Critical Perspectives in Politics and Socio-Economic Development in Ghana

CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES IN POLITICS AND SOCIO-ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA Wisdom J. Tettey Korbla P. Puplampu Bruce J. B...

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CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES IN POLITICS AND SOCIO-ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA Wisdom J. Tettey Korbla P. Puplampu Bruce J. Berman, Editors BRILL

CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES IN POLITICS AND SOCIOECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA

AFRICAN SOCIAL STUDIES SERIES EDITORIAL BOARD MAHAMADOU DIALLO, UNIVERSITY OF OUAGADOUGOU, BURKINA FASO. MONGI BAHLOUL, UNIVERSITY OF SFAX, TUNISIA KIMANI GACAU, UNIVERSITY OF ZIMBABWE KEMPE RONALD HOPE, UNIVERSITY OF BOTSWANA MUYIWA FALAIYE, UNIVERSITY OF LAGOS FUNWI AYUNINJAM, KENTUCKY STATE UNIVERSITY, USA GEORGE AGBANGO, BLOOMBERG UNIVERSITY, USA DANIEL MENGARA, MONTCLAIR STATE UNIVERSITY, USA JANET MCINTOSH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, USA HANNINGTON OCHWADA, UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA, USA GERTI HESSELING, AFRICA STUDIES CENTRE LEIDEN, THE NETHERLANDS LOUIS BRENNER, SOAS, LONDON A. B. BODOMO, UNIVERSITY OF HONG KONG, CHINA

VOLUME VI EDITED BY

WISDOM J. TETTEY, KORBLA P. PUPLAMPU AND BRUCE J. BERMAN

CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES IN POLITICS AND SOCIOECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA

CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES IN POLITICS AND SOCIOECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA EDITED BY

WISDOM J. TETTEY, KORBLA P. PUPLAMPU AND BRUCE J. BERMAN

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2003

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Critical perspectives in politics and socio-economic development in Ghana / edited by Wisdom J. Tettey, Korbla P. Puplampu & Bruce J. Berman. p. cm. - (African social studies series, ISSN 1568-1203 ; v. 6) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 90-04-13013-6 (pbk : alk. paper) 1. Democratization-Ghana. 2. Ghana-Politics and government-1979-3. Ghana-Economic policy. 4. Indigenous peoples-Ghana. I. Tettey, Wisdom. II. Puplampu, Korbla P. III. Berman, Bruce J., 1946- IV. Series. JQ3036.C75 2003 320.9667-dc21 2003041896

ISSN 1568-1203 ISBN 90 04 12460 8 © Copyright 2003 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands Cover design by Thorsten’s Celine Ostendorf All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

Dedication To Natasha, Makafui, Nuerki, Adiki and Elaine

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CONTENTS Acknowledgements ....................................................................

xi

List of Abbreviations....................................................................

xiii

List of Tables, Boxes and Figures ............................................

xv

Note on Contributors ................................................................

xvii

Introduction Ghana and the Experience of ‘Development’ Bruce J. Berman, Korbla P. Puplampu and Wisdom J. Tettey ..............................................................

1

SECTION ONE

POLITICS, THE STATE AND DEMOCRATIC CONSOLIDATION Chapter One Capitalism Incomplete: State, Culture and the Politics of Industrialization ................................................................ Bruce J. Berman Chapter Two Local Government, Decentralization and State Capacity in Ghana ................................................................................ Joseph R.A. Ayee Chapter Three The Mass Media, Political Expression and Democratic Transition .......................................................................... Wisdom J. Tettey Chapter Four Ethnicity and the Development of National Consciousness: A Human Factor Analysis ................................................ Senyo Adjibolosoo

21

45

83

107

viii

 SECTION TWO

ECONOMIC CRISIS AND NEO-LIBERAL REFORMS: RESPONSES AND IMPLICATIONS Chapter Five State-NGO Relations and Agricultural Sector Development ...................................................................... Korba P. Puplampu Chapter Six The Implications of State Policy for Micro-Enterprise Development ...................................................................... Peter Arthur Chapter Seven “A Plurality of Resistances” to Economic Reform: The Case of State-Owned Enterprises ............................ Edna D. Djokoto-Asem Chapter Eight Creative Allocation of Space as a Response to Economic Crisis .................................................................................. Kobena T. Hanson Chapter Nine Demographic Processes, Economic Growth and SocioEconomic Development in Ghana, 1960–2000 .............. Baffour K. Takyi and Isaac Addai

135

153

177

201

223

SECTION THREE

INDIGENOUS INSTITUTIONS AND THE SHAPING OF DEVELOPMENT Chapter Ten Chiefs in Their Millennium Sandals: Traditional Authority in Ghana – Relevance, Challenges and Prospects ........ 241 Donald I. Ray Chapter Eleven Land Tenure and Agricultural Development in Ghana: The Intersection of Class, Culture and Gender ............ Louis Awanyo

273

     ‘’

Chapter Twelve Citizenship, Customary Law and Gendered Jurisprudence: A Socio-Legal Perspective ................................................ Charlotte Kesson-Smith and Wisdom J. Tettey

ix

305

SECTION FOUR

CULTURE, INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE AND DEVELOPMENT Chapter Thirteen Is Culture the Obstacle to Development in Ghana? A Critique of the Culture-Development Thesis as it Applies to Ghana and South Korea .............................. Henry M. Codjoe

335

Chapter Fourteen Critical Teaching in an African Context: Local Knowledge and Educational Reforms ................................................ 365 George J. Sefa Dei Chapter Fifteen Environmentalism and Cultural Change: The Role of the Mass Media ...................................................................... Kwamena Kwansah-Aidoo

389

References ..................................................................................

413

Index ..........................................................................................

449


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This book is a product of collaborative work on the part of many people whose contributions merit recognition. We will like to thank all those research subjects whose valuable insights and stories provided the authors with material on the basis of which to engage with the issues. These were the building blocks that generated the unique perspectives presented in the volume. Our gratitude also goes to the contributors to the volume. Their ability to provide sophisticated and stimulating perspectives on the issues covered by the book brings fresh perspectives to bear not only on analyses and understanding of Ghanaian society, but also on the theoretical and empirical literature in a comparative context. They also responded commendably to our numerous pressures to meet deadlines, and for this we are thankful. We owe a lot to our families for the sacrifices that they made, and the moral support that they provided, to enable us pursue this project. Natasha, Makafui, Nuerki, Adiki, and Elaine – our indebtedness to you is incalculable and our appreciation ineffable. Our thanks go to Joed Elich, Acquisitions Editor at Brill, for his support, understanding and patience, which allowed this project to come to fruition. We are also grateful to the anonymous reviewers, whose useful comments and suggestions helped enrich the volume, as well as to Morgan Nyendu for his editorial assistance. The views expressed remain the exclusive responsibility of the individual authors.


LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AFRC BNI CDRs CPP CPU CSIR CSOs CVC DAs DACF DCD DCE DEOC DWM EAP EDC EPA EPC EXECO EU FAD GDHS GDP GES GFS GLSS GNP GRATIS GSS HDI HF HPS IFIs IMF IMR ITTU JSS MCA MI

Armed Forces Revolutionary Council Bureau of National Investigation Committees for the Defence of the Revolution Convention People’s Party Commonwealth Press Union Council for Scientific and Industrial Research Community Service Organizations Citizens’ Vetting Committee District Assemblies District Assemblies Common Fund District Coordinating Director District Chief Executive District Education Oversight Committee 31st December Women’s Movement Environmental Action Plan Engineering Design Centre Environmental Protection Agency Environmental Protection Council Executive Committee European Union Financial Administration Decree Ghana Demographic and Health Survey Gross Domestic Product Ghana Education Service Ghana Fertility Survey Ghana Living Standards Survey Gross National Product Ghana Regional Appropriate Technology Industrial Service Ghana Statistical Service Human Development Index Human Factor Hire Purchasing Scheme International Financial Institutions International Monetary Fund Infant Mortality Rate Intermediate Technology Transfer Unit Junior Secondary School Matrimonial Causes Act Macro International

xiv MLGRD MPs NAs NAL NDPC NARS NBSSI NCWD NDC NGOs NICs NIRP NLC NPP NRC PAMSCAD PDCs PM PP PNDC PNP PSPIP RCCs SAP SEC SG 2000 SMC SOE SOERP SOM SSI SSNIT SSS TCC TFR TKP UCs UNDP UN VAT WC WDCs

  

Ministry of Local Government and Rural Development Members of Parliament Native Authorities National Alliance of Liberals National Development Planning Commission National Agricultural Research System National Board for Small Scale Industries National Council on Women and Development National Democratic Congress Non-governmental Organizations Newly Industrialized Countries National Institutional Renewal Programme National Liberation Council New Patriotic Party National Redemption Council Programme of Action to Mitigate the Social Costs of Adjustment People’s Defence Committees Presiding Member Progress Party Provisional National Defence Council People’s National Party Public Sector Performance Improvement Programme Regional Coordinating Councils Structural Adjustment Programme State Enterprises Commission Sasakawa Global 2000 Supreme Military Council State-Owned Enterprise State-Owned Enterprise Reform Program State-Owned Media Small-Scale Industries Social Security and National Insurance Trust Senior Secondary School Technology Consultancy Centre Total Fertility Rate Turn-Key Packages Unit Committees United Nations Development Programme United Nations Value Added Tax Working Capital Workers’ Defence Committees

LIST OF TABLES, BOXES AND FIGURES Chapter 2 Box 2.1: Shortcomings of local government system before the 1988 reforms .............................................................. Figure 2.1: The Proposed Structure of Decentralization in Ghana ................................................................................ Box 2.3: Governance and institutional indicators of decentralization .................................................................. Table 2.4: Proceeds from DACF and Locally Generated Revenue of DAs, 1994–June 2000 ................................ Box 2.2: Legislations on Ghana’s decentralization programme ........................................................................ Table 2.1: Departments under Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies .................................................... Table 2.2: List of 10 Electoral Areas in which fieldwork was conducted in August 1999 ...................................... Table 2.3: The measurement of decentralization in Ghana ................................................................................

47 57 61 68 79 79 80 81

Chapter 5 Table 5.1: Organization of Agricultural Research in Ghana

141

Chapter 6 Table 6.1: Type of Business Activity ..................................

167

Chapter 8 Figure 8.1: The Study Area – Koforidua .......................... Figure 8.2: Layout of a Traditional Compound House in Koforidua .......................................................................... Chapter 9 Table 9.1: Estimates of the Size of Ghana’s Population and Patterns of Growth By Specific Years and Time Periods .............................................................................. Chapter 11 Fig. 11.1: (Map): The location of Berekum District (Brong Ahafo Region) ...................................................... Table 11.1: Income and gender of farmers who have increased production under the economic reforms ........

204 206

228

279 302

xvi

  ,   

Table 11.2: Source of land for extension by type of crop and gender of farmer ...................................................... Table 11.3: Hectarage of extension in Berekum by type of crop and gender of farmer ........................................ Chapter 13 Table 13.1: Africa’s “Bad Culture” .................................... Table 13.2: Some Salient Features of Ghanaian Culture and Society ........................................................................ Table 13.3: Asia’s “Good Culture” .................................... Table 13.4: Some Salient Features of South Korean Culture and Society .......................................................... Chapter 15 Figure 15.1: The conceptual background of environmental consciousness ....................................................................

303 303 341 343 344 347

394

NOTE ON CONTRIBUTORS Isaac Addai is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at Lansing Community College, Lansing, Michigan, USA. He obtained his PhD in Demography and Sociology from the University of Alberta in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Addai’s research interests focus on the interplay among religion, ethnicity and demographic processes in Ghana. He has published in several academic journals, including the International Journal of Contemporary Sociology, Social Biology, Review of Religious Research, African Journal of Reproductive Health, Journal of Comparative Family Studies. Senyo Adjibolosoo is a Professor of Economics at Point Loma Nazarene University, San Diego, California, USA. He obtained his PhD in Economics from Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada. Adjibolosoo is an econometrician and devotes most of his research time to the role of the human factor in economic development. He has published extensively on the theory and practical implications of the human factor in economic development in academic journals like Review of Human Factor Studies, and The Scandinavian Journal of Development Alternatives. He has also authored or co-authored several books – Perspectives on Economic Development in Africa (with Fidelis Ezeali-Harrison), The Human Factor in Developing Africa, Human Factor Engineering and the Political Economy of African Development. He continues to direct the activities of the International Institute for Human Factor Development. Peter Arthur is an Assistant Professor of Political Science at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. He obtained his PhD in Political Science from Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Arthur is undertaking research on debt cancellation and the Highly Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) initiative, as well as on the informal and small-scale sectors in Ghana’s political economy. Louis Awanyo is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Geography and Luther College, University of Regina, Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada. He obtained his PhD in Geography from Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Awanyo’s research interests include political ecology and development geography. He has published in leading academic journals like Professional Geographer and Annals of the Association of American Geographers. Awanyo is currently involved in a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of

xviii

  

Canada-funded study on the biology, ecology, and the labor politics of weed control in a variety of farming systems in Ghana. Joseph R.A. Ayee is currently the Dean, Faculty of Social Studies, and Professor of Political Science, at the University of Ghana, Legon. He obtained his PhD in Political Science and Public Administration from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel. He was the 2001 UNESCO Chair in Leadership Studies at the United Nations University Leadership Academy in Amman, Jordan. His research interests include co-production; taxation in the informal sector; leadership; and elections and corporate planning. He is the author of three books and editor of three others. His latest publication is an edited book on Deepening Democracy in Ghana: Politics of the 2000 Elections, Vols. 1 and 2 (Accra: Freedom Publications, 2001). He has published extensively in several academic journals including African Affairs, African Studies Review and International Review of Administrative Sciences. Bruce J. Berman is a Professor of Political Studies at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. He obtained his PhD in Political Science from Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut, USA. Berman’s research interests focus on Africa’s political economy of development; ethnicity and democracy; and the role of science and technology in African industrialization. In addition to several book chapters, he has published widely on these issues in leading academic journals like African Affairs, Canadian Journal of African Studies, Critical Political Studies and Science as Culture. He has also authored and co-authored several books (including Control and Crisis in Colonial Kenya: the Dialectic of Domination; and African Capitalists in African Development – with Colin Leys). His latest book (with Eyoh and Kymlicka) is on Ethnicity and Democracy in Africa. Henry M. Codjoe is the Director of Institutional Research, Planning & Assessment, and Adjunct Assistant Professor of Social Science at Dalton State College in the university system of Georgia, USA. He obtained his PhD in Educational Policy Studies (International and Intercultural Education) from the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Canada. His areas of research include race and ethnic relations; multicultural and anti-racist education; race, ethnicity and education; and Africana studies (especially the education of Africans in the Diaspora). He has published in several academic journals including International Journal of Curriculum and Instruction, Review of Human Factor Studies, Race Ethnicity & Education. He has also contributed chapter essays on race relations in various edited books – including Encounters in Race, Ethnicity and Language and Portraits of Human Behaviour and Performance.

  

xix

George J. Sefa Dei is currently Head and Professor in the Department of Sociology and Equity Studies at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, University of Toronto. He obtained his PhD in Anthropology from the University of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Dei’s research interests are in the areas of Anti-Racism Education, Development Education, International Development, Indigenous Knowledges and Anti-Colonial Thought. He has published extensively on the above issues in leading academic journals including Race, Gender and Class Studies, International Journal of Inclusive Education, and British Journal of Sociology of Education. He has also authored or co-authored several books – including Indigenous Knowledges in Global Contexts: Multiple Readings of Our World (edited with Budd Hall and Dorothy Goldin Rosenberg), and Anti-Racism Education in Theory and Practice. His latest work is a forthcoming book: Schooling and Educational Reforms in Africa: The Case of Ghana ( Trenton: New Jersey: Africa World Press, 2003). Edna D. Djokoto-Asem is an Instructor in the Faculty of Management and the Department of Sociology, University of Lethbridge, Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada. She obtained her PhD in Sociology from the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Her research interests include an analysis of the dynamics of power relations at the workplace, the impact of restructuring on work practices and qualitative methodologies. Kobebna T. Hanson is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Geology and Geography, West Virginia University, Morgantown, West Virgina, USA. He obtained his PhD in Geography from Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada, and a Graduate Diploma in Population and Development Studies from the Institute of Social Studies, The Hague, Netherlands. Hanson’s research and academic interests have mainly focused on the socio-economic challenges to, and micro-level responses of, low-income urban households in Ghana as they confront a changing global world. He is also interested in the links between population growth and underdevelopment in SubSaharan Africa. Charlotte Kesson-Smith is an Instructor in the Faculty of Law, University of Ghana, and a legal practitioner. She obtained her LLB and BL degrees from the University of Ghana, and the Ghana Law School, respectively. She also has an LLM from Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Her research interests are on gender issues and customary law and has published articles mainly in the area of business law.

xx

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Kwamena Kwansah-Aidoo is a Lecturer in Public Relations and Communication at Monash University, Churchill, Victoria, Australia. He obtained his PhD in Communication from Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, Australia. His research interests include epistemological issues in African communication research, communication of change within organizational and larger societal settings, and the adoption and use of communication technologies by organizations. He has published in several academic journals including Gazette, Media Culture & Society, and Ghana Studies. Korbla P. Puplampu teaches at Grant MacEwan College in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. He obtained a PhD in Sociology and an MEd in International and Global Education from the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. His research interests are in the global restructuring of agriculture and higher education; the theoretical limitations of state and non-state institutions in social change; identity politics in multi-cultural societies; and the politics of knowledge production and propagation. He has published articles in academic journals such as African Studies Review, the Review of African Political Economy, Canadian Journal of Development Studies and Review of Human Factor Studies. His chapters have appeared in edited books such as Portraits of Human Behaviour and Performance and Globalizing Africa. Donald I. Ray is a Professor of Political Science at the University of Calgary, Calgary, Canada. He is also the International Co-ordinator of Traditional Authority Applied Research Network. He obtained his PhD in Political Science from the University of Toronto. His research interests focus on African politics and Western Canadian separatism about which he has published extensively. He has written and co-authored several books including Ghana: Politics, Economics and Society, The Dictionary of the African Left, The Western Canada and Papua Secessionist Movements, The New Relevance of Traditional Authorities to Africa’s Future. He is currently engaged in research on chief-state relations in Africa. Baffour K. Takyi is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of Akron, Akron, Ohio, USA. He obtained his PhD in Sociology from the University of Albany, Albany, New York, USA. Takyi’s research interests include household and family processes in Africa, reproductive health behavior (including contraception, fertility, and HIV/AIDS), and African immigrants. He has published extensively on these research themes and some of his recent works have appeared in Sociological Focus, Social Science and Medicine,

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Ethnic and Racial Studies, Journal of Biosocial Science, Journal of Comparative Family Studies, Journal of Asian and African Studies, African Journal of Reproductive Health, and Ghana Studies. He also has chapter essays in various edited books. Wisdom J. Tettey is an Assistant Professor and Director of the Development Studies Program, in the Faculty of Communication and Culture, University of Calgary, Calgary, Alberta, Canada. He obtained his PhD in Political Science from Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Tettey’s research interests are in the areas of mass media and democratic change in Africa; information and communication technologies, state capacity building, and civil society; political economy of African development; as well as international and intercultural communication. He has published extensively on these issues in several academic journals including Perspectives on Global Development and Technology, Mots Pluriels, Journal of Asian and African Studies, Public Administration and Development, Media, Culture and Society. He also co-edited Asia – Who Pays for Growth?: Women, Environment, and Popular Movements (with Jayant Lele) and also has chapter essays in several edited books. He is currently undertaking a Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada-funded project on “Information Technology, Decentralization, and Participatory Governance in Ghana and South Africa.”



GHANA AND THE EXPERIENCE OF ‘DEVELOPMENT’ Bruce J. Berman, Korbla P. Puplampu and Wisdom J. Tettey In 1997 Ghanaians celebrated the fortieth anniversary of independence from Britain. In the middle of the year the Ghana Human Development Report1 was published under the auspices of the United Nations Development Program. It documented the country’s very difficult and equivocal development experience over the previous forty years. From the early 1960s when it had the highest level of GDP per capita in Sub-Saharan Africa, virtually putting it at the level of ‘middle income’ countries of the time, the finest educational system in West Africa, the largest number of university graduates, and substantial hard currency reserves, Ghana had become one of the poorest countries in the world. Despite modest improvement in life expectancy, the health status of most Ghanaians remained poor, with high rates of infant and maternal mortality, low access to modern health care and actual declining public expenditure on health. While the educational system had expanded, evidence showed declines in quality and widespread functional illiteracy. Poverty was increasing, particularly in urban areas. In the early 1980s the country had tottered on the brink of virtual economic collapse, with widespread hunger and deprivation. By the mid-1980s robust economic growth had apparently been restored under the auspices of the government’s Economic Recovery Program, and Ghana briefly became a shining example of the success of structural adjustment programs for the World Bank and the IMF. It was, however, a recovery accompanied by steep declines in formal wage employment, including sharp cuts in the public sector which traditionally employed the majority of Ghanaian wage earners. The introduction of PAMSCAD (Program of Action to Mitigate the Social Costs of Adjustment) was a tacit admission of the failure of economic recovery and market reforms to improve the conditions of life of most Ghanaians. By the early 1990s the growth rates were slowing markedly, and Ghana entered the 21st century with increasingly uneven economic performance that made the achievement of the ambitious goals of the Rawlings government’s development program, Vision 2020, highly problematic. 1

United Nations Development Program, Human Development in Ghana. Accra, 1997.

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2

In spite of the sad record of social and economic development, one area of significant positive change was in the emergence, hesitant at first and then with increasing vigor, of a viable liberal democracy. Given the earlier Ghanaian experience of political instability, coups and the replacement of elected governments by authoritarian military regimes, this was not a widely anticipated advance. While the wave of democratic reform that swept across Africa in the early 1990s began to recede in many countries by the end of the decade, democratic development in Ghana has continued to reach new milestones. This started with the first sharply contested elections in 1992, and the subsequent refusal of the opposition parties to take their seats in Parliament, thereby leaving the reins of power in the hands of a Rawlings regime that was little changed from its previous authoritarian incarnation in the PNDC. Political contestation reached an even higher level in the 1996 elections that brought the entry of vociferous opposition and key assertions of parliamentary supremacy over the government. The 2000 elections marked an unprecedented milestone in the country’s political history when the incumbent National Democratic Congress (NDC) government of Rawlings was defeated and there was a peaceful transfer of power to John Kufuor and the New Patriotic Party. These developments notwithstanding, the sturdiness and durability of Ghana’s fourth republican liberal democracy remains uncertain, and tied to the ability of any elected government to achieve significant development that will begin to meet the expectations of Ghanaians for a better life for themselves and their children. For Ghanaian scholars and intellectuals, the record of what is now 45 years since independence has brought painful reflection on the general failure of development and the often deteriorating material conditions of life for most of the population. When asked to sum up Ghana’s development experience, Akilagpa Sawyerr, co-coordinator of the UNDP report and former vice-chancellor of the University of Ghana, said simply, “a disaster”.2 Understanding the reasons for the failure of persistent efforts at development, as well as for the less frequent successes, remains a compelling intellectual and political challenge if a fuller and more humane development is to be achieved in the future. Taking the political and socio-economic trends of the last decades of the twentieth century as a point of departure, the chapters in this book critically assess aspects of the Ghanaian experience of development in four areas: 1) the performance and prospects of democratic institutions and processes in both the state and the wider society; 2) the urban and rural impact of, and responses to, economic crisis and neo-liberal economic policies; 3) the relationship between development and indigenous institutions with their roots in 2

Akilagpa Sawyerr, Interview with B.J. Berman. Accra, July 1997.

     ‘’

3

pre-colonial societies; and 4) the complex relationship between indigenous culture and knowledge and Western modernity, and how it can inhibit or advance the development process. Section One: Politics, the State and Democratic Consolidation The wave of democratization in Africa of the 1990s is now widely recognized to be experiencing increasing difficulties in the early years of the twenty-first century that call further development into doubt. New democratic regimes and the weak states over which they preside are subject to intense international pressure from advanced capitalist states and international financial institutions to contain democracy within the bounds of notions of ‘good governance’ that allow for only the local development of market capitalism and increasingly close integration into the global capitalism system. Neo-liberalism defines the ideological and institutional parameters of democratic development.3 In addition, the functioning and development of liberal democratic institutions are also shaped by the existing patterns of state institutions, state-society relations and political culture found in African societies. The four chapters in Section One focus on such internal aspects of the Ghanaian state and politics, sharing common themes of institutional capacity, public participation and access to the state, culture and the personalization of political authority as they affect relations between various actors and constituencies in the polity and patterns of economic and political development. A major concern is the long history and pervasive presence of a political culture of authoritarianism, patron-client relations and patronage which leads to the preferential inclusion of some groups and exclusion of others from the political and economic spheres. The ‘politics of the belly’ that results inhibits the ability of liberal democratic institutions to operate as impersonal and neutral arenas for the resolution of political conflict, policy formation and distribution of public goods and services. The result is an intense public culture of distrust of the political process and state institutions. At the same time, the institutions of the state, weakened by neo-liberal reforms and cutbacks, are functionally incapable of effectively administering its own economic reforms, institutional restructuring and grassroots participation in the political process. The result both undermines the legitimacy of the state and politics, and constrains the development of precisely the kind of strong and viable indigenous capitalist bourgeoisie that is supposed to be the agent of economic transformation in the neo-liberal model. 3

Rita Abrahamsen, Disciplining Democracy: Development Discourse and Good Governance in Africa. London and New York: Zed Books, 2000.

4

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In chapter one, Berman explores the political and cultural factors that have repeatedly undermined the development of an industrial bourgeoisie in Ghana, including the numerous recent programs by the government, aid donors and NGOs to promote the growth of smallscale manufacturing. The culture of clientelism, both in politics and business, has created a pervasive distrust amongst Ghanaian businessmen of the competence and honesty of both state agencies, the other businesses with whom they interact, and their own partners and employees. Instead of being a source of support and the predictable and disinterested administrator of law and public policy, the state has become a site of arbitrary use of authority by officials, often for personal gain, that hinders the rational calculation of risk that underlies capitalist development. This not only undermines the legitimacy of the state and the political process, but also discourages both proprietors and investors who are suspicious of the lack of transparency in the state’s dealings with business and fearful of officials’ arbitrary, biased and punitive use of their authority. Nevertheless, if the state is to actively promote the development of a class of indigenous industrialists, it must act against the interests of workers in the conflicts that will inevitably attend capitalist development. Furthermore, it must discriminate in its policies in favor of firms that appear more viable and capable of real growth and refuse aid to weaker enterprises. Both of these responses will challenge the further development of liberal democracy. Indeed, there is a fundamental contradiction between capitalist development and liberal democracy, rather than the affinity trumpeted in neo-liberal ideology. Finally, Berman cautions against reducing the constraints on the development of indigenous capitalism to solely domestic factors, and notes the powerful international limitations on the state’s ability to pursue an active program of national development and the protection of local manufacturers against the effects of global competition. Ayee, in chapter two, explores the relationship between decentralization and democratic governance by positing a set of indicators of scope, intensity and commitment that can measure the quality of decentralization in Ghana. He then applies these indicators to an assessment of the decentralization program through case studies of three districts. These show a considerable discrepancy between the rhetoric and intent of decentralization, on the one hand, and the actual delivery, on the other. He also reveals the intention-perception gap between politicians and citizens vis-à-vis the performance of decentralized government, underscoring the importance of instruments that allow us to synthesize the effectiveness of local government from the perspective of multiple constituencies and actors. He shows that public dissatisfaction with decentralization derives from two main sources. First, deficiencies in the delivery of services are

     ‘’

5

the result of clientelism in the award of contracts and a lack of accountability on the part of service providers and local government officials. The absence of participatory engagement by local citizens, and a continued control of central government over local political institutions, put the democratic character and autonomy of subnational institutions into question. Secondly, the poor financial and institutional capacity of District Authorities constrains their ability to deliver services or build public confidence in sub-national government. In sum, the situation hampers the consolidation of the participatory and entrepreneurial nodes of local government reform. In chapter three, Tettey explores the Ghanaian context of the unprecedented transformations of the African media landscape over the past decade and their relationship to state transformation and citizen participation. He challenges the inevitability of the media-democracy connection, and asserts that the media’s dispositions reflect particular socio-economic and political configurations and interests that are not necessarily broadly inclusive. He also questions whether the media arena provides a civic space for deliberative political discourse and citizen engagement. The coalescence of “marketization” and political pandering has usually led to a marginalization of certain groups in society for whom the benefits of democracy remain a mirage. The chapter focuses on the NDC era and provides evidence of the strong antipathy of the regime towards the media, particularly the private media. This was manifested in a variety of ways, including the cooptation or appropriation of constitutionally recognized institutions and processes for parochial interests. The use of archaic laws for persecution of media personalities, the spate of criminal and civil libel cases to muzzle and punish the press, and the imposition of large fines on journalists that threatened them with penury were some of the ways in which constitutional guarantees of free speech and press freedom were ignored. The result was a lack of trust among both the public and media staff in the state’s commitment to press freedom and democratic governance. Despite these constraints, however, he argues that the Ghanaian media have made positive contributions towards the country’s democratic transition. Their educational and monitoring roles have injected an unprecedented level of accountability and public discourse in the country. However, the penchant of many journalists for unabashed sensationalism, unsubstantiated allegations and belligerence has produced a serious credibility problem for the media. In addition, he notes the class, gender, and geographical marginalization that has attended increased media openness in Ghana, and shows that participation in the public sphere created by the new media environment is constrained by socio-economic factors which deny many citizens the right to effective participation. He cautions against replacing state-orchestrated exclusion with market-driven peripheralization.

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Adjibolosoo, in chapter four, analyses the state of inter-ethnic relations in Ghana and their implications for the development of national consciousness. He argues that ethnic loyalties have tended to subordinate the development of a collective national ethos; Ghanaians, instead, emphasize their sub-national allegiances and networks of support over loyalty to the nation-state, and this inhibits efforts to mobilize around collective national goals. In addition, he notes the actual animosity and periodic violence that has marked relations among certain ethnic groups, and suggests that these are due in part to precolonial conflicts and relations of super-ordination and subordination that have produced mutual mistrust among these groups. Colonial authorities exacerbated the situation through divide and rule tactics and the privileging of some groups over others, thereby creating feelings of superiority and marginalization. Furthermore, solidarity and mutual support among members of the dominant groups who control the post-colonial state deny minority groups access to an equitable share of state resources, and create resentment, frustration and anger. These attitudes and behaviors, according to Adjibolosoo, constitute ‘human factor decay’. He, therefore, concludes by reflecting on how negative traits of ethnic chauvinism, clientelism, nepotism, greed and social polarization can be eliminated through educational reform. Section Two: Economic Crisis And Neo-Liberal Reforms – Responses and Implications The contradiction between capitalist development and democracy raises again the continuing issue of the role of the state in the development process. A cardinal aspect of the neo-liberal policies pressed by the international financial institutions and developed capitalist powers is the necessity for a minimal role of the state in the economy. In the early 1980s, Ghana, like many other African countries, found herself in an economic crisis. Hard-pressed by the scope and intensity of the crisis and under pressure from international institutions and other aid donors, the Rawlings regime abandoned its radical rhetoric and state-centered programs to adopt the standard IMF and World Bank structural adjustment package. The program, involving devaluation, monetary reform, and the withdrawal of state institutions from the market through an extensive exercise in restructuring (the Economic Recovery Program, ERP), saw elimination of marketing controls, divestiture of state owned enterprises, cuts in public services, and severe reduction of public sector employment. The extent of the economic crisis in Ghana and the policies implemented to deal with it

     ‘’

7

has been the subject of several studies, but some aspects have not been fully explored.4 First, analysis of the impact on state and private institutions has been minimal, while study of the responses to neoliberal policies in the larger society has been almost entirely lacking. Three of the chapters in section two explore the actual continuing role of the state in the market and the wider development process. Chapters five, six, and seven by Puplampu, Arthur and DjokotoAsem, respectively, directly address the restructuring and development of state agricultural, industrial and housing institutions. In chapter eight, Hanson also focuses on housing, but deals with grassroots urban responses to neo-liberal reforms. Chapter nine, by Takyi and Addai, provides an important empirical framework for Ghanaian development in the context of examining the relationship between economic growth and demographic change over the past forty years. They show the relationship between rapid population growth and urbanization, on the one hand, and increasing poverty and unemployment, particularly in towns and cities, on the other, and the growing stress this places on Ghana’s retrenched public services. Agriculture continues to be the fundamental basis of the Ghanaian economy and its reform has significant implications for political and social development. Historically, the Ghanaian state, as in other countries, rich and poor, has provided a complex institutional and policy framework for the development of market agriculture, especially for export products. What would be the consequences, then, of the institutional and policy vacuums that result from the removal of the state’s role in agriculture? In Ghana, the space has been filled by non-governmental organizations (NGOs). However, the minimal state and the NGOs are often locked in power contests with uncertain outcomes for the agricultural sector.5 The nature of state-NGO relations has its own problems and these are the focus of Puplampu’s paper. He examines these relations through a case study of the interaction of the Ghanaian state and an international NGO, Sasakawa Global 2000 (SG 2000), with specific reference to agricultural research and extension services. He contends that the historical 4 See, for example, Hutchful, E. 1996. “Ghana,” in Engberg-Pedersen, P. et al., eds. Limits to Adjustment in Africa: The Effects of Economic Liberalization. Portsmouth, New Haven: Centre for Development Research Copenhagen and James Currey, 1996; Alderman, H. “Ghana: Adjustment’s Star Pupil?,” in Sahn, D.E. ed. Adjusting to Policy Failure in African Economies. Ithaca and London, Cornell University Press and Leechor, C. 1994 “Ghana: Frontrunner in Adjustment,” in Husain, I and Faruquee, R. eds. Adjustment in Africa: Lessons from Country Case Studies, Washington D.C.: World Bank. 5 Puplampu K.P. and W.J. Tettey. 2001. “State-NGO Relations in An Era of Globalisation: The Implications for Agricultural Development in Africa,” Review of African Political Economy, 27 (84): 251–272.

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and contemporary dimensions of agricultural research and extension have not changed with regard to their nature (technical) and focus (export cash crops). Furthermore, he notes that the state, despite calls for it to play a minimal role, continues to craft the policy environment for the participation of NGOs, through, for a start, requiring them to register with the state. This need for official registration, Puplampu argues, “limits the space within which an NGO can operate”. While commending SG 2000s activities in agricultural research, Puplampu also identifies and discusses several problems with the work of the organization. Arthur examines the prospects of new institutions that have been established since the 1980s for the purpose of enhancing industrial development, particularly the emergence of sustainable small-scale manufacturing in Ghana. He extends and deepens the analysis of industrial development in Berman’s chapter with a focus on the Ghana Regional Appropriate Technology Industrial Service (GRATIS) and its regional Intermediate Technology Transfer Units (ITTUs), which have played a major role in promoting small scale industry in Ghana. He argues that for their activities to make a meaningful long-term contribution, the wider political and cultural contexts of their operations would have to be consistent with the industrialization process. Arthur’s analysis suggests that, among other things, Ghana’s industrialization has been stymied by inadequate technological and financial resources, bureaucratic inertia, and cultural practices like clientelism, patronage, and political favoritism. A major conclusion of his work is that the government of Ghana has to take seriously its role in setting and effectively implementing an overall program for the country’s industrialization that goes well beyond the role allowed for it by neo-liberal policies. In her chapter, Djokoto-Asem evaluates responses to neo-liberal policies by examining the role of agency, power and resistance among both employees and clients of a public housing organization, the Cityline Corporation, that is a restructured state-owned enterprise (SOE). Her analysis draws significantly on the work of Michel Foucault to shed light on organizational dynamics that are not captured by traditional modes of analysis in labour studies. Using the complex interaction among power, knowledge, resistance and compliance Djokoto-Asem is able to analyze multiple levels of relations between the World Bank, the Government of Ghana, the Cityline Corporation, and the employees and tenants of the corporation. She concludes that even though the patterns of resistance and compliance did not halt the restructuring program, they did shape the nature of the policy outcomes. Hanson addresses another dimension of the housing issue and the response to economic crisis in Ghana, specifically the grassroots responses to economic decline and neo-liberal restructuring in the urban centre of Koforidua. He shows how an increasing number of

     ‘’

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men and women, many of them ‘downsized’ from public sector jobs through the ERP, did not surrender and were not crushed under the weight of the economic crisis. Instead, they have soldiered on by engaging in creative use of the spatial, labour and capital resources of urban households to establish small businesses. He shows the economic perils as well as the family tensions which flow from a process that laps over the vague line between informal and formal sector enterprises. The process brings, at best, a mode of economic survival through hard times, with failure being the lot of many. For a few, however, establishment of businesses with the resources of their household result in more viable and successful enterprises producing a variety of goods and services for the urban market, and the possibility of significant long-term capital accumulation. Hanson also notes that operating businesses from home can also blur the line between home and work, with implications for the gender division of labour in the household. Nevertheless, his analysis reinforces Djokoto-Asem’s evidence of a dynamic rather than passive response to the economic crisis from ordinary citizens. Takyi and Addai argue that population changes in Ghana have direct and indirect effects on the development prospects of the country. While fertility rates have been high, there is an emerging consensus that such rates are in transition even though significant variations remain among social groups. When this trend is factored into the modest declines in mortality rates, the cumulative effect is the increasing size of the country’s population. In an environment where the state sector has been the major employer of wage earners, the restructuring of state economic institutions, as part of the adjustment program, swelled the ranks of the unemployed and intensified economic difficulties. Indeed, the impact of population increases can be seen in the lack of affordable housing in major urban cities. In the midst of the economic difficulties, there is also the need to expand the enrolment capacity of educational institutions, given Ghana’s high proportion of young people. While the neo-liberal economic policies call for the introduction of user fees in the educational sector, for example, the question is whether the bulk of the population can afford that. Any significant reduction in access to education, both formal and informal, would undermine the role education plays in addressing the question of birth rates. That is a scenario that does not hold any good prospects for the long-term economic health of the country. The underlying theme in Takyi and Addai’s chapter is the need for policymakers to better understand the link between development and the population question. The chapters in the first two sections implicitly or explicitly acknowledge the continuing and essential role of the state in the development process and challenge the neo-liberal premise that minimal state and

10

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market reforms are sufficient to bring about development, particularly in social and political terms. Indeed, the World Bank itself has recently, albeit reluctantly, recognized a more active role for the state, although only within the tightly constrained bounds of what contributes directly to the development of market capitalism.6 Contrary to the ideological posturing of the international financial institutions, the state must continue to occupy a central role in the development process, even if its strategic importance has been shifting, partly in response to globalization. The contributors to this collection do not suggest that the Ghanaian state bears no responsibility for the country’s development failures, and provide several instances of the failure of state policies, including during the era of neo-liberal restructuring. Several also note the undermining of the role of the Ghanaian state by indigenous cultural practices. However, to see the state simply as a predatory drain on the country7 is to confuse corrupt and incompetent practices grounded in often idiosyncratic local experience with the crucial developmental role that the state has played in the history of all industrial states and can and should play in Ghana. The thrust of the arguments presented here is that the model of the state offered by the IFIs does not hold much prospect for effective national development, and the role of the state in Ghana’s development needs to be considered in broader political and socio-cultural contexts, both national and international. This includes the often ambivalent relationship between the state and indigenous institutions and culture. Hanson’s chapter directly exposes the continued existence and dynamic character of indigenous institutions in Ghana and how they shape processes of change. He shows how people explicitly and implicitly manipulate or reject local institutions and cultural processes depending on whether they are convenient or inconvenient for their goals. In this instance, Ghanaian institutions of the extended household and the compound design of urban residential housing provide a basis for innovative responses to economic crisis and structural adjustment. His work reminds us of a central fact of Ghanaian history that is often forgotten. Despite several centuries of exposure to the Atlantic trade for slaves and, later, ‘legitimate’ commodities like gold and cocoa, and almost a century of colonial rule, the country emerged into independence with only a limited and partial development of the forms of the state, private property, wage labour and social classes of capitalist modernity. Only a minority of the labour force was involved in either wage labour or commodity production for the market, and 6

World Bank, The State in a Changing World. Washington, 1997. Jonathan Frimpong-Ansah, The Vampire State in Africa: The Political Economy of Decline in Ghana. London: James Currey, 1991. 7

     ‘’

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there was virtually no bourgeoisie capable of developing modern industry. Since independence, the development of these social forces has been fitful and, despite increasing integration into the global capitalist system, they remain far from dominant in either rural or urban society. Indeed, since the state has historically been the largest employer of labour in Ghana, the cuts in state employment of more than 300,000 public sector workers has actually significantly decreased the country’s wage labour force. Indigenous institutions and culture remain not as stagnant and anachronistic survivals of the past, but as continuing dynamic elements of social adaptation and change. Section Three: Indigenous Institutions and the Shaping of Development In the late 1930s the Anglo-Polish anthropologist, Bronislaw Malinowski, and his students, nearly all of whom worked in sub-Saharan Africa, became increasingly concerned with the consequences of what they called ‘culture contact’ in the colonial situation. He insisted that the contact between European and African societies would produce not the transformation of the latter into facsimiles of European modernity, but rather a third, quite different social order that represented a hybrid of both. Such a result could occur through the coercive interventions of colonialism heedless of the destructive impact on indigenous institutions, or, he hoped, through a more humane and rational effort to combine selected aspects of European modernity with desirable aspects of indigenous custom. He corresponded with King Sobhuza II of the Swazi about using Swazi age sets and regimental organizations in developing modern education for the youth of the kingdom; and he reflected with his student Jomo Kenyatta over the dilemma of the ‘educated’ African struggling to reconcile Western modernity and African tradition.8 The issue of the inevitability of a single, universal modernity emanating from the West versus the possibility of multiple ‘modernities’ grounded in selectively changed indigenous societies was a frequent one in colonial Africa in the decades between the world wars. Both rulers and subjects in the colonial Gold Coast addressed the issue from their own perspectives and interests. Colonial officials worried about the consequences of change undermining the indigenous authorities 8 Bronislaw Malinowksi, “Introduction” to Methods of the Study of Culture Contact in Africa. London: International African Institute and Oxford University Press, 1938; Dynamics of Culture Change: an Inquiry into Race Relations in Africa, ed. by Phyllis Kaberry. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961; “Native Education and Culture Contact,” International Review of Missions, 15, October 1936; and “Introduction” to Jomo Kenyatta. Facing Mount Kenya. London: Secker and Warburg, 1938.

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and ‘tribal discipline’ on which their effective control at the grassroots depended, or the creation of an unstable class of landless peasants. Indigenous elites, too, worried about the threats to their authority and petitioned their British rulers to allow them to choose what they wanted to adopt of Western culture and practices and what they wanted to retain of their own. Neither rulers nor subjects all over colonial Africa, however, exercised as much control over the course of social change as they hoped. Their expectations and objectives were constantly undermined or deflected by social forces, both internal and external, including the uncoordinated activities of individuals that modified both local custom and imposed economic and political institutions. The resulting hybrid socio-cultural combinations seldom fully reflected the interests of any particular group, constituting instead ‘kaleidoscopes of contradictions’9 that continue to shape conflict and change in contemporary Africa. Such issues were, unfortunately, largely forgotten in the headlong post1945 rush to achieve ‘development’ defined almost exclusively within the terms of the restricted Western paradigm of the industrial nationstate. Such development had no room for consideration of indigenous institutions and culture, except insofar as they constituted ‘obstacles’ to be overcome and ‘tradition’ that would inevitably disappear in the progress ‘from tribe to nation.’ For many nationalist leaders, particularly those influenced by the secular values and visions of Western socialism, such as Kwame Nkrumah or Mozambique’s Samora Machel, indigenous societies represented a reactionary ‘feudalism’ as undesirable as colonialism in the modern Africa of the future. In Machel’s oft repeated dictum, “For the nation to live, the tribe must die.”10 By the end of the twentieth century, however, it was clear that through much of sub-Saharan Africa reports of the death of indigenous institutions and cultures had been greatly exaggerated. The ability of post-independence African regimes to eliminate or even simply ignore indigenous institutions in state-directed programs of national development has been as limited as their colonial predecessors. In Ghana, Nkrumah’s attempt to subdue and control the chiefs met with resistance and ultimately led to awkward accommodation.11 Subsequent regimes fared no more successfully, and by the 1990s indigenous political authorities gained constitutional recogni9 Bruce Berman and John Lonsdale, Unhappy Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa. London: James Currey, 1992, Chapter Four. 10 Quoted in Mahmood Mamdani, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996, p. 135. 11 Richard Rathbone, Nkrumah and the Chiefs: the Politics of Chieftaincy in Ghana, 1951–60. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1999.

     ‘’

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tion and, after the 2000 election, an increasingly accommodating national government. Other institutions and cultural practices, notably of kinship and land tenure, ‘customary’ law and gender relations, trade and credit networks, and clientage relations between ‘big men’ and ‘small boys’, have faced strong pressures from the social engineering of ‘development’, and have also been the sites of resistance and accommodation. The neo-liberal IMF and World Bank reforms of the Economic Recovery and Structural Adjustment Programs over the past twenty years contain no place for indigenous institutions and cultures. They were based on a framework that assumed a unified and universal Western modernity of market capitalism as the only possibility, and saw indigenous institutions and cultures only as ‘obstacles’ to development. Nevertheless, indigenous institutions and cultures have survived, although still changing and adapting in unanticipated ways, as individuals sought to manipulate them for protection and advantage. As James Clifford has pointed out, they continue to produce new orders of difference, rather than disappear or become derivative facsimiles of Western modernity.12 Unless the continued presence and influence of indigenous institutions and cultures are recognized and accepted in the institutional and cultural complexity of a distinctively Ghanaian modernity, they will continue to be sources of conflict and disorder within partial and defectively realized versions of capitalism and the nation-state. Doing so does not mean, however, turning to a reactionary traditionalism. Instead, it requires a holistic understanding of development that recognizes the need for innovations in the democratic process and administration, land tenure systems, property and family law that will attempt to balance indigenous authority and democratic institutions, private property and social welfare, individual rights and class or communal solidarities, and national and ethnic identities, without necessarily subordinating them to a single developmental goal of the capitalist market. Such processes are inevitably political and will be sites of conflicts that will tax and define Ghana’s developing democracy. They are the focus of the chapters in section three. No indigenous institution is of greater importance in contemporary Ghana than that of chieftaincy. In chapter ten, Ray shows that Ghana has developed a pattern of divided political legitimacy between chiefs and the nation-state, and the growth of liberal democracy in the country now includes the institutions of the regional and national Houses of Chiefs. Various national governments from Nkrumah on have tried 12 James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth Century Ethnography, Literature and Art. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989, p. 17.

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to control the chiefs, but they have not acted to either restore their pre-colonial powers or eliminate them. During the colonial period, and up to 1979, central governments freely intervened to settle disputes over chiefly succession. Such direct intervention was prohibited by the Constitution of the Third Republic and then briefly restored by Rawlings’ PNDC regime in 1985. Since then, however, relations between the state and chiefly institutions have grown closer. The National House of Chiefs was recognized in the 1992 Constitution of the Fourth Republic, and by 1996 President Rawlings wanted to remove constitutional provisions preventing chiefs from sitting in parliament or serving in the cabinet. The current NPP government is even friendlier to indigenous authorities, and President Kufuor and several members of the party leadership are members of important chiefly families. Chiefs are active participants in, and the Houses of Chiefs important sites for, key political struggles over chieftaincy disputes, land tenure reform and gender issues. Conflicts over succession to chiefly office and the socio-geographical boundaries of chieftaincies have been the major source of ethnic conflict and violent struggles in recent decades, although, as Ray points out, the great majority of such disputes are actually resolved peacefully through the Houses of Chiefs. The material importance of chiefly office remains focused on the control of land, with 90% of land in Ghana remaining under indigenous forms of ‘traditional’ communal tenure. This has made chiefs central actors in efforts to reform land tenure along neo-liberal lines to facilitate Ghana’s integration into the global economy. President Rawlings called for reforms to make access to land easier for both domestic and foreign investors. Ray notes, however, that the chiefs understand both the social costs of instituting capitalist land tenure and the threat it poses to the base of their own power. They, therefore, refused to accept such changes. The current NPP government is committed to finding a solution that protects all the conflicting interests, a formula that will likely make for immobility rather than resolution. In the absence of land tenure reform, individuals, including chiefs, who seek to develop profitable commercial agriculture resort instead to manipulation of existing communal tenure systems and produce changes with potentially unforeseen and unintended consequences. Chapter eleven on land tenure and agricultural development, by Awanyo, notes how after more than a century since the introduction of cocoa cultivation in Ghana, freehold tenure remains rare in the countryside. Instead, he documents the difficult process whereby wealthier farmers seeking to expand their commercial production have resorted to the practice of ‘gift land’ awarded by lineage heads to acquire permanent rights of usufruct that allow the expanded development of tree crops like cocoa, but appear to remain within the indigenous matrilineal extended family system of land rights. This

     ‘’

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practice, however, brings the process of social differentiation and class formation right into the kinship structure of rural society. At the same time, he notes that those who accumulate land and wealth through ‘gift land’ and thereby become Big Men, are subject to strong social pressure to conform to indigenous cultural models of leadership by showing generosity, humility and paternalism in meeting obligations of sharing, redistribution and support for their poorer kin. Chiefs have also become key actors in gender politics, particularly with regard to the recognition of the authority of Queen Mothers and their inclusion in the Houses of Chiefs, and with regard to their role in evaluating and advising on the harm in customary practices such as trokosi – the servitude of women and girls. In chapter twelve, Kesson-Smith and Tettey take the issue of indigenous institutions and gender relations into a broader context in their analysis of how customary law and the judiciary system perpetuate gender differentiation and the subordination of women, thereby undermining women’s effective citizenship within the nation-state. They trace how, from the colonial period, the interpretation and codification of customary law by male chiefs and British judges legally marginalized and subordinated women, removing much of the legal status they held in pre-colonial institutions, and prevented further change in what had been a dynamic body of legal precept and practice. Since independence, periodic efforts at reform have largely failed and few women serve in the modern judiciary which enforces selectively preserved custom. They show how legal bias has had a negative impact on the status of women particularly with regard to family law and property rights, even in the judicial interpretation of modern legislation based on gender neutrality and equality. While the 1992 Constitution prohibits discriminatory customary practices, little effort has been made to enact effective enabling legislation. The legal status of women remains a key confrontation between invented tradition and the principles of human rights and citizenship of liberal democracy. Section Four: Culture, Indigenous Knowledge and Development During the past decade there has been a vigorous reemergence of culture and development theories. It has assumed increasing importance in explaining the persistence of variations and inequalities in global development, despite the insistence of the IFIs and Western capitalist states on the universal necessity and inevitability of a single modernity, grounded in free markets, scientific knowledge and instrumental rationality. Without appropriate values, beliefs and knowledge systems, societies cannot successfully develop the institutions of modern industrial society. The persistence of indigenous cultures with

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the ‘wrong’ characteristics, particularly in Africa, has become the key factor in explaining developmental failure.13 However, the culture and development argument implicitly reproduces the long discredited modern versus traditional dichotomy of modernization theory, and treats indigenous cultures ahistorically as fixed and stagnant modes of thought and being, without reference to changing local or international contexts. Earlier chapters in this book do show that indigenous cultural factors do contradict and undermine the cultural and institutional features of Western modernity at various points, but they treat these dynamically as both shaping and shaped by distinctive features of the Ghanaian historical experience and the country’s position in the global system from pre-colonial times to the present, rather than stagnant survivals of a ‘primitive’ past. The three chapters in this section take the issue further and deal directly with Ghanaian cultures and their relationship to development. Codjoe, in chapter thirteen, directly challenges the culture and development theorists. He argues that culture cannot and should not be the single explanatory variable for understanding Ghana’s development experience. He shows how problematic it is by comparing Ghana and South Korea, noting the common cultural elements, the two countries’ different structural locations in the international political economy, and the substantial geo-political advantages favoring the latter’s development. He notes how the sole focus on culture as an explanation of variations in national development divides the world between advanced American and European (read as white) cultures and a few East Asian cultures, and the impoverished rest of the Third World, mostly non-white and in Africa. He focuses instead on three main issues. First, he notes the unimportance of Ghana in the global economic and political arena, a factor culturedevelopment theorists ignore entirely in focusing only on the internal variable of culture. If they placed equal emphasis on the role of advanced capitalist states and the international institutions they dominate, the claims of these states for a single universal modernity would lose its analytic and moral authority. Codjoe, however, does not neglect the power of internal social formations, but rather underscores the complex interaction between internal and external dimensions of development in Ghana. Second, he notes the powerful role of the state in the development of South Korea, particularly under authoritarian military regimes, and that without this political commitment, all the external assistance the country received would not have made a significant difference. It also shows the development process involves 13 D. Etonga-Manguelle, “Does Africa Need a Cultural Adjustment Program,” in L. Harrison and S. Huntington, eds., Culture Matters. New York: Basic Books, 2000.

     ‘’

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a combination of internal and external factors. Third, he shows the inadequacy of the culture and development theorists’ ahistorical account of national development, and argues that the analysis of culture itself must be grounded in historical and political contexts. Education is one of the most important cultural processes, and Dei addresses its relationship to national development in chapter fourteen. He discusses how “local subjects utilize their knowledge and cultural resource base(s) to ensure that education responds to local needs and concerns.” Exploring the role of education from multiple angles, he argues that local knowledge brought about through critical teaching can be an effective vehicle of empowerment and help in “decolonizing the mind.”14 He explores how critical teaching attains the goal of empowerment from the perspective of students, teachers and parents. He situates cultural knowledge in a historical context, emphasizing how a clear understanding of “one’s culture, history and shared sense of belonging to a place . . . [are] key to developing a responsible citizenry.” The role of teachers is stressed. As an internal resource, they play a pivotal role not only in teaching about culture, but also in using knowledge to solve societal problems. Dei places the educational system within the public sector and endorses a crucial state role in creating an educational system that can promote critical learning relevant to the needs of the wider society. Kwansah-Aidoo, in chapter fifteen, explores both positive and negative features of environmental practices in Ghana and assesses the role of the mass media in promoting environmental awareness and cultural change. He notes that while the media have potentials for building environmental awareness in Ghanaian society, they have failed to set a pro-environment agenda by merely reacting to issues as defined by the political leadership. He documents instances where the media could have played a more vigilant role in educating the public about environmental issues, and traces some of the political, economic, and social issues which constrain them from playing a more positive role. He takes particular aim at the role of state-owned media in environmental education. Before the recent proliferation of private print and broadcast media outlets, the state-owned media had a virtual monopoly in the country, but a combination of political and economic factors meant this monopoly was never utilized to set an agenda addressing national development issues. Moreover, as Tettey argues in this volume and elsewhere,15 the emergence of 14

Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Decolonizing the Mind. London: James Currey, 1987. Wisdom J. Tettey, “The Media and Democratization in Africa: Contributions, Constraints and Concerns of the Private Press,” Media, Culture and Society, vol. 23, no. 1, 2001, pp. 5–31. 15

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private media does not necessarily mean they will undertake, for instance, to set a pro-environment agenda. Private media houses, like their state owned counterparts, also confront institutional and structural barriers that affect their performance. The contributions in this volume share four underlying themes. These are, first, the need for a holistic approach to the analysis of Ghanaian development that embraces both domestic and international social forces and the broadest social, cultural and political contexts, rather than a narrow focus on markets and economic performance. The second theme is recognition of the crucial role of the state in almost all aspects of development. Third, they emphasize the essentially political nature of the development process in sorting out the multiple contradictions and conflicts that are generated both within the institutions of capitalist modernity and between them and indigenous institutions. Finally, they argue for development in Ghana that can produce a modernity that is distinctively Ghanaian, and not simply a Xeroxed facsimile of the West.

 

POLITICS, THE STATE AND DEMOCRATIC CONSOLIDATION


 

CAPITALISM INCOMPLETE: STATE, CULTURE, AND THE POLITICS OF INDUSTRIALIZATION Bruce J. Berman Introduction: The Dismal Record of Ghanaian Industrial Development For more than forty years of independence no aspect of the development effort in Ghana has proved more elusive, seeming achievements more prone to later failure, and the overall record more dismal than in the development of the manufacturing industry that is the heart of modernity. Manufacturing remains the key, however, to the aspirations of Vision 2020, the Rawlings government’s blueprint for national development, the essential source of the accumulation of the wealth that in turn provides the resources for achieving other elements of turning Ghana into a middle-income society, and for ending the dependence on external aid and investment. But can this industrialization finally be achieved, and at what social and political cost? Such questions cannot be answered, however, through the empirically empty abstractions of neo-classical economics or austere practices of neo-liberal reforms and Structural Adjustment Programs for which all “real” world markets are always in some sense failures. Approaching an understanding of one of the most complex social transformations in human history necessarily involves analysis of its broadest dimensions in historical and comparative contexts. It is, as I will argue in this essay, as much a cultural and political as an economic process, and one in which the best will and intentions are no guarantee of success or of the generous improvement of social equity and justice so many Ghanaians desire. From independence the Ghanaian government of the Convention Peoples’ Party (CPP) pursued a vigorous program of import substitution industrialization, creating a large and diverse sector of mostly large and medium sized plants. These were largely owned either by the state or foreign investors in joint enterprises and concentrated in the light industrial manufacturing of consumer goods. There was little investment in heavy industry, except for the refining of imported oil and the processing of bauxite deposits.1 Although manufacturing 1 The bauxite processed by the Volta Aluminum Company (VALCO) actually came from Jamaica as part of the parent Kaiser Corporation’s international inte-

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contributed some 15% of the GDP by the end of the 1960s, this sector was beset with serious problems from the start. Behind protective barriers of varying height, the firms proved inefficient, unproductive and uncompetitive, with low-capacity utilization and technical capabilities. Rather than transforming the productive base of the society, the CPP project actually increased external dependence on imported machinery and raw materials and perpetuated the structural deformities of the colonial economy, with few internal sectoral linkages (Ninsin, 1991: 10–11, 30–31, 54–56, 104–107: Lall, et al., 1994: 24–33). Successor regimes struggled to keep the manufacturing sector going through years of erratic growth, until medium- and large-scale manufacturing entered a period of long-term decline by the late 1970s. When the Ghanaian economy teetered on the brink of collapse in the early 1980s, manufacturing output declined by no less than 36.31% in 1982 and a further 11.17% in the grim year of 1983 (ISSER, 1997: 112). Foreign aid and investment virtually disappeared during the same period and for more than a decade, 1973–85, not a single new machine tool was imported into the country (Powell, 1995: 48–49). Throughout the post-independence period the development effort was further hampered by pervasive patronage and corruption both in the state and private sectors that defied repeated attempts to bring it under control (Ayee, 2000). After a dalliance with a radical political and economic agenda, the PNDC regime by 1983–84 had acceded to the pressures from the World Bank and International Monetary Fund to implement neoliberal reforms and an Economic Recovery Program to restructure the economy and the state. This program included the usual package of currency devaluation, heavy cuts in public sector programs and employment, reduction of price subsidies for food products, elimination of state involvement in the economy through removal of tariffs and other protections for local producers, and divestment of stateowned enterprises. All of these measures were supposed to free markets and ‘get the prices right’ to bring forth the anticipated supply responses of local producers. At first, the Ghanaian economy appeared to leap ahead, with overall growth rates of the GDP of 8.6% in 1984 and 5.1% in 1985, with manufacturing alone surging upward by 12.9% in 1984 and 24.3% in 1985 from its virtually mori-bund state in 1983. For a time this made Ghana the international financial institutions’ star example of successful reform. By the end of the 1980s and throughout the 1990s, however, the overall growth rate of the GDP settled into a more modest 4–5% per annum (ISSER, 1999: 107).

gration of its subsidiaries. This has been a major point of contention between the company and the Ghanaian government over the years.

