Since Jan 7 when a new President was inaugurated, I have been having nightmares about what it means to declare a Constitution Day, only to realize it was the outdooring of a new brand of democracy, with a revolution forehead.
Constitutional democracy is like a tortoise: too slow, too boring. No chooboei, no red eyes, no red bands; the neighbourhood is too quiet; indiscipline is too ‘mooch,’ with big thieves getting away with crime. So then democracy needs red eyes and a little stimulant to make it people-friendly. Our political history of revolution over a greater part of 1979 to 2000 gives a clue on how Ghana’s tortoise rule of law can be cured, and which party is best qualified to do that. It is this backdrop that gives a new meaning to the January inauguration and its aftermath.
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But this new era has its own lingo. Power is not transferred, it is seized; outgoing officials do not resign, they are sacked; and unwilling allies could be sent packing by mobs who are ‘now in power.’ They could overthrow you by throwing you out the window. Every now and then, there are dismissals of various categories of workers ‘with immediate effect,’ and without explanation. When the momentum slackens, an order comes from nowhere to effect mass arrests just to make headline news and please the masses. That is what a revolution means: politics with red eyes.
But it also comes with pomp and pageantry. On ‘my first day at school,’ incoming officers do not go alone; they jay-walk in style, flanked by men of muscle with chanting mobs singing ‘abokyi’ parts and blowing fuse behind. What is revolution without a little fuse?
It’s three months now since elections, but hearts are still pumping; looted stores are slowly bouncing back; in evidence are smouldering remains of police stations and markets set ablaze. Offices of enemy forces ransacked; open seizure of vehicles and property considered stolen or ill-gotten. The daylight house invasion of an ex-minister who is out of country, leaving wife and relations at the mercy of armed men (ouuchhh!) Then this horror: electoral officers held hostage by mobs and thugs, PCs and legislators included; and while under siege, advised to declare election results. Three months after voting one constituency still awaits results, which can’t be declared for fear of riots.
Even our legislature was infected by the virus: the debris of broken tables and chairs left by lawmakers (and breakers) in a historic midnight scuffle.
But the parliamentary brawl drew the fury of taxpayers, who had prepared to issue a ‘groundbreaking’ public announcement: ‘Since they have broken and destroyed furniture at the chamber, we hereby require all parliamentarians henceforth to carry their own chairs and tables to Parliament.’ As for those who during the midnight clash, took refuge under tables and had a ball or two squeezed by enemy forces, this is regrettable and demonstrates the risks to which male legislators are exposed in their day-to-day duties.
Yet, in the true spirit of the times, legislators have acted out their roles as required by titles. Besides making laws, they play a residual role of ‘fighting for roads, fighting for schools, fighting for hospitals in their communities. If so, do you blame them for fighting for amenities with fisticuffs? As for chief whips and their deputies, they did the right thing whipping their opponents as required by their titles. The entire midnight riot then produces a new maxim our legislators should consider: ‘if force fails use persuasion.’
In truth, a disguised revolution is currently underway within a constitutional democracy triggered by a peaceful election. This demonstrates how an election victory is best celebrated. Victory then can pose a danger, compelling celebrants to say ‘I was so happy I took to violence.’ But of course, losers were not a complete exception, they joined the fray and looted to help themselves and the celebrants.
But we should have seen this coming. The climax of the grand 7th January Inauguration ceremony was the arrival of a revolutionary neighbour who stepped up to greet our dear leader and received the biggest ovation among all Leaders in attendance. Captain Ibrahim Traore was his name, the young military Head of Burkina Faso who seized power in 2022. Receiving a hero’s welcome in Ghana meant a lot. Has Ghana’s appetite been whetted for a Traore? There was more. Comrade Traore felt so much at home he wore on his hips a pistol that was not a toy gun. And when they were shoulder to shoulder, he whispered in JM’s ear a message that aroused curiosity but sounded good enough to draw Mahama’s dimpled smile. A GNA reporter would have nailed it: ‘the mouth-to-ear whisper was believed to be in the general interest of the subregion.’ For JM, the smile may have implied: ‘Comrade, keep going, I will soon follow;’ or rather ‘Comrade, keep it on; I am already doing it but don’t tell anybody.’
But these were events well-choreographed. The week before, JM’s Umbrella party had commemorated J. J.’s 31st December Revolution, otherwise banned by the Supreme Court in 1994. JM clearly meant ‘Yente gyae.’ As my Kwahu friend would say in translation, ‘We don’t hear stop.’ The recent celebration was almost at full scale: march pasts, red berets, red bands, red eyes and all, and peaked with a lively chant of the revolution anthem that is no more hummed.
Revo revo revolution
Has a long way to go
But has come to stay
Cadres may go cadres may come
But the revolution has come to stay
Revo revo revolution
Has a long way to go
But has come to stay.
This was Ghana after 2024 democratic elections.
Altogether then, why not say a ‘General Dramani’ is back in charge of our democracy:
A Democracy with a Revolution forehead.
