Weighing In On the Helping Verb Debate

Yes. The strongest way to make this speech work is to turn the grammar metaphor into a political argument: no serious political party should dismiss another party as merely a “helping verb,” because in a sentence every grammatical element has a function. The current opposition discussions make this especially timely: five opposition parties recently created a joint technical structure without yet declaring a coalition, while Liberty Party leaders have publicly pushed back against being treated as a “helping force.”

I would make the speech tough, theatrical, but not personally abusive—with the two principal political formations as the central characters and the smaller parties as the grammatical characters whose importance changes according to the sentence being written.

By Senator Cllr. Joseph Kpator Jallah of Lofa County

THE POLITICAL SENTENCE OF LIBERIA

A Tough-Talking Speech on Parties, Alliances, Political Relevance and the 2029 Question

The Political Sentence of Liberia

THE POLITICAL SENTENCE OF LIBERIA

A Tough-Talking Political Speech on Helping Verbs, Main Verbs, Adverbs, Adjectives, Gerunds and Dangling Modifiers

Fellow Liberians,
Political leaders,
Partisans and supporters of our various political parties,
Members of the Legislature,
And citizens of this Republic:

Today, I want to talk politics—but I want to talk about politics in a language that every Liberian who went to school should understand.

I want to talk about grammar.

Because these days, listening to our political conversations, one would think that Liberia has suddenly become a classroom where political parties are fighting over who is the main verb, who is the helping verb, who is the adverb, who is the adjective, who is the gerund, and who has become the unfortunate dangling modifier.

But let us remember something very important:

A political party is not a grammatical decoration.

A political party represents people.

It carries ideas.

It carries history.

It carries constituencies.

It carries sacrifices.

It carries votes.

And sometimes, even a party that does not have the biggest number of votes can possess an idea without which the political sentence cannot be properly written.

So today, let us put our political grammar on the table.

I. THE MAIN VERB — THE PARTY THAT WANTS TO GOVERN

Every sentence needs a main verb.

Without the main verb, the sentence may contain nouns, adjectives, adverbs and other grammatical materials—but the sentence does not move.

In Liberian politics, the main verb is the political organization that seeks to exercise governmental power.

The main verb says:

“I want to govern.”

It does not merely want to criticize.

It does not merely want to negotiate.

It does not merely want to participate.

It wants the authority to form a government and take responsibility for what happens inside that government.

Today, Liberia has a ruling political structure, the Unity Party, while the Coalition for Democratic Change remains one of the country’s major opposition political forces. The National Elections Commission currently lists dozens of registered political parties, demonstrating that Liberia’s political sentence is much larger than two organizations alone.

But here is where political maturity begins:

Being the main verb does not mean you own the sentence.

The main verb cannot say to the noun, “You are irrelevant.”

It cannot say to the adjective, “You have no place here.”

It cannot say to the helping verb, “You are beneath me.”

Because remove the supporting grammatical elements and sometimes the main verb itself cannot complete the sentence.

That is the first lesson for Liberian politics.

Power is important—but power does not eliminate partnership.

And when you become the main verb of government, you inherit something bigger than the privilege of speaking.

You inherit responsibility.

You inherit accountability.

You inherit the obligation to listen.

You inherit the burden of performance.

And when the people begin asking questions, you cannot answer:

“I am the main verb, therefore nobody else matters.”

No.

The people are not voting for grammar.

They are voting for government.

II. THE HELPING VERB — SMALL IN NAME, BIG IN FUNCTION

Now let us come to the helping verb.

This is where some Liberian politicians need to be very careful.

Because the phrase “helping verb” has recently entered our political vocabulary as if helping means being insignificant.

It does not.

In English grammar, the helping verb helps the main verb express tense, possibility, ability, obligation or condition.

Words like can, could, will, would, shall, should, may and might can fundamentally change the meaning of a sentence.

So why should a political party be ashamed because somebody calls it a helping force?

Let me say this plainly:

There is no shame in helping to build a government.

There is no shame in helping to defeat bad policy.

There is no shame in helping to produce a national program.

There is no shame in helping to negotiate a political settlement.

There is no shame in helping to protect democracy.

But there is a difference between helping and being used.

That distinction is critical.

A political party must never surrender its identity merely because it enters an alliance.

If Party A helps Party B win an election, Party A should have a legitimate expectation that its contribution will be recognized.

If Party A helps Party B form a government, Party A should expect consultation.

If Party A helps Party B pass legislation, Party A should have the right to ask what the legislation accomplishes.

And if Party A disagrees with the government, it should not be told:

“But you helped us get here, so keep quiet.”

No!

Helping is not surrender.

Cooperation is not servitude.

Alliance is not ownership.

And political partnership is not political slavery.

That is why the recent debate matters. Opposition parties have begun discussing common structures while deliberately stopping short of calling themselves one coalition. That caution itself tells us something: political actors remember what happened to previous alliances and are trying to determine how cooperation can work without destroying individual identities.

III. THE ADVERB — THE PARTY THAT TELLS US HOW

Now we come to the adverb.