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The experience and impact of this renewed growth was very unevenly spread through the Ghanaian economy and society, however. For the greater part of the population it made for little improvement in the quality of life and for many, especially the growing mass of unemployed in the cities, it brought a significant deterioration as they were expected to find self-employment in the informal sector. The pressure on the poor and unemployed eventually brought public admission of the failures of reform to significantly improve human development in the creation by the Ghanaian government and its aid donors of the Program of Action to Mitigate the Social Costs of Adjustment (PAMSCAD) (Ninsin, 1991: 64–69). The response of the domestic private sector, especially in manufacturing, to the incentives of the reforms was particularly poor. As the economy liberalized, industry, especially manufacturing, declined. The growth rate of manufacturing dropped from an annual 10% in 1987 to a scant .6% in 1989, recovering to 5.9% a year later and then settling into rates of 1.8 to 2.7% through most of the nineties, until growth rates increased again at the end of the decade. Nevertheless, as a portion of the industrial sector, manufacturing declined continuously from 63.2% in 1990 to 56.8% in 1999. Its performance, moreover, was far below the 8% growth per annum projected in the Vision 2020 program (ISSER, 2000: 109 –12; Amponsah, 2000, 9–13). Small-scale, locally owned manufacturers were particularly hard hit by the reforms, but government policy focused initially on reviving large and medium-sized firms in consumer goods industries, particularly where foreign firms predominated. Only four small-scale industries were included in the raw material import scheme of the industrial rehabilitation program – soap making, leather products, machine production of spare parts and manufacture of simple machines, tools and household goods. Ghanaian manufacturing held scant attraction for investment from international corporations, however, even in labour-intensive activities (Ninsin, 1991: 70–73, 78–81; Lall, 1994: 34–35). A low level of manufacturing skills and productivity combined with weak scientific and technical training contributed to a technological backwardness that made manufacturing in Ghana a very hard sell to international corporate capital outside of the mining sector (Lall, 1994: 35–43).2 By the end of the 1980s development of small-scale and micro manufacturing activities became an increasing focus of government policy and aid donors of all types, including funding from the Inter2 Dan Gyimah, USAID, reiterated these points in an interview on 4 August 1997. The largest international manufacturing company in Ghana, UNILEVER, closed down its plant in Tema at the depths of the economic crisis and did not re-enter the local market until several years into the recovery program.

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national Development Association through PAMSCAD, the establishment of government agencies like the National Board for Small-Scale Industries (NBSSI) and the Ghana Regional Appropriate Technology Industrial Service (GRATIS), and arrival of the international NGO Empretec. By 1998 almost 100 government, international, bilateral and non-governmental agencies and programs were active in this field (GRATIS, 1998). This focus appeared to derive from the increasing concern of aid agencies to find ways of using the informal sector to stimulate self-employment and generate additional jobs to absorb the growing urban unemployment resulting from formal sector and public sector cuts. By focusing on the direct promotion of manufacturing and the creation of a class of indigenous industrial entrepreneurs, such activities confront directly some of the most difficult contradictions in the political economy of Ghana. To understand the reasons for their success or failure, as well as why the development of modern manufacturing more generally has proven so difficult, requires an overview of the socio-cultural and political conditions that shaped industrialization in Western capitalist states and why such conditions have not developed in Ghana. The Comparative Context: Understanding Western Industrialization For more than three centuries Western industrial societies have emerged from the complex and interlocked development of the capitalist market and the nation-state. While the dominant ideology of capitalism has insisted that state and market are distinct and separate institutional spheres, so that state action in the market constitutes ‘intervention’, the reality of historical experience is that actual markets are complex social constructions that have developed out of shared cultural and institutional bases within modern states. The social forces behind the development of capitalism and the nationstate have been similar in each case, and markets have only flourished within supporting social and political institutions and social networks representing particular cultural values, social norms and informal social relations. At the same time, modern industrial societies have developed within specific pre-existing historical and cultural contexts and have been subject to the contingent outcomes of change and conflict that have rendered each state and market in some important sense unique (McEwan, 1999; Corrigan and Sayre, 1986). What then have been these institutions and values of such historic potency? And what have they done to make possible the unprecedented expansion of human instrumental agency and development of material productive forces that have transformed the world? The

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epochal social and cultural changes can be understood as having produced a transformation of social trust and orientation towards the management of risk that produced in turn the characteristic future orientation and constant innovation of capitalist industrialism. Social trust should not be romanticized or sentimentalized; it consists of the reciprocity of expectations of behaviour in particular institutional contexts among social actors that make orderly patterns of interaction possible. Trust can encompass relations of domination and exploitation as readily as more equitable and benevolent relationships. We can recognize three dimensions of trust based on the increasing levels of uncertainty and risk involved in social action: habit, based on internalized, taken for granted and largely unvarying behaviour; normative trust, based on emotional ties to individuals and community and an assumed shared identity, culture and values; and collaborative trust, focused on the terms of cooperation for rational agency (Misztal, 1995: 9–11). It is the latter that has been crucial to the development of the extensive and elaborate patterns of cooperation and conflict within the capitalist market and the nation-state. In the pre-modern societies of both Europe and Africa face-toface relations in which actors were personally known to each other dominated social interactions. Social trust was grounded in ties of kinship and community, with a clear differentiation of insiders and outsiders, and shaped by the ontological frameworks of meaning of religious cosmologies and the meaningful routines of social tradition itself. In other words, habit and normative trust prevailed and were highly personalized, deriving from the moral character of mutually known individuals whose relationship defined their ‘trustworthiness’. The paradigms of trust relationships were those of kinship and personal bonds of friendship based on sincerity, loyalty and honour. Non-hostile interaction with unknown others required entering formalized bonds of kinship or friendship so that the interacting parties became ‘known’ to each other (Giddens, 1990: 100–05, 118–19).3 Unequal relations of wealth and power, too, could be legitimated by expansion of personal ties beyond immediate kin and community, whether in the formalized bonds of European feudalism or the less formal but equally intimate ‘lopsided friendship’ of patrons and clients focused on reciprocity, mutual support and loyalty known throughout Africa from the Mediterranean to the Cape. In modern capitalist societies the development of a more abstract collaborative trust is essential to operation of both state and market, “a pervasive social lubrication” that makes possible the increasingly impersonal, universalistic relations of modern institutions of the state 3 The expandable boundaries of African lineage genealogies that could incorporate strangers as distant kin are notable examples.

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and market. The growth of the price system, especially in the markets for factors of production that define capitalism as a mode of production, and the decline of the personalistic bonds of medieval society, created universalistic roles of formally equal buyers and sellers that framed the problem of social exchange and preoccupation of liberal political theorists and modern law alike with the acts of promising, the self-imposed obligations contained in contracts. Such concern reflected and shaped the shift from personal trust bound to the face-to-face linkages of small-scale societies to the impersonal abstract trust of modernity, based on trust in the predictability, honesty and competence of unknown others in complex large-scale institutions reaching far beyond the local context. Social relations expanded over unprecedented reaches of time and space to link individuals in complex interactions and exchanges with hundreds, thousands, and ultimately millions of others whom they would never know or even meet. The ability of such abstract institutions to function depends on the ability of people to have confidence in the probable outcomes of their actions and this, in turn, rests on their trust in the predictable operation of institutions through the probity and competence of the anonymous others also acting in them. Trust is always partially an act of faith, a pragmatic judgement that the systems will behave as they are supposed to, and must always be understood in relation to some calculation of risk (Silver, 1985: 53–57). In the development of European capitalism a hegemonic bourgeois culture provided a framework of business ethics applicable to all transactions that both constrained self-interest in the greater interest of the integrity of the market itself and disciplined individual behaviour through threat of the loss of reputation for untrustworthiness.4 Trust was thus a way to deal with the freedom of others, to predict the behaviour of other free agents in a way that facilitated strategic choice and rational agency (Dunn, 1988: 73–75). In the market place and in the sphere of production this made possible the counterfactual future orientation of capitalist modernity and the intricate patterns of cooperation on which modern industry is based. As markets and enterprises became larger and more complex, trust in the probity of individuals was increasingly superseded by abstract systemic trust in the predictability of institutions. This increasingly meant trust in interacting expert systems of technical and professional knowledge that organized the material and social environment and in the competence and reliability of their practitioners (Giddens, 1990: 79–91; Silver, 1985: 60–63). Max Weber was the first European social theorist to recognize the importance of this. See the discussion in Bendix, 1962: 24–30, 36–37, 50–55. 4

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Cooperation and expertise within the hierarchic structures of the capitalist firm were based, in turn, on a historic subordination of labour to capital involving the cultural transformation of wage labour into a commodity that could be combined with capitalists’ ownership of the means of production to produce novel products and methods of production; and the effective social control of the employees of the enterprise into a disciplined labour force predictably exercising their diverse skills at ever-increasing levels of productivity. Collaborative trust in the effective cooperation of largely anonymous individuals within an increasingly complex division of labour made possible the rational calculation of risks and benefits and the reduction of uncertainty that facilitated large-scale routinization and standardization of production and exchange. The achievement of effective control over a disciplined and differentiated labour force in the West was a long and deeply contentious historical process extending over approximately six generations, from the late eighteenth century to the first decades of the twentieth when the institutions of Fordist mass production were firmly established. It left its mark on the development of both technology and the practices of modern management (Bendix, 1956; Braverman, 1974; Hounshell, 1984). The continual conflict and frequent violence between labour and capital suggests the underlying political character of the development of capitalism and the crucial role of the closely imbricated development of the Western nation-state. In the confrontations of capital and labour the parties could not resort to self-help to impose a solution to the conflict since the resort to force destroyed the very basis of the supposedly free exchange of equivalent values in the market. The enforcement of contracts and the repair of breaches both logically and historically required the existence of the state as an authoritative, disinterested arbiter capable of enforcing universal rules governing social transactions. The state reproduced and enforced in political and juridical forms the social relations of capitalist production and exchange (Wood, 1981). In practice, it involved the development of a single, universal body of law applying equally to all citizens and administered with impartial professional competence by the judicial and bureaucratic organization of the state. Two further features of the state also facilitated the orderliness of exchange relations and the growth of capitalism. First, the effective monopoly of the legitimate use of force by the state created a protected arena of non-violent interaction and safe movement in which the market could develop; and second, the state’s constantly expanding surveillance of society and reflexive monitoring of its own actions created a base of social knowledge and expertise essential for the planning and implementation of large-scale and long-term economic enterprises (Giddens, 1985).

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The nation-state, like the national market, is an abstract and depersonalized institution involving interaction among anonymous citizens and requiring significant social trust not only in the probity and competence of politicians and public officials who can rarely be personally known, but also in the fairness and efficacy of the institutions of the state itself. The functioning of Western liberal democracy is based on the development of a widespread trust, cutting across cleavages of class, region and ethnicity, that political institutions act as disinterested arbiters of clashing interests.5 Such trust involves an essential public belief that the political process can be used to pursue differing visions of social interests and that institutional rules provide for transparency and accountability in the formulation and implementation of public policy. The effective approximation of principles of the civic equality of citizens, the rights to freely organize and compete for support in institutionally-defined arenas of political conflict, and the fair and open administration of access to public goods provides the basis for the development and maintenance of such trust. Trust, therefore, is the fundamental basis of the legitimacy of political authorities and institutions, and of political agency. Without it risk and unpredictability render collective action towards political goals literally unthinkable (Hausknecht, 1992; Dunn, 1988: 83–87). It is also the basis of the hegemony of capitalist interests in a divided and unequal society that might otherwise be rendered ungovernable by clashing in-terests. It makes possible the pursuit of political objectives defined by ideological values and broad collective interests, rather than a politics of narrow materialism and self-interest, by facilitating the acceptance of opponents as legitimate participants in the political process and delegating to legitimate authorities the power to literally exercise a ‘public trust.’ Competing groups and interests can act in the pursuit of supra-personal principles because they trust that elections are fair; that politicians and leaders, who can rarely be personally known, are honest and competent; that opponents will abide by the rules and not sabotage policies with which they do not agree; and that unknown bureaucrats are competent and unbiased in the administration of policy. In the Western experience the professionalization of the civil service was a crucial factor in the establishment of abstract collaborative trust in state institutions and the ‘civic’ politics it makes possible. The development of career public services of disinterested competence centered on major periods of capitalist development and focused 5 This is the sphere of the “relative autonomy of the state” that is so important in recent neo-Marxist theories of the state. See the discussion in Berman, 1990: 23–34.

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on containing and ameliorating the disorder and exploitation of those epochs of change. In particular, the consolidation of the modern bureaucratic apparatus of Western states coincided with the profound structural transformations, escalating class struggles and political reforms of the second industrial revolution of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The public service became the literal agent of the state’s benevolent trusteeship of society. In the twentieth century further periods of social crisis and structural change were closely related to further extension of social reforms under the control of a ‘technocracy’ of state elites guided by the ‘policy sciences’ in the practice of ostensibly disinterested social engineering. Finally, trust in the political system is a complex human project, “an active political accomplishment” requiring constant renewal, not a destination ever finally reached. It expresses a “reflective politics of self-control and self-limitation” focused on all participants playing by the rules of civil institutions valued in themselves above the outcomes of specific political struggles (Dunn, 1988: 88–89; Misztal, 1995: 7). Such abstract ‘civic’ trust is never permanently established, however, but exists in continuous tension with personal ties and forms of trust that continue to exist in all modern nation-states. The particularistic ties of individuals and factions in politics defined by ties of family, ethnicity, religion or region undermine abstract trust and the state apparatus. Civic trust in the civil service, in particular, is compromised by evidence of administrative bias and opaque decision-making, as well as of personal or communal bias in nepotism, special deals and preferential access to public goods. In the Western experience the tension between abstract and particularistic trust has been most intense during periods of capitalist development when the social relations of production and the standards of political conduct have become objects of conflict and the focus of change (Misztal, 1995: 4–5). During the most recent phase of capitalist restructuring in the last quarter of the twentieth century, there has been a noticeable increase in corruption, the visible domination of the state by corporate interests, and a corresponding decline of civic trust in Western liberal democratic states (Della Porta and Meny, 1997). The Cultural and Political Contexts of Ghanaian Development The reality of Ghanaian development over 45 years of political independence, preceded by some 70 years of colonial rule and the even longer earlier period of trade in slaves and commodities with Europe, is that none of the societies that now comprise the contemporary state were ever fully incorporated into the developing capitalist world

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economy or experienced a substantial social transformation towards the socio-economic, cultural and political forms of capitalism and the nation-state. Instead, the interaction of indigenous social forces with the intrusive European political and economic forces produced a chaotic jumble of institutions and cultural elements of both indigenous societies and Western modernity. The resulting “kaleidoscope of contradictions”,6 so characteristic of the partial transformation/partial preservation of African societies under colonialism, has constantly thwarted the shallow efforts at ‘development’ of the past forty years. The hallmark of colonialism in Ghana is that it introduced change in the political economy of the colony only so far as to ensure an adequate supply of labour for European mining capital and the flow of cash crops from peasant producers. In Europe the first stages of capitalist transformation involved the phase of “primitive accumulation” in which land was transformed into exclusive forms of freehold property and the majority of the peasantry were deprived of rights of access to land and other means of production. In Ghana, however, the colonial state acted to halt the alienation of land from African communities and the growth of capitalist plantation production, seeking to preserve the traditional lineage forms of land tenure and labour, and with them, the authority of chiefs and lineage elders. While production for the market increased substantially, especially for export crops like cocoa, it did so on the basis of existing property relations and forms of production, with little technical innovation and relatively limited use of migrant wage labourers, who did not form a permanent agrarian working class (Ninsin, 1991: 10–22; Asamoa, 1996: Ch. 2). In other sectors of the economy, outside of the mining sector, neither British capital nor the colonial state had any serious interest in promoting industrial investment, especially in manufacturing. Capital investment focused on port, rail and road transport infrastructure that facilitated the movement of export commodities (Ninsin, 1991: 16–22; Asamoa, 1996: 27–30). The very restricted introduction of capitalist forms of production and exchange had several significant consequences. First, the focus of the colonial economy and African participation in it was on trade, with the extensive patterns of pre-colonial trade blended with modern commercial capital. The result was a very large number of local retail traders, shop owners, market vendors, street hawkers and itinerant peddlers who bulked local commodities for ultimate export or distributed imported manufactures. Many were linked in dependent relations with large European mercantile houses that purchased the cocoa for export and wholesaled the imported commodities.7 While 6 7

The phrase is from Lonsdale and Berman, 1979. Ghanaian merchant capital had no direct access to the import/export trade in

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manufactured imports eliminated some indigenous products, particularly textiles, most of rural indigenous handicraft production survived in a technologically backward and stagnant sector supplying the needs of those too poor to purchase imports. Colonialism also saw the development of a new sector of urban trades in tailoring, shoemaking, carpentry, masonry, ceramics and diverse forms of vehicle and machine repairs for the urban poor (Asamoa, 1996: 31–32). These relied heavily on unpaid apprentice labour and formed the basis of what would come to be called the ‘informal sector’ of petty trade and production. In a situation in which indigenous societies were changed, but not fundamentally transformed, the capitalist market and commodity production did produce new class groups, but these remained small in numbers and socially and politically weak. As Asomoa notes, “[Colonialism] aborted the development of an indigenous factory-owning class and the related managerial skills, and an urbanized proletariat with any significance. It failed to modernize social relations and liberate the forces of production from the claws of technological backwardness.” (Ibid.: 40; Ninsin, 1991: 26–29). Locally owned manufacturing remained artisanal in scale and methods, the owners’ small masters rather than an aspiring industrial bourgeoisie. Wage labour remained the activity of only a small minority of the labour force, with the great majority concentrated either in the mining industry or in large public service departments like the railroads, posts and telegraph, and public works. The emerging informal sector reflected the failure of colonialism to transform the relations of production, providing a second labour market that absorbed the urban unemployed and subsidizing the reproduction of wage labour in a ‘formal’ sector dominated by foreign capital. The majority of Ghanaians, however, remained peasants working the land, with their access to it controlled by their lineage elders and chiefs. Politically, colonialism produced a characteristic pattern of statesociety relationships and political culture that continues to dominate Ghanaian politics today. The lightly manned and poorly financed colonial state, with few European officials available, had to rely upon alliances with pre-colonial structures of power and office holders for the maintenance of effective control at the grassroots level. This meant the effective incorporation of indigenous chiefs and elders into the colonial state apparatus and support for their power, especially when the colonial authorities began to see rapid social change as a threat to order and control. The bureaucratic authoritarianism of

the colonial period. As late as 1959, two years after independence, 85% of the import trade was controlled by European firms, 10% by immigrant merchants, and only 5% by Ghanaians (Asomoa, 1996: 40).

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the colonial state also melded with the deeply authoritarian and patriarchal power of the indigenous societies (Woode, 1997: 16–20),8 reinforcing the characteristic “Big Man-Small Boy” pattern of authority relationships. It established a patron/client relationship between the state and the indigenous authorities, who gained privileged access to the extensive material benefits controlled by the colonial authorities and could use it to support their own networks of clients and supporters. A paternalistic and authoritarian form of leadership and patronage politics became dominant in Ghana in which public service and conflict of interest were unknown concepts and political authorities gave priority to complex ties of family, ethnicity, and class as the basis of patronage (Kuada, 1994: 82–87; Woode, 1997: 9–11, 21–25). For the dominant class in Ghanaian society, just as in the precolonial era, political office and power remained the principal road to the accumulation of wealth rather than entry into commercial agriculture or business activity, which became, instead, the rewards of power rather than its source. The authoritarian political culture was reinforced by the colonial system of education, which focused on its lower levels on the production of white-collar clerks and junior bureaucrats, with little interest in or provision of scientific education or technical training. At the higher levels, elite secondary schools patterned after the British public schools produced an intelligentsia, including the sons of traditional political authorities, strongly imbued with a belief in their social superiority and right to rule, with high state office the ultimate career. A university degree from Britain or, after 1948, from the University at Legon, in an appropriate arts subject or law was the culminating academic achievement. This elite carried a strong anti-business bias similar to that of the officers of the Colonial Administrative Service who ran the colonial state. Capitalist entrepreneurship held little attraction; and there was particular scorn for manual labour, even that done by graduate engineers. The state-centred development program of the CPP and successor governments prior to the neo-liberal reforms of the 1980s, including the use of parastatal corporations as rich sources of patronage, was a clear expression of the ethos of a dominant class rooted in the state and not in capitalist enterprise. The impact of these socio-cultural and political factors on the institutions and practices of Ghanaian business has been heavy. Robert Price (1975) has documented the centralized and highly authoritarian character of management in Ghana for the public service in the 1970s, while John Kuada (1994) and Samuel Woode (1997) have done 8 The pattern of alliance and incorporation in the colonial state and reinforcement of indigenous patterns of authoritarian power and patronage relations was also characteristic of much of the rest of colonial Africa. See Berman, 1998.

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so in the 1990s for both the public service and private business. As Kuada sums it up, from a Western perspective, “African managers seem to consistently defy all the canons of good management. Their organizations are highly centralized and bureaucratic; intuition rather than formal and objective data analysis guides their decisions; subordinates are closely supervised, and lack motivation and opportunities for self-fulfillment because delegation is lacking; loyalty to organization and organizational goals is down-played, strict adherence to protocol and procedures is common, and subordinates depend on their superiors favour for career advancement. . . . much time is spent on internal wrangling, jostling with each other to assert authority and protecting the interests of favourites. The catalogue is unending.” (Kuada, 1994: 2). In addition, culturally defined values and social obligations to family and ethnic communities persistently take precedence over organizational goals or the long-term interests of the business enterprise. They result in the appropriation of business resources to meet external obligations and to use them to exercise, in Kuada’s vivid phrase, “selective benevolence”. Few officials or businessmen, particularly the sole proprietors of locally owned small firms, can withstand family pressure to use their resources to aid sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, and even fiancés and in-laws. Friends and members of their ethnic community, old classmates and members of old boys networks from school can also lay claim to special treatment. The patterns of patron-client relations and patronage distribution dominate private business enterprises as thoroughly as they do the state apparatus (Kuada, 1994: 72– 79, 88–90, 134–36, 171–72, 195–201; Woode, 1997: 61–62, 72–83). Such behaviour does not necessarily indicate a lack of professional and technical skills among Ghanaian businessmen. An increasing number have been trained in the values and practices of Western management, particularly through university education in Ghana and pursuit of graduate and professional degrees abroad. And the subculture of Ghana’s elites is highly westernized in life style and material consumption patterns, particularly among a highly educated and more cosmopolitan younger generation of graduates and ‘been tos’ (Kuada, 1994: 24–26, 40–45, 52–54, 80–81). The apparent contradiction between learned professional standards and practices and local cultural values and social networks, between organizational and personal goals, is marked and suggests potential for significant conflict. While evidence from Arthur’s work with owners of small and mediumsized manufacturing firms suggests that higher levels of education is related to declining interest in meeting family and other pressures and obligations, most owners and managers continue to do so, even if they would privately prefer not to (Arthur, 2001; Kuada, 1994: 210–12).

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The result of authoritarian management, patronage and favouritism is typically seen in an actual lack of effective control over subordinates; a general want of discipline and felt time pressure in the work process; and slipshod and haphazard standards of work and production. In dealing with public agencies and private businesses poor performance, preferential treatment for some, and poor quality goods is what Ghanaians have come to expect. Within the organizations, managers’ attempts at rigid control draw outward compliance and sycophantic subservience to authority along with avoidance of decision-making, bureaucratic rigidity and delay, and a tacit acceptance of the appropriation of organizational resources for personal purposes (Woode, 1997: 12–15, 26–33). The most serious consequence of these institutional and cultural characteristics of the interlocked spheres of the state and market has been that Ghana has become a pervasively low trust society in which businessmen and civil servants, workers and citizens, customers and suppliers cannot rely on a framework of mutually held and reliable expectations of honest and competent behaviour by others that can facilitate the economic and political transactions, and the planning of new activities and expansion of existing ones, that lead to growth and development. Instead, they are forced to rely upon personal networks of trust among family, friends and ethnic community that reinforce existing patterns of patronage, dependence and organizational behaviour. Ghanaian experts in management and public administration like John Kuada and Sam Woode complain of the lack of national cohesion and low trust levels that have led to poor performance and the low moral tone of public service. Economic decline and the Economic Recovery Program, including large redundancies of state employees, they note, have led to greater uncertainty and to an even further decline of moral probity in the public service. Public property in Ghana is widely seen as a ‘free good’ to be appropriated whenever possible, while blatant nepotism, favouritism, graft and conflict of interest destroy public expectations of fair and impartial treatment (Kuada, 1994: 102–10, 213–18, 226; Woode, 1997: 32–33, 54–60).9 Within public and private organizations lack of trust in employees reinforces authoritarian management practices and decreases further the low morale and poor performance of workers. In the market, 9 A senior Ghanaian manager of an international food processing company that operates one of the largest plants in the country, noted the low levels of trust and poorly developed business ethics, adding that business partnerships in Ghana rarely lasted, particularly those involving partners from different ethnic groups, because of the partners’ distrust of each other (Dr. Osei Boeh-Ocansey, Managing Director, Star-Kist Tuna, Tema, interview 23 June 1998).

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the lack of trust of an effective culture of business ethics undermines both partnerships and inter-firm transactions. Mistrust and uncertainty make risk difficult to manage and business enterprises difficult to plan. The result, as Woode notes is that, “Given these experiences, people have come to lose confidence in institutions, leading to the cynical conclusion that what matters is not merit, not hard work, but whom you know.” (Woode, 1997: 83). Searching for a Bourgeoisie: the Promotion of Small-Scale Manufacturing By 1970 manufacturing had become the dominant sector of wage labour in Ghana, but this did not represent a significant alteration in the structure or technical basis of the economy. Locally owned manufacturing firms have limited technological capabilities, clustering at the lower end of the technological spectrum in each industry, and relying almost entirely on imported equipment, much of it used. Between 1983 and 1994 the sample firms in a World Bank study made few if any new capital investments (Lall, 1994: 112–15, 132–36). As was noted earlier, employment in manufacturing has actually declined substantially in the past decade. Ghana continues to lack an economically significant and politically powerful class of industrial capitalists, as well as a large, skilled and disciplined class of industrial workers in locally owned manufacturing enterprises. Since the late 1980s the industrialization of the country through the promotion, in the typical dev-speak jargon, of SSI (small-scale industries) has become a central focus of activity for international aid donors and organizations, and of development policy for the Ghanaian government. Small-scale manufacturing in Ghana exists in the informal sector comprising thousands of very small firms, few of which have more than ten employees and mostly have only two or three. By the 1990s, they became the focus of a hope in development circles that the informal sector could actually be a source of dynamic growth. Whether openly acknowledged or not, the central objective of all of these activities is the creation of that missing class of industrial capitalists and their workers in the manufacturing sector. To assess the prospects of their success requires a consideration of the social, cultural, economic and political contexts of small scale manufacturing in the country. The most incisive Ghanaian critic of the informal sector growth model, Kwame Ninsin, argues persuasively that it is essentially a survival economy acting, to use Peter Kilby’s descriptions, as “a low level equilibrium trap” and a “quasi-sponge for urban unemployment” (1991: 96; Kilby, 1969: 310). The informal sector actually absorbed as much as 70% of the non-agricultural labour force in the 1980s.

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Most of the activity in the sector is in petty trade and urban services, swelled by the growing number of unemployed, many of them dropped from public sector jobs, who started, as Hanson (in this volume) has shown, small enterprises out of their households. Encouraged by the IFI and government to seek informal self-employment as a supposed entrepreneurial alternative to employment in the formal sector of the economy or the state, the informal sector promotes “the false belief that they are free and independent operators, not unemployed members of the labour force” (Ninsin, 1991: 110).10 Within the micro and small-scale manufacturing enterprises, most of the labour consists of unpaid apprentices who are mostly teen-aged middle school graduates or school leavers. They are taught low-level manual skills with little if any technical knowledge being passed on, and this has led to a steady decline in the level of skill from generation to generation. The result of apprentice labour has been backward and technically inept firms with little production discipline and loose, ineffectual organization (Lall, 1994: 159–65; Powell, 1995: 6–7, 12–15; Ninsin, 1991: 87–88). The informal sector, however, is not an undifferentiated mass of small shops all producing at a pre-capitalist artisanal level. The border between the formal and informal sectors is a fuzzy rather than sharp one, and it is straddled by a minority of small firms aspiring to produce at a higher, more sophisticated level, whether in small machine shops employing ten workers or factories verging on medium size, with 50 or more employees, focused on machine production of consumer goods. These firms are formally registered as companies, pay taxes, write business plans, look for finance for expansion, and might even seek export markets for their products. They continue to suffer, nevertheless, from limited managerial and technical capabilities that reflect the lack of full subordination and control of labour and rationalization of production. Their problems are most apparent on the shop floor. When asked about the fundamental problems of small industry in Ghana, the CIDA technical adviser to the GRATIS program stated succinctly, “Quantity, quality and timing,” a judgement echoed repeatedly in interviews with government and aid agency officials in Ghana, as well as academic research.11 Small 10 As a senior official of the National Board for Small-Scale Industry noted, the government encourages graduates to be entrepreneurs without explaining the risk or the limited likelihood of significant success (Dr. Jesse Amuah, Deputy Director, NBSSI, interview 1 August 1997). 11 Pamela Branch, CIDA Adviser to GRATIS, Tema, interview 7 July 1997; Dr. Francis Aquah, Director, Council for Scientific and Industrial Research, Accra, interview 1 August 1997; Dan Gyimah, USAID, Accra, interview, 4 August 1997; Ohene Bonsu, Business Development Centre of the Association of Ghana Industries, Accra, interview 30 April 1999 (See also Powell, 1995: 94–95: Lall, 1994: 44–45, 128–32, 170–77).

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and medium-sized manufacturing firms in Ghana cannot produce large quantities of goods of consistent quality to precise delivery schedules, nor can most of them produce precision interchangeable parts. Few if any employ quality control personnel or practice regular maintenance of their production equipment. They also lack any product design or research and development capabilities to improve their products or production processes. As a result of these characteristic problems, small manufacturing firms in Ghana are not only vulnerable domestically to imports from international corporations that provide better quality at lower prices, but also almost entirely uncompetitive in international export markets. A striking indication of their personalized, essentially pre-capitalist orientation towards production and the market is expressed in the fact that few if any of them either advertise, employ salesmen or produce for inventory. Instead, they produce only when they receive an order (Ninsin, 1991: 90–91).12 No clearer expression of their inability or unwillingness to deal with the risks of producing directly for an impersonal market and then finding previously unknown customers for goods already produced could be imagined. Without such an orientation towards managing risk in the market, however, future growth of the enterprise cannot be planned and becomes simply a contingent outcome of forces beyond the knowledge and control of the firm. Both the low level of trust in business relations and the lack of production for the market are also related to the chronic shortage of capital by small manufacturers. Without working capital, they cannot purchase the raw materials to produce their products, and can often do so only when they receive an order and take an advance payment against its completion. Even international corporations in Ghana that have attempted to sub-contract with local suppliers discovered that they need to advance up to half of the cost of the contract so the firm can buy the raw materials.13 Capital for investment to start or expand a firm is even more difficult to find. Formal banking institutions rarely loan to small manufacturing firms, preferring quicker and larger returns in high interest short-term commercial notes to traders or Treasury Bills purchased from the Bank of Ghana.

12

Robert Buatsi, Research and Marketing Officer, GRATIS, Tema, interview 9 July 1997. This was confirmed in numerous interviews with owners of small manufacturing firms. In the machine tool and metal fabricating industry this derives from the origin of most firms in the manufacture of spare and replacement parts for engine and machine repairs (Powell, 1995: 17–19). 13 The production manager of the Star Kist Cannery in Tema reported that it took several years for the company to develop stable relations with local contractors to whom it wanted to sub-contract its requirements for metal cans, printed

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Susus, the traditional Ghanaian credit circles for trading, can rarely provide the kind of capital required for a manufacturing firm. Most small firms rely on the resources of the owners’ family or friends for start-up capital (Arthur, 2001; Schmitz, 1986). Most small manufacturers actually express fear and distrust of the commercial banks in the country; relatively few reported receiving loans for start-up or expansion of their enterprises, and some claimed that bank officers demanded kickbacks of up to 10 percent of the value of a loan before approving it (Amponsah, 2000: 21–22).14 The more dynamic of the manufacturers, who were poised to grow from small to medium or medium to larger sized enterprises, had the most serious credit problems since their need of loans in the $10,000–50,000 range to expand their plants and buy new machinery were far beyond the small loans available from government credit schemes, and they were excluded by the segmentation of the credit market from the loans available to large, usually foreign owned, firms. The greatest mistrust and fear of Ghanaian manufacturers, however, focused on politics and their relations with the state. Rather than the historic ‘executive committee of the bourgeoisie’, the Ghanaian state and the civil servants and politicians who hold its offices, are seen as erratic, incompetent and hostile to local business interests. Dealing with officials is often a harrowing and humiliating experience (Woode, 1997: 4–5). The issue is not simply that bureaucratic processes are protracted and the standard of performance usually low, but that businessmen believe their fundamental property rights are insecure and subject to arbitrary interference by the state in ways that can seriously impede their ability to operate.15 The bureaucracy and the courts do not effectively enforce the most basic of the institutional and legal conditions of capitalism. Widespread public ignorance of the law and its significant ambiguities give officials enormous discretion for abuse of power and arbitrary action against property. The lack of enforcement of clear rules of the game and discretionary abuse by politicians and officials creates unmanageable risk that constrains planned investment and expansion by Ghanaian manufacturers (Amponsah, 2000: 17–19, 22–28; Jackson, 1999: 294–96). labels and cardboard cartons, and involved realizing that up to half the value of a contact had to be advanced for the purchase of materials before production could begin (Interview, 23 June 1998). 14 Managing Director, SIS Enterprises, Kumasi, interview 22 July 1997. 15 A stunning example of this was the complete destruction, under army direction, of an almost completed luxury hotel near the Kotoka International Airport in April 1999. The ostensible reason provided by the government was the owner’s failure to meet certain environmental regulations in construction. The real reasons,

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Despite the restoration of multi-party parliamentary politics and the relatively orderly elections of 1992 and 1996, and the entry of a significant number of opposition MPs into parliament after the latter, Arthur’s interviews in 1999 indicated small-scale manufacturers continued to express skepticism about pursuing their interests through the political process and great distrust of politicians. The personalism of politics expressed through continuing nepotism and patronage favoring family and ethnic ties, breaks down trust in using politics to pursue collective interests and forces people to also rely on bribery, contacts, and patrons, if they can find them; which reinforces a vicious circle of politics as usual (Woode, 1997: 6–8; Amponsah, 2000: 27–28).16 Most businessmen regarded the government’s principal financial resource for Ghanaian business, for example, the Business Assistance Fund, as hopelessly politically compromised and used to enrich cronies, often for businesses that didn’t actually exist, and who did not, in any case, pay back the loans (Arthur, 2001).17 It is this extraordinarily difficult and discouraging institutional and cultural environment that surrounds the public and private agencies that are attempting to promote the development of small-scale manufacturing. We can look briefly at three of the most important: 1) The National Board for Small Scale Industry (NBSSI) is a branch of the Ministry of Trade and Industry that provides small loans for small and micro enterprises, and through a series of regional Business Advisory Centres (BAC) provides courses and consultation on improving management skills and business practices. 2) The Ghana Regional Appropriate Technology Industrial Service (GRATIS) is a branch of the Ministry of Environment, Science and Technology that runs nine Intermediate Technology Transfer Units in all regional capitals except for Kumasi.18 These provide research on adapting imported and developing local technologies; training courses in engineering management widely discussed in the press, were that the property abutted on the home of the foreign minister, who objected to its presence, and the government suspected the owner was an opposition supporter. The investment was completely lost. 16 Even the agencies established to control corruption were open to such abuses (Ayee, 2000: 192–93). 17 An official of the BAF noted that selection of loans was made by a ministerial level committee in the Ministry of Trade and Industry, but that few new loans would be issued in 1999, and only six given in 1998, because only 2 billion cedis of the original 10 billion fund had been repaid. He also candidly stated that there was a lack of effective monitoring of the use of the loans and they were often diverted to different purposes than those for which they were granted (Samuel Otu, Business Assistance Fund, Ministry of Trade and Industry, interview 29 April 1999). 18 The original ITTU in the Suame Magazine was the creation of the Technology Consultancy Centre at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology. It provided the model for GRATIS, but when that agency was established in the

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and industrial apprenticeships for machinists, producers of wood products and dyers and weavers; and credit schemes for the purchase of imported machine tools and other machinery. 3) Empretec is the local branch of an international NGO founded in Argentina, which provides management consulting and training for small and medium sized enterprises, and loans for expansion and development. All are headquartered in Accra and receive support from international and bilateral aid organizations. To promote the development of an industrial bourgeoisie with the managerial and technical skills to both innovate and expand, these agencies have to deal with a complex and difficult process of learning that is both costly and risky, and often quite specific to the firm and technologies involved. They have to provide training and resources to overcome the prevalent casual business practices, low-productivity and ‘trial and error’ technical culture of most Ghanaian manufacturing. This requires a comprehensive and long-term commitment to support for the firms in a wide variety of areas from business planning and product design, technology choice and adaptation, production management and labour practices, finance and accounting, to the packaging and marketing of finished products (Lall, 1994: 62–63, 139–42, 166–69; Powell, 1995: xii–xiii, 20–32; Ninsin, 1991, 89–91). To provide these programs and resources effectively, the agencies require good leadership, well-qualified professional staff and adequate financing to have credibility and gain the confidence of their clients. They must also, however, deal with the difficulties of the broader economic and political context. In particular, these agencies try to deal with inter-firm and inter-industry linkages, which would encourage information exchange and sectoral trade organizations among their clients, as well as sub-contracting arrangements. They also need to promote links with science and technology institutions, which remain relatively weak and under-funded in Ghana ( Jackson, 1999: 287–89; Powell, 1995: 42–47, 57–61; Lall, 1994: 20–21, 132, 170–77). Beyond such direct activities, these agencies, as Paul Jackson notes, require comprehensive trust networks, even more than effective formal organization. But such trust is fragile and vulnerable to any evidence or even hint of secret deals or favoritism, as in any other public sector organization in Ghana. They must, both in appearance and practice, be effectively insulated from politics and partisanship ( Jackson, 1999: 290–93). However, the unavoidable problem that the agencies late 1980s, the university administration refused to relinquish control of one of its most successful units. The ITTU continues to function, with some consultation and coordination with GRATIS, but remains a separate agency under the ultimate authority of a different ministry.

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must face is that they cannot be impartial and award access to their services and financing to any enterprise that appears on a first come, first served basis. As we noted earlier, few of the small manufacturers in Ghana have potential to grow and develop, and emerge from the informal sector. The challenge for these agencies is to find that minority of enterprises capable of making the transition to capitalist industrialism and of effectively using the agencies’ advice, access to improved technology and development financing. This inevitably involves a significant degree of selectivity and elitism in the choice of their clients.19 Even if the selection criteria are as ‘objective’ and explicit as possible, and transparent in their application, accusations of bias and political interference remain inevitable.20 Creating an effective indigenous industrial bourgeoisie is as fundamentally a political and ideological process as it is an economic and technological one. The activities of agencies like NBSSI, GRATIS and Empretec cannot succeed without powerful support in the state and the wider political process. Capitalist Transition under the Conditions of Globalization I have argued in this paper that the failure of the indigenous manufacturing sector to respond to the market ‘incentives’ of neo-liberal policies imposed on the government of Ghana reveals not only the emptiness of those policies; but also the complex requirements, institutional and cultural, economic and political, for the creation of an industrial bourgeoisie capable of responding effectively to the market. Meeting these requirements is a fundamentally political, as well as an economic and technical process, and involves, above all, an active and capable state. All previous capitalist transitions have been state, rather than market, driven, including the most recent developments 19 Dr. Prakah Asante, Director, GRATIS, Tema, interview, 7 July 1997; John Powell, Intermediate Technology Ghana, Kumasi, interview, 17 July 1997; George Manu, CEO, Empretec, Accra, interview 29 April 1999. The three agencies examined differ significantly on the issue of selectivity. NBSSI as a direct line agency of government is the least selective in its delivery of support, particularly in its loan scheme. It appears to spread its resources as widely as possible around the country through numerous very small loans to what are often micro-enterprises with little growth potential, with the underlying motive of securing support for the government. GRATIS, with more autonomy from government, and Empretec are far more selective of their clients, the former largely on engineering and production potential, and the latter more on planning, financial and general management capabilities. The enterprises they support tend to be larger than those supported by NBSSI, and in the case of Empretec, much more likely to have a university graduate at the head of the firm. 20 Interviews with clients and current and past personnel of these agencies included several suggestions and a few outright assertions of patronage and nepotism in the distribution of their resources, none of which could be confirmed or documented.

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of the so-called newly industrialized countries of Asia (Berman, 1994: 235–61).21 However effective agencies like GRATIS and Empretec may be within their defined spheres of operation, they cannot in themselves push a social transformation of much broader scale without a larger framework of a coherent industrial policy supported by complementary policies in education, finance, and infrastructure development (Lall, 1994: 10–19, 187–98). The aid organizations operating in Ghana, international, bi-lateral and non-government that press the neo-liberal market orthodoxy, continue to lack both a historical and comparative perspective on capitalist development, an understanding of its cultural dimensions, and acknowledgement of its political character. They continue to think, as a former vice-chancellor of the University of Ghana put it, that development can be reduced to a formula or blueprint and given a schedule.22 The political reforms in Ghana over the past decade, particularly the December 2000 election that saw an orderly election and peaceful change of power from NDC to the NPP, are the most important developments that can facilitate a transition to industrial capitalism in so far as they generate a higher level of public trust in the political process and in the value of using it to try to openly influence public policy. The reform of the state apparatus and elimination of the culture of patronage and the low standards of performance will require substantial further effort, lest the state sink into the alternation of access to the resources of public office and patronage between the major parties of the ‘spoils system’ of nineteenth century Canada and the United States. Given the high level of professional training and technical skill now required of state officials, the spoils system cannot work effectively in Ghana where such capabilities are in short supply.23 This problem reveals a compelling dilemma of Ghanaian development, that of trying, as one GRATIS engineer put it, “to do everything at once.”24 Rather than the century and a half of pro21 For the role of the developmental state in European development see Anderson, 1973; and on recent Asian development Ward, 1992 and Amsden, 1988. 22 Prof. Akilakpa Sawyerr, Association of African Universities, Accra, interview 30 July 1997. The prevalence of this perspective was confirmed in several interviews with aid agency officials in Accra in 1997 and 1998. 23 The spoils system worked where it involved mostly turnover of low-level employees in post offices, customs houses and government offices requiring little more than basic literacy and numeracy. The system came under increasing attack for corruption and incompetence from political reform movements around the turn of the 20th century when the period of capitalist restructuring often called the ‘Second Industrial Revolution’ brought a compelling need for a more highly professionalized, competent and stable civil service practicing a wide range of new technical and administrative specialties. 24 David Noye, Director, Engineering Design Centre, GRATIS, Tema, interview, 9 July 1997.

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tracted and contentious change that produced modern industrial capitalism in the West, the Vision 2020 aspired to make a transformation of similar magnitude in less than 25 years, and to meet from the start the standards of competitiveness and productivity of international capital of the twenty-first century. That objective would be daunting in the best of circumstances, but powerful external and internal factors conspire to make the project of development in Ghana even more difficult. First, neo-liberal reforms in the context of globalization have opened the Ghanaian economy to greater foreign competition and control, and undermined the capacity of countries like Ghana to raise the level of local production and accumulation (Ninsin, 1991: 61–63). While increased investment in manufacturing by international capital might make greater opportunities for Ghanaian manufacturers to grow through the development of sub-contracting, competition from the basic consumer products of such companies, whether imported or locally produced, has been, and will continue to prove, fatal for small Ghanaian firms.25 And, as we have noted, Ghana is not a particularly attractive market for such investment, which has never reached the levels anticipated in recent plans. As long as the Ghanaian government cannot pursue a more active program of national development and protect much of its local manufacturing from the effects of global competition, the chances of achieving the institutional and cultural changes necessary to achieve a self-sustaining capitalist modernity are very small.26 Far more directly than in the earlier epochs analyzed by dependency theory, the conditions for the further development of international capital contained in the program of globalization directly inhibit the development of indigenous capitalism in the periphery of the capitalist world system. Second, even with more propitious external circumstances, the pursuit of capitalist development will never be a smooth or harmonious 25 This is most clearly illustrated in the history of the domestic soap industry which flourished in the worst years of the economic crisis when UNILEVER had withdrawn from the market and imports had virtually disappeared, but saw the collapse of most small new firms when UNILEVER returned and the ERP opened the economy to renewed imports. The Ghanaian market was sufficient, however, for a new large-scale plant built by Paterson Zochonis in 1997 ( John Powell, IT Ghana, interview, 17 July 1997). 26 It is worth noting that the dramatic speech by Joseph Stiglitz, then the chief economist of the World Bank, in January 1998 that repudiated most of the policy prescriptions of structural adjustment and neo-liberal reform programs, and argued for the role of a more activist state, was never distributed in Ghana by the World Bank office, which stuck to business as usual (Kofi Marrah, External Affairs Officer, World Bank, Accra, interview 9 July 1998). Ghanaian government officials, academics and businessmen interviewed in July and August of 1998 were unaware of Stiglitz’ speech and its import.

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process. While the social elements of a capitalist class are certainly present in Ghanaian society, their successful pursuit of the changes necessary to achieve sustained capital accumulation and effective socio-cultural hegemony will inevitably provoke massive internal social conflicts that will tax the country’s newly established liberal democracy. The research presented in this volume by Awanyo, Hanson and Arthur indicates that there are businessmen in both urban and rural areas who are attempting to manipulate existing property relations to gain greater access to family resources to establish agricultural and industrial enterprises and, at the same time, would like to free themselves of the wider obligations of the lineage kinship systems.27 The more vigorous pursuit of such changes towards capitalist private property, particularly through the agency of the state and by its defense in the courts, can only provoke intense, emotionally charged family conflict, as well as the increasing exclusion of many from the access to land and other property that has shielded them from the necessity of wage labour. Moreover, efforts to effectively subordinate labour in the sphere of production to a rigorous discipline of capitalist technological and managerial rationality will result in growing class struggles that Ghana still lacks the institutional and ideological resources to effectively deal with. Finally, it is not clear that the existing dominant class, rooted in its control of the state and the major parties, is willing to form an effective class alliance to promote the development of industrial capital. There may be a workable hegemony of a capitalist modernity that can be achieved that will incorporate elements of the indigenous cultures valued by most Ghanaians, as well as a social democratic amelioration of the painful costs of capitalist development for a population increasingly aware of its grinding poverty in relation to most of the rest of the world. But the possibility of such an outcome remains distressingly low. Acknowledgements The research for this paper was made possible by a grant from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada, including funding for field research in Ghana in June and July of 1997 and 1998, and April and May of 1999. I would also like to acknowledge the particular advice and assistance of Nana Asante Frempong, MP, Sir John Powell, Dr. Emmanuel Gyima-Boadi, and Dr. Osei Boeh-Ocansey. 27

See the chapters by Awanyo, Hanson and Arthur in this volume.

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LOCAL GOVERNMENT, DECENTRALIZATION AND STATE CAPACITY IN GHANA Joseph R.A. Ayee Introduction One of the most potentially effective ways of enhancing polycentricity and the quality of public administration is decentralization, which may be defined as the deconcentration and devolution of power and responsibility to local levels. Decentralization helps to generate good contacts with the citizens, brings decision making to the level where events generally take place, helps to strengthen the democratic process and lays a foundation for the emergence of autonomous institutions of governance within the structure of the national state. For developing countries like Ghana, decentralization has added potential advantages such as spreading development skills throughout the society. However, successful decentralization requires important prerequisites, which are not always in place in a developing country like Ghana. Thus decentralization programmes often fail, for reasons such as the “centralizing” features or measures of decentralization, lack of political commitment, unclear operational rules for decentralization, financial and human resource constraints, and the use of decentralized structures as pawns by governments and local political establishments to serve their political interests. This paper is an overview of the Ghanaian decentralization programme (regarded as perhaps the most ambitious decentralization programme in Africa) since its introduction by the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) government in 1988. Specifically, it deals with the problems that the District Assemblies (DAs) have had in working effectively and their general performance. In this connection, the paper addresses the following two questions: (i) How have central practices, policies and procedures affected the ability of the District Assemblies to really “get going”? and (ii) How has local government in Ghana affected the quality and sustainability of local good governance (and good governance in general)?

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  ‒  

Brief History of Decentralization in Ghana Decentralized government in Ghana began with the introduction of Indirect Rule by the British colonial authorities in 1878. Indirect Rule was a policy aimed at providing a statutory basis for the exercise of local government functions by chiefs and at effecting measures of reform to modify the indigenous system to suit modern conditions. In order that the chiefs (who were the cornerstone of Indirect Rule) could carry out the decisions of the British government conveyed through district commissioners, the government established what was called Native Authorities (NAs). The NAs did not only perform judicial functions, like trying cases relating to disputes over ownership, possession or occupation of land within the areas of their jurisdiction, but also operated as local government units with delegated power to pass by-laws relating to local matters and to raise funds in order to improve development programmes. The NAs did not provide an opportunity for the development of local democracy and democratic local government because they were composed of paramount chiefs, sub-chiefs and elders, who behaved like an enlightened and benevolent oligarchy. In 1952, a new form of decentralized authority based on the recommendations of the Watson Commission (1948) and the Coussey Committee (1949) was introduced. The local government councils were now made up of two-thirds elected membership and one-third chiefs, with paramount chiefs as presidents of the councils. The areas of jurisdiction of the councils were re-demarcated not on the basis of chiefdoms as was the situation under the NAs but on the basis of two factors: population size and viability, that is, potential ability of the areas to generate local level revenues to support the local government units. These recommendations were reinforced by the Greenwood Commission (1956). The recommendations by the various commissions and committees of enquiry were to design an effective local government system that would be responsive to the needs of the people of Ghana. However, the post-colonial government of Kwame Nkrumah (1957–1966) fearing that decentralization would promote fissiparous or divisive tendencies, encouraged centralization of authority in the nation’s capital, particularly the Office of the President. He even resorted to the fragmentation of the local government units as a way of weakening them. By 1965, Ghana had 282 local councils, which were not viable (Ayee, 1994). In 1974, another attempt at reform of decentralization resulted in the establishment of 65 district councils. Membership was again twothirds elected and one-third representatives of traditional councils. This reform which sought to assign central government functions of administration to local government units also failed.

 , ,  

47

In November 1978, district council elections were held by General Akuffo’s Supreme Military Council (SMC). In June 1979, junior officers of the army led by Flight Lieutenant Rawlings overthrew the SMC. Under the civilian government of the People’s National Party (PNP), which came to power in September 1979, an announcement was made in August 1981 that an additional 40 districts would be created, bringing the total number to 105. Before the proposal could be implemented the PNP regime was toppled by Jerry Rawlings’ Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) on 31 December 1981. In June 1982, the PNDC passed PNDC Law 14 to dissolve the district councils elected in November 1978. Management committees nominated by PNDCappointed District Secretaries (DSs) replaced the councillors. In December 1983, the Government announced a new policy on decentralization, which had the following aims: (a) to reduce the “massive” gulf between the rural people and urban dwellers; (b) to end the drift of people from the countryside to the towns; and (c) to increase initiative and development at the sub-national level. Like previous regimes before it, the PNDC at this point was interested in deconcentration or administrative decentralization because it regarded decentralization as the devolution of central administrative and not political authority to the local level (Ayee, 1994). Perhaps, it is worth noting that the 1983 decentralization programme did not make any reference to the election of local representatives because the populist institutions of the People’s Defence Committees (PDCs) and Workers Defence Committees (WDCs) were considered to be the appropriate representative institutions (Ayee, 1994). The following indicates the shortcomings of local government before the reforms of 1988 initiated by the PNDC: Box 2.1: Shortcomings of local government system before the 1988 reforms (i) dual hierarchy structure in which the central and local government institutions operated in parallel; (ii) maladministration involving corruption, mismanagement of funds, failure to perform functions assigned the local government units; (iii) encroachment on the rights and responsibilities of the weaker local government units by the central government; (iv) chieftaincy disputes which adversely affected decision-making capacity of the local government units; (v) inability of the local councils to generate adequate funds to support their activities; (vi) planning was divorced from implementation;

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  ‒  

Box 2.1 (cont.)

(vii) inadequate transfer of financial resources from the central government to the local government units; (viii) extremely weak manpower of the local government units vitiated by nepotism in appointments; (ix) portrayal of local government units as poor, inept, inefficient and worthless development partners of central government; and (x) lack of participation of the citizenry in their own development process due to stifling of local initiatives by the centralized system. These shortcomings were exacerbated by military coup d’etats in 1966, 1972, 1979 and 1981.

Policy Framework of Decentralization The policy framework of decentralization was influenced by three factors, viz., • 1992 Constitution, Chapter 6 and Chapter 20; • economic reform (although it does not specifically refer to decentralization, it does provide the enabling environment or background); and • role of the Public Sector (although it does not specifically refer to decentralization, it does provide the enabling environment or background). The 1992 Constitution Ghana’s current decentralization programme is a continuation of the one initiated by the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC), which took over power from the civilian government of Hilla Limann’s People’s National Party (PNP) government in December 1981. The government’s initiative in the reform of decentralization started in 1988 with the promulgation of PNDC Law 207. The initiative for reform was inspired by the government’s political philosophy of “power to the people”. The 1992 Constitution and the various legislations on decentralization (see Appendix 2) articulate the explicit objectives of decentralization such as empowerment, participation, accountability, effectiveness, efficiency, responsiveness, decongestion of the national capital and the checking of the rural-urban drift. Specifically, the Constitution and the legislations show that the decentralization programme has been designed to: (i) devolve political and state power in order to promote participatory democracy through local level institutions; (ii) deconcentrate and devolve administration, development plan-

 , ,  

(iii) (iv) (v) (vi) (vii)

49

ning and implementation to the District Assemblies (local government units); introduce an effective system of fiscal decentralization which gives the District Assemblies (DAs) control over a substantial portion of their revenues; establish a national development planning system to integrate and coordinate development planning at all levels and in all sectors; incorporate economic, social, spatial and environmental issues into the development planning process on an integrated and comprehensive basis; create access to the communal resources of the country for all communities and every individual; and promote transparency and accountability.

The 1992 constitutional provisions with respect to decentralization are quite specific concerning the ultimate responsibilities of Parliament. However, with respect to specific responsibilities of District Assemblies, the Constitution’s language is quite broad. More importantly, the structure of relationships between the so-called decentralized central government ministries and departments, statutory public corporations and the DAs is not substantively addressed. Also, no differentiation is made in the Constitution of the choices made among different forms of decentralization. However, some of the objectives of decentralization could be incompatible. For instance, popular participation could mitigate against local revenue generation and mobilization on the one hand, and/or demands for increased expenditures on the other hand. Similarly, what might most likely foster popular participation in discretionary decision-making might sub-optimize managerial efficiency. Although the government has indicated the explicit objectives of decentralization, it has not been able to indicate the implicit objectives of decentralization, that is, what one might call the politics of decentralization; for instance, either using decentralization as an instrument of mobilizing support for specific objectives or as a form of political patronage (Ayee, 1994). Economic Reform and Structural Adjustment Programme Ghana’s decentralization programme has been consistent with its overall Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP). An important principle of SAP concerns the role and responsibilities of the state and the expanding role of the private sector, both in the sense of private commercial entrepreneurship and voluntary community initiatives.

50

  ‒  

This principle has been reinforced by the 1992 Constitution, which stipulates the establishment of a sound and healthy economy, with a reduction in the role of the state in the economic life of the country through shifting of more responsibility to the private sector and an environment of investor-confidence. Similarly, Ghana Vision 2020: The First Step, a document presented to Parliament in January 1995, has indicated that a shift in public sector roles and responsibilities is expected to result in improved economic efficiency and growth through the operation of market mechanisms. Ghana Vision 2020 aims at making Ghana achieve a “balanced economy and a middle-level-income country status and standard of living, with a level of development close to the present level of Singapore”. The long- and medium-term objectives of the Vision 2020 covers five themes: (a) human development, (b) economic growth, (c) rural development, (d) urban development and (e) an enabling environment (that will ensure full implementation of policies for a decentralized system of public administration). Role of the Public Sector Decentralization has also been influenced by the new role of the public sector. The SAP, the 1992 Constitution and Ghana Vision 2020 have indicated that the public sector limits its role to (i) establishing appropriate policies and regulations for the efficient and effective operation of market mechanisms; (ii) developing human resources; (iii) facilitating the construction and maintenance of appropriate physical infrastructure; and (iv) facilitating the provision of appropriate services. While the state is responsible for financing “public” goods and services, it needs not be directly involved in the actual production of goods and services financed by it. Distinguishing between financing and production of public goods and services is at the core of the functions assigned the District Assemblies (DAs). An important aspect of the role of the public sector is the recognition of the development of “value for money” public services. In this connection, the National Institutional Renewal Programme (NIRP) which would ensure capacity building under good governance was launched in September 1994. The NIRP is a programme for capacity building under good governance. Its major aim is to encourage institutions under the Executive, Legislative and Judicial arms of government as well as autonomous institutions listed under the Constitution to discharge their functions in a transparent, competent, accountable and cost-effective fashion. This would create an enabling environment for accelerated growth and equitable social development. To achieve the objectives of NIRP, a Public Sector Performance Improvement Programme (PSPIP) has been designed.

