In this essay, I critically examine the Provisional National Defence Council Law (P.N.D.C.L.) 282 and the 1992 Constitution of Ghana, specifically Chapter VIII: The Executive — Article 68, which sets the conditions of office for the President. I argue that for a nation grappling with chronic financial constraints, it is both reckless and unsustainable to allow the Constitution to function as an Automated Teller Machine for presidents and political elites—a point well illustrated by the self-serving behaviour of both the ruling and opposition parties (Gyimah-Boadi, 2009; Boafo-Arthur, 2014).
The constitutional framework, as crafted by the architects of the 1992 order, entrenches a culture of political privilege and post-tenure financial security that mirrors neocolonial comprador elites more concerned with their welfare than national service (Ayee, 2013). This persistent exploitation is facilitated by an electorate that, largely uncritical and poorly informed, relies on partisan media and political rhetoric, reducing democratic participation to a chorus of unexamined agreement with the political class (Arthur, 2010). The mythologizing of democracy as a guarantor of peace and continuity only masks the reality of elite capture and national stagnation. The blame for this entrenched cycle of exploitation, I contend, lies squarely with a public that abdicates its responsibility to scrutinize, challenge, and demand accountability from its leaders (Gyampo, 2017).
Let me be unequivocal: the intention of this essay is not to ignite partisan warfare or inflame divisions between supporters of Ghana’s two major political parties—whose leaders are, in fact, the chief beneficiaries of P.N.D.C.L. 282 and Article 68 of the 1992 Constitution. Rather, this analysis foregrounds an uncomfortable truth: those who demand equity must themselves be above reproach. It is deeply ironic that the very actors who once condemned former heads of state—Lt. Gen. Akwasi Amankwa Afrifa, Gen. Ignatius Kutu Acheampong, and Lt. Gen. Frederick William Kwasi Akuffo—for corruption, leading to their executions in the name of public accountability (Agyeman-Duah, 2008; Oquaye, 2004), now enjoy and defend constitutional provisions that enable legalized wealth accumulation for presidents and ex-presidents (Ayee, 2013; Gyampo, 2017). This essay calls for a critical re-examination of the moral and legal foundations of these privileges and challenges the political class to uphold the very standards they once demanded of others.
To begin with, the deliberate omission of “Heads of State” in favour of “Presidents” and “ex-Presidents” in P.N.D.C.L. 282 and the 1992 Constitution of Ghana, specifically Chapter VIII: The Executive — Article 68, is neither accidental nor innocent. It constitutes a calculated erasure of Ghana’s political history prior to the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) regime led by Flight Lieutenant Jerry John Rawlings (Rtd) (Boafo-Arthur, 2007; Oquaye, 2004). This constitutional design served to legitimize Rawlings’s narrative that his predecessors were irredeemably corrupt—a charge he later ambiguously retracted in interviews with Asaase Radio’s Kwaku Sakyi and BBC’s Zeinab Badawi (Agyeman-Duah, 2008; Nugent, 1995).
Furthermore, had “Heads of State” been explicitly included in Article 68, it would have forced a national reckoning with the violent legacy of Rawlings’s coups on June 4, 1979 and December 31, 1981, and the controversial anti-corruption crusade that followed (Hutchful, 2002; Gyimah-Boadi, 1994). The selective constitutional language shields the PNDC era from scrutiny over extrajudicial executions, human rights abuses—including the public caning of market women and the abduction and murder of High Court judges and Major Sam Acquah—and the very legitimacy of bloodshed in the name of “national renewal” (Amnesty International, 1985; Austin & Luckham, 1975; Ankomah, 2007). This erasure not only distorts historical memory but also perpetuates the myth of moral superiority for a political class that is itself deeply implicated in the nation’s ongoing crises of accountability and justice (Ayee, 2013; Whitfield, 2009).
To transition into a detailed analysis, in the subsequent paragraphs, I discuss Clauses 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, and 9 of Chapter VIII: The Executive — Article 68. Clause (2) of the Constitution states as follows: “The President shall not, on leaving office as President, hold any office of profit or emolument, except with the permission of Parliament, in any establishment, either directly or indirectly, other than that of the State” (Republic of Ghana, 1992). In Clause 2, the framers of the Constitution assume that retirement denotes inability to work, or a perpetual respite from gainful employment. Such a simplistic definition was aimed at rewarding Flt Lt. Rawlings (Rtd), who, before his retirement, had only served as an Air Force officer, ostensibly with limited transferable skills required of prospective employees in a knowledge-based economy where flying is the least required credential, especially in a developing economy like Ghana (Prempeh, 2008; Appiah, 2016). In brief, Clause 2 turned the nation’s ex-presidents into a sitting duck; armchair quarterbacks relegated to the confines of their plush homes when, in fact, they could work and supplement their token earnings offered to them by their state with their new income to save the national treasury from depletion (Gyampo, 2017).
In post-retirement, Flt. Lt. Rawlings took on the job as the African Union High Representative to the African Union Mission in Somalia. While in retirement, President Kufuor could earn income from The John A. Kufuor Foundation and other investments, supplemented by a capped income from the state. Nana Akuffo Addo Dankwa, a successful lawyer, I assume, draws handsome wages from his law firm, Akufo-Addo, Prempeh & Co. To bar these ex-presidents from work and earning money outside their official perks constitutes “welfare” officializing and disbursing prohibitive freebies at the expense of a debt-ridden nation (Whitfield, 2018).
