PHOTO: The author, Dr. M. Blonkanjay Jackson in the midst of Christmas goodies
By Dr. M. Blonkanjay Jackson
The Mwalimu-Koh
December 23, 2025
Thinking Thoughts
In my Thinking Thoughts, I reflected on how this Christmas, amidst all the anticipated pomp and pageantry marked by the traditional frolicking, profuse consumptions of food and alcohol, and exchange of expensive gifts, to light this Christmas. Alas, I also reminisced from experience that in certain communities, there would be people who would not even have anybody to give them food to eat or a gift to shine a lightbulb. That is why I would rather be a little lightbulb this Christmas to shine.Top of Form
If I were a gift this Christmas, I would be a little lightbulb. Not a dazzling ornament meant to impress, but a small, stubborn source of light meant to reveal, to comfort, and to disturb darkness wherever it has learned to settle in. I would shine not for celebration alone, but for conscience—because sometimes the greatest gift a nation needs is honesty illuminated.
I would begin where gifts are absent and suffering is loud. I would shine in Ukraine, where childhood has been interrupted by sirens and survival has replaced routine. I would glow in Gaza, where the sky has memorized explosions more than stars, and where hope must be rebuilt every morning from rubble and grief. I would flicker in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where the land is rich, but the people are poor, where violence and neglect bury futures long before they are lived. In these places, I would not pretend to end wars, but I would whisper a simple truth: you are not forgotten.
Then I would return home—to Liberia—because light is most needed where familiarity has made darkness acceptable. I would shine in my County Rivercess, where the absence of war has not guaranteed the presence of development, where children learn patience too early, waiting for promises that arrive late or not at all. I would illuminate the quiet injustice of neglect, which bruises just as deeply as violence. But I would quickly return to Monrovia because my part of Ruvercess across the Cestos River might forever carry features of a primitive 5TH Century setting.
As a simple light bulb this Christmas, I would make my way into the House of Legislature, where lawmakers earn fabulous salaries and enjoy lucrative incentives, yet often substitute noise for laws and theatrics for governance. Hovering above the chambers, I would ask an uncomfortable question: when did representation become performance, and when did debate lose its responsibility to produce solutions?
From there, I would soar to the Executive Mansion, where President Joseph Boakai appears resolved to rescue a wounded nation, burdened by history and expectation. Yet even as resolve stands at the top, shadows linger below—where political appointees’ scheme daily in corruption and graft. My light would not accuse blindly; it would simply separate genuine intention from calculated sabotage, for leadership cannot succeed when surrounded by internal resistance to integrity.
I would descend into the Center and Gurley Street graveyards, where zogoes—young people abandoned by systems and compassion—have transformed resting places of the dead into ghettos for the living. There, among desecrated tombs and forgotten lives, my light would mourn a nation craving sanity. I would shine not in judgment, but in sorrow, asking how a society allows its children to live among graves while debating politics above ground.
I would then flicker across the political divide—between the CDC and the Unity Party—where solace is often found in crowd-pulling politics rather than consolidated alternatives to either win power responsibly or maintain it meaningfully. My light would expose the emptiness of numbers without vision and popularity without policy.
On the football pitch, I would shine a light on the national soccer team, whose struggle symbolized dashed hope. Despite having a sitting President and a Sports Minister who are both renowned alumni of the game, six years passed with little to show. Effort was met with neglect, and patriotism with disappointment. My light would ask why national pride so often dies at the altar of poor prioritization.
If I were a light bulb this Christmas, I would glide into the Education Sector. Oh yes. I would shine so bright that the sun, which is the center and fulcrum of the universe, would wonder in awe, how a common Rivercess man could mimic illumination.
I would rest beside the Minister of Education, Dr. Jarso M. Jallah, who has set out to apply credible mitigating efforts to a sector she inherited in disrepair—marked by poor student performance and deeply lopsided quality. Yet her task is haunted daily by the proliferation of kpa-kpa-kpa schools, unqualified teachers, collapsing rural education, and unprecedented school fees that suffocate parents. My light would affirm that repair is always harder than destruction, and that reform is a marathon, not a spectacle. But I would not stop there.
I would shine a blue and red light alongside the LDEA, where law enforcement is finally kicking butts and pushing my other Brabbees and drug dealers to their heels. There, my light would glow profoundly and proudly, because when institutions remember their mandate, society breathes a little easier.
My Brabees, this Christmas, I am only a little lightbulb from Rivercess—too small to end wars, too weak to cleanse systems overnight. But I am strong enough to expose truth, disturb complacency, and remind a nation that darkness is not normal. This Christmas, I would shine—not to decorate power, but to challenge it; not to impress, but to awaken. Because sometimes, the smallest light is the most dangerous thing to the dark.
Finally, I would swoop down on my own church people who, as mere humans, are coerced and brainwashed to surrender their hard-earned meager resources to “sow seeds” to take care of their pastors and bishops as a qualification for prosperity and heaven. Paradoxically, their pastors and bishops consume the seeds and simply pray to God to take care of the flock in their poverty-stricken conditions.
My Brabees, this Christmas, if you cannot give a gift, be a little lightbulb. Shine a light on those who do not have anybody to give them gifts. That somebody may not even have food to eat or electricity when the sun sets and darkness covers the face of the earth on Christmas Day. Simply offer a word of prayer or whisper words of Isaac Watts’ Greatest Hymn to mankind,
JOY TO THE WORLD THE LORD IS COME
- Joy to the world; the Lord is come;
Let Earth receive her King;
Let ev’ry heart prepare him room,
And heav’n and nature sing. - Joy to the Earth, the Savior reigns;
Our mortal songs employ,
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains,
Repeat the sounding joy. - No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found. - He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of his righteousness,
And wonders of his love.Bottom of Form
MERRY CHRISTMAS to all my Brabbees.
About the author
The Rivercess scholar and founder of the Diversified Educators Empowerment Project (DEEP),and Chairman of the Board of the Professional Educators Association of Liberia (PEAL). Dr. M. Blonkanjay Jackson holds a Master of Education from Harvard University, a Master of Science in Secondary Education (Mathematics) from St. Joseph’s University, and a Doctor of Education degree from Walden University. The Rivercess man has lectured on undergraduate and graduate education and statistics courses at several universities, including the University of Liberia, AMEU, and Stela Maris. Dr. Jackson diligently served the government of Liberia for four years and returned to private practice as a Development Specialist and Education Engineer. The Mwalimu-Koh can be reached at 0886 681 315.