 , ,  

51

The current structure of decentralization The structure of decentralization in Ghana (see Figure 2.1) has a “mixed” or “fused” decentralized authority – a system in which institutions extending from the central government (like the District Chief Executive (DCE) and deconcentrated departments and organizations) and locally based institutions (like the District Assemblies (DAs), are linked into one organizational structure at the local level. The Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies are the political and administrative authorities in the districts and they exercise deliberative, legislative and executive functions. They also provide guidance, give direction to, and supervise all other administrative authorities in the districts. The system is designed ultimately to abolish the distinction between “local government” and central government field agencies. This, it is hoped, would improve efficiency and effectiveness of administration through the transfer of both human and material resources to the rural areas (Ayee, 1994; 1996; Crook, 1994; Crook and Manor, 1998). The general features of decentralization in Ghana are described below. Three aspects are of particular interest in this matter: (a) the different levels of government to which decentralized functions are given; (b) the nature of the authority given; and (c) the powers and duties which are decentralized. Regional Coordinating Councils (RCCs) They regulate and coordinate the DAs in the 10 regions of Ghana. The RCCs comprise the Regional Minister (a government appointee and representative of the Central government in the Region as chairman), his other deputy, two representatives of the Regional House of Chiefs, the DCEs of the districts and the Presiding Members of the DAs in the Region. The RCCs perform the following functions: • monitor, coordinate and evaluate the performance of the District Assemblies in the Region; • monitor the use of all funds allocated to the District Assemblies by any agency of the central government; • review and coordinate public services in the Region; and • perform such other functions as may be assigned to them by or under any enactment. District Assemblies (i) The general objectives of the DAs include all-encompassing functions such as responsibilities for: (a) overall development of the districts;

52

(ii)

(iii)

(iv)

(v)

(vi)

  ‒  

(b) formulation of strategies for the effective mobilization of human, physical, financial and other resources; and (c) provision of basic infrastructure and municipal works and services; There are 110 District Assemblies (DAs). Three of these are Metropolitan Assemblies (Accra, Kumasi and Shama Ahanta) with populations over 250,000); three are Municipal Assemblies with populations over 95,000; and the remaining 103 assemblies have populations between 75,000 and 95,000. The Metropolitan Assemblies have a four-tier structure, while the remaining ones have a three-tier structure (see Figure 2.1); DAs are composed of one person from each electoral area within the District by universal adult suffrage; the District Chief Executive (DCE) – the chief representative of the central government in the district; Members of Parliament (MPs) whose constituencies fall within the area of authority of the DAs but who are nonvoting members; and other persons not exceeding 30 per cent of the total membership of the DAs appointed by the President in consultation with traditional authorities and interest groups. In other words, the DAs are a hybrid form of decentralized authority, combining elected and appointed members; membership of the DAs ranges from 54 to 130; the Urban, Zonal and Town Councils have membership ranging from 25 to 30, while the Unit Committees (for every 500–1,500 people at the grassrooots level) have 15 members. The sub-district structures were established after the DAs and Unit Committee elections held in the first week of August 1998; each DA has an Executive Committee (EXECO – made up of one-third of the membership of the DA and chaired by the DCE – to implement its resolutions and oversee the administration of the district. The range of functions entrusted to the EXECO makes it the nerve centre and the loom of administration at the district level. It is noteworthy that the Presiding Member (Speaker/ chairman) of the DA is excluded from membership of the EXECO to forestall a personality clash between him and the DCE; and 16, 13 and 11 line ministries and departments have been placed under Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies respectively (see Table 2.1), to provide technical and managerial back-up to the DAs. Some of the districts do not have the full complement of these Departments. The placement of the departments has been fraught with difficulties. They include:

• reluctance of the national and regional level officers of the departments to accept the redefinition of their roles and relationship with

 , ,  

53

the District Chief Executives (DCEs) – the political heads of the districts who are appointed by the central government – and district heads in terms of the decentralized system of government and the failure of the central and regional heads of departments to instruct their district officers to work through the DCEs; • holding on to funds and controlling programmes in the districts by some staff of the line ministries and departments without the knowledge of their own officers. Some line ministries and departments continue to operate independently of the DAs and refuse to acknowledge the authority of the DAs over them; and • various instruments that set up the various ministries and department have not been amended even in the face of the changes, such that the district heads of departments attend meetings of the DAs more out of respect or fear rather than as legal obligations on them. In spite of the intentions of the 1992 Constitution, the Civil Service Law of 1993 and the Local Government Act of 1993 to promote democratisation through decentralization, the bureaucracy is as centralized as ever before, and the DAs are far from being served by a competent, loyal body of staff. The source of continued centralized administration lies in contradictory legislation passed by the same National Democratic Congress (NDC) government that had proclaimed abiding interest in decentralization. While the Civil Service Law and the Local Government Act provided for decentralized civil service, legislation such as the Education Service Act (Act 506) of 1995 and the Ghana Health Service and Teaching Hospitals Act (Act 525) of 1996 have been passed and they continue to place the staff working with the DAs under the control of their headquarters in Accra. An example of central interference was exhibited in June 1998 when the Director General of the Ghana Education Service signed performance contracts with the District Directors of Education when they were supposed to work for the DAs. Indeed, there is a contradiction between the Local Government Act and the Ghana Education Service Act in the matter of control and management of schools. The Local Government Act requires that branches of state agencies, like the Ghana Education Service (GES), in the districts must be absorbed by the DA. Thus the District Director of Education would report to the DCE and be accountable to the DA. The GES Act has maintained the status quo. As of 2001, education in the district is controlled by a District Oversight Committee (DEOC), a statutory committee set up by the GES Act. The membership of this committee includes the DCE, who is chairman, as well as two other members of the DA. Amendments of the Act will be required to

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  ‒  

make the DEOC, a committee of the DA, and the District Directorate of Education, a department of the DA. Sub-District Structures The sub-district structures are the following: (i) Thirteen sub-metropolitan district councils. They were created to meet the complex and peculiar socio-economic, urbanization and management problems, which confront the three metropolises. They are Accra (with 6 sub metropolitan district councils), Kumasi (4 metropolitan district councils) and Shama-Ahanta (with 3 sub metropolitan district councils). The district councils are made up of two-thirds elected and one-third appointed members; (ii) 1,306 Urban, Zonal and Town/Area Councils. They are not elective bodies. The Urban Councils are created for settlements with populations above 15,000 and which are cosmopolitan in character, with urbanization and management problems, though not on the scale associated with the metropolises. Thirty-four of such councils have been created since August 1998. The Zonal and Town Councils, on the other hand, are established for settlements with population between 5,000 and 15,000. The Urban, Zonal and Town Councils consist of representatives of the relevant Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies, Unit Committees (UCs) and government appointees selected by the District Chief Executive (DCE) on behalf of the President, after consultation with the Presiding Member and traditional authorities and organized productive economic groupings in either the urban area, municipality or the town. The Councils are supposed to be rallying points of local enthusiasm in support of the development objectives of the DAs because of their closeness to the people; and (iii) 16,000 Unit Committees (UCs) are elective bodies, consisting of no more than 15 persons, of whom 10 are elected by universal adult suffrage and 5 are government appointees selected by the DCE on behalf of the President, after consultation with the Presiding Member and traditional authorities and organized productive economic groupings in the Unit. A Unit is normally a settlement or a group of settlements with a population of between 500 and 1,000 in the rural areas but with a higher population (1,500) in the case of the urban areas. The UCs perform roles like registration of births and deaths, organization of communal labour, revenue raising and public educational campaigns. Elections to the UCs were held in August 1998.

 , ,  

55

Financial/Budgetary Features ( i) Establishment of a District Tender Advisory Board, made up of some DA members and selected technical personnel working in the district and chaired by the DCE. It advises the DA on all contract awards and other procurement matters. The DA, however, is the authority for the award of contracts. Members of the Board are required to declare their assets upon becoming members; (ii) introduction of composite budgets by the DAs. This is yet to materialize because the Ministry of Finance has refused to relinquish control over the approval of budgetary estimates, which is still done centrally. Indeed, it has been found that central financial control over capital spending and official payments as stipulated by the Financial Administration Decree (FAD) of 1979 and the Financial Administrative Regulations of 1979 has become tight; (iii) identification of ten sources of revenue for the DAs and the expansion of their financial base through the establishment of a District Assemblies Common Fund (DACF) into which not less than five per cent of total government revenues are paid. Proceeds of the DACF are shared according to a revenue sharing formula approved by Parliament; and (iv) contract awards to the districts not exceeding 250 million cedis (US$ 100,000) were decentralized, which was a cabinet decision communicated by a Ministry of Finance circular in 1993. To operationalize this decision, a District Tender Advisory Board, made up of some DA members and selected technical personnel working in the district and chaired by the District Chief Executive was established. Accountability Features (i) Revocation of the mandate of a DA member by the electorate at a referendum organized in the district by the Electoral Commission to decide whether or not he or she should be recalled; (ii) establishment of the Rate Assessment Committee to look into the grievances of persons affected by valuation policies of the DAs; and (iii) establishment of grievance redressing and accountability mechanisms; for example, the establishment of a Public Relations and Complaints Committee, chaired by the Presiding Member (PM), to receive complaints made against the conduct of members and staff of the DA.

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  ‒  

Ancillary Features (i) Establishment of bottom-up planning system (envisaged under the National Development Planning Systems Act (Act 480) of 1993) was to be established. This has materialized with the publication of Ghana: Vision 2020, the Five-Year Medium-Term Plan, 1996–2000 and the Programme of Action accompanying the Plan; (ii) establishment of a Local Government Service by an Act of Parliament, with the District Coordinating Director (DCD) – the highest career civil servant in the district and secretary to the DA – as a member. This has not been implemented because Parliament is yet to consider a Bill brought before it for the establishment of a Local Government Service. It seems Parliament is not enthusiastic about the Bill because the country used to have a separate Local Government Service at independence but the Mills Odoi Commission Report of 1967 recommended that it be abolished and integrated into the Civil Service because it lacked better conditions of service to attract people into it; and (iii) a non-partisan decentralized system to ensure consensus-building and promote development. While success in achieving such goals is very difficult to measure, the legislative instruments setting up each Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assembly provide a very specific list of up to 86 particular duties (including the provision of health and education facilities, electricity, water and road maintenance). Such legal duties do form a useful benchmark against which to measure the outputs of the Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies (Republic of Ghana, 1992; 1993). The structure and the features show two things. First, there should be a decentralized system of administration in which functions, powers and responsibilities and resources are transferred from the central government to the local government units, referred to as District Assemblies (DAs). Some of the deconcentrated, devolved and delegated functions have not been performed because of lack of financial and manpower resources. Secondly, decentralization involves a delegation of power as well as changing the power relationships and distribution of tasks between levels of government.

 , ,  

57

Figure 2.1: The Proposed Structure of Decentralization in Ghana Office of the President

18 Cabinet Ministers

Council of State

Nat. Dev. Plan. Com. (NDPC)

Ministry of Local Govt. & Rural Dev. (MLGRD)

10 Regional Coordinating Councils Regional Departments 3 Metropolitan Assemblies 4 Municipal Assemblies 16 Departments 13 Departments

103 District Assemblies 11 Departments

13 Sub-Metro DAs Town Councils (250)

Zonal Councils (108)

Unit Committees 16,000


Urban Councils (34) Area Councils (826)


Local state administration Local state administration reflects the politics of decentralization. Within the structure of decentralization lies the seed of conflicts among the various functions. There have been conflicts between the District Chief Executive (DCE) and the Presiding Member (PM), elected and appointed DA members, and Member of Parliament (MP) over roles, functions, and more especially, resources. One of the most notable conflicts is the one between the District Chief Executive (DCE) – a central government appointee, Chairman of the Executive Committee of the DA and the District Tender Board and a voting member – and the Member of Parliament (MP) – a non-voting member.

58

  ‒  

The relationship between the DCE and the MP is seriously affected by whether the MP in question is a member of the ruling party or belongs to the party in opposition. Where the MP belongs to the former, theoretically there should be no tension or friction. Indeed, the DCE is expected to “stand in” for the MP whilst the latter is away in Accra performing his legislative functions. In practice, however, the relationship has been fraught with tension and friction largely on account of the following factors: • Many DCEs aspire to become MPs, seeing that there are better security and personal welfare packages in the latter position. The DCE has a maximum eight-year term of office. The MP has no such limitation. The DCE can be “hired and fired” at any time. The MP has a secure four-year term once elected, whether he performs or not; • The MP’s membership in the District Assembly (DA) makes it difficult for him or her to see the DA as a “sphere of government” rather than as a “level of government” and would therefore like the DA to defer to him, even on subjects which are within the jurisdiction of the DA; • The introduction of the MP’s Constituency Development Projects Fund (out of the District Assemblies Common Fund (DACF)) has not been well received by all DCEs because: (a) some see it as giving undue advantage to the MP as far as his re-election chances are concerned, even though he may not be performing well; and (b) some have challenged the constitutionality of the whole arrangement, given that the DACF is required to be “distributed to the District Assemblies for development” according to the Constitution (Ayee, 1999; Ahwoi, 1999). Where the MP belongs to the opposition party, there is bound to be tension and/or friction because of the nature of the constitutional arrangements and the power play between the two of them. One of the most important responsibilities of the DCE, though unofficial, is to work to unseat the MP of the opposition party so that the ruling party takes the constituency at the next elections. Yet the two of them are required to work in harmony to see to the development of the district or constituency. This structural contradiction is at the basis of all the conflicts and tensions between the DCE and the opposition MP, no matter what form it takes (Ayee, 1999; Ahwoi, 1999). Following from the foregoing, the main reason behind the strained relationship between the DCEs and MPs has to do with the DCEs having the status of appointed officials and yet having deci-

 , ,  

59

sion-making power over the elected officials. There is therefore the question of who the true representative of the people is and who is not. The position of Presiding Member (PM) is of political relevance to local state administration. He is elected by both elected and appointed members of the DA. This position has been politicized, and it is widely known that the ruling government and opposition parties all make considerable effort to have their supporter in that position. Representing the legislative arm of the DA, the position is critical in the decision-making process through its role to deliberate on and approve executive policies. It is not uncommon to hear of conflict between the DCE and PM. However, conflicts between the two functionaries are less frequent than at the beginning of the decentralization programme in 1988, because, as pointed out, the government has become sensitive to the appointment of PMs by seeking to fill these positions with loyal agents. Methodology Fieldwork was carried out in three districts (about 3% of number of districts), namely Keta (Volta Region), Kumasi (Ashanti Region) and Bolga (Upper East Region) in August 1999. Village survey interviews conducted in 10 electoral areas in each district (see Table 2.2). The districts were selected to reflect a representative sample of districts according to the Ministry of Local Government and Rural Development’s classification of districts, namely, “developed,” “moderately developed” and “deprived” as well as “metropolitan” (with populations of over 250,000), “municipal” (with populations of over 95,000) and “district” (with population of over 75,000). Kumasi is “metropolitan” and “developed,” Bolga “moderately developed” and “municipal,” while Keta is “deprived” and a “district.” Nearly 3 million of Ghana’s 18.5 million people reside in the three districts. Interviews were held with District Chief Executives, Members of Parliament (MPs), some District Assembly (DA) members and heads of the so-called decentralized departments present in the three districts. In addition to the actual visits of the team, a questionnaire was completed by the officials and the electorate. This was to ensure a systematic comparison of public and official perceptions of the performance of the District Assemblies. The questionnaire required information on (i) the functions and legal powers of the DAs; (ii) the needs of the people in the districts; (iii) revenues, expenditures, sources of funding, and revenue generation and sharing; (iv) manpower and training needs; (v) progress of composite budgeting and other actions programmed to implement the decentralization programme;

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  ‒  

(vi) development of local political process; (vii) the weight and consequences of central influence; (viii) the problems that faced the DAs; (ix) the relationship between the DAs and the so-called decentralized departments; (x) the problem of getting national laws and regulations revised to reflect decentralization policies; and (xi) the general performance of the DAs. In all, 100 randomly selected respondents were interviewed in each of the three districts. They were made up of 30 officials and DA members and 70 respondents from 10 randomly selected electoral areas in the district. The total sample size for the three districts was 300. It may be difficult to extrapolate the results of the study to the rest of the country because the study covered three out of the 110 districts with different levels of development and varying degrees of political, social-cultural and linguistic influences. In other words, the sample size is not representative enough to warrant the national application of the results. Findings of Fieldwork to Assess the State of Local Government and Decentralization There are no universal criteria for assessing the quality of decentralization. Several analysts have made valuable contributions to our understanding by examining the impact of decentralization on a variety of development-related factors (Rondinelli, Nellis and Cheema, 1984), or identifying “successful” cases and factors contributing to their success (Olowu and Smoke, 1992). While indicative of decentralization, the methods employed did not in effect provide a direct measure of decentralization. The criteria suggested here are identified as critical and broadly applicable by these authors. They are not the only factors, and the operationalization of these variables may take many forms. A review of the literature and years of work with decentralization programmes in Ghana and Africa have led us to this provisional formulation: The relative quality of decentralization in any country can be judged as a function (f ) of three important factors: (1) scope (S ); (2) intensity (I ); and (3) commitment (C ): D = f (S, I, C ) (see Box 3). Ordinal values on a five-point scale (1 – very low; 2 – low; 3 – fair; 4 – high; and 5 – very high) are assigned to each of the components of decentralization (scope intensity and commitment) based on the values of the variables included as operational measures of each (see Table 2.3).

 , ,  

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Box 2.3: Governance and institutional indicators of decentralization Performance Framework

Measurable indicators

1. Scope: The breadth or coverage of the decentralization programme. Does it have truly national implications or is it very localized and limited in terms of intended application? The greater the level, the more significant the degree of decentralization and the greater the potential contribution to quality governance.

Geographical coverage; population; substantive areas of concern; competence, provision of services; popular participation; responsive to constituents; location and economic base; stakeholders (funders, delivery partners and beneficiaries) and consensus building; process of consultation involved; how different positions were reconciled; whether there were identifiable groups of winners and losers.

2. Intensity: The levels of the bureaucracy and the nation’s finance which are formally involved. What levels of the bureaucracy have been successfully penetrated by some form of decentralization or are directly involved in the decentralization design and implementation of policy? As budgetary implications, personnel coverage and profoundness (type) of decentralization increase, the level of accountability and the quality of governance increase.

Type of decentralization – whether de-concentration, delegation, or devolution; greater accountability and good governance; personnel coverage – percentage of the civil service that formally falls under the programme of decentralization; budgetary implications – what percentage of the nation’s budgetary allocations go to support decentralized levels of government/administration; the trend in terms of the ratio of locality to central expenditures over time; effective local management.

3. Commitment: The level and the quality of support for decentralization by the central government and its top policy makers and the degree to which support manifests itself at various levels of administration/ government.

Legal and constitutional structure; endurance (whether programmes of decentralization have survived regime changes or whether they are short-lived and identified as regime-specific); personnel quality; finance; revenue mobilization and management; elected officials; official endorsements; regular opportunities for popular participation in the process of local policy making, implementation and evaluation; interaction with civil society organizations.

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Having established criteria for assessing decentralization, we will now proceed with an examination of the applicability of these methods to the fieldwork in the Kumasi, Bolga and Keta districts of Ghana. Scope The scope of the programme of decentralization, as measured by geographical and population coverage and substantive areas of concern in the three districts, appears to be relatively high and the areas of substantive concern extremely broad. Legislative Instruments 1432, 1438 (all of 1988) and 1474 of 1989 that created the Kumasi, Bolga and Keta DAs respectively provide a specific list of 86 functions. These include, for instance, the duty to provide utilities, infrastructure and agricultural development. Such legal duties do form a useful benchmark against which to measure the outputs of the DAs. However, the actual day-to-day functions of DAs tend to be numerous, unclear and permissive as opposed to mandatory. Most of their prescribed functions are regulatory, with little institution-building activity taking place. Respondents (both officials of the DAs and non-officials in the three districts) were asked to rate, on a scale of 1–5, the scope of decentralization based on the measurable indicators such as geographical coverage, population, substantive areas of concern, competence, provision of services, popular participation, responsiveness to constituents, location and economic base and stakeholders, with five representing the maximum scope (very high) and one representing an extremely limited scope for decentralization (very low) (see Table 3). Thereafter, an average of the frequencies of responses showed a score rating of 3 “fair.” Significantly, the lowest rating came from Kumasi Metropolitan District, where about 60% of the respondents were not happy with the decentralization programme because of the abrasive and confrontational stance of the Metropolitan District Chief Executive, Nana Akwasi Agyeman, who was seen by most residents as a bully. The fieldwork examines the adequacy of the three DAs to initiate and implement policies and programmes, that is, their ability to deliver locally desired services effectively. 45%, 55% and 58% of ordinary citizens in Kumasi, Bolga and Keta, respectively, replied that their DAs performed functions like maintenance of school buildings and building and refurbishment of public toilets well. However, 65%, 52% and 60% of ordinary citizens in Kumasi, Bolga and Keta, respectively, cited disposal of waste and sanitation, supervision and cost of control of development projects, enforcement of by-laws as functions which have been poorly performed. The high percentage recorded in Kumasi is not surprising given the poor performance of the Kumasi Metropolitan Assembly to cope with the sanitation prob-

 , ,  

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lems of Ghana’s second largest city, affectionately called the “Garden City of West Africa” because of its forest and trees. It is significant to note that in three districts, the DAs were seen by ordinary citizens as “renovators” of school buildings and public latrines, while the “providers” and “initiators” of amenities of the people like water, schools, clinics, sanitation are the aid agencies like the Danish International Development Agency (DANIDA), Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA), World Bank, German Development Cooperation (GTZ), Action Aid, Catholic Relief Services, Global Environment and World Vision. Responses from officials and District Assembly members on the performance of their DAs were very positive. All the officials and assembly members were full of praise for the performance of the DAs, with some boasting that they would have done better if they had the financial and human resources or what they commonly referred to as “logistics.” Both DA officials and ordinary citizens in the three districts admitted that the central government remains the main source of major projects like asphalted roads, electrification and hospitals. Indeed, the presence of the central government in the three districts is overwhelming. Village-level respondents especially in the Bolga and Keta districts indicated that some of their requests, which were not met by their DA members, were rather promptly dealt with when the representative of the central government in the district – the District Chief Executive – visited them. In the case of Kumasi, however, some of the respondents categorically denied their requests ever being met by the Metropolitan District Chief Executive who never visited certain areas within Kumasi because of their strong opposition presence. Based on these, 90% of village respondents rated the performance of the three DAs as poor. This contrasts with responses from DA members and officials who indicated that the DAs had not performed badly in the midst of financial and logistics constraints. The geographical difference of three important needs is worth noting. In the Kumasi Metropolitan area respondents indicated street lights, sanitation and road network as their three most pressing needs; in the Bolga municipality, education, water and health were mentioned while in the Keta district, the premium was on roads, water and employment. Almost 60%, 66% and 98% of village level respondents in the Bolga, Keta and Kumasi districts indicated that their needs were not met by the DAs. The difference in needs is due to the status of the three districts. Asked about their level of satisfaction with projects the DAs had completed, 50% and 60% of village-level respondents in the Bolga and Keta districts, respectively, replied that they were somewhat satisfied, while 50% and 40% of respondents in the Bolga and Keta

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districts were not satisfied. This contrasts with 20% non-official respondents of Kumasi who were satisfied with projects of the DAs and 80% who were dissatisfied. The grounds for dissatisfaction in the three districts include imposition of projects on the communities by the DA without consultation, inequitable distribution of projects, as most projects were concentrated in the district capitals and villages of the DA members, a host of abandoned projects and shoddy work as a result of misappropriation of funds by contractors. Surprisingly, the DA officials and members in the three districts were satisfied with the projects undertaken by their DAs. They, however, suggested the streamlining of the award of contracts so that the procedure would be more transparent to enable more competent contractors to submit bids. In the three districts DA members were not happy with the perceived lack of transparency exhibited by their DCEs as far as the contract procedure was concerned and urged their DCEs to ensure that the District Tender Advisory Board perform their functions without fear or favour. Intensity The intensity of decentralization is measured here by the profoundness (type) of decentralization being implemented, the range of public sector personnel involved in it and the national budgetary implications. Decentralization is being undertaken in a serious fashion by the central government, but in a limited form. This is referred to as “centralized” decentralization or “illusory” decentralization. Decentralization in Ghana as the fieldwork suggests is a blend of devolution and deconcentration, with more emphasis on deconcentration. Ghana is a unitary state and as such all levels of administration including the three DAs are creatures of the central government. The DAs, although charged with 86 local tasks, remain the lower rungs in a central administrative structure. The Local Government Act (Act 462) and the legislative instrument that created the DAs stipulate that the power that the DAs exercise could theoretically be withdrawn by the central government at any time. The central government has power to influence the decisions of the DAs. The interpretation of powers of the DAs rests with the central government. The most important reserved intervention of the central government is the power of the President to “cause to be investigated the performance of any functions of a district assembly and where necessary in the public interest declare a district assembly to be in default and transfer to a person or body as he may think fit such functions of the district assembly” (Republic of Ghana, 1993). This presidential power was used in three districts by former President Rawlings when the DAs became so polarized that the districts became ungovern-

 , ,  

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able. The exercise of power by the president to declare a DA in “default” in the “public interest” has been criticized since there is the possibility of it being abused by the president, with the potential to undermine district autonomy. The devolution of authority to the DAs has also been circumscribed by the Ministry of Local Government and Rural Development (MLGRD). This ministry monitors the decentralization process and the effectiveness of the DAs and advises the government on all local government issues. Consequently, it approves all the by-laws of the DAs, issues guidelines for the making and levying of rates in the districts and issues instructions, after consultation with the Ministry of Finance, for the better control and efficient management of finances of the DAs. The then Minister for Local Government and Rural Development, Mr Kwamina Ahwoi, however, indicated that the guidelines were issued not to circumscribe the authority of the DAs but rather because of the major macro-economic impact that rates, fees and licenses would have on Ghanaians. Most DAs have constantly complained of directives from the MLGRD that have tended to undermine their autonomy and independence. The fieldwork confirms that the position of District Chief Executive (DCE) – the most important and powerful figure in district administration – strengthens the power of the central government to control the DAs. According to DA members interviewed in the three DAs, the DCE cannot be intimidated either by the Presiding Member or the Member of Parliament. In the case of the Kumasi Metropolitan Assembly, the Metropolitan Chief Executive was described as a “bully” by both DA members and village-level respondents. In July 2000, for instance, the Metropolitan District Chief Executive, Nana Akwasi Agyeman, was reported to have assaulted the Member of Parliament for Bantama, Dr Richard Anane. Similarly, there was a stand-off between DA members and Nana Akwasi Agyeman, during which some DA members demanded that Nana Agyeman should resign because he had not followed the approved procedure for the award of contracts. However, because Nana Agyeman was in the good books of the central government, he remained untouchable. Even when his term of office ended in October 2000, he refused to leave his official house and never surrendered his official car and other Assembly paraphernalia to the Regional Minister. He did so only when the New Patriotic Party government, which took over power in January 2001, gave him an ultimatum to surrender the items or face the full rigours of the law. Another area of central control is the role of government appointees. Most of the elected DA members in the three districts had an educational background up to the secondary level, and this had contributed to low capacity in the decision-making process. The Local

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Government Act (Act 462) of 1993 recognized this by giving the central government the power to appoint 30% of the members of the DAs with requisite experience and proven capacity. Unfortunately, this has been politicized, and loyalty to the government appears to carry more weight than proven competence and expertise. It came to light that most government appointees in the three DAs have a tendency to side with the DCE on central government policies and positions. Consequently, the central government has influenced certain decisions (for example, in the election of a PM or removal of a DCE) of the DAs by literally using the whip to get their compliance. In the case of the Kumasi Metropolitan Assembly (KMA), government appointees threw their weight behind the Metropolitan Chief Executive apparently with overt and covert proddings from the central government, when the majority of elected members demanded that he should resign in July 2000. Personnel coverage under decentralization in Ghana is limited. The study found that in Kumasi there are the 16 requisite departments but in Bolga district there are 8 departments instead of 11, while there are 7 instead of 11 in the Keta district. Their personnel remain employees of central government departments and ministries, but are supposed to be responsible and accountable to DA officials. These departments and line ministries receive their budget and handle issues of hiring, firing, sanctions and rewards by reference to the authority of their headquarters. They are agencies that have operated over the years as central government agencies providing technical services in the districts of the country. The inability to integrate the departments and agencies into the authority structure of the DAs has caused their national and regional headquarters to win their loyalty and commitment, as the latter control and manage the policies which directly affect them with respect to staffing, transfer, promotion, dismissal and remuneration. Staff of the departments sometimes ignored DA policies and priorities, refused to attend personnel and DA meetings and generally did a fairly good job of maintaining the status quo ante. This approach, on their part, is personally convenient, but also helps maintain the influence of the centre over the periphery. These problems are compounded by the failure of the central government to write or introduce any legislation that reorganized central ministries’ operations to fit this new arrangement. As earlier pointed out, the ministries of Health and Education and Forestry Department have adopted an organizational structure that has hived them off from the civil service to form “services”. This enables them to operate at the district level and yet not be part of the DAs. Not only is this in conflict with the Local Government Act, but decentralization in these sectors, in terms of

 , ,  

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the DAs controlling the departments or absorbing them, has in effect been ruled out. Consequently, the “major issues under administrative decentralization are sectoral conceptual differences in the interpretation of the policy, and sectoral differences in approaches to institutional reforms for decentralized management. . . . We have decentralized, because we have opened offices in all the districts (talking of deconcentration and not decentralization)” (Ahwoi, 1999: 6). Even those functionaries who are employed by the DAs are paid by either the Ministry of Local Government or Ministry of Finance. There is still no local government service, but it appears that a Bill and training programmes (as illustrated by the establishment of the Institute of Local Government Studies) are being prepared to create one. Thus, the coverage, in terms of personnel, is quite limited. The budgetary implications of Ghana’s decentralization programme are quite significant in national terms. The 1992 Constitution and the Local Government Act (Act 462) of 1993 enjoin that DAs must have sound financial bases, with adequate and reliable sources of revenue to enable them perform their functions and responsibilities. Two main types of revenue sources for the DAs have, therefore, been provided. Article 252 of the 1992 Constitution established the District Assemblies’ Common Fund (DACF) and provides that Parliament shall allocate annually no less than 5 per cent of total Ghana government revenues to the 110 District Assemblies on a quarterly basis for development projects in the districts. The formula for 1999 is based on five factors. They are: • The needs factor (that seeks to redress the imbalance in the various levels of development among the districts) – 35%; • The equalizing factor (that seeks to ensure that each district, irrespective of size, natural endowment and population is given an equal specified minimum for development) – 25%; • The responsive factor (which motivates the DAs to mobilize more resources locally for development instead of relying solely on the DACF) – 20%; • The service pressure factor (which is determined by population density and special reports on districts by the Ministry of Local Government) – 10%; and • The Reserved Fund (formerly called contingency fund) – 10%. One half of the Reserved Fund is to be allocated to the 200 Members of Parliament (MPs) for the development of their constituencies. The percentages for the disbursements are percentages of the total DACF (i.e. 5% of national revenue). The factors have, however, been the subject of controversy because of the unreliable statistical

  ‒  

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data used in their calculation by the DACF Administrator (DACFA). Consequently, Members of Parliament (MPs) and others have complained about the modalities used in their calculation, which to some are inequitable. The DACF is administered by a District Assemblies’ Common Fund Administrator (DACFA), who is appointed by the President with the prior approval of Parliament. Proceeds from the DACF exceeded revenues generated locally by the DAs (see Table 2.4). In 1994 the figure was $19 million, representing 19.6% of the central government’s total domestic development budget for the year. In 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, $28 million, $41 million, $45 million, $41 million and $36 million representing 28.5%, 25.5%, 26.7%, 25.5% and 23.8%, respectively, of the total domestic development budget was transferred (Ayee, 1995; 1997b; 1999). Table 2.4: Proceeds from DACF and Locally Generated Revenue of DAs, 1994–June 2000 Year 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 ( June)

Total DACF for 110 Districts

110 DA Locally Generated Revenue (in US dollars)

$ $ $ $ $ $ $

$ $ $ $ $ $ $

19 28 41 45 41 36 19

million million million million million million million

9.8 10.7 13.4 14.1 13.6 12.3 5.2

million million million million million million million

Source: Office of the District Assemblies Common Fund Administrator, Accra.

Section 9 of the DACF Act (Act 455) of 1993 stipulates that the Minister of Finance, in consultation with the Minister of Local Government and Rural Development, is authorized to determine the category of expenditure of the approved budget of a DA that must be met out of the DACF. This seems to have undermined the DAs’ autonomy in the use of the proceeds from the DACF. The DAs are so far obliged to use allocations from the Common Fund solely for development (capital) projects, and rely on locally generated and ceded revenues to meet their recurrent costs. The establishment of the DACF has undoubtedly helped the DAs to initiate development projects and has raised the profile of the Assemblies in the eyes of their communities. However, given the overall financial status of the country and when comparisons are made with other developing countries, the financial commitment is relatively modest.

 , ,  

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The fieldwork shows that most respondents, particularly the DA members, were unhappy about the modalities for the use of the proceeds of the DACF. Most of the respondents in the three districts were of the view that over 70% of proceeds of the DACF were being used to provide office and residential accommodation for staff in the district capitals rather than used to provide basic infrastructure in the less endowed rural areas, which a majority of DA members represented. DA members were of the view that if their areas were not developing their chances of being re-elected were slim since they had made promises to the electorate. Similarly, DA officials complain of the late release of proceeds from the DACF by the Administrator’s office. The disbursements are done on a quarterly basis. However, due to delays in transfers, fourth quarter disbursements are usually made in January or even February of the following year. A number of suggestions were made for the management of the DACF in the three districts. They include: discussion of DACF projects with communities concerned before implementation; equitable distribution of the DACF among the various electoral areas; prioritization of DA projects; transparency in the disbursement of the DACF within the DA; and establishment of a monitoring unit within the DA to manage the DACF. In spite of proceeds from the DACF to the three districts, there is a disparity between their finances and functions. While the DAs have been given 86 functions, they lack the financial resources to perform them. Ceded Revenue is derived from revenue sources which hitherto were tapped by the central government through the Internal Revenue Service, but which the central government has “ceded” to the DAs in pursuit of decentralization. The ceded revenue is centrally collected by the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) and the total ceded revenue collected for the year is transferred to the Ministry of Local Government and Rural Development (MLGRD) which shares it among the DAs, using a formula approved annually by the Cabinet. The ceded revenue sources, which are listed in the Sixth Schedule of the Local Government Act (Act 462) are the following: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v)

Entertainment Duty Casino Revenue Betting tax Gambling tax Income Tax (Registration of Trade, Business, Profession or Vocation) Law, 1986 (PNDCL 156)

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(vi) Income tax payable by specified categories of self-employed persons in the informal sector; (vii) Daily Transport Tax (viii) Advertisement Tax In spite of this provision of ceded revenue, none of the three DAs has received disbursements from ceded revenue. The central government is unwilling to release money because it is uncomfortable with leaving too much money in the hands of DAs, the majority of which do not have requisite accounting personnel to manage the funds. This, to the central government, can lead to misapplication and misappropriation of funds. Moreover, the central government thinks it has more responsibilities in terms of development than the DAs and therefore needs more funds than the DAs to fulfil its electoral promise. Respondents, both DA members and the general public, were asked to rate the intensity of decentralization in Ghana, based on the following measures: extent of decentralization, finances and personnel issues. The mean of the frequencies of responses show that the intensity of decentralization is low to moderate, but increasing. In combination, these measures of intensity seem to be fairly stable, with some suggestion that moderate improvements can be expected in the future. Again, using the same five-point scale, intensity should be rated 2.5 (see Table 2.3). Commitment The last of the three major factors, commitment, is operationalized in terms of a set of nine different variables (namely, legal structure, endurance, personnel quality, finance, elected officials, official endorsement, participation, gender participation and accountability) associated with the institutionalization of a programme of decentralization. In the case of the first of these, the legal structure, a significant number of texts have been promulgated, which provide a relatively clear delineation of the role and functions of decentralized administration. The texts have been revised and modified over the years to both clarify and strengthen the meaning of decentralization in Ghana. The endurance or perseverance of decentralized organs of the state is quite good. It dates back from the early days of independence, with several modifications and innovations having been made over the years. The process underwent major changes in 1988 under the PNDC government and has continued to expand. The endurance of decentralization in Ghana is indicative of a positive value associated with it and hence, of a moderate degree of institutionalization.

 , ,  

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Adequacy of human and fiscal resources is an important ingredient to sustain policies and programmes of decentralization. The quality of personnel assigned to the districts is, with important exceptions, modest. Assignment to the districts is viewed as having negative implications for one’s career. An overwhelming number of employees of the three DAs, especially the Keta district, lack the training necessary for the functions that they actually perform. There is a general non-availability of qualified personnel to maintain certain portfolios, particularly in the financial, planning and budgeting sections. Added to this, there is inadequate office and residential accommodation for technical and administrative personnel who want to take up jobs in the districts. Managerial capacity, as a problem in the DAs, is compounded because of the unwillingness of some personnel to take up employment with the DAs. At the Keta district, for example, a site engineer was transferred on promotion from Ho, the regional capital of the Volta region, to the district but he did not take up the appointment but rather decided to stay in his original position. No sanctions were applied for his inability to take up the position because the regional site engineer felt that the district site engineer was going to “suffer” in a rural district like Keta. Of the few with managerial skills, there is lack of job satisfaction because of low remuneration and inhospitable conditions. Furthermore, working in the DAs has a low social status as compared to other vocations, particularly for those with higher qualifications and much sought-after skills and competence. Managerial capacity is even more acute because the DAs lack the legal authority to adapt the number and qualifications of staff relevant for different managerial and technical functions, who could make the difference in the provision of services. This constraint in capacity includes the right to hire and fire. In the face of the unattractive nature of working for the DAs, the technical and administrative staffs tend to have poor or low educational qualifications. This undermines managerial capacity. This is particularly the case in a deprived district like Keta and, to some extent, Bolga. In the Kumasi district, managerial capacity abounds, but the Metropolitan Assembly is not a competitive employer in relation to conditions of service. Measures to support managerial capacity are also arrested, as the three DAs, especially Bolga and Keta, lack the power to provide their own peculiar incentives to induce acceptance to “hardship” or socio-economically deprived areas, which, by their nature, are not attractive to people with the requisite skills. Lack of infrastructure, logistics and facilities like health centers, education, accessible roads and means of transportation and communication also deter the hiring and retention of qualified personnel.

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About 50 per cent of DA members in the three districts seem not to know their functions very well. In addition, a majority of elected DA members cannot participate meaningfully in debates because of their poor educational background. The tendency is that DA meetings are dominated either by the DCE, MP or government appointees or a combination of them. Likewise, most respondents, including, surprisingly, DA members, lack knowledge about the operations of the DAs. Some of the DA members are not conversant with DA standing orders and other procedures involved in debates. These defects could be a measure of the DA officials’ own lack of commitment to their jobs than a measure of the government’s commitment. Finance for the DAs is inadequate for their tasks. Indeed, when the 300 respondents were asked what were the three most important problems facing their DAs finance, logistics and infrastructure were mentioned in this order of priority. Taxing authority is reasonably broad but not fully exploited. Forty-three percent of respondents in the three districts reported that the DAs were ineffective at revenue collection. DA members were disenchanted and frustrated not only because they are unable to fulfil promises made to the electorate but also they are poorly remunerated. Consequently, some DA members interviewed indicated that they have been irregular at DA meetings. The Locally Generated Revenues (popularly referred to as traditional sources of local government revenue) are derived from the following sources: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v) (vi) (vii)

Basic rates Property rates Special rates Fees Licenses Trading Services Specialized Funds such as Stool Land Royalties, Timber Royalties, and Mineral Development Fund (viii) Investments of DA funds However, locally generated revenues to finance recurrent costs tend to be expensive to collect. For example, the basic rate or poll tax is fixed at only 500 cedis (the equivalent of about 90 US cents) in the three districts per adult per year, whereas collection and processing costs can amount to twice that amount per head. The DAs are faced also with a reluctance on the part of many citizens to pay rates and fees, particularly in the rural communities, and are struggling to reconcile shrinking revenue bases with increasing expenditure levels. Official public endorsements for decentralization by top public officials including the President, are regularly made. Numerous

 , ,  

73

instances of public utterances, government publications and newspaper accounts attest to this. Translating these endorsements into action has been slow but steady. Commitment, in this sense, appears to be moderate. The performance of the committees of the DAs (the “workshop”) has been severely criticized. Over 80 per cent of village-level respondents noted that the committees were dominated by a few members whose views were well respected. DA officials, however, praised the work of the committees in spite of problems that faced them. Most DA members complained that they could not attend committee meetings regularly because of the irregular payment of sitting allowances. They also indicated that they became disenchanted with committee work when various recommendations made were not implemented by the DA because of lack of funds. There are formal and informal procedures and opportunities for popular participation in the local policy-making process through the DA meetings, DA members meeting the electorate, Unit Committees, and local associational groups. Electoral participation is open and non-partisan but voter turnout is, because of the lack of serious competition, quite low. Overall, opportunities for participation are moderate but growing. How the government handles the issue and contents of new laws for ensuring participation of the electorate and civil society organizations will provide important complementary evidence in this regard. The fieldwork also shows that the system of decentralization does not incorporate an effective mechanism for holding local officials accountable to the local electorate: whilst there are DAs, part of whose membership is elected and part appointed, these have only an advisory role and rarely act as an effective check on the power of local officials, especially the DCE. Rather, in the Ghanaian context, the line of accountability is still very much to the central government. The participation and interest of women in the work of the three DAs is generally low. In spite of the government’s directive that 30% of the number of government appointees be reserved solely for women, the dominance of men in the work of the DAs is overwhelming. There is a great gender imbalance in the operation of the DAs. Evaluation of various indicators of commitment produces mixed results. The fact that most of these measures are at least moderate and some are quite strong suggests that the general level of commitment to decentralization is quite modest. Furthermore, when compared with other developing countries, Ghana’s commitment to decentralization is quite strong. When DA officials and village-level respondents were asked how they would rate the government’s commitment to decentralization based on legal structure, endurance,

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personnel quality, finance, elected officials, official endorsement and participation, the mean of the responses show that Ghana easily rates 3 score for commitment (see Table 2.3). Achievements and Successes of Decentralization The decentralization programme has produced some positive results. First, it has enabled the local people in the three districts to show some interest in their own affairs and participate, even if minimally, in policies and programmes of their areas. Indeed, the decentralization programme has awakened the spirit of voluntarism and “awareness” among most sections of the communities, which is reminiscent of the period from 1957 to 1960. It has dawned on communities that the development of their areas lies on their shoulders. However, this initial enthusiasm and euphoria have waned because of the inability of the DAs to effectively deliver. Second, the decentralization programme has led to an incremental access of people living in previously neglected rural areas to central government resources and institutions in the three districts. The DAs have undertaken development projects such as the construction and maintenance of feeder roads, school classroom blocks, clinics, places of convenience and markets as well as the provision of water and electricity. But these developments are marginal. Moreover, some of these local initiatives are undertaken either in collaboration with or solely by non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and donor agencies. For instance, NGOs like World Vision and Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA) have provided water, clinics, latrines and schools to vulnerable communities in the districts. Donor agencies such as the World Bank, Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) and Danish International Development Agency (DANIDA) have assisted in areas of infrastructure programmes and capacity building. For example, the World Bank has supported the most urbanized district infrastructure programmes. CIDA and DANIDA, on the other hand, through their funding for local initiative, have provided assistance for basic needs to the DAs in the form of support for schools, clinics, water, latrine construction and income generating activities. The presence of CSOs and donors has created legitimacy problems for the DAs because most local people, more often than not, mistakenly credit CSOs and donors for every project which is executed in the districts. Third, decentralization does allow some local consultation in the formulation and implementation of local policies and programmes. Opportunities for minimal popular participation at the village level are exercised through relations between the DA member and his or

 , ,  

75

her electorate (either through meetings with village groups or individuals or through actually developing and implementing local projects, mostly self-help ones). Fourth, decentralization has opened development opportunities in the three districts. The improved infrastructural development through the activities of the donor community and, to some extent, the DAs has improved health and sanitation infrastructure and thereby removed some of the barriers to social and economic development. Fifth, environmental issues have also been tackled as Environmental Management Committees of the three DAs have drawn up by-laws to prevent, control and monitor bushfires, as well as check environmental degradation generally. Social factors which affect development are also being considered. Sub-committees have been set up to protect vulnerable groups such as women and children. The goal is to prevent the exploitation of children by irresponsible adults and to end anachronistic customary practices such as female circumcision. However, beyond setting up the sub-committees, the DAs have not been able to address the problems for which they were established. There is yet a ray of hope since the sub-committees were established recently too to have made any meaningful progress towards the realisation of their objectives. Failures of Decentralization The impact of the benefits on the prospects for sustainable development is not clear because of the limited scope of the benefits. The provision of basic amenities (education and health facilities, water, electricity, etc.) to the rural areas and their accessibility to a wide majority of the population – the most important functions of the decentralized units – have not been achieved. Moreover, the alleviation of poverty through the eradication of unemployment, inequality, hunger, disease and squalor has not been addressed. Consequently, the government since March 1998 has directed all District Assemblies (DAs) to allocate 20 per cent of their share of the District Assemblies’ Common Fund (DACF) to address poverty-reduction issues in their localities. In addition, the Unit Committees – the lowest level of the local government structure – which are to be the implementation level of the local government structure and the focus of people’s empowerment in local governance were established only in September 1998. Without the lowest structure, the DAs found it difficult to implement the poverty-reduction programmes at the local level. Sustainability of the programmes of decentralization depends on the participation of the people in the decision making process. However, available evidence suggests that the ordinary people were not

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involved in projects and programmes earmarked for them. Usually, representatives of the electorate suggested programmes or projects at DA meetings without any prior consultation with the electorate. It has been argued that the ordinary people are apathetic to local development and issues because they are primarily concerned with “dayto-day hand to mouth issues”. This assertion may or may not be true. The heart of the matter, however, is that decentralization has failed to wholly whip up the enthusiasm of the ordinary people in Ghana. It is possible to say therefore that decentralization may have halted the stunted rural development in Ghana but may not have addressed rural-urban development imbalances. Factors/Conditions that Impede Practices of Good Governance in Decentralization Eight factors impede the practices of good governance in decentralization. They are: • The level of deprivation among the districts is high in terms of availability of basic services and facilities. In spite of the District Assemblies Common Fund, Keta and Bolga districts lack office equipment, furniture and required stationery. • The competence of district level financial management is seriously inadequate. Many of the inadequacies were unearthed during the study in the three districts and have been reported in the AuditorGeneral’s Report. To maximize the use of limited resources, district financial management must be improved. This could be done through the following: i. develop a financial management training scheme, introducing transparency, accountability and budget preparation skills on an initial pilot basis. In addition to the training, central government could be supported to institute improvement for transfer of the DACF to the districts; ii. assistance could be provided to compile and publish simple, clear government financial regulations and requirements to be used in the district. These will involve initial research into all existing financial orders, the Financial Administration Decree and Financial Administration Regulation. • In general, it can be assumed that central power is rarely ceded voluntarily. In Ghana, the increase from 65 to 110 comparatively poorly resourced districts may be viewed in practice as a weak-

 , ,  

•

•

•

•

•

77

ening of peripheral power. Therefore support is required for a representative body to look after the interests of the DAs vis-à-vis the central government. Such a body with the ability to negotiate, provide information and collective support can in theory enhance the democratization process. The National Association of Local Authorities of Ghana (NALAG) is such an organization, which is often at the mercy of central government and the Parliamentary Committee on local government for funding. The appointment of DCEs and 30% of the membership of DAs represents a strong presence of the central government at the local level. This promotes allegiance and accountability towards the centre rather than the local population. It also undermines the nonpartisan character of the DAs. The shortage of personnel at the local level is related to the unattractive civil service conditions of work, the lack of authority to hire at the local level since hiring of staff is centralised in the Ministry of Finance and the Public Services Commission, and the poor social infrastructure in the districts. Difficulties associated with coordinating local and international NGOs through policies and guidelines that foster closer links between them and DAs, while ensuring the autonomy and independence of NGOs. The irregular disbursement of proceeds of the DACF has affected the performance of the DAs. For instance, at the time of conducting this study the three DAs had not received their second quarter disbursements, even though they were in the fourth quarter. Consequently, they had to suspend projects which they were supposed to complete in the second quarter. The inability to integrate the so-called decentralized departments into the DAs has created difficulties in the integration of sectoral programmes and resources into the DAs for composite budgeting and participatory integrated development planning. Conclusion

A number of useful lessons can be discerned from the study, which, as a result of the specific situations of the multiplicity of actors, could provide a framework for developing feasible directions for the decentralization programme. First, the decentralization programme involves a major restructuring of the whole political and administrative system and therefore its implementation involves multiple centres of action. Different categories of actors (like the central government, District chief Executive, Presiding Member, Members of Parliament, local

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government employees, non-governmental organizations and indeed citizens) are involved. Since decentralization is about power sharing, conflict and competition are generated among the various actors, thereby affecting the realization of the objectives of decentralization. Second, institutional and personal commitment is needed from all the actors to ensure that progress is made. Appropriate attitudes and behaviour of the various actors must be encouraged. A minimum level of trust and respect must be created between the actors as well as mutual recognition that each is capable of performing certain functions to move the course of decentralization. Third, the capacity of the state needs to be strengthened to enable it to perform its integrating, coordinating and monitoring role effectively because decentralization involves a network of dispersed actors whose responsibilities are also organizationally dispersed. This is in line with Nunberg’s (1995) suggestion that, for developing countries, it is advisable to strengthen central organization before issues of flexibility are considered. As the Ghanaian case has shown, capacity building efforts at the center have not been given adequate time to take effect before the implementation of the decentralization programme. Finally, although there is a long way to go, there has been considerable progress in implementation of the decentralization programme over the years. It has gone well beyond the stage of rhetoric, and although not universally endorsed by some political elites and intellectuals, decentralization seems to have become a valued part of the Ghanaian polity. Based on this preliminary analysis, it seems reasonably safe to argue that Ghana has passed a significant threshold along the way to a fully institutionalized system of decentralization. To the extent that sound governance is developing in Ghana, the programme of decentralization can be expected to be an important contributing factor. Supporting and strengthening of the process of decentralization as a way of improving governance and strengthening democracy is clearly indicated.

 , ,  

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APPENDIX Box 2.2: Legislations on Ghana’s decentralization programme The 1992 Constitution (Chapters 8 and 20); PNDC Law 207, 1988 which has been repealed by the Local Government Act (Act 462), 1993; The Civil Service Law (PNDC Law 327), 1993; Legislative Instrument (LI) 1514, 1991, which has been repealed by LI 1589, 1994; District Assemblies Common Fund Act (Act 455), 1993; the National Development Planning Commission Act (Act 479), 1994; the National Development Planning (System) Act, (Act 480) and the legislative Instruments of 1988/89 that created the 110 District Assemblies (DAs). In addition to these, there are some administrative regulations, viz., the Financial Memorandum (Section 81) of the Local Government Act, (Act 54), 1961; Financial Administrative Decree (FAD), SMCD 221, 1979); the Financial Administration Regulation (FAR), LI 1234, 1979; by-laws of the 110 District Assemblies; Model Standing Orders for Municipal and District Assemblies, 1994; Local Government (District Tender Boards) (Establishment) Instrument, 1990 (LI 1482); National Weekly Lotto (Amendment) Law, 1990 (PNDCL 223); Trees and Timber (Chain Saw Operations) Regulations, 1991 (LI 1518) and Legislative Instruments of the Ministry of Local Government and Rural Development.

Table 2.1: Departments under Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies Metropolitan 1. Central Administration Dept 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Municipal 1. Central Administration Dept

District

1. Central Administration Dept Finance Department 2. Finance Department 2. Finance Department Education, Youth and 3. Education, Youth and 3. Education, Youth Sports Department Sports Department and Sports Department Metropolitan Health 4. Municipal Health 4. District Health Dept Department Department Waste Management 5. Agriculture 5. Agriculture Department Department Agriculture Department 6. Physical Planning 6. Physical Planning Dept Dept Physical Planning Dept 7. Social Welfare and 7. Social Welfare and Community Community Development Dept Development Dept



80 Table 2.1: (cont.) Metropolitan

Municipal

8. Social Welfare and Community Development Dept

9. Natural Resources Conservation Dept, Forestry, Game and Wildlife Division 10. Works Department 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

8.

District

Natural Resources 8. Conservation Dept, Forestry, Game and Wildlife Division Works Department

Natural Resources Conservation Dept, Forestry, Game and Wildlife Division Works Department

10. Industry and Trade 10. Industry and Department Trade Department Industry and Trade 11. Transport 11. Disaster Department Department Prevention Department Budgeting and Rating 12. Disaster Prevention Department Legal Department 13. Urban Roads Transport Department Disaster Prevention Dept Urban Roads

Source: Republic of Ghana, Local Government Act (Act 462), 1993, First Schedule.

Table 2.2: List of 10 Electoral Areas in which fieldwork was conducted in August 1999 Keta District

Kumasi Metropolitan District

Bolga Municipal District

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Bantama Amakom Oforikrom Manhyia Breman Santasi Dadiesoaba Asafo Fanti New Town Patasi

Bolga Tongo Balungu Winkogo Kolgo Zanlerigu Asonge Sumbrungu Zuarungu Pwalugu

Anloga Anyanui Abor Kedzi Atiavi Keta Anyako Seva Alakple Bleamazado



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Table 2.3: The measurement of decentralization in Ghana Scope

Scale Intensity Score 1.5–4.5

Geographical 3.0 coverage Population 4.5 Coverage Substantive 1.5 areas

MEAN SCORE

3

Scale Commitment Score 2.0–2.5

Type of 3.0 decentralization Personnel 2.0 coverage Budgetary 2.5 implications

2.5

Scale Score 2.6–4.0

Legal structure 3.5 Endurance 4.0 Personnel quality Finance Elected officials Official endorsement Participation

2.6 2.6 2.6 3.1 2.6 3

The quality of decentralization (D) is a function of the scope (S), intensity (I) and commitment (C) in a nation (D) = f (S, I, C). Scale scores range from 1 (very low) to 5 (very high).


 

THE MASS MEDIA, POLITICAL EXPRESSION, AND DEMOCRATIC TRANSITION Wisdom J. Tettey Introduction In the 1950s and 1960s, there was an optimistic tone in the articulation of the relationship between the state and the media in Africa. The general view was that “media influence could be a magic multiplier for development in non-Western and developing countries. This view held that the media would always be controlled by the state, and the state – in its profound sense of altruism – would assure that this control would be manifested in a way that was best for society” (Lardner, 1993, p. 91). Unfortunately, this optimism was not supported by the reality of state-media relations in Ghana, and indeed in Africa as a whole. The media were controlled by the state alright but that control did not spawn an altruistic pursuit of the national interest. What resulted was rather the stifling of free expression by the media and their use as instruments for the protection of the parochial interest of the state elite. Clapham’s (1997, p. 546) “survey of opposition in tropical Africa prior to the 1990s serves to indicate how slight were the opportunities for legitimate political competition and at the same time how great were the sources of discontent which were denied any permissible outlet.” Reminiscent of media control by some earlier governments, the Rawlings regime in Ghana used mechanism such as the Newspaper Licensing Law (PNDCL 211) to curtail the free functioning of the private press as it maintained its stranglehold on the state-owned media. Furthermore, “summary executions and the rough tactics of the local militants who staffed the Committees for the Defence of the Revolution (CDRs) imposed acquienscence and a ‘culture of silence’ ” (Lyons, 1997: 68; see also Oquaye, 1995). Since the early 1990s, however, the Ghanaian media landscape has witnessed significant changes, just as is the case in much of the African continent (Lardner, 1993, pp. 92–93). These changes have seen an increase in the number of privately-owned print and electronic media outlets, a more vocal and courageous private press, and an increasingly less ‘henpecked’ state media. A corollary of these developments is the emergence of the media as veritable forums for

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democratic expression and as the watchdogs of the evolving democratic dispensation. Many observers have noted that the post-1992 period has witnessed a transformation in the Ghanaian mass media (Blay-Amihere, 1993; Karikari, 1999; Daily Graphic, May 4, 2001). Evidence of this transformation, it is argued, is borne out not only by the increased number of media options available to citizens, but also a significant shift in the quality and nature of civic engagement vis-à-vis political issues. It is this shift that has led to a description of the Ghanaian media as “remarkably one of the most unfettered and freest on the continent of Africa” (CPU, March 21, 2001). I agree with the Commonwealth Press Union’s (CPU) assertion that “the government of Flight Lieutenant Jerry John Rawlings . . . used various methods including threats of criminal libel suits, to cow the press, especially the privately owned” (CPU, March 21, 2001; See also Alabi, 2001: 4). Evidence will be adduced in the following discussion to support this position. However, I think it is inaccurate and unfair to claim that “newspapers, radio and TV station [sic] are mushrooming due to the new political dispensation” ushered in by the Kufuor government (CPU, March 21, 2001). At the time that the CPU put out this information, the Kufour government had been in office for just a little over two months and so cannot be credited with the mushrooming of media outlets – a phenomenon that without question preceded the new regime. It also seems simplistic to contend that that the “the past twenty years has seen Ghana’s Media in what could be described as its darkest period” (CPU, March 21, 2001). The trajectory of media-state relations in Ghana, especially in the post-independence period, has unquestionably crossed worse times (see Martin 1998, p. 66; see also Clegg, 1993). Furthermore, the complexities of the media climate and their performance under the various Rawlings regimes cannot be captured through a single and static perspective. Even though there were a few private newspapers before democratic rule was re-established in 1993, the unprecedented expansion in the number of media outlets flows from the constitutional provisions of the 1992 Constitution and the democratic opportunities that it created even under Rawlings, such as the repeal of Newspaper Licensing Law (PNDCL 211) in July 1992. For the purposes of this chapter, however, I do not intend to go into a discussion of the variations of state-media relations during both the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) and National Democratic Congress (NDC) regimes. The focus will be solely on the latter period. The Constitution unequivocally guarantees freedom and independence of the media and explicitly prohibits censorship, and it is in view of this that an assessment of the media-democracy axis seems more germane for the period of the NDC regime. The Constitution states inter alia:

 ,  ,  

85

There shall be no impediments to the establishment of private press or media; and in particular, there shall be no law requiring any person to obtain a licence as a prerequisite to the establishment or operation of a newspaper, journal or other media for mass communication and information (Article 162 (3) of the 1992 Constitution).

Consequently, the country currently boasts of scores of newspapers, over 40 radio stations, and three television stations. Prior to the 1990s, there were only two daily newspapers – Daily Graphic and the Ghanaian Times, which were all owned by the state. Currently there are three privately-owned daily newspapers, i.e., Accra Mail, the Ghanaian Chronicle, and the Daily Guide. This is, indeed, an impressive change in view of the fact that the state controlled a significant majority of newspapers while it exclusively ran the electronic media. In the midst of the increasing adulation of mass media operations in the country, this chapter seeks to evaluate the extent to which the transformations in the media have affected democratic processes, practices, and discourses. In order to appreciate the extent to which the new media scene represents a significant shift from the old order, we will need to engage in an assessment of the nature of media-state relations, the environment in which media practitioners operate, the extent to which private media with opposing viewpoints are allowed to function, and the media avenues open to citizens to express their opinions about issues of national concern. To achieve its objectives, the paper will be guided by the following questions. What impact has constitutionalism had on the pre-1992 anti-press attitudes of the state? How, if at all, have the mass media contributed to the establishment and maintenance of a democratic order? What is the nature of the democratic spaces that have been created within and through the media? What is the quality of the discourses that obtain in those spaces and who gets to participate in them? An examination of these questions is necessary, not only to give an empirical knowledge about what is going on in Ghana with regard to state-media relations, but also to address gaps in the literature vis-à-vis the relationship between the mass media and democratization. Such an exercise is important, because, as O’Neil (1998, p. 3) points out, “despite the fact that the recent spread of democracy has led to a commensurate amount of scholarly work on authoritarian collapse and democratization, little attention has been given to the media in this regard.” The Media as Requisite Elements of Democracy The mass media are seen as vehicles for the promotion of a civic culture that then undergirds the development and consolidation of democracy. It is argued that, by providing a forum for the dissemination

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of information and the discussion of issues that are relevant to the polity, the media help create democratic public spheres which give a fillip for the construction and sustenance of civil society (see O’Neil, 1998). It is in this respect that freedom of expression, and of the press, are construed as the very basis of democracy. Without them, groups and individuals “cannot make their objectives, interests and demands known, much less publicise their activities as well as their views and comments on the government’s policies and measures” (Drah, 1996, p. 35). A vibrant free press has long been considered an essential instrument of deliberative democracy, that is a political system in which citizens exercise an unfettered right to discuss issues that affect them. This relationship between the media and democracy is not just a normative prescription, but has been established to have empirical validity. Kim et al. (1999) found a positive correlation between the frequency with which people use the news media and their engagement in political conversation. Their findings also show that news media use and political conversations influenced the willingness of citizens to argue with those who hold different opinions, as well as the quality of their opinions. They conclude that there is a strong association among news media use, political conversation and participation in participatory political activities. This linkage enriches the calibre of the body politic, which is a good condition for a healthy democracy. Related to this role of the media is their mobilizing function. This is performed through the trade in ideas that they provide. By informing citizens of what is going on, expanding their knowledge of issues and ensuring that they understand those issues and the debates around them, the media provide the opportunity for citizens to coalesce behind particular issues and causes. The value of the media as watchdogs of democratic practice is another reason that has been put forward for making them an integral part of the political process. Supporters of the media’s role in democratic governance argue that openness and accountability within the political system are impossible to achieve without the mass media. The media have justified this perspective on their role in a number of situations. The German media, for example, have been credited with exposing the various scandals that bedeviled the country in the winter of 1997–98, relating to the operations of right-wing neo-Nazi groups within the armed forces. These revelations led to investigations of the Bundeswehr by a Bundestag Committee (Shpiro, 2000). While a significant amount of the literature has lauded the democratic capabilities of the media, there are contending views that caution against the presumption of an inexorable and intrinsic inclination of the media to support and sustain popular democratic participation.

