This essay interrogates whether Ghanaian police possess constitutional authority to search a suspect’s phone without a court warrant. The debate pivots on the presumption of innocence and the balance between law enforcement imperatives and constitutional rights. While Oliver Barker-Vormawor asserts that police must always obtain a court order to access seized phone data—a position grounded in the Ghanaian Constitution’s protection of privacy (Constitution of Ghana, 1992, art. 18)—the law is far from absolute. There exist notable exceptions, both in Ghanaian and comparative jurisprudence, that require rigorous scholarly scrutiny.

British and American case law illustrate that warrantless searches may be justified in exigent circumstances—such as imminent threats to public safety or the risk of evidence destruction. In the United States, Riley v. California (2014) held that police generally require a warrant to search a mobile phone, but recognized exceptions for exigent circumstances (Riley v. California, 573 U.S. 373, 2014). Similarly, British courts have accepted that immediate searches can be justified to prevent crime or protect the public (see R v. Grant [2005] UKHL 2; R v. Khan [1997] AC 558). Ghanaian courts have echoed these principles. In Republic v. Eugene Baffoe-Bonnie & Others (2018), the Supreme Court of Ghana recognized that privacy rights are not absolute and may be lawfully abridged in the interest of public order or crime prevention.

Thus, while the default rule demands judicial oversight, the Constitution and relevant case law acknowledge that exceptions exist where immediate action is necessary to avert crime or threats to public order. The legal landscape is clear: a blanket prohibition on warrantless searches is intellectually unsound and constitutionally incomplete.

The gap in Vormawor’s submission is its overgeneralization—a common shortcoming among Ghanaian elites and scholars who often present incomplete legal arguments, leaving audiences confused and ill-informed. Such generic claims, especially in the context of legal education, do little to advance substantive discourse or clarify the nuanced realities of constitutional law (Amegatcher, 2020; Nyarko, 2022).

Jurisprudence from Ghana, the UK, and the US makes clear that while warrants are generally required to search suspects’ phones, critical exceptions exist. Republic v. Eugene Baffoe-Bonnie & Others (2018) acknowledges that constitutional privacy rights are not absolute in Ghana. British law, as in R v. Grant [2005] UKHL 2, and American law, as in Riley v. California (2014), both recognize exigent circumstances where immediate searches are lawful. Legal analysis requires specificity, not sweeping generalization. Scholars must engage with the complex interplay of rights and exceptions or risk perpetuating legal confusion.

In law enforcement, time is paramount. A police officer with reasonable grounds to suspect imminent criminal activity—especially when involving a phone as a potential instrument of crime—is fully empowered under Ghanaian, British, and American law to act without a warrant in exigent circumstances. The collective right to public safety outweighs the individual’s right to privacy when national security, homicide, or the prevention of serious crime is at stake (Republic v. Eugene Baffoe-Bonnie & Others, 2018; R v. Grant [2005] UKHL 2; Riley v. California, 573 U.S. 373, 2014).

Insisting that police must always obtain a court warrant before searching a suspect’s phone is a legal fiction that undermines effective policing and public safety (Nyarko, 2022). No competent law enforcement officer would allow bureaucratic delays to jeopardize lives or national security. The law is clear: public interest and the prevention of crime justify immediate action, and legal systems worldwide recognize this necessity.

Alternatively, when a police officer determines that a suspected crime poses no imminent threat to national security, the community, or individuals, procedure dictates that the officer seek a court warrant before searching a suspect’s phone. In such cases, where time is not of the essence and the anticipated crime is not imminent, judicial oversight is both practical and required (Criminal Procedure Code Act 30, Ghana; Illinois v. Gates, 462 U.S. 213, 1983; R v. Chief Constable of Lancashire, ex parte Parker [1993] QB 519). Ghanaian law and international best practices demand this balance between effective policing and constitutional protections (Mensah-Bonsu, 2018; Kwarteng, 2021).

It must be said, however, that Vormawor’s broad assertion on phone searches is undermined by its failure to distinguish between urgent and non-urgent circumstances. His critique appears less a good-faith legal argument than a sweeping indictment of the Ghana Police Service—a force not without fault, but one that operates within a legal system that recognizes both the necessity of judicial warrants and the reality of exceptions (Republic v. Eugene Baffoe-Bonnie & Others, 2018; United States v. Leon, 468 U.S. 897, 1984; R v. Chief Constable of Lancashire, ex parte Parker [1993]). Rather than a personal attack, my analysis offers a rigorous, critical reconstruction of the issue, underscoring the need for nuance and fidelity to legal frameworks.

For rigorous debate, Vormawor’s position requires a more nuanced engagement with comparative constitutional law. The U.S. Fourth Amendment generally protects against unreasonable searches and seizures, while the Fifth guards against self-incrimination. Yet, the U.S. Supreme Court in Riley v. California (2014) held that police “generally” need a warrant to search cell phones, but recognized exceptions—such as exigent circumstances, probable cause, or voluntary consent (Riley v. California, 573 U.S. 373, 2014; United States v. Robinson, 414 U.S. 218, 1973; Schneckloth v. Bustamonte, 412 U.S. 218, 1973).

