A simple vote rerun turned street fight — Ghana’s civic exercise or civic exorcism?

Once upon this Republic of Uncommon Sense, democracy set out for a gentle stroll through Ablekuma North — only to return home limping on crutches with cracked ribs and missing teeth.

A rerun, they said. Just a polite, court-ordered rerun to settle December’s electoral chaos that left the constituency without an MP and the Electoral Commission without a clue. What could possibly go wrong? Well — everything, of course. This is Ghana.

As the sun rose over 19 polling stations, democracy donned its finest cloth, packed its ID card, and queued quietly — only to be greeted by boots, fists, and batons. The ballot box was outnumbered by biceps. What began as a civic duty turned into an open-air wrestling match where the referee joined the fight and the security guards sold popcorn to the highest bidder.

Behold Hawa Koomson — a former minister, famous for firearms and fish markets — now the unexpected victim of public pounding. Nana Akua Afriyie, her fellow NPP flag bearer, received her share of Ablekuma’s new voter education: your vote, your bones. A journalist’s microphone earned him a fresh slap from a uniformed man whose badge should have read To Serve and Protect (Thugs).

And where, you ask, were the people paid with your taxes to prevent this? Some stood politely adjusting their berets while chaos reigned behind them. Others, eager for action, joined the stomp dance — because nothing bonds men in uniform like booting civilians who dare to vote.

This is not new. No, Ablekuma North is simply acting from a script as old as our Fourth Republic. Remember Ayawaso West Wuogon? Where balaclava-wearing ‘National Security’ tourists took voters on a guided tour of the ER? Or the 2020 elections — eight deaths, plenty of condolences, zero justice. We clapped, held vigils, then forgot. Now the beast is back for an encore — and it knows we’ll forget again.

Meanwhile, our Electoral Commission, draped in PowerPoints and imported jargon, insists all is well. If the results don’t add up, we’ll just rerun it until your ribs give up. After all, what’s the death of a few bones when democracy must live, eh?

And the government? Ah, the government. Mute. Deaf. Busy hosting investment summits and tweeting GDP growth while democracy bleeds at the feet of hired fists. Our Interior Minister will appear soon with a line straight from his ancestors: “The matter is under investigation.” Translation: Sleep in peace; your wounds are your own.

Ghana, when did we trade the ballot for the boot? When did we decide that the only way to count votes is by counting bruises? What digital economy are we building when our elections run on analogue violence?

And yet tomorrow, when the bruises swell and the headlines fade, someone will say “Let’s not politicize it.” Of course! What’s more apolitical than blood spilled for power? What’s more neutral than a journalist’s swollen face?

In this Republic, we have mastered the art of forgetting. We move on. We heal. We queue again — and we pray the boots are out of town that day. But let this stand as a warning to the next dreamer who thinks democracy is just a ballot and an inked thumb: in Ghana, it sometimes comes with a boot to the ribs.

So let’s name them. Sue them. Drag the men behind the muscle and the ones who hired them. Flood the courts, flood the headlines, flood the streets with memory — so we never forget that in Ablekuma North, democracy was made to bleed while its minders tweeted silence.

Because if we keep clapping for this rerun theatre, tomorrow it may be you on the pavement — your vote in your pocket, your ribs in a sling, your democracy gone with the wind.

And when that day comes, may your only regret not be that you said nothing when Ablekuma spoke.

If you read this and clap quietly, your ribs may be next. Comment, share, and wake your Republic.

Jimmy Aglah,
Chief Satirist, Republic of Uncommon Sense