In this essay, I interrogate a persistent pathology in Ghanaian politics: the ritualistic cycle of grand promises and symbolic delivery that surrounds every general election. Both the National Democratic Congress (NDC) and the New Patriotic Party (NPP) perpetuate this charade, appearing to differ on policy but sharing the same political DNA—a culture of patronage and electoral expediency (Gyampo, 2017; Whitfield, 2009). Despite rhetoric of change, party leadership remains drawn from the same elite networks, and both parties excel at seducing the electorate with empty pledges, ultimately prioritizing electoral victory and party coffers over substantive governance (Gyimah-Boadi, 2009; Abdulai & Hickey, 2016).

This paper critically examines the unfulfilled promises and policy failures of Presidents Nana Akufo-Addo and John Dramani Mahama, focusing on the inability to combat illegal mining (“galamsey”), resolve chaos in the school placement system, and address chronic load shedding (power outages). These failures reveal the underlying collusion and self-interest that define Ghana’s two-party system, suggesting that electoral promises are less about nation-building and more about perpetuating a cycle of deferred problems and recycled disappointments (Oduro, 2019; Boafo-Arthur, 2007).

In his second term—arguably the most turbulent period of his presidency due to the economic fallout from COVID-19—President Nana Akufo-Addo staked his legacy on eradicating illegal mining (“galamsey”), a crisis decimating Ghana’s forests and polluting vital water bodies (Ayee, 2021; Hilson, 2017). Once renowned for its lush landscapes, Ghana now faces rapid environmental degradation, with rivers reduced to silt-laden streams unfit for human use (Owusu-Nimo & Mantey, 2021). In a hasty, performative response, the government authorized the seizure and burning of excavators at mining sites and arrested low-level operators—often impoverished youth and adults driven to galamsey by unemployment and desperation (Hilson, 2017; Owusu-Nimo & Mantey, 2021).

However, the true architects of illegal mining—Chinese nationals, politically connected business elites, security personnel, and even pastors—remained untouched, shielded by a culture of impunity that mocks the rule of law (Lanning & Martin, 2018; Crawford & Botchwey, 2018). The selective crackdown failed to deliver justice or deterrence, as confiscated excavators mysteriously vanished from state custody, exemplifying the state’s complicity and lack of accountability (Ayee, 2021; Crawford & Botchwey, 2018). In any credible democracy, such lapses would trigger thorough investigations and the prosecution of those at the top of the criminal pyramid—not just the desperate bottom-feeders.

At its weakest moment—having failed to deliver on the flagship promise to combat illegal mining and environmental devastation—the then-opposition National Democratic Congress (NDC), led by John Mahama, pledged to declare a national emergency to tackle illegal mining if elected. This was political theatre: Mahama knew such a move would stretch constitutional limits and was unlikely to withstand legal scrutiny (Prempeh, 2012; Appiah, 2018). In a climate of frustration, opportunistic pastors—many functioning more as businessmen than spiritual leaders—were courted for support, while a disillusioned public and disaffected members of the New Patriotic Party (NPP), frustrated by President Akufo-Addo’s unyielding stance and refusal to heed calls for reforms (such as the removal of Finance Minister Ken Ofori-Atta), began to defect or shift their votes (Gyampo, 2017; Ayee, 2021). This shifting political landscape underscores the cynical exploitation of public discontent, with both parties trading in empty promises and populist rhetoric rather than substantive policy solutions (Abdulai & Hickey, 2016; Oduro, 2019). The habitual courting of influential religious figures and the weaponization of crisis betray a political culture more invested in electoral victory and partisan advantage than in genuine governance or constitutional fidelity

Aggressively critiquing the so-called reforms, Mahama’s administration has largely replicated Akufo-Addo’s ineffective approach to illegal mining, perpetuating a cycle of political theater and institutional impotence. Seizing and burning excavators, “regularizing” illegal mining—an ambiguous concept devoid of legal substance—and launching toothless agencies like the National Anti-Illegal Mining Operations Secretariat (NAIMOS) have done little to address the underlying crisis (Hilson, 2017; Crawford & Botchwey, 2018). Rebranding illegal mining as “community” or “responsible” mining, without clear regulatory mechanisms, amounts to little more than semantic window-dressing (Owusu-Nimo & Mantey, 2021).

The creation of the Ghana Gold Board (GoldBod)—a redundant entity that usurps the role of the Precious Minerals Marketing Company (PMMC)—exemplifies policy duplication and administrative bloat (Lanning & Martin, 2018). Most troubling is the blatant rotation of mining site ownership from NPP loyalists to NDC affiliates, mirroring the mafia-like handover of territorial control after a change in political patronage. This entrenched partisanship has deepened corruption and rendered Ghana’s anti-illegal mining efforts a tragic farce, benefiting the political elite while the environment and local communities suffer (Ayee, 2021; Abdulai & Hickey, 2016).

To illustrate the corrosive effects of political impunity, consider the events of 1 November 2024, when a NAIMOS team led by Colonel Dominic Buah narrowly escaped lynching by illegal miners on the Goaso-Hwidiem road in the Ahafo Region—a brazen act emblematic of Ghana’s lawlessness in the fight against galamsey (Crawford & Botchwey, 2018; Ayee, 2021). The first responder, an armed National Defence Intelligence employee, failed to intervene. Soon after, NDC Member of Asutifi North, Benjamin Kwaku Addo, reportedly ordered the release of detained suspects at the behest of Asutifi South MP Collins Dauda. This gross interference in law enforcement exemplifies the entrenched impunity and political protectionism that undermine state authority and the rule of law (Abdulai & Hickey, 2016; Lanning & Martin, 2018).

Furthermore, the aftermath of this incident offers no surprises. Predictably, this criminal episode was swept under the rug—no accountability, no prosecution. Both the NDC and NPP repeatedly shield their foot soldiers from legal consequences to maintain their patronage networks and electoral machinery, a pattern also evident in the July 2025 attack on former Fisheries Minister Mavis Hawa Koomson (Gyampo, 2017; Oduro, 2019). In any rule-of-law-based polity, such criminality and quasi-militia activity would trigger constitutional and penal sanctions, with both perpetrators and their political enablers facing jail time. In Ghana’s prevailing jungle politics, masquerading as democracy, impunity reigns unchecked—citizens have little reason to expect justice (Whitfield, 2018).

Turning to the education sector, the school placement system for junior secondary students entering senior secondary schools has been a spectacular failure under both the NDC and NPP governments. Despite superficial improvements during Nana Akufo-Addo’s tenure, the system has fostered an environment ripe for corruption: students who fail to meet elite school requirements—such as Achimota, Mfantsipim, Adisadel, and Holy Child—are able to secure admission through bribery (Ananga, 2011; Akyeampong, 2014). The opacity and lack of transparency surrounding the placement process have fueled parental frustration, as evidenced by the public outcry in September 2006, when parents protested the secrecy and scant information provided by education authorities (Oduro, Dachi, & Fertig, 2008). The blame lies squarely with policymakers who implement poorly conceived policies without considering their far-reaching consequences.

In stark contrast, educational transitions in countries like Canada are merit-based and transparent. Students progress seamlessly from junior to senior high school without bureaucratic hurdles, and university admissions are determined by academic achievement rather than political favouritism or bribery (Finnie, Childs, & Wismer, 2011). Canadian students receive timely notifications and ample preparation time, allowing for a smooth and equitable transition to higher education. This meritocratic model starkly exposes the failures and corruption of Ghana’s placement system, revealing how entrenched patronage and lack of accountability continue to undermine educational equity and national progress (Akyeampong, 2014; Oduro et al., 2008; Finnie et al., 2011).

Building on these systemic failures, Ghana’s education sector is plagued not only by policy flaws but by a culture of political deflection and abdication of responsibility. Rather than confronting the glaring deficits in the school placement system, the Minister for Education and his deputies, along with party loyalists and paid commentators, waste valuable airtime on partisan radio and television, fixating on blaming predecessors instead of crafting solutions (Akyeampong, 2014; Ananga, 2011). This juvenile blame game raises critical questions: What, precisely, is the Minister for Education paid—handsomely and with full perks—to accomplish? Is the taxpayer funding a chorus of lamentations while Ghanaian mothers and students are left to navigate the labyrinthine placement process alone?

Such political posturing is an affront to the basic tenets of public service and accountability. Ministers are appointed to solve problems, not to stage partisan melodramas or indulge in perpetual grievance (Oduro et al., 2008; Finnie et al., 2011). If Ghana’s education policymakers revisited their contractual mandates, they would find no provision for professional whining while chaos reigns in their sector. The time for excuses has long passed; what is needed is decisive leadership and systemic reform.