Moreover, American courts have upheld warrantless searches during emergencies or when evidence is at risk of destruction (Kentucky v. King, 563 U.S. 452, 2011). Law enforcement may seize phones while seeking a warrant and can use technological tools to access data, further eroding the notion of absolute privacy (Smith & Chin, 2021). These exceptions are disproportionately applied to marginalized communities, notably African American men, raising civil liberties concerns (Carbado, 2017).

British law echoes these principles. Under R v. Grant [2005] UKHL 2 and the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE), police may conduct searches without a warrant under reasonable suspicion or in emergencies, especially in cases involving serious crimes or public safety threats (Fenwick, 2017).

Ghana’s 1992 Constitution protects privacy and due process but allows for exceptions in the interest of national security or crime prevention (Mensah-Bonsu, 2018). Ghanaian law, like its American and British counterparts, recognizes that absolute rights yield in the face of compelling state interests—leaving the door open to both judicial oversight and necessary exceptions.

Legal rights are not a one-way street; they exist within a labyrinth of judicial interpretation and practical exceptions. The balance between individual liberties and collective security is a battle fought in every legal system, and seasoned counsel know how to exploit its twists and turns. I invite critical feedback and further scholarly engagement on this evolving terrain.

References

Amegatcher, Y. (2020). The Ghana Legal System. Accra: Advanced Legal Publications.

Carbado, D. W. (2017). From Stop and Frisk to Shoot and Kill: Terry v. Ohio at Fifty. Ohio State Journal of Criminal Law, 15, 61-85.

Constitution of the Republic of Ghana (1992). Accra: Government Printer.

Fenwick, H. (2017). Civil Liberties and Human Rights. Routledge.

Illinois v. Gates, 462 U.S. 213 (1983).

Kentucky v. King, 563 U.S. 452 (2011).

Kwarteng, A. (2021). Search and seizure in Ghana: Constitutional and statutory perspectives. Ghana Law Journal, 53, 71-92.

Mensah-Bonsu, H. J. A. N. (2018). Criminal justice and constitutional rights in Ghana. African Journal of Legal Studies, 11(1), 55-70.

Nyarko, M. G. (2022). Privacy and Digital Evidence in Ghanaian Criminal Procedure. Journal of African Law, 66(1), 103-125.

Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE), UK.

Republic v. Eugene Baffoe-Bonnie & Others, Supreme Court of Ghana, [2018] GHASC 20.

R v. Chief Constable of Lancashire, ex parte Parker [1993] QB 519 (UK).

Riley v. California, 573 U.S. 373 (2014).

R v. Grant [2005] UKHL 2.

R v. Khan [1997] AC 558.

Schneckloth v. Bustamonte, 412 U.S. 218 (1973).

Smith, R., & Chin, A. (2021). Digital privacy and law enforcement: Forensics, encryption, and the law. International Journal of Law and Information Technology, 29(1), 1-23.

(See also: https://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/Police-need-court-permission-to-access-information-on-seized-phones-Oliver-Barker-Vormawor-2052982)

United States v. Leon, 468 U.S. 897 (1984).

United States v. Robinson, 414 U.S. 218 (1973).

A nation intent on its own moral collapse cannot be rescued by goodwill alone. Ghana’s ethical fabric is unravelling, evidenced by the proliferation of cocaine trafficking, online dating scams, and a youth culture obsessed with quick wealth—often enabled by complicit political elites. “Drowning” here stands as a metaphor for this deepening decline. This paper calls for a grassroots movement—not insurrection, but a courageous civic mobilization to confront these social ills with robust legal and constitutional action. Renewed civic consciousness is essential to halt this decay. Ghana must recover the principled identity of Nkrumah’s era—a nation respected for its integrity and leadership. Only through collective moral awakening can Ghana reclaim its status as a beacon of African progress.

The recent seizure of $260 million worth of cocaine in France, hidden in plastic waste from Ghana, is not an anomaly—it is a symptom of a nation entrenched in the global narco-triangle linking South America, Europe, and Africa (UNODC, 2021; Aning & Kwarkye, 2022). Ghana’s complicity as a transit hub is well documented by international agencies, yet successive governments have turned a blind eye, preferring denial and inaction to decisive intervention (UNODC, 2021). This ostrich-like approach in the digital age is not only naïve but also a damning indictment of Ghana’s political leadership, which has prioritized personal enrichment over the nation’s integrity and the well-being of its youth (Gyimah-Boadi & Prempeh, 2012). The cost is catastrophic: rising addiction, eroded global reputation, and a generation at risk.