Turning to Clause 3, the Constitution states: “The President shall receive such salary, allowances and facilities as may be prescribed by Parliament on the recommendations of the committee referred to in article 71 of this Constitution” (Republic of Ghana, 1992). The term “facilities” is left dangerously vague—it could encompass houses, cars, vacation homes, and more. The absence of clear provisions on the fate of these assets upon a president’s death—whether they revert to the state, the family, or an individual named in a will—opens the door to constitutional subterfuge and potential misappropriation of public resources (Appiah, 2018a).
For instance, does Rawlings’s Ridge residence revert to the state or to his family after his passing? What mechanisms are in place for the state to recover its investment in upgrading the private homes of Presidents Kufuor and Nana Addo Dankwa Akufo-Addo? The lack of specificity is an invitation to exploit the state under the pretense of protecting ex-presidents—leaders who already benefited extravagantly from the Consolidated Fund while in office, and continue to do so until their death (Whitfield, 2018; Prempeh, 2012).
In contrast, the American precedent is instructive. Harry Truman, upon leaving office in 1953, received no government support except a modest Army pension, and had to secure a bank loan to make ends meet (Jacoby, 2007). Similarly, Jimmy Carter and his wife returned to their modest ranch house, living frugally rather than exploiting the public purse. These examples stand in stark contrast to the unchecked largesse enshrined for Ghanaian ex-presidents, revealing a troubling gulf between genuine public service and constitutionalized privilege (Nelson, 2010; Appiah, 2018a).
Building on the previous critique, Clause 5 of Article 68 stipulates that an ex-president’s “salary, allowances, facilities, pensions and gratuity referred to in clauses (3) and (4) shall be exempt from tax” (Republic of Ghana, 1992). This provision warrants rigorous scrutiny. On what rationale should Ghana’s ex-presidents—already recipients of some of the most generous compensation packages in the country’s history—be shielded from taxation, a fundamental civic duty (Appiah, 2018b)? Such tax exemptions not only undermine the state’s capacity to fund essential social interventions but also set a dangerous precedent, where elites are excused from obligations that ordinary citizens must bear (Atuguba, 2020).
Moreover, this constitutional privilege echoes the hypocrisy of Orwell’s Animal Farm, breeding public resentment and encouraging tax avoidance among ordinary Ghanaians who see the social contract as rigged (Orwell, 1946; Osei-Assibey, 2014). By comparison, former presidents and pensioners in the United States and other Western democracies are subject to taxation on all earnings, including pensions and private insurance (Nelson, 2010). Ghana’s ex-presidents should not be insulated from the universal obligation of taxation—a crucial mechanism for funding development and public services such as health and education (Osei-Assibey, 2014; Atuguba, 2020).
Transitioning to Clauses 7, 8, and 9, the Constitution stipulates that “the salary and allowances payable to the President and any pension or gratuity payable to him on leaving office shall be charged on the Consolidated Fund,” and that these benefits “shall not be varied to his disadvantage while he holds office,” nor “during his lifetime” as an ex-president (Republic of Ghana, 1992). This entrenches a system where the president is elevated to primus inter pares—a privileged class immune to the economic hardships faced by ordinary public servants, such as teachers, who often endure months without pay (Frempong, 2017).
Such constitutional guarantees of unalterable opulence for ex-presidents, while the working majority bear the brunt of austerity, echo the hypocrisy of Orwell’s Animal Farm: the political elite dine on milk and honey while the nation’s “Boxers” toil and starve (Orwell, 1946; Oduro, 2019). This legal entrenchment of privilege not only undermines the principle of equality before the law but also erodes public trust in governance and the legitimacy of state institutions (Ayee, 2013; Oduro, 2019).
Turning to the heart of institutional critique, Clauses 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, and 9 of Chapter VIII: The Executive — Article 68 were strategically crafted to insulate Flt. Lt. Rawlings and his PNDC allies during Ghana’s transition from military to democratic rule (Boafo-Arthur, 2007; Prempeh, 2008). The constitutional guarantee of financial security for ex-presidents—even after removal or resignation—ensures elite protection and entrenches privilege, as Clause 6 grants full pension and benefits regardless of the circumstances of a president’s departure (Republic of Ghana, 1992; Atuguba, 2020).
For the Constitution to be credible, the government must enact tough reforms: compensate families of former presidents and heads of state who endured hardship due to political executions or detentions, and mandate full transparency for ex-presidents’ earnings and property post-mortem (Appiah, 2018; Atuguba, 2020). The abolition of partisan emolument committees is imperative; allowing political actors to set their own benefits is a flagrant conflict of interest, perpetuating a cycle of self-enrichment (Oduro, 2019; Ninsin, 2016). Unless Ghana modernizes its constitutional framework to address 21st-century realities—rather than recycling outdated, self-serving statutes—the nation risks remaining a state in name only, mired in elite capture and fiscal irresponsibility (Whitfield, 2018; Abdulai & Hickey, 2016).