Transitioning to the issue of energy policy, Nana Akufo-Addo, while in opposition, weaponized the Mahama administration’s failure to resolve load-shedding—popularly known as “dumsor”—branding it as a hallmark of incompetence (Ayee, 2017; Gyampo, 2020). This resonated with an electorate weary of power outages, leading to Mahama’s defeat in the 2024 elections. Yet, under Akufo-Addo’s tenure, the promise of reform proved hollow: power supply remained erratic, with official excuses devolving into patronizing narratives about pylons and hydro-stations—hardly a credible explanation for persistent national malaise (Obeng-Darko, 2022).

The pattern is clear: both the National Democratic Congress and the New Patriotic Party are locked in a cycle of rhetorical one-upmanship, each promising transformation but delivering little more than recycled disappointment (Whitfield, 2018; Abdulai & Hickey, 2016). Their antics are akin to rival used-car dealers—masters of persuasion, selling voters “lemons” disguised as progress, only for the public to discover the rot beneath the surface once the “purchase” is complete. Until Ghanaian voters reject the myth of meaningful difference between these two political entrepreneurs and demand authentic accountability, the country will remain mired in debt, stagnation, and policy mediocrity—a nation-state in name only, betrayed by leaders better at wordplay than genuine nation-building (Frempong, 2017; Obeng-Darko, 2022).

References

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Dearest President William Ruto,

I hope this letter finds you well. I write with deep respect and concern for the future of Kenya and the continent. I urge you not to pursue divisive or xenophobic politics that risk isolating Kenya and undermining the spirit of African unity. History teaches us that scapegoating migrants and stoking xenophobia, especially during political uncertainty, has led to cycles of violence and discord across Africa.

Your recent remarks blaming African migrants for Kenya’s economic challenges threaten the Pan-African ideals championed by leaders like Jomo Kenyatta, Kwame Nkrumah, and Julius Nyerere—who believed in a continent united by solidarity and mutual respect. True leadership means facing economic and social difficulties with responsibility, not by fueling public fear or division.

Since your time in office, many have watched with concern as the government has responded harshly to peaceful protestors. More recently, rhetoric against fellow Africans has risked further division. Yet, I am encouraged by the Kenyan people’s resilience and their commitment to peace and accountability. I hope you will listen to their voices and choose a path of unity, justice, and inclusive leadership.

Your Excellency, I am certain you recognize that postcolonial Africa—including Kenya—faces significant challenges, some of our own making and others stemming from close ties with foreign governments and interests. Too often, external actors encourage displays of strongman leadership and pledge to overlook human rights abuses, using Western lobbyists to polish the reputations of their client states. History has shown that such alliances are transactional and rarely endure. I hope your leadership will put Kenya’s long-term interests and respect for human rights above short-term, external approval.

Your Excellency, allow me to commend the remarkable courage of the Kenyan people—men and women, young and old, from all walks of life—who peacefully took to the streets to express their concerns and protest your recent statement. These citizens showed solidarity with fellow Africans, including Congolese and Burundians, recognizing them as kin deserving of compassion and support during times of political instability. This spirit of unity and empathy echoes the legacy and vision of the late Jomo Kenyatta.

Mr. President, it is vital to recognize that political office is not permanent—leaders are entrusted with power by the electorate and can just as swiftly be replaced. Recent history shows that those who disregard citizens’ rights, like Yahya Jammeh and Macky Sall, have found themselves out of office and in exile. True leadership is not measured by force or suppression of dissent, but by the quality of policies crafted in consultation with the people, attentive listening, and a willingness to adapt for the common good. Unfortunately, your current top-down approach has not reflected this inclusive spirit.

Your Excellency, African unity is an ongoing journey and our only viable path forward. Our continent’s true strength lies in our people—our ability to feel at home across borders, to share histories and struggles, and to inspire one another. Even with limited resources, leaders like Kwame Nkrumah and Ahmed Sekou Toure demonstrated that genuine support and unity can withstand external pressures and foster lasting bonds. This spirit remains essential for Africa’s progress and resilience.

Mr. President, as a proud African, I do not define Africa—Africa defines me. The continent has given me a deep sense of happiness and belonging among fellow Africans, united by shared stories, humour, and respect for our people and leaders. Migrants from Burundi and the Congo, though sometimes perceived as poor, have contributed greatly to Kenya’s development. Through intermarriage and cultural exchange, they have enriched Kenyan society in countless ways, a fact many Kenyans themselves recognize and celebrate.

Your Excellency,  I urge you to reconsider your recent remarks, address the nation, and call for peace and unity. True leadership is shown by those who reflect, change course, and make amends when needed. Apologizing for missteps is a mark of strength, not weakness. Kenya stands as a pillar of African unity, and I trust you will help ensure it remains so.

With respect and hope for our shared future,

Patrick Radebe, PhD

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).

Taking a spiritual and emotional hiatus from one’s homeland, only to return and confront its transformation, is not merely a personal journey but a civic duty. For many Black South Africans, the seismic social and economic shifts since 1994 have produced deep inner conflict and a persistent struggle for belonging (Ramphele, 1999; Mngxitama, Alexander, & Gibson, 2008). These tensions are acutely visible in South Africa, where some members of Gen Z openly express troubling nostalgia for Apartheid—a system defined by institutionalized violence and Black oppression (Posel, 2001; Mamdani, 1996). Such misplaced affection exposes the complexities of identity and adaptation in a society still grappling with its colonial and racist legacy.

This paper critically examines statements by figures such as Ike Khumalo, who has recently—and erroneously—claimed that Black life under Apartheid, a regime aptly characterized as a “killing machine” (Lodge, 1983), was better than under the leadership of President Cyril Ramaphosa or Nelson Mandela. Such revisionism not only trivializes the suffering and deaths of countless Black South Africans under racist laws justified by the rhetoric of “national security” (Posel, 2001), but also risks distorting historical truth and undermining the critical work of justice and reconciliation in post-Apartheid South Africa (Mamdani, 1996). Claims that life was better under Apartheid invert the realities of Black oppression and demand rigorous, evidence-based scrutiny

This paper does not serve as a mouthpiece for the African National Congress (ANC), nor do I seek to excuse the government’s policy failures or the external pressures it faces; the ANC is fully capable of defending its record (Southall, 2013). Nor is my aim to gloss over the real grievances and disappointments of post-apartheid South Africa. Rather, I highlight how White beneficiaries of apartheid, often through powerful corporate media, have strategically courted disillusioned victims like Ike Khumalo—positioning themselves as saviours while exploiting legitimate Black frustrations with the Ramaphosa government (Duncan, 2016; Madonsela, 2019). The ANC bears partial responsibility for this, having failed to adequately address the roots of public discontent.

While I understand the Black nostalgia for the Apartheid era—given South Africa’s post-1994 decline into high unemployment, rampant violence, theft, and deepening misery in townships like Mofolo (Soweto), Alexandra, Khayelitsha, and Langa (Seekings & Nattrass, 2005; Ramphele, 2012)—to dismiss the significance of Black freedom under Nelson Mandela and his successors is a profound affront to the memory of those who sacrificed their lives for liberation, including Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe, Steve Bantu Biko, and Chris Hani (Alexander, 2002; Pogrund, 1990). Such revisionism not only distorts history but dishonours the legacy of South Africa’s freedom struggle.

In this paper, I draw on Dr. Camara Phyllis Jones’s framework—specifically, her analysis of internalized racism (Jones, 2000)—to explain why victims of systemic oppression, after enduring protracted disappointment, often blame themselves for their suffering. This framework clarifies how individuals like Ike Khumalo can flippantly portray Apartheid as a beacon of hope for Black South Africans, despite overwhelming evidence of its brutality, while dismissing the difficult but real interventions made by post-apartheid governments (Seekings & Nattrass, 2005). I also examine policy strategies that could help the government rebuild trust and foster nuanced public understanding of South Africa’s challenges. This paper is not an indictment of any individual in the Ramaphosa administration, but an invitation to Socratic dialogue about government missteps that provoke nostalgia for a racist system designed to oppress and exclude Black South Africans.