 ,  ,  

87

One view that has been challenged is the ‘mobilization’ hypothesis and its claim of the supportive role that such a function performs for democracy. Cynics of the media’s democratic inclinations argue that the media rather have a debilitating effect on democracy. They claim that the nature of the mass media inevitably leads to political apathy, alienation of people from the political process, increased cynicism about the political system, and the erosion of social capital (see Newton, 1999). This perception is at the base of the ‘mediamalaise’ hypothesis. Mcquail (1995), in expressing concern about this tendency within the media, attributes part of the reason to the extensive ‘marketization’ preferences that dictate their operations. He argues that the media’s proclivity towards sensational news stories results in a superficial, rather than a rich and sophisticated, public discourse about democratic politics. The emphasis seems to be on scintillating stories about the personal lives and scandals of state officials rather than a substantive discussion of policy issues. The consequence of this tendency towards ‘infotainment’ then is that politicians are also tailoring their personae and public discourses to fit into this mould. These developments can hurt the very essence of the media’s role as forums for critical discussion and accountability, by expending the resources that they have to champion those causes on superficial matters that dilute political deliberations (Balkin, 1999). Without denying the ability of the media to reflect social reality, Fotopoulos (1999) argues that the elites who control them filter out reality and make available to the public only what they see fit to disclose. This view of the media-democracy axis contends that the media offer a true sense of reality only in circumstances where the elite are divided or fragmented in their conceptualization of particular dimensions of political reality. Even in this situation, the extent to which a semblance of social and political reality can be reflected in the media is dependent on the shades of the variation in the spectrum of elite discourse. There is also an emerging body of literature in which system theorists are arguing that the media do not only distort reality, in terms of presenting the contorted views of the elite, but also manufacture reality. What this means is that the media are not bereft of subjectivity but interact with social reality to produce worldviews that in turn influence our perceptions of that reality. “In the systems analysis problematique, [therefore], it is not the economic, or political systems, which control the media functioning. What determines their functioning, as well as their communicative capability, is their ability to generate irritation – a fact that could go a long way to explain the high ratings of exciting or irritating TV programs” (Fotopoulos, 1999). Critics of this view maintain, however, that it is important to deconstruct the kinds of ‘subjective’ discourses that underlie the media’s interaction

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  –  

with reality. Such discourses are not necessarily external to the dominant social paradigm into which media voices have been socialized – a paradigm that is largely controlled by powerful segments of society (Fotopoulos, 1999). The preceding critique ties into debates about ‘mediated democracy’ in which political discourse is restricted to non-dialogical, rather than collective, deliberation. That is what happens when individual newspapers or radio stations, with particular ideological and political slants, become discrete entities that do not encourage critical engagement on their respective pages and airwaves. In view of this distanciation of communication from collective deliberation, critics of ‘mediated democracy’ call for a discursive approach to the analysis of media discourse and information dissemination (Chouliaraki, 2000). Such an approach allows us to go beyond a functional perception of the media to embrace a perspective that incorporates the plurality of political intercourse, silences, and negotiations of interest that have accompanied ‘democratization’. This discursive approach will inform the ensuing discussion about the Ghanaian media in this era of democratization. State – Mass Media Relations in the Era of Constitutionalism Using Legalism to Curb the Spirit of Democratic Constitutionalism While the democratic changes that took place in Ghana in the early 1990s created the opportunity for private newspapers to mushroom without any noticeable controversy, the same cannot be said of the electronic media. The resistance to independent electronic media by the state, not only in Ghana but in much of Africa, derives largely from the concern that they could be used as tools for political destabilization. The state has, therefore, always been reluctant to cede control over them (see Alabi, 2001: 16; Tettey, 2001). This attitude was illustrated by the case of Radio Eye, the first private radio station to start broadcasting in Ghana, following the restoration of constitutional rule. Based on the constitutional provision that anyone can operate a medium of communication without a licence, the owners of the station went on the air. Their operation drew strong reaction from the state authorities who arrested and charged them with infringing the country’s laws on frequency allocation, because they were operating without permission from the Frequency Control Board. The charges were later dropped. However, this legal confrontation marked a significant turning point in the emergence of electronic media in the country. Concerns about the politicization of frequency allocations led to the repeal of the Telecommunications [Frequency

 ,  ,  

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Registration and Control Decree 1977] (SMCD 71), and the enactment of the National Communications Authority Act of 1996 (Act 524). The Act provides some solace to private broadcasters by clearly stating that “nothing contained in this Act shall permit the modification, suspension or cancellation of a frequency assigned by the Authority to an operator because of views or opinions expressed through the medium of the operator unless the view or opinion is a breach of the conditions of his [sic] licence (Section 24 [5]). Following the removal of restrictions on private media, under the 1992 Constitution, the NDC government employed a variety of tactics to corral free expression even in a ‘democratic’ setting. The regime exploited the convenience of the archaic colonial laws of criminal libel to cow and victimize journalists and to denude the financial resources of the private media. In fact, between 1992 and 2000, the government pursued an unprecedented number of criminal libel cases against media practitioners. The number of cases before the courts in 1998, for instance, stood at over one hundred (West African Journalists Association, 1998). Eben Quarcoo, former editor of The Free Press, was sentenced to a prison term of three months and fined 1.5 million cedis (about $400), or in default another two years in jail. He was alleged to have libeled the wife of President Rawlings, by publishing an article in 1994 that imputed drug and gold smuggling activities to her. The defendant’s argument that the material was already in the public domain, and that it had been published by other sources without any legal repercussions, did not sway the court. Quarcoo was saved from going to prison for an additional two years only because the International Federation of Journalists paid his fine from its Safety Fund for Journalists. Without this show of international solidarity, it would have been very difficult, if at all possible, for him to pay the fine on his own in view of the fact that most workers in Ghana barely manage to survive on their incomes. The potential for the law of criminal libel to be perverted was not lost on some jurists. Justice Wiredu, for example, intimated in a unanimous supreme court ruling, upholding the jurisdiction of a lower court to try some media personalities for criminal libel, that: [T]he most serious concern I can envisage from our past political experiences is the provision under article 88 (3) of the 1992 Constitution which vests the Attorney General with the exclusive preserve of initiating all criminal prosecutions. My concern is the possible abuse of this power on political grounds. The possibility of the Attorney-General using his power to cow a number of journalists sympathetic with the views and policies of political parties which belong to the other side of the political divide into submission and other journalists who may express dissenting views in some aspects of governmental policies (SCGLR, 1996–97, p. 490).

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  –  

Criminal libel charges were not the only legal mechanisms used by the government to intimidate journalists and to strangulate them economically. Government officials also employed civil libel suits. In fact, July 1998 saw the conviction and sentencing of a former editor of the Free Press, Ebenezer Ato Sam, to 21 days imprisonment for defaulting on a fine of 5 million cedis (about US$2,000) resulting from contempt of court charges. The charges were related to a case in which the paper accused Kwamena Ahwoi, the former Minister of Local Government and Rural Development, of diverting funds from the Ministry to fund his brother’s private business. It is obvious from these cases that state officials sought to use the judicial system to impose various kinds of hardship on journalists who criticized them. While the letter of the law may have been on the officials’ side, there is little doubt that the spirit behind their actions were tinctured with vindictive retribution. After all, framers of the 1992 Constitution “provided two non-confrontational mechanisms to deal with abuses by the media. The first one is the rejoinder. The second one is the settlement mechanism of the National Media Commission. Resort to the courts with the adversarial process was saved. But only as a ‘last resort’ ” (Kumado, 1999, p. 100) [emphasis in the original]. There are other kinds of legislation that continue to constrain the exercise of free expression in Ghana. Among these is the law of sedition which prohibits the publication of any material that could be discerned by the authorities as threatening to national security and public order, exciting disaffection against the government, or bringing hatred or contempt to them. What makes this law worrisome for advocates of plural democratic practice and discourse is the fact that the veracity of the publication is not considered an adequate defence. Essentially, therefore, the law lends itself to abuse by governments which can use it to persecute opponents, and thereby pursue their own political vendetta. As Article 19 (2001: 21), a global organization for free expression observes: Some elements of the offence of sedition are particularly tricky for opposition politicians, as they criminalize the very essence of opposition politics. The offences of bringing the government into hatred or contempt or exciting disaffection against it provide good examples of this. How are opposition parties expected to convince the electorate to vote for them and not the incumbent government if they cannot excite at least a modicum of hatred and disaffection against it? The offence of sedition is particularly dangerous in a country like Ghana, where the political-legal culture is such that government has been highly intolerant of opposing views.

Concerns about abuse of this law were given credence in the case of Kabral Blay-Amihere, editor of The Independent, who was threat-

 ,  ,  

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ened with a charge of sedition. He had published an editorial that called for a boycott of military parades commemorating the 31st December 1981 Revolution that brought Rawlings to power. He “described the traditional 31st December military parade in Accra as a relic of the days when the military controlled all state agencies and affairs in Ghana” (Article 19, Feb. 9, 2000). He argued that the celebrations were unacceptable under the country’s new democratic dispensation, and was an affront to democratic ideals since that event had torpedoed the legitimate government of the country. Even though no charges were eventually preferred against him, he was detained for 24 hours, and was compelled to publish a statement, in his newspaper, apologizing for his ‘irresponsible’ stance about the celebrations. That his apology was coerced is supported by the fact that the statement had been prepared by the army (IFEX, Feb. 8, 2000). What the Ghanaian authorities failed to realize is that “detention as punishment for the expression of an opinion is one of the most reprehensible means to enjoin silence, and as such constitutes a serious violation of human rights” (UNHCR, cited in IFEX, Nov. 12, 1999). Section 183A of the Penal Code is also an effective weapon for muting dissent against those who control the coercive apparatus of the state. This article makes it an offence to publish any material “with intent to bringing the President into hatred, ridicule or contempt.” Again the truth of the matter at issue does not justify the publication. In spite of the right of citizens, ostensibly, to express themselves in the new democratic space of post-1992 Ghana, this law that has its provenance in a military regime is still being invoked to stifle citizens. It was used prior to the December 2000 elections to arrest Felix Odartey-Wellington, a media critic on Ghana Television’s (GTV) “Breakfast Show.” Odartey Wellington’s apprehension was effected through devious means after he had been invited to the Bureau of National Investigation (BNI) to see the agency’s boss. He was then arrested at the agency’s headquarters, “put in chains and driven to the police headquarters to be interrogated. He was informed. . . . that he was being investigated for describing the president as a ‘con man’ and fraudulent in politics” (IFEX, Nov. 8, 2000). Odartey-Wellington’s comments were in relation to a Ghanaian Times report that the president had gone on his knees to solicit support for an NDC parliamentary candidate (Ghanaweb, Nov. 7, 2000). It is ironic that the NDC was still employing these tactics to intimidate its critics at a time when the country was in the midst of democratic political campaigns. Essentially, these laws have become “veritable sword of Damocles hanging around the neck of journalists” (Alabi, 2001: 1). As much as possible, the NDC government did everything it could to break the will of journalists who challenged its authority and to

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  –  

undermine any solidarity among them. These tactics entailed the manipulation and use of the legal and security apparatuses of the state for parochial political interests. These tactics were manifested in the treatment of Haruna Attah, Kweku Baako Jr., and Ebenezer Ato Sam, following their conviction They were transferred from the relatively better conditions at the Nsawam Medium Security Prisons to three other jails in the country that had a reputation for deplorable conditions. The transfers were not only meant to eliminate the mutual support that these journalists provided to one another in jail, but also to dismantle the show of solidarity from sympathizers who could more conveniently organize and demonstrate their solidarity with the prisoners at a single location. The determination of the government to mete out ill-treatment to dissenting journalists was again demonstrated in a case where Kofi Commson and Kwesi Koomson were arrested for having in their possession computer diskettes that had allegedly been stolen from the NDC headquarters. According to IFEX (Nov. 8, 2000), the two were in custody for seven hours at the regional headquarters of the BNI, and during the course of that period were refused food or water. A critical assessment of the government’s use of the power of arrest reveals that the motivation behind these exercises was clearly one of emotional, psychological, and sometimes physical torture. This explains why they used those security agencies that were notorious for brutality (such as the BNI and the military), instead of the police, to effect the arrest of their staunchest critics. This seemed to be the pattern in spite of the fact that the police are generally considered to be the legitimate authorities for taking such actions in a democratic society, particularly in cases such as the ones in which most journalists were involved. In 1996, for example, Nkansaa-Daaduam, a columnist with The Free Press, was arrested by military police for publishing an article that insinuated that a speech by a top military officer on national television could be the precursor to a future coup speech. The officer, certainly, has the right to seek redress for any aspersions cast on his integrity, but using the military to do so is not the appropriate course of action. The courts and the National Media Commission are available for dealing with such complaints. Another instance of this violation of the rule of law demonstrates the impunity with which the NDC government treated the rule of law. This case involved the brazen personal participation of the Deputy Minister for Defence, Tony Aidoo. He went with four military officers to the offices of The Crusading Guide to arrest Sedi Bansah, a journalist who was investigating a story about the alleged assault of a civilian by the Deputy Minister. The action was surprising in view of the fact that the journalist had, in fact, contacted the deputy

 ,  ,  

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minister for his side of the story and they had agreed to meet for that purpose. Earlier in the year, the military had been used to arrest and detain Kabral Blay-Amihere, editor of The Independent, for his editorial regarding the commemoration of the December 31st Revolution. “Blay-Amihere was first arrested by armed soldiers on 13 January 2000. The soldiers intercepted Blay-Amihere’s car while he was driving in the capital Accra, and then drove him to a military base where he was held among criminals” (IFEX, Feb. 8, 2000). Media, the Law and Perceptions of Judicial Complicity The Ghanaian media’s legal tussles did not involve only the NDC government. It engulfed the judiciary as well. Decisions rendered by the Ghanaian judiciary in the criminal libel and related cases raised serious concerns about its complicity in subduing free expression (see Kumado, 1999, pp. 101 and 105). A circuit court, for example, ruled in 1998 that the media could not publish verbatim accounts of proceedings at the criminal libel trial involving Eben Quarcoo, Kofi Coomson and The Free Press. This followed a submission by the Deputy Attorney General, urging the court to “restrain journalists from giving verbatim reports with the explanation that such reports give the impression of becoming the official record of the court” (IFEX, Aug. 13, 1998). On their part, the defendants had construed such reporting to be a safe way of avoiding contempt charges that could be leveled against journalists whose accounts did not fit the official record. In upholding the Deputy Attorney General’s submission, the court disagreed with the argument that verbatim reporting did not violate any aspect of the Constitution, the Courts Act, or any fundamental principles of common law, on the basis of which court proceedings may be closed to the public. These include public safety, order, or morality. Supporters of the media argued that the court’s ruling gives the impression that reports on the proceedings could only be published after official records were available, thereby taking away one of the essences of the media’s existence – to provide timely information to the public. Fears of contempt charges that compelled some of the print media to resort to verbatim reporting were not unfounded. A number of criminal libel cases tended to spawn ‘contempt of court’ charges from the bench in a way that created the impression of judicial collaboration with the state to stamp out dissident voices. In July 1998, Haruna Atta and Kweku Baako, editors of The Weekend Statesman and The Guide, respectively, were convicted by a Court of Appeal for disobeying a court order not to publish any further libelous material against Nana Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings, pending the determination of the substantive case of libel. The two were sentenced to one month in

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  –  

jail while their publishers were each fined 10 million cedis (about US$3,000). The case has to do with stories in the two papers and The Statesman, involving alleged conversations between the former first lady and Gamel Gorkeh Nkrumah, son of Ghana’s first president. According to the stories, culled from West Africa magazine, the former first lady had expressed concern, in that conversation, about Nkrumah’s sister affiliating herself with the NPP – a party that has historically been antagonistic to their father. Even more worrisome for media analysts is the seeming willingness of the bench to impose very harsh penalties on offending journalists in cases brought before the courts. It is significant to point out that in a February 1996 ruling, a Circuit Court Judge, Nuhu Bila, revoked police inquiry bail for the defendants on the libel charge without stating a reason, and ordered them held in custody for several more days (IFEX, Feb. 12, 1996). This decision was considered outrageous by a lot of observers who felt that there was no credible and defensible justification for incarcerating them, because they posed no risk of jumping bail or threatening national security. The Ghanaian Chronicle, on its part, faced an unprecedented fine of 42 million cedis (approx. US$17,500) in 1999. The fine, the size of which outraged the Ghana Journalists Association and other media supporters, was for publishing an article in February 1997 that suggested that the then Minister of Transport, Edward Salia, had received a bribe of 25,000 dollars from Millicom Ghana, a cellular phone company operating in the country. In view of these court rulings, it is not surprising that free speech advocates “view[ed] with sadness, and at the same time outrage, the increasing use of the courts of our country to weaken press freedom and intimidate journalists” (IFEX, July 28, 1998). As Prempeh (1999, p. 136) notes: Because judicial review “performs not only a checking function but also a legitimating function,” it is a double-edged sword. If exercised courageously (but prudently) to defend rights or hold the line against abuses of power, it could enhance constitutionalism in transitional democracies. In the hands of weak, insecure, or illiberal judges, however, judicial review could easily become an even more formidable instrument for legitimating authoritarianism.

The animosity between the media and the courts reached a head in 1995 when the Supreme Court sentenced two journalists of The Free Press to various terms of imprisonment and fines for contempt of court in connection with accusations they had leveled against the Chief Justice, Justice I.K. Abban. The paper had charged that Justice Abban, before he became Chief Justice, had engaged in “judicial chicanery” by secretly altering court records of a politically tense case in order to correct an error of attribution that he had made in his written

 ,  ,  

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judgement which had already been delivered. Many observers of the judiciary were of the opinion that the journalists charges had merit and that they were being slammed with contempt charges in order to protect the reputation of the Chief Justice. The Court, by declaring in its ruling that that truth was not an acceptable defence, raised questions about its integrity. This credibility crisis also generated significant concerns about whether, in a democratic transition controlled by a strong-handed regime, the judiciary could be counted on to protect constitutionally guaranteed rights, such as free expression. Extra-Judicial Mechanisms of Control In addition to using the legal system and the coercive apparatus of the state to intimidate, harass, and abuse journalists, the NDC period also saw the employment of covert offensives against media outlets that did not conform to the wishes of the government. These included different forms of vandalism. These not too subtle actions were clear signals to these media organizations that the personal safety of their workers and the security of their facilities were in jeopardy if they continued to criticize the government. A couple of cases will help illustrate the nature of these offensive actions. During the early hours of Monday 2 October 2000, undidentified persons smeared human waste on the entrance of the offices of an independent Accra bi-weekly, “The Crusading Guide”. According to the newspapers’ editor, Kweku Baako, Jr., he arrived at his office around 6:00 am (local time) to find a pungent smell and human waste smeared all over the “Crusading Guide”’s office’s front door. The action, which has been described by the local press as “shit bombing”, has been condemned by a large section of the Ghanaian society, including the ruling party, the National Democratic Congress and opposition parties, as well as the Ghana Journalists Association, The National Media Commission and the Private Newspapers Publishers Association of Ghana. . . . This is the third time under the present regime that human waste has been smeared at the offices of the private press as an intimidation tactic. Both the “Ghanaian Chronicle” and “The Free Press” have been subjected to the same treatment. “The Crusading Guide”, which was established two years ago, has been championing human rights and is reputed for its investigative and crusading journalism (IFEX, Oct. 5, 2000).

While there is no confirmed link between the government and these acts, there is no doubt that they must have been carried out by

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  –  

agents and or sympathizers of the government, either at the behest of the government or out of their own volition. Either way, the connection to the government did not seem far-fetched. It is not coincidental that the only media outlets who have suffered this kind of inhumane treatment are those noted for their stance against the government. Suspicions of the NDC’s complicity were also buttressed by statements from a Minister, Kwamena Ahwoi, that the perpetrators of these acts were also exercising their right to free expression by other means (Ghanaian Chronicle, May 10, 2001). The intimidation by the state and its agents was not limited to local journalists, but was extended to anyone whose activity regarding the media was perceived to be an affront or a threat to the NDC and its allies both within and outside Ghana. In May of 1998, for example, two Nigerian journalists, Bunmi Aborisade and Lewis Asubiojo, were picked up, interrogated and detained by Ghanaian Immigration officials. The official reason given for their arrest was that they were “working without a permit and contrary to the laws governing asylum seekers and refugees under the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees” (IFEX, May 29, 1998). It is clear, however, that the arrest had more to do with their embarrassing and critical publications about the Nigerian government in Ghanaian media than with their immigration status. Because of the close relationship that existed between Rawlings and General Abacha, the deceased Nigerian dictator, these exiled journalists were harassed and threatened with deportation to their home country (Kerina, 1998, p. 25). This action would, certainly, have resulted in their torture and possible death at the hands of the Abacha government. There are a number of reasons why the Ghanaian government engaged in this kind of intimidation. First, it sought to demonstrate its loyalty to its cronies in Abuja by protecting them from the unpleasant publicity that the scathing criticisms by these journalists was producing. This demonstration of loyalty was crucial, not least because of Ghana’s high dependence on Nigerian oil. Secondly, this action demonstrates the collaboration among some African governments to stifle media criticism and protect each other “through various acts of silent or overt reciprocity. This reciprocity . . . means that journalists who flee from prosecution in one country cannot count on protection from host governments, even in so-called democratic states” (Tettey, 2001, p. 17). The absence of any safe haven, it is hoped, will compel journalists to self-censor. Related to this collaboration against critical media is, of course, “the expectation on the part of governments that if they refuse to allow their territories to be used as safe havens for critical comments about other regimes, the same favor will be returned to them by those governments” (Tettey, 2001, p. 18). A third

 ,  ,  

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reason for this action was to break the solidarity among democratically-minded journalists across the West-African sub-region and to demonstrated the price to be paid by any foreigners associating themselves with Ghanaian journalists who were considered to be hostile to the government. It is noteworthy that these foreign journalists were operating from within the establishments of a local anti-government newspaper, The Independent. That association, without doubt, had a hand in their arrest and the manner in which it was conducted. The animosity that the regime expressed towards criticisms of its antipathy towards the media was not limited to journalists. Individuals from all walks of life, including foreign diplomats, did not escape the wrath of the government. The case of a US diplomat illustrates the extent to which the government went to stymie support for a freer press in Ghana. Nicolas Robertson, who was the Public Affairs Director of the United States Information Service (USIS) in Ghana, was ordered to leave the country for voicing his concern about certain press laws, particularly the criminal libel laws under which a number of journalists had been charged. “USIS, in a press release on the issue, called the request [sic] a de facto declaration that Robertson was a persona non grata, and confirmed that the views expressed by the diplomat were the official view of the US government” (IFEX, May 30, 1997). Other tactics that the NDC government used to stifle dissent in the media included cancellation and abrupt interruption of programs on the airwaves. It was, of course, much easier for the government to control what was allowed on the state-owned media, and it did not hesitate in exercising this power. On March 12, 1998, for example a popular radio program on Radio GAR was suddenly ordered off the air during discussions with a tax expert who was very critical of the controversial Value Added Tax (VAT) that the government wanted to introduce. The host, “Godwin Avenorgbo, was heard apologizing to [the expert] and to listeners, saying that he was sorry but had been ordered to cut the program half-way through the almost hour-long program” (IFEX, March 3, 1998). It seems very obvious that the instructions to cut the program must have come from the state authorities since public resentment against the tax was very strong. In fact, various groups mobilized to demonstrate massively against the VAT, resulting in the loss of some lives. The following account is indicative of the control that the government exercised over the operation of the state-owned media. “Everyone knew the [Mr. Rawling’s] wife, if she didn’t like a program on our [state-owned] station, could just order it off the air,” said Yaw Owusu Addo, the director of the state-run radio GBC. “No one could do that with the private stations. When people saw something, they just called in with the news. These FM radios helped us liberate ourselves.

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  –   The public found their voice. The politicians could all hear ordinary people talking about the problems – corruption, unemployment. People were fed up and they told each other, and they told Rawlings” (Friedman, 2001).

The government also showed that it had no problem closing down radio stations that provided air time to opposition voices, based on the phony excuse of local security. Such an attitude is demonstrated in the case of CHRISS FM, a private station in the Brong Ahafo region town of Berekum. The regional Minister ordered the closure of the station, alleging that statements made by the area’s NPP opposition parliamentary candidate on one of its progams had incited violence against supporters of the NDC. With authorization from the Regional Security Council, the station was surrounded by soldiers, even though the program officer of the station denied that the NPP candidate “made any inflammatory statement during the ‘Kabi na me nka bi’ political programme. [He added] that a recorded version of the programme has been handed over to the Berekum police to enhance their investigation” (Ghanaweb, Nov. 9, 2000). Rawlings defended the action of the regional Minister, and argued that the Media Commission has not been performing creditably because of its silence over the misuse of radio stations and newspapers. Referring to a recent decision by the Brong Ahafo Security Council to close down a Berekum FM radio station, President Rawlings said that the decision was in the right direction because the opposition was using it to destabilise the peace and security of the area (Ghanaweb, Nov. 14, 2000).

What is disturbing about this incident is the fact that the management of the station was compelled to adopt the position that all subsequent political programs would be screened to avoid a repetition of the violent incident. This amounts to self-censorship and a gagging of speech by those whose views were not consonant with those of the government ( Joy Online, Nov. 23, 2000). Contributions of the Media to the Democratic Process In spite of the stifling environment that the NDC government created for them, the Ghanaian media have managed to be very active bulwarks for the sustenance of the country’s fledgling democracy. The emergence of over forty FM stations in the country has provided alternative channels for citizens to voice their opinion, however unpalatable it may be for government. Such free expression

 ,  ,  

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draws the attention of their compatriots to issues and views that would otherwise not be available under the old system of state monopoly of the electronic media. These forums also allow debates on matters of national concern, thereby educating the public about the various perspectives at play as well as subjecting each view to public scrutiny and evaluation. Such exchanges promote civic engagement and help build a culture of tolerance for divergent views. The opportunity to call in to various radio programs, using either English or a local language, gave a lot of hitherto voiceless Ghanaians an opportunity to participate in the discussion of pertinent local and national issues. To an extent, they are contributing to the shaping of the democratic discourse in their country. Discussion programs such as Cross Fire on Joy FM are educational and give the citizenry an opportunity to hear and evaluate different perspectives on issues. The media’s watchdog and monitoring role over the last decade has been very commendable. They have been very instrumental in exposing various acts of impropriety within state institutions. These revelations have served as the basis for further investigations by appropriate statutory bodies. In 2000, for example, Komla Dumor, a presenter on JOY FM radio made concerted efforts to unearth misappropriation of state funds by the Social Security and National Insurance Trust (SSNIT). “Dumor has been at the heels of the SSNIT, digging out the dirt that has piled around the sweat of all workers in Ghana” (The Guide, Jan. 19–25, 2001). Observers of Ghana’s political scene credit the transparency that characterized the 2000 election results, partly, to the relatively large number of private FM stations around the country. The presence of these stations, not only made it difficult to rig results, but also brought credence to the results that were declared. This is because they were able to announce results from their local communities, even before the official figures were posted by the Electoral Commission. Although the publication of such uncertified results raised some technical problems for the Commission, they nevertheless made it difficult for the authorities to fiddle with results, even if they had wanted to. Furthermore, personnel from these stations monitored the polls at the various stations and immediately reported any irregularities, thereby constraining the ability of the government to avoid close scrutiny. Ordinary citizens also used these stations to reveal any suspicious goings-on. In the past, the official channels were the only avenues available to citizens to learn about poll results, and since there were no other mechanisms for immediately learning about those results, there were suspicions that the official results did not always reflect the votes cast by the electorate. The following discussion is revealing in terms of the supportive role that the media have played in defending Ghana’s democracy:

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  –   “On the day of the [2000] elections there was a polling station in Accra where soldiers started destroying voting boxes,” recalled Joseph Ebo Quarshie, president of the Ghana Bar Association. “Immediately, someone called an FM station and it was reported on the air . . . Minutes later I got a call from JOY FM. . . . I read over the radio the article in the Constitution which says that citizens had the right to resist interference in a polling station. JOY FM kept playing my interview over and over. A couple of hours later the soldiers were chased off by voters” (Friedman, 2001).

Some Critical Perspectives on the Media In tandem with the contributions that the Ghanaian media are making to democratic change is another dimension to their operations which is not pleasant. There is a creeping decline in the civility of political discourse among some sections of the media. The language of political discourse in some of the newspapers is vituperative and incendiary (see Daily Graphic, May 3, 2001). Hence, instead of providing opportunities for meaningful exchange of ideas, the media spaces create a jaundiced atmosphere in which discourse degenerates to personal recrimination and policy superficiality. The loss of civility is inimical to building fundamental pre-requisites of democratic practice, viz tolerance and respect for diversity of opinion. This development in the Ghanaian media seems to reflect the adversarial stance of the mass media in other parts of the world. It appears that some of the media are juxtaposing themselves with political parties, and hence trying to play the roles of these entities, when in fact their role in politics should be different. They are not a structure for interest aggregation but rather conduits for the articulation of interests. The efforts by some Ghanaian media outlets to approximate political parties supports the “growing evidence that a number of news media organizations try to compete with the political parties and political actors for public consent and legitimation in the same political arena” (Mazzoleni and Schulz, 1999: 257). It is interesting to note that the Ghanaian media have not been unanimous in articulating a stance against the Rawlings government’s attitude towards expressions of dissent in the media. Emanating from within the press are accusations of bias either against the government or the opposition parties. Whilst the state-owned media were accused of being lackeys of the state, most of the vociferous independent media were branded as opposition tools. The result has been a lack of credibility for either group. It is instructive that when journalists from the independent media were subjected to all kinds of ill-treatment by the regime, there was no official support for their cause among their col-

 ,  ,  

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leagues in the state-owned media. In fact, the former were berated by the latter for lacking professionalism, objectivity, and serving as conduits for disruptive dissent against the government. Interestingly, the independent media who championed the cause of free expression are now castigating some of the state media for expressing their dissent with some of the actions and positions being taken by the new administration. The independent press construes such dissent to be a manifestation of the state media’s continued support for the old regime. The Chronicle, through its publisher Kofi Coomson, was, for example, not just one of the most significant victims of the Rawlings government’s adamant pursuit of libel charges; it was also among the most strident critics of state use of those charges against the media. In an interesting change of character, however, Kofi Coomson, is now supporting this cowing device against the state-owned media, in connection with a suit against the Daily Graphic for publishing an allegation that the NPP Minister for Presidential Affairs had awarded a contract to his own company. Coomson “defended the 100m cedis suit slapped on the Daily Graphic, a state-owned newspaper by Mr. Jake ObetsebiLamptey, Minister of Presidential Affairs and Chief of Staff. . . . [He] said that the Graphic has enjoyed a long honeymoon with officialdom, and that this is the time to tell it that the honey moon is over” (Ghanaweb, May 3, 2001). Whilst Coomson’s opinion may be based on the view that the Daily Graphic failed to show professional discretion by not cross-checking the story with the Minister, the way it was expressed smarks of vindictiveness. Such an image raises questions about whether those who defended free expression under Rawlings were doing so to protect themselves or whether they really believed in those principles and would defend them irrespective of who was being hindered in the exercise of that right. Dissent is, of course, conducive for critical appraisal of state activities and officials. However, when it is expressed just to castigate those who express it, without offering substantive and cogent reasons as to why such dissent is unmerited, there is the potential to kill one of the fundamental elements of democratic citizenship – the right to disagree. Impugning the character of all dissenters, just because one does not agree with them, is inimical to democratic governance. Whist the media have done a yeoman’s job in supporting the growth of democracy in Ghana, they are still a long way from being instruments for popular democratic discourse. They continue to be largely a space for political expression for the socio-economic elite and urban residents. There are discernible limitations to access with respect to the print media. The print media circulate mostly in the urban areas. They are also too expensive for many Ghanaians to afford. The cost of purchasing newspapers and the high rate of illiteracy in the country means

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that significant sections of the population cannot avail themselves of any democratic spaces provided by the media. Newspapers cost between 1,000 and 1,500 cedis. In a country where the new minimum wage is 5,500 cedis, the opportunity cost of buying a newspaper is incredibly high for a lot of people. The large illiterate population is unable to participate in the discourses that take place within them. Part of the reason for the marginalization of subalterns within the media is the economic imperative of survival. “Market interests are squeezing out public interests from the public space in which broadcasting, or the media operate. This is exemplified by the increasing commercialization of the GBC, and by the Daily Graphic which was expanded in volume of advertising sale and business coverage, and withered at the same time in serious political and social analysis” (Karikari, 1999, p. 85). The media, therefore, look to an audience that can sustain their operations, such as urban-based advertisers (see Tettey, 2001). As Alabi (2001: 20), notes with regard to television in Ghana, “only a handful of business executives are anxious to invest in the sector. Even those who have the resources think investing in a private television enterprise will be tantamount to throwing good money down the drain.” Obviously, radio has more reach and offers better access. However, its value as a deliberative forum remains largely an urban phenomenon. A huge majority of FM stations are located in these areas because they offer the market for economic survival. The call-in programs mostly take place on urban radio, because those are the places which have the telephone systems that allow for political interactivity. Consequently, a large number of the population, particularly those in the rural areas, is unable to participate in whatever public sphere has been created by the increased number of print and electronic media. The downside to the burgeoning expansion in the media landscape is then that the voices that get articulated in the new political spaces do not represent the diversity of voices in the country, most of which remain silent. However, for the media to serve as a mirror to society as a whole, it is important that they be a genuine public sphere rather than simply an industry (Chalaby, 1998). The Ghanaian situation is not totally congruent with Frederiksen’s (2000) findings in Kenya where the claim is made that the discursive spaces opened by the media have allowed the poor and women to participate in the debates about socio-political issues. In fact, the media in Ghana, by and large, seem to represent the views of their owners and the petit bourgeois elements of society, whether they are the state elite or their opposition counterparts. Blay-Amihere (1993, p. 84) acknowledged that “it is true to say that the private press have been too one-sided in the [ political debate], reporting more what the oppo-

 ,  ,  

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sition says just as the state-owned media continues to reflect and report more what the government says.” As Chomsky points out, however, The alternative to state or private power is democracy. Really functioning democracy presupposes relative equality, a truism as far back as Aristotle. It also requires the dissolution of concentrated power, state or private. Like other institutions, the media should be under the control of the workforce and the communities in which they function. They should be as varied as the interests and concerns of the general population, and should also seek to extend and deepen those interests and concerns: to challenge and explore, to both offer and stimulate popular participation (in Interview with Raptis and Fotopoulos, 1999).

This is the only way for the media to serve as true instruments for democratic participation and deliberative discourse by the citizenry at large. For such a public sphere to emerge, it is imperative that a new conception of democratic citizenship emerge – one that devolves political participation to the community level and gives ordinary citizens the structures and resources to control and partake, as equal partners, in the discourses that shape the direction of their societies. Fostering this new idea of citizenship, requires a movement beyond the liberal definition of citizenship that has extensive currency, not only in Ghana but also in most emerging and transitional democracies around the world. The liberal conception of citizenship assumes that recognizing civil liberties and political rights of citizens necessarily translates into equal distribution of power. This is far from the reality, as has been demonstrated in this chapter. What is needed is an inclusive democracy that entails active participation by all elements of society. This means that we need to go beyond the instrumental conception of citizenship that implies entitlement to certain rights that can be used to achieve individual ends. It has to transcend ‘demago-cracy’ (Fotopoulos, 1999) where control of the demos switches from the strong-handedness of the Rawlings era to a new manipulative dispensation led by a different breed of politicians using their control over the instruments of political discourse. It is important to note that “politics is a realm of action. . . . that action should be based on deliberative decision making which is born out of informed consideration of a variety of options. . . . it is these qualities of deliberation, volition, and autonomous action which distinguishes citizens from ‘masses’” (Tettey, 2000, p. 30). This is the only way that we can foster not only the concept, but the reality, of an active, participatory citizenship – what Arendt (1958) calls viva activa. Such a norm of informed deliberative participation is a prerequisite for truly inclusive democracy in which politics is centered within the control of the demos.

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  –  

Thus, while it is heartening that Ghanaians are using the media, particularly FM radio, to engage in conversation on political issues, it must be pointed out that such electronic conversations are not enough to produce an engaging civic discourse. For free speech to have an impact on the democratic process it must reflect the characteristics discussed above. Schudson (1997) is right in criticizing the notion that conversation alone is the very essence of democratic life without recognizing the fact that institutions and norms of democracy are crucial precursors to democratic conversations, and not the other way round. Bogss and Dirmann (1999) found in their evaluation of radio talk shows in the United States, that even though that specific form of programming has become one of the most significant forms of mass media interaction, the evidence does not support their role as catalysts for the transformation of a dormant public sphere. Whilst they are interactive, like the call-in shows in Ghana, they are a far cry from authentic participatory forums. The quality of the democratic conversation is, in part, determined by the level of civic and political education. The relatively high illiteracy levels in Ghana, therefore, hinder the growth of this qualitatively sophisticated discourse from taking place. The limitations that illiteracy imposes on political participation is captured in the following observation about the value to democracy of an educated citizenry: As a result of higher education, many more people than ever before develop higher cognitive skills and a higher degree of political sophistication. Political sophistication determines a person’s capacity to process information and to make meaning of the political issues encountered in mass media. Political sophistication also expands the horizon of people’s interests and raises their level of attention to public affairs and participation in politics (Mazzoleni and Schulz, 1999: 253).

In the media-democracy equation, objectivity and the trust that it generates are critical for a democracy-enhancing media system. In order for the media to assert themselves as credible actors in the search for true democratic values, therefore, they will have to instill larger doses of objectivity in their presentation and analysis of events and personalities. Based on the model of a media-constructed public sphere, Schultz (1997) opines that the mass media exert tremendous control over information dissemination and the attendant kinds of human activity that it generates (see Mazzoleni and Schulz, 1999). Therefore, any doubts about their integrity and the cynicism that their portrayal of politics fosters could be damaging to democracy by forcing the public to tune out of politics. This danger places a huge responsibility on the mass media to operate with integrity, objectivity and critical-mindedness. As Pavlich (1998) notes in the case of the United States, the recognition

 ,  ,  

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of the media “by the public as responsible fiduciaries of the public trust” is paramount to a solid assertion of their place as champions of the democratic dispensation. It is incumbent on journalists to move away from grandstanding and superficial aggrandizement, and focus on substantive issues that are pertinent to the consolidation of their role as an important ingredient in the new democratic dispensation. While media outlets should not be beholden to any individuals or groups because of their status in society, it is important for journalists to exercise circumspection in their handling of stories in order to balance civil and cultural sensibilities with free expression and the right of the public to know. Some journalists, for example, did cross the line of cultural appropriateness when they published the death of the Asantehene, in view of the fact that in most Ghanaian cultures there are appropriate ways for publishing the passing of traditional leaders. It seems to me, however, that the desire for cultural decorum is not a good enough reason to curb constitutionally guaranteed rights of free expression. Individual discretion on the part of journalists, rather than threats, should be the guiding principle for media practitioners in situations such as the above. In view of this, the threat of reprisals against these journalists by the traditional authorities and those of their supporters who felt disrespected by the publications is unacceptable. Allowing different sites of power to dictate what gets published and to punish non-compliance, even if in defence of tradition, could be dangerous to the new liberties that the media are enjoying in Ghana’s transitional democracy. Various groups and individuals could appeal to tradition in curbing the free flow of information, a development that could stifle the revelation of truths and exposure of culturally acceptable, but morally and legally unacceptable, occurrences (see Kesson-Smith and Tettey, in this volume). Conclusion The foregoing discussion of the media and democracy underscores the widespread view that the media, particularly the private ones, were not only under-resourced during the NDC regime but were the target of incessant harassment of one form or the other (Gyimah-Boadi, 1997). This atmosphere notwithstanding, they have been instrumental in holding the government to account through their monitoring and watchdog roles. The media have also contributed positively in creating spaces for democratic discourse. Unfortunately, however, those public spaces are still not open to all Ghanaians who are able to participate. It is important to the building of an inclusive democracy that they

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  –  

are not left out. The media have a responsibility in ensuring that these voices are not compromised by elite dominance of the media or the economic imperative of profit maximization which are more likely to result in political marginalization of subaltern groups in the new democracy, rather than their inclusion. With the increase in the number of private media and the enthusiasm that private ownership seems to generate, it is important to caution that “private broadcasting [and indeed print media] guarantees nothing. . . . editorial independence is more important than ownership” (Zaffiro, 2000, p. 89). In view of the generally debilitating climate under which the media operated during Rawlings’ presidency, it was welcome news when the government of the New Patriotic Party indicated its aversion to the criminal libel law and scrapped it from the statute books. It was also reassuring when the Attorney-General lent credence to the government’s stance by withdrawing from the courts all pending criminal libel charges against journalists. The unprecedented press conference that President Kufour held with journalists in April 2001 was a positive sign that the palpable divide between the executive and the fourth estate of the realm is being bridged. Hopefully, this new level of interaction between the state and the media will continue and not be compromised by political convenience. In spite of this new wind of change, there appear to be some remnants of the previous government’s attitude of media intimidation within certain sectors of the state apparatus, such as the security agencies. To ensure a free and independent press in Ghana, the various security agencies will have to transform themselves from instruments of media harassment and coercion. It is important that they imbibe the spirit of democratic culture and recognize the rights and liberties that it entails. This process of attitudinal change does not seem to have seeped down to the level of some security agents in spite of the Kufuor government’s vocal stance in favor of press freedom. This tardiness on the part of the security agencies in accepting the right of the media to conduct their work in an atmosphere of freedom is borne out by an incident in May 2001, involving two Turkish journalists. They were assaulted by police personal during the Aboakyir (Deer Hunt) festival in Winneba, “ostensibly for filming their armoured vehicles and riot gear. The officers turned on and badly beat the journalists after they refused an order to stop filming the police equipment” (Ghanaweb, May 5, 2001). It is critical that efforts be made to change the old culture of media intimidation within the security forces. Overall, however, it is the hope of many observers that Ghanaian democracy has turned the corner towards building a media environment that is more conducive to the ideals of free expression than has been the case in the past.

 

ETHNICITY AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF NATIONAL CONSCIOUSNESS: A HUMAN FACTOR ANALYSIS Senyo Adjibolosoo Introduction The early postcolonial period marked the commencement of a new era in which Ghana began to experience and experiment with political freedom. This era ushered in a period of growing hopes and aspirations regarding development as well as economic freedom. After having achieved self-government and realizing later that political freedom was meaningless without economic success, Ghanaian leaders aimed at setting up programs that could facilitate higher labor force participation and sustained productivity. During this era, development planning became the major policy tool used to promote structural changes and labor force productivity. Ghanaian leaders have tried development plans, policies, programs, and projects in their pursuit of an all-inclusive human-centred development in the areas of social, economic, political, intellectual, and cultural emancipation. Serving as the principal foundation pillars to each of these plans, policies, programs, and projects were the principles of orthodox development thinking, theorizing, and policy. However, it became obvious that the nature and quality of formal and informal relationships prevailing between people from various ethnic groups exerted tremendous disintegrative impact on the development of a unique national consciousness and progress in the social, economic, and political arenas.1 Adu-Febiri (1995, p. 55) observes that “. . . the interaction between the Ghanaian collectivistic culture and the multinational state produces negative attitudes – disloyalty to the state, perception of material assistance from kin and ethnic members as culturally obligatory, and employing kin and ethnic members at all costs – which tend to frustrate Ghana’s development.” Ghanaians from various ethnic groups 1 The phrase, national consciousness, is used in this chapter to imply people’s awareness of the existence of a common nation state whose interests and development must be placed far above that of tribal and ethnic loyalties.

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perceived themselves as belonging to a particular ethnic group first and foremost, and then to the nation state of Ghana second. In light of these observations, this chapter focuses on the concept of ethnicity and its implications for the development of national consciousness in Ghana. A historical review of Ghana’s socio-economic conditions, ethnic groupings, and politics are presented and evaluated from the human factor (HF) perspective. The HF refers to: The spectrum of personality characteristics and other dimensions of human performance that enable social, economic and political institutions to function and remain functional, over time. Such dimensions sustain the workings and application of the rule of law, political harmony, a disciplined labor force, just legal systems, respect for human dignity and the sanctity of life, social welfare, and so on. As is often the case, no social, economic or political institutions can function effectively without being upheld by a network of committed persons who stand firmly by them. Such persons must strongly believe in and continually affirm the ideals of society (Adjibolosoo, 1995, p. 33).

Drawing heavily on HF analysis, this chapter does not only outline the existing challenges ethnicity and the lack of a unified national consciousness pose to socio-economic development in Ghana, but also discusses how a human factor-based program of activities can be used to foster sustained economic growth and development. In this chapter, my analysis is based on a critical reading of historical materials, a review of oral traditions, and a thorough evaluation and discussion of information gleaned from local riddles, proverbs, and stories. Inferences from these sources are then used to develop theoretical propositions about ethnicity and national consciousness in Ghana. Based on these propositions, intuitive empirical generalizations are made (Scott, 1995, p. 3). The object of my analsysis and discussion is to explain the extent to which HF decay has militated against the attainment of ethnic unity and national consciousness in Ghana. To Adjibolosoo (2001), HF decay: Refers to the phenomenon of negative attitudes, behaviors, and actions as evidenced in personal lack of accountability, integrity, honesty, responsibility, and caring. In its severest form, those who suffer from severe HF decay engage in attitudes, behaviors, and actions that are contrary to principle-centeredness, moral injunctions, and ethical standards. People who suffer from this syndrom find it too difficult to make their development plans, policies, programs, and projects to function as effectively as expected. This is the case because these people are usually unable to successfully create, administer, and manage the development program. In addition, the people lack the requisite HF to support continuing economic growth and sustained human-centered development. To minimize problems of underdevelopment a people

     

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must begin with the appropriate education and training programs aimed at improving the quality of the HF [See also Adjibolosoo, 2002].

The chapter presents some recommendations for public policy regarding how to pull together all ethnic groups to work and develop a collective national consciousness – a necessary condition for effective public and private sector employee performance, economic growth and development, and nation building. In the following sections, I discuss the concept of ethnicity and its impact on the development of national consciousness and cohesiveness. Ethnicity and Pre-Colonial Relationships among Groups in Ghana In general the concept, ethnicity, refers to a collection of a set of cultural and physical characteristics that define the uniqueness of one group of people from others. An ethnic group is therefore made up of people who share common and distinctive cultural practices as evident in their worldview, philosophy of life, dress codes, songs, myths, religion, language, and many other symbols (See, for example, De Conde, 1992; Rex, 1986; id Leonardo, 1984; and Gossett, 1970). It is these practices, beliefs, and personality characteristics that define the people’s unique identity and ethnicity. As O’Neil (2000) notes, Members of ethnic and so-called “racial” groups commonly use ethnic symbols as badges of identity to emphasize their distinctness from other groups. Language, religion, and style of dress are common ethnic symbols. In addition to such cultural traits, biological characteristics may be important at times as well [Encyclopedia Britannica].

Ethnicity refers to a group of people who share common descent, cultural backgrounds, language, and religion (See Yinger, 1986, p. 22). People reveal their collective pride in their ethnicity through legends, stories, myths, historical records (both oral tradition and written documents), achievements of previous generations, and heroic acts of individual leaders who have now become legends in the memories of the living. Such historical records are frequently rehearsed, presented, and taught to the children of subsequent generations through both formal and informal education programs. There are over 25 major languages in Ghana. By estimation, while 45% of the Ghanaian population speaks Akan, 16%, 14%, 10%, 12%, and 3% speak Gur, Ewe, Ga-Adangme, Guan, and others respectively. The various ethnic groups include the Akan (Ashanti, Fante, Akuapem, Akyem, Kwahu), Dagaare/Waale (Upper Western Region), Dangme and Ga (Greater Accra Region), Dagbane (Northern Region), Ewe (Volta Region), Gonja (Northern Region), Kasem

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(Upper Eastern Region), Nzema (Western Region), and many other smaller ethnic groups – usually subsets of these major groups. In his book, A History of Ghana, Ward (1966, pp. 104–136) noted that the native states of Ghana between 1600 and 1733 included Ga, Akwamu, Akim, Ashanti, the Northern States (i.e., Moshe, Dagomba, Mamprusi, and Gonja), and Ewe. During these years, leaders of each of these ethnic groups were wrapped up in the process of ethnic state formation. The leaders desired to gain and maintain total supremacy over people from other ethnic groups – and where it was possible, to have them integrated. The various commual wars of the pre-colonial era reveal strong antagonistic relationships among people from these ethnic groups. These wars promoted continuing migration from one area to another within the boundaries of the area currently known as Ghana – with a few exceptions. A thorough review and analysis of these ethnic wars reveal that the relationships and interactions among people of different ethnicities in the pre-colonial era were unfriendly and destructive. To the best of my knowledge there is no known research detailing the primary reasons why people from different ethnic groups in Ghana treat each other the way they currently do. It can, however, be argued that the various incursions of war and fratricidal struggles among these people long before the Europeans arrived in the region provide some explanations (see Ward, 1966, pp. 104–136). Prior to the arrival of the Europeans, different ethnic groups warred against others, conquered them, seized their land and property, and took some of them as domestic servants. Such wars of conquest and subjugation definitely sowed the seeds of anger, hatred, bitterness, and revenge among the people. There were always occasions for retaliation and subsequent wars. Alliances formed among different ethnic groups created strong friendships and also bitter enemies. These in turn led to the deepening and strengthening of ethnic mistrust, rivalry, and wars. For example, as Ward (1966, pp. 64–102) noted, the arrival of Islam in the northern part of the country and how the indigenous people were forced to accept a foreign religion made some ethnic groups to flee for social, economic, and political freedom. They detested the idea of being conquered and forced into cultural subordination. Those people who did not desire to accept a foreign religion, worship a god they neither knew nor believed in, and become weaklings in their own land fled to other locations in the region to defend, protect, and sustain their long-found freedom. As these people fled and traveled southward, they also had to fight their way out by conquering others, usurping landed property and animals so as to sustain themselves. In light of these internal migrations, one can understand how these events could have established the foundation for ethnic antagonism,

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strife, and the struggle for power, authority, and leadership when the new nation, Ghana, was born in 1957. Harboring previous acts of conquest in their minds, few people would want to re-live the bad experiences of political subordination, economic subservience, and cultural domination. To prevent these from happening, it would be better to have one’s kinsmen and women become the leaders of the new nation state. At least by so doing, the safety and security of one’s ethnic group would be guaranteed forever. This being the case, why would people from one ethnic group want to vote for prospective national leaders from another ethnicity? Clearly, the stage had been fully constructed and secured for ethnic rivalry in Ghana – the fledgling nation state. Adding insult to injury, the arrival and activities of Europeans in the region in search of precious metals, raw materials, and slaves also gave rise to, nurtured, and perpetuated great mistrust among the indigenous people. For example, after having settled themselves on the Gold Coast, various European groups, together with local allies engaged in the slave trade. In most cases, some indigenous people were offered money, liquor, tobacco, and other incentives and encouraged to go into the hinterland, war and prey on people of other ethnicities, and take them as prisoners to be sold into slavery. When these people were conquered, they were chained and brought to the coast and sold to the Europeans. During the whole era of slavery, one could imagine the extent to which mistrust, bitterness, and anger among the various ethnic groups might have become deepened. The intensity of slavery was disruptive and destructive – pitching one ethnic group (the stronger ones) against the others (i.e., the weaker ones). The British, Dutch, and the Danes participated in this trade and made fortunes (Ward, 1966, pp. 81–103). Truly, these acts by the Europeans and their indigenous accomplices created ethnic disarray, mistrust, fear, hate, anger, and estrangement in the region. Yet in all these, people from the same ethnic group did their best to stick together, working harder each time to protect themselves from local and foreign slave raiders – working through people with whom they might have signed either formal or informal agreements of co-operation and protection. Gleaning from these records, it can be concluded that prior to the arrival of the Europeans on the Gold Coast, the collectivistic ethic was strong among people of the same ethnicity. Such people worked together on programs aimed at the promotion of group interests, loyalty, responsibility, and accountability. The common good was of significant interest to group members. People worked together in work parties – helping each other to clear, till, and sow crops on their lands. They also cooperated in building houses and constructing community footpaths, and taking care of sacred places. These

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people lived together in peace – having their own forms of political systems and organizations that suited their needs at the time. Unfortunately, however, as Ward (1966, p. 102) noted correctly, when the Europeans came in with their values of individualism, money, and the pre-conceived idea that the chieftaincies of the indigenous people were uncivilized and despotic, they worked hard to disintegrate the existing communal structures and loyalties. Worst of all, their activities and practices led to the pitching of people of one ethnic group against others – the usual divide and conquer tactics.2 Indigenous political units were, therefore, dismantled and split into smaller fragments – creating factious political leaders like Asameni and other avid slave traders. In the attempt to supply more slaves and make financial gains from the Europeans, leaders of these factious gangs waged wars on people from other ethnicities, raided the people in the interior, captured prisoners, and sold them into slavery. From these historical records, it can be concluded further that specific moments and events in history might not only have defined the nature of, but also created the tone for ethnic relationships in Ghana today. These relationships include internal and external acts of aggression, conquests, migration, communal wars, slavery, land disputes, trade practices, disloyalty, and the desire to subdue and subjugate others. Indeed, each of these acts is a human creation – setting the stage for present day ethnic relations in Ghana. These dynamics are based on the nature of social, economic, political, and religious lives of the people. In addition, there are significant variations in certain cultural and religious practices. For example, while the Akan group of people is matrilineal, most of the other ethnic groups are patrilineal. While every ethnic group emphasizes and celebrates its own cultural festivals, such festivities represent the historical realities and myths about the achievements of previous generations and the blessings God and ancestral spirits continue to bestow on each group of people. In general terms, Yinger (1986, pp. 12–31) argued that primordial attachments, shared interests, and alienation from the state provide strength and cohesiveness to ethnicity. In addition to these factors, ethnic loyalty appears to be another important determinant of group coalescence. As a group, these people work together to not only promote the advancement of their group, but also to achieve long-term survival, social progress, political emancipation, and economic prosperity. For each group of people, it is imperative to work together to maintain group cohesiveness and team effort to achieve intended goals and objectives. 2 Regarding detailed discussions on the uneven tribal dimension of politics in modern Africa, see Ingham (1990).

     

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If can be argued, therefore, that the various ethnic loyalties in Ghana are directed toward overcoming the fear of continuing subjugation, oppression, and annihilation. People of different ethnic groups hope and believe that by banding and working together, they have a greater chance of advancing and moving forward in terms of social, economic, and political life. In light of this, one can conclude that personal loyalty and commitment to one’s ethnic group are strategic acts aimed at facing the social, economic, and political challenges in a land of many ethnic groups and inter ethnic competitiveness. In what follows, I discuss the concepts of ethnicity and national consciousness and how these together affect socio-economic progress in Ghana. Ethnicity and National Consciousness in Ghana In cases where one ethnic group feels superior to others in the same nation, they do their best to subjugate those that are perceived to be inferior. When people are classified and dealt with in separate categories as unique ethnic groups, the polarization that occurs can also perpetuate a strong sense of anger, frustrations, hatred, and cultural antagonism between ethnic groups. For example, in countries such as Canada and the US where people of African descent and Native Americans are looked down upon, there are always strong sentiments of mistrust and antagonism between the races (Horowitz, 1985; Sniderman and Hagan, 1985; and Sowell, 1978). In the last century, feelings of racial superiority promoted genocide or hatred in Germany (Hitler and the Jews), Bosnia (Croats and Serbs), Somalia (Ethiopians and Somalis), Uganda (Idi Amin and foreigners), The Republic of South Africa (“Blacks” and “Whites”), Australia and the US (the Natives and “White” people), and Rwanda and Burundi (Hutus and Tutsis).3 The strong feelings of ethnicity, in many ways, promote racial prejudice and varying forms of discrimination. Such types of discrimination become glaring in terms of employment opportunities, admission into educational institutions, the granting of bank loans, voting and political practices, auditions, rental housing, real estate ownership, and many others. Severe forms of discrimination create strong communal attachments, antagonism, the ultimate exclusion of others, bitter fighting, and may ultimately result in genocide. The atrocities that are carried out are done with the view of cleansing the group of infidels (Bell-Fialkoff, 1999). The 3 Other areas of conflict and ethnic cleansing include Cyprus, Karabakh, Kosovo, the Russian minorities in the Former Soviet Union, Sri Lanka, Transsylvannia, and Ulster. See details in Bell-Fialkoff (1999, pp. 110–208). In the case of the Republic of South Africa, consult Keller and Picard (1989).

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feeling of superiority leads a group of people to label and treat others in certain derogatory and stereotypical ways – lazy, dishonest, poor, stupid, inward-looking, etc. Since these practices lead to paralyzing polarization, they either minimize or destroy continuing dialogue, communications, interaction, teamwork, and so on. In general, ethnic groups that feel superior to others neither receive nor accept those they label infidels into their holy sites and places of religious worship. They do not permit inter-ethnic activities such as social intermingling and relationships, marriages, religious activities, celebration of festivals, etc. Such groups are totally exclusive. They keep to themselves. In countries where ethnic sentiments are strong, it is always difficult to forge a unified national consciousness e.g. the Hutus and Tutsis, the Croats and Serbs). When various ethnic groups in the same country do not respect each other, they find it hard to come together in unity and respect for others to build a common nation state. Instead, individual loyalties are accorded to the leadership of one’s ethnic group. Those who desire to pursue ideas aimed at building the nation state are usually labeled traitors, and may be excommunicated or even assassinated. Indeed, it is not easy to develop a strong national consciousness when people from different ethnic groups, though dwelling within the same political boundaries, fail to acknowledge and respect the humanity, rights, and dignity of others who are different in the ethnic sense. There is always an unspoken fear and threat of subjugation and domination by others. In cases of severe HF decay, when personal trust, honesty, responsibility, loyalty, and accountability are at their nadir, people from different ethnic groups find it too difficult to associate and work together with others to build the nation state. In such circumstances, it seems to be the case that people prefer to build and strengthen the powers and authority of their group rather than to work with others to build a common and unified nation state. Worst of all, if one ethnic group had suppressed others in the past, the fear of having that practice repeated is real to those who suffered at the hands of the dominant ethnic group.4 Thus, it can be argued that the primary root cause of ethnic rivalries, strife, and wars is severe HF decay. National unity is not possible without a nation of people with well-developed HF. As such, if people of different ethnicities desire to build a common nation state, they must of necessity begin with programs that can foster ongoing HF development. Such a program must help people to learn, under4 Cases in point are the struggles between Ethiopians and Somalis, Croats and Serbs, the Germans under Hitler and the Jews, the Hutus and Tutsi, the “Blacks” and “Whites” in the Republic of South Africa, and many others.

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stand, and become convinced that every human life is sacred, dignified, and worth protecting. People must respect the human and civil rights of every person. The rule of law must prevail and be protected. It is only by helping people of different ethnicities to comprehend and accede to these attitudes and rules that the state can go ahead to foster a unique national consciousness – a sine qua non for the attainment of political harmony.5 In what follows, we turn to a discussion on ethnicity, politics, and national consciousness in the Nkrumah and post-Nkrumah eras. It is argued that the presence of too much emphasis on ethnic loyalties and the lack of national consciousness led to social antagonism and inimical political practices that militated against socio-economic development of the Ghanaian nation state. Ethnicity and Politics in the Nkrumah and Post-Nkrumah Eras In the book, Ghana: The Ten Great Years – 1951–1960, it is stated clearly: The adoption of a republican constitution by Ghana comes as the climax to the movement which began to make itself felt in the years between the two world wars. It was then that the people of the Gold Coast were first fired with the idea of nationhood. . . But it was not until after 1949, the impact of the second world war, that this movement received a fresh and powerful impetus from the foundation of the Convention People’s Party [CPP] under the leadership of Dr. Kwame Nkrumah (Ghana Information Service, 1960, p. 5).