Building on this crisis of accountability, the Ghanaian government’s response—parading a handful of suspects and seizing a few vehicles—is a hollow spectacle. Such tokenism fails to confront the entrenched corruption that infects state institutions from top to bottom (Arthur, 2015; Owusu, 2020). Interior Minister Alhaji Mohammed Mubarak Muntaka’s refusal to name implicated officials is an egregious act of obfuscation. Why the selective disclosure on a matter that strikes at the core of national security and Ghana’s international credibility? The minister’s silence suggests cowardice—an abdication of leadership when transparency is most needed (Boateng & Darko, 2016). This pattern of evasion must end. The minister and complicit officials in police, customs, immigration, and prison services should be immediately suspended pending independent investigation (Mensah, 2016). Ghana’s reputation and the integrity of its institutions demand nothing less.

In light of mounting evidence, President John Dramani Mahama’s invitation to security chiefs is nothing more than performative theatre. The trafficking of cocaine is now entrenched in Ghanaian life, enabled by security agencies riddled with political appointees more interested in currying presidential favour and securing post-retirement perks than upholding their mandate (Arthur, 2015; Owusu, 2020). These high-profile meetings are a costly charade—wasting public funds while sidestepping accountability and protecting the power structure. A serious leader would treat such breaches as urgent national security crises, immediately dismissing complicit agency heads and pursuing independent investigations (Mensah, 2016). Mahama’s reluctance to act decisively betrays a preference for regime stability over national integrity, perpetuating a cycle of impunity that emboldens criminal networks.

Worse still, it does not require extraordinary intelligence to spot ill-gotten wealth in Accra’s elite enclaves—Trassaco, Airport Hills, East Legon, and Cantonments. Multi-million dollar mansions are owned by politicians and so-called businessmen whose declared incomes could scarcely cover rent in working-class New Town (Gyimah-Boadi & Prempeh, 2012; Owusu, 2020). Customs officers flaunt fleets of luxury vehicles and amass properties wildly disproportionate to their official earnings. Politicians on modest government salaries send their children to Harvard and Yale, paying fees that far exceed their legal incomes. This conspicuous consumption is a public indictment of systemic corruption, yet state agencies remain paralyzed or complicit (Arthur, 2015).

Taking this decay further, a new class of Ghanaian cybercriminals—youth and adults alike—now rivals their Nigerian counterparts in exploiting the anonymity of digital platforms to prey on vulnerable Western seniors seeking companionship (Button, 2020; Boateng et al., 2011). These scammers, celebrated as local “bosses,” openly flaunt their wealth at parties, enjoying the admiration of friends, family, police, and even some politicians (Tade & Aliyu, 2011). With a few scammers recently extradited to the U.S., some exploit Ghana’s judicial system to delay justice, while others remain protected by indifferent police—evidence of institutional failure and complicity (Boateng, 2022; Alhassan & Tankebe, 2021). Their illicit wealth is perversely rationalized as a means to address youth unemployment, a task the state has abdicated. This abdication signals a profound erosion of legal authority and a tacit endorsement of criminality for economic survival (Osei-Tutu et al., 2016).

The reality is stark: Ghana’s status as a cocaine hub is not accidental. The importation model of crime explains that traffickers exploit Ghana’s weak enforcement and a justice system infamous for leniency—serious offences routinely end in token penalties (Aning & Kwarkye, 2022; Alhassan & Tankebe, 2021). Police and judges complicit in trafficking are rarely held accountable, and political patronage ensures their protection or promotion, undermining any credible fight against organized crime (Atuguba, 2007; Owusu, 2020).

To counter this narco-crisis, the state must raise the stakes: immediate arrest and detention, asset forfeiture, exhaustive investigations, and the imposition of life sentences or capital punishment where warranted. No one—politicians, law enforcement, or judges—should be shielded from prosecution (Alhassan & Tankebe, 2021). Ghanaian citizens must discard partisan loyalty and demand uncompromising justice. Without radical reform, narco-lords and their enablers will rule by proxy, eroding the nation’s fabric from within. Complacency is not an option; delay only deepens the crisis.

References

Alhassan, S., & Tankebe, J. (2021). Corruption, trust, and criminal justice in Ghana. International Journal of Law, Crime and Justice, 66, 100497.

Aning, K., & Kwarkye, S. (2022). Ghana’s struggle with drug trafficking: The challenges of enforcement and governance. African Security Review, 31(1), 46-60.

Arthur, J. (2015). Drug trafficking and political corruption in Ghana: A threat to democratic governance. Journal of Money Laundering Control, 18(3), 320-335.

Atuguba, R. (2007). The state, criminal justice, and security in Ghana. Crime, Law and Social Change, 47(4-5), 361-375.

Boateng, F. D. (2022). Corruption and law enforcement in Ghana: Implications for security and justice. International Journal of Law, Crime and Justice, 70, 100514.

Boateng, F. D., & Darko, I. N. (2016). Corruption in Ghana: Trends, causes, and consequences. African Security Review, 25(2), 151-166.

Boateng, R., Akamavi, R., & Ndoro, T. (2011). Internet fraud: A study of the dynamics of 419 scams in Sub-Saharan Africa. Journal of Financial Crime, 18(4), 400-419.