In race-conscious societies like South Africa, racism is rooted in unequal power relations, historically privileging White South Africans over Black citizens (Steyn, 2001). Under Apartheid, and persisting in subtler forms today, Whites have wielded the power to deny Blacks access to jobs, housing, and opportunity with little recourse (Seekings & Nattrass, 2005). For example, Black South Africans are still excluded from towns like Orania, and the abolition of legal segregation has shifted into financial segregation—where exorbitant property prices and White reluctance to sell perpetuate racial exclusion (Christopher, 2005). Lighter skin offers no shield; anti-Black racism continues to shape daily life in post-Apartheid South Africa (Durrheim et al., 2011).

Dr. Camara Phyllis Jones asserts that racism is sustained through the dialectical relationship between dominant (White) and subordinate (Black) groups; in South Africa, this dynamic has led to the internalization of White supremacy among some Black South Africans (Jones, 2000). Such internalization manifests as learned helplessness, fueling claims like Ike Khumalo’s assertion that Apartheid was preferable to Black rule, or Vusi Thembekwayo’s praise of Apartheid-era law enforcement as “efficient”—statements that dangerously overlook the systematic brutality and lethal violence inflicted on Black communities under the guise of “national security” (Posel, 2001; Lodge, 1983).

Jones (2000a; 2000b) delineates three levels of racism: institutionalized, personally mediated, and internalized. This paper focuses on internalized racism, as exemplified by Ike Khumalo and those Black South Africans who believe life was better under Apartheid. Internalized racism emerges when Black South Africans, shaped by deep-seated stereotypes, attribute present challenges to supposed deficiencies in Black leadership, rather than to enduring institutional legacies of Apartheid or larger structural pressures such as global economic constraints and population growth (Alexander, 2002; Terreblanche, 2005).

According to Jones (2000), internalized racism mirrors the Stockholm syndrome: victims adopt stigmatizing labels and question their own abilities and worth, accepting the myth of Black inferiority and governmental failure (Jones, 2020a, p. 8). This self-deprecation leads to misplaced nostalgia for Apartheid—a regime that violently suppressed Black autonomy to sustain White supremacy (Worden, 2012). Instead of recognizing external and internal challenges confronting the ANC government, these individuals embrace learned helplessness and view emulation of Whiteness as the only solution. This dynamic is starkly illustrated by the Democratic Alliance’s 2024 electoral gains—a party whose lineage traces directly to Apartheid’s National Party (Chipkin, 2007; Southall, 2024). Such political shifts signal both the ANC’s waning influence and the electorate’s deepening disillusionment with post-Apartheid governance.

Addressing Black South Africans’ frustration and disillusionment with the ANC demands that the Ramaphosa administration, and those that follow, abandon elitist detachment and meaningfully re-engage an electorate traumatized by Apartheid and now disappointed by unfulfilled promises (Friedman, 2015; Gumede, 2021). Engagement must transcend symbolic gestures and revolutionary rhetoric, focusing on concrete solutions: employment, security, and tangible improvements in daily life (Seekings & Nattrass, 2005). Policy must be reimagined, appointing technocrats with proven records in economic management and job creation (Southall, 2016). Corruption—real or perceived—must be independently investigated and prosecuted to restore public trust (Butler, 2017).

Strategic investment in youth education, vocational training, and apprenticeships is essential, particularly for marginalized communities most alienated from opportunity (Spaull, 2013). The ANC’s recent electoral setbacks and voices like Ike Khumalo’s are not mere complaints but urgent warnings: unless the government delivers real change, nostalgia for Apartheid’s “order” will grow, and support for the ANC will continue to erode. Khumalo’s remarks are not hatred—they are a desperate call for substantive reform. To dismiss them as isolated grumblings is to ignore the electorate’s ultimatum: fix the country or face removal at the ballot box.

References

Alexander, N. (2002). An Ordinary Country: Issues in the Transition from Apartheid to Democracy in South Africa. University of Natal Press.

Butler, A. (2017). Contemporary South Africa (3rd ed.). Palgrave Macmillan.

Chipkin, I. (2007). Do South Africans Exist? Nationalism, Democracy and the Identity of ‘the People’. Wits University Press.

Christopher, A. J. (2005). The slow pace of desegregation in South African cities, 1996–2001. Urban Studies, 42(8), 1485-1500.

Durrheim, K., Mtose, X., & Brown, L. (2011). Race Trouble: Race, Identity and Inequality in Post-Apartheid South Africa. Lexington Books.

Friedman, S. (2015). Race, Class and Power: Harold Wolpe and the Radical Critique of Apartheid. University of KwaZulu-Natal Press.

Gumede, W. (2021). South Africa’s ANC at a crossroads. Journal of Democracy, 32(3), 80-94.

Jones, C. P. (2020b). Toward the science and practice of anti-racism: Launching a national campaign against racism. Ethnicity & Disease, 30(Suppl 1), 7–12.

Jones, C. P. (2000a). Levels of racism: A theoretic framework and a gardener’s tale. American Journal of Public Health, 90(8), 1212–1215.

Lodge, T. (1983). Black Politics in South Africa since 1945. Longman.

Mamdani, M. (1996). Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism. Princeton University Press.

Mngxitama, A., Alexander, A., & Gibson, N. C. (2008). Biko Lives!: Contesting the Legacies of Steve Biko. Palgrave Macmillan.

Pogrund, B. (1990). How Can Man Die Better: The Life of Robert Sobukwe. Jonathan Ball Publishers.

Posel, D. (2001). Race as common sense: Racial classification in twentieth-century South Africa. African Studies Review, 44(2), 87-113.

Ramphele, M. (2012). Conversations with My Sons and Daughters. Penguin.

Ramphele, M. (1999). Mamphela Ramphele: Across Boundaries—The Journey of a South African Woman Leader. The Feminist Press.

Seekings, J., & Nattrass, N. (2005). Class, Race, and Inequality in South Africa. Yale University Press.

Southall, R. (2024). The Government of National Unity: South Africa’s 2024 Elections and Aftermath. Transformation: Critical Perspectives on Southern Africa, 106, 1–18.

Southall, R. (2016). The New Black Middle Class in South Africa. Jacana.

Spaull, N. (2013). South Africa’s education crisis: The quality of education in South Africa 1994–2011. Centre for Development and Enterprise Report, 1-65.

Steyn, M. (2001). Whiteness Just Isn’t What it Used to Be: White Identity in a Changing South Africa. SUNY Press.

Terreblanche, S. (2005). A History of Inequality in South Africa: 1652–2002. University of KwaZulu-Natal Press.

Worden, N. (2012). The Making of Modern South Africa: Conquest, Apartheid, Democracy (5th ed.). Wiley-Blackwell.

In this publication, I interrogate a subject that is not only personally significant but also a litmus test for the ethical maturity of our nation: the treatment of disabled students within the Ghanaian education system. I do not merely observe the state of public education for disabled students; I challenge the inertia, the apathy, and the deeply entrenched prejudices that have permitted the continued marginalization of this population. Through direct engagement with members of the public, I have gathered views that corroborate a disturbing reality: the state’s failure to meaningfully integrate disabled students into the general student population is not an oversight, but a persistent institutional deficiency.

To call Ghana a “civilized nation” is to invoke a standard that carries weight and consequence. Civilization, as I employ the term, is not a matter of mere economic development or rhetorical commitment to progress; it demands a leadership that understands and enacts equity and social justice across all sectors, most crucially in public education (Sen, 2009). A civilized nation provides the necessary resources and support to ameliorate the lived experience of its most vulnerable members—disabled students included.

Let us be clear: the problem facing disabled students in Ghana has never truly resided in their physical conditions. The limitations they encounter are manufactured and perpetuated by a society that chooses pity over policy, charity over rights, and segregation over integration (Oliver, 1996). After sixty-nine years of independence, it is nothing short of an indictment that the Ghanaian public continues to tolerate, if not tacitly endorse, an educational system that excludes rather than includes. The responsibility for remedying this disgrace does not rest on the shoulders of disabled students, but on the state and its citizens—on all of us who have failed to demand and deliver substantive reform (WHO, 2011).

Despite the Ghana Education Service’s investments in programs such as the school feeding initiative for economically disadvantaged students and its promotion of Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM) education—both commendable yet chronically underfunded efforts—the glaring omission of disability education in both policy and public communication is indefensible. An examination of the sector’s official website reveals a troubling silence: under the “service and resources” section, disability education is virtually invisible, and scant attention is paid to the operational realities of schooling for students with disabilities (Ametepee & Anastasiou, 2015).