The adverb tells us how, when, where or to what extent something happens.

And Liberian politics needs adverbs.

Because it is not enough to say:

“We will govern.”

The people will ask:

How?

How will you govern?

How will you fight corruption?

How will you create jobs?

How will you reduce poverty?

How will you improve roads?

How will you protect Liberia’s territory?

How will you reform education?

How will you strengthen healthcare?

How will you protect the rule of law?

How will you make government accountable?

The adverb asks the question that politicians sometimes do not like:

“By what method?”

This is why smaller political parties can become enormously important.

A party may not have the largest number of elected officials.

It may not control the Executive Mansion.

It may not command the largest parliamentary bloc.

But it can possess the policy language that tells the main political actors how government should be conducted.

That party may say:

Govern transparently.

Govern constitutionally.

Govern inclusively.

Govern economically.

Govern nationally.

Govern responsibly.

Those are adverbs of governance.

And sometimes Liberia does not need another person shouting:

“I will govern!”

Liberia needs somebody standing beside the main verb asking:

“But how?”

IV. THE ADJECTIVE — THE PARTY THAT DESCRIBES THE POLITICAL PRODUCT

Now let us talk about the adjective.

The adjective describes the noun.

And in politics, the adjective is extremely powerful.

Because everybody says they want government.

But what kind of government?

A democratic government?

A transparent government?

An inclusive government?

An accountable government?

A development-oriented government?

A constitutional government?

A people-centered government?

The noun may be “government.”

But the adjective tells the people what kind of government they are being offered.

And this is where political parties must stop insulting smaller parties.

Because sometimes the smaller party carries the adjective.

It carries the principle.

It carries the reform.

It carries the issue that everybody eventually adopts.

Yesterday’s unpopular idea can become tomorrow’s national policy.

Yesterday’s minority argument can become tomorrow’s government program.

Yesterday’s small party can force the big party to answer questions it would rather avoid.

So never tell a political organization:

“You are too small to matter.”

Because Liberia’s history has repeatedly demonstrated that political influence cannot be measured only by the number of chairs around a table.

Sometimes the smallest voice asks the biggest question.

V. THE GERUND — THE PARTY THAT IS ALWAYS DOING SOMETHING

Now we arrive at the gerund.

The gerund is a verb ending in -ing that functions as a noun.

Working.

Organizing.

Mobilizing.

Negotiating.

Reforming.

Building.

Advocating.

And Liberia needs political parties that are not merely talking, but doing.

Because there is a dangerous disease in African politics:

permanent political campaigning.

Some politicians campaign every day.

They criticize every day.

They hold press conferences every day.

They issue statements every day.

But when you ask:

“What have you built?”

Silence.

The gerund says:

Show me the work.

Not what you promised.

Show me what you are doing.

Not what you said at the rally.

Show me what you are building.

Not what you said on Facebook.

Show me what you are reforming.

Not what you promised on radio.

Show me what you are organizing.

Not just the number of people sitting behind you at a political conference.

Because Liberia cannot eat political grammar.

Liberia needs roads.

Liberia needs electricity.

Liberia needs schools.

Liberia needs hospitals.

Liberia needs jobs.

Liberia needs justice.

Liberia needs security.

Liberia needs national dignity.

The gerund therefore becomes the most dangerous character in our political drama because it asks:

What are you doing?

VI. THE DANGLING MODIFIER — WHEN POLITICS LOSES ITS SUBJECT

And finally, we come to the most dangerous character of all:

the dangling modifier.

In grammar, a dangling modifier occurs when the introductory phrase does not clearly connect to the person or thing performing the action.

In politics, a dangling modifier is what happens when nobody knows who is responsible.

Government fails—but nobody is responsible.

A program fails—but nobody designed it.

Money disappears—but nobody signed for it.

A promise is broken—but nobody made the promise.

A policy collapses—but nobody owns the policy.

Everybody was involved.

Nobody is responsible.

That is the political dangling modifier.

And Liberia has suffered from this grammar for too long.

We cannot build a modern republic with sentences that have no accountable subject.

If you are in government, own government.

If you are in opposition, own opposition.

If you support government, explain why.

If you oppose government, explain why.

If you join an alliance, explain the terms.

If you leave an alliance, explain the reasons.

If you negotiate, tell the people what you negotiated.

And if you make a political promise, have the courage to attach your name to it.

No more dangling politics.

VII. THE TWO GREAT CHARACTERS IN THE DRAMA

Now let us put all of these grammatical characters on the political stage.

Imagine Liberia as a great national drama.

On the stage stand two major political forces.

One says:

“I am governing.”

The other says:

“I am opposing.”

Around them stand the other parties.

One carries the helping verb.

Another carries the adverb.

Another carries the adjective.

Another carries the gerund.

Another is trying desperately not to become the dangling modifier.

But here is the truth:

They are all part of the same sentence.

And the sentence is called:

LIBERIA.

The tragedy begins when the main characters start believing they are the entire drama.

They are not.

The drama belongs to the Liberian people.

The political parties are actors.

The citizens are the audience, the judges and, ultimately, the owners of the theatre.

