanced training in the US? To be clear, the desire to get a fair shot at success and the ability of the US to give me that chance remained even when I almost gave up. This desire, as stated earlier, was the trigger that led me through the gates of the training camps. What was different about my resolve to continue in the face of temporary hardships, however, was a deep-seated desire rooted in my early childhood: the desire to make my mother proud. The need to accept no answer from life that would disappoint my mother (family) has generally guided my success in life. I grew up as a child without a father in the home. I saw my mother working two jobs to feed her home and keep me in school. During the civil wars, I heard positive reinforcements from home that I was not what I saw now. Unbeknownst to me, the desire to do well in Liberia and the US had its roots in my early conditioning at home. Up to basic training, I did not realize this was true about myself. I am grateful to a strong and caring woman who I called Mama.

After initial entry training, I graduated at the top of my class and, along with two other soldiers, was awarded as one of the best three of the class that formed the third batch. One of these men, Francis O. Gbodi, is still one of my best friends today. I even served as the best man at his wedding. On graduation day, no greater pride engulfed me than seeing and hugging my mother and giving her my award. I am a bit teary even now as I write these words. I am grateful for a wonderful woman who never gave up on me and supported me through all my endeavors. No one has ever had such an impact on my life!

Revisiting the historical context, now as a soldier, in the restructured AFL, I better understood the sentiments of many Liberians and the need to consider the AFL as a continuum of the Liberian democracy. I was lucky not to have lost a close relative. For many Liberians, however, their story is not the same. Their hatred may not be centered on armed combatants killing a dog or raiding a village. For some, fathers were killed, mothers or sisters may have been raped, and missing children who never made it back home to their families. Homes and villages were burned, bodies buried in mass graves, etc. For these Liberians, the last memory of their relatives and loved ones were probably by an armed combatant, including members of the nation's armed forces. It is therefore understandable how public perceptions toward the military in Liberia have been shaped by historical issues emanating from the mismanagement of the Liberian security sector from a whole functioning perspective.

This book, therefore, seeks to highlight some of the historical pitfalls. The civil wars had root causes that can be traced from the early political and social establishments in Liberia. Many of the factors that disintegrated Liberia continue in public policy even today. It is therefore critical that any attempt to heal the future take serious consideration of past hurts. This will require a careful study of the root causes and the need to integrate Liberians despite the relative diversity in tribes and social backgrounds. Knowledge of democratic and social institutions and the overall corporate and social responsibilities of Liberians toward the posterity of the state must be emphasized throughout the academic and social fabrics of society.

The problems of the Liberian military are reminiscent of the greater societal problems. Whether it is the traditional society before the settlers or the Americo-Liberian hegemony established after the arrival of freedmen from overseas, our current ills are reflective of past historical endeavors. In reference to these embodiments, let us begin a closer look at the Liberian society by first understanding some of the issues of the traditional society and how those dovetailed or changed after the arrival of settlers.

Settlements turned into country

Borrowing the words of Garry Wills when he described the Declaration of Independence in