This lack of transparency and institutional commitment is not a benign oversight; it is a deliberate perpetuation of exclusion. The absence of substantive information about disability rights, resources, and the Service’s vision for disabled students signals a tacit acceptance of the status quo. Such institutional neglect leaves disabled students not only vulnerable during their schooling years, but also ill-prepared and unsupported as they transition into adulthood and the workforce (Anthony, 2011).

This silence on disability education is, frankly, a reflection of misplaced priorities and a failure to recognize the fundamental rights of disabled students to equitable participation and opportunity. It is high time that the leadership of the Ghana Education Service shift from token gestures to actionable, transparent policies that place disability rights and inclusion at the forefront of educational reform (UNESCO, 2020).

My recent examination of the Ministry of Education’s official website revealed a distressing lack of substantive information on disability education. Not only was detailed content absent, but technical failures often rendered the site inoperable, further impeding access to whatever limited resources might exist (Ministry of Education, Ghana, 2026). This digital opacity is not merely an inconvenience; it is emblematic of a broader institutional indifference that should provoke public outrage. While alternative platforms such as educateghana.com provide general overviews of inclusive and special education, their content is superficial at best, offering definitions and policy timelines without disclosing essential data—such as enrollment numbers in special education programs or documented strategies for integration (Inclusive Education in Ghana: Complete Guide | EducationGhana, 2024).

This pattern of obfuscation is not accidental. The Ministry’s own communications are saturated with the obvious—reciting the 2015 inception of the Inclusive Education Policy, reiterating vague goals, and offering platitudes about commitment to equity—yet they conspicuously avoid actionable specifics or measurable outcomes (Ministry of Education, Ghana, 2026). For any serious observer, this is not merely disappointing; it is a tacit endorsement of inertia. In an era when nations worldwide are making bold moves to integrate disabled students into mainstream classrooms, Ghana’s education authorities remain mired in rhetorical posturing, evidently content to define the problem rather than resolve it (UNICEF, 2021).

It is time to demand more than definitions and declarations. The absence of transparency and the refusal to articulate a concrete, data-driven roadmap for disability education reform is an affront to the values of inclusion and justice. Ghanaians deserve not only to be told what inclusive education is, but to see clear evidence of progress and a credible plan for the future.

The posture adopted by both the Ghana Education Service and the Ministry of Education regarding disability education, as revealed through their conspicuous silences and lack of substantive content on their official websites, is the very definition of what Ahmed (2012) identifies as “lip service.” This is not merely a matter of administrative oversight; it is a calculated strategy to mollify parental concern and public outcry without delivering real progress or accountability (Ahmed, 2012; Ghana Education Service, 2026; Ministry of Education, Ghana, 2026).

The websites of these pivotal institutions, which should serve as platforms for transparency and leadership in inclusive education, instead offer little more than perfunctory statements and recycled commitments, devoid of actionable plans or measurable outcomes (Ghana Education Service, 2026; Ministry of Education, Ghana, 2026). This pattern of performative advocacy is deeply troubling—especially in a national context where the need for robust inclusion and equity frameworks is urgent and non-negotiable (Mantey, 2017).

By retreating into rhetoric, the Service and Ministry have made a mockery of genuine reform, signalling to disabled students and their families that their right to equitable education is negotiable, secondary, and ultimately expendable. Such a stance is not only ethically indefensible but also institutionally regressive, perpetuating the very marginalization these agencies are tasked to eradicate.

While the intention of this paper is not to castigate the Ghana Education Service or the Ministry of Education—particularly in light of their well-documented budgetary constraints—it is an unapologetic demand for transformative policy reform that centers the educational rights of all students, including those with disabilities (Ghana Education Service, 2026; Ministry of Education, Ghana, 2026). Mere acknowledgment of fiscal limitations cannot continue to serve as a refuge for inaction. In the twenty-first century, educational leadership requires the courage to disrupt outdated paradigms and the will to design systems that prioritize inclusion over exclusion (Slee, 2018).

Policymakers must return to the drawing board and craft comprehensive frameworks that are genuinely inclusive. This imperative extends far beyond rhetorical commitments; it necessitates a radical overhaul of teacher education programs, with disability education established as a core pillar of the curriculum. The faculties of education at Ghana’s universities must be retooled and resourced so that pre-service teachers emerge with the competence and conviction to view disability not as a deficit, but as a social marker of difference—a dimension of diversity that enriches, rather than burdens, the classroom experience (Forlin & Chambers, 2011; Slee, 2018). Ultimately, the call is for a national ethos that celebrates diversity as an asset and positions disability education at the heart of pedagogical practice and policy design. Only then can Ghana’s education system claim the mantle of equity and justice it so frequently invokes.

However severe Ghana’s fiscal constraints may be, the government’s obligations to students with disabilities are neither optional nor negotiable. The state bears a moral, constitutional, and indeed a “paternal” responsibility to guarantee equitable and inclusive education for all, including those most frequently relegated to the periphery (Ghana Education Service, 2026; Ministry of Education, Ghana, 2026; Constitution of the Republic of Ghana, 1992). The persistent marginalization of special education students under the guise of limited resources is a dereliction of duty that cannot be excused.

Critical education scholars rightly argue that the rights of students with disabilities are indivisible from those of every other Ghanaian child—they are universal, inalienable, and demand equal protection and enactment (Armstrong et al., 2010). A society, and by extension its institutions, that respects and upholds the dignity of all its citizens is a society that inspires civic participation, loyalty, and collective advancement (Banks & Banks, 2019). The Ghana Education Service and the Ministry of Education, as stewards of the nation’s future, are not exempt from this imperative.

To abandon this fundamental injunction is to cultivate a climate of indifference and social withdrawal—a citizenry that turns inward in the face of communal need and neglects its highest aspirations. Such a trajectory is not merely lamentable; it is antithetical to nation-building and to the very ideals upon which Ghana’s educational and constitutional frameworks rest. Policymakers are thus enjoined, in the strongest terms, to reject complacency and prioritize inclusive education as an ethical, legal, and national imperative.

References

Ahmed, S. (2012). On being included: Racism and diversity in institutional life. Duke University Press.

Ametepee, L. K., & Anastasiou, D. (2015). Special and inclusive education in Ghana: Status and progress, challenges and implications. International Journal of Educational Development, 41, 143-152.
Anthony, J. H. (2011). Conceptualising disability in Ghana: Implications for EFA and inclusive education. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 15(10), 1073-1086.

Armstrong, F., Armstrong, D., & Spandagou, I. (2010). Inclusive education: International policy & practice. Sage.

Banks, J. A., & Banks, C. A. M. (2019). Multicultural education: Issues and perspectives (10th ed.). Wiley.

Constitution of the Republic of Ghana. (1992). https://www.parliament.gh/constitution

Forlin, C., & Chambers, D. (2011). Teacher preparation for inclusive education: Increasing knowledge but raising concerns. Asia-Pacific Journal of Teacher Education, 39(1), 17-32.

Ghana Education Service. (2026). https://ges.gov.gh/

Inclusive Education in Ghana: Complete Guide | EducationGhana. (2024). https://educationghana.org/inclusive-education-in-ghana-complete-guide/

Mantey, E. E. (2017). Discrimination against children with disabilities in mainstream schools in Southern Ghana: Challenges and perspectives from stakeholders. International Journal of Educational Development, 54, 18-25.

Ministry of Education, Ghana. (2026). https://www.moe.gov.gh/

Oliver, M. (1996). Understanding disability: From theory to practice. Macmillan.
Sen, A. (2009). The idea of justice. Harvard University Press.

Slee, R. (2018). Inclusive education isn’t dead, it just smells funny. Routledge

UNICEF. (2021). Seen, counted, included: Using data to shed light on the well-being of children with disabilities. https://www.unicef.org/reports/seen-counted-included-children-with-disabilities

UNESCO. (2020). Global education monitoring report 2020: Inclusion and education: All means all. UNESCO.

World Health Organization. (2011). World report on disability. WHO Press.

In this publication, I engage directly with the Ghanaian political landscape, scrutinizing the conduct of politicians—predominantly men—and their female subordinates, whose approach to governance is defined by a penchant for extravagance and profligacy. Frankly stated, the contemporary Ghanaian politician exhibits a conspicuous deficit of authentic leadership, a void masked by ostentatious displays and amplified by a cadre of message-entranced adherents. These followers, oblivious to their own subjection, absorb vacuous rhetoric meticulously tailored in the language of colonial legacy.