Obvious from this quotation is the fact that prior to independence on March 6, 1957, different parts of the political boundaries that became Ghana were separate entities under British rule. For example, Ashanti, the Northern Territories Protectorate, and the Trust Territory of British Togoland were different appendages of the British Empire. They were ruled and administered differently. Thus, during the pre-independence era, it can be cogently argued that most ethnic groups were by themselves and had little opportunity to work together to build a common and unified nation state. It was also the case that the British discouraged collaboration among different groups, particularly as local nationalistic activities began to blossom. Fortunately, however, after Kwame Nkrumah and his colleagues forced the British to give up their control and finally leave, the various ethnic groups got the golden 5 A case in point is Singapore. Though co-habited by many different ethnic groups, Lee Kuan Yew and his colleagues worked ceaselessly to minimize the racial tensions among the people. For a detailed discussion on the Singaporean experience, see Hill and Kwen Fee (1995).

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opportunity to work together to build a unified nation state. Independence furnished the indigenous people the opportunity to work together to pursue common social, economic, and political goals. At the beginning, members of the Executive Council and Cabinet of Nkrumah’s government were drawn from across the country – though not necessarily filled with people from every ethnic group. Since members of the Cabinet were also from a broad spectrum of the population at the time, one can talk raise the idea that Nkrumah and his key leaders were at least aware of the significance of the ethnic factor in Gold Coast politics.6 These groups of leaders were to steer the nation on the high seas of social progress, economic advancement, and political maturation of a fledgling African nation – a unique political experiment never before seen in sub-Saharan Africa. On Christmas Eve of 1957, Kwame Nkrumah made a broadcast to the nation. In this speech, he outlined his goals and vision for the new nation. In his own words: My first objective is to abolish from Ghana poverty, ignorance and disease. We shall measure our progress by the improvement in the health of our people; by the number of children in school and by the quality of their education; by the availability of water and electricity in our towns and villages; and by the happiness which our people take in being able to manage their own affairs. The welfare of our people is our chief pride, and it is by this that my government will ask to be judged (Ghana Information Service, 1960, p. 10).

By outlining his goals and aspirations for the new nation, this speech set the stage for Nkrumah’s subsequent development plans for Ghana as a single, unitary nation-state. Unfortunately, however, he did not allow challenges to his leadership. Through the Preventive Detention Act, for example, he could easily order the arrest and imprisonment of those he perceived as threats to his political leadership. While he worked to expand and establish the domain and influence of his leadership, he also made enemies through this Act. It seems to me that Nkrumah’s pursuit and imprisonment of political opponents might have resurrected ethnic mistrust, fear, and non co-operation. This is based on the fact that the political parties with which he was at loggerheads had their strength in particular regions of the country. The National Liberation Movement, for example, was mainly an Ashanti party while the 6 The view expressed here in no way suggests that only Nkrumah and his colleagues were aware of the significance of ethinicity to nation building. However, from an indigenous leadership perspective, it can be argued persuasively that they formed the first group of Ghanaian leaders who organized and run a multi-ethnic government in the fledgling Ghanaian state.

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Northern People’s Party had its roots in the northern areas of the country. The Nkrumah ushered in a form of party politics that may have bred inter-ethnic resentment. Nkrumah’s Attempts to Deal with Ethnic Tensions It seems to me that Nkrumah was fully aware of the negative implications of ethnic dissatisfaction. A thorough review of his policies reveals that he was the only Ghanaian leader of his time who was well aware of the fact that high waves of negative intra-ethnic networks and sentiments could destroy a nation made up of people of different and distinct ethnicities. He had seen their impact on different African countires, and was convinced that one of the factors that militated against African Unity was emphasis on ethnic loyalty to the neglect of allegiance to a national government or leadership. He, therefore, worked hard to institute a program of activities that could bring the different peoples of Ghana together to recognize and acknowledge the power in nation building through unshakable teamwork. With this goal in mind, Nkrumah believed that if he could get the children and the youth from the various ethnic groups together, trained and educated they would develop the relevant skills and human factor characteristics to respect and work with their peers from other groups. The vehicle through which he chose to accomplish this ideal was the Ghana Young Pioneers movement. The movement was officially established on June 14, 1960. Nkrumah institutionalized the movement throughout the country and one of the primary objectives of this movement was to develop children with an African personality. Educational institutions were also enjoined to run programs aimed at character building and citizenship development. Students and children were to be taught the ideology of Nkrumaism. The teaching of Nkrumaism was aimed at educating children in the concepts of social solidarity, political action, value stabilization, individual integration into the changing social structure, the meaning and direction of life, and learning to think in terms of a nation rather than ethnic groups or enclaves. Assimeng (1981, p. 156) observed that Nkrumaism was “. . . supposed to be a secular, puritanic religion, and consciencism became its bible, Nkrumah its chief Messiah, and economic bliss, social harmony, and national dignity, its principal ideals.” Nkrumaism was an ideology of patriotic nationalism.7 The children were not only taught Nkrumah’s ideologies and philosophy of life, 7 See details on Nkrumaism in Nkrumah’s book entitled: Consciencism, Philosophy and Ideology for Decolonization and Development with Particular Reference to the African Revolution (Chapter III).

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but also learned about their individual roles in nation building and what they must do to defend Ghana, their motherland. There were always local, district, regional, and national conventions of the Young Pioneers movement where the youth demonstrated their knowledge, skills, abilities, character, and promise for the future. While these were in progress, children from different ethnicities got to know others, teamed up with them, and also learned their languages.8 Through the movement, Nkrumah engaged in a series of nation building and ethnic integration activities aimed at assisting people of different ethnicities to get closer and become familiar with each other. It was his belief that if he could get people from different ethnic backgrounds to engage in certain common tasks and work together, they would not only get to know each other better, but would also develop longlasting bonds of friendship that could lead to the forging and fostering of long-term inter-ethnic relationships and vital networks. For example, through his ethnic integration policies and programs, Ghanaians from different ethnic backgrounds were offered civil service jobs in language areas other than their own. Nkrumah’s silent policy of ethnic integration in the civil service saw the posting of police officers, teachers, soldiers, doctors, education officers, agriculturalists, pharmacists, and people of diverse backgrounds to work among other ethnic groups. Similarly, students entering into secondary level education programs were encouraged and permitted to apply and be admitted to secondary schools, technical institutes, and teacher training colleges in language areas other than their own. To what extent was Nkrumah successful in his silent integration efforts? This is a very crucial question. Let me just point out that though he was unable to rid Ghana of ethnic rivalries, some strong evidence exists today to prove that he did have significant impact on ethnic dynamics in Ghana. The beauty of his silent ethnic integration program is that it yielded positive and long-lasting results. Through personal inferences and experiences, some of the evidence supporting Nkrumah’s successful ethnic integration program includes but is not limited to the following: 1. The requisite environment for Ghanaians from different ethinic groups to mix freely and work together on assigned programs. 2. Through ongoing social networks, economic activities, and business interactions, people learned other Ghanaian languages. This

8 Though some Ghanaians may claim that Nkrumah’s Young Pioneer program was subversive in certain regards, it seems to me that a more careful examination of its activities and its achievements proves that such sentiments may be unfair to Nkrumah and his accomplishments through the Young Pioneer program.

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knowledge facilitated people’s better comprehension of the cultural and religious practices of other ethnic groups. 3. Slightly healthier inter-ethnic tolerance, relationships, and marriages. Indeed, marriages across ethnic boundaries in Ghana have become commonplace phenomena. Such marriages strengthen ethnic bonds and relationships among people of diffferent ethnicity.9 4. Travelers, fishermen/women, tradesmen and women, and many others have successfully traveled and settled in different parts of the country – engaging in their own economic activities and business ventures. Today, a traveler going through the heart of Ghana would come across people of different ethnicities dwelling together in peace and harmony – in major cities like Accra, Ho, Sunyani, Kumasi, Takoradi, Tamale, and towns and villages in the rural areas as well. It is, therefore, not surprising that whereas ethnic antagonism and strife led to farticidal struggles and genocide in different parts of Africa (e.g., Zaire, Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda, Sierra Leone, Liberia, South Africa, Togo, etc.), Ghanaians have continued to live and work together in peace and harmony with each other (with the exception of some isolated incidents of ethnic rivalry every now and then).10 One could argue, therefore, that had subsequent leaders understood and taken hold of this aspect of Nkrumah’s vision and built on it, Ghanaians could be much closer to realizing the dream of ethnic integration and peaceful co-existence. Ethnicity, Human Factor Decay and Post-Nkrumah Politics Kwame Nkrumah’s CPP government was overthrown in a military coup d’etat on 24th February, 1966. Though E.K. Kotoka (an Ewe) led the coup d’etat to unseat Nkrumah, he did not head the National Liberation Council – the military government that was established. He deferred leadership to one of his senior officers – J.A. Ankrah (of Ga ethnicity). By leading the military coup against Kwame Nkrumah (an Akan) Kotoka indirectly incited negative feelings among some 9 Today, if appropriate statistics were availbale, one would find that inter-ethnic marriages form a significant aspect of Ghanaian social life and cultural practices. 10 This conclusion does not, however, imply that there does not exist some level of ethnic disaffinity in Ghana. Quite the contrary. All along, one observes minor ethnic squabbling and antagonism. Such strifes are usually due to ownership and the location of boundaries of landed property and political strife (i.e., chietaincy issues and rivalries). In recent years, for example, relationships between, say, the Kokombas and Nanumbas led to the loss of lives.

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Akan people. Though A.A. Afrifa was one of the key architects of the February 24th 1966 coup that ousted Nkrumah from power, few Ghanaians ever perceived Afrifa to be the primary leader of the plot to overthrow Nkrumah. As is always the case, leaders rather than subordinates are either praised or blamed for any coups d’etat. In light of this, it is, therefore, comprehensible why the ethnic anger from groups other than the Ewes was directed toward Kotoka rather than Afrifa. Thus, about a year later, E.K. Kotoka and some other army officers (mostly Ewes) were assassinated in an unsuccessful coup d’etat led by officers of Akan ethnicity. The brutality of these killings revealed the deeply rooted ethnic anger and sentiments at work. The death of Kotoka did not ease matters with regard to ethnic mistrust and antagonism. These events heightened ethnic rivalry, suspicion, and feelings of revenge among people from these ethnic groups and also undermined and lessened the waves of ethnic integration programs that the CPP government had established. In fact, after Nkrumah, political leaders seemed only interested in building their own financial empires through the fulfillment of personal political dreams. They fought for their dreams and visions by appealing to people of their own ethnicity. They therefore raised and promoted ethnicity rather than national consciousness. Political leaders began to form and run parties on ethnic basis. These new leaders pitched one ethnic group against another. Ghanaians sooner or later began to support political leaders who have the same ethnic backgrounds. Ethnic polarization began to build up quickly and fast. During electioneering campaigns, insults were hurled against people of different ethnic groups through name-calling, mudslinging, and other demeaning practices. Kofi A. Busia, a member of the Akan group, led the Progress Party (PP) to win 105 seats out of a total of 140 seats in parliament, following the elections of 1969, when the NLC handed power over to a civilian regime. While the PP was seen as an Akan party, its main rival, Komla Gbedemah’s National Alliance of Liberals (NAL), was said to be made up mostly of Ewes. For these reasons, the political rivalry accentuated the ethnic tensions between these two ethnic groups. For example, there were political clashes during rallies when each political party pursued its campaign program in the territories of the members of its arch rival party. Awoonor (1990, pp. 219–220) observed that: Gbedema’s showing at the polls has been ascribed to a number of factors, including a palpably “tribal” one which characterized the NAL (National Alliance of Liberals) as a party that would be dominated by the Ewe, the ethnic group from which he came. The fate of NAL

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workers and supporters in the Akan areas was one of regular harassment. Those Akans who were seen to belong to the party were subjected to verbal abuse in their home areas. Decidedly, NAL enjoyed popular support in the Ewe areas, where the PP (Progress Party) was also jeered and hooted at. This was the first time the political divide had surfaced on rigid lines of ethnic origin . . . Gbedemah could not escape the charge of having spent his exile years plotting with Busia and his group to overthrow Nkrumah. Whatever popular appeal he seemed to have was therefore limited to his home region where he was still somehow held in some veneration. The ideological lines therefore became blurred in the ethnic divide, a dangerous development for the Ghanaian body politic.

The antagonism between the Ewes and the Akans assumed a significant dimension during the PP regime. Political leaders fueled the ethnic animosities. On one occasion, Victor Owusu, an Akan Minister in the government, scorned Ewes with derogatory remarks and pronouncements. The cult of ethnic polarization and rivalry was beginning to be established fully in post-colonial Ghana. As destructive ethnic feelings grew from bad to worse, inter-ethnic relations deteriorated further. For example, soon after Busia’s government took office on October 1, 1969, he and his colleagues went on a witchhunting spree on ethnic and political party lines. First of all, Busia appointed some of his old cronies to key positions (e.g., Justice Akuffo Addo was President; J.H. Mensah; Dr. Jones Ofori-Attah, and many others assumed key positions). Second, Busia dismissed 568 public servants; most of these people were from one ethnic group – Ewe. Busia also dismissed Charles Segbefia, an Ewe, on the basis that his brother, Fred Segbefia, was a staunch leader in Gbedemah’s party, NAL (See details in Awoonor, 1990, pp. 220–221).11 Faced with mounting economic problems, Busia’s government was deposed through a military coup d’etat led by I.K. Acheampong, an Akan, on January 13, 1972. A lot of Akans were not happy with Acheampong and his colleagues for their military action. Many reasons account for this dissatisfaction. For example, Acheampong, an Akan, had thrown another Akan out of office. It was incomprehensible to most Akans as to why one of their kinsmen could overthrow another one of their own. As an unspoken rule, one’s kinsmen are not supposed to kick their own out of such high level political office by the kind of means employed by Acheampong. Over a period of five years, Acheampong and his colleagues mismanaged and destroyed 11 For other actions of political suicide Busia committed, refer to Awoonor (1990, pp. 221–224).

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the social, economic, and political foundations of Ghanaian society. Ghana was on the verge of total collapse. Various newspaper reports at the time revealed that Acheampong played the game of favoritism – giving government contracts, social favors, economic benefits, and political appointments to his immediate relatives, friends, and those who worked to prop up his government. People who were not that close or did not have any other avenues through which they could get listed on Acheampong’s elite list could not receive any personal financial gains. Many who thought they could get closer to participate in the booty sharing process became dissatisfied and discouraged about his leadership. His crony capitalism, though it created significant financial gains for many, became the primary source of his downfall as a leader. Certainly, these practices created discouragement, hopelessness, apathy, and anger – especially among people from other ethnic groups, and those from Acheampong’s own, who felt cheated and left out of the sharing of the gains. Negative ethnic sentiments, therefore, bloomed. It must be pointed out that Acheampong engaged in economic development programs based on patriotism and self-reliance. Acheampong desired to instill attitudes of self-reliance, hard work, nationalism, and good citizenship in Ghanaians. Acheampong’s preaching of patriotism and self-reliance was deceptive in that he and his colleagues never practiced what they asked everyone else to do. As leaders, they were more concerned with how to increase their own personal wealth. Acheampong’s activities aimed at instilling patriotism in Ghanaians were not only deceptive, but also served as a smokescreen so people would not find out his misdeeds as the head of government. Realizing the huge national outcry and the public’s lack of trust and confidence in Acheampong’s leadership, Frederick Akuffo, a staunch Acheampong henchman, arrested him and took over power as the leader of the SMC in July 1978.12 Thus, through a “palace” coup d’etat in July 1978, Akuffo became the head of the new military government. Akuffo and his colleagues of SMC-2 could, however, not salvage the economy. This government did not last long because on June 4, 1979, J.J. Rawlings and his colleagues, under the banner of the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC), staged a successful coup d’etat and took over the leadership of the country.13 Through special military 12 In this struggle, one observes an Akan leader usurping power and authority from another leader from the same ethnic group. Another seed of ethnic bitterness and disharmony has been sown between two different groups of people from the same ethnic group in Ghana. 13 An Ewe leader creating and opening further the wounds of ethnic strife and tensions.

     

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tribunals, attempts were made to bring the corrupt to justice. Eight senior military officers, including three former heads of state, were executed. This brutal and senseless killing was perceived as hatred based on ethnic sentiments. Even though the executed officers came from different ethnic groups, the fact that majority, including the three heads of state, were Akans infuriated members of that ethnic group.14 Rawlings’ action sent a wrong message to the Akans. The killing of these officers drew a distinct and visible red line between the Akans and Ewes, widening and deepening the strife between these groups. This watershed event shot ethnic antagonism and rivalry between Ewes and Akans to an unprecedentedly high level. The leaders of the AFRC stayed in power for only four months – ruling with blood and iron. After having forced many previously corrupt political and military leaders to pay back the monies they had embezzled, Rawlings and his colleagues returned Ghana to civilian rule in the same year (i.e., September 24, 1979). Hilla Limann and his colleagues formed the next government with the 71 seats they had won out of a total of 140. During the Third Republic, Hilla Limann’s party, the PNP, had a strong following from the Northern parts of Ghana because Limann himself was from Northern Ghana. Commenting on the ethnic question during this transition, AduBoahen, a renowned Ghanaian historian, argues that: If you look at the 1979 elections, you realize that people voted more on regional basis rather than on national or party basis. Thus people seem to think of themselves more as members of regions, rather than as members of a single nation state of Ghana. That being the case, if people are ever going to draw up a constitution, then should we not take these facts into consideration? If you take voting patterns for 14 One may, however, argue that since Rawlings’ act of killing high-ranking military officers also included some Ewe officers, why would Akans or other ethnic groups be incensed against Rawlings? This question is a valid one. However, it fails to recognize that the wrath of people from an ethnic group because one of them is killed by their kind is not as strong as if this person is killed by another individual from a different ethnic group. The anger is, therefore, based on the view that though the Ewes are free to kill their own, they dare not kill any Akans – no matter what. Thus, though high-ranking Ewe military officers were also killed, their killing did very little to console people from other ethnic groups who also lost kin. Note also that though Rawlings’ wife is an Akan, this did not minimize the strength of the hatred most Akans showed Rawling. It seems to me that though this may sound puzzling to many, it is important to recognize that Rawlings is still an outsider. The fact that he married one of them did not make him become one of them. Unfortunately, however, his marriage is not able to indemnify him against rage from other Akans. One might add that it is not the whole Akan group of people that hated Rawlings. Instead, it is a selected group of people who could not bring themselves to appreciate any contributions Rawlings may have made towards rebuilding Ghana.

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  ‒   individual parties, the results are very interesting. The SDF [Social Democratic Front], which was supposed to be a party of labor, a TUC [Trade Union Congress] party won only three seats, all in the North simply because of the leader of the party at that particular time. The Action Party with Bernasko as head virtually won all its seats in central and Western regions and so on. . . . If you consider the political facts and the political behavior of the people of the regions, it seems as if we are in practice thinking and behaving as members of regions rather than as members of a nation state (quoted in Yankah, 1990, p. 117).

Adu-Boahen’s remarks reveal the nature of political party formation and membership in Ghana. People most frequently choose to pledge allegiance to parties whose leaders are members of their own ethnic group, colleagues, or acquaintances. Leaders of such political parties receive tremendous support and votes from members of their own ethnic groups. Regardless of what Limann and his colleagues did to revitalize the economy, they were unable to deal successfully with the pervasive political corruption in the country. In less than two years, parliamentarians, ministers, civil servants, and opportunistic Ghanaians worked hard in plundering local, district, regional, and national treasuries. Corruption did not only escalate, but reached proportions that made it impossible for the government to revive the stagnating economy. On December 31, 1981, Rawlings and his colleagues returned once again to the political scene through a military coup d’etat.15 The constitution of the Third Republic was suspended and the Provisional National Defense Council (PNDC) was formed. Many Ghanaians welcomed Rawlings and his colleagues’ return to Ghanaian leadership a second time. People hailed Rawlings as a savior and were relieved that Ghana had another great opportunity to improve its socio-economic conditions. A lot of Akans were, however, not comfortable with this political development, particularly since an Ewe had once again stepped onto the political scene by force and become the leader of the nation. They were antagonistic towards Rawlings in particular for obvious reasons – the fact that he was the one who had executed important members of their ethnic group and deprived others of their economic resources as a result of his anti-corruption campaigns of 1979. It is fair to say that certain individuals from other ethnic groups who probably saw themselves as prospective future Presidents of Ghana had an inkling that their chances were beginning to dwindle with a military government in power. Such people were probably the brains 15 The return of Rawlings has finally marked boldly the symbols of ethnic antagonism in Ghana – especially between the Akans and Ewes. See details on Rawlings coming to power in Yankah (1986) and Awoonor (1984).

     

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behind the numerous counter coups d’etat staged against Rawlings and his team, sometimes with support from other ethnic groups. During the initial months and years of PNDC rule, Rawlings went after corrupt politicians and citizens through the Citizens’ Vetting Committee. These kangaroo courts terrified people and brought many to a process of forced accountability – fines, confiscation, and imprisonment. Ethnic tensions between the Akans and Ewes came to a climax when Rawlings was accused of having masterminded the killing of four respectable members of the Akan community – three high court judges and a retired army officer. After a decade of PNDC rule, the ban on multipary politics was lifted, and democratic elections were called in 1992. When the general national elections were held, Rawlings, as the candidate of the National Democratic Congress (NDC), won the Presidency as well as a landslide majority of parliamentary seats. It is important to note that the other parties boycotted the parliamentary polls because of allegations of rigging in the presidential elections which had been held earlier. On January 7, 1993, Rawlings was inaugurated as president of the fourth republic. In 1996, he and his party and his colleagues again won a landslide political victory – 133 seats out of 200 seats. Just as was the case in 1992, Rawlings’ party (NDC) enjoyed most of its grassroots support from among the Ewes because he is an Ewe, while the main opposition party (National Patriotic Party – NPP) had its stronghold in the Akan-speaking areas of the country. Regardless of Rawlings’ efforts to rehabilitate and rebuild the Ghanaian economy in approximately two decades, at the close of his reign in December 2000, the Ghanaian economy was in shambles. Unfortunately, Rawlings and his colleagues failed to slay the dragon of ethnicity and the monster of political corruption. They were also unsuccessful in unifying the various ethnic groups. The intensity of ethnic antagonism seemed to have increased in Ghana under Rawlings’ leadership. Above all, Rawlings and his colleagues failed to develop the much-needed national consciousness and ethnic unity. At the close of his leadership, his government was saddled with ethnic antagonism, excessive corruption, embezzlement, misappropriation, misapplication, and mismanagement – the very things he usurped the throne and leadership to conquer. Ghanaians went to the polls in December 2000 to elect a new President. The election was highly successful and the transfer of power was effectively and efficiently carried out in a peaceful atmosphere. Rawlings’ two terms of office (i.e., civilian rule) were over and the new President, J.A. Kufuor, was elected. Though the orchestration of the December 2000 election and the installation of the new President were highly successful, there is a chilling dark side to it. Though the two Presidential candidates, Mr. J.A. Kufuor and Mr.

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J.E.A. Mills, are both from the Akan ethnic group, Mr. Kufuor won the Presidency. A careful study and analysis of the patterns of votes cast reveal that while Mills defeated Kufuor in Eweland (since Mills was President Rawlings’ successor), Kufuor won most of his votes in such areas as Western, Central, Greater Accra, Eastern, Ashanti, Brong Ahafo, Northern, and Upper East. Mills carried only the Volta Region and Upper West. The voting pattern of the 2000 elections still reveals the depth of ethnic influence on politics in Ghana.16 If this nation will really make any significant headway, it is imperative to find ways and means of narrowing the gap between the various ethnic groups. To accomplish this task effectively, I cannot see any better way of doing so without pursuing a carefully orchestrated HF engineering program of activities. These programs must aim at producing the quality of people Ghanaians require to move forward in peace and unity. In what follows, we discuss and evaluate the impact of HF decay on political power and ethnic strife in Ghana. Some Implications of Human Factor Decay The excessive levels of human factor decay in the country continue to deny Ghanaians the ability and opportunity to pursue successfully their program of socio-economic development. HF decay has created and perpetuated ethnic rivalry, greed, corruption, and polarization. This polarization seems to have weakened all unifying forces Nkrumah’s efforts had unleashed as he attempted to promote and develop a unique and powerful national consciousness. Speaking to the issue of ethnicity and its impact, Assimeng (1981, p. 163) observed: There seems to be a certain kind of an oscillation in public concern about the “resurgence” of [ethnicity] in Ghana since the structural changes in the country’s political system, consequent upon especially the overthrow of the Nkrumah regime in February 1966. Ghanaians had earlier apparently prided themselves as being less tribalistic, and always with pride and relish pointed to the other neighboring countries as the real centers of tribalistic expression.

Unfortunately, however, Ghanaians were wrong in their perception about having conquered the problem of ethnicity. Instead, ethnic pride and inward-looking attitudes continue to not only keep the people apart, but also encourage them to see each other as bitter enemies and rivals. The outcome of these attitudes is that loyalty to one’s ethnic group takes precedence over that for the nation state. 16

See detailed results in Daily Graphic, Tuesday, January 2, 2001, pp. 8 and 17.

     

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While local festivals, for example, are successfully orchestrated and carried out, there are few similar events at the national level. The independence and republic holidays are of little significance in terms of national unity and consciousness. The nation state, therefore, does not seem to exist. The failure to develop what Adu-Febiri (1995, pp. 55–70) called the ‘collectivistic ethic’ in Ghana is a debilitating hindrance to social progress, economic growth and development, and political maturation in Ghana. The inability of Ghanaians to transcend ethnic squabbles and strife militate against the evolution and development of uniquely unifying symbols of nationhood (i.e., national flag, anthem, festivals, parliament, judicial system, army, police force, airforce, and other symbols of national status). In Ghana, the people’s souls and spirits do not seem to resonate well with the national flag and anthem. Similarly, the pride and uniqueness of Ghanaians are not reflected in how they perceive and treat the symbolism of unity that the national anthem and flag are expected to convey. These emblems are, therefore, not effective unifying forces and rallying points. Ethnic diversity in Ghana has now become a stumbling block to national consciousness and the desire to build a powerful nation state. Ghanaians are divided, splintered, and scattered even as they cohabit a geographical region. A disturbing and debilitating outcome of such realities is further human factor decay – a powerful force that has the potency to destroy the nation state in the long-term. Unlike countries such as Canada, Great Britain, and the United States where the mere mention or sight of the national flag and the hearing of the national anthem arouse deep and moving levels of human emotions and sentiments of unification, cohesiveness, deep loyalties, and service to one’s nation, this is not the case in Ghana today.17 To the contrary, most Ghanaians 17 The view expressed here is neither uncritical nor suggestive that there are no rivalries among the various ethnic groups or people that form these countries. What the expression here implies is that people in these countries, regardless of their ethnicities, still pay due respect to their symbols of nationhood than is the case in Ghana. For example, in the wake of the terrorist attack of September 11, 2001 on the United States, almost all Americans seemed to have instantaneously forgotten about their ethnic differences and/or enclaves and rallied together to deal with the problems created by the attack. People saw themselves first and foremost as members of a united nation – the United States of America – rather than ethnic groups. In light of this event, the primary question is: Does this phenomenon imply that all ethnic squabbles have permanently disappeared from the American social, economic, business, and political landscape? The answer is a resounding NO! As such, one should not make the serious mistake by equating what has been an ongoing saga in Canada (i.e., the Quebecois) and the United Kingdom (i.e., the Irish and Scottish) to that of Ghana. These events must, therefore, not be used to either evaluate or judge ethnic problems in Ghana. Yes, indeed, ethnic cleavages will remain in all nations. However, the key issue in this chapter is about how people can rally

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do not seem to have any clues about what these national symbols mean to social progress, sustained economic growth, human-centered development, and political advancement. Similarly, the playing and hearing of the Ghanaian national anthem arouse very little emotions and bonding among people of different ethnicities, if any at all. Instead, people prefer to give their personal and group loyalties and allegiance to their ethnic leaders. Thus, while ethnic loyalties and bonding are strong in Ghana at the local level, they unfortunately do not translate into the national level. In reality, primordial loyalties have significant precedence over any conceived national loyalties in Ghana. Indeed, as long as Ghanaians suffer continuously from severe HF decay, ethnic loyalties will serve as a negative force that works against the desire to establish and build a powerful nation state. At the national level, most civil servants do not actually care about the welfare of the nation state. Since ethnic loyalties are stronger, it seems to be the case that those who are successful in looting the national treasury and taking the bootie back to their own ethnic areas are most frequently applauded and respected. As is usually uttered in many Ghanaian circles, country broke, country ino broke, we dey inside (Adjibolosoo, 1995 and 1999). From the HF perspective, it is not very clear as to what kinds of freedoms and liberties Ghanaians together hold dear as a unified nation. It does not seem to be the case that there are any unique ralying points to serve as foundational anchors to hold people from all ethnic groups together to achieve the common ideals. It is, therefore, sad to say that since no well-defined and acceptable nationwide rallying points exist, Ghanaians together as a group lack a deep sense of calling, duty, purpose, responsibility, commitment, and purpose. They have little clue as to what it means to work together to build to last. As an aggregation of numerous ethnic groups, Ghanaians neither possess a common purpose as a nation nor are they willing to work together as a unified national team to devise workable solutions for pertinent social, economic, and political problems. Instead, they become enmeshed in complex ethnic rivalry, conflicts, backstabbing, and self-centeredness. Unfortunately, however, a nation that has none of these lacks a common soul, heart, and destination. It is because of these reasons that it is so hard for Ghanaians of different ethnic backgrounds to accept the primary national symbols as significant rallying points. These developments have had strong negative impact on socio-economic development in Ghana. While almost all Ghanaian leaders did their best to pursue programs aimed at ongoing socio-economic develtogether as a unified group to deal with problems of national security, government, and business/economic – regardless of their ethnic affiliations. Let the reader judge.

     

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opment, they failed to pay attention to the power of ethnicity and national consciousness in either building or destroying a people’s social life, economy, and political advancement. Though there seems to be a strong relationship between ethnic strife and economic development, this relationship is spurious in that the actual factor that causes the ethnic rivalry is severe human factor decay. As such, it is not necessarily ethnic strife that causes economic underdevelopment. Instead, it is severe HF decay that causes economic underdevelopment in Ghana. Once the intensity of HF decay is minimized, the strength of ethnic rivalry in the country will decline – then would the economy have room to grow and develop. Assuming the economy picks up, ethnic consciousness would not necessarily decline nor promote national consciousness in the presence of severe HF decay. It is important to know that, historical records and sociological research have revealed that people of every ethnic group possess their own strong ethnic loyalty, unity, and symbols (Smith, 1927, Ward, 1966, Tufuo and Donkor, 1969, Kyerematen, 1970, and Assimeng, 1981). For example, while the Ashantis have the golden stool as their national emblem, other ethnic groups have their own in the form of stools, totems, and so on. These symbols usually serve as strong rallying points and emblems of ethnic strength, power, and authority. Unfortunately, however, in the Ghanaian case, none of these ethnic symbols has yet emerged as a strong source of a national unifying force and, therefore, a magnificent rallying point. In what follows, I present a discussion on ethnicity and national consciousness. Ethnicity and National Consciousness: Where Do We Go From Here? It is highly possible to establish and build the Ghanaian nation state because there exist strong similarities in the people’s traditions and cultural practices that could serve as strong starting points. For example, people from all Ghanaian ethnic groups believe in the existence of the supernatural and spirit world. The worship of ancestral spirits is a common religious practice among all Ghanaians (See Assimeng, 1981, pp. 30–52). Chief priests and leaders of religious organizations are believed to have supernatural powers and abilities to either do good (i.e., healing, protection, wealth, etc.) or bad (i.e., killing, bewitching, etc.). Social, economic, political, and religious practices and human life are intricately intertwined. There is neither dichotomization nor compartmentalization of the cycle of life. Life is, therefore, a unified whole in all areas of human endeavor – the physical, social, political, and spiritual worlds blend inseparably together. Today, many Ghanaians from the different ethnic groups have also embraced non-indigenous religions such as Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, and many others.

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The inability of Ghanaian leaders to pull together people from all ethnic groups to engage in meaningful and productive teamwork to accomplish the task of nation building opened the floodgates for bad attitudes of non-co-operation, unproductive ethnic rivalry, and lack of national consciousness. This failure on the part of leadership has not only promoted failure in socio-economic development, but also weakened the foundation for the establishment of a strong ‘collectivistic ethic’ in Ghana (Adu-Febiri, 1995, pp. 55–70). To overcome these problems, it is imperative that one understands the extent to which the quality of peoples’ human factor characteristics has led to the present state of social, economic, and political conditions in Ghana. Let us now highlight Nkrumah’s initial efforts to deal with ethnic problems in Ghana. After Nkrumah’s fall, the concept of statehood was of less significance to most Ghanaian leaders. Kwame Nkrumah’s wrestling away of Ghana from the claws of British administrators only created booties for opportunistic politicians and corrupt civil servants to fight over. These individuals have little desire to foster a strong and unique national consciousness that builds a sustainable Republic.18 The time has now come for everyone to draw closer, instead of seeking to slice a piece of the national worth for themselves or their ethnic groups. To Ghanaians with corrupted minds, the national resources retrieved from the colonizers (including the contents of local, district, and regional treasuries), do not belong to any particular person. As such, it is not important to be concerned about its nurture, protection, and upkeep. Whatever piece one could take and/or has actually taken, belongs to him or her. Even those who knew about these practices and watched while people emptied the treasuries asked no questions. They were not only spectators themselves, but also engaged in the looting process. It is in terms of these destructive attitudes, behaviors, and actions that one could position a cogent explanation for the failure of Ghanaians to respect, appreciate, build, and protect the unifying power in the symbols of nationhood – the anthem and flag. These emblems 18 It is, however, important to point out that certain members of Nkrumah’s government (e.g. Kojo Botsio, Krobo Edusei, etc.) were themselves political opportunists who used their political positions to amass personal wealth. In general, politicians could not foster the necessary national consciousness because of their personal selfishness and greed – seeking their own self-interests to the detriment of nationhood development and preservation. To talk about a nationalist who works to build his or her nation from a HF perspective is to exclude people like Adolf Hitler, Idi Amin, Pol Pot, and many others of their kind. A nationalist, viewed from a HF perspective, is the individual whose social, economic, and political agenda is principle-centered. Those who fail this test are not necessarily nationalists – but selfinterested opportunists – who are bent on the destruction of others for the promotion of their own interests.

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which Nkrumah worked hard to establish as rallying points around which the nation-building program could ensue were of little meaning to some politicians and civil servants. The HF of many Ghanaians had decayed so much that they worked against the building of a common nation state for people of all ethnicities. Such attitudes, behaviors, and actions are indicative of the lack of a true and unique national consciousness in Ghana – of severe HF decay. The development of national consciousness cannot happen by chance. Neither can it be brought into existence through the enactment of laws. The attendance at local, regional, national, and international conferences on ethnicity and ethnic rivalry will also not facilitate it. The common practice of the United Nations and its countless number of subsidiary organizations are both ill-equipped and incapable of dealing with the ethnic problem in different countries through the application of Conventions. Though the UN may have the money to channel into conducting numerous anuual round table discussions and international conferences, its leaders do not have what it takes to deal effectively and efficiently with the ethnic question in the world. These leaders neither know nor comprehend the truth that the primary source of ethnic strife, cleansing, and genocide is severe HF decay. Thus, if they are truly interested in solving ethnic problems, they must channel financial resources into HF engineering. Such HF-based programs must focus on assisting people to improve the quality of their HF. The positive HF (i.e., responsibility, accountability, integrity, respect for others, loyalty, honesty, self-control, commitment, love, etc.) is what people need to not only work together, but also live in peace and harmony and also to respect the humanity of others and the sanctity of life. In light of these facts, I argue that the only route Ghanaians must take as they desire to deal successfully with the ethnic issue is effective HF development programs. Those who orchestrate and implement this program must correctly identify the key HF characteristics that are missing and work hard to alter the existing educational curriculum to support and promote the development of these qualities (i.e., responsibility, accountability, integrity, respect for others, loyalty, honesty, self-control, commitment, love, etc.). For this program to successfully achieve its intended objectives, the curriculum must be positioned in principles that promote the whole human development (i.e., body, soul, and spirit). The pursuit and acquisition of human capital (i.e., skills and knowledge) alone are necessary but not sufficient for social, economic, and political progress in Ghana. We have pursued this form of education for over half a century now and nothing significant has happened in the positive sense. The citizens we produce through the existing education system are neither problem solvers nor avid nationalists who are truly committed to the greater

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good. To improve this poor result, we must work harder to assist the children and the youth of today to also acquire the necessary HF they require to be true and loyal nation builders – leaders, managers, parents, soldiers, priests, civil servants, teachers, politicians, and so on. Such a HF based educational program must begin at the initial stages of the educational system so that as children grow up, they mature in these fine human qualities. I must also add that the HF agenda is not a quick fix solution. It is a generational agenda. Those who pursue it must know that its results will take almost a generation to materialize. And when it does, Ghana will not only be ‘free at last’, but also be a haven for its citizens to enjoy social progress, economic advancement, and political maturation. If Ghanaians and their leaders continue to avoid the pursuit of this agenda, it will be impossible to forge the desired national conciousness – a necessary factor for an all-round progress. The HF paradigm is truly the only sure route to travel into social, economic, and political advancement. Conclusions This chapter has focused on ethnicity and the development of national consciousness in Ghana. It presents a review of Ghana’s political and economic history, ethnicity, and the concept of national consciousness. It is established that primordial ethnic loyalties are accorded higher regard than those offered to the nation state. One of the greatest challenges Ghanaian leaders in the post-Nkrumah era continue to face is their inability to foster strong ethnic integration in Ghana. The lack of a unified national consciousness poses a significant threat to the socio-economic development process in the country. As is obvious from our discussions, HF decay is the primary foundation of ethnic problems and challenges in Ghana. In order to deal with the hindrances to the socio-economic development process, Ghanaians need to focus on ongoing human factor development programs. In the presence of well-developed HF characteristics, Ghanaians stand a better chance of fostering ethnic harmony and unique national consciousness. The conclusions arrived at in this chapter are of significant relevance to nation building and economic development in Ghana. These conclusions suggest that unless Ghanaians channel real resources into effective HF development programs, they will not only fail to develop the desired nation state, but will also be unable to build the national economy. In the face of these failures, people of the various ethnic groups will continue to experience declining standards of living.

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ECONOMIC CRISIS AND NEO-LIBERAL REFORMS: RESPONSES AND IMPLICATIONS


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STATE-NGO RELATIONS AND AGRICULTURAL SECTOR DEVELOPMENT Korbla P. Puplampu Introduction In the last two decades, two major issues have dominated the attention of analysts of the theory and practice of development in Africa. The issues are the crisis of the state and agriculture and the growing numbers, importance and influence of non-governmental organizations (NGOs). The declining capability of the African state, the agricultural crisis and the growing importance of NGOs have significant theoretical implications for an understanding of the region’s development prospects. This is because the agricultural sector continues to play an important role in the economy and the state has been concerned by the sector’s contribution to the national development effort. While the growth in the number of NGOs is a worldwide phenomenon, northern-based NGOs have been quite powerful and influential, than their counterparts in the south. Thus, northern-based NGOs, using their power and influence, have been able to sway the pace of social change and development in the south. To examine the relationship between the state and NGOs, within the context of the agricultural crisis, will require some brief introductory remarks. Policy responses to the agricultural crisis in Africa under the structural adjustment programs were contained in two International Financial Institutions’ (IFIs) policy documents, the 1981 Accelerated Development in Sub-Saharan Africa and the 1989 Sub-Saharan Africa, From Crisis to Sustainable Growth. Both documents had a negative assessment of the state’s role in agriculture, particularly in agricultural marketing and pricing policies. The IFIs stressed the importance of a minimal state, and called for the restructuring of state agricultural institutions and an enhanced role for the market. These recommendations flowed from the argument that previous development practices which privileged state intervention in the economy subjected policy decisions to political considerations. Consequently, there were distortions in the allocation of resources and rewards. A minimal state would, therefore, give the economy the opportunity to operate under the discipline of the market.

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The policy recommendations contained specific propositions for the agricultural sector. They suggest that the restructuring of state agricultural institutions in marketing and input supply, through a reduction in state involvement in these areas, would reduce the state bureaucracy and the unproductive expenditure that went with it. Furthermore, it would pave the way for the private sector to run these activities more successfully on the understanding that market principles would ensure more efficiency than would statist orientations. The state’s role would be consequently reduced to providing an “enabling” environment, that is, “providing market and price information, promoting private and cooperative marketing activity, building market infrastructure, . . . and establishing a legal framework that permits the development of competitive market activities” (World Bank, 1989: 92). In Ghana, as in many other African countries, agriculture continues to play a vital role in national development. As such, whatever happens in the agricultural sector has implications for politics, economics and social relations. From a historical perspective, the Ghanaian state (colonial or postcolonial) has been providing the institutional framework for the agricultural sector, in order to ensure that the sector makes the expected contribution to national development. However, the global depression of the 1980s (and other political and economic difficulties in the mid-1970s) led to a sharp fall in world commodity prices. The fall in prices, coupled with the decline in the volume of agricultural exports and the misappropriation of agricultural revenue, affected the foreign exchange reserves of Ghana and many African countries. The result has been the agricultural crisis in Ghana (Puplampu, 1999; Hansen, 1989; Tabatabi, 1988). With the declining state capacity, the need for an alternative institutional framework to ensure agriculture’s contribution to national development was obvious. This is the context in which the emergence of NGOs as active players in institutional capacity building is situated. While the 1980s were generally known as the “lost decade for development” in Africa, the period was also the “decade of NGOs.” From a global dimension, there have been “a striking upsurge . . . of private, non-profit or non-governmental organizations” (Salamon, 1994: 109). In Africa, many countries have witnessed dramatic increases in the number of NGOs operating in them (The Economist, 2000; Edwards and Hulme, 1996; Ndegwa, 1996; Vivian and Maseko, 1994). NGOs, as the name rightly suggests, are, theoretically, institutions that operate independent of government-run institutions. The NGO industry has, however, undergone dramatic changes. Apart from the increases in the number of NGOs operat-

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ing in Africa, the nature and type of NGOs, their sources of funding have all seen significant variations and, to that extent, questions of what kind of commitment they bring to the practice of development in Africa as well as the interests they represent are being increasingly raised (Puplampu and Tettey, 2000; Powell and Seddon, 1997; Stewart, 1997; Atampugre, 1997; Gary, 1996; Edwards and Hulme, 1996; Anang, 1994; Vivian, 1994; Farrington et al., 1993; Wellard and Copestake, 1993, Tandon, 1991). NGO participation in development stems from a policy climate, championed by the IFIs, which projects them as the most effective means of addressing the problems of developing societies and the needs of their poorest members in a manner not matched by government officials. NGOs have learned how to work with grassroots organizations and how to put together projects with minimal financial and external technical assistance, thus helping poor people to help themselves (World Bank, 1989: 182).

It is in the context of an increasingly minimal state, the growing significance of and questions about NGOs that this chapter examines the relationship between the Ghanaian state and an international non-governmental organization – Sasakawa Global 2000 (SG 2000) – in the agricultural sector. Specifically, the chapter focuses on the nature and implications of that relationship for the development of sustainable institutions in the area of agricultural research and extension. As used here, sustainable institutions refer to those establishments and relationships that are able to provide, on a continuous basis, the core mandate of their existence. Building such a capability requires the provision of adequate domestic financing of all core salaries and operating expenses of the national agricultural research system (Eicher, 1989: 1) Creating sustainable agricultural research institutions amounts to what the World Bank (1989) calls capacity building. Two aspects of the World Bank’s conceptualization relevant to the current study are the emphasis on providing “a context in which skilled workers can function effectively . . . and . . . [p]olitical leadership understands that institutions are fragile entities, painstakingly built up, easily destroyed, and therefore requiring sustained nurturing” (World Bank, 1989: 54). The chapter examines the Ghanaian state’s relationship with SG 2000 in order to create these enabling conditions, and argues that the nature of their interaction does not augur well for the development of sustainable agriculture-support institutions. The basis for this conclusion derives from various political and economic factors which

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structure and define the relationship between the two parties and their role in agricultural research. To provide a context for the discussions leading to this conclusion, the next section briefly examines the historical and contemporary place of the state in agricultural research and extension. This is followed by an analysis of the unfolding relations between the state and NGOs, and an evaluation of the implications of this relationship, with specific reference to SG 2000. The chapter ends with a call for the re-evaluation of state-NGO partnerships and suggestions for how this can be done to ensure the realization of sustainable agricultural institutions. The State and Agricultural Research in Ghana: The Historical and Contemporary Dimensions Colonial authorities viewed the colonies as their prized possession. As such a colony’s resources were used within the framework initiated by the colonial authorities who also presented colonial development as an obligation by the colonizers (Lugard, 1965). The Ghanaian state, either in its colonial or postcolonial role, has always intervened in the agricultural sector. For the colonial state, intervention in the agricultural sector in general, and research and extension in particular, was critical for the attainment of the economic imperative of the colonial mandate. Agricultural research and extension services have a long history in Ghana (formerly the Gold Coast). In a formal sense, it began with the establishment of the Aburi Botanical Gardens and the Department of Agriculture in 1890 (La-Anyane, 1963: 193). Agricultural research was devoted not only to cocoa and limes but, to some extent, to coconut (Kay, 1972: 236). Cocoa was the leading export crop in the Gold Coast, especially in the inter-war period 1919–1939 (Howard, 1978: 86). The vital role that cocoa played in the colonial economy would suggest that it would be a beneficiary of research and extension during the colonial era. However, as the subsequent discussion will show, this was not the case. Despite the long history of agricultural research and the economic importance of cocoa, research could not address the outbreak of disease on cocoa trees in the 1930s. The disease, termed swollen-shoot, was mis-diagnosed, and the government prescribed sanitation, proper shading and the cutting down of all infected trees, in addition to surrounding healthy ones. Cocoa farmers opposed the government’s directives, interpreting the cutting down of both healthy and infected

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trees, as part of a deliberate attempt by the government to destroy the industry and acquire the land for some other uses (Austin, 1964: 60). The reasons for the mis-diagnosis and the reaction of farmers to suggestions to cut down infected trees can be traced to the relationship between the agricultural research system and farmers. Even though cocoa was at the centre of agricultural policy, the West African Commission’s 1939 report noted “that until 1937 there was no single agricultural station in the cocoa belt proper [forest zone in the south] at which research could be carried out on the requirements of the crop” (Kay, 1972: 231). The absence of agricultural research stations in the cocoa belt until 1937 was consistent with the colonial state’s administrative policy of maintaining a skeletal and understaffed administrative structure in order to save cost. Closely related to the late establishment of cocoa research stations was how agricultural personnel related to farmers. Even though cocoa production financed the colonial administration, colonial officials had condescending views about cocoa producers. Integrating these views into the in-built ethnocentric ideas of the colonial administrative structure, resulted in the agricultural research system not having an adequate understanding of the social context of production. To the West African Commission, [i]t [was] difficult to see how any officer of the Department [of Agriculture] could be expected to offer correct advice on cultural or other treatments, as he [or she] had had no opportunity to acquire knowledge under the local conditions. Thus when diseases and pests became serious, the technical officers of the Department had no means of knowing how any remedial measures they might suggest would affect the general health of the trees (Kay, 1972: 231).

Because of the weak link between the extension services and the farmers, the former had no idea about the conditions on the farms, let alone offer advice on farming practices and techniques. Thus, it can be argued that the weak contact between researchers and farmers played a major role in the misdiagnosis of the swollen shoot disease. In other words, experimentation and extension services were shallow, and the Department of Agriculture, as the 1948 Watson Commission later confirmed, did not have a close contact with farmers partly because of under-staffing and centralization (Kay, 1972: 231–236). As a result, the Department of Agriculture did not have an effective working relationship with the farmers. The relationship between the colonial agricultural research system and the cocoa sector revolved around two issues. First, given the

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social distance between the researchers and farmers, policy makers did not have an adequate understanding of the socio-cultural and political context of agricultural research, hence the inability to address problems facing the farmers, as the case of the swollen-shoot illustrates. The lack of understanding of the context of farming operations stemmed mainly from the assumption that technical solutions were the sine qua non in agricultural research. Secondly, the skeletal colonial bureaucracy, and the absence of an appreciable level of technical expertise within that bureaucracy, in matters affecting agricultural production, made it difficult for the colonial state to design and implement effective policies for agricultural research. The colonial state, as Kay (1972, 9) argues, “was managed by extreme caution. The political administrators of the colonial state were instinctively aware, if not fully conscious, of the frailty of their position and knew they could never maintain their power in the face of organized opposition. . . .” (See also Phillips, 1989; Berman, 1984). Given the furore among farmers over the swollen-shoot disease and the contribution of cocoa to the colonial economy, therefore, the government had to respond to the crisis brought on by the outbreak. A Cocoa Research Institute was established at Tafo in 1938 under the mandate of the British Colonial Service. Subsequent research findings from the Institute led to a massive spraying program which contained the swollen-shoot and contributed to Ghana’s dominance of world trade in cocoa from the latter part of the 1940s (Eicher, 1989: 10). The transition from colonial to the postcolonial state did not lead to any dramatic changes in the nature of agricultural research system and the focus remained on export crops, particularly cocoa and the search for technical solutions. Since the colonial state established the interventionist strategy in agricultural research, the postcolonial state, for a number of reasons, also followed that practice. For example, development theory and practice in the 1950s and 1960s within the context of the Keynesian model also favoured a strong centralized African state in promoting state-controlled or dirigiste economic development (Hettne, 1995; Galli, 1992). State intervention, in the case of agricultural research and extension, was justified with arguments that took into consideration the risky nature of agricultural investment. The risk, analysts agreed, required government intervention to provide subsidies, trained personnel and research facilities. Furthermore, because the nature of agricultural research makes it susceptible to free-rider exploitation, it does not lend itself to private investment. Consequently, the postcolonial state established the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR), the fulcrum in Ghana’s National Agricultural Research System (NARS), and

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continues to fund it or seek funds for its operation within the context of the NARS (Ghana, 1994; CSIR/ISNAR, 1991; CSIR, 1986). The historical review of the National Agricultural Research System (NARS) in 1989 offered a glimpse into the contemporary nature and organization of agricultural research and extension in Ghana (Ghana, 1994; CSIR/ISNAR, 1991). There are four main institutions in the National Agricultural Research System (Table 1). Table 5.1: Organization of Agricultural Research in Ghana Institutions

Functions/Duties

STATE OWNED The Ministry of Food and Agriculture, and its affiliated boards and other agriculture related ministries (for example, Cocoa Research Institute of Ghana and the Grains and Legumes Development Board)

policy initiation, research coordination and implementation

The Universities and affiliated research predominantly research institutes (for example, Institute of (technical and social) agricultural Statistical, Social and Economic and training of personnel Research at the University of Ghana), agricultural colleges, and farm institutes Institutes of the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (for example, Crops Research Institute)

predominantly technical research

PRIVATE OWNED Darko Farms (poultry) Ejura Farms (maize and cattle) Kpong Farms (rice, cattle, poultry)

collaborative technical research

Source: Adapted from Ghana (1994: 33–40).

A new and reorganized National Extension Division replaced the previous system of extension with the unified system. In the previous system of extension, various sections of the Ministry of Food and Agriculture, for example pests control and mechanization, had their own extension officers. Workers visited farmers from each of these divisions. Under the unified system of extension, one extension officer would provide extension services to farmers on behalf of all divisions.

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The CSIR/ISNAR (1991: 25) study shows that by the late 1980s, there were about 300 agricultural scientists in Ghana. The Council for Scientific and Industrial Research, the largest research institution, has a total of 148. The Universities have a total of 91, Ministry of Food and Agriculture 35, other government and quasi-government institutions have 26 agricultural scientists (CSIR/ISNAR, 1991: 25). Table 5.1 also shows that many agricultural institutions undertake technical research, confirming the findings by Nweke (1979) that agricultural research in Ghana has focused on technical issues. Technical issues like plant breeding/selection, pests and disease control are the focus of the 689 projects currently being conducted by the various research institutions. The crop sector is the most researched with 482 projects and the three most studied crops are cocoa, oil palm and maize (the only food crop) (Ghana, 1994: 54–55). With Ghana’s agricultural crisis in the 1980s, the state’s capacity, for example, to fund agricultural research also suffered. The lack of funding did not only affect the nature of the research agenda, but also the attraction and retention of researchers. As a result, the earlier consensus that privileged the state’s role in agricultural research was also questioned. The preceding discussion provides the background for the IFI’s policy recommendations for restructuring the role of state institutions in the economy, and the emergence of stateNGO partnerships within the agricultural sector. In terms of restructuring state agricultural institutions, the idea was to reduce the government’s role in the productive sector, and improve the performance of agricultural institutions under the management of the private sector or NGOs. It was argued that because of the failure of agricultural research “to provide answers to the problems which confront African agriculture” (World Bank, 1981: 69), the agricultural research and extension system in Ghana had to be restructured so that “future agricultural research programs” could “focus on social and economic aspects as well as technical considerations” (World Bank, 1981: 71). The question, however, is whether NGOs, a minimal state and market reforms per se would provide for the emergence of sustainable institutions in agricultural research and extension. NGOs and Agricultural Development NGOs emerged as part of the processes associated with the founding of the United Nations (Economist, 2000; Krut, 1997). As humanitarian institutions, and independent of the government, NGOs are

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supposed to provide a voice for the voiceless and respond to the needs of people left out of, or negatively impacted by, government policies. NGOs exist in different sizes and operate in different ways. Based on their origins, size and source of funding, analysts have identified various types (Bebbington and Farrington 1993; Farrington and Biggs 1990). Such categorizations have given rise to numerous acronyms for these organizations – NNGOs (Northern NGOs), SNGOs (Southern NGOs), INGOs (International NGOs), GONGOs (government-organized NGOs), GRINGOs (government-run NGOs), and QUANGOs (quasi-NGOs). The increased preference for NGOs in the development process derives from “their presumed effectiveness in program delivery – meeting the needs of the poor. . . . [and their ability] to help create an aware[ness in] public opinion in their own countries, and . . . to undertake advocacy for official policies which are supportive of efforts of Third World countries” (Brodhead, 1987: 2; see also Edwards and Hulme, 1996). However, when the aid industry took off in the 1980s, NGOs underwent two major changes. First, they could not do anything without the host government’s approval. Second, they have taken on practices consistent with for-profit organizations, like multinational corporations, and to that extent the supposed “neat division between the corporate and NGO worlds [has been] long gone” (The Economist, 2000: 27, See also Puplampu and Tettey, 2000). Thus, NGO involvement should not be seen as a purely altruistic undertaking. In Ghana, the number of registered NGOs increased from 10 in 1960 to about 350 in 1991 (cited in Amanor, Denkabe and Wellard, 1993: 187). There is no indication that the numbers are declining. Indeed, in a recent statement, an officer from the NGO Desk Officer at the Ministry of Employment and Social Welfare indicated that 1,300 NGOs were currently registered with the Ministry (http://www. ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/artikel.php?ID=14223). The major international NGOs operating in Ghana include the Cooperative American Relief Everywhere (CARE), Catholic Relief Services (CRS), World Vision International (WVI), Save the Children, the Oxford Committee on Famine (OXFAM), TechnoServe Ghana Limited, and Sasakawa Global 2000 (SG 2000). Many international NGOs obtain fund from their national governments. For example, in 1998, OXFAM received a quarter of its income from the British Government (Economist, 2000: 25, See also Puplampu and Tettey, 2000: 256). Many of these international NGOs engage in various aspects of agriculture: service provision, both relief and developmental; organizational capacity building and support, in concert with

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local communities; bolstering advocacy capabilities of their constituents, including lobbying, at all levels of government and within other appropriate institutions (Farrington and Biggs, 1990: 480). Private sector involvement in providing these services within restructured agricultural research and extension services, according to the IFIs, would provide a better framework to shore up those institutions. The NGO of interest in the restructuring of Ghana’s agricultural research system is SG 2000. It has received the most attention in Ghana, because of the high status of personalities (former US President Jimmy Carter and Noble Laureate Norma Borlaug) associated with its operations. The organisation is a product of the Sasakawa Africa Association of Japan and Global 2000 Incorporated of the United States. SG 2000 started its operations in Ghana in 1986 and aims at demonstrating that “given access to simple technology . . . smallscale farmers can dramatically increase the yield of staple crops and that, with proper support, national extension services can deliver this technology with remarkable effectiveness” (SG 2000, 1993: 5). Another aspect of SG 2000’s involvement in agricultural research is the education of future extension officers. Since 1993, the Sasakawa African Association, SG 2000’s parent organisation, has worked with the University of Cape Coast and extension educators from Winrock International (based in Arkansas, USA) to develop a new extension education program. A similar program has also been established both at the University of Ghana, Legon and the Kwadaso Agricultural College in Kumasi (Bekoe, 1997; http//:www.casin.org/sasakawa.htm; http://www.cartercenter.org/agriculture.html). The involvement of the private sector, including NGOs, in the restructuring of agricultural research and extension services, means a definite interaction with the dominant state institutions that operate in those areas. As Clark (1991: 75) argues, NGOs can “oppose the state, complement it, or reform it, but . . . cannot ignore it.” Hence, it would be difficult to contend that NGOs would simply replace the state institutions and reinvigorate the institutional framework for agricultural research or help in creating sustainable agricultural research institutions in Ghana. Agricultural research and extension do not take place in a vacuum. In view of the past record of state intervention in this area, it is obvious that the continued role of the state within this new configuration means that politics and other considerations will still inform the research and extension enterprise. The nature of the state-NGO interaction would therefore be defined by this political reality. The analysis of the relationship between the Ghanaian state and SG 2000 and the implications of that relationship for the NARS will focus on the following questions:

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which crops received the most assistance from the restructured agricultural research and extension system and why? What were the outcomes of state-NGO interactions? What are the implications, if any, towards creating sustainable agricultural research institutions? State-NGO Relations: SG 2000 and Agricultural Research and Extention It is ironic that at a time when the state is supposed to be on its way to oblivion, NGOs need it to confer a measure of legitimacy on their work. This is because an international NGO cannot simply enter another country and launch its operations. Thus, the kind of reception an NGO receives from the state machinery has significant implications for its operations. The reception, theoretically, limits the space within which an NGO can operate. It is therefore not surprising that the NGO community in Ghana has voiced its collective opposition to attempts by the Government of Ghana to pass an NGO Bill (parts of which the NGO community find restrictive) since 1995 (Gary, 1996: 162–163). More recently, the government launched an NGO Directory under the auspices of the Ministry of Employment and Social Welfare (http://www.africanews.org/west/ghana/stories/19991209/19991209_ feat9.html). In launching the Directory, government officials cited the importance of NGOs to national development and the directory as one way of tapping into that importance by way of coordinating and mobilizing the distribution of scarce national resources. While the ability of the state to effectively maintain the Directory can be debated, the argument is that the Directory by default places the state in a position in which it can monitor, derail, suspend or promote NGO involvement in specific areas of the national economy. The Ministry has recently acknowledged the difficulties (for example, inadequate logistics) in monitoring the activities of the 1,300 NGOs currently registered in the Directory (http://www.ghanaweb.com/ GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/artikel.php?ID=14223). Therefore even if the Ghanaian state is supposed to be declining in capacity, SG 2000’s role in agricultural research will be actualized within an environment determined by the state. Under the restructuring of agricultural research, NGOs as private institutions were expected to bring about efficiency in the operation of the NARS. As far as cocoa research was concerned, the state institution, Cocoa Research Institute of Ghana, continued to play its dominant role in cocoa research. In fact, a disproportionate share of research funds went to support cocoa research. In 1986/87, cocoa

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research alone received about 45 per cent of national research funds, even though cocoa contributed only 17 per cent to agricultural gross domestic product. Research funds on all other crops and the livestock sector was 51 per cent, though the combined sector contributed 71 per cent to agricultural gross domestic product. Forestry and fisheries received approximately 3 per cent and 1 per cent but contributed almost 9 percent and 3 percent respectively to agricultural gross domestic product (CSIR/ISNAR, 1991: 35). Cocoa research continues to be the focus because cocoa generates foreign exchange and other forms of revenue, conducive to the financial appetite of the Ghanaian state. As such, the state would not want to share its interests in the cocoa sector with any NGO. The fact that the bulk of research funds go to cocoa and that the state-run Cocoa Research Institute plays a dominant role in cocoa research, suggests that SG 2000 had to focus on other agricultural crops. The organization chose maize, the only food crop researched significantly (Ghana, 1994: 54–55; Tripp, 1993). SG 2000 repackaged available technology within the NARS and relied on extension officers from the Ministry of Food and Agriculture to transfer it to farmers and the result was a 40 per cent increase in maize production (SG 2000, 1993; Dowswell, 1993: 68). The following analysis of SG 2000’s role in maize research will show the extent to which the organization actually contributed to institutional building in the NARSs. While the organization’s operations resulted in significant increases in maize production, it is important to point out that research resulting in those increases were already available within the NARS and were not discovered by SG 2000. Thus, the organization’s contribution to a new form of technology is minimal. While credit can be given to the organisation for finding novel ways to disseminate existing technology, it is also necessary to draw attention to the power base of the organisation. Former US President, Jimmy Carter as Head of Global 2000 and Nobel Laureate Norma Borlaug, as Consultant to the organisation, raised the organisation’s profile and succeeded in lobbying political leaders in Ghana to embrace its operations (Tripp, 1993: 2011). That power base allowed it to gain the level of partnership it did with the state, and therefore the kind of success it had. This reminder is important in helping us assess the extent to which the SG 2000 experience can be replicated. This suggests that NGOs without the requisite political and star power will not be able to make inroads in their relationship with the government machinery and the kinds of activities they can engage in.