Button, M. (2020). Cyber fraudsters and their victims in Ghana: Exploring the actors, networks, and processes. Journal of Financial Crime, 27(4), 1181-1197.

Gyimah-Boadi, E., & Prempeh, H. K. (2012). Oil, politics, and Ghana’s emerging democracy. Journal of Democracy, 23(3), 94-108.

UNODC (United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime). (2021). World Drug Report 2021. United Nations Publications.

Mensah, E. (2016). Corruption and public sector reform in Ghana: Issues and challenges. African Journal of Public Affairs, 9(2), 44-55.

Osei-Tutu, E., Sarpong, S., & Owusu, B. (2016). Internet fraud and its impact on Ghana. International Journal of Cyber Criminology, 10(2), 163-180.

Owusu, G. (2020). The politics of crime and security in Ghana: Understanding the role of the state. African Affairs, 119(475), 41-63.

Tade, O., & Aliyu, I. (2011). Social organization of internet fraud among university undergraduates in Nigeria. International Journal of Cyber Criminology, 5(2), 860-875.

In this article, I interrogate the enduring bond of siblinghood between Ghana and South Africa—a relationship far deeper than the sensationalist narratives advanced by “March and March” protestors and amplified by Western media would suggest (Adogamhe, 2008; Mbeki, 2012). While calls for the expulsion of Ghanaians and other Africans have captured headlines, such divisive rhetoric ignores the profound historical and political connections forged through shared struggles against colonial domination and apartheid (Akyeampong & Gates, 2012).

Ghana’s pivotal role under Kwame Nkrumah in supporting the Pan-Africanist Congress, led by Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe, remains a cornerstone of Pan-African solidarity (Adi, 2012). Both Nkrumah and Sobukwe believed fiercely in African self-governance, resisting both external colonial impositions and internal attempts to dilute the Pan-African flame (Zeleza, 2014). Despite contemporary pressures from foreign interests and opportunistic political actors seeking to sow discord, the historical ties and shared destinies of Ghana and South Africa must be recognized, preserved, and celebrated. Only through critical reflection and mutual engagement can the Pan-African spirit endure and flourish.

Building on his early political career, Nkrumah’s tenure as general secretary of the United Gold Coast Convention (UGCC) was marked by growing frustration with the complacency and elitism of his peers—many of whom were content with the British government’s empty promises of gradual reform (Adi, 2012; Biney, 2011). Nkrumah recognized that these promises were calculated to placate the Gold Coast’s elite and indefinitely postpone true independence. Rejecting this conservative approach, he championed “Positive Action” and “Freedom Now” as more than slogans—they were urgent calls for ideological confrontation and mass mobilization, rooted in the conviction that genuine national and continental freedom could only be achieved through direct, assertive action (Nkrumah, 1961; Zeleza, 2014). For Nkrumah, independence was inseparable from the restoration of Black dignity and the broader liberation of Africa from colonial rule.

Transitioning to his vision for continental liberation, Nkrumah forcefully argued that imprisonment for anti-colonial activism was preferable to a life of submission and servitude under colonial rule (Biney, 2011). For Nkrumah, Ghana’s struggle for independence was inseparable from the broader African fight against colonialism—a conviction immortalized in his historic declaration: “The independence of Ghana is meaningless unless it is linked-up with the total liberation of the African Continent” (Nkrumah, 1961, p. 93). He acknowledged the immense challenges ahead but insisted that a transformed African mindset would enable the continent to reclaim agency and dignity: “a new Africa is ready to fight his own battles and show that, after all, the Black man is capable of managing his own affairs.” This radical message reverberated throughout the Pan-Africanist Congress under Sobukwe’s leadership, galvanizing a generation to pursue uncompromising continental emancipation (Adi, 2012; Zeleza, 2014).

Shifting to the pivotal moment of the All-African People’s Conference in Accra on December 8, 1958, Nkrumah—then Prime Minister of newly independent Ghana—delivered a powerful indictment of colonialism and an impassioned call for African self-representation (Adi, 2012; Biney, 2011). He leveraged the gathering of freedom fighters, nationalist organizations, and trade unionists to assert that Africans must speak for Africa, demanding unity and collective action for continental freedom and independence. Nkrumah’s address explicitly spotlighted the plight of Black South Africans and the peoples of neighbouring dependent territories, making the struggle against apartheid and settler colonialism a continental mandate (Zeleza, 2014; Mazrui, 2003).

Fully cognizant of the risks Ghana faced in defying imperial interests, Nkrumah declared Ghana’s unyielding commitment to supporting oppressed peoples, vowing to resist imperialism and all its variants—including “racialism,” his pointed reference to White settler domination and anti-Black violence (Biney, 2011; Adi, 2012). He challenged African leaders to remain courageously committed to the cause of liberation, undeterred by the inevitable hardships ahead.