The contemporary Ghanaian politician stands in stark contrast to the leaders of old—especially visionaries like Kwame Nkrumah, whose enduring legacy is etched in both history and national memory. In their place, we find a cohort of TikToker politicians, eager to impress yet content to recite scripts from their phones in public and in parliament, mistaking spectacle for substance. Many among them lack even the intellectual stamina to sustain an idea beyond the fleeting hour, let alone marshal the requirements necessary for genuine leadership. Terms such as “development” and platitudes like “we have measures in the pipeline” are invoked with monotonous regularity—dreams peddled as policy, yet perennially unfulfilled. Can one lay the blame solely at their feet, particularly in a nation where vacuous words are often prized by followers conditioned to mistake rhetoric for reason?

As monetized politics entrenches itself as the chief determinant of presidential and parliamentary elections and cabinet appointments—positions increasingly reserved for those who can outspend or out-contribute their rivals—it is untenable for us to continue burying our heads in the proverbial sand. We are, if reluctantly, complicit witnesses to a political order that rewards individuals whose ambition rarely transcends the hollow honorific of ‘Honourable,’ regardless of how dishonourable their conduct may be. Consider, for instance, the case of Ohene Kwame Frimpong, arrested in the Netherlands in 2026 on charges of online fraud and money laundering—a stark testament to the moral decay festering beneath the veneer of public service.

Even more disturbing is the unseemly alacrity with which the National Democratic government and state apparatus rushed to provide the embattled parliamentarian with legal and consular support—a display akin to a mourner wailing louder than the bereaved. I cannot recall a time when the state, under the Fourth Republic, extended similar legal assistance to the countless indigent citizens languishing in prison for crimes they did not commit. In Orwellian Ghana, the disturbing reality persists: some citizens, no matter how duplicitous or unscrupulous their actions, are accorded privileges and protections denied to those who serve the nation with integrity. This is not merely a crisis of policy, but a profound indictment of the moral architecture underpinning our democracy.

The Ghanaian politician—from the president, to members of parliament, to the coddled ranks of favoured appointees—has been reduced to nothing more than a leech, a mooch, a parasite fattening itself on the lifeblood of the nation. These men and women gorge themselves at the national trough, feasting on an obscene array of perks: free housing, unlimited petrol, complimentary hydroelectricity, clothing and entertainment allowances, a pair of official vehicles, endless foreign junkets—the list of entitlements is so grotesquely long that even King Charles, perched atop the remnants of empire, would envy the earnings of his former colonial subjects. This is not governance; it is sanctioned gluttony masquerading as public service, a shameless carnival of self-enrichment presided over by those who have long since abandoned any pretense of duty or honour.

In Ghana, a disconcerting culture of clientelism has been meticulously engineered by politicians—many of whom, despite lacking intellectual distinction, have mastered the art of electoral survival. These officeholders have accumulated considerable wealth, not to foster national development, but to dispense selective largesse among a coterie of supporters. This transactional relationship, in which resources are divvied up to a largely apathetic electorate, perpetuates a cycle of dependency and undermines any meaningful understanding of the nation’s political realities. It is an exploitation skillfully disguised as benevolence, eroding the foundations of participatory democracy and entrenching mediocrity at the heart of governance.

It has become a predictable spectacle in Ghanaian politics: politicians with tainted hands, fearing prosecution, seek sanctuary by purchasing chieftaincy titles, religious offices, or church elderships—or by fleeing national borders, only to return when it is politically expedient. Upon their return, government lawyers are quick to invoke nolle prosequi in courts dominated by government-appointed judges, even when evidence incontrovertibly demonstrates their culpability in siphoning state resources for personal gain. The release of such individuals—especially politicians—charged with criminal offences at the behest of the Attorney General or state prosecutors is, sadly, no longer news to the discerning observer.

In a polity where justice and truth are alien, if not dead, concepts, and where favouritism has fully supplanted merit, the judiciary has become a stage for the ambitions of judges who, despite questionable records, are more preoccupied with ascending to the Appeal Court or Supreme Court than upholding the law. In such an environment, justice is neither expected nor delivered; what prevails are political verdicts, engineered and crafted by patrons in power as a currency for career advancement, security, and perks. This is not the rule of law, but a calculated subversion of justice that corrodes the very foundations of our democracy.

In the final analysis, the Ghanaian political class—and the citizenry who so readily enable them—have become a peculiar study in collective regression. Shackled by intellectual inertia and adept at the art of deception, they have succeeded in reversing the nation’s fortunes, even as neighbours like Burkina Faso, under Ibrahim Traoré, surge ahead. Obsessed with conspicuous consumption and extravagance, and cheered on by a constituency all too eager to justify their excesses, Ghana—once the beacon and pride of Africa—now writhes in self-inflicted distress. For those who care to see, the poverty that blights the land is not a product of fate, but a calculated artifact of greed, misallocated priorities, the appointment of the unfit, and an insatiable appetite for theft, all underwritten by the certainty of exoneration from a complicit government and its chorus of partisans. Until there is a fundamental reorientation of mind and conduct—a feat beyond the capacity of the current leadership—the vision of Nkrumah’s Ghana will continue its agonizing descent, inching ever closer to the ignoble fate of a failed state draped in the hollow trappings of democracy.

In this publication, I use the term “death for two notations” to articulate both my profound disappointment in politicians from the Northern regions of Ghana—particularly in the era of the Fourth Republic—and my concern about the persistent material deprivation imposed on citizens of the North. These men and women, whose substantial contributions to national development are undeniable and ongoing, continue to form the backbone of the nation’s labour force. Nevertheless, they remain relegated to menial occupations, such as waste collection and the porting of goods for minimal compensation, in order to support their families within their respective communities. This paradox underscores a pressing need for scholarly reflection on the socio-economic disparities that persist despite the North’s enduring role in Ghana’s progress.

While I refrain from taking a strident swipe at Ghanaian politicians—whose proclivity for empty rhetoric and colourful, cacophonous speeches often betrays a lack of linguistic coherence—I must assert that the exploitation of voters from the North, followed by their abandonment after election victories, is both immoral and deeply troubling. What have citizens from the Northern regions done to warrant such neglect, marginalization, stereotyping, and mistreatment from the governments of the two major political parties—the National Democratic Congress and the New Patriotic Party—whose prominent leaders, Mr. John Dramani Mahama and Dr. Mahamudu Bawumia, are themselves natives of the North? It is unjustifiable that these communities are continually regarded as undeserving of their fair share of the national cake, particularly in terms of equitable investment and opportunities that could stem the flow of human labour from the North to the South. Such persistent underdevelopment only serves to entrench poverty and hasten the decline of peoples who have, historically, contributed immensely to the nation’s progress without demanding significant recompense.

What have citizens from the Northern regions done to warrant such neglect, marginalization, stereotyping, and mistreatment from the governments of the two major political parties—the National Democratic Congress and the New Patriotic Party—whose prominent leaders, Mr. John Dramani Mahama and Dr. Mahamudu Bawumia, are themselves natives of the North? It is unjustifiable that these communities are continually regarded as undeserving of their fair share of the national cake, particularly in terms of equitable investment and opportunities that could stem the flow of human labour from the North to the South. Such persistent underdevelopment only serves to entrench poverty and hasten the decline of peoples who have, historically, contributed immensely to the nation’s progress without demanding significant recompense.

During my recent visits to the country, I undertook purposeful observations in Accra’s markets, engaging with porters and interviewing garbage collectors. Strikingly, nearly all of these individuals originate from the Northern regions. The men were, at minimum, nominally educated, typically holding Junior Secondary certificates. The women, working as porters, laboured under the nation’s scorching sun; some pulled carts laden with food while carrying their young children on their backs. These women, in particular, are reduced to beasts of burden, compelled by structural inequity to migrate to Accra in pursuit of opportunities that remain persistently elusive. This lived reality stands as a stark testament to the enduring patterns of marginalization and forced migration that continue to disadvantage citizens of the North.

The men and women, that is, migrant workers from the Northern regions whom I interviewed, expressed a unified aspiration: they seek to be treated with respect and to be afforded equal opportunities, not handouts during elections or empty promises. They desire genuine opportunities that grant them access to work, enabling them to earn a decent living and support their families and communities. Their ambitions are clear—they wish to be measured by their contributions to national development, rather than be placated with transient favours or crumbs that can be withdrawn at the whim of patrons whenever they fall out of favour.