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SG 2000’s focus on maize also brings engaging insights. The focus on this particular crop can be traced to its “export potential and not [necessarily] because of its importance to local food needs” (Puplampu and Tettey, 2000: 263). It is therefore not a coincidence that increases in maize production, spawned by research, have fed an export frenzy in Ghana (Stackhouse, 1996). The targeting of export crops for NGO support has far-reaching implications for their non-export counterparts and food products. Thus, while maize research was making great strides, agricultural research in Ghana, despite its long history, has not made any positive impact on the production techniques of other food crops like cassava, yam and cocoyam (Ghana, 1994: 64). In the absence of any deep internal motivation to support the neglected areas of agricultural crop production, the long-term impact of efforts such as Global 2000’s will be a skewed development within the sector. Another area that needs critical analysis is the recruitment of extension staff for the organization’s program. SG 2000 recruited extension officers from the Ministry of Food and Agriculture to disseminate its message to farmers. This helped the organisation keep its cost at a minimum since extension officers will be paid from public funds. While minimal cost could be cited as a mark of efficiency within SG 2000, we should not lose sight of the fact that that image and the variables that produce it are dependent on a strong and capable public system that can provide the extension officers. However, since the idea behind the restructuring is to keep down the cost of government expenditure, SG 2000’s role in agricultural research, in the long-term, will be affected by the lack of extension officers. Perhaps, cognisance of that possibility influenced SG 2000’s desire to increase the number of extension officers through a program that first started at the University of Cape Coast and has since spread to the University of Ghana at Legon and the Kwadaso Agricultural College in Kumasi. SG 2000’s involvement in the training of extension officers is a worthy contribution. However, the training program faces two major difficulties. The first is whether the extension philosophy and practices would mirror extension practices in the USA or local conditions? This is because, the program is being sponsored by a USA-based organisation – Winrock International on behalf of another international organisation, SG 2000. One can only surmise that since the SG 2000 would want to control its operating cost, it would encourage Winrock International to create a program that would mirror local conditions. For that possibility to be fulfilled, there must be sufficient and capable extension instructors within the NARS. Thus, the second problem

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facing SG 2000’s training program is the availability of agricultural social scientists, the trainers of the trainees, within the NARS. Of the 300 agricultural scientists in Ghana by the late 1980s, only 34 were social scientists. According to the CSIR/ISNAR (1991: 25) study, the CSIR had 9 agricultural social scientists, the Universities had 21, MOFA had 1 and there are 3 others with various bodies. Even though the universities had the majority of agricultural social scientists, universities in Ghana are confronted with several problems, for example, the shortage of academic labourers, inadequate working conditions and inadequate funding (Peil, 1996; Sawyerr, 1994). In the light of these problems, agricultural training institutions will not be able to produce a sufficient number of extension officers. (See Ghana, 1990). In the long-term, and in spite of attempts such as that of SG 2000 to institute new extension practices, the extension officer-farmer ratio is likely to remain high, the link with farmers will also be weak and few farmers would be reached by extension services. SG 2000’s efforts in maize production demonstrates that farmers can adopt research results if extension services deliver such findings to them. There are, however, a number of difficulties plaguing the agricultural research and extension that limit the realization of this goal. The generally weak link between farmers and extension officers implies that the social basis of farmers’ problems might not be adequately addressed by the largely technical orientation of the research establishment. Basic research, the scientific investigation that advances the frontiers of knowledge, is minimal. The bulk of research is therefore adaptive, aimed at adjusting knowledge gained elsewhere to local conditions. Adaptive research can be useful only when local conditions are considered. However, because of the weak link between extension officers and farmers, the social conditions of farmers are not adequately addressed by the research system. Therefore, how the process of adaptation will be implemented and how successful it would be, remain uncertain. Without any effective link with the majority of farmers, it would be difficult to incorporate or incorporate farmers’ issues into research activities despite the benefits that such an integration will bring (Tripp, 1993; SG 2000, 1993; Edmeades et al., 1991; Donkoh, 1989). A core principle, under the restructuring program, was to replace public sector agricultural research with an efficient private sector participation or the possibility of adapting research from the international research system. For Tripp (1993), the problem is not the ability of public sector institutions to conduct agricultural research because, as the evidence in maize research shows, a properly nurtured public sector agricultural research institution is capable of deliv-

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ering positive results. The problem, Tripp argues, is that the focus on the market, non-governmental organisations and an inadequately theorized role for the farmer will undermine the public agricultural research system. There is a problem “with people who have come to believe that we can leave it to somebody else, in this case a lively and powerful NGO that can prod, but cannot replace, government service to agriculture” (Tripp, 1993: 2012). Agricultural research is an expensive undertaking. Without state support to minimise losses, the market and NGOs (the private sector) cannot sustain it in Ghana. Private sector agricultural research institutions (Table 1) in Ghana are engaged in collaborative research with state institutions, and it is doubtful if they will undertake any independent form of research without state assistance. In an era of international restructuring, an argument can be made that the NARS can adapt research findings from and be integrated into the international agricultural research system. SG 2000’s role in this regard is instructive. In its agri-business forum, SG 2000 is in talks with Monsanto, Norvatis, Norsk Hydro, Cargill, Seminis and Pioneer Hi-Bred International (http://www.cartercenter.org/agriculture.html ). These are the organisations the Rural Advancement Foundation International, [RAFI] (1999a) (now Erosion, Technology and Con-centration) calls the ‘gene giants.’ Their modus operandi, in the bio-technology sector, include gene extraction and sequencing and the production of genetically altered seeds, which are geared towards profit. These motives have worrisome implications for the structure and organization of agricultural research and development in Africa (Puplampu and Tettey, 2000). The concern is that these motives may result in the pursuit of an internationally defined agricultural research program that may not be suitable for local conditions, non-beneficial to domestic producers and consumers, and very costly in terms of patents and other forms of intellectual property rights (RAFI 1999, 1997a, 1997b). Specifically, the Gene Giants’ Terminator Technology has been at the centre of immense controversy (RAFI, 1999b). At the core of this technology is a crop seed becoming sterile at harvest time. This means farmers would have to buy new seeds for every farming season rather than using those from the previous year’s harvest. The Government of Ghana has opposed the Terminator Technology in principle (RAFI, 2000a). At the same time, however, government institutions including the CSIR and the Ghana Atomic Energy Commission (GAEC) are involved in collaborative work with a number of foreign companies promoting biotechnology (http://www.joy-online.com). Given the influential position of the ‘gene giants’ and even SG 2000, it is safe

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to conclude that biotechnology will rear its head in Ghana’s NARS even though the implications of the technology for human safety and the environment are yet to be fully comprehended (RAFI, 2000b). The preceding analysis establishes the fact that the NARS in Ghana continues to be influenced by external interests and the difficult but important task of building or strengthening local agricultural research institutions has not been given the needed attention. Even if local agricultural institutions are to liaise with international agricultural research institutions, it is important that they do so with a certain level of internal autonomy in order not to compromise the interest of the country. This requires some decent base of resources and facilities, which unfortunately continues to be eroded under SAP and global forces. The result is that there are no substantial moves at building sustainable agricultural research institutions in Ghana. Conclusion This chapter discussed the nature of the relationship between the state and NGOs and some difficulties for agricultural research that are implicit in that relationship. Focusing on SG 2000, an international NGO, the analysis showed that the organization’s activities, for example, in extension education relied on the availability of state-supported extension agents. This implies not only the relevance of the state but also a limit on the NGO’s operations. SG 2000 was able to play an important role in the NARS because its powerful leadership was able to gain access to the Ghanaian political elite and lobbied for resources to be devoted to extension education. But perhaps, SG 2000’s alliance with multinational biotechnology firms at a time when the products of the biotech industry are the source of confusion, underscores some difficulties for the future of Ghana’s agricultural research system, if it is to depend extensively on external support. Against this background, two important recommendations can be made. First, the need for a certain degree of state ownership and control of the NARS cannot be overemphasized. This ownership can also form the basis for serious national planning that will take into consideration national priorities in determining the research agenda. It is naive to expect that in an era of high levels of interdependence among nations and private international institutions, Ghana must do it alone. However, because of the different motivations between public and private (national or international) research institutions, public officials must not assume that any alliance with an international research institutions would automatically benefit the NARS.

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Ghana’s agricultural research system must therefore liaise rather more closely with the existing regional or continental institutions (for example the West African Rice Development Association). Such alliances will, hopefully, provide a common understanding of the problems and issues that have to be addressed by national agricultural research institutes in Africa. From that perspective, a common or united front can be forged and presented when dealing with public or private agricultural research institutes outside the region. Second, since the NARS, as currently operated, focuses on technical fixes and farmers are not adequately involved because of the weak farmer-extension relations, a concerted effort must be made to tap into the knowledge base of farmers through, for example, the respective growers’ associations in the country. Research, though an expensive undertaking, when properly supported can eventually confer enormous benefits. Policy makers in Ghana should therefore be aware of the costs and benefits of agricultural research not on a short-term, but on a long term basis. That way, resource flows can be channled in a way that continuously supports the mandate of the various institutions in the NARS.


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THE IMPLICATIONS OF STATE POLICY FOR MICRO-ENTERPRISE DEVELOPMENT Peter Arthur Introduction Powell (1995: vii) has stated that the essential stage in economic development must be technological innovation and engineering progress in the productive sector, since it leads to a strengthening of the economic base and makes possible the social benefits that people crave. Similarly, Smillie (1991: 177–178) argues that the availability of technical expertise to design, fabricate and adapt machine tools is an important variable in the attempt by countries to industrialize. For him, without a local industry capable of testing and adapting technology to local needs, a country will remain totally beholden to outside interests and influences. Thus, from the beginning of large-scale efforts to assist the development of African societies, industrialization has been considered the goal and central focus of the process. The initial focus of industrial development programmes was on the promotion of investment in large-scale import-substitution manufacturing, especially in local branches of international corporations or publicly-owned parastatal companies (Killick, 1978). Small-scale indigenously-owned industries were almost entirely neglected. Moreover, while the cultural factors underlying the development of industrial capitalism were prominent features of classical Western social theories, and played a prominent role in the early post-1945 development thinking, consideration of such factors increasingly disappeared from the structurally-focused theories that have dominated the field. This is because culture was subsequently treated as something unimportant or reduced to some other classificatory category (Allen, 1992; Chamlee-Wright, 1997). Recently, however, there has been a significant and distinct shift in interest in both policy and theory towards the role of small-scale manufacturing in the development process (Smillie, 1986, 1991; Lall et al., 1994). Furthermore, after years of neglect, analysis of cultural factors in the development process has once again become prominent (Hofstede, 1980; Fukuyama, 1995; Chamlee-Wright, 1997).

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Events in Ghana have strongly reflected the wider trends in both policy and research. For more than twenty years, there has been a growing body of social-science research on cultural and behavioural aspects of both private and public organisations in Ghana that raise crucial questions about the impact of indigenous culture in the development process (Woode, 1997; Kuada, 1994; Price, 1975). Meanwhile, for the first quarter century after independence in 1957, Ghanaian governments pursued the goal of large-scale state-led industrial development. Initial success was followed by the virtual collapse of the manufacturing sector during the severe economic crisis of the early1980s. In the face of shortages of foreign exchange to import spare parts and other badly needed machinery during the period of economic turbulence, the equipment of existing manufacturing firms fell into disrepair, resulting in a sharp drop in their capacity-utilization. With the performance and output of large manufacturing firms and the economy as a whole being poor, a structural adjustment programme (SAP) was instituted in 1983 to put the economy on the road to recovery. Policy prescriptions pursued as part of SAP included a liberalized trade, currency devaluation, limited state involvement in the economy and retrenchment of public employees (Hutchful, 1989; Boafo-Arthur, 1999). The reduction of the public sector under SAP led to an increasing number of Ghanaians turning to the informal sector to eke out a living (Ninsin, 1991). It also resulted in an increasing interest in the active promotion of indigenous small-scale manufacturing by various public and private sector agencies. While small-scale enterprises could contribute meaningfully to the development of Ghana, the technology that was used by most of them was, to say the least, rudimentary. However, given the success of a technology transfer programme at the University of Science and Technology’s (UST) [now the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST)] Technology Consultancy Centre (TCC), the government realized that, in the midst of the scarcity of spare parts, artisans could innovate and improvise to produce badly needed parts for the machines and equipment of manufacturers that had broken down. The UST established an “intermediate technology transfer unit” (ITTU) at Suame Magazine in 1980. In addition, small-scale manufacturers who made machine tools and machines for use by other manufacturers also had an indirect impact on employment, since they stimulated the growth of the firms that bought their products. By the mid-1980s, the ITTUs had become a national phenomenon. Subsequently, an umbrella institution, the Ghana Regional Appropriate Technology Industrial Service (GRATIS), was established in 1987 with the support of the government and donor agen-

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cies, and charged with the promotion of industrialization and technology transfer in Ghana (Smillie, 1991: 177). GRATIS’ mandate was to see to the establishment of ITTUs in all the regions of Ghana, and to co-ordinate the ITTUs which were to provide technology transfer services to small-scale industries. This study examines the relationship between the state and the development of a class of industrial entrepreneurs through an analysis of GRATIS, the public agency directly involved in technological development and transfer for small-scale manufacturing.1 While the focus of this paper is on the programmes and services of GRATIS, namely, the provision of technical training programmes, technology transfer as well as managerial and financial assistance to its clients, it also implicitly looks at how GRATIS deals with the institutional and cultural factors that inhibit its clients from becoming effective industries with the capacity to expand their operations. I was particularly interested in the extent to which broad-based social trust was emerging among client firms of GRATIS in their relationship and interactions with the state and its institutions. This is because trust, which involves an attitude and orientation of positive expectation, is not only fundamental to human interactions and relationship, but also a crucial factor in the economic growth and industrial development of any country (Govier, 1998: 1–2, Fukuyama, 1995). As Berman (1997: 2–6) points out, Max Weber was among the early writers who not only explained the development of capitalism in the Western world but also exposed the extent to which the instrumentality of both the state and market rested on the existence of widespread social trust in the probity and competence of widely-scattered, mutually anonymous actors. The ethics of trustworthiness, the avoidance of double standards in dealing with individuals in all business and trade transactions, and the use of “community controls to guarantee both personal probity and the reliability of legal procedure” were found to be of particular significance for the development of capitalism (Bendix, 1962: 70–77). In the final analysis, a hegemonic bourgeois culture of instrumental rationality as expressed in social trust, hierarchy that depended on expertise and competence, bureaucratic administration and technology “provided a framework of business ethics applicable to all transactions that both constrained self-interest in the interest of the integrity of the market 1 In-depth interviews with staff of GRATIS occupying various line, advisory and executive positions, as well as with 38 business owners who were randomly drawn from the client lists of the Accra-Tema and Kumasi Metropolitan areas of GRATIS were the main sources for gathering relevant data and information.

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itself and disciplined individual behaviour through the threat of the loss of the reputation for trustworthiness” (Berman, 1997: 6). Thus, for industrial development and proper capitalism to develop, appropriate economic conditions (whilst necessary) are not of themselves sufficient. There must also be a set of orientations and values (Randall & Theobald, 1998: 23). Following this introductory section, the next section offers a theoretical paradigm that underpines the study. A subsequent section looks at the programmes and services of GRATIS/ITTUs, and the problems confronting them. Attention then shifts to the client firms of GRATIS/ITTUs, their socio-economic characteristics, and relationship with state institutions. A final section makes recommendations on how the government can assist small-scale industries to improve upon their performance. Theoretical Framework When one examines conventional theories like neo-liberalism and dependency on economic and industrial development, one finds that the connection between institutions and the cultural context which provides and sustains them has been misunderstood by mainstream economic theory. For instance, the universalism of neo-liberal economic theory simply assumes that by creating the correct market structures, the requisite entrepreneurs and firms will automatically appear. Similarly, dependency explains the lack of industrialization and the underdevelopment of developing countries in terms of unequal trade and exploitation by the West. These theories leave out broader institutional and cultural factors in their analyses and assume wrongly that the process of industrial development could be the same everywhere, and that countries need only to adopt particular policies to realise their industrial development goals. However, policies and practices which support economic success in one cultural context often meet with failure in another as they do not fit the new cultural context (Chamlee-Wright, 1997: 22–23). Since conventional theories ignore the context in which the industrialization process takes place, the institutional and cultural framework offers a new perspective in understanding industrial development. Cultural theories make reference to the institutions that generate and reproduce them. A convincing cultural theory must then be a theory of institutions and social relations. Institutions consist of formal rules, compliance procedures and standard operating practices that structure the relationship between individuals in various units of the polity and economy (Hall, 1986: 19). Implicit in this explanation is

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the idea that when individuals are in any relationship, they are regulated and influenced by a set of rules and regulations that could either be formal or informal. Thus, the basic assumption underlying the institutional and cultural theoretical perspective is that “institutions and the cultural environment do matter” in any endeavour. It should, however, be stated that the institutional approach is not a homogeneous and monolithic body of knowledge since it includes various approaches (economic, political and socio-cultural), each with its own techniques and concepts. For instance, making use of the concept of bounded rationality and opportunistic behaviour, economic new-institutionalists like Oliver Williamson (1979: 3–61) contend that institutions are governance structures that eliminate opportunism, expand rationality, increase efficiency and reduce uncertainty by providing dependable and efficient frameworks for socio-economic exchange. The political institutionalist perspective developed by scholars like March and Olsen (1989: 172) holds that, since political institutions define the framework within which politics takes place, it becomes difficult to be sanguine about contemporary theories of politics that ignore institutions or relegate them to a secondary role. Political institutionalists therefore dispense with the erroneous assumption that political phenomena like public institutions may be accounted for by means of non-political factors (Lane, 1993: 172). Finally, there is the cultural framework. As Granovetter (1985: 482) argues, all forms of behaviour are so constrained by ongoing social relations that to construe them as independent is a grievous misunderstanding. Since markets are entwined in complex social contexts and networks, economic efficiency and success are socially constructed and so vary significantly across different cultures (Whitley, 1992: 2; Jackson, 1999: 283). While subjected to many definitions, underlying all is a concept of culture as being “intimately connected to social institutions and individual behaviour . . . the context in which meaning is negotiated and renegotiated. . . . Culture provides the interpretive framework that allows us to understand objects as symbols, actions as part of an overall plan, or interactions as social relationship” (Chamlee-Wright, 1997: 24). Hence, institutional specificity and the larger social and cultural context play a role in determining the industrial and economic development process of a society. Therefore the essence of the cultural and institutional perspective is that, while making us understand that in developing a class of capitalists, there are certain kinds of attitudes that one expects them to express, at the same time, it enables us to place the actions of entrepreneurs in context. It also stresses that the preferences and actions of individuals in the process of industrial development are shaped by the norms, beliefs and values of their setting (Buame, 1996).

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GRATIS/ITTUs Programmes and Services The content of an effective vocational and technical educational system cannot be ignored in any industrialization process. Although the government of Ghana has over the years invested heavily in the provision of education for its citizens, less emphasis was placed on the vocational and technical training that is a sine qua non for achieving industrial and technological advancement. However, the government of Ghana as part of its SAP, reformed and restructured the country’s educational system with the intention of placing more emphasis on technical and vocational training through the introduction of the Junior Secondary School ( JSS) and Senior Secondary School (SSS) systems (Boeh-Ocansey, 1997). The introduction of the JSS was designed to expose students to basic pre-technical, pre-vocational and scientific skills and knowledge to enable them to discover aptitudes and potentialities that induce in them a desire for self-improvement, while the SSS was to reinforce the skills and knowledge acquired during the years of basic education and JSS levels (Boeh-Ocansey, 1997: 28–30). While the rationale for the educational reforms is laudable, it remains unclear whether its objectives have been realized after over ten years of experience. Given the rush with which the new educational system was implemented, it had to deal with a number of problems. Apart from the inadequate numbers of trained teachers to handle all the subjects, particularly technical and vocational subjects, the tools and equipment for practical and workshop training were woefully inadequate. There were also problems of the poor remuneration of staff and the poor state of physical facilities and infrastructure that were essential for the educational reforms to succeed (ibid.: 15). As a result of the problems associated with the new educational system, the burden of providing technical and vocational training to Ghanaians fell mostly on the shoulders of the few polytechnics and vocational institutions existing in the country, the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST), the informal apprenticeship programmes offered by skilled artisans in places like Suame, as well as on GRATIS and its network of ITTUs. It is in this vein that GRATIS/ITTUs’ technical training programmes and human resources development need to be mentioned. GRATIS/ITTUs technical training programmes and services are in the form of a four year technical apprenticeship available to Junior Secondary School ( JSS) and Senior Secondary School (SSS) graduates. Through linkages that the ITTUs have with various technical and vocational institutions, their students are able to undertake “practical” attachments in various technical endeavours.

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Under the technical apprentice programme, ITTUs admit five new apprentices each year from over five hundred applicants who have undertaken written, oral, and practical examinations. Since most vocational and technical institutions in Ghana lack machine tools and equipment, the practical attachments give the selected students hands-on experience in operating machines, costing of jobs and shop management. Through these programmes, artisans acquire skills in such areas as metal machining, welding and fabrication, woodworking and pattern making, and foundry work. In addition, there is the visiting apprentice programme where the ITTUs offer short-term apprentice training to clients, customers and their employees. This training, which lasts between three to twelve months, enables clients and customers to improve upon their skills, learn new manufacturing methods, and also send their operators to obtain the relevant skills when they obtain new machine tools. Development services in the form of outreach programmes to promote careers in industry and technical trades for secondary school students are also undertaken by GRATIS (GRATIS, 1998: 20–36). To improve the abilities of trainees to run their businesses and workshops effectively and efficiently, the technical training services have a management training component. The entrepreneurial and management development training involves such issues as basic record-keeping and accounting procedures, effective marketing strategies, management of finances, and costing and pricing of manufactured goods. On technology transfer, the services that GRATIS provides through its Engineering Design Centre (EDC) include adaptation, design, engineering drawing, development and testing. The EDC promotes and supports the local design and adaptation of technologies, the manufacture of tools, plant and equipment, and also assists clients to improve the quality of their products and services through educational upgrading. In undertaking these services, the EDC examines various technologies from abroad that seem relevant and useful to the Ghanaian context, imports and then modifies them to suit the Ghanaian environment. Apart from design and adaptation, individuals and organizations often request the GRATIS/ITTU to design parts for various machines and equipment which are no longer on the market. Some equipment may be out of stock from their original manufacturers because newer models might have replaced them. In circumstances like these, firms which cannot afford the new models and lack parts for the older ones contact the GRATIS/ITTU to replicate those parts for their use in case of equipment break-down. Besides the above functions and services, the EDC conducts market and feasibility studies for new products and maintains a data bank on products and designs. One of the major headaches for technologists

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and scientists in developing countries like Ghana is the standardization of technological equipment, materials and products. The absence of specifications makes it impossible for up-and-coming practitioners in the field to progress in the development of their skills (Marfo, 1997: 1). Therefore, the existence of the EDC has placed GRATIS on the path of solving problems associated with engineering design and product manufacturing. Since manufactured goods have to meet certain product and material specifications if they are to compete effectively in both the local and international markets, it is a significant breakthrough that designs, drawings and their interpretation have become part of the services that the GRATIS offers to its clients. GRATIS also offers advisory and lending services to its clients. The advisory services counsel prospective clients on how to become part of the various client associations, and subsequently access the financial and non-financial services offered by the GRATIS/ITTUs. When entrepreneurs make contact with GRATIS, visits are arranged to the premises of the prospective client.2 This serves several purposes. First, it makes the GRATIS/ITTUs aware of the extent to which the prospective client is actually involved in manufacturing and the range of activities in which they are involved. It also leads to the development of a relationship between GRATIS/ITTUs and the firms. During such site visits by the ITTU personnel, the prospective clients are encouraged to legally register their businesses if they have not already done so. Advice is sometimes immediately offered on how to better construct the workshops to protect machinery against fires and other mishaps, improve the workshop lighting and ventilation, and improve the production techniques. By ultimately becoming clients of the ITTUs, firms are able to use its facilities (tools and equipment) to complete jobs for which they lack the necessary machinery, sub-contract to and from the ITTUs, and also rent small detached workshops on ITTU compounds (GRATIS, 1998: 40–43). More importantly, GRATIS provides lending facilities-Hire Purchase Scheme (HPS), Working Capital (WC) and Turn-Key Packages (TKP) to its clients to enable them to undertake technological upgrading. The Hire Purchase Loan Scheme became operational in 1991 with funding from the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA). Its primary objective was the provision of financial support to smallscale industries to enable them to purchase machine tools and equipment. There is no set limit on the amount a client can receive from GRATIS on the HPS. It depends on the purpose of the loan and 2 Interview with Marketing and Publicity Officer, GRATIS, Tema, 30th March, 1999.

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the viability of the project in question. While no collateral would be required from clients before loans are given, all the machines and equipment supplied to a client by GRATIS/ITTU under the HPS are used as collateral until a client repays a loan in full. In addition, clients must have a net worth equaling at least 25% of the amount requested. Through the HPS, artisans and manufacturers are now able to acquire the equipment and machinery to produce high quality goods that for a long time were lacking in the operations of manufacturers in the light engineering sector. The HPS was augmented when the European Union (EU) supported the Working Capital (WC) scheme in 1993 with an amount of 714 million cedis (US$ 1,633,530.85)3 to enable clients of GRATIS to purchase raw materials and other non-capital inputs to engage in production activity.4 The WC enables clients to meet delivery periods, and also enjoy discounts from bulk purchases.5 Land, equipment and other assets are used as collateral under the WC. Finally, the Turn Key Package (TKP) introduced in 1995, also funded by CIDA, enables clients to purchase a new technology as a package, including the costs of fixed assets, working capital and services such as training, engineering design, market studies and process engineering (Adjei, 1997: 26). While GRATIS makes available loans to its clients, applicants need to satisfy certain rigid requirements before they can qualify. GRATIS/ITTU policy is based on the view that in order to make the desired impact, it had to be very selective and back only those firms believed to have the potential to make a contribution to the industrial and technological development of the country. Thus, not everyone is able to receive financial assistance from the organization. To qualify for any of the GRATIS credit schemes, the applicant has to be first screened and certified by the respective ITTU Regional Manager. In addition, the client must also meet the following requirements: must be a member of the ITTU client association;6 must be associated with the ITTU for at least one year in the case of the HPS and six months for WC; must have registered his/her business with the Registrar General’s Department and must maintain a current bank account. These measures are aimed at ensuring 3 The dollar equivalent is based on the 1993 exchange rate of US$ 1 to 437.09 cedis (ISSER, The State of the Ghanaian Economy in 1994, Legon: ISSER, 1995, p. 6). 4 GRATIS (no date) GRATIS Lending Programmes, p. 3. 5 Interview with Project Officer (Lending Section), GRATIS, Tema, 18th June, 1999. 6 The client association is made up of business owners who have registered with GRATIS as clients, and formed the group to meet monthly and discuss issues of concern and interest to their manufacturing activities.

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that clients who receive financial support have the ability to re-pay, and also follow modern business practice.7 When an applicant has met all the requirements, the application is reviewed by the Loans Committee (made up of GRATIS’ Chief Executive, Finance Officer/ Accountant, Loans Officer and the Regional Director of the Accra ITTU, who represents the various ITTUs).8 While an entrepreneur can apply for and obtain a loan on more than one occasion, that possibility depends on the client’s repayment rate and overall performance. As a result of the screening process outlined, clients of GRATIS/ITTU and especially the loan beneficiaries can be described as being a pre-selected elite who have the potential to add value to the manufacturing and industrial development activities of the country (Powell, 1995: x). GRATIS also provides production and manufacturing, repairs, and consultancy services to customers (private individuals and organizations) on a cost recovery basis. Individuals and organizations in both the public and private sectors often do place advance orders for various equipment to be manufactured for them by the GRATIS/ITTUs. Among such items are office furniture and cabinets, and agricultural processing equipment. The ITTUs also engage in the repair and production of various spare parts for customers. In its consultancy programmes and services, the GRATIS/ITTUs undertake market and feasibility studies, socio-economic surveys, and project formulation, monitoring and evaluation for various public and private sector organizations, as well as non-governmental organizations. By engaging in these endeavours, the ITTUs are able to cover part of their costs, and generate income which can be used in assisting various projects of the organization (GRATIS, 1998: 44–46). Finally, a programme designed to advance the use of technology and promote entrepreneurship among women is undertaken by GRATIS through its Gender and Development (GAD) Units. Clients and individuals who received training in machinery and light engineering are now producing new equipment for use by new clients, especially women.9 In view of the availability of the equipment and machinery, training is provided to women in areas such as food processing (palm-oil extraction, jam making, and bee-keeping), soap making, weaving, batik, and tie and dye cloth production. These services are supplemented by extension services involving the training of rural women in machine operation and maintenance (GRATIS, 1998: 7 8 9

GRATIS (no date) GRATIS Lending Programmes, p. 4. Interview with Project Officer (Lending Section), GRATIS, Tema, 18th June, 1999. Interview with CIDA Management Advisor, GRATIS, Tema, 27th April, 1999.

   - 

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36–37). The programme helps women clients to own the appropriate machinery, improve productivity and active in various incomegenerating activities.10 An official at GRATIS noted that women in Ghana, who for a long time were barred from weaving because of the cultural belief that their use of the existing narrow-loom would make them infertile, are now weaving because of the introduction of the new and appropriate broad-loom technology. Women are now quite busy working because of the new technology.11 In effect, cultural and institutional barriers that limited the access that women had to the factors of production-credit, technology input and extension services are being eliminated through the introduction of improved, more appropriate technology. Although GRATIS/ITTUs are making conscious efforts to encourage women to participate in all aspects of technical entrepreneurship, women continue to engage largely in food-processing, and textiles and clothing, but not metal fabrication and engineering, or wood-working. While the role of women is changing because of programmes like the ones operated by GRATIS, gender division of labour is still prevalent in Ghana, since general social attitudes and internalized cultural values direct both men and women to undertake particular economic activities. A project officer suggested that very few women had set up their own shops or employment in the field of metal fabrication and engineering.12 About 92% who pass through the technical apprentice scheme are males (GRATIS, 1998: 34). A notable exception, however, is the case of a woman at Kasoa, a suburb of Accra, who was assisted by GRATIS with a welding set and other machine tools on hire purchase basis to set-up a welding and fabrication shop in 1996. As one of the few women involved in a male-dominated profession, she manufactures post-harvest machines such as palm fruit digesters and cassava graters (Akrong, 1997: 14). Organizational Problems In the performance of its duties and responsibilities, GRATIS/ITTUs have been beset with a number of problems that have raised concerns about their effectiveness and ability to realize their objectives. One of the main problems is the lack of co-operation among the 10

Ibid. Interview with Marketing and Publicity Officer, GRATIS, Tema, 30th March, 1999. 12 Interview with Project Officer, GRATIS, Tema, 18th June, 1999. 11

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various organizations which are supposed to promote small-scale industrial and technology development. The original ITTU at Suame is currently not part of the network being co-ordinated by GRATIS, because the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST), under whose direction the Suame ITTU was established, does not want them to leave its control. Although the Suame ITTU clients enjoy access to the lending facilities which GRATIS provides to clients of the ITTUs in the other regions, by not being directly under and part of GRATIS, the Suame ITTU does not receive the kind of support that is channeled by government and other donors. The Research Officer of the Suame ITTU complained that equipment and machinery needed for training purposes are lacking because of the problem of funding. He added that since most of the services they provide are free, they need the equipment to enable them to meet the growing needs of clients and apprentices who undertake practical attachments.13 Furthermore, there was the issue of the staff resources that the organization needs to carry out its responsibilities. Officials at GRATIS complained that their organization was plagued by personnel problems due to the poor remuneration levels. GRATIS personnel do leave to take up positions in other organizations with better pay levels and conditions of service. As a result, GRATIS lacked, or found it hard to retain personnel with the expertise that is critical in the provision of entrepreneurial services to clients. As an agency that depends heavily on government pay scales to remunerate their personnel, GRATIS found it difficult to pay their staff at levels commensurate with their job performance and training. Thus, it is difficult for the organization to retain highly qualified staff. Between 1992 and 1998, more than twenty professionals including engineers and accountants left GRATIS to take jobs in other organizations with much more attractive salaries. Such professionals left because they earned about a third of what their counterparts received elsewhere (GRATIS, 1998, pp. 23–32). As of 1998, GRATIS/ITTUs had a total of 287 employees, made up of 94 skilled technicians, 28 engineers, 21 trainers, 20 accounting personnel, 17 senior managers, while the remaining were support staff. Funding to enable the organization to operate efficiently and effectively is another problem. GRATIS was initially financed with a US$ 4.5 million assistance package from the European Union’s (EU) Development fund, and a US$ 2.2 million grant from the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA). Between 1994 13

Interview with Research Officer, ITTU, Suame/Kumasi, 7th May, 1999.

   - 

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to 1997, GRATIS received grants totaling 5.1 billion cedis from CIDA, EU and the Government of Ghana (GRATIS, 1998: Appendix 1.1). While CIDA wanted GRATIS to become self-financing and operate on a cost recovery basis, the EU argued that it would put the organization in direct and unfair competition with its own clients. Thus, while cost recovery from customer services account for about 40% of its operating budget, GRATIS’ focus on training and development programmes and services limits its ability to attain financial self-sufficiency. Therefore, government subvention and earnings from customer services are used to cover part of the development services. The problems of funding could, however, be overcome when GRATIS attains foundation status. Currently, GRATIS lacks an independent legal status because it is unincorporated. Hence, it acts under government directives and must seek approval through the Ministry of Environment Science and Technology (MEST) of its activities. However, GRATIS is in the process of moving from a government agency to a foundation status where it also could provide consultancy services to other countries like Gambia and Burkina Faso which are interested in replicating the GRATIS model. Becoming a foundation will not only enable GRATIS to move away from the domain of the government and sell its goods and services at commercial rates, but also permit it to continue to receive funding from donor agencies. In addition, it will enable GRATIS to be in a position to pay higher salaries to its employees, especially engineers who are constantly being lost to other private organizations who offer higher remuneration.14 There is the issue of loan repayment and management of funds available under the various schemes. While the repayment rate as of 1996 was about 76%,15 it dropped to about 60% in 199816 because of an energy crisis that hit the country in February 1998.17 With the rationing of power during this period, production levels of clients fell, and with that their repayment rate. In tandem with this, since GRATIS supports what a project officer called the “vulnerable sections of society,” there have been some problems with loan repayment. According to this project officer, for some clients, their priorities focus not so much on the loan repayment, as with their immediate family needs, that is, providing food, shelter, clothing for their family

14

Interview with ITTU Regional Director, Koforidua, 3rd May, 1999. Interview with Project Officer (Lending section), GRATIS, Tema, 18th June, 1999. 16 Interview with CIDA Management Advisor, GRATIS, Tema, 27th April, 1999. 17 The primary cause for the power deficit was the curtailment of power generated at the Akosombo Dam due to drought and the unusually low reservoir level (ISSER, The State of the Ghanaian Economy in 1998, Legon: ISSER, 1999, p. 135). 15

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members.18 The suggestion, therefore, is that it is only when these basic necessities are met that beneficiaries deem it necessary to repay their loans. When asked why they keep supporting their trainees when they default on their loans, the official noted that the purpose of providing them with employment and skills could not be fully realized if they are not granted the loans to put into practice what they acquired from the training. GRATIS did not want a situation where it only provided training and left apprentices “hanging” after they completed their programmes,19 since giving people employment opportunities and setting up private businesses are the thrust of training programmes that it offers to trainees and apprentices.20 Finally, research and development, and safe-guarding the findings has also not kept pace with changes in the technological field because there is not a fund for this purpose, which stems from the nature of GRATIS’ subvention. An official stated that, GRATIS currently presents its budgetary proposals to the Finance Ministry, and the government decides whether or not to support their programmes. While the sector ministry, Ministry of Environment Science and Technology (MEST) takes up the cause of GRATIS/ITTUs and often makes a case for it to be supported financially, it is up to the central government to provide the needed assistance. While “on paper” the government shows interest in its activities and even uses the organization as a showcase of how living standards can improve with technological advancement and self-employment, the resources the government commits to GRATIS are too small.21 GRATIS therefore relies mostly on grants from CIDA and EU, as well as earnings from customer services to undertake its programmes. GRATIS and Client Firms This section focuses on GRATIS client firms, their socio-economic characteristics, and relationship with the government. My concern with the characteristics of client firms centred on ownership structure, their year of establishment, business activity (See Table 6.1), and educational levels of business owners. First, all the client firms 18 Interview with Project Officer (Lending Section), GRATIS, Tema, 18th June, 1999. 19 Ibid. 20 Interview with Marketing and Publicity Officer, GRATIS, Tema, 30th March, 1999. 21 Interview with Marketing and Publicity Officer, GRATIS, Tema, 30th March, 1999.

   - 

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in both Accra and Kumasi were owned by single individuals. Regarding the period of establishment, in Accra, twenty-two (81%) firms were established after 1980 and six (55%) in Kumasi over the same period. The remaining firms in Accra (19%) and Kumasi (45%) came into existence in the 1961–1980 period. This result lends support to Anheier and Seibel’s (1987: 61) view that small-scale manufacturing form a young sector in Ghana’s economy. Furthermore, of the 27 client firms in Accra, eight (30%) were headed by university graduates, 12 (44%) were led by vocational or technical school graduates, three (11%) had completed their secondary education (Ordinary and Advanced Levels), while only one had primary education, and the remaining three had no formal education. The corresponding figure for the 11 client firms in Kumasi was one each with secondary and university level education, another one with no formal education, two with primary education, and the remaining six (55%) with technical or vocational training. The manufacturing skills of the entrepreneurs with primary or no formal education were acquired through the apprenticeship system. Even for those who had technical or vocational school training, they stated that since such training was mostly devoid of practical experience, and they had to undertake further training by attaching themselves to the “masters” for a while. Most firms are, therefore, owned and managed by entrepreneurs who had, at least, part of their training through the local apprenticeship system, while their employees and workers are individuals of similar backgrounds. Table 6.1: Type of Business Activity Accra

Business Activity

Metals & Engineering Food-processing Wood-processing Textiles and Clothing Aluminium processing Goldsmith Total

Male

Female

9 1 4 1 0 1 16

0 4 0 6 1 0 11

Kumasi N (%) 9 5 4 7 1 1 27

(33) (19) (15) (26) (4) (4) (100)

Male Female

N (%)

11

0 11

(100)22

11

0 11

(100)

Source: Research Data

22 The Suame ITTU focuses only on the provision of assistance to client firms in the metals and engineering sector, hence the absence of interviewees in other manufacturing sectors of the economy.

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Capital and Finance GRATIS clients were asked about their sources of equipment and machinery, as well as capital in order to find out whether they had been successful in relying on the financial institutions to start their businesses, or if they had also relied on informal sources, as has been the case with most small-scale enterprises in the developing world. With respect to the sources of equipment and machinery, Powell (1995: 50) points out that used machine tools and equipment imported from Britain were given to between twelve and fifteen client firms at the inception of the initial HPS introduced by the TCC between 1977 and 1986. Three of the Kumasi interviewees were beneficiaries of this original scheme. Of the remaining eight, four bought their machine tools from the local market, three imported them, while one manufactured the tools. In Accra, six (22%) of the clients had gotten machine tools as a result of GRATIS’ HPS. Of the remaining clients, two (7%) imported their machines, while nineteen clients (70%) purchased theirs locally from the open market. The interviews also revealed that personal resources were the main source of start-up capital. In Accra, 21 out of 27 (78%) client firms had to rely on personal resources. The support entrepreneurs got from other sources came to five (19%) for family and relatives, and one (4%) from friend(s). In Kumasi, a similar pattern was found, and they are as follows: three (27%) from family and relatives, seven (64%) from personal resources, while one entrepreneur (9%) relied on advance payments from a customer to start his business. None of the business owners reported that they got started as a result of bank loan. After establishing their businesses from various informal sources, only a minority of client firms applied to the banks for financial support to expand their operations. Sixteen (59%) of the client firms in Accra, and nine (82%) in Kumasi had never applied for a bank loan. Of the remaining clients (11) in Accra, 10 (37%) had applied and secured bank loans, while one client (4%) who applied had been refused. For Kumasi, only two (18%) out of the 11 client firms had been successful in securing loans from the banks. Informal sources of capital and finance therefore remain crucial for the start-up and development of businesses in Ghana (Anheier & Seibel, 1987; Boapeah & Poppe, 1992; Chamlee-Wright, 1997). Funds for expansion of businesses by client firms had come mostly as a result of the HPS and WC funds operated by the GRATIS. Nineteen out of the 27 (70%) of client firms interviewed in Accra had been beneficiaries of either a WC or HPS, while seven of 11 (64%) client firms in Kumasi had also received some financial assistance from the

   - 

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GRATIS. Through these schemes, GRATIS clients were able to secure machine tools and equipment to produce spare parts and customized machines for their customers, and raw materials for production. Institutional and Cultural Context of Operations There is the general view among policy makers that when business associations are formed, they would be in better positions to “speak” and lobby on behalf of their members, than when they attempt to do so individually. This becomes even easier when the society in question is more open and democratic, as Ghana has been since multi-party elections were held in late 1992. Clients were therefore interviewed about their membership of various associations and the impact of such membership on their businesses. Since membership is a prerequisite for becoming a client and getting assistance, all the GRATIS entrepreneurs interviewed for this research were members of their ITTU clients association. Clients noted that membership in the ITTU association had been instrumental in their being assisted with loans from either HPS or WC. However, regarding their membership with other associations, the clients (45% in Kumasi and 41% in Accra) who had joined various ones (professional, artisan, business)23 did not believe they enjoyed any particular benefits, despite the promises given them by the leaders. According to these clients, it involves time and money to be members, since they had to attend meetings as well as pay various dues. However, they felt that since some benefits in form of networking, as well as tangible economic benefits might ultimately be realized, they were better off being members than not. On their relationship with the state, especially in the area of lobbying Members of Parliament (MPs) to ensure that policies favourable to the small-scale sector are formulated and implemented by the government, client firms expressed their skepticism about the likely effect that such contacts would have. Nine client firms in Kumasi (82%) and 24 (89%) in Accra did not bother to contact MPs since they were seen as exerting little influence in the decision-making process. According to client firms, the time to be spent trying to contact an MP or other government officials could be better channelled into the manufacturing of goods. The position of clients was that not only did 23 Clients had joined associations such as the Ghana Furniture Makers Association, Association of Ghanaian Industries (AGI), Ghana National Tailors and Dressmakers Association, and Ghana National Association of Garages (GNAG).

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the government have little interest in and commitment to the development of the private sector, especially the activities of the small-scale manufacturing sector, but also it was yet to realize and fully appreciate their contribution in the economy. They believed government officials are of the view that assisting and developing small-scale enterprises would bring only individual success to the owner rather than benefits to society at large. Therefore, the attitude among government officials was to allow individuals to run their own businesses and deal with their problems without support from the government. One client contended that major power brokers would not want capitalists to emerge and thrive, since they would constitute a threat to the power and status of the wealthy class. This is because the wealth acquired by successful business people will be used to support the opposition groups rather than the incumbent government.24 Hence, the government wants to maintain the hegemony or dominant position and power of a few people in society.25 When government shows some initiative in providing assistance to entrepreneurs to alleviate their problems and concerns, the share of the funds that is used to “talk about the problem” is normally larger than the amount that goes into problem-solving itself. In effect, the so-called consultants who are mandated to deal with issues relating to the small-scale sector become the main beneficiaries rather than smallscale entrepreneurs themselves, since they keep travelling and running workshops, seminars and conferences all in the name of finding solutions to the problems of the small-scale sector.26 The implications of these responses is that MPs were not held in high esteem by clients, since apart from being perceived as lackeys who only sought their own self-interested agenda, they were unable to influence policy in any meaningful way. Such views of client firms obviously call into question the government’s supposed commitment to making small manufacturing the “bedrock” of national industrial development. GRATIS clients believed that there was little transparency and accountability on the political front, making them less trustful of the government and politicians as a whole. Therefore, there was both a power distance and social gulf between entrepreneurs and 24 In January 2001, the (P)NDC government which had been severely criticized by local entrepreneurs for its lukewarm attitude to the business sector was replaced by the New Patrotic Party (NPP) which has also promised to make private local entrepreneurs the bedrock of national development. It is thus too early to make any assessment of the new government’s commitment. 25 Interview with male client involved in foundry activities, Tema, 9th July, 1999. 26 Interview with male client involved in metals and engineering, Kumasi, 6th May, 1999.

   - 

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politicians in Ghana. People in politics did not seem to think highly of private entrepreneurs, especially those engaged in micro-type informal activities, who are mostly at the lower end of the social scale, leaving entrepreneurs, like GRATIS clients, to feel politically alienated. In addition, clients accused the government of lacking a clear industrial policy. Government, they argued, was interested in developing and increasing the earnings from the export of non-traditional crops and is not interested in manufacturing because of its trade liberalization policy. Clients were of the view that trade liberalization was undermining the prospects of progress and development of indigenous industries. The import of goods which were also locally produced, was, according to the entrepreneurs, driving them out of businesses. Their argument was that trade liberalization was making it difficult for them to compete on the local market where they were supposed to have an advantage. Client firms were also of the view that government they could be of help if some limits were put on the number of imported goods, especially in cases of a local industry producing similar goods. To local client firms, the government appears to be indirectly supporting foreign industries and investors by widely opening the economic door of Ghana. Policy Directions and Concluding Remarks Developing an indigenous industrial and technological base through the activities of GRATIS/ITTUs, is very laudable. The positive impact of its technology transfer, client and customer services, and technical training programmes are indicative of how the availability of resources can propel the country’s development process. However, in reflecting on the activities of the organization there are some areas of its operations that can be improved upon in order to attain greater success. For instance, it is important that GRATIS/ITTUs find ways of protecting its intellectual property as well as those of its clients. The experience of some Suame artisans who had their products (spark plug extensions) mass produced, packaged and re-sold in the country by others can be overcome with patent protection and assistance from the government. Without such protection, GRATIS/ITTUs and its clients cannot enjoy the “fruits of their labour” regarding their technological innovations.27 Moreover, it is important that the number of individuals trained by GRATIS/ITTUs be increased from 27 Interview with male client involved in metals and engineering, Suame/Kumasi, 22nd July, 1999.

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the current levels of five for each ITTU annually, if the technological needs of the country are to be met. Also, since a greater number of applicants to the apprentice training programmes are men, greater emphasis, incentives and public education should be given to attract females to engage in these programmes. However, since the above suggestions need to occur in the larger policy context, the government has to formulate a clear and detailed industrial and technological policy, especially in the area of smallscale manufacturing, which it claims it wants to make the bedrock of national industrial development. First, such a policy should consider improving the country’s infrastructure. MacEwan (1999: 130) has argued that successful economic development has generally been built upon a physical infrastructure that connects the national economy to international commerce and, at the same time, ties a national economy together. It is encouraging that there have been notable improvements in the infrastructure since SAP, especially in the construction of roads and telecommunications. However, a lot still needs to be done. The energy crisis and the subsequent rationing of power and electricity in 1998 in the country is a case in point. The constant power disruptions, failures and outages meant that manufacturers operated below their capacity and thus unable to meet their production targets. Coupled with this, getting a site to operate a business is difficult. In the absence of organized industrial estates, small-scale businesses have been thwarted by land-owners who usually demand exorbitant good-will advance payments, which most small-scale entrepreneurs cannot afford. For those small-scale entrepreneurs who are able to raise the funds to settle the good-will, putting up the structures for the business is another financial problem. Efforts should thus be made by the government to create industrial estates around all the regional ITTUs, as is currently the case at Suame, with affordable industrial sheds and infrastructure which can be rented out to the small-scale industries. Since the lack of adequate funds hinders the ability of small-scale enterprises to expand and create jobs for the unemployed, it is important that credit be made easily accessible to them with low interest rates, while the period and procedures for getting assistance from agencies be shortened. More importantly, funding for research and development is an area that needs to be examined critically, since it is only through research and development that the quality and standards of locally made products can be improved upon and in turn can reduce the reliance on foreign products. While GRATIS gets funds from CIDA and the EU for purposes of research and development, as well as skill upgrading, which can enhance technology and industrial development, more resources need to be com-

   - 

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mitted by the government for such purposes, since it is unlikely that donor support will continue forever. Although Ghana has the research infrastructure in an institution like the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR), there is little evidence of the government giving the institution adequate resources to perform its duties.28 Decision makers must assist research institutions like the CSIR with funds and infrastructure for the purposes of research and development, that will, in turn, offer the results to small-scale entrepreneurs to enable them improve upon the quality of their products and marketing operations (Appiah-Adu, 1999: 27). As Berman (1994: 245) points out, states have generally provided testing facilities, profitable contracts and support to research institutes and schools for scientific and technical training in the development of technology of industrial capitalism. Where government favours and supports local entrepreneurs through appropriate policy and institutional conditions, they might be able to succeed. This is borne out by the strides made by GRATIS/ITTUs, which, despite the problems confronting it and its clients, have contributed to the emergence of an indigenous light engineering and machine tool industry in Ghana (ibid.: 254–255). Although the exposure to a capitalist and industrial culture is a relatively new phenomenon to indigenous Africans, entrepreneurs, when assisted and given the opportunities and incentives can demonstrate their drive, initiative and capabilities against the odds, as is the case among entrepreneurs at the Suame Magazine (Alemayehu 2000: 156–157). Furthermore, since the government opened the country’s “economic door too wide” with the trade liberalization policy, it should seriously consider an industrial policy giving some selective protection and subsidies to local industries, if it is really eager to promote smallscale industrialization in the country. Since local manufacturers must compete with already established firms in developed countries with vastly superior technology, some protection or subsidization would be required initially before exposing them to international competition. In essence, without protection for industrial activities, such activities might never even develop at all, and de-industrialization might occur 28 The CSIR was originally established in 1968 to generate and apply innovative technologies which efficiently and effectively exploit science and technology for socio-economic development in the critical areas of agriculture, industry, health and environment. It was, however, re-established by CSIR (Act 521) of 1996, with a distinctive feature of the new Act being the emphasis accorded private sector concerns and the introduction of market principles into the Council’s operations through commercialization of research. However, since the industrial sector currently consists mainly of small and medium scale enterprises, they are unable to pay for the services of the various research institutes under the CSIR (Ayiku, n.d.).

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if existing firms are exposed to full, and sudden, international competition (Mkandawire & Soludo, 1999: 102–103). Since it is common to see the Western world as well as the NICs protecting their manufacturing sector, there is no reason why African countries should also not protect their industries from competition and dumping (Alemayehu, 2000: 151–155). It is only by doing so that small-scale local manufacturers will be in the position to market their products and ultimately improve upon their quality and productivity. As Mkandawire and Soludo (1999: 129) point out, the success of the Asian NICs not only corroborates the need for interventionist industrial development policies to resolve pervasive market failures in countries like Ghana, but also demonstrates that effective export promotion could be accompanied by a restrictive import policy. For them, the mounting evidence shows that the much advertised East Asian miracle succeeded not only because of their government’s abilities to address market failure, but also because they created markets where they did not exist and provided the institutional infrastructure needed for market development, including a sound regulatory framework. Thus, the emerging consensus among policy makers in most African societies is that, states need to play the leadership and developmental roles of steering and nurturing economic activities to a desired end as was the case in the Asian NICs. A caveat is, however, necessary at this point. The suggestion for subsidies, import restrictions, and protection does not imply that local industries should not be exposed to some form of competition. As Lall et al. (1994: 189) have argued, “given the cost, duration and risk associated with entry into more complex industries, full exposure to import competition may ‘freeze’ Ghana’s comparative advantage in its existing mould, which is largely based on its natural resource endowment. The granting of limited protection . . . may be a necessary condition for the diversification and growth of industry.” Alemayehu (2000: 151) also suggests that some measures that can be used to mitigate the adverse impact of competition are the judicious phasing out of protection against import duties and/or imposing quantitative restrictions on the same or competing products. For him, the period for and the extent of protection for each existing industry should be determined carefully using such criteria as the degree of vulnerability to outside competition and the crucial nature of the industry to the country. The performance of the protected industries could then be monitored to ensure that the protection is applied according to schedule; and does not exceed the prescribed time limit. This view is affirmed by Mkandawire and Soludo (1999: 104) who argue that, protection could be designed to be time-bound and

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performance-based to promote enterprise and ensure that excessive protection does not become a way of life. In addition to a clear industrial policy, government officials need to change their attitude towards the business community in general, and the small-scale sector in particular. In the view of entrepreneurs interviewed, Ghana’s political and economic history cannot be written without having to make reference to the fact that governments have had a long history of stifling successful local entrepreneurs and private initiative. As Amponsah (2000: 28) found, “domestic private businesses in Ghana are wary of the volatile institutional environment, which they perceive as uncertain for investment. Not only do they perceive potential threats of expropriation, they also know that they do not have much protection for their business and property, because existing rules in this direction are inadequate. Above all, they believe that state authorities intervene in the business environment through rampant abuse of discretion and bureaucratic bottlenecks.” The mistrust of government officials and its institutions need to change if entrepreneurs are to have confidence in and deal with them. While small-scale industries can play a crucial role in the process of national development, this is complicated and hindered by the low levels of trust that entrepreneurs have in institutional arrangements, and the lack of transparency in the Ghanaian political system. An environment which is characterized by suspicion and mistrust in institutions, is not favourable and conducive for business success. Trust in institutions amounts to knowing that the rules, values and norms of society are shared by all its participants and that they would regard them as binding. Where institutions do not recur consistently to shared norms, the bases of generalized and institutionalized trust erode (Warren, 1999: 6–7). It is in this regard that trust and transparency in the political system should become paramount. If business owners have trust and faith in the political system and its institutions, then there is no reason why they would not go to policy makers to lobby them to assist the small-scale manufacturing sector. Development of trust in institutions is a gradual process. It would take time before the idea of depersonalized, collaborative and abstract system trust which rely on expert systems and professional practitioners, and which are crucial for enforcement of commercial contracts, operating joint-ownership, and large and complex enterprises are fully developed in the Ghanaian society (Berman, 1997, 1998). Trust and its impact on small-scale industries is an issue that, if successfully addressed, could go a long way to enhance Ghana’s industrial development process.


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“A PLURALITY OF RESISTANCES” TO ECONOMIC REFORM: THE CASE OF STATE-OWNED ENTERPRISES Edna D. Djokoto-Asem Introduction Since the inception of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank-sponsored Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP) in Ghana in 1983, many observers have wondered how the government implemented such draconian economic policies with so little organized opposition from the public, particularly organized labour. Some analysts have attributed the relative absence of organized protests from the labour movement to such factors as intimidation and oppression by the government, luck, and the flourishing of a parallel market before the implementation of the SAP (Herbst, 1993, 1991; Gyimah-Boadi and Essuman-Johnson, 1993). These studies measured opposition to the SAP by focusing on the number of strikes that have occurred since the inception of the programme. This analysis is typical of studies of labour politics that concentrate on organized, collective and confrontational actions in discussions of opposition from the labour movement (Hsiung, 1996). While explanations offered by the above studies for the relative absence of opposition by organized labour cannot be ignored, they are problematic. The studies assume, for example, that a macro-level indicator, such as the number of strikes that occurred within a certain period of time, is an accurate indicator of the nature of opposition to the SAP. The studies also depict organized labour as relatively powerless, hence the absence of organized opposition. However, does the absence of organized protests by the labour movement mean the absence of resistance to the SAP? Can organized labour be characterized as powerless because of the absence of organized opposition to the SAP? In order to answer these questions, I examine opposition to the SAP by drawing on Michel Foucault’s concepts of power and resistance. Power is an integral part of Foucault’s (1990) analysis of resistance because he asserts that where there is power there is resistance, meaning that we cannot fully comprehend opposition

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to the SAP without an understanding of how power operates and how this in turn contributes to resistance. Foucault’s approach provides a broader framework within which to analyse different kinds of opposition to the SAP. In this chapter, I focus on responses to the restructuring component of the State-Owned Enterprise Reform Programme (SOERP), an integral part of the SAP in Ghana. The chapter is based on a case study of Cityline Corporation,1 a restructured State-Owned Enterprise (SOE) and was conducted between January and June of 1996. The main source of data was interviews. They were used in conjunction with observations at Cityline Corporation and government documents. The data gathering process at the corporation was in two phases. I first conducted a focus group interview and later the individual interviews. The issues tackled during the focus group interview were broad research questions about the restructuring programme. The issues that emerged during this phase of the study were incorporated into the one-on-one interviews that followed. I conducted the individual interviews in private with one participant at a time. Forty-five employees of the corporation participated in the study. They included seven members of management, thirteen senior or middle-level personnel, and twenty-five junior employees. Sampling was purposive. It included only employees who had been with the corporation for at least 5 years before the inception of the restructuring programme in 1991. In exploring employees’ reaction to the SOERP, during the interviews, it became clear that not only was there opposition from the workers to the Cityline Corporation’s restructuring programme but there was also opposition from the corporation’s sector ministry and the tenants. The resistance took a variety of forms that were similar to those identified by Foucault in his analysis of the concept. Hence the reason for adopting a Foucauldian approach. The examination of resistance in this context is related to the network of power relations which involves the World Bank, the government, the corporation, and the tenants. To demonstrate the multiple forms of resistance, I will in the next section offer a brief context for the restructuring of Cityline Corporation. This will be followed by a discussion of the restructuring programme and the analytical framework. This framework will be utilised to analyse the nature of the resistance from the corporation’s tenants, the sector ministry, and the workers.

1

Cityline Corporation is the pseudonym for the SOE studied.

