PHOTO: Newly inducted UL President, Dr. Layli Marparyan
The new appointee has an uphill battle. There is little in her background that suggests experience in managing an academic institution of UL’s size and complexity. Nor do her scholarly writings reflect a deep understanding of Liberia’s educational landscape. These gaps raise legitimate questions about how she was selected, especially given the presence of other, more qualified candidates.
The appointment of a new president at the University of Liberia (UL) has ignited a spirited debate across social media. In typical fashion, our toxic political environment has divided opinions sharply.
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Supporters of the ruling Unity Party (UP) are rallying behind the decision, while opposition voices question the appointee’s competence and readiness to navigate the institution’s complexities. The middle ground of rational discourse is, as always, largely absent.
It is essential, however, to look beyond partisan lines and assess the state of the University of Liberia and the challenges that any leader will inevitably face. UL is underfunded, overcrowded, and deeply politicized. These issues are not new; they are rooted in a long history of political entanglement that stretches back to the 1950s, with the founding of the Liberia National Students Union (LINSU), and later, the Student Unification Party (SUP) in the late 1960s.
UL has long been a hub of political resistance, standing firm against successive administrations, from Tolbert to Doe, Taylor, Sirleaf, and Weah. This culture of defiance is ingrained and will not change with the mere appointment of a new president.
Dr. Mary Antoinette Brown Sherman remains a beacon in the university’s history because of her unwavering support for students and faculty in their fight for free speech, academic freedom, and improved living conditions. However, since her tenure in the 1980s, successive administrations have taken a different approach. Presidents of the university have often been chosen to align with the political interests of the Republic’s president, rather than to serve the institution’s academic or administrative needs.
This trend has done little to address UL’s systemic challenges. Today, the university embodies decades of leadership failure. Instead of being an institution of excellence, it has become a cautionary tale of underfunding, overcrowding, and deteriorating standards. Built for a student body of 2,000, it now struggles to accommodate more than 25,000 students.
Interim President Amos Sawyer’s reopening of UL in 1992, during Liberia’s civil war, is emblematic of how political expediency has often trumped academic priorities. His goal was to draw disillusioned young people away from the conflict and back into classrooms. While noble in intent, it came at a cost: the university’s standards were lowered to manage the influx. The consequences of these decisions are still felt today.
The new appointee has an uphill battle. There is little in her background that suggests experience in managing an academic institution of UL’s size and complexity. Nor do her scholarly writings reflect a deep understanding of Liberia’s educational landscape. These gaps raise legitimate questions about how she was selected, especially given the presence of other, more qualified candidates.
Unfortunately, presidential appointments in Liberia have historically been shrouded in secrecy and driven by expediency. The process rarely prioritizes merit or transparency, leaving room for doubt and skepticism.
The challenges awaiting UL’s new president are formidable. To succeed, she will need more than just political backing; she will require vision, courage, and the ability to unite a fractured institution. But the larger question remains: will the government finally prioritize UL’s transformation into a true institution of higher learning?