Continuing his uncompromising stance, Nkrumah framed the 1958 All-African People’s Conference as the beginning of a decisive new chapter in Africa’s anti-colonial struggle (Adi, 2012; Biney, 2011). He rallied liberation movements from across the continent and dependent territories to adopt bolder, even armed, strategies to “wipe out imperialism and colonialism and erect in their places a union of free [and] independent African States” (Nkrumah, 1961, p. 132). Nkrumah demanded that Africans seize opportunities to strike against their oppressors at moments of weakness, unapologetically pursuing the imperative to shatter the grip of White domination. He further pledged to share Ghana’s revolutionary experience, fully aware of the risks—a commitment that ultimately cost him his presidency in the 1966 coup but never shook his resolve (Biney, 2011; Mazrui, 2003). Nkrumah’s militant vision and sacrifice remain a clarion call for continental self-determination.

Expanding on his fierce advocacy for African self-determination, Nkrumah’s address to the United Nations on October 5, 1961, was a scathing indictment of Western imperialism and UN inaction, particularly in the wake of Patrice Lumumba’s assassination in the Congo (Nkrumah, 1961; Biney, 2011). Nkrumah condemned the West’s grudging concessions of independence and declared that only African unity could provide authentic solutions to the continent’s crises. For Nkrumah, solidarity was not optional—Africa had a duty to extend tangible support to territories still suffering under colonial and white minority rule (Adi, 2012).

Shifting focus to continental affairs, Nkrumah’s landmark “We Must Unite or Perish” speech at the Organization of African Unity in Addis Ababa on May 25, 1963, challenged African leaders to transcend empty rhetoric and forge a united front against colonial domination (Biney, 2011; Mazrui, 2003). He demanded that independent African states not only commit to charter ideals but actively assist liberation movements. Nkrumah’s vision of a common African destiny was foundational in Ghana’s support for the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa and beyond

Expanding on this ideological legacy, striking parallels emerge between Nkrumah and Sobukwe in their uncompromising rejection of colonial structures and their unwavering belief in the African personality, identity, capability, and humanity (Adi, 2012; Biney, 2011). Both leaders positioned the reclamation of African agency as central to the continent’s liberation, insisting that Africans must define their destiny on their own terms, free from the vestiges of colonial subjugation (Mangcu, 2012; Zeleza, 2014).

Sobukwe’s formative years and emergence as a formidable political activist began at Fort Hare University, where he joined the African National Congress Youth League and became President of the Student Representative Council in 1948—the year South Africa officially adopted apartheid under Prime Minister D. F. Malan (Lodge, 1983; Maaba, 2001; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013). Sobukwe quickly recognized the corrosive impact of racist legislation on Black students and the broader Black population (Posel, 2001; Worden, 2012). The veneer of dignity afforded by campus life could not mask the brutal realities of colonial violence, humiliation, and even death at the hands of the state (Mangcu, 2012). Sobukwe viewed colonial education at Fort Hare as a tool designed to co-opt Black students into serving the interests of the apartheid regime, turning them into willing adjuncts against their own people (Pityana et al., 1991). Rejecting this insidious agenda, Sobukwe chose the revolutionary path—confronting the regime and challenging the myriad forms of institutionalized racism with unwavering resolve (Posel, 2001; Worden, 2012; Zeleza, 2014).

Further sharpening his critique, Sobukwe was not only a student of Black history and experience but also rigorously analyzed the mechanics of apartheid through his studies in Native Administration, exposing the racial engineering behind the governance of Black South Africans (Lebakeng, 2018; Posel, 2001; Worden, 2012). This academic grounding fueled his commitment to a militant, Pan-Africanist anti-apartheid campaign that centred the plight of all colonized peoples across the continent (Lodge, 1983; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013). Like Nkrumah, Sobukwe believed that South Africa’s liberation struggle was fundamentally intertwined with Africa’s collective fight against colonial domination; oppression anywhere in Africa was oppression everywhere (Lebakeng, 2018; Lodge, 1983; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013).

Sobukwe fiercely rejected the artificial borders and ethnic divisions imposed by colonial administrators, insisting that African fraternity was rooted in a shared destiny—not in identities or cultures fractured for colonial convenience. He condemned Black local authorities—Native Representative Councils and Native Advisory Boards—who aligned themselves with colonial power for personal gain, oblivious to the damage wrought upon the Black collective (Lebakeng, 2018).

Intensifying his divergence from the mainstream, Sobukwe’s move to Mofolo (now part of Soweto) and his lecturer post at the University of Witwatersrand marked a new phase of militant intellectual activism (Lebakeng, 2018). He leveraged Beware, Pan-Africanist social commentaries as an uncompromising platform to denounce the ANC’s collaboration with the White establishment, arguing that such alliances fractured Black unity and ultimately prolonged the stranglehold of the apartheid regime (Lodge, 1983; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013).