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Cityline Corporation: The Context of Restructuring Cityline Corporation is a state-owned real estate corporation established by the government in the 1960s to provide affordable housing and support other development projects in the area. It is responsible for developing residential, commercial, and industrial properties in the city. No private individual or company can develop any piece of property on land under the corporation’s jurisdiction without its approval. The corporation’s functions can be summed up as planning, regulatory and administrative services, real estate development, and property management. As of 1991, the corporation had 6,355 rental housing units and 2,300 rental commercial units (Ministry of Works & Housing, 1991). Like most SOEs, Cityline Corporation’s main source of financial support came from the government. The government offered loans to and also guaranteed all of the corporation’s bank loans. The corporation in turn passed on this financial support to its tenants through rent subsidies by charging rents that were below prevailing market prices. The average rent charged by the corporation in 1991 was 3, 800 cedis2 while rents charged in the open market for houses of comparable size were about 4 times higher (Ministry of Works & Housing, 1991). In other words, the corporation complied with the government’s rent control policy in return for financial support. All rent increases were also subject to government approval. By 1979, however, the government could no longer support the corporation financially because of the deplorable state of the economy (Personal Interview with Managing Director, Ghana, June 1996). In order to make up for the shortfall in government funding, the corporation moved away from the direct construction of houses for rental purposes and instead leased land to institutions in the public sector that had the resources to finance housing units for their employees. The corporation also built houses for private individuals who could afford it. Private individuals who wanted to build their own houses also leased land from the corporation. These initiatives enabled the corporation to survive, but it was a far cry from its heydays when it was involved in a lot of construction projects in the city. Since they were operating below capacity, the labour force was also underutilized. However, as an SOE they could not lay off excess staff without government approval. Consequently, they had workers 2 That is about $10 at 1991 levels. In 1991, the average exchange rate of the cedi to the US$ was 360.

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who showed up for work and did nothing but still had to be paid. This was how a member of management put it: I quite remember that prior to the restructuring, we had a bloated staff. A lot of the people were being paid for [doing] virtually nothing and then we had a very big maintenance yard. . . . We had a lot of artisans . . . sitting and doing virtually nothing. They come in the morning mark or clock their names and they find their way to town and we still have to pay them (Personal Interview, Ghana, March, 1996).

Besides problems with an under-utilized and bloated workforce, the corporation had to deal with government interference in its day-today operations. Before the restructuring, decision-making at SOEs, including Cityline Corporation, was centralized at the sector ministries. The sector ministries did not allow them to “plan and manage basic business functions” (World Bank, 1991, p. 20), such as corporate planning. Since the corporation depended on government subvention such problems were not unexpected, but it was their persistent nature that further exacerbated an already financially fragile corporation. Some politicians and government bureaucrats used their positions to demand favours. Decision-makers at the corporation often gave in to their demands for the fear of losing their jobs. As a senior employee points out: This place has been [an] avenue for politicians to play around. It is a place where land property is acquired. So if I recall, certain things happened during the military regime [especially between 1972–1979 and 1981–1993]. . . . We will be in the office and someone with a gun will appear and say you are wanted at Gondar Barracks. One could hardly go about his [her] work without intimidation and these pressures. And it did not make the atmosphere conducive for independent work. We also had a problem of directives and instructions here and there from people in power (Personal Interview, Ghana, April, 1996)

A pre-restructuring diagnostic study of the corporation also mentioned the problem of political interference (Ministry of Works and Housing, 1991). The report attributed the corporation’s poor financial performance to corrupt bureaucrats, politicians and the military that used the corporation to further their personal and political interests. These were some of the problems that the restructuring programme was intended to address.

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The Restructuring Programme The corporation’s restructuring programme is an integral part of the SOERP component of the SAP. The World Bank provided most of the financial assistance for the project. But the corporation was also to raise additional funds by increasing rents and selling off some of its rental properties. As discussed later in the chapter, the rent increase and property sale policies became a flash-point between the corporation and its tenants. Restructuring is “a term used to cover all remedial or corrective measures necessary to the sustained productive and financial performance of a state enterprise” (State Enterprise Commission, n.d. p. 65). It was aimed at transforming Cityline Corporation from a state-subsidized organization into a self-financing corporate entity. The pre-restructuring diagnostic report indicated that Cityline Corporation, like most SOEs in the country had saddled the government with heavy fiscal and managerial burdens (Ministry of Works and Housing, 1991). This conclusion is consistent with a World Bank study on SOEs in southern countries (Shirley and Nellis, 1991).3 In analyzing the source of SOEs financial burden on governments, Shirley and Nellis (1991) argued that the problem was a “lack of market discipline and the inability of state firms to respond to that discipline where it existed” (p. 1). Therefore, the Bank proposed that reform efforts should concentrate on making SOEs like Cityline Corporation more independent and entrepreneurial. In sum, a shift toward market structures. Thus, “governments with significant stateowned enterprises sectors must increase market forces, decentralize decision-making, [and] strengthen managerial capabilities and incentives throughout the economy” (Shirley & Nellis, 1991, p. 5). For Cityline Corporation, the shift toward market structures meant a move away from providing subsidized housing to providing housing at prevailing market prices. The components of the programme implemented at Cityline Corporation can be summarized as follows: • Transform Cityline Corporation from a government subsidized institution into an autonomous corporate entity that pays dividends to the state; • change the corporation’s organizational structure; • lay off excess staff; and 3 Although Shirley and Nellis prepared their report after the initiation of the SOERP in Ghana, they relied heavily on World Bank documents that outline the policies and guidelines for implementing the SOERP.

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• introduce a controlled asset disposal programme, and implement of a revenue generation programme (Ministry of Works & Housing, 1991). Granting the corporation autonomy involves the implementation of policies that would “increase the operational autonomy of SOE managers and . . . clarify the allocation of responsibility and accountability for SOE performance” (State Enterprises Commission, 1995, p. 1). The corporation’s autonomy is related to four aspects of its operation: decisions to hire or lay off staff; price discrimination and control; operational autonomy; and loans and cash transfers or subsidies. For the purposes of this study, I focus on the first-three. Before the restructuring, the corporation’s managers could not hire or fire staff without approval from the sector ministry. However, they can now take such decisions at the organizational level. In 1991, the corporation had 615 employees (Ministry of Works and Housing, 1991). Through layoffs this number was reduced to 465 and 312 in 1994 and 1996 respectively (Cityline Corporation, 1996; Cityline Corporation, 1994). Despite the socio-economic impact of the lay offs, the World Bank (1991) justifies the policy on the grounds that “over employment is one of the main reasons for PE [Public Enterprise] inefficiency” (p. 22). Price discrimination is another subject that relates to the corporation’s autonomy. Since the government established the corporation with a non-commercial objective, that is, to provide affordable housing, the sector ministry controls the rents that the corporation charges its tenants. But the World Bank’s experts argue that this policy contributes to inefficiency because “when state enterprises are required to keep prices artificially low, not only do budget deficits and debt grow and shortages worsen, but public and private investment decisions are distorted and the underpriced resources wasted” (Shirley and Nellis, 1991, p. 17). With the restructuring, all rent increases are still subject to the sector ministry’s approval but the corporation now has more leeway to recommend rents that are at par with or slightly below market prices. The corporation’s relative autonomy to make pricing decisions has been enhanced because it is no longer obliged to fulfill its non-commercial objectives. Another issue that relates to the corporation’s autonomy is the managers’ ability to make business decisions independent of politicians and government bureaucrats. This policy is designed to address the problems associated with such interferences discussed earlier. In a nutshell, granting Cityline Corporation autonomy requires it to operate at arms-length from government bureaucrats and politicians and gives management a freehand to “take actions that raise efficiency” (World Bank, 1995, p. 255).

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Rationalization of the workforce through internal organizational change was another aspect of the restructuring programme. This entailed job reclassification, maintaining systematic procedures for performance review, introduction of teamwork, and ensuring that workers do not engage in unofficial business during business hours (Townley, 1994; State Enterprises Commission, 1993; Ministry of Works and Housing, 1991). Job classification and procedures for performance review are designed to change “functionally meaningless distinctions in job or position titles that make effective work supervision very difficult, and . . . inadequate criteria and procedures for performance review and appraisal” (State Enterprises Commission, 1993, p. 1). Other measures, such as teamwork are aimed at facilitating cooperation among the various departments within the corporation. The restructuring programme also involves an asset disposal plan to raise capital to finance the changes. The corporation was also to increase ground and property rents to market levels. The restructuring programme resulted in changes within the corporation and significantly altered the corporation’s relationship with the government and the tenants. To fully understand the responses to the restructuring programme at Cityline Corporation, I discuss the nature of power relations between the World Bank, which funded the project, the corporation and its employees, the government, and the tenants. This analysis is necessary because the response to the restructuring exists on a continuum from compliance to resistance. Moreover, the nature of the opposition is both visible and invisible. However, the invisible opposition, for example, cannot be examined without discussing the multiplicity of power relations embedded in the restructuring programme. Analytical Framework Traditional analysis of power views the concept as something that can be possessed (Dubois, 1991). In other words, power is viewed as residing in an institution or an individual. The institution or the individual who possesses the power is often characterized as an oppressor and those at the receiving end are categorized as the oppressed. When the restructuring programme is analysed using this framework of power, it may be concluded that the World Bank is the oppressor while the corporation, the government and the tenants, are the oppressed. But the power relations that operated at Cityline Corporation were not just unidimensional but instead involved a complex network of relations. In order to understand this network

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of power relations within the restructuring programme, I draw on Michel Foucault’s work on power and resistance. His view of power and resistance shows the nuances of opposition to the SOERP. Foucault (1980), did not define power; instead he concentrated on how it operates. For him, “what defines a relationship of power is that it is a mode of action which does not act directly and immediately on others. Instead it acts upon their actions” (Foucault, 1982, p. 220). Thus, the individual or institution exercising the power does not have to be present to ensure that other parties in the relationship comply. Instead they capitulate because they know they are being watched. This type of power is called disciplinary power and it is exercised by means of surveillance. It is self-discipline and it does not require the physical presence of the sovereign or the person exercising it (Foucault, 1980). The subject is central to Foucault’s view of power. An individual can be characterized as a subject when (s)he is tied to a specific identity through self-knowledge and consciousness (Foucault, 1982). Power produces active and knowing subjects because individuals become subjects by participating in the functioning of a discourse. Discourse produces and serves as a conduit for power because it limits what we can see and say about a specific subject (Foucault, 1990). Rules are embedded in discourses (Foucault, 1972). These rules define, categorize and influence ways of doing and organizing things as well as constitute the standards against which all things are evaluated. There is also a connection between power and knowledge in Foucault’s work. Knowledge in this context, refers to the social, political, and historical conditions under which certain bodies of knowledge become regarded as truth or false (Foucault, 1990). Power and knowledge are connected because the exercise of power is made possible by the production and accumulation of knowledge about a particular issue. This knowledge then becomes the basis of how power is exercised. There is also a reciprocal relation between power and truth because in producing knowledge, power produces truth. In this context, truth is “a system of ordered procedures for the production, regulation, distribution, circulation and operation of statement” (Foucault, 1980, p. 133). In producing knowledge, power produces truth because the institutions or individuals exercising power must present their knowledge about the issue at stake as the truth. An example of truth is scientific knowledge. Discourses or bodies of knowledge are often constructed as truth to make them appear legitimate. In the case of scientific knowledge, once they are constructed as truth, they become

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legitimate and unquestionable. For example, if the World Bank claims that its knowledge about the Ghanaian economy is based on scientific evidence then it becomes legitimate, meaning it can be seldom questioned or challenged. Resistance is also associated with Foucault’s view of power. Resistance occurs when one refuses to accept a “truth” that is constructed based on a specific body of knowledge (Foucault, 1990). Therefore any total or partial refusal to participate in a way that conforms to the “truths” constructed by power relations is an act of resistance (Wang, 1999). Resistance occurs when individuals or groups refuse to behave in accordance with a discourse that groups or institutions propose and impose on them and can take a variety of forms: it can be organized, spontaneous or solitary (Foucault, 1990). In other words, there is “a plurality of resistances” (Foucault, 1990, p. 26). These types of resistance can be both visible and invisible. The visible forms of opposition often involve organized protests and the mass mobilization of groups or people, the kind identified by several analysts in labour studies. The invisible forms, however, are subtle and occur at the micro-level. Although they interrupt the operation of power, we often overlook or dismiss them as inconsequential because they do not involve mobilizing people. It is my contention that examining the nuances of these subtle forms of resistance would recast discussions on opposition and protest movements. But before looking at resistance to the restructuring programme at Cityline Corporation, I want to show the network of power relations embedded in the restructuring programme. The Network of Power Relations The restructuring programme involves four parties: the World Bank, the government, the corporation and its employees, and the tenants, all of whom are involved in a power relationship. However, this relationship is unequal because the World Bank is a tremendous source of power. This power is vested in its policies. But this power would not have any effect if the other parties involved do not participate in the functioning of the restructuring discourse (Djokoto, 2002). The Bank’s power operates in both obvious and subtle ways. An example of its obvious power would be the conditions attached to structural adjustment loans. This is an example of sovereign power (Foucault, 1980). The World Bank exercises sovereign power directly over the government, giving it the option to either accept or reject loans.

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Sovereign power compels countries that receive World Bank loans to implement specific policies even if there is no evidence that such policies are efficacious. This is the kind of power that most analysts use in describing the Bank’s relationship with recipient countries. But when one looks at the effect of the restructuring programme in terms of how the government is changing its policies, for example, in relation to granting Cityline Corporation autonomy, an invisible power relation emerges (Djokoto, 2002). From a Foucauldian perspective, I characterize this type of power as disciplinary power. It operates when individuals and groups change their behaviour to conform to a specific discourse because they know that they are being watched.4 Thus, by implementing the Bank’s recommendation at the corporation, the government is participating in the production and circulation of the Bank’s power. Disciplinary power operates by means of surveillance. Surveillance is evident in the SOERP through the government’s own monitoring mechanisms such as periodic reports that the State Enterprises Commission prepares on the sector’s performance. One such report provided a review of the SOERP from 1984 to 1994 and presented recommendations for 1995 to 2000 (State Enterprises Commission, 1995). The report presents a general overview of the SOERP and the list of the SOEs participating in the restructuring programme. It also documented the financial performance of selected SOEs between 1987 and 1994. The Bank analyses this report and others that its resident representative prepares to determine whether or not the government is following the rules of the discourse. A World Bank report titled Bureaucrats in Business (1995) is evidence that it, indeed, uses reports that the government prepares to evaluate its own performance. The report is on the performance of SOEs in selected countries including Ghana. The document is based on data provided by the respective countries, and other institutions such as the United Nations and the IMF. The report addresses various aspects of the SOERP including autonomy for SOEs. The Bank did not single out Cityline Corporation, instead it focussed on the restructuring programme in the entire country. With regard to autonomy, the Bank concluded that overall SOE managers now enjoy more autonomy than they did before the restructuring programme. The Bank’s conclusion of the autonomy of SOEs in general means that the government is changing its attitudes to conform to the Bank’s 4 For a detailed discussion on the operation of the World Bank’s disciplinary power within the restructuring programme, see Djokoto (2002).

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policies. Thus, there is an unintended consequence of granting Cityline Corporation autonomy since the policies are also producing a disciplined government – one that is changing its behaviour because it is under the panoptic gaze of the World Bank. The periodic reports constitute apparatuses of social control that influence the governments’ attitudes and behaviours towards the corporation (Djokoto, 2002). But the government did not fully comply with all the requirements granting Cityline Corporation autonomy. I interpreted this as an act of resistance. I discuss this in detail later in the chapter. The corporation also submits quarterly reports to the State Enterprise Commission as part of its Performance Contract with the Commission. These reports are a means of surveillance because they enable the bureaucrats at the Commission to ensure that the corporation is complying with the elements of the restructuring programme. For the employees, the job reclassification, which specifies each person’s duties within the corporation, makes it easy for management to locate them and know what each individual contributes to the corporation. In essence the job reclassification is an attempt to make each employee known and governable (Townley, 1994). The withdrawal of government subsidies to the corporation limited the government’s participation in the marketplace and drew the corporation’s tenants into the power relationship. Due to the withdrawal of the subsidies, tenants now have to pay rents that reflect prevailing market prices. The World Bank’s power is evident by the impact of the policies on the tenants. Critics of this decentered view of power may argue that the government, the corporation and its employees, and the tenants are unwilling participants in the functioning of the restructuring discourse because of the country’s location in the international economy. Thus, they are compelled to participate because they cannot stop the World Bank’s power. While I do not deny the existence of the Bank’s power, I think adopting a macro view of power within this context is myopic since it glosses over the nuances of power relations especially at the micro-level. Such criticisms also deny human subjectivity. In the next section, I demonstrate that the various parties involved in the power relationship should not be perceived as passive victims of the World Bank. They are not totally helpless because as Foucault reminds us “where there is power, there is resistance” (Foucault, 1990, p. 95). The government, the corporation and its employees, and the tenants complied with some of the policies in the restructuring programme (See Djokoto, 2002). However, the World Bank’s power is not absolute because one cannot be in total control of the actions

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of others. The absence of total control makes room for resistance. Therefore, resistance is any action by the government, the corporation and the tenants that is contrary to the policies in the restructuring programme. However, resistance and compliance are not binary concepts because they are characterized by tension. Individuals’ resistance to a prevailing discourse may be part of a negotiation process. For example, some people may comply with parts, but not the entire discourse. Compliance may also be due to pragmatic reasons such as job security. But this cannot necessarily be interpreted as their acceptance of the discourse. Compliance may be due to multiple interpretations of a discourse.5 Next, I discuss the most obvious form of resistance, which is organized resistance. The nature of the power-resistance nexus with respect to the government, the corporation’s employees and the tenants are addressed next. The Tenants versus Cityline Corporation: An Example of Organized Resistance One of the policies in the restructuring programme is the sale of rental houses to the tenants and rent increases for those who cannot afford to purchase their rental units. Some of the tenants participated in the functioning of the discourse by buying their rental units while others paid the revised rent. Between 1991 and 1994 the corporation sold 112 houses (Cityline Corporation, 1994). However, some tenants who could not afford their rental units resisted the change and the situation became a flashpoint between the corporation and the tenants (Cityline Corporation, 1995). This is how a member of management described the conflict with the tenants: There are a lot of external controls on us. There are a lot of things we do not have absolute control over. For instance, we have houses, rental houses and we have tenants who have came together calling themselves tenants association and they can decide [how much] rent they want to pay and under what conditions. We can’t even sell our own property. . . . Based upon expert advice [our houses] were valued so much. Anybody who wants to buy will have to buy it at this price. . . . For certain reasons we cannot even collect our rent from tenants. Courts can also put an injunction on our actions and it can

5 For example, most of the workers at Cityline Corporation who participated in the study gave different interpretations of the restructuring programme. The multiple understanding of the restructuring programme may have contributed to their compliance.

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delay us. You send cases to court and the courts will never dispose off the case and once the injunction still stands you cannot act. . . . We have even gone to report to our sector Ministry and the Minister concerned is taking steps to try to resolve the problem out-of-court. But we have to agree with the tenants association that we are going to do this and that . . . but we have not agreed with the tenants’ association yet. (Personal Interview, Ghana, March 1996)

This quote raises two main issues: the formation of a tenants association to challenge the sale of the rental units and the rent increase; and the government’s response to the dispute. In order to fight the sale of the houses and the rent increase, some of the tenants formed an association to fight the corporation by seeking a court injunction to stop the corporation from proceeding with the policies. A judge granted the injunction. I did not see the documents filed by the Tenants’ Association to ascertain the exact reasons for the injunction. But some of the employees said the tenants claim that as taxpayers and stakeholders in the corporation, they did not think they should have to pay the prevailing market price to rent state-owned property. The tenants also claim that the corporation does not have the right to sell rental houses that they regard as “theirs.” Before examining reasons for the resistance, I provide the political context within which the Tenants’ Association evolved. The formation of the Tenants Association and their success in getting the court injunction is significant because access to the legal system would have been impossible before the late 1980s when the PNDC government began political reforms. These reforms were due to internal and external political pressures. The internal political pressures, especially from urban residents were consequences of the social cleavages created by the effects of the SAP (Callaghy, 1990). In order to build upon the rural support while attempting to gain legitimacy among the disaffected urban population, the government initiated political reforms that culminated in local elections in 1988 (Callaghy, 1990; Chazan, 1992). There were also external pressures from International Financial Institutions (IFIs) such as the IMF and the World Bank (Hyden, 1992; Kapur & Webb, 2000). Such pressures stem from the perception of institutions such as the World Bank (1989) that the continent’s economic problems were due to a crisis in governance. The Bank asserts that the presence of unelected governments, which are unaccountable, corruption, and the absence of the rule of law are partly responsible for the continent’s economic problems. Financial assistance to developing countries became tied to good governance (Gillies, 1993; Kapur & Webb, 2000). The political reforms in the

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country also increased the independence of the judiciary and this made it possible for the tenants’ case to be heard in court. Thus it can be argued that the IFIs are partly responsible for the political changes in the country that created the space for the tenants to demonstrate their resistance to the restructuring programme. The action of the tenants is organized resistance because they formed an association to respond to the policies. Their actions resulted in the court injunction that prevented the corporation from enforcing payment of the new rent. Rent increases by the corporation, however, are not new. If there have been rent increases in the past without any organized protests from tenants, why did they decide to come together to protest this increase? Their reaction is indicative of their resentment towards the restructuring. Underlying this anger are competing meanings about Cityline Corporation’s role, as an SOE, before and after the restructuring. The competing meanings can be analysed by focussing on the prevailing development discourse when the corporation was established and the current development discourse. Both discourses address the state’s role in the economy, a pivotal issue in the corporation’s conflict with its tenants. Two main phases of development discourse can be identified since the end of the Second World War: state-led and market-led (Moore, 1995).6 During the state-led phase, which began in 1945, the emphasis was on the state as an agent of development. This view of development was influenced by the modernization and dependency theories. Although both theories are different in many respects they had one thing in common, that is, to achieve economic growth through industrialization (Kiely, 1995). Unlike modernization theorists, dependency theorists such as Prebisch (1959) were critical of the international economic order. This criticism stems from worsening terms of trade between the poorer countries whose main exports were primary products and the richer countries that produced manufactured goods. Addressing this discrepancy led to import-substitution industrialization and the growth of SOEs in developing countries including Ghana. It was during this period that the Nkrumah government established Cityline Corporation and other housing corporations. The prevailing development discourse at the time also shaped the tenants’ perception of the corporation’s role. Characterizing the corporation

6

Both state-led and market-led discourses of development have existed since the invention of development after the second world war. However, the state-led discourse dominated from 1945 until the late 1960s when its influence began to wane. But it was during the 1980s that the market-led discourse became dominant (Escobar, 1995; Leys, 1996; Moore, 1995).

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as state-owned and having noncommercial objectives may have influenced the tenants’ perception of the corporation’s role. The discourse, therefore, provided a certain reality of the corporation, that is, state-subsidized. The tenants accepted this view as the way the corporation ought to function. But SAP minimizes the state’s role in the economy. This change eliminates the corporation’s noncommercial functions. Consequently it now provides a product and not a service. In conformity with this market-oriented approach, the corporation has created a marketing unit to advertise its product. It printed glossy and colourful brochures to promote its product. The prices of their products are quoted in U.S. dollars due to the volatility of the local currency.7 The corporation’s new role is different from the tenants’ perception of its function – hence the conflict and the ensuing legal action. Since the policies that the tenants are resisting, are crucial to creating a viable organization, the corporation approached the sector ministry for assistance in resolving the dispute. The ministry refused to be directly involved, instead asking the corporation to seek an out-of-court settlement with the tenants. The corporation claimed it made a lot of offers that the tenants rejected. In frustration the corporation felt “isolated and abandoned in . . . implementing a major restructuring objective” (Cityline Corporation, 1995, p. 11). Eventually, the case was settled out of court in 1997. While the government did not provide any reasons for its unwillingness to be directly involved in resolving the dispute, its inaction can be attributed to the kind of government that the SAP discourse is producing. In fact, some of the workers speculated that the sector ministry refused to intervene because there was an upcoming election and the government did not want to alienate the voters. If this was the reason, then it can be argued that this is an effect of the SAP since the political reforms in the country are due in part to the World Bank’s governance project. However, one can also attribute the sector ministry’s unwillingness to intervene, to policies in the restructuring programme that require it to operate at armslength from the corporation. This may appear contradictory because it is the government’s responsibility to oversee the implementation of the SOERP. Whatever the reasons for the government’s inaction, one cannot ignore the effect of the SAP in explaining the government response to the corporation’s conflict with the tenants. Thus, one can conjecture that, the formation of the Tenants’ Association, the court injunction, and the government’s unwillingness to be directly 7

Clients can pay the equivalent of the local currency.

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involved in the dispute demonstrates a strong relationship between economic and the political reforms occurring in the country. The incident with the tenants and the subsequent court settlement suggest that, the restructuring programme “can be both an instrument and an effect of power, but also a hindrance, a stumbling block, a point of resistance and a starting point for an opposing strategy” (Foucault, 1990, p. 101). Although the tenants did not have the authority to stop the restructuring, their resistance led to an alternative way of viewing the programme. The details of the court settlement remain secret but it can be perceived as a modification of the restructuring programme. Thus, although the restructuring programme cannot be reversed completely, their resistance shows that “hegemony is more unstable, vulnerable, and contested than previously thought” (Escobar, 1995, p. 95). Certainly, the World Banksponsored restructuring programme can be contested; it is not a model that can be accepted by the people as it is. The tenants’ resistance is organized and visible but the resistance from the sector ministry and the employees is subtle and invisible. The Government’s Partial Conformity to Cityline Corporation’s Autonomy: An Example of Invisible Resistance The government’s role in creating a viable corporation not only involves overseeing the implementation of the restructuring programme but also giving the corporation the authority to lay off staff, avoid price discrimination and control, and grant the corporation operational autonomy. There are no indications that the government interfered with hiring decisions. The government’s unwillingness to be involved in the dispute with the tenants is a sign that it wants to limit its involvement with the corporation. An unpublished government document confirms this: “from the perspective of SOE managers, the system is proving to be a useful means of formalizing, and thus reducing, ministerial interventions in day-to-day operations” (State Enterprises Commission, 1995, p. 85). But the Ministry of Works and Housing did not give the management the operational autonomy when it came to making a business decision regarding leasing land to a group of foreign investors. A confidential file that I saw while conducting the research indicated evidence of continuing interference by the sector ministry.8 8

An employee called me to her office, days after our interview session, and showed me the file. I saw the correspondence between the sector ministry and the

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The issue addressed in the document was about the leasing of land under the jurisdiction of the corporation to a group of foreign real estate developers after the restructuring programme began. Given the corporation’s operational autonomy, it should have handled this transaction. But the sector ministry wrote to the corporation saying that it wanted to deal directly with the foreign investors. The file showed a series of correspondence between the corporation and its sector ministry in which the corporation explained why it was inappropriate for the sector ministry to handle the transaction. The sector ministry’s response implied that because the corporation is state-owned, the government could decide arbitrarily on policies even when it contravenes provisions in the restructuring programme. It is not clear whether the sector ministry transferred revenues from the transaction to the corporation. But since there was no reference to the transfer of money in the letters and memos on the file, one can infer that no such transfer took place. For Cityline Corporation, this meant lost revenues, in spite of the fact that the corporation is expected to be self- financing and commercially viable. This problem indicates that the sector ministry violated a fundamental policy in the restructuring programme. The sector ministry’s action constitutes resistance to the Bank’s power to determine what it can and cannot do at the corporation. In other words, the sector ministry’s involvement in this transaction meant that it did not fully comply with the Bank’s policy, which limits its role at the corporation. Although, the corporation bore the brunt of the government’s action in lost revenues, the sector ministry’s involvement disrupts the functioning of the World Bank’s power. One can only speculate that the sector ministry was not in agreement with this aspect of the Bank’s policy but accepted it because of the conditions that were attached to the loans. Analysing the sector ministry’s continuing interference as resistance provides better insights into opposition to the SOERP because it moves away from the binary view of power which views opposition only in terms of the ruler and the ruled and instead addresses the multiplicity of points of resistance that exists within any network of power relations. Focusing on this type of subtle resistance may be beneficial to lending institutions, researchers and analysts interested in develop-

corporation. But the employee declined my request to photocopy it. Her reason was that the matter was confidential and very few of them had access to such files. Therefore, any leak could easily be traced. The secrecy surrounding this file is demonstrated by the fact she had to sneak into her boss’ office to pick it up (the letters were in a folder marked “confidential”).

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ment issues. This is because this analysis goes beyond Bates (1981) and other new political economists who attribute governments inaction on certain economic policies to self-interest. Thus, the Ghana Government’s resistance may suggest that governments in poorer nations may be unwilling participants in their economic policies but they can still maintain some sovereignty by not fully kowtowing to the demands of lending institutions. Another group of people that demonstrated opposition to the functioning of the World Bank’s power was the corporation’s employees. Partial Conformity by the Employees: An Example of Unorganized Resistance at the Workplace Due to the relational nature of power, any action by the workers that is contrary to the functioning of the restructuring programme is a sign of resistance. I looked for signs of resistance by examining compliance with the main aspects of the rationalization process, specifically, the job reclassification, performance appraisal, teamwork, and the enclosure of work. The job reclassification ended senioritybased title distinctions. For example, before the restructuring, there were grade-level distinctions for draughtsmen, such as grade 1, 2, 3 and so on. Now they all have the same title – draughtsman – irrespective of seniority or years of service. Members of management and the senior staff used their new titles. But most of the junior staff did not use their new titles when I asked them of their title/position during the interviews. Most of these workers were hired at entrylevel positions and were promoted based on experience and years of service. Before the restructuring, promotions were accompanied by a change in title. The titles became visible symbols of their status at the workplace because they differentiated between junior and senior employees within a specific occupational category. The job reclassification ended these seniority-based titles. Although the junior employees did not openly say that they used the old title differentiation as an act of resistance, various factors led me to conclude this way. For example, why would data entry clerks whose positions have been renamed from machine operators remember to use the new name for their positions but adhere to the old seniority-based titles? One could argue that they maintained the old titles because they were not accustomed to the new ones. But I wondered, why would they remember to use the new name for their position but add the old seniority-based titles? Another factor that

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supports this argument is that most of the employees who used the old titles said they were unhappy about the cancellation of the seniority-based titles. Here are some examples of their discontent, which may be interpreted as reasons for holding on to their old titles: I’m not happy. Calculating from [the 1960’s] I haven’t reached a supervisory grade. Now I will be going home soon [retirement], what do you want me to do? . . . I had a letter from personnel, that due to long-service I have been put on the supervisory grade and just around that time they started the changes. They said all of us have been turned senior draughtsmen, which meant reduction [in my position] and these are some of the problems. I have worked for about 24 years [and] I’m not even an ordinary draughtsman, I’m a technician with certificate backing it . . . I have taught about 2 people who were employed recently. . . . I’ve also served about 24 years, others have served 20 [years, but] they have classified us all as draughtsmen, how? Under the old system, to become the head of a section you start at a particular level. Maybe, from grade 3, or 2 up to the time you get there. But now even if I pick someone from the survey school, he would be a geodetic assistant. When I pick someone from the roadside who has been trained by somebody [that is someone who learnt the trade through apprenticeship] he too, would be a geodetic assistant. Then what is the essence of going to school?

The cancellation of the grade-level distinctions does not mean that all workers within the same occupation category are on the same salary scale. However, they were still unhappy because the title differentiation that distinguished between them based on years of service no longer exists. Their action can be described as an everyday form of resistance because it was not “necessarily directed at the immediate source of appropriation” (Scott, 1985, p. 33), that is, the instruments of power. This type of resistance is not visible, does not make headlines, and does not involve any confrontation with authority. Thus, not only does the use of the old titles reflect the workers’ rejection of the new titles, it is also an attempt to keep the old titles, which are symbolic representations of their cherished status that is no longer recognized. A new performance appraisal system has also been implemented. But not all the appraisers, mainly members of management, are evaluating the performance of their subordinates according to the objective criteria on the appraisal form. This is how a senior staff, described the problem:

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  ‒   About a year ago the guy at accounts . . . the director of finance, he is a very strict man . . . he took these evaluation or what do you call it, assessment forms . . . from other departments and he was very mad. While he was looking objectively at his people’s performance and awarding 3 and 2 points, others were giving 4, 5, 4, 5. Meanwhile 5 points is supposed to be exceed all expectations. So the justification for exceeding all their expectation wasn’t even there. So why 5? And people who are supposed to be in responsible positions wrote the 5 there. You see the problem. Here is the case he could not talk because he was from a different department and this thing [forms] had come from a different department and he was expecting that people would look objectively at the issues.

The issue that was raised in the above quote has to do with objectivity of the appraisers. In fact, a member of management also raised similar concerns. While it appears that the appraisers did not adhere to the rules, the problem may be due, in part, to the perception of the process as rational and objective. However, we can also view this lack of objectivity in the appraisal process as an act of resistance. If the functioning of the restructuring programme requires that the appraisers assess the performance of their subordinates, using specific criteria and this standard was not adhered to, then it means that their attitude is thwarting the power that is operating through the discourse. It may also be argued that the lack of objectivity arose because they were not accustomed to the new process. However, since we are looking at power as social relationship, the subjectivities that are being produced by the discourse are only possible with the full participation of the subjects. Thus, any behaviour contrary to the rule is resistance. Teamwork is a work value that was emphasized in the corporation’s corporate plan for 1994–96. Unlike the management and the senior staff, the junior staff knew nothing about it. The management said they were in the process of organizing training seminars to educate the rest of the workers about the importance of teamwork in ensuring the corporation’s viability. Despite its limited implementation, a report by one of the consultants suggests that there is some resistance to the idea. It states that: While management by participation9 can be positively used in the interest of the organization’s short and long-term survival and progress, the situation was the contrary. The long period within which such man9

Emphasis in the original.

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agement practices continued has enabled such culture to be so much deeply lodged in the minds of staff that it has seriously affected the success rate of the on-going restructuring programme. It has been the practice that any change which does not directly and immediately benefit the staff is resisted, no matter its short-term or long-term benefits to the Corporation. Even where a few staff will not benefit, the solidarity is such that the group they belong to will block such a change. . . . In brief, the existing culture is not conducive to commercial and competitive operations. (Cityline Corporation, 1994, p. 9)

The quote hints at resistance to change but it also emphasized management by participation. This can be interpreted as teamwork since the application of the concept within this context is about cooperation. Other aspects of the report made reference to formal bodies such as the Local Union and the Senior Staff Association resisting change. If the corporation is to be viable then the formal bodies and the informal “empires” created at the workplace must cooperate. But their refusal to cooperate is a sign that they are not in favour of all aspects of the change. The author of the report is one of the consultants hired to implement that change, and therefore, part of the management team. Not only is he a member of management, he is also a “trainer” and a “judge”, who is supposed to make sure that the workers change their work practices. The training process involves the workers putting an end to all work practices that contribute to lack of cooperation. The consultant’s observation of the absence of cooperation among the employees is a sign of resistance to this aspect of the restructuring programme. The employees did not show their discontent through mass mobilization neither did they take to the streets. Instead, they demonstrated their displeasure by simply refusing to cooperate when necessary. As indicated in the above quote, their actions affected the success of the restructuring. A macro level indicator of opposition to the restructuring, such as the number of strikes, cannot unravel this form of resistance hence the need to examine different kinds of opposition be it at the macro or micro levels. The enclosure of work was another aspect of the change aimed at improving efficiency by ensuring that workers do not breach the boundary between official and unofficial work. Most of the workers confirmed that they still do private jobs to supplement their income but they do not conduct such businesses at the corporation’s expense. For example, when I asked, a senior staff, whether he does private jobs to supplement his income this was his response: “As for that I do. Just last [week] a man brought me a feasibility study and I

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did it. These are some of the things we do to supplement our income. . . . I use weekends for my private jobs.” (Personal Interview, Ghana, May, 1996). Some workers continue to negotiate private business at the workplace. This is how a senior staff describes what happens: But sometimes there can be no clear cut difference between what you’re doing for Cityline and what you’re doing for yourself. The thing is that people do other things. . . . Let us be honest with ourselves, some people even claim that being here and having the opportunity to meet people they can work for is10 even better than being paid well elsewhere. If a plumber is here or a carpenter is here he can get jobs from here, . . . it helps, it supplements [the income]. (Personal Interview, Ghana, March 1996)

Most of the employees admitted that they have ready access to clients because the workplace provides a space for them to meet and negotiate the deals. For example, in discussing why he continues to be with the corporation despite the low salaries, a junior employee, points out that, he prefers to be with the corporation because he gets the opportunity to meets his clients: I don’t think it would help any of us if we actually want to quit and go on our own. Just because we give the land . . . people come here to give us the money to handle their private jobs for them. So going home or going on your own won’t help just because nobody may know [me]. Okay, like I said, I have been here for the past 20 or 24 years so may be I know some few friends who may know . . . that I have been doing a few jobs when I’m home. Otherwise since I’m here even the friend who is at accounts or a friend at may be Legal [Department], may even be contacted by a friend that ‘I want somebody to do something’ and he would recommend me. So this is how we find our private business. (Personal Interview, Ghana, April 1996)

Despite this admission by this junior employee and others, they insisted that they never do private businesses at the workplace. This is probably true because since the restructuring began, they have been careful to not violate any of the rules for fear of being discharged whenever there was to be another round of layoffs. But the employees’ admission that they still negotiate unofficial business at the workplace shows that the boundary between official and unofficial work is still being breached. Since the conditions that create the 10

Italics added.

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space for the clients to meet the workers still exist one can argue that the boundary will continue to be breached. The workers may not have resorted to industrial action to protest their displeasure with the restructuring but they have succeeded in thwarting the full implementation of the programme. This type of resistance may have been influenced by an existing form of labour control and by employees’ perceptions about the probability and severity of the management’s reaction. Some workers told me that their unwillingness to participate in organized protests was because of the fear that they might be included in future layoffs. The above discussions do not mean that there was no open confrontation between the management and the staff over the restructuring. There was one major incident with the employees in which they reportedly marched into the office of the Director of Administration. The director was frightened and thought he was going to be assaulted by the workers so he locked himself in his office. The incident was about severance pay that the corporation had to pay to employees who were laid-off. The union representing the employees wanted the severance pay to be calculated based on an old formula that would have required the corporation to pay them based on their years of experience. But management used a new formula introduced by the government that resulted in a significantly lower severance pay. The employees did not go on a strike over this incident, but some members of management described their actions as disruptive. Throughout the implementation of the restructuring, the workers had no direct confrontation with the government. Conclusion In this chapter, I examined opposition to the restructuring component of the SOERP in Ghana by focusing on both organized and unorganized resistance. First, I demonstrated how the World Bank exercised its power through the restructuring programme at Cityline Corporation. This type of power operated at multiple levels involving the government, the corporation’s employees and the tenants. Second, I argued that resistance was present everywhere and it took a variety of forms. Finally, I discussed the plurality of resistance by examining how the tenants, the government, and the employees responded to the restructuring programme. I do not deny the World Bank’s power instead, I have argued that the nature of the power relationship between the Bank and the other parties involved in the

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restructuring programme is very complex. Unravelling this complex network of power relations reveals resistance everywhere in the powernexus. Therefore, any analysis of resistance should not be limited to social movements or the mass mobilization of groups or people. Rather, resistance should be viewed as an everyday practice. Thus, in our attempt to understand opposition, we need to move beyond macro-level indicators or structures to include subtle and invisible forms of resistance as well. This form of resistance may not necessarily lead to the overhaul of macro-level economic and political agendas, but it definitely disrupts the operation of the power embedded in such agendas.

 

CREATIVE ALLOCATION OF SPACE AS A RESPONSE TO ECONOMIC CRISIS Kobena T. Hanson Introduction and Background Ghana’s post-colonial experience is best summed up as parlous and complex. It is an experience dependent on a host of elements, some internal and others external to the state.1 The experience encapsulates years of political chaos, mismanagement, and rut with a resultant ‘imposition’ of Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) to reshape the economic environment.2 The introduction of adjustment has somehow put Ghana on the front-stage. Placarded as the ‘darling’ and ‘bright pupil’ of adjustment, a model for others to emulate, Ghanaians have during the same period been thrust more than ever into the throes of economic hardship.3 The everyday survival of the individual in this era of economic uncertainty and change has assumed a central position in the literature, 1 Researchers submit the external factors as including the unfavourable terms of trade, instability of commodity prices on the international market, oil price hikes of the 1970s, and the adverse weather conditions (particularly the droughts of 1970 and early 1980). Internally, one can list political instability, uncoordinated development policies, a growth-pole development strategy that failed, inappropriate monetary policies which created inflationary pressures and distorted the ‘real’ exchange-rate, and an imposition of price controls which invariably discouraged production (Killick, 1978). 2 Events leading to the introduction of SAPs in Ghana have been extensively researched (cf. Frimpong-Ansah, 1992: Hansen and Ninsin, 1989; Rothchild, 1991; Rimmer, 1992). Similarly, its experience with adjustment is well documented. Ghana has been undergoing economic restructuring since 1983. This study does not, however, claim to establish a causal linkage between SAPs and household strategies. While acknowledging that present household behaviour is not solely the result of adjustment, it submits that adjustment did add a new dimension to the hardships of the pre-adjustment era. Adjustment is thus introduced to help focus the economic situation within which decisions and strategies are made. 3 Poverty is estimated to have “increased by 4.49 percentage points (in absolute terms) between 1985 and 1990, an increase of 15.5%” (Mkandawire and Soludo, 1999: 71). Mass redundancies, unemployment and the removal of subsidies have impoverished many. Living standards are falling, health and nutritional levels are on the decline, mortality and morbidity rates are on the rise, and food self-sufficiency has still not been achieved (Aryeetey et al., 2000; Chazan, 1983; ISSER, 1999; Rimmer, 1992).

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much of which links the phenomenal growth of the urban informal sector to the economic environment created by ‘market’ policies (Mackenzie 1992). Studies generally suggest an intensification of social struggle as wealth becomes increasingly polarized, forcing individuals to seek ‘flexible’ work methods and reorganize networks (Bangura, 1994; Moser, 1996). The ongoing change and uncertainty triggered a series of changes in individual and household efforts at survival. The interactions have contributed to a set of circumstances where individual and household agency, in tandem with their extensive resource networks of social interaction, rather than the state, have become the locus of efforts to combat socio-economic vulnerability and penury (cf. Dei, 1994; Maxwell, 1999). However, individuals and households are not homogeneous, and people of Koforidua (the study area) are no exception. Indeed, the struggle to survive has not only sharpened old social divisions, but also introduced new forms of accumulation. Some individuals have managed to exploit the new opportunities; others have not been so fortunate. Some tactics and decisions have brought them more success; others less. In certain instances they achieve and even transcend the elusive goal of autonomy and accumulation; at other times they fail miserably. Their experiences, therefore, raise several questions: What enables certain individuals and households to struggle successfully over some hurdles and fail with regards to others? How do people negotiate the economic changes which they confront? What elements internal and/or external to the household constrain or enhance one’s decision-making position with regards to ‘residential monetisation’?4 The study is itself inspired by an inadequate comprehension, in the literature and policy circles, of the power of people’s attachment to ‘a place of one’s own,’ in the process of engendering household survival. I argue that not only is the use of household space central to earning income and guarding against the economic environment, but also that it has further meaning for urban class formation under conditions of adjustment and neo-liberal reforms that permit only market capitalism as the objective of development. 4 Monetisation, as employed in this study, refers to the process of converting part of one’s residential space into either a commercialised or commodified enterprise (monetised space). This term is used synonymously with the terms commodification and commercialisation throughout the chapter. The designation residential monetisation, seeks to highlight aspects of the social economy and an urban culture that mainly bespeaks the struggles and daily livelihood interactions of people caught in a whirlwind of a changing world. The predominance of monetisation in people’s lives reflects the restrictions imposed by the ongoing economic regime. It encapsulates the everyday life processes through which individuals mediate different dimensions of power.

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Empirical Setting and Research Methods This chapter derives in part from a larger empirical investigation conducted in a medium size urban5 settlement in southeastern Ghana, located approximately 86 kilometres north-west of Accra, the capital (see Fig. 8.1). Culturally, it is inhabited predominantly by Juaben Ashantis (Akans),6 although certain quarters of the town are home to large migrant populations from other parts of the country. Methodologically, the study begins on the premise that one cannot adequately understand the productive and reproductive behaviour, aspirations, and adaptive strategies of households solely by employing direct questions. Hence, the need to triangulate research methods. To this end, the analysis in this chapter is drawn from in-depth interviews and participant observation of households. I also draw on data from a questionnaire survey conducted with 153 proprietors of home-based enterprises within the locality. Again, because of the qualitative slant, respondents are representative of a shared experience; they are not selected because of their demographic reflection of the general populace (Miles and Crush, 1993; Valentine, 1997). Landscapes of Survival and Escape: Confronting Change and the Creative Allocation of Space Monetisation, like all social relations of space, rests primarily on intra- and inter-household interactions (Soja, 1979; Lefevbre, 1991). As Fernández-Kelly and Garcia (1989) explain, it is within the household that the constraints of class, gender, and generation mesh, resulting in contrasting patterns of adaptation to the surrounding socio-economic system. However, for the majority of individuals and households engaged in monetisation, the fusion of the private and public realms, brought about by the interaction, also tends to situate them in a web of social, political, and economic relationships that are both a 5 The term urban, as employed in this study, follows the official Ghanaian census definition – any settlement of more than 5,000 persons. The classification is thus one of statistical categorisation, rather than one premised on socio-economic indices. Following this definition, therefore, any settlement which has populations of less than 5,000 is thus classified as rural. 6 The term Akan encompasses several ethnic groups inhabiting the greater part of southern Ghana, namely the Asante, Fanti, Akuapem, Akim, Kwawu, Nzema, Brong, and other Twi and Fante speaking ethnic groups. All Akans are subject to similar rules of custom with slight localised peculiarities. Most Akans define themselves culturally through their mothers. Thus, except for a few groups, all Akans are matrilineal.

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Figure 8.1: The Study Area – Koforidua

    

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product of their own making and a context that shapes their daily lives. Their freedom of agency is inescapably qualified and constrained by the social, political, and economic opportunities that are available (see Sen, 1999). One such simultaneously constraining and enabling element is the domestic arena which, for most people, is the traditional compound house7 (Fig. 8.2). This ‘lived space,’ for most people, is an encapsulation of many sub-spaces. At one level of spatiality, the room constitutes a private space, the domestic domain of an individual or household. On the other hand, the courtyard, toilets, and bathrooms are semi-private as all constitutive households within the larger dwelling unit have access to these areas. As well, there is the monetised venture within the dwelling. This space is at once private, belonging to an individual, yet public in the sense that it provides a public good and is open to all (Mackenzie, 1999). As alluded to earlier, the ongoing socio-economic changes and accompanying hardships have left an indelible imprint on the lives of many individuals and households. For many, the rush into residential monetisation is an issue of material survival. It is a response aimed not only to provide investment for the present, but also an insurance against future uncertainties. As one hairdresser indicated, this trend of people setting up shop at home is a direct response to the current hardships . . . ahokyire paa [unrelenting hardships] . . . some people even see us Ghanaians as magicians. Look, to be honest . . . these struggles are nothing more than a way to survive. The hardship is in our face, and we are just trying to make ends meet . . . just to survive, that’s all (Afua K., April 5, 1999).

Another lamented that, Sir, things are very hard . . . If I say things are not hard, I will be telling a lie . . . Previously people used to buy beer . . . at least two bottles each. These days two people rather share a bottle . . . I say it’s hard 7 The typical compound house structure in Ghana is rectangular and single-storied, comprising an open courtyard surrounded by a series of single rooms. Often, these rooms number between 12 and 18. In situations where the house takes on a multi-storey nature, the number of rooms will often double. In other situations, rather than single rooms, what predominates is what Akans popularly refer to as pie ne asa (hall and chamber): a large room partitioned in two to create a living room area (hall) and sleeping area (chamber). Most dwellings, often also have a common verandah running in front of all rooms. This space is used for cooking, relaxing, socializing children, or at times for monetised business, and is central to both inter-household reciprocity and conflict so common to these dwellings.

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  ‒  

Figure 8.2: Layout of a Traditional Compound House in Koforidua

    

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because the things are there, but there’s no money . . . Nnoɔma no de˜ egu hɔ, na sika no wɔ hin? (the goods are there, but where is the money?). So, we, like all the others who send their children to sell things on Sundays, are not doing it because we want to, but rather its because we have to . . . we have no choice (Uncle Sam. May 8, 1999).

Relatedly, landlords and store owners, in response to their own economic crisis, have developed a ‘culture’ of collecting up-front rent advances of up to four years, plus a ‘good will’8 before a tenant is provided access to the place (Hanson, 2000). Consequently, many prospective entrepreneurs, rather than deal with this added hardship, are setting up shop within the confines of their own homes. As one individual pointed out, “once you pay the huge sums being demanded as rent advance and good will, you are left with nothing to start a viable venture.”9 Monetisation is, therefore, theorized as a response to two sets of constraints. At the macro-level, past government corruption and mismanagement have combined with current neo-liberal policy initiatives (e.g. retrenchment, employment freezes, introduction of service user-fees, removal of subsidies, etc.) aimed at arresting the situation, have forced many people to seek private sector work and/or create their own employment. At the micro-level, high rental costs, politicised access to market stalls and store rentals, as well as competing interests and struggles between local interests, have also forced people to move home. Many women, for instance, complained about the influx of men into a space previously considered a women’s purview – retail trade. Similarly, both older men and women complained about the growing number of informalised ventures springing up because school leavers no longer can find public sector jobs. As a result of these developments, individuals and households have put their social relationships to economic use. Friendship has in a sense been commodified to assume a more economic rather than social importance. Information about jobs, required inputs, supplies, and food circulate within tightly knit social spaces. Exclusion from these circles of resource accessibility often 8 ‘Good will’ is a form of transfer fee not sanctioned by law, but widely practiced and culturally accepted in Ghanaian business circles. It is more applicable in cases of rentals for commercial purposes such as stores than rental accommodation. Often, location, size, and the purpose for which the space is being sought determines the amount of good will to be paid. In Koforidua, the going ‘good will’ rate for a reasonably sized store near the central market was between 2 and 5 million Cedis (US$ 800–2000) for a five year lease, in mid-1999. 9 Personal interview: Vic-A, April 15, 1999.

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leads to vulnerability, as coping with the environment becomes difficult. In fact, the developments have led to an evolving contestation between the traditional Akan obligation to kin on the one hand, and newer ties to well-placed friends, neighbours, and church members, on the other. In order to achieve economic survival, individuals and households have to carefully negotiate these social interactions and intermingle different social identities in complex ways. The interactions not only have resulted in a splintering of the polity into a myriad of sociability mechanisms as Espinoza (1999) argues, but have also created a social fabric mirroring micro-social processes of survival intertwined with the overall social organisation.10 Thus, it is no surprise that the socio-economic, cultural, and geographical landscapes – in Koforidua – are awash with a myriad of overlapping spaces, imagined ethnicities, invented traditions, and a host of constantly evolving identities. Consequently, the power relations involved in residential monetisation are not simply the struggles of a marginalised and vulnerable group against exploitative state and global neo-liberal interests. They have a lot to do with localized opposing stakes of gender, generation, and specific group interests. Faced with such developments, many individuals and households have been compelled to respond to the situation, often by mobilizing their slight resources and modifying their ‘little ecology’ – the household space – and its immediate surroundings to provide for and sustain themselves. So, while working in town is considered preferable by many, it is expensive and insecure. By comparison, the housing space, although not as bustling, has become a safer alternative. The decision to monetise the residential space has been a serious step toward achieving some measure of stability in their lives. Locating at home implies more than the possibility of future expansion. It further provides the advantage of ensured security, as well as the contingency for participation of family labour in productive activities. The essential difference however, in the conversion from non-monetised to monetised space, is having control over such space (Afranie, 1990; Hansen, 1997). Control, in the form of outright ownership or secure tenure, has been made possible by lineage ties, especially in the case of persons dwelling in family houses.11 In fact, such ‘secure’ 10 For other Ghanaian experiences, see Anarfi and Fayorsey (1999) on Ga female strategic alliances. 11 The family house popularly referred to as abusua fie in Akan, traditionally symbolizes a house which, over time and prolonged association, has become ‘the house’ with which the family identifies. Each member of the matrilineage (uterine kin) by virtue of birth right is equally entitled to it. Such uterine kin can seek accommodation in this place free of charge. So, for most people living in such dwellings,

    

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individuals engaged in monetisation conceptualize the positive benefits of working from the residential space in terms of a sense of freedom, peace of mind, no fear of eviction or harassment from landlords, as well as not having to pay rent. Such sentiments clearly reflect one’s control over such space, often embodied in the tenurial status, as it is mainly people in family houses and/or those who actually own these places who feel this way. Others, more so tenants, who are at home by default, either due to eviction from a previous location or being constrained by a lack of finances to hire a place in town, do not share the same sentiments. Tenants normally portray the monetised home-space as one essentially characterised by incessant tenant and landlord conflicts, loss of customer base, and high rental costs. Such persons are understandably reluctant to invest in a monetised venture because of their insecure tenurial status. As one elderly metal worker indicated, “why set up something permanent when you are only a ‘stranger’ in someone else’s house . . . seek ye first your own kingdom [house] then all else will be added onto it.”12 It must, however, be pointed out that exceptional instances do exist in which the process of residential monetisation appears to have consequences superior to those achieved by ventures located in town, and/or where people actually have the money, but still prefer to work from home. Proprietors verbalized such advantages in terms of imputed rental costs, flexible working hours, reduction in overhead costs, ability to draw on readily available household labour, as well as the capability to tackle both domestic obligations and business issues concurrently. Ultimately, these positive elements help proprietors to attain a good measure of profit maximization and accumulation. As one young enterprising hairdresser explained, Since I brought this venture home, its been helpful in diverse ways. For example, if my child is ill, I don’t need to close the shop, to go home and attend to the child. I am already here at home. I can temporarily delegate responsibility to my senior apprentice, while I am inside [the house] attending to the child. That way customers can still come and get their hair done . . . Again, when I was at the traffic lights [in town], any time my husband brought ‘chop-money’ I would have to close shop, go home and cook. Now, I cook whilst at the same time monitoring what’s going on [in the salon] . . . I don’t pay rent, I don’t fear anyone. Here, I am in control. So, to me working in here is better than in town, or hiring a place (G-Offei, June 17, 1999). their tenurial status is neither owner nor tenant but simply the rent-free tenure status available through familial obligation (cf. Korboe 1992; Amole et al., 1993). 12 Personal interview: ‘Maya’ July 6, 1999.

  ‒  

210 Another said,

When I started, I didn’t have the money to rent a place or to purchase a plot of land. So, you can say being at home helped . . . You can start shop at home without any huge sum of money as one would have to do if he decided to go and hire a plot or rent someone’s place. Again, the cost of working from home is no where near that of working in town or from a rented space. I have benefitted greatly because I have managed to use the money that would have gone to pay my rent, to purchase tools for my work. In fact, here, my clients can come and see me at any time. People even come at night . . . So, I always advise my apprentices to start from home. That way they can save for future expansion. (G. Takyi, May 5, 1999).

The above narratives do not only mirror the views of ‘secured’ proprietors. They also contain symbolic and material representations of ‘a place of one’s own’, capital, status, and ownership. It should also be noted that, although for many proprietors residential monetisation symbolizes a lack of the capital required to secure a place in town, for a select few it actually represents a conscious decision to utilize the comforts of one’s own place and to capitalize on the available ‘free space.’ The overarching reason for locating at home, in many such instances, is to carve out a niche for oneself by taking advantage of available markets within the local economy. This category of home-based entrepreneurs, many of whom have sufficient cash resources to hire a place in town, instead decide to locate at home, employing their estimated costs as further investment. For such entrepreneurs, and the others who pride themselves in being skilled at their ‘jobs,’ location per se is not a determining factor as far as business success is concerned. Business success to them is dependent on how skilled and professional one is, and how he or she relates to his or her customers and suppliers. Their argument being that, if one is dexterous at what one does, then “no matter their location, if even in a hole [isolated place], people will seek them out.”13 The aforementioned salience of ownership and/or secure tenure is also at the heart of Moser’s (1996) study. She notes that “households that either own their housing, or have security of tenure, have benefited from the use of [such space] not only in generating income but also in reducing the vulnerability of both older and younger members” (1996: 17). Aside from the power imbued in ‘a place of one’s own,’ the extent and form of the built and unbuilt space and their relationship in the 13

Personal interview: Anum S., April 14, 1999.

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organisation of the settlement; as well as the social resource spaces individuals can tap into, are also crucial for residential monetisation (cf. Hansen, 1997; Strassman, 1986; Yankson, 1998). Findings from the current study speak to the constant shuffling and struggles over frontages and courtyards, hereby termed ‘strategic spaces.’ These contested spaces, symbolizing ‘territories’ enmeshed in relations of power, are ‘battle grounds’ where individuals and households stake out claims for themselves. Although ‘hidden’ to outsiders, these battle grounds are very apparent to those inhabiting such dwellings, as they constantly negotiate such spaces. A teacher, moonlighting as a chemist, likened it to ‘sitting on a time-bomb.’ One wrong word spoken, or item wrongly placed, is all it takes to stir up trouble. It however should also be noted that these same contested spaces foster levels of supportiveness and reciprocity. As Sanjek (1982: 83) points out, the courtyard is an important arena of social interaction: “close cooperative social ties often develop among [persons] who reside in the same building . . . [often] through the sharing of amenities and courtyard space . . . [daily].” Such interaction, serve as the cornerstone of the ongoing spirit of reciprocity, and are continually created and re-evaluated through both material and informational exchanges. They again act as springboards from which individuals network. Additionally, individuals engage in strategic alliances to ensure that they can tap into numerous resource spaces. Consistent with Pellow’s (1991) argument, power is grounded in space, and space encapsulates social values. The control of space can alter the status quo. For instance, a key strategy employed by most women in their quest towards autonomy both at home and in the ‘market’ is the formation of strong alliances against men, as well as providing and receiving mutual help between matrilateral relations within matricomplexes.14 These alliances, like other gender specific associations – the Hair Dressers and Beauticians Association, Seamstresses Association, the 31st December Women’s Movement, etc. – constitute spaces where identities are created. They often operate as a discursively constructed feminine space partially removed from the practices of male domination. Such spaces provide many of these women with a profound sense of security, solidarity, and a means to express themselves in ways not possible in the male-dominated sectors of society. Men similarly 14 Anarfi and Fayorsey (1999) define a matricomplex as an economically based corporate kin group of matrilaterally related females, such as a woman, her mother, sisters, and their children. It is thus a set of matrikin relations with a material base that enables women to dominate other women, men and children.

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  ‒  

engage in such strategic alliances – either via specific occupational networks, social groups or even religious associations. Consequently, it is no surprise that the landscape is awash with a myriad of overlapping spaces and a host of constantly evolving identities. The social consequences deriving from these interactions constitute what is termed a culture of secrecy (Forest, 1993). They also constitute apprehensions toward the establishment of joint ventures. Working in tandem, these developments have engendered a culture that hinders partnerships and deters open collaboration; in the process contributing to the erroneous labelling of the society as a low trust community. The apparent lack of trust, especially between individuals engaged in the same type business, has also been reported by Kennedy (1980), elsewhere in Ghana, by MacGaffey (1987) in Zaire, and Marris and Somerset (1971) in Kenya. What the aforementioned researchers, however, fail to acknowledge is that, given the micro nature of most such operations and the uncertain economic environment they confront, many entrepreneurs’ initial goal is to ensure daily survival. Thus, their immediate economic priority is not to make profits per se, but rather to survive (Worsley, 1984: 119). In fact, this study suggests that proprietors apply this ‘culture of secrecy’ selectively. As rational actors, these entrepreneurs do not partner/collaborate blindly. Rather, they weigh their options, associating, exchanging market information and business strategies with others whom they trust, and in situations in which they perceive to be mutually beneficial. So, while collaboration may not be widespread, it does exist. Again, like many other individual and family establishments globally, their small nature and unwillingness to merge with others does not necessarily make them inefficient or an ‘obstacle’ to development. As Kennedy (1980) acknowledges, some do hire qualified non-kin personnel to assist in furthering business interests and productivity. These social actors, are doing what they perceive to be most feasible given the socioeconomic and cultural environment within which they have to operate. One proprietor succinctly pointed out: Ashantis normally say “a car jointly bought, is often sold in anger.” So, I don’t support joint property. Even buying property with your sibling is wrong . . . because if you and your sibling pass on, the surviving kids may not share the same goals and aspirations . . . resulting in litigations. So in my opinion the only person one should own property jointly with, is your wife and only your wife . . . However, if you have more than one wife then you can’t own joint property because, upon passing on, the children from the different women will litigate your property. (Mr ABZ., June 3, 1999).

