The Price of Silence: Why Ghana Needs Critical Voices Now More Than Ever

"You talk too much."

Three words that have followed me throughout my career in Ghana's public sector and academia. Three words designed to silence, to shame, to enforce conformity. But behind these words lies a deeper truth about our society, one we must confront if we truly want progress.

The Culture of Silence

In Ghana, speaking up is not celebrated; it is punished. Raise questions about corruption, and you become "the difficult one." Critique failed systems, and suddenly you're "disrespectful." Challenge the status quo, and watch as colleagues distance themselves, family members express concern, and strangers question your motives. I learned this lesson painfully when I started my activism on YouTube. My husband, worried for my safety, warned me that Ghanaian politicians could be ruthless. He wasn't being dramatic, he was being realistic. Soon, people began approaching him: "Control your wife." "Why do you allow her to say these things?" When that didn't work, they tried a different tactic, suggesting my videos were secretly about him, attempting to turn us against each other. At church, while my mother proudly mentioned my PhD graduation, a woman asked my sister, "Who is your mother talking about? Is it the one who has been insulting the leaders?" Even academic achievement, a doctorate earned through years of rigorous study, was overshadowed by the cardinal sin of speaking truth to power.

The Ghanaian Way: Silence as Virtue

We are taught from childhood that silence is golden. Humility means keeping your head down. Respect means never questioning authority. This is "the Ghanaian way."

But let's examine what this way has brought us:

We watch corruption drain our national coffers while our children lack basic school supplies. We see child molestation and rape cases multiply in the shadows of silence. Our healthcare system crumbles as patients die from preventable conditions. Schools, spaces that should nurture young minds, have become breeding grounds for abuse, delivering poor-quality education that robs our children of their futures. Our roads deteriorate into death traps. Our economy plummets while leaders live in luxury. Children are trafficked daily, sold by the very people who should protect them. Environmental degradation accelerates unchecked.

And we sit. We watch. We turn our faces away.

Because speaking up isn't "the Ghanaian way."

The Education Paradox

Here's my dilemma: I was educated in societies that value open discourse, where academic institutions thrive on rigorous debate and critical thinking. I earned my credentials in spaces where questioning assumptions isn't just accepted, it's expected. It's the foundation of intellectual growth and societal progress. Yet I live and work in a context that is hostile to these very principles. The skills and perspectives that should make me an asset are reframed as liabilities. The critical thinking that should drive innovation is perceived as troublemaking. This is not unique to me. Countless Ghanaians trained abroad or in progressive institutions face this same dissonance. We return home equipped with tools for change, only to be told those tools are unwelcome here.

What History Teaches Us

What happens when entire societies embrace silence? History provides sobering answers.

Nations that suppressed critical voices have watched preventable disasters unfold. Systems that punished whistleblowers enabled catastrophes that destroyed countless lives. Societies that prioritised conformity over truth stagnated while others progressed. The pattern is clear: silencing critical voices doesn't create harmony, it creates decay. It doesn't preserve culture, it fossilises it. It doesn't protect society, it poisons it from within. Every thriving nation today owes its progress to people who refused to be silent. To journalists who exposed corruption despite threats. To activists who demanded justice despite persecution. To ordinary citizens who said "enough" when everyone else said "be quiet."

The Temptation to Leave

I have contemplated leaving Ghana. On difficult days, when the weight of being labelled "difficult" feels too heavy, when family relationships strain under the pressure of my "opinions," when the resistance feels insurmountable, the thought of leaving becomes seductive. Why stay in a country that doesn't want my voice? Why remain where my education is seen as arrogance and my concern as a complaint? Why sacrifice peace, relationships, and perhaps even safety for a society that would prefer my silence?

But then I ask myself: who will fix our country if all the critical voices leave?

If everyone with the courage to speak up flees, who remains to challenge corruption? If everyone with the education to identify problems departs, who will propose solutions? If everyone is willing to endure the discomfort of truth-telling and abandon ship, who will steer us away from the rocks? Brain drain isn't just about losing skilled professionals; it's about losing the very people who might catalyse change.

The Choice Before Us

So here is my declaration: I will not be silent.

Not because I enjoy conflict or relish being labelled "the difficult one." Not because I'm unaware of the personal costs or naïve about the risks. But because silence itself carries a cost, a cost measured in perpetuated injustice, in preventable suffering, in squandered potential. I refuse to watch our children inherit a nation worse than the one we received because we were too polite to demand better. I refuse to let corruption flourish because confronting it might make people uncomfortable. I refuse to accept that "this is just how things are" when we have the power to make them better.

A Challenge to Fellow Ghanaians

This is not a call for everyone to become activists or social media critics. But it is a call to examine what we've gained from our culture of silence, and what it has cost us.

To my fellow academics: what is the purpose of your expertise if not to illuminate truth, even uncomfortable truth?

To public sector workers: what is the point of your position if not to serve the people, which sometimes means speaking up for them?

To parents: what future are you building for your children if you teach them that silence in the face of wrong is virtue?

To ordinary Ghanaians tired of the status quo: your voice matters. Your questions are valid. Your concerns are legitimate.

The "Ghanaian way" of silence has not served us well. Perhaps it's time we forge a new way, one that honours our culture's strengths while embracing the courage to speak truth, to demand accountability, to refuse complicity in our own decline.

Moving Forward

Being critical doesn't mean being cruel. Speaking up doesn't require disrespect. Demanding better doesn't deny our heritage. We can honour our elders while questioning failed policies. We can respect our leaders while holding them accountable. We can love our country while refusing to accept its dysfunction as inevitable.

The choice is ours: continue the comfortable silence that perpetuates decline, or embrace the uncomfortable courage that catalyses change.

I have made my choice. I will speak. I will question. I will critique, not because I hate Ghana, but because I love it too much to watch it destroy itself in silence.

The question is: what will you choose?

Because sometimes, the most patriotic thing you can do is refuse to be quiet.