The irony of the plight of Ghanaians from the Northern regions is stark: even though the political levers of the nation are predominantly controlled by their own kinsmen and women—politicians such as the current president, John Dramani Mahama, Alban Sumana Kingsford Bagbin, Mahama Ayariga, Haruna Iddrisu, James Agalga, Dr. Mahamudu Bawumia, Dominic Aduna Bingab Nitiwul, and Samuel Abu Jinapor—these leaders, in various ways and to varying degrees, have repeatedly promised Northern voters a paradise, only to underdeliver. This persistent pattern has deepened disappointment and entrenched acute poverty within their communities.

The men and women, that is, migrant workers from the Northern regions whom I interviewed, expressed a unified aspiration: they seek to be treated with respect and to be afforded equal opportunities, not handouts during elections or empty promises. They desire genuine opportunities that grant them access to work, enabling them to earn a decent living and support their families and communities. Their ambitions are clear—they wish to be measured by their contributions to national development, rather than be placated with transient favours or crumbs that can be withdrawn at the whim of patrons whenever they fall out of favor.

The irony of the plight of Ghanaians from the Northern regions is stark: even though the political levers of the nation are predominantly controlled by their own kinsmen and women—politicians such as the current president, John Dramani Mahama, Alban Sumana Kingsford Bagbin, Mahama Ayariga, Haruna Iddrisu, Dr. Mahamudu Bawumia, Dominic Aduna Bingab Nitiwul, and Samuel Abu Jinapor—these leaders, in various ways and to varying degrees, have repeatedly promised Northern voters a paradise, only to underdeliver. This persistent pattern has deepened disappointment and entrenched acute poverty within their communities.

In contemporary Ghanaian politics, the very region that once produced individuals heralded as the backbone of nation-building—stalwarts of the military and police such as Major General Mohammed Barwah, Colonel David C. Zanlerigu, and Salifu Dagarti, as well as individuals central to the civil and public service and teacher training, who embodied service in its purest form—has been systematically relegated. Today, these men and women are reduced to political hirelings, conscripted to perform the dirtiest tasks and carry out the self-serving biddings of politicians, only to be discarded after elections so those same leaders can maintain their sanitized democratic facades. The men and women of peace have been cynically exploited and marginalized, their legacy tarnished by the very system they helped build.

The exodus of migrant labourers from the Northern regions to the South—particularly Accra—in pursuit of opportunity carries grave consequences. This ongoing outflow systematically deprives the North of essential human capital, undermining the region’s capacity to develop strong communities and to sustain critical sectors such as agriculture and education. The resulting void impedes progress and entrenches regional disparities.

Moreover, when migrants are unable to achieve their aspirations through established cultural and economic pathways, many are left vulnerable to exploitation. Some become instruments for politicians seeking to advance their own interests, particularly during electoral cycles, while others are pushed toward criminal activities as a means of survival. The fallout from this phenomenon is acutely felt by the children of migrant workers, who, lacking adequate support, face heightened risks of truancy and delinquency—escalating security concerns for the nation as a whole.

The prevailing practice of consigning Northern migrants to menial roles—under the guise of empowerment, with promises of hostels, tricycles for waste collection, or head-pans for women—does not constitute a path to financial independence or self-determination. Instead, it reinforces damaging stereotypes and perpetuates a cycle of marginalization. Such token gestures do little to alter the structural imbalances that sustain this inequity.

Reversing this trajectory requires a fundamental shift in the mindset of Northern political leaders. Too often, those who ascend to power become assimilated into the Southern elite, seduced by material comforts and severing their connection to their own communities. Sustainable change demands that parliamentarians from the North re-engage with their constituents, champion the interests of their regions, and hold the government accountable for delivering the development, employment, and investment that is rightfully owed to the Northern regions. Redirecting resources away from over-invested centers such as Greater Accra and Ashanti, and toward long-neglected Northern communities, is not just a matter of equity—it is an urgent national imperative.

This publication asserts, without equivocation, that the enduring poverty afflicting migrant workers from the Northern regions to the South—and within their own communities—is neither natural nor unavoidable. Rather, it is the result of calculated political engineering by elected officials and the consequences of ill-conceived governmental decisions. These individuals, adept at political subterfuge, have persistently leveraged the generosity of Northern communities to advance their own personal interests. The evidence suggests that such exploitation is not incidental, but a systemic feature of governance that perpetuates socioeconomic marginalization among migrant populations. We must make it clear to our Northern politicians: enough is enough. Exploiting the trust and votes of the Northern electorate merely as a means to personal power and financial gain is not only unethical but also a profound betrayal of public responsibility.

In this publication, I confront a dangerous and pervasive culture gripping the nation’s workplaces: employees’ unrestrained addiction to their phones and social media. These digital distractions are not merely a benign habit—they serve as potential conduits for leaks of confidential information into the public sphere and significantly undermine both productivity and the quality of customer service.

I assign direct responsibility to government officials—ministers and upper-level managers—who have normalized and tacitly endorsed such behaviour. Their indifference is unsurprising, given that their own compensation and privileges remain untouched by the resulting inefficiencies. Until leadership at the highest levels acknowledges and addresses this corrosive trend, the nation’s institutions will continue to suffer the consequences of misplaced priorities and eroding standards.

Anyone who has recently visited one of the nation’s police stations—whether the Police Headquarters, the Criminal Investigation Department (CID)–Headquarters, or the Greater Accra Regional Lands Commission or the Accra Regional Immigration Office at Kanda —cannot help but observe employees incessantly engaged with their phones: talking, browsing social media, or chatting on WhatsApp, all while clients stand by or sit in uneasy silence, awaiting service. Such behaviour is more than a mere breach of professional decorum; it is an egregious display of disregard for the public. Worse still, these conversations are frequently trivial, ranging from recounting trips to America and discussing last week’s church sermon, to giving instructions for Mobile Money transfers or debating cosmetic purchases—topics wholly irrelevant to their official duties. This pervasive indifference not only undermines workplace efficiency but signals a deeper institutional malaise that demands urgent attention.

Given space limitations, this publication will focus on the Police Headquarters, the Criminal Investigation Department Headquarters, and the Accra Regional Immigration Office at Kanda. Nowhere is the culture of gross indiscipline and institutional lawlessness more apparent than at these sites. Officers, including those tasked with upholding the law, are routinely seen loitering, donning earpieces, and engaging in lengthy, irrelevant conversations—both in public view and behind office doors. Astonishingly, those sworn to embody discipline and professionalism spend official hours on personal phone calls, with only occasional, perfunctory interruptions to attend to the public. The brazen volume and frequency of these calls are not only unprofessional, but they also erode the public’s respect for what should be a disciplined and venerable institution.

This addiction to phone chatter is not confined to junior ranks; it is enabled and perpetuated by senior police officers who permit, and even incentivize, a climate of idleness and indifference. Junior police officers feel emboldened to squander time because there are no repercussions—no dismissals, no demotions, no deterrence. The uncomfortable truth, whispered but widely known, is that many of these officers are beneficiaries of patronage, recruited through “backdoor” channels or political connections. As a result, they feel insulated from the consequences of their indiscipline. It is not uncommon to witness senior officers pass by as subordinates idle away on their phones, unmoved and unperturbed, thus compounding a crisis of credibility and effectiveness at the very core of our law enforcement institutions.

Not long ago, a disturbing incident laid bare the depths of institutional decay within the police service: a female officer, evidently more absorbed in her phone than in her professional duties, dismissed a complainant’s case as frivolous, proceeding not only to kick the individual but to threaten him with physical violence—going so far as to threaten to stone him. The fact that this disgraceful episode was captured and circulated on YouTube has only served to further erode the meagre respect that the police service continues to command among an already disillusioned public.

What became of this egregious breach of professional conduct remains shrouded in silence. There has been no transparent investigation, no public accountability, only the all-too-familiar hush that signals tacit institutional complicity. The hope, it seems, is that a forgetful public will move on, allowing business as usual to resume—no consequences, no reform. The message from upper-level police management is unambiguous: protecting employment, regardless of misconduct, takes precedence over upholding human rights and social justice. Until this inverted hierarchy of priorities is confronted and rectified, such abuses will persist, and the legitimacy of law enforcement will continue its inexorable decline.

The situation at the Greater Accra Regional Immigration Headquarters is, if anything, even more egregious than that observed among their police counterparts. Employees here—predominantly women—are the very embodiment of workplace phone addiction. Arriving late and dressed more as fashionistas than public servants, these officers seem more invested in tracking the latest social media trends than in performing their official duties.