    

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Said another, Never! It will get to a time when there will be confusion . . . joint ventures are not a good thing. I always tell people . . . find your own money and do your own work . . . because of dishonesty and jealously, I don’t like [ joint ventures]. As for my wife, I don’t mind setting up a joint venture with her because the children belong to the two of us (Uncle Sam, May 8, 1999).

And another, I personally don’t think it’s prudent to enter into a venture of such sorts. . . . ˜ede ns˜em bebree ba (it always creates numerous problems). It is only my children that I’ll feel comfortable entering into such a venture with, because whatever is mine is theirs and vice versa . . . The fact that you are on good terms with your sibling does not mean children from both sides [cousins] will be on good terms: this tends to create squabbles in future. I will thus not team up with my sibling or anyone to acquire property . . . not even my husband (Ms. A. Attaa, May 15, 1999).

The pervasive apprehensiveness towards joint business ventures cuts across gender, generational, as well as social status lines. To understand how entrenched this apprehension is, it is important to note that of the 152 respondents interviewed and the numerous others engaged in informal conversations, only 3 people mentioned favouring a joint venture. All others emphatically opposed the idea. The aforementioned social consequences notwithstanding, monetised spaces often provide a forum for discussion, a place to socialize, vent frustration against state policies, as well as an audience within which to incite change. I thus submit that, although the ongoing neo-liberal development policies, local contestations and consequent hardships are chipping away at “traditional family support systems” producing in their wake “social destitution” and “social exclusion” (MoralezGomez, 1999: 5); the situation has also created spaces of support such as the above mentioned to fill the void – particularly the emerging social networks and strategic alliances. The process, has itself resulted in the formation of a different type of social cohesion and sense of community. In fact, the dwelling space is not only the locus of interaction but is also implicit to the social system. In other words, it is not only an asset, workplace, and source of income, but also a means of integrating individual, household and community aspirations.

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Starting Up As with many activities involved in the market place, the importance of start-up capital and credit for home-based ventures has long been recognised. Unfortunately, for many individuals and households compelled to set up shop at home, the much needed access to start-up capital or credit is often non existent. Consequently, many are forced to rely on their meagre personal endowments, and whatever informal funding sources they can attract. Entrepreneurs, be they male, female, young, or old, spoke not only of the difficulties in obtaining institutional sources of funding, but that they also find institutional lending to be cumbersome, unattractive, and occasionally humiliating (especially for the illiterate). Particularly noted were the tedious credit procedures, frustration of following up applications and delays in loan approval. Others cited the bureaucratic bottlenecks, nepotism, and, as one metalworker put it, “too much paperwork” involved in securing institutional credit. Indeed, approximately 82 percent of the total survey respondents relied on personal savings and/or assistance from family and friends both to commence and thereafter sustain businesses. Commenting on the apparent inability of formal financial institutions to adequately cater to this segment of the population, ChamleeWright contends that the issue be considered not as a “matter of market failure, but rather a matter of poor cultural fit” (1997: 133). As she claims, [These] institutions . . . reflect a particular cultural context, one in which the entrepreneurs they serve are more often than not educated, literate and male. Entrepreneurs in this context demonstrate their credit worthiness with a documented credit history and access to collateral . . . [These] formal banking institutions do not fit the indigenous cultural context in which the typical entrepreneur . . . is often incapable of writing in the language of the banking community (1997: 133).

Entrepreneurs however note that the overarching attraction to informal credit lies with its flexible terms. Put simply, it is less complicated than dealing with the banks and formal credit institutions and devoid of the bureaucracy, intimidation and paper work. Accordingly, the most common sources people rely on, are: kin and neighbourhood contacts, family assistance, susu,15 private money 15 The term susu refers to the most popular form of rotating savings scheme in Ghana. The system is one in which members essentially “agree to make contributions to a fund which is given, in whole or in part, to each contributor in rota-

    

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lenders and various other versions of rotating credit schemes (Aryeetey, 1996; Aryeetey and Gockel, 1991).16 The consideration to offer such credit, be it cash or goods, often goes through an evaluation predicated on trust. The criteria employed to assess such creditworthiness, which in many instances meant trustworthiness, include the reputation of the individual, their gender, age, social network circles, personal recommendation from someone respected by the creditor, as well as the creditor’s own past experience with other similar clients. Once credit has been secured, people move to sustain such lines. This often requires a different set of protocols central to which are the adherence to prompt repayment schedules and a continued maintenance of cordial relations – a shared identity of sorts. The sense of a shared identity, be it gender, occupational, religious, linguistic or hometown ties,17 acts as an effectual asset in sustaining relations. Not only is this critical to keeping lines of credit open, but also it serves as a key information channel for many individuals. Such camaraderie, further helps cultivate culturally specific ways of acquiring capital and securing mutual assistance; and according to ChamleeWright (1997), possess the potential to foster the development of indigenous markets and ultimately national development. Specific groups participate in such reciprocal networks and strategic alliances – employing culturally defined social ties as a basis for getting-together. As with all social interactions that involve marketexchanges, there are other factors at play. These include attempts to secure and sustain credit, preparation and adjustment, planning and uncertainty, persuasion and resistance, trust and skepticism, frustration and excitement, as well as friendship and animosity. The dynamics, nonetheless, accentuate how social the monetised space is, and give meaning to the market activities and associated accumulation process.

tion” Ardener (1964: 201). The term itself, is said to be an adulteration of the Yoruba version Esusu, possibly introduced into Ghana by early migrant Ibo traders in the late 1800’s (Aryeetey and Gockel, 1991). 16 Due to page limitations no attempt will be made to address these specific sources of credit. 17 Ghanaians in general have a tendency to culturally identify with a place, often considered the ‘birth place’ or ‘origin’ of the lineage. This place is commonly referred to as the ‘home-town.’ Successive generations of residence away from this place of origin do not affect one’s cultural identity (Clark, 1994). However, what it does, is to exclude others who may be second, third, even fourth generation migrants from claiming place of birth and/or residence as one’s home-town (Campbell, 1994). So, in Koforidua, all but local Juabens are considered ‘strangers.’ Both ‘locals’ and ‘strangers’ understand and accept this construction of cultural identity.

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Scale and Scope of Market Activities An analysis of proprietors’ market spheres helps to indicate the level of exposure to vulnerability, especially that caused by changes in demand. Additionally, one’s market sphere also influences the scale and nature of operations, providing a window into the shifting boundary between success and failure, capital accumulation and mere survival, and the wider implications of these dynamics for community development. For the most part, the market spheres of most proprietors is localised – often limited to the immediate township. Many proprietors, although expressing interest in external markets, cannot pursue these markets because they lack the financial resources, do not have the labour power and managerial skills to achieve it. A relatively well-to-do woodworker with over 35 apprentices touched on the challenges associated with dealing with an external bulk purchaser: Well . . . it depends on what I am making for outside sale. If its just one set of furniture then no problem. However, these people [wholesale buyers] want everything to be the same . . . I mean exactly the same. They also want a lot in a short time. Well, we don’t have the tools or resources to stock up like that . . . that’s the problem (Ashong K., April 15, 1999).

The inability to meet demand of outside buyers that everything be ‘the same,’ produced in a relatively short time, and adhere to a scheduled time frame, has been put forth by some scholars as the difference between modern industrial production and the pre-industrial artisanal production such as occurs in Koforidua. This paper begs to differ, contending that these proprietors are unable to meet demand and standards not because they are ‘pre-industrial.’ Rather, it is because they lack the necessary resources required to enable them stock up on materials, purchase tools and machinery, hire extra hands, and confront inherited post-colonial urban building codes and bye-laws that do not take into account cultural values and living arrangements of the indigenous people. Accordingly, proprietors who seek out external markets have to be well connected to resource spaces or have substantial endowments of their own, lest they fail. For the majority who lack the necessary resources, they have no alternative but to compete within an already saturated local economy and market. The struggles between local competing interests, alluded to earlier, are derived in part from this ‘crowding in’ of the local market. The development has meant proprietors in order to transcend survival and achieve accumulation, need serious negotia-

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tions, shrewd transactions, and an aggressive campaign to attract customers. Aside from intensifying strategic alliances, participating in social groups, networking, having secure tenure and solid fall-back options, proprietors need to be creative. To this end, extending credit to customers, encouraging flexible payments, understanding market trends, and creatively pricing goods and services are critical to sustaining business, securing a client base, and accumulating capital. Pricing, particularly, is an essential element influencing market activities that most proprietors acknowledge and actually seek ways to employ it to out-manoeuvre their competitors. As one hairdresser pointed out, these days there’s lots of competition . . . I therefore try to out-compete my friends and colleagues [competitors] by being very neat and courteous to customers . . . People like neat people and places, and will recommend you to others, consequently helping my client base to grow . . . Also, as you can see, I give customers a free bottle of Cocacola® or Fanta® just to make them feel more at home. For the mothers with children, this is just super . . . and for me, it means business will continue as more people keep coming (Esi, April 20, 1999).

Said another, People come here [the salon] to style their hair or purchase creams on credit . . . I don’t consider it being free of charge because I ensure they pay back when they have money. What I have realised however, is that, this flexible payment arrangements actually draws more customers to this place. The way one treats her customers speaks a lot. . . . That’s why people like me although located on the outskirts of town, are ‘stealing’ the customers of colleagues in town . . . business is really going well. I started four years ago with only two apprentices and dryers, today I have 12 and 20 respectively. On weekends, no less than 100 people come here and when there’s a big funeral this number can double (Evelyn F., June 24, 1999).

The narratives above reflect the situation of proprietors who are generally doing more than just surviving. Many such proprietors are actually making capital, expanding both their scale and scope of operations. Clearly, extending credit and/or encouraging flexible payment terms opens up the market to these innovative and risk taking proprietors. Added to the above, proprietors seeking accumulation generally have to be able to ‘read’ the market and take advantage of highs and lows. In Koforidua, peak periods for certain groups of proprietors are as follows: seamstresses (Christmas, Easter, and funerals);

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metal workers (start of school year, Easter, and Akantukese);18 hairdressers (funerals, festivals, and weekends). Knowing these cyclical trends is pivotal for business and personal planning, particularly when to stock up, set deadlines, and seek extra hands. Proprietors, thus, employ their personal networks as ‘spatial cleavages’ via which information and resources are exchanged. Information control is generally considered a critical variable in dealing with insecurity (Moore, 1981). Access to the proper information is an important asset for the management of market insecurities. It creates a better basis for making predictions about the market situation and thereby reduces the probability of erring. Having durable reciprocal relations can greatly reduce market insecurities. Such reciprocal exchanges, often made possible by a shared sense of identity, are the basis for meaningful ‘back-scratching.’ The shared identity acts as the catalyst that ensures that trust relations remain strong (Hanson, 2000). Respondent narratives and field observations also suggest that although many individuals seek and strive to achieve accumulation, not all attain this goal. The actual proportion of home-based enterprises that manage to transcend survival into capital accumulation is small. Probably, only five percent actually do achieve capital accumulation. Many, however, do manage to alleviate and/or guard against their vulnerability. For this category, who approximate at least 40 percent of all persons engaged in home enterprise, success is being able to pay their creditors, put food on the table daily, not owe anyone, and the dignity of getting by without any direct financial assistance from any outsider. For these people, and the many others who despite attempts at home enterprise, only manage to subsist, the mobilisation, utilisation and management of the necessary resources required to ensure accumulation have been problematic. The constraining bottlenecks include inadequate supplies of new materials, capital and infrastructure, insecure tenure, limited exposure to managerial training and an imperfect marketing system. Market competition, particularly that generated by globalisation, has been a major problem for certain groups on home-based entrepreneurs. For instance, as a result of global competition necessitated by SAPs, specific groups such as tailors and seamstresses face stiff competition from second-hand clothes dealers, almost to the point of crippling the businesses of many (Smillie, 1991). For others, local competition is hampered by price hikes, and legislation. For instance, the imposition of outdated foreign urban standards and municipal building codes, and inflexible bye-laws have 18 This is the annual traditional festival of the people of the New Juaben traditional area.

    

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combined to create an environment in which homework is not in conformity with planning regulations. Hence the legality of such activities is contentious, often left to the discretion of the enforcing task force teams. Permission/approval often depends on the officerin-charge, and hence is somewhat arbitrary. Additionally, the New Juaben Municipal Assembly, under whose jurisdiction Koforidua falls, enacted and passed bye-laws under section 79 of the Local Government Act 1993, which were approved on behalf of the Minister of Local Government by the Eastern Regional Coordinating Council under section 80 (3). Three of such bye-laws have had direct impact on residential monetisation: a) Control of Building bye-law 1998: – no person shall erect any building work within the area of authority of the Municipal Assembly except under and in accordance with the terms of a building permit issued by the Assembly. – persons intending to erect or alter any building must submit a plan drawn to scale and in duplicate to the Secretary of the Statutory Planning Committee or his accredited representative who shall inspect the plan and make recommendations to the Assembly for the issue of a building permit. b) Control of Kiosks and other Structures bye-law 1998: – no person shall construct or keep any structure within the area of authority of the Assembly without first taking out a building permit from the Municipal Planning Authority. c) Control of Self-employed Artisans bye-law 1995: – no person shall engage in any trade as a self-employed artisan without first obtaining a license from the Assembly for the purpose thereof. These legislative instruments have contributed to the hurdles people confront in their quest to monetise. As a result of bureaucratic redtape and corruption, trying to secure the above-stated permits, on average, will take a prospective entrepreneur 3–5 years. If one should wait this long, whatever funds they currently hold will be rendered meaningless given the free-fall of the cedi (see Aryeetey et al., 2000). Consequently, individuals rather than wait, will start working on their place of business while trying to work through the red-tape – legally or illegally. These bye-laws working in conjunction with other equally out-dated planning and zoning codes have created in their wake, geographies of exclusion, domination and resistance. (cf. Hanson, 1994; Konadu-Agyemang, 1990, Sharp et al., 2000). A clear manifestation of this ongoing struggle and harassment19 is the all too 19

A classic example of government harassment occurred in May 1999. During

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common red-painted X often seen across kiosks, structures attached to dwellings, and ‘illegal’ extensions. These hurdles notwithstanding, people rely on their pervasive personal relations, patronage links, old boy/girl networks, religious ties, etc., to negotiate the barriers imposed by legislation (Hanson, 2000). Accordingly, the potential to succeed and achieve the accumulation desired often depends on what social and resource spaces one can tap into. The essence of having varied sources is that they tend to reinforce each other, providing channels of support (financial and social) as well as information critical for market competition. This is not meant to suggest that only people with pre-existing resources succeed. To the contrary, persons with links to numerous resource spaces, referred to in Ghanaian parlance as ‘connections’ – be they pre-existing or recent – are most likely to succeed as they normally manage to negotiate whatever hurdles they confront. Such persons, especially those whose ties overlap and cut across political, religious, occupational, social, and ethnic lines will most probably also survive against the international competition opened up by globalization and free trade reforms. For these people, their fall-back options are limitless. Clearly, the hurdles towards attaining successful business operations are myriad. Aside from those associated with tenure and resources, proprietors often have to contend with markets that are weak, saturated and/or distorted, legal restrictions, and a general socio-economic environment which is unf orgiving (House et al., 1993). Extrapolating from the above, it is submitted that the widely accepted notion of such ventures being characterized by an ‘ease of entry’ is not wholly correct (cf. Hart, 1973; ILO, 1972; Klu, 1985). Many obstacles do exist in terms of entry, but more importantly in relation to sustaining the venture. For proprietors, therefore, success not only depends on negotiating the hurdles of credit, market, policy legislation, and local competition, but also in having an excellent ‘business sense,’ creativity, and a drive to succeed. Consequently, rather than their activities being conceptualised as ‘traditional’ and ‘backward,’ I will contend that innovation and change the annual traditional festival – the Akwantukese, Koforidua was selected to host delegates of the 23rd World Tourism Organisation (WTO) Commission on Africa, and African Travel Association (ATA) Annual Congress, who were then in Accra. As part of this one day fiesta, kiosk owners were ordered to remove all their ‘dilapidated’ structures because they constituted an eyesore to tourism. Although many people rallied against this harsh decision, the task force teams moved in and removed these targeted structures. The event was reminiscent of Rawlings’ destruction of markets in 1979. It symbolizes the insensitivity of a state, which on one hand cannot create jobs for its citizens; yet it is willing to destroy what people have created out of their own initiative.

    

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are common among these so-called informal enterprises. Relatedly, this study refutes the misconception of such ventures as being merely providers of employment and subsistence to the urban poor with marginal earnings. Although a section of proprietors, especially people in activities such as petty retail, hairdressing, or clothing tend to have precarious returns, others in activities such as woodworking, food processing, and the drug-store business (chemists) earn in excess of ¢5,000,000 (US$2000) monthly. This is far more that what many white and blue collar public workers earn (cf. McDade, 1998; UNDP, 1997; Yankson, 1998). Some scholars seek to dismiss the aforementioned dynamic interactions as inefficient, corrupt or ‘backward’ (cf. Bayart, 1993; Chabal and Daloz, 1999). However, without an understanding of culture and people, it is often easy to discard that which is not understood or that which does not fit assumed models as ‘traditional’ or ‘backward.’ To scholars who expect an ‘African development’ fashioned along the lines of Western experience, the analysis shows that such a teleological impression is not realistic. What is occurring in Ghana today speaks to a radically different ontology which transcends Western models and experiences. Cultural values, beliefs, and practices are finding preferred meaning as borrowed models and pathways continue to fail. In the process, tradition and indigenous institutions are being merged with borrowed ideas and concepts to create a ‘new’ modernity, rather than being swept away. Indeed, as de Soto (1989) notes, these spatial relationships are people’s spontaneous and creative response to the state’s incapacity to satisfy the basic needs of the vulnerable masses. Such social interaction are individuals’ and households’ alternative ways of producing and surviving the suffocating and alienating control of economic change, and are a direct response to inflation, the employment crisis, the rigidity of formal work, and consumption. Not only have some of these home-based entrepreneurs managed to achieve autonomy and a measure of accumulation, but by their innovative tactics, also questioned the more respected planning myth of separating ‘work’ and ‘living.’ Conclusion The preceding discussion has presented an understanding of the dynamics surrounding residential monetisation in Koforidua. Employing narratives to depict meaning, an alternative epistemology of urban household adaptive strategies is depicted. It is an epistemology that challenges the passive categorisation of Third World households and speaks of the innovativeness and dynamism which such households

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employ in negotiating daily life. Individuals and households use these spaces as alternative ways of producing and surviving the suffocating and alienating control of economic change; and contribute to the economic margin that makes a difference to survive. Individual and household subjectivities situated in home, workplace, and networks, illustrate how identities and places are mutually constructed. Proprietors’ experiences of place, thus, not only weave together space, built form, behaviour, and ideas at the individual and household level, but also they do so within particular socio-economic, political, and cultural contexts. These spatial and social interaction dimensions are central to any understanding of the pros and cons of individual and household action. They speak to class formation and development within the community, raise questions regarding the appropriate role of the state and local leadership in engendering development. For proprietors and their respective households, the dwelling place has, therefore, become both a workplace and living space, a simultaneously public and private space. These social actors, via monetisation, have created, “in concrete terms, new public spaces, milieus where both ‘private’ domestic-community work and homework go on collectively” (Mackenzie, 1999: 424–5). The monetisation process itself is facilitated by state ineffectiveness in the face of serious economic hardship. It persists despite attempts by the state to intrude. In a conceptual sense, therefore, these people have not disengaged from the state nor attempted to operate outside it. Rather, their activities are “the products of an economy that is managed, however imperfectly, by the state, and they are clearly oriented towards living within that economy rather than outside it” (Hansen, 1997: 92). Taking cognizance of the socio-cultural and economic dimensions of these relationships will have implications for how development is viewed and practiced, and how interventions targeted at reducing vulnerability complement and empower local solutions, rather than replicate or undermine such initiatives.

 

DEMOGRAPHIC PROCESSES, ECONOMIC GROWTH, AND SOCIO-ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENTS IN GHANA, 1960–2000 Baffour K. Takyi and Isaac Addai Introduction During the past three decades, there has been much debate over the nature and extent of development in many sub-Saharan African nations, including Ghana. While the concept of “development” is not easily defined, it is acknowledged in the literature that the goal of development is to improve living standards, including reduction in poverty levels, increased access to basic education, and better health, as well as expanded freedom. From the viewpoint of economists, development is also synonymous with economic growth, a process that is expected to lead to improvements in people’s living standards. Thus, in reference to development, economists are apt to point to how a society is doing on such widely used indicators as GNP (Gross National Product), a measure of the total domestic output of the people in a country and GDP (Gross Domestic Product), the value of all goods and services produced, as indicative of their level of economic growth and development. More recently, the United Nations Human Development Index (HDI) has added another dimension to the economic interpretation of development. Under the HDI, progress is viewed as how it impacts on the lives of the ordinary person. Using any measurable indicator used by the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the United Nations and its agencies, what is apparent is that Africans, including Ghanaians have not been doing really well as compared to other world regions. Indeed, unlike in other parts of the developing world Sub-Saharan Africa’s share of global GNP dropped from 1.9% in 1960 to 1.2% in 1993, despite the fact that the region encompasses about 10.3% of the world’s total population (Todaro, 1997, pg. 656). In the case of Ghana, a similar trend has occurred over the years. Beginning in the 1960s, Ghana’s growth rate of GDP had fallen to less than 1%, with its foreign reserves dwindling and real wages dropping by as much as 45%. Similarly, public sector and industrial earnings fell by

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about 20 and 25% respectively (Huq, 1989; Rimmer, 1992). KonaduAgyeman (2000) reports that by early 1980, the rate of inflation in Ghana was estimated to be about over 100% and per capita GDP had fallen from its 1960 levels of $1009 to $739. As Todaro (1997, pgs. 332–334) points out, the country which once had one of the highest standards of living in Sub-Saharan Africa now has more than half of its population living in absolute poverty, very high levels of unemployment, and levels of health and illiteracy not much higher than those in other African nations (See Werlin,1994). Indeed, data from the Ghana Living Standards Surveys (GLSS) conducted in the mid-1980s and 1990s reported that about 37% of Ghanaians were considered poor as of 1988. Furthermore, an additional 7% were classified as ‘ultra poor’ (GSS, 1988; 1992; 1995). More importantly, the face of poverty changed during the period – from being a rural phenomenon to encompass the urban areas as well.1 In the national capital (Accra), GSS data shows that the proportion of poor people increased from 8% in 1988 to about 23% in 1992.2 As a result of the persistence of poverty and “underdevelopment” in the Sub-Saharan region in general, and in particular Ghana, a large body of research has emerged in which scholars representing different theoretical orientations have argued their case as to why Africa as a whole has fared worse than other world regions when it comes to advances in living standards (see e.g., Rodney, 1982; Ayittey, 1992, 1998; Ake, 1996; Todaro, 1997). The major theoretical perspective underlying this research can be categorized into two main approaches: studies that blame external forces for Africa’s predicament (e.g., imperialism and neocolonialism, depressed commodity prices, drought, diminished foreign aid, and foreign capital withdrawal), and researchers who look for answers within African societies themselves. In general, those who subscribe to the external interpretation argument suggest that Africa’s long colonial legacy and uneven development have something to do with its recent impoverishment and underdevelopment (see e.g., Rodney, 1982). This line of thinking was (and is still) popular among African nationalists who point to factors such as Africa’s external debts, unfair trade practices, price instability for their primary commodities, and a pattern of colonial neglect for the predicament facing post-independent African nations. In contrast to 1 Poverty is defined here to mean living on less than two-thirds of the national average income. In contrast, the ultra-poor include all those who subsisted on less than one-third of the average national income. 2 SAPs induced cutbacks in formal sector jobs, increased urban migration and the introduction of cost sharing strategies have also been blamed for increasing the number of poor people in Accra.

,   - 

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the externally induced interpretation for developmental processes in Africa, a practice that was quite fashionable at the early days of independence, are those scholars who blame internal processes in these nations themselves for Africa’s predicament and underdevelopment. Advocates of the latter argument contend that mismanagement and corruption, political instability, and the reliance on primary commodities (without diversifying), urban bias development, just to name a few – as helping to impoverish many an African (See Ayittey, 1992; 1998). While it is important to acknowledge the existing debate on Africa’s underdevelopment, in this chapter, we focus on one variable that is often overlooked in the discourse on economic growth and socioeconomic developments (even among some proponents of the internal thesis paradigm) – rapid population growth.3 Taking the case of Ghana, we will examine the relationship between population growth and socioeconomic development. We will specifically evaluate how the interplay among the three main demographic processes of births (fertility), deaths (mortality), and population movements (migration) in combination with compositional processes such as the age structure of the population have affected socioeconomic growth and development in Ghana. Our interest in the “population question” is based on the recognition that demographic processes (especially rapid population growth) and economic growth and developments (including increasing poverty) are interconnected and may have had far-reaching consequences for post-independence Ghana. The central theme informing the discussion is that “populationrelated issues” cannot be de-linked from recent socioeconomic processes in Ghana. It is from this perspective that the World Bank and its sister agencies (e.g., the IMF and the UNDP) have argued for a reduction in birth rates as a prerequisite for sustained economic growth. In arguing that population matters in terms of socioeconomic development, we revisit the theoretical debate on the impact of population growth on socio-economic processes. This debate pits those researchers who are of the view that population growth is beneficial (optimists) to society against those who contend otherwise and suggest that rapid population growth is detrimental to economic growth (pessimists). Population pessimists, following in the works of Malthus and neoMalthusians argue that rapid population growth affect developmental processes because “overpopulation” or “rapid population” growth tend to overwhelm any induced response to technological progress 3 For a succinct review of the links between population processes and economic growth, see for example Dasgupta (1995), Kelley (1998) and Barlow (1994).

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and capital accumulation (Coale and Hoover, 1958; Ehrlich, 1968). The argument here is that population growth has an adverse effect on socioeconomic developments, especially for the supply of goods and services. There is some support for the inverse relationship between population processes and economic growth. After decomposing population growth into its components of fertility and mortality, Barlow (1994), Kelley & Schmidt (1995), and Bloom and Freeman (1988) observed that measures of fertility (specifically past birth rates) had a negative and significant association with economic growth. As a result of this belief that rapid population growth has a negative effect on developmental processes, neo-Malthusians are among the champions of population policies such as family planning which has as one of its aims the reduction of birth rates. At the other end of the spectrum are the population optimists who argue that rapid population growth enables countries to capture economies of scale, creates the incentives for competition and specialization, which in turn could enhance productivity and thus promote technological and institutional innovation (Boserup, 1981; Simon, 1981). In between these two extremes are the “neutralists” whose findings cast doubt on both views and suggest that population growth has neither a significant negative nor positive impact on economic growth (see Bloom and Freeman, 1986; Kelley, 1988). Other scholars also use a variant of the Marxian theoretical framework in some cases and contend that the unequal relationship between countries in terms of economic, political and military power, and the position of many African nations in the world system condition their level of underdevelopment (see e.g., Gutkind and Wallerstein, 1985; Larrain, 1989; Rodney, 1982). In this scenario, then, the “population problem”, if it exists, is seen as a by-product of the unequal world system. In this paper, we take the neo-Malthusian point of view and argue that in a country such as Ghana with limited resources, rapid population growth and development are interrelated. Also, we suggest that the negative consequences of unrestrained population growth may have outweighed any benefits that may have come with such an increase. In taking this framework, we suggest that recent socioeconomic developments in Ghana are intertwined with population processes. In particular we contend that rapid population growth, the result of increased birth rate at a time of declining mortality, has in turn made Ghana’s population younger, thus requiring a lot of services from the limited resources of a contracting economy. Taken together, these developments may have led to an impoverished society where the ordinary person has limited choices.

,   - 

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As a backdrop to our thesis, we provide a brief overview of recent demographic trends in Ghana and the forces contributing to these trends. Following this discussion, we then explore the links between population processes and socioeconomic developments in Ghana. Here, our focus will be on the possible effects of population processes on our understanding of some of the problems facing Ghana at the moment. Before we proceed with our thesis, we must acknowledge that at the moment birth rates have started to decline in Ghana (see e.g., Cohen, 1998; Ghana Statistical Service (GSS) & Macro International (MI), 1999). However, because of decades of high birth rates, which in turn have made the population young, we believe that Ghana will be faced with the “population question” for some time to come given the momentum that has already been established in previous years. Second, we must admit that empirical tests of the links between population growth and economic developments have always been controversial and somewhat cloudy, because some societies have prospered without necessarily reducing their birth rates (see Bloom and Freeman, 1986). Third, we are not quite sure as to the short- and long-term impact of the HIV/AIDS epidemic on population processes in the country. However, most projections of the possible role of HIV on population growth in the sub-Saharan region are less optimistic that in the short run the epidemic would reduce growth rates (see e.g., US Bureau of the Census, 1999). Such an expectation is based on the existence of well-established forces (e.g., decades of high fertility, early age at marriage, age structure) that may in turn lead to further increases. Demographic Trends in Post-Independent Ghana and their Explanations While it is true to say that significant progress has been made in several sectors of the economy, and life expectancy rates have increased substantially since political independence in 1957, for many Ghanaians their real incomes have either stagnated or declined and poverty is rife throughout the country. For example, real earnings per employee between 1970–80 declined as much as 15% (UN, 1997). More importantly, the cost of health care and other social services such as education are slowly getting out of reach of the ordinary Ghanaian. To better understand the possible role that population processes have played in the impoverishment of Ghanaians, we must first begin by looking at past growth trends (Table 9.1).

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Table 9.1: Estimates of the Size of Ghana’s Population and Patterns of Growth by Specific Years and Time Periods*

Panel I Year

1948a 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990 2000

Totalb Births per Population 1000 (000) Est. Population

4,118 5,297 6,958 8,789 10,998 15,360 19,534

na na 49.88 45.48 40.97 41.40 29.81

Deaths per 1000 Population

na na 22.45 13.73 13.53 11.65 10.22

Annual

Panel II Intercensal Period

Rates (I)

Net # of Rate of Growth migrants Natural Rate per 1000 Increase (%) Population (%) na na 0.79 –1.05 –16.54 –1.08 –0.89

na na 2.74 3.18 2.74 2.98 1.96

na na 2.82 3.07 1.09 2.87 1.87

Period Growth Rate (%)

na 1950–60 1960–70 1970–80 1980–90 1990–00 2000–10

na 2.7 2.3 2.2 3.3 2.4 1.5

a: From Table 1.1 in Demographic Patterns in Ghana: Evidence from the Ghana Fertility Survey 1979–80. Edited by Susheela Singh, John Y. Owusu, and Iqbal H. Shah, 1985. ISI b: These counts vary somewhat from the actual count recoded in the various censuses * Data derived from several Tables, especially Tables 008, 028 (See US Bureau of Census,1999, International Data Base)

As evidenced in Table 9.1, as recently as 1948, the total population of Ghana was estimated to be 4.1 million.4 By 1960, Ghana’s total population had increased to nearly seven million people, an annual rate of growth of about 4.7% (Ghana Government, 1960). Of the nearly seven million people enumerated in 1960, 12% (800,000) were foreign-born residents, some of whom had resided in Ghana for several generations. As a result of the promulgation of the 1969/70 Aliens Compliance Order, the foreign-born population dwindled considerably.5 One consequence of this policy change was that, by 1970, Ghana’s pre-independence and early independence foreign-born population had been reduced to 562,000 or 6.6% of the total population (Zachariah & Conde, 1981). The effect of the 1969/70 Aliens Compliance Order on overall population growth appears to have been minimal. For, rather than decline as a result of the loss of a sizable proportion of its resident foreign-born population, Ghana’s 4 The 1948 census covered only the Colony and a few of the coastal areas of modern day Ghana. The Northern Territories and the Asante Confederate areas were not covered in that census. 5 M. Peil, “Ghanaians Abroad.” African Affairs 94 (1995), pp. 345–367. Also some have argued that Ghana’s economic problems actually started with the exodus of foreign workers, as most of the labor needs of the mining and cocoa industries were dependent on labor from non-Ghanaians.

,   - 

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population has been growing at about 2–3% per annum since the 1970s (Table 9.1). Currently, Ghana’s population is estimated to be over nineteen million, although preliminary figures of the 2000 Census put this figure at about 18,412,247 (GSS, 2000). While part of the pre-1960’s growth can be attributed to the changing definitions used in describing the geographical area of what is “modern” Ghana, the post-1960 increases reflect rising birth rates at a time of declining mortality in the country. For instance, sample surveys from the 1979/80 Ghana Fertility Survey (GFS), and follow up studies conducted as part of the Demograhic and Health Surveys (DHS) in 1988, 1993, and 1998, reveal that birth rates in the late 1980s and throughout the 1990s were rather high. Between the late 1970s and early 1980s, the Total Fertility Rate (TFR) [the average number of childern to childbearing women] in Ghana ranged from a high of 6.4 in 1979/80 to about 4.6 per woman in 1998/99 (GSS & Macro International (MI) Inc., 1999). Recent data appear to support the notion that a transition is in progress in the country (Cohen, 1998; Ghana Statistical Service (GSS) & Macro International (MI) Inc., 1999). It must be noted, however, that there are significant variations in birth rates among social groupings in the country. For example, whereas women in the urban areas have fewer children, women in the rural areas continue to have more children. Thus, despite the fact that fertility and mortality continue to decline in Ghana, it is also true that substantial gaps exist in the rate of decline. While birth rates have stayed exceptionally high throughout the past four decades, deaths rates have been falling since the 1960s. Declining death rates, the results of improvements in curative and preventive medicine, and advances in sanitation, hygiene and improved nutrition were given an added boost, especially under the Nkrumah regime (the first civilian government). Not surprisingly, during the same period, infant mortality rate (IMRs) dropped from 133 per 1000 in 1957 (MOH, 1996) to 77 per 1000 in 1988 (GSS & IRD, 1989), and 66 per 1000 in 1993 (GSS & MI, 1994). More recent data from the 1998 DHS suggest that, despite the economic hardships in the nation, IMRs may have fallen further, to about 56.7 per 1000 births (Ghana Statistical Service (GSS) & Macro International (MI) Inc., 1999; PRB, 2000). As a result of the declining mortality rates, more Ghanaians are now living longer than ever before, thus increasing the size of the population. For example, in the early 1920s, the life expectancy rates of Ghanaians was estimated to be about 28 years. By the late 1990s, life expecatncy rates had increased to about 58 years (PRB, 2000). An unintended consequence of the declining

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mortality rates without a corresponding reduction in birth rates is that, there has been an excess of births over deaths, leading to a steady natural rate of increase (see for example, Table 9.1). While emigration could have helped to reduce the population pressure on the country,6 this has not necessarily been the case as it is only recently that significant numbers of Ghanaians have left the shores of the country for other parts of the world (Takyi, 2000). Thus, the interplay between the two key demographic processes of births and deaths, more than any other factor, account for the rate of population growth over the past three or more decades. And as we have also pointed out earlier, the young age structure of Ghana’s (over half are under 16 years) population means that the momentum for further growth may have been set in motion for quite some time to come – in the absence of unexpected events.7 There are a number of possible explanations as to why birth rates have stayed rather high over the years. One such interpretation is that the demand for more childern in many parts of Africa including Ghana is a response to deep rooted cultural values, norms, and practices that support the existence of large families (Caldwell and Caldwell, 1990, 1987; Caldwell, 1982; Bledsoe, 1990). From an economic point of view, the contributions that children make to the social and economic well being of their parents and their households have also been cited repeatedly as encouraging high fertility norms (Caldwell, 1982). In this interpretation, African parents have been known to have several children as a way of accumulating wealth, as security in old age, for labor needs, marital stability stability, lineage continuity, and prestige (Caldwell, 1982; Boserup, 1985; Lesthaeghe, 1989; Takyi, 2001). Although the proportion of women marrying by age 20 is declining rapidly in some African countries including Ghana, Singh and Samara (1996) and Cohen (1998) report that by age 20 a sizable proportion of African women are married, with most marrying by their 40th birthday. Due in large part to the emphasis on childbearing and marriage, and pressures for large families, few people in Ghana are known to use contraceptives to regulate their fertility (Bleek, 1987; Population Reference Bureau (PRB), 2000; Ghana Statistical Service (GSS) & 6 It is generally known that this is precisely what happened during the European transition when countries such as England were able to export their surplus population through emigration and colonization to places such as Africa, Australia and the Americas. 7 For example, it has been suggested that the HIV/AIDS epidemic may reduce the population of sub-Saharan Africa. If infection rates continue to rise in Ghana, it is likely that AIDS may reduce the size of the country’s population.

,   - 

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Macro International (MI) Inc., 1999). According to data from the 1979/80 Ghana Fertility Survey, only 12.4% of currently married women were using contraceptives. By 1988, this figure had barely changed as the 1988 GDHS identified 12.9% of current contraceptive users (GSS, 1988). By the early 1990s, contraceptive use rates among currently married women had increased slightly to about 20.3% (GDHS, 1993/94), and currently stands at about 18% (Ghana Statistical Service (GSS) & Macro International (MI) Inc., 1999). Indeed, in contrast to what is happening in some parts of Africa – such as Kenya, Botswana, and Zimbabwe, the ongoing the reported reductions in fertility levels in Ghana has not been linked to increased contraceptive use (see e.g., Mbamaonyeukwu, 2000). Other studies point to the low status of women as partly responsible for the high birth rates in Ghana. Still yet, some researchers have argued that men’s influence in the decision making process affect women’s ultimate reproductive behavior (Ezeh, 1993; Oheneba-Sakyi & Takyi, 1997; Dodoo, 1993; 1998). Thus, Bankole and Singh (1998) observe that even in situations where women were educated and motivated to practice contraception, they could not do so because of opposition from their husbands. Rapid Population Growth and Compositional Processes: the Impact on Socio-Economic Development Regardless of the reasons behind the relatively high birth rates in Ghana, early into the 21st century, many Ghanaians are now confronted with a host of problems, ranging from poverty to reductions in their living standards. Not surprisingly, during the early 1980s, an attempt was made to stimulate the declining economy through IMF and World Bank induced Structural Adjustment Programs (SAP). Some analysts have argued that economic growth has occurred as a result of SAP, citing as their evidence the growth of the middle class and their consumption patterns (Yeboah, 2000). However, such an argument begs the question whether middle class consumption alone can constitute Ghana’s development. Konadu-Agyeman (2001) suggests that despite the recent attempts at reversing Ghana’s economic decline through SAP, poverty levels in the country continue to grow. What are the socio-economic implications of past population growth to the increasing impoverishment of Ghanaians? Can we attribute the state of socioeconomic developments in Ghana during the past four decades to population growth? While a discussion of the links between population and economic growth, especially among economists tend

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to be based on econometric models (see for example Bloom & Williamson, 1998), the reliance of these models to make our point is beyond the purview of this paper. Rather, we use secondary data from several sources to suggest that past demographic trends and processes may have hurt the country. Moreover, we suspect that these demographic processes will likely cause other disruptions in social development in the twenty-first century. In our view, and consistent with the neo-Malthusian framework of analysis, with a larger population comes a larger overhead cost in feeding, clothing, sheltering, and the provision of social services. This is precisely what might have happened in Ghana in recent years. For, while Ghana’s population grew at an average rate of between 2–3% for the most part of the 1960–2000 period (Table 9.1), its economy did not grow at a similar pace. In reality, Ghana’s economy declined during the 1970s and 80s (Konadu-Agyeman and Takyi, 2001). The imbalance between the two means the economy was unable to keep up with the teeming population. Most resources are devoted to the provision of the needs of the teeming population and little money was left for investment, thus reducing the standards of living of the people. With a high fertility rate, the composition of Ghana’s population is quite young. An estimated 47% of its pre-1989 population was younger than age 15 (Goliber, 1989). By year 2000, this pattern had barely changed with the under 15 age cohort accounting for 43% of the total population (PRB, 2000). Because of the age structure of the population, the demands of this dependent population in terms of social services and (as they get older) jobs have put an added burden on the economy. There is some evidence to support this scenario. Bloom and Williamson, 1998: 442, Table 7) have estimated that in many parts of Africa while the rate of real GDP per capita grew at 0.97% and the average rate of population growth was 2.64%, the average growth rate of the dependent population was 2.92% per annum. One indicator of the price of rapid population growth in Ghana is the rate of urbanization and its attendant problems. In terms of urban growth, there is no doubt that Ghanaian society is gradually becoming highly urbanized. Any casual observer of what is going on in urban areas such as Accra and Kumasi would attest to this trend. According to the available historical records, in 1911, only 117,000 people lived in towns and cities in Ghana. By 1960, this figure had changed in many ways as about 23% of the total population lived in urban centers, increasing further to about 36% by 1994 and 39% by 2000 (UN, 1997). Overall, it has been estimated that the annual average rate of urbanization was about 3.5% between

,   - 

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1931–48, 8.9% for the 1948–60 period, 3.8% during the 1960s, and about 3.9% for the 1970–84 intercensal period (Ghana Statistical Service, 1995; Addo, 1972). Urbanization by itself may not be a bad thing as urban centers have historically been linked to new ideas and innovation. However, in the case of many African countries such as Ghana, population growth and urbanization have proceeded at a faster rate than the “carrying capacity” of these cities. For example, while the rate of urban growth was about 4 per cent between 1970–84, the same cannot be said of the growth of social services and amenities such as jobs, water services and housing. This is particularly the case when it comes to housing the urban population since the available housing stock did not grow at a comparable rate as population growth. For example, the available data shows that only 1.7% of Ghana’s social investments went into the provision of housing and community amenities in 1980, increasing to 2.8% in between 1992–95 (UN 1997, Table 18). According to Adjei-Mensah (1998), Ghana’s overall annual housing production – by both the formal and informal sectors – increased from 28,000 units in the mid-1980s to about 30,000 in 1998. Yet, this figure represents only 21.4% of the annual need of 140,000 units needed for a population that is growing at a rate of between 2–3% per annum. It is thus not surprising that most urban dwellers, especially those in Accra-Tema, Kumasi, and Takoradi spend a sizable proportion of their income on rent (Konadu-Agyeman, 1998). The housing crunch has also led to the emergence of squatter settlements in the peri-urban areas of many major urban centers in Ghana (Yeboah, 2000). The result has been transportation problems, poor sanitation, unemployment and underemployment and overcrowding in cities such as Accra and Kumasi, especially among the young. The growing and young population and the nature of the available job market have led to severe unemployment and underemployment throughout the country, although discussions about employment trends in Ghana have to take into account recent changes in the state’s hiring process as a result of SAP. Historically, the civil service was the major employer of university graduates. However, with the onset of Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) programs in the mid1980s, the government had to cut back on public sector employment as a way of reducing government expenditures. As a result, several people have been retrenched in the past couple of years. According to Konadu-Agyeman (2001), the implementation of SAPs has resulted in the retrenchment of over 300,000 public sector workers. The Cocoa Marketing Board (CMB) alone retrenched 40,000

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workers in 1985, and an additional 12,000 were retrenched in 1987 (Konadu-Agyeman, 1998). The massive cut-backs by both government and, in some cases, the private sector, have reduced the size of the labor employed in the formal sector. The only sector that has seen some growth is that of the urban informal sector. Even here, the type of jobs available (buying and selling), and their numbers are quite limited, increasing the number of unemployed and underemployed further. In view of the sheer size of the dependent, the working age population, and the fact that the economy has not kept pace with rapid population growth, few jobs are available for the pool of workers. One of the consequences of the lack of jobs for the people is that Ghana has emerged as a major exporter of “surplus” labor (skilled and unskilled) in recent years. Thus, from a major immigrant-receiving nation for the most part of its history, since the mid-1970s, emigration from Ghana has increased substantially. It has been estimated, for instance, that about 10% of Ghana’s 1980 population of about 12 million lived abroad.8 Excluding the United Kingdom which has been the main destination of Ghanaian migrants, significant numbers of Ghanaians are to be found in some of the major European countries, including Germany, the Netherlands, Italy, Belgium, and Sweden, just to mention a few (Ter Haar, 1998). In North America the Ghanaian community in the US and Canada are quite significant. In the US alone, the 1990 population census enumerated as many as 20,000 Ghanaian emigrants.9 Since the 1990s, and with the passage of the Diversity Act, many more Ghanaians have moved to the US.10 In Canada, Ghanaians represent a sizable proportion of African immigrants.11 Apart from the rapid population, the emigration of skilled professionals, in particular, has emerged as a major challenge to Ghana’s health care system (see e.g., West Africa Magazine, 1982, pgs. 2319–20; 8

M. Peil, “Ghanaians Abroad,” African Affairs 94 (1995), pp. 345–367. This figure excludes the sizable number of illegal immigrants who were not enumerated in 1990. 10 Acording to State Department sources, in 1997 out of the 20,000 lottery winners for Africa, about 7,000 or more visas were (won) awarded to Ghanaians. In 1998, the figures were about the same. It is, however, not clear as to how many of these winners actually emigrated – although based on an informal discussion with other Ghanaians, it appears the majority did actually move out of Ghana. 11 This is evident from the numerous Ghanaian organizations-town unions, ethnic associations, churches, old student associations, and directories that are published in North America – especially in the US and Canada. The Ghanaian-Canadian Business Directory published in Toronto, Canada is even bigger than some city telephone directories in the US. 9

,   - 

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Davies, 1993; Rado, 1986). The Deputy Minister of Health in Ghana is reported to have indicated that Ghana needs 30,000 nurses rather than the current 10,000 at their posts if its health services are to run efficiently (West African Magazine, 1998, pg. 255). In part, the shortfall can be attributed to the loss of trained nurses to emigration over the years The lack of health professionals has severe implications for the health of all, particularly children. The United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) reported that about 30% of all Ghanaian children were malnourished to some degree, with 28% of children under 2 years considered as wasted, and 31% of those under 5 years stunted (GSS/DHS, 1994). The 1998 Demographic and Health Survey also reports that malnutrition is high in Ghana, with one in four children under five years of age stunted, 10% wasted and 25% underweight. Regional variations also exist in the nature and levels of malnutrition. 11% of all women were considered malnourished, falling below the cut off point of 18.5 kgm/m2 for the body mass index (Ghana Statistical Service (GSS) & Macro International (MI) Inc., 1999). 45% of all women and 65% of pregnant women in northern Ghana were malnourished compared to 30% and 45% respectively in the south. Compared to the 1960s and 1970, these are the worst of times for infant and maternal nutrition (Konadu-Agyeman, 2001). Another area where rapid population growth may have negatively affected the Ghanaian society is in the educational sector. At independence, and many years after that, Ghana had one of the best educational systems in the whole of Africa. Yet, by the mid 1980s, the educational system in Ghana was almost a shadow of its earlier past, suffering from lack of materials and teachers, and increased user fees. While it is true that the educational sector has suffered from government cutbacks due to SAP it is also true that the sheer numbers of Ghanaians who need admissions into primary and tertiary institutions have overwhelmed the capacity of the existing infrastructure. In reality, the country was considered as a middle-income country in the early part of the 1960s. Yet as early as the mid 1970s, there were indications that things were not right in the country as over two million of its citizens left for Nigeria and other neighboring countries in such of work. While considerable efforts have been made in terms of access, the introduction of a number of user fees, including books, furniture, building fees have made it very difficult for a sizable proportion of rural and urban dwellers (especially those in poverty) to send their children to school. More importantly, due to the high rate of population growth in the country, the facilities available have proved

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inadequate resulting in the decline in the quality and quantity of education. What these mean is that the rich people and those who are able to attend the elite and private schools are more likely to get admission to the few universities in Ghana. If this trend continues, then it should be expected that the increasing inequalities that have been perpetuated under the auspices of the adjustment programs would continue to get worse. Conclusions Although Ghana has recorded some significant advances during the past four decades, the economic circumstances of many Ghanaians have not improved that much. Ghana ranked 129th among 174 countries in 1995 and 133rd in 1999 on the UNDP’s HDI (UNDP, 1999). According to the IMF, at the current rate and pattern of economic growth, it will take the average poor in Ghana at least 30 years to cross the poverty line (World Bank, 1993). An important issue to socioeconomic development in the country is the extent to which its population growth has either compounded or made worse some of the problems that the country has encountered. In Ghana, these processes are more than evident in the following areas: urban growth, in employment as well as in the educational sector. The young age structure of the population has created the momentum for future growth. Although the reasons behind the emigration may be multifaceted the migration of Ghanaians should be viewed as part of the excess labor in the country that can find reliable and decent employment (Takyi, 2000). From an economic point of view, the excess labor leads to erosions in job availability and also wages, thus depressing the living standards of the people. Not surprisingly, it is this group of young men and women who continue to leave the country in large numbers in search of work and money. Will a slower population growth help in Ghana’s socioeconomic development? We believe this to be the case because reductions in birth rates can help slow the overall rate of population growth; thereby reducing the pressures on the state expenditures needed to provide social services and jobs to the teeming population. Second, reductions in birth rates may also reduce the hardships facing individual families. As the economic situation of many families improve, it is possible they would be in a position to save more and also invest their surplus capital. It is in this light that the recent recorded declines in birth rates should be viewed as something, which, if maintained, would in the long run help stabilize the country’s popula-

,   - 

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tion. Based on the available data, it is true to suggest that Ghana’s population has been growing faster than the available job opportunities for some time now. This imbalance has led to a high level of unemployment, which in turn has resulted in social unrest in some quarters of the society. Moreover, because there is an abundant supply of cheap labor in the urban areas, wages have been depressed for some time now. A sustained reduction in Ghana’s population growth can help alleviate some of the problems facing individual families and the larger society. This requires an intensification of family planning programs as a way to reduce the birth rates further. Increased education (for both women and men) could also provide for self-sufficiency and help to reduce the reliance on marriage and childbearing for longterm security. In a transitional country like Ghana, the links between development and population cannot be underestimated. It is time the two processes are viewed as part of the developmental process. Since most Ghanaians live in rural areas, any policy aimed at population control should make the needs and social environment of the rural communities its main focus.


 

INDIGENOUS INSTITUTIONS AND THE SHAPING OF DEVELOPMENT


 

CHIEFS IN THEIR MILLENNIUM SANDALS: TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY IN GHANA – RELEVANCE, CHALLENGES AND PROSPECTS Donald I. Ray Introduction In southern Ghana, the sandals of a chief have very special significance, as they are part of his/her royal regalia. When a chief is impeached and removed from office, the sandals are removed from his/her feet to signify that this person is no longer sacred, since the feet have touched the ground: thus this person is no longer a chief. The leader of the major nationalist movement, Kwame Nkrumah, led Ghanaians to independence in 1957. He became Prime Minister and then President of the Ghanaian state. On the way to achieving independence, he and his nationalist movement, the Convention People’s Party (CPP), defeated electorally several political groupings led by or on behalf of chiefs. On January 5, 1950 Nkrumah tried to move chiefs to support his nationalist movement by predicting that unless the chiefs supported Nkrumah and the CPP, the chiefs might well lose their sandals:1 in other words, the chiefs would be forced from their traditional offices once Nkrumah and his party gained control of the post-colonial state: “Those of our chiefs who are with us . . . we do honour . . . those . . . who join forces with the [British] imperialists . . . there shall come a time when they will run away fast and leave their sandals behind them . . .” (Kwame Nkrumah, Editorial, Accra Evening News, January 5, 1950, cited by Rathbone, 2000: 22–23. See also Nkrumah, 1957: 120; Arhin, 1991b: 31).

Nkrumah’s prediction did not happen to the extent or in all the ways that he might have expected: instead today chiefs in Ghana are wearing their “millennium sandals.” 1

Arhin, 1991b: 31. See also Nkrumah, 1957: 120 for his own account.

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The politics, economics and cultures of Ghana cannot be adequately understood unless traditional authority is also taken into account. Using the concepts of divided sovereignty, divided legitimacy, traditional authority and the post-colonial state, the relevance, selected challenges and prospects of Ghanaian chiefs are examined, especially with regard to certain aspects of state-chief relations, political culture, human security, development, gender and economic globalization. Traditional authority encompasses kings, other aristocrats holding offices in political structures that pre-date both the colonial state and post-colonial state, as well as the heads of extended families and other political-religious offices in decentralized polities that also date back to the pre-colonial period. Today such traditional leaders are often called chiefs in English. Such structures of traditional authority cover nearly all of inhabited Ghana and act as a political underlay to the Republic of Ghana. The influence and authority of chiefs varies greatly. All Ghanaians are citizens of the Republic of Ghana: most would also regard themselves as subjects of their chiefs. The simultaneous existence of loyalties for many Ghanaians by being both citizens of the state and subjects of the chief reflects the political realities of the Ghanaian state. Ghana is not just a state but it is a post-colonial state containing political structures known as chieftaincies that are rooted in the period of pre-colonial states and other polities.2 When Britain imposed itself over the various pre-colonial polities of what is now Ghana by means of direct and indirect force and/or treaties, Britain created and administered a colonial state with boundaries that eventually coincided with those of postcolonial Ghana. The British empire did not eliminate the various pre-colonial states and other entities that it absorbed into the colonial state. Rather imperial Britain subordinated these pre-colonial states, removed certain sovereign elements such as armies and the capacity to make treaties, and transformed pre-colonial “Kings” and other office-holders into “chiefs.” Chiefs were on the one hand brought into the colonial state when needed and on the other hand encapsulated when not needed by those who controlled the colonial state. For example, while the laws and courts of the pre-colonial states were used by the colonial state when it found it useful (or this was not a matter of concern to the colonial regime), the colonial state considered that its own laws and courts were superior and had the right to override those rooted in the pre-colonial period, which 2 See Shinnie for a discussion of the antiquity of pre-colonial state forms in what is now Ghana.

   

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were called customary courts and laws. These relationships between the colonial state and the traditional authorities were transferred to the successor post-colonial state. Since independence in 1957, the Ghanaian post-colonial state has faced a situation in which political legitimacy is divided or shared between the state and the chiefs. In a sense, the state and chiefs draw upon different roots of legitimacy. The post-colonial state can base its legitimacy on post-colonial and colonial constitutional legalism, the nationalist struggle for independence and electoral democracy, but not the religious legitimacy roots of pre-colonial political authority nor the pre-colonial roots of “custom” history or indigenous culture, as well as those aspects of pre-colonial constitutions and laws surviving into the present. These last two roots of legitimacy belong to the chiefs. At the least, the differently-rooted legitimacies of the post-colonial state and the chiefs present a distinctive political framework in Ghana. Ghana is a post-colonial state characterized by divided legitimacy. The relevance of traditional authority in Ghana continues to be recognized, inter alia, in constitutional politics and electoral politics, by the debates surrounding chiefs as cultural standard bearers3 and also around gender and land issues. Chieftaincy in Ghana is being challenged in a number of ways. Three major challenges are chieftaincy’s fundamental relationship to the post-colonial state and chieftaincy disputes (including ethnic components), the economic and political challenges of globalization (especially with regard to land as the social safety net of last resort), and how the male chiefs respond to issues of gender such as the struggle to incorporate queenmother/female chiefs into the National House of Chiefs and the ten Regional Houses of Chiefs. What are the prospects for Ghanaian traditional authorities in the first century of the second millennium of this era? Ultimately the ability of chiefs to respond to these challenges will determine their prospects. The creation and development of a Houses of Chiefs system as an addition to the institutions of Parliament and President is a major Ghanaian contribution to global governance, however.

3

See C. Owusu-Sarpong forthcoming.

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Who is a Chief ? Definitions, Constitutions and the Challenge of Gender Who is a chief ? What is a chief ? There are a number of ways of viewing and answering these complex questions. Examining the laws and constitutional provisions of the post-colonial state (and those of its immediate predecessor of internal self-rule by Nkrumah’s nationalists during he last stage of British colonialism) gives us insight into what Ghanaians who designed or controlled these states thought about chieftaincy. The laws and constitutions of the state form a political discourse that reveals what is the politically acceptable and dominant Foucauldian knowledge about chieftaincy by the members of the various factions of the Ghanaian political elite who dominated the dyarchic-colonial state and its successor, the post-colonial state, at different historic moments. From the point of view of the constitution of Ghana’s Fourth Republic, the definition of a chief is as follows: ‘chief ’ means a person, who, hailing from the appropriate family and lineage, has been validly nominated, elected or selected and enstooled, enskinned or installed as chief or queenmother in accordance with the relevant customary law and usage. (Article 277, Ghana Constitution, 1992)

This constitutional definition of chieftaincy needs unpacking. First, in order to be recognized by the state as a constitutionally valid political leader, the person who wishes to be a chief must be a proper member of the one or more families who make up the royal/noble family. In one recent case,4 an occupant of a paramount chieftaincy was disqualified by the courts of the Ghanaian state because one of his female ancestors had been a slave who was a concubine of the ‘paramount chief ’ in the 1700s. By custom in that chieftaincy chiefs cannot be descended from female slaves. Second, according to Ghana’s constitution, the chiefly candidate must have undergone a process of selection that is correct according to custom. Custom is really the (oral) constitution that outlines how a pre-colonial office was supposed to operate as part of a pre-colonial state or other polity. The pre-colonial state or polity is now called, in English, a chieftaincy by the post-colonial state of Ghana, which uses English as the official language of representation.5 This constitutional viewpoint of chief-

4 See Chieftaincy Appeal No. 12/93, 11th April 1995, Supreme Court of Ghana, Accra. 5 I am grateful to Prof. Penny Farfan (Department of Drama, University of Calgary) for her discussions of hegemonic representation in language.

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taincy raises other viewpoints: gender and the history of state formations are of especial interest here. Article 277 states that a chief can be either a chief or a queenmother. While this might seem to be rather circular reasoning, in fact it masks an important change in the definition of chieftaincy in Ghana, perhaps also for other African countries. Gender is now a factor in the analysis and practice of chieftaincy in the eyes of the Ghanaian state.6 The question of whether women can be chiefs, and if so what type of chief, including queenmothers, has been a hotly debated issue in Ghana for some time. In the early days of the December 31st Revolution, the Provisional National Defence Council (PDNC) had banned chiefs from being members of the revolutionary committees (Ray, 1986a: 81). However, in 1984 PDNC Chairman Rawlings expressed his admiration for the queenmother Yaa Asantewaa because she had led the anti-imperialist uprising of the Asante in 1900 against the British colonial state (Interview with J.J. Rawlings, August 7, 1984). Not that long afterwards, a drawing of her appeared on one side of a new currency note. By the end of the 1980s, Rawlings and many of his key PDNC advisors were pushing for paramount queenmothers to be made members of those Regional Houses of Chiefs where such offices existed in the Region. Some provision for getting membership for some paramount queenmothers in the National House of Chiefs was also considered. Attempts by Rawlings’ governments to get queenmothers into the National and Regional Houses of Chiefs continued throughout the 1990s until the end of his second term as President in January 2001. These efforts were given additional strength by the December 31st Women’s Movement (DWM) which sought to organize the queenmothers into their own district and regional associations of queenmothers. The DWM President is Nana Agyeman Rawlings,7 who is the wife of Rawlings and is also a powerful political leader in her own right. The DWM started as an auxiliary to the Rawlings-led December 31st, 1981 revolution and had grown into one of Ghana’s largest and most powerful non-governmental organizations by the end of Rawlings’ Presidency. Even with all of these efforts, attempts 6 In South Africa, gender has become a question that has limited the power of traditional leaders in post-apartheid South Africa. See Bank and Southall, 1996: 427. This question merits global concern. I have, I believe, been asked more frequently in North America about whether chieftaincy is compatible with genderdemocracy than any other question. 7 “Nana” is a traditional authority title that is