And the Constitution is the script.

No political party wrote Liberia’s Constitution alone.

No political party owns Liberia.

No political leader owns Liberia.

No coalition owns Liberia.

Liberia belongs to Liberians.

VIII. TO THE BIG PARTIES: DO NOT MISTAKE SIZE FOR DESTINY

To the large political parties, I say:

Do not confuse size with permanence.

Political history is full of organizations that once appeared invincible.

They controlled the government.

They controlled the Legislature.

They controlled political machinery.

They controlled resources.

And then history changed.

That is the nature of democratic politics.

The party that is governing today may be opposing tomorrow.

The party that is opposing today may govern tomorrow.

The party that is large today may become smaller tomorrow.

The party that is small today may become decisive tomorrow.

Therefore, treat your political partners with respect.

Do not call them “helping verbs” as an insult.

Do not treat them as disposable political machinery.

Because the day you need their support, you may discover that the people you called insignificant have become indispensable.

IX. TO THE SMALLER PARTIES: DO NOT CONFUSE PARTICIPATION WITH IMPORTANCE

But I also have a message for the smaller parties.

Do not demand respect simply because you exist.

Earn it.

Bring ideas.

Bring organization.

Bring people.

Bring policy.

Bring discipline.

Bring credibility.

Bring courage.

Bring something to the table.

Do not become political passengers.

Do not enter an alliance merely to negotiate positions.

Do not sell your political identity for temporary appointments.

Do not become an adjective that changes every election.

Do not become a helping verb that helps everybody except your own principles.

And above all:

Do not become a dangling modifier.

Know your subject.

Know your purpose.

Know your constituency.

Know what you stand for.

X. THE PEOPLE ARE NOT THE GRAMMAR—THEY ARE THE SENTENCE

And finally, let us talk about the Liberian people.

Because sometimes politicians become so consumed with their political grammar that they forget the people.

The farmer does not care whether his politician is a noun or an adjective.

He wants a road to the market.

The teacher does not care whether his party is a helping verb.

She wants her salary.

The student does not care whether the opposition is an adverb.

He wants an education.

The mother does not care who is the main verb.

She wants medicine in the hospital.

The young Liberian does not care which politician is the gerund.

He wants a job.

The businessperson wants electricity.

The motorcyclist wants roads.

The rural community wants government services.

The citizen wants justice.

And every Liberian wants to know one thing:

Who is responsible?

That is the question of the dangling modifier.

XI. LET THE 2029 SENTENCE BE DIFFERENT

As Liberia moves toward another political cycle, we should learn from the past.

The current discussions among opposition parties demonstrate that political cooperation is again being considered, but they also demonstrate that questions of identity, leadership, autonomy and purpose remain unresolved. Some actors want broader cooperation without surrendering their individual political identities. Others are explicitly rejecting the idea that their parties exist merely as supporting forces.

That is healthy political conversation—provided it becomes a conversation about ideas and national interest, rather than merely a negotiation over who gets what position.

Because Liberia does not need another political arrangement whose only sentence is:

“Let us defeat them.”

The Liberian people deserve a bigger sentence:

“Let us build Liberia.”

Let the main verb govern.

Let the helping verb cooperate.

Let the adverb explain how.

Let the adjective define the quality.

Let the gerund demonstrate the work.

And let us eliminate the dangling modifier by making sure that every person entrusted with public responsibility can answer the question:

“What did you do with the power the Liberian people gave you?”

XII. THE FINAL SENTENCE

So tonight, I leave our political class with one final lesson.

You cannot write Liberia’s future with only one word.

You need the main verb.

You need the helping verb.

You need the adverb.

You need the adjective.

You need the gerund.

And above all, you need a clearly identified subject.

Because politics is not about who shouts the loudest.

It is not about who claims to own the opposition.

It is not about who claims to own government.

It is not about who calls another party insignificant.

And it is not about who receives the biggest microphone.

Politics is about the people.

It is about ideas.

It is about accountability.

It is about service.

It is about the Constitution.

It is about the future.

And therefore, when the political drama begins again, let every party enter the stage knowing its role—but never forgetting that it is part of a larger national production.

The ruling party is not Liberia.

The opposition is not Liberia.

The coalition is not Liberia.

The political leader is not Liberia.

The Legislature is not Liberia.

The people are Liberia.

And when the final sentence is written, history will not ask:

Who was the main verb?

History will ask:

What did you do for the Republic?

So let us write a better sentence.

Let us write a stronger sentence.

Let us write a more accountable sentence.

Let us write a more democratic sentence.

Let us write a more inclusive sentence.

And let that sentence begin with three simple words:

WE ARE LIBERIA.

Thank you, and may God continue to bless the Republic of Liberia.

This version is deliberately built as a political speech rather than an academic essay: the grammar becomes the recurring weapon, while the ending turns the metaphor back toward national accountability. I can also make it sharper and more confrontational—closer to a major political rally speech—with punch lines, pauses, audience responses, and repeated “main verb/helping verb” refrains while keeping the factual claims defensible.

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