This culture of distraction is not without consequence. Errors are rampant, and the quality of public service has plummeted. I speak from personal experience: a female immigration officer misplaced my plane ticket—a crucial document for my visa extension—only to brazenly accuse me of failing to submit it. It was only after I insisted on involving a senior official that the error was rectified and instructions were issued for staff to put away their phones. Meanwhile, applicants are forced to endure interminable waits, their time and dignity sacrificed to the whims of inattentive staff.

Such behaviour is not merely unprofessional; it is a flagrant dereliction of duty that undermines the credibility and integrity of the entire institution. Until there is a decisive cultural shift—one that prioritizes discipline, competence, and genuine public service—these agencies will remain mired in mediocrity, to the profound detriment of the citizens they are meant to serve.

These problems did not emerge in a vacuum; they are the direct product of successive Ghanaian governments. In their relentless pursuit of political capital and electoral gain, administrations have systematically transformed state agencies into patronage machines—staffing them with friends, relatives, and party loyalists who lack the necessary training and professional discipline to manage public institutions. The result is a cadre of officials with inflated egos and an unwarranted sense of superiority, convinced they are exceptional amidst mediocrity, yet woefully unfit to deliver genuine public service. This is not mere negligence—it is a calculated dereliction of governance that continues to undermine the nation’s progress.

To confront the scourge of phone addiction in public institutions, the government must take bold, uncompromising action—however painful or unpopular it may be. It should impose an immediate freeze on hiring, creating a window to systematically identify and remove idle and unproductive personnel. Only by retaining the most competent employees and equipping them with necessary resources—such as regulated phone lines and unequivocal policies with explicit sanctions for violations—can the police and immigration services regain their standing as reputable institutions devoted to public service.

Following the much-needed dismissal of inept staff, the government must abandon the corrosive practice of appointing loyalists to state positions. This culture of patronage has suffocated meritocracy and bred a pervasive sense of entitlement, undermining both institutional effectiveness and public trust. Only through sustained commitment to excellence and accountability can Ghana’s public institutions reclaim their legitimacy and fulfill their mandate to serve the nation.

In closing, let me make it unequivocally clear that this essay is not crafted as ammunition for any political party to vilify its opponents; both major parties are equally culpable in perpetuating these destructive practices. My purpose is to ignite a rigorous, Socratic dialogue on an issue that continues to cripple national development and erode workplace productivity. I urge readers to approach this work in that spirit, and I challenge policymakers and government officials to extract substantive lessons—moving beyond rhetoric to implement policies that truly prioritize the nation’s welfare above narrow political interests. The time for complacency has long passed; what Ghana needs now is principled leadership and a genuine commitment to the public good.

In this publication, I address a recurring and deeply troubling issue that continues to claim human lives: the prevalence of road accidents occurring under the direct supervision of the Ghana Police Service’s Motor Traffic and Transportation Department. Despite their mandate, this department has repeatedly fallen short in critical areas, which will be the focus of this analysis. Officers are frequently seen using cellphones as drivers blatantly flout traffic regulations, accepting bribes openly, and responding to accident scenes without even the most basic life-saving skills—such as administering cardiopulmonary resuscitation or checking vital signs to assess whether victims are alive or deceased. These lapses represent more than negligence; they are a profound abdication of professional and ethical responsibilities, demanding urgent scholarly scrutiny and reform (Boateng & Akoto, 2025).

The human cost of these failures is staggering. According to the National Road Safety Authority, as reported by the Ghanaian Times, a total of 1,009 individuals lost their lives in road traffic crashes across Ghana between January and April 2026. This figure, while reflecting a marginal decline from the 1,011 deaths recorded in the same period of 2025, still underscores the scale of the crisis. Overall, 4,899 road traffic crashes were reported nationwide in the first four months of 2026—a 2.5% increase over the previous year. Pedestrian casualties remain alarmingly high, with 862 pedestrians knocked down between January and April 2026, compared to 831 in the same period of 2025 (National Road Safety Authority, 2026; Ghanaian Times, 2026). Such statistics are a clarion call for rigorous scholarly engagement and decisive institutional reform. The time for complacency has long passed; what is required now is a candid, evidence-based reckoning with the factors perpetuating this crisis, and an unwavering commitment to restoring integrity and competence to our road safety enforcement mechanisms.

While the primary causes of road traffic accidents in Ghana are undeniably complex—ranging from unlicensed drivers, excessive speed, faulty vehicles, impaired drivers, and poor road conditions—the conduct of personnel within the Motor Traffic and Transportation Department remains, at best, mediocre and, at worst, dangerously complicit (National Road Safety Authority, 2026). This paper focuses squarely on the troubling patterns of police behaviour that exacerbate this crisis. The persistent collection of bribes by officers, which allows unfit vehicles and reckless drivers to evade consequences, is not a secret; it is an open practice, widely recognized and, disturbingly, tolerated by senior police management (Boateng & Akoto, 2025). Rather than being met with decisive corrective action, such misconduct is normalized—treated as business as usual—thereby implicating not just individual officers but the institutional culture of the police service as a whole. The continued acceptance of these practices is not merely a failure of oversight; it constitutes an indictment of the service’s integrity and its commitment to public safety (Ghanaian Times, 2026).

Driving through Accra and other regions, I have consistently observed that many police officers appear more invested in negotiating bribes than in upholding traffic regulations. Rather than focusing on genuine enforcement, some officers initiate interactions with pleasantries, seeking to assess the driver’s disposition before proceeding to fabricate infractions—such as accusing drivers of worn tyres or flickering lights—solely as a pretext for extortion (Boateng & Akoto, 2025).

In two notable instances, I was compelled to remind an officer that he could not confiscate a driver’s license while instructing the driver to operate the vehicle to a police station. Legally, while officers are empowered to seize a license suspected of being expired or fraudulent, proper protocol demands that the vehicle be impounded and towed, with the driver processed formally through the court system—not through arbitrary and unlawful demands. These experiences underscore a troubling pattern: despite their training in established procedures and protocols, some officers prioritize the creation of fictitious offences and the solicitation of bribes over the faithful enforcement of the law. This corruption not only erodes public trust but also contributes directly to preventable road accidents—the very tragedies the law is designed to avert (National Road Safety Authority, 2026). Such conduct is a clear abdication of duty and a betrayal of the public trust the police are sworn to uphold.

The issues delineated above constitute grave indictments not only of the Inspector General of Police and the Ghana Police Service at large, but also, and more pointedly, of the Director General of the Motor Traffic and Transportation Department. A fundamental mandate of the Director General is to ensure “that accident vehicles are removed from the premises of the Motor Traffic and Transportation Units (MTTUs) to ensure the sanity and safety of MTTU premises” (Motor Traffic & Transport Department – Ghana Police Service, n.d.). This directive, however, is woefully inadequate from a public safety perspective. It prioritizes the orderliness of police premises over the removal of wrecked vehicles from the nation’s highways, many of which remain abandoned—deadly hazards on the country’s main roads, often lacking any safety or hazard signage to alert unsuspecting motorists (Boateng & Akoto, 2025). The failure to address these hazards underscores a systemic disregard for proactive, public-focused road safety measures and reflects a troubling misalignment between institutional priorities and the urgent realities on Ghana’s roads (National Road Safety Authority, 2026).

It has become an all-too-familiar and deeply disturbing spectacle on Ghana’s highways: transport vehicles, particularly those ferrying charcoal from the Afram Plains to Accra, routinely carry loads far beyond their engineered capacity. The most egregious violators are the overloaded scrap metal trucks—colloquially known as “condemn”—and the so-called “articulators,” long-haul freight vehicles hauling mountains of cargo from neighbouring countries into Accra, often with their loads spilling well over the confines of their buckets. What is most galling is that these flagrant breaches occur brazenly under the direct gaze of state authorities and the police, whose mandate it is to enforce the law and protect the public. Yet, instead of intervening, some officers idle away their official hours absorbed by phone calls and scrolling through social media, abandoning their posts as the nation’s roads devolve into a lethal free-for-all where the rule of law is all but forgotten (Boateng & Akoto, 2025; Ghanaian Times, 2026). This abdication of responsibility is not merely an oversight—it is an institutional failure of the highest order, one that transforms Ghana’s highways into lawless corridors where human life is placed in perpetual jeopardy (National Road Safety Authority, 2026).