Sobukwe, a staunch Pan-Africanist, insisted that African liberation required a wholesale rejection of White supremacy and the inferiority myth imposed on Africans—a vision resonant with Nkrumah’s demand for continental solidarity against colonial oppressors (Lodge, 1983; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013). Unlike the ANC’s incrementalist approach, which Sobukwe saw as timid and complicit, he called for immediate, continent-wide emancipation and condemned the concept of multiracialism in a Black-majority country as an affront to democratic principles (Lodge, 1983).

In 1959, Sobukwe’s frustration with the ANC’s caution and acceptance of the Freedom Charter—a document he deemed a betrayal of Black self-determination—led him to found the Pan-Africanist Congress. For Sobukwe, the Charter’s rhetoric that “South Africa belongs to all who live in it” (Maaba, 2001, p. 421) was a capitulation, diluting Black suffering and deferring genuine liberation in favour of political expediency (Lodge, 1983; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013).

Expanding on this ideological lineage, Sobukwe distinguished himself through an uncompromising commitment to immediacy in the struggle for Black liberation, mirroring Nkrumah’s radical call for “Independence Now” and “Positive Action”—methods that included mass mobilizations, sit-ins, and boycotts against colonial and White minority rule (Adi, 2012; Biney, 2011; Nkrumah, 1961). Sobukwe categorically rejected the gradualism favoured by reformist elites, viewing any attempt to partition South Africa into Bantustans or to acquiesce to ethnic and cultural compartmentalization as a betrayal of the anti-colonial cause and a perpetuation of apartheid’s logic (Lodge, 1983; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013; Posel, 2001).

Sobukwe advanced a Pan-African vision, insisting that the struggle in South Africa was inseparable from broader continental liberation movements. He warned that deferring freedom or accepting fragmented sovereignty would only embolden oppressors and prolong Black subjugation (Mangcu, 2012; Zeleza, 2014). This conviction was forcefully echoed in Nkrumah’s declaration on March 6, 1957: “Our independence is meaningless unless it is linked to the total liberation of Africa” (Nkrumah, 1961, p. 93). Both leaders insisted that Africa’s strength lies in unity—transcending artificial geographic, ethnic, and cultural boundaries imposed by colonial powers. For Sobukwe, embracing African unity was not mere rhetoric but a strategic imperative for dismantling the structures of White supremacy and achieving genuine emancipation for all Black people (Adi, 2012; Lebakeng, 2018). Critically, Sobukwe’s legacy as an aggressive proponent of immediate, collective action continues to inspire contemporary movements that resist not only racial oppression but also the political inertia and factionalism that still threaten African progress (Mangcu, 2012; Zeleza, 2014; Adogamhe, 2008). His example serves as a powerful reminder that liberation is achieved not through compromise or gradual reform, but through courageous, united resistance.

Escalating the anti-apartheid struggle to its most defiant phase, the Pan-Africanist Congress (PAC) under Sobukwe’s uncompromising leadership orchestrated a national protest against South Africa’s Pass Laws on March 21, 1960—a campaign that culminated in the Sharpeville massacre, where police killed 69 unarmed protesters (Worden, 2012; South African History Online, n.d.; The New York Times, 1960). Sobukwe, demonstrating unparalleled resolve, led his supporters to surrender their passbooks at the Soweto police station, an act of direct confrontation with state power (Lebakeng, 2018).

Sobukwe was arrested, charged with incitement, and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment—a sentence he accepted without appeal or legal counsel, underscoring his commitment to the cause (Posel, 2001; Lebakeng, 2018). The apartheid regime, recognizing his influence, amended the General Law Amendment Act in 1963 to include the notorious “Sobukwe Clause,” allowing indefinite detention of political prisoners—legislation crafted explicitly to neutralize Sobukwe by extending his imprisonment beyond his sentence (Republic of South Africa, 1963; Posel, 2001; Worden, 2012).

Under the Sobukwe Clause, he endured an additional six years in solitary confinement on Robben Island, marking him as one of the apartheid state’s most feared and isolated political prisoners (South African Government, 1963; Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 1997; Lebakeng, 2018). Upon release in 1969, Sobukwe was exiled to Kimberley, where state surveillance and isolation continued until his death from lung complications on February 27, 1978 (SouthAfrica-Info, 2026). He is buried in Graaff Reinet, his legacy immortalized as a relentless adversary of White supremacy and a martyr of African liberation (Lebakeng, 2018; Mangcu, 2012).

Moving forward, I sharply delineate Ghana’s unwavering commitment to the liberation of Southern African nations, with a particular focus on South Africa. This analysis challenges the revisionist narrative that Ghana and other independent African states abandoned Black South Africans during apartheid’s darkest hours. In fact, Ghana provided critical diplomatic, financial, and moral support to anti-apartheid movements, often at great risk and sacrifice (Adi, 2012; Biney, 2011; Zeleza, 2014).