In Accra, it is not uncommon to find long trucks and other vehicles abandoned on pedestrian walkways, a practice that flagrantly endangers the lives of the city’s residents (Owusu-Dabo, Appiah, & Osei, 2024). This reckless obstruction forces pedestrians into the streets, where they must compete for space with vehicles often operated by inexperienced, unruly, and impatient drivers—a situation that has repeatedly proven fatal (Tufuor & Mensah, 2023). Recent data reveal the devastating consequences of such negligence: 862 pedestrians were struck by vehicles between January and April this year, up from 831 in the same period in 2025 (Ghanaian Times, 2026). While this analysis does not seek to impugn the professional competence of Ghana Police Service personnel or the Motor Traffic and Transportation Department, the grim statistics and persistent reports expose an alarming culture of apathy and indifference. The evidence compels a harsh indictment of the prevailing lackadaisical attitude within the police force, which continues to jeopardize the safety and well-being of the most vulnerable road users (Boateng & Akoto, 2025; National Road Safety Authority, 2026).

The solutions to Ghana’s road safety crisis are neither novel nor complex—they are demands that any society valuing human life should enforce with uncompromising resolve. First, the Directorate of the Ghana Police Service must issue unequivocal directives mandating officers to perform their duties strictly in line with their job descriptions. This includes a categorical ban on the use of cellphones and social media while on duty, a basic expectation in any functional police force (Mensah & Adjei, 2022). Second, every officer should be compelled to undergo rigorous, mandatory training grounded in modern, evidence-based policing strategies. Such training must emphasize the immediate interdiction of offending vehicles and their prompt removal from public roads whenever warranted—an approach proven in jurisdictions with lower road casualty rates (Owusu & Darko, 2021). Most critically, any officer credibly accused of soliciting or accepting bribes from motorists should face immediate suspension, eviction from police housing, and, upon confirmation of wrongdoing, prosecution to the fullest extent of the law (Amoako, 2023). Anything less is a betrayal of public trust and a license for continued lawlessness. Implementing these measures requires not only unwavering institutional will but also a substantial financial commitment by the state. A moribund, under-resourced police force is incapable of fulfilling its core mandate as protector of life and national security (Asare, 2020). Ghana cannot afford further equivocation on this issue: the time for half-measures and rhetorical commitments has long passed. The nation demands—and deserves—a police service worthy of its name.

References

Amoako, Y. (2023). Corruption and disciplinary action in Ghana’s law enforcement agencies. African Policing Review, 14(1), 77–94.

Asare, K. O. (2020). Financing public security: The state of police resourcing in Ghana. West African Security Studies, 5(2), 132–148.

Boateng, K., & Akoto, F. (2025). Police accountability and public trust in Ghana. Journal of African Law and Governance, 12(2), 45–62.

Ghanaian Times. (2026, May 2). Road traffic crashes claim 1,009 lives in four months — NRSA. https://www.ghanaiantimes.com.gh/road-traffic-crashes-claim-1009-lives-in-four-months-nrsa/

Owusu, G., & Darko, S. (2021). Best practices in road safety enforcement: Lessons for Ghana. International Journal of Transport Policy, 11(4), 289–304.

Mensah, F., & Adjei, S. (2022). Mobile phone use and professional responsibility among Ghanaian police officers. Journal of Public Administration and Policy, 18(3), 201–219.

Motor Traffic & Transport Department – Ghana Police Service. (n.d.). Mandate of the MTTD. https://police.gov.gh/en/index.php/motor-traffic-transport-department/

National Road Safety Authority. (2026). Road Traffic Crash and Casualty Statistics: January–April 2026. Accra: NRSA.

Owusu-Dabo, E., Appiah, L. T., & Osei, F. B. (2024). Urban transport risk and pedestrian safety in Accra, Ghana. African Journal of Urban Studies, 9(1), 88–104.

Tufuor, J. K., & Mensah, E. (2023). Road safety challenges and driver behavior in Ghana. Ghanaian Journal of Transport and Mobility, 7(2), 203–218.

This publication examines the deception employed by Ghana’s two major political parties, the National Democratic Congress and the New Patriotic Party, towards the public. The term “change,” often used in party manifestos and public speeches, suggests that an opposition party will implement significant improvements once elected to office. However, this is misleading and akin to propaganda. The reality is that both parties are similar in their pursuit of wealth and often appoint the ineptest officials and activists to positions that require specialized expertise.

When it comes to change, one observation I’ve made about the nation’s governments is their initial focus on who gets to live in the colonial houses located in affluent neighbourhoods, such as Cantonments. The benefits associated with these positions—salaries, perks like free accommodation, free water and electricity, per diem for foreign travels, sitting fees, entertainment allowances, and clothing allowances—are extensive and often not fully disclosed to the public.  At party conferences and rallies, citizens are presented with a barrage of promises and party anthems, all interspersed with claims of a better future. However, these commitments seem to be forgotten almost immediately, as leaders often cite external shocks and austerity measures imposed by international financial institutions like the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank as excuses for inaction.

Blaming external factors for underdevelopment, as well as the government’s failure to fulfill campaign promises, has not stopped the government from its relentless pursuit of importing luxury vehicles for distribution among officials and party members. Politicians who once relied on taxis or hitchhiked have suddenly evolved into connoisseurs of high-end automobiles and fashionable clothing. Those who previously ate food from street vendors now frequent upscale restaurants in Osu and the Airport Residential Area. Individuals who used to consume soup from deep bowls at home have suddenly acquired the ability to read menus at plush dining establishments overnight. Some politicians and officials travel domestically and internationally solely to make political statements or enhance their resumes, all at the expense of the struggling nation.

Politics under the Fourth Republic represents a significant departure from the core values established by the nation’s founders, who prioritized unwavering service to the country. Today, the political landscape resembles a criminal enterprise, driven by individuals who pretend to serve the public but instead exploit their positions for personal gain. These so-called leaders often exhibit a warped sense of duty, focusing on enriching themselves and their families. A recent example of this is the arrest of Ohene K. Frimpong, the Member of Parliament for Asante-Akyem North, in the Netherlands at the request of the American government on charges of online fraud and money laundering. The Ghanaian government’s prompt response to provide him with consular and legal assistance highlights the troubling state of the nation—a country in decline, plagued by deep-rooted corruption.

To highlight some of the dysfunctions within the nation’s administration, we should examine the Foreign Service. Once regarded as the pinnacle of postcolonial African foreign policy under Kwame Nkrumah, the Ghanaian Foreign Service has become a mere shadow of its former self. Many of the nation’s foreign missions are led and mismanaged by political activists, many of whom lack expertise in international relations and diplomacy. Some representatives sound pitiful and speak as if reciting verses from party manifestos. They treat citizens abroad, especially those in distress, with disdain. Among them are individuals obsessed with fashion and appearance, resembling “Barbie dolls” in high heels. They prioritize looking impressive over advancing meaningful policies and causes for the nation they represent.

The male political appointees do not perform any better than their female counterparts regarding the service-pay ratio. Many of these male ambassadors, while publicly showing dedication and hard work for the government and their nation abroad, are also involved in business ventures on the side. Similar to their counterparts at home, they often spend more time seeking business opportunities for themselves, their benefactors, and their spouses. While it’s easy for the author, an outsider, to recognize the problem for what it is—putting square pegs in round holes—and to understand its implications for the nation’s treasury and economic standing, for party supporters, it’s a different story. For loyal followers and hired hands, the exploitation of the nation’s resources and the appointment of incompetent officials to lead government offices, both domestically and abroad, is merely business as usual; in local terms, it’s often referred to as “jobs for the boys.”

One of the misconceptions about Ghanaian democracy is that we actually elect our representatives; in reality, we choose from candidates selected by political parties. This illusion of choosing our political leaders, when we do not truly have that power, contributes to the delay of people-centred policies. Elected politicians often feel more accountable to the party leadership and the government in power than to the electorate. After being let down by those who made grand promises, the disappointed citizens wait for another four years—if they are fortunate enough to endure the hardships—to once again elect those whom they have sacrificed so much for, often receiving little in return. The Ghanaian democracy, regardless of how well-structured it appears, is an illusion constructed on deception, exploitation, kleptocracy, and incompetence. Change and development entail more than just voting or entertaining the public with hopes, revelry, and loud party songs.

Resetting Ghana would require a moment reminiscent of Nkrumah—a visionary leader with the innate talent, knowledge, skills, and determination to tackle the nation’s challenges without blaming external factors. This leader should prioritize the nation’s interests over temporary material gains. Unfortunately, the current crop of leaders and the prevailing style of leadership are too simplistic and mediocre for my taste. Their policy initiatives often rely on trial and error, with the hope that repeated attempts to solve problems without established strategies will yield different results. This approach can be seen as bordering on insanity or a form of perpetual fatalism.