Despite limited resources, Ghana’s solidarity was uncompromising. Nkrumah’s government extended the “widow’s mite,” sending funds, logistics, and sanctuary to exiled activists, while enduring relentless pressure and reprisals from neocolonial powers determined to punish any state that threatened the status quo (Mazrui, 2003; Rooney, 2007). Western intelligence agencies and their regional allies never forgave Nkrumah for his bold advocacy of Black emancipation and Pan-African unity; his overthrow in 1966 was, in part, a direct consequence of his anti-imperialist activism (Biney, 2011; Rooney, 2007). Ghana’s legacy is not one of indifference, but of principled resistance—proof that, despite artificial colonial borders, the struggle for African freedom is a shared, continental cause (Zeleza, 2014; Adi, 2012).

Shifting focus to concrete support, Nkrumah’s government, despite the vast distance from South Africa, directly funded and established military training camps in Ghana for Southern African liberation fighters. The goal was clear: to equip guerrillas to overthrow apartheid and dismantle regimes that trampled Black freedom and justice (Grilli, 2018; Adi, 2012). The Bureau of African Affairs (BAA), under the initial leadership of George Padmore and later David Bosumtwi-Sam, operated as a pan-African intelligence and logistics network, predating and inspiring the Organization of African Unity (Grilli, 2018; Rooney, 2007). Nkrumah was no pacifist. He recognized that the apartheid regime would not yield to diplomacy alone. Armed struggle, supported by Ghana’s limited but resolute resources, was a necessary and legitimate path to liberation (Biney, 2011; Grilli, 2018). He advocated a dual strategy—combining positive action with military resistance—to break the back of South African apartheid and ignite continental emancipation.

Turning to tactical support, Nkrumah’s commitment went far beyond rhetoric. In May 1959, he transformed the African Affairs Centre (AAC) in Accra into a hostel and staging ground for African freedom fighters—an operational hub for those en route to military training camps in Ghana (Grilli, 2018). After the Sharpeville Massacre in March 1960, Ghana became a safe haven for South African refugees, and Accra hosted the South African United Front (SAUF), a coalition of the PAC and ANC, personally funded by Nkrumah until its collapse in 1962. At the Mankrong training camp in the Eastern Region, the first course began on 3 December 1961 and ended on 23 June 1962, consisting of eight weeks of commando training and ten weeks of weapons and explosives training (Grilli, 2018, p. 67). This direct sponsorship underscores Nkrumah’s relentless drive for Black South African liberation and continental unity (Grilli, 2018; Adi, 2012).

State archival evidence confirms the scope of this intervention. Between March and September 1960, Ghana trained dozens of South African activists in martial arts and sabotage; in August alone, 22 PAC members received military training, and another 30 “Bantu from Johannesburg” followed in December (Grilli, 2018, pp. 63–64). While these numbers may seem modest, for the apartheid regime, even small cadres of trained militants represented a grave national security threat—one warranting harsh repression. Nkrumah’s Ghana, undeterred by risk, stood at the forefront of African resistance, leveraging limited resources to disrupt the machinery of White supremacy and embolden the liberation struggle (Rooney, 2007; Zeleza, 2014).

In 1961, Nkrumah committed the External Service of the Ghana Broadcasting System, enabling Radio Ghana’s broadcasts to reach almost the entire continent. Specific programmes on African liberation were delegated to the offices of parties represented in Accra, such as the PAC. This direct sponsorship underscores Nkrumah’s relentless drive for Black South African liberation and continental unity (Grilli, 2018; Adi, 2012).

Nkrumah weaponized culture—arts, radio, poetry, debate, and music—as a forceful tool for political mobilization and memorialization of apartheid’s victims and heroes. The Voice of Africa, a state-funded media platform, empowered PAC leaders like Peter Raboroko to provide literary and strategic direction, broadcasting revolutionary messages and essays to a continent-wide audience (Grilli, 2020). Radio Ghana, through the “Freedom Fighters” program, gave voice to liberation organizations aligned with Nkrumah, amplifying the South African struggle and forging pan-African solidarity. These broadcasts were more than propaganda; they were calls to action. Songs like Miriam Makeba’s “Khawuleza,” which exposed township terror, and “Beware, Verwoerd! (Ndodemnyama),” a direct warning to apartheid’s architects, became anthems of resistance. “Mombela/Umbombela,” the train song, symbolized the journey and hardship of Black South Africans under White rule. Through these cultural interventions, Nkrumah’s Ghana not only challenged apartheid’s narrative but also galvanized African unity and resistance (Allen, 2004; Coplan, 2008).

In Accra, the naming of Sobukwe Road and Steve Biko Road after Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe and Steve Biko—iconic leaders in South Africa’s anti-apartheid struggle—constitutes far more than symbolic commemoration. These streets embody the enduring, substantive alliance between Ghana and South Africa, forged in a shared resistance to White settler colonialism, imperialism, and racism (Adi, 2012; Grilli, 2018). In the African traditional context, such gestures represent kinship—two proverbial siblings united in a common cause, regardless of geographical distance or political differences (Mazrui, 2003).

These road names are living testaments to the Pan-African spirit championed by Nkrumah and the profound solidarity that transcends death, adversity, and shifting political landscapes. Sobukwe and Biko Roads are daily reminders that the Ghana-South Africa bond is not only historical but also foundational to Africa’s ongoing fight for justice and self-determination (Rooney, 2007; Zeleza, 2014).

In conclusion, the historical alliance between Ghana and South Africa is not merely a relic of the past but a living testament to the power of Pan-African solidarity. Nkrumah’s Ghana risked everything—from economic reprisal to geopolitical isolation—to support Black South Africa’s liberation, setting a standard of sacrifice and commitment that modern African states too often neglect. Today, as reactionary movements and xenophobic rhetoric threaten to fracture this bond, it is imperative that both nations reject division and reaffirm their collective destiny. True siblings do not allow temporary grievances or external pressures to destroy hard-won unity. Instead, Ghana and South Africa must engage in honest, closed-door diplomacy, recognizing that principled disagreement is a sign of respect, not enmity. Let their shared history serve as a rallying cry for Africa’s renaissance—a continent united not by convenience but by courage, commitment, and love for freedom.

References

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Akyeampong, E. K., & Gates, H. L. Jr. (2012). Dictionary of African Biography. Oxford University Press.

Allen, L. (2004). Kwela’s White Roots: Early Apartheid and the Evolution of Black South African Music. Popular Music, 23(3), 331-353.

Biney, A. (2011). The Political and Social Thought of Kwame Nkrumah. Palgrave Macmillan.

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Coplan, D. B. (2008). In Township Tonight!: Three Centuries of South African Black City Music and Theatre (2nd ed.). University of Chicago Press.

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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

Abdulai, A. & Hickey, S. (2016). The politics of development under competitive clientelism: Insights from Ghana’s education sector. African Affairs, 115(458), 44-72.

Ananga, E. D. (2011). Dropping out of School in Southern Ghana: The Push-out and Pull-out Factors. Consortium for Research on Educational Access, Transitions and Equity (CREATE) Research Monograph No. 55.

Appiah, A. (2018). Presidential Privilege and State Resources in Ghana: A Critical Appraisal. Accra: Freedom Publications.

Akyeampong, K. (2014). Educational Expansion and Access in Ghana: A Review of 50 Years of Challenge and Progress. Research in Comparative and International Education, 9(3), 331–345.

Ayee, J. R. A. (2021). Political Corruption and Illegal Mining in Ghana. African Studies Review, 64(1), 23-46.

Ayee, J. R. A. (2017). Ghana’s Energy Crisis: Politics, Policy and Public Opinion. Journal of Energy in Southern Africa, 28(1), 53-62.

Boafo-Arthur, K. (2007). Ghana: One Decade of the Liberal State. Zed Books.

Crawford, G., & Botchwey, G. (2018). Conflict, collusion and corruption in small-scale gold mining: Chinese miners and the state in Ghana. Resources Policy, 56, 287-294.

Finnie, R., Childs, S., & Wismer, A. (2011). Underrepresented groups in postsecondary education in Canada: A literature review. Higher Education Quality Council of Ontario.

Frempong, A. K. D. (2017). Ghana’s Public Sector: Challenges and Prospects. Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung.

Gyampo, R. E. V. (2020). Political Elites and Democratic Accountability in Ghana. Democratization, 27(4), 679-696.

Gyampo, R. E. V. (2017). Political Elites and Democratic Consolidation in Ghana. Democratization, 24(7), 1242–1260.

Gyimah-Boadi, E. (2009). Another Step Forward for Ghana. Journal of Democracy, 20(2), 138-152.

Hilson, G. (2017). Shootings and burning excavators: Some rapid reflections on the government of Ghana’s handling of the galamsey crisis. The Extractive Industries and Society, 4(3), 527-530.

Lanning, G., & Martin, S. (2018). Plunder! How Public Assets Are Stolen and Sold by the Rich, Powerful and Well Connected. Zed Books.

Obeng-Darko, N. (2022). The politics of electricity supply in Ghana: Policy incoherence and the persistence of “dumsor”. Energy Policy, 162, 112780.

Oduro, F. (2019). Patronage Politics and Ghana’s Public Sector. African Affairs, 118(471), 122-141.

Oduro, G. K. T., Dachi, H. A., & Fertig, M. (2008). Examining Educational Leadership and Quality in Sub-Saharan Africa. Centre for Commonwealth Education & Aga Khan University, Educational Quality Improvement Programme.

Owusu-Nimo, F., & Mantey, J. (2021). Galamsey in Ghana: A policy impasse? Journal of Sustainable Mining, 20(1), 1-9.

Prempeh, H. K. (2012). The Politics of Presidential Benefits in Ghana. African Affairs, 111(444), 382–404.

Whitfield, L. (2018). Economies after Colonialism: Ghana and the Struggle for Power. Cambridge University Press.

Whitfield, L. (2009). ‘Change for a Better Ghana’: Party Competition, Institutionalization and Alternation in Ghana’s 2008 Elections. African Affairs, 108(433), 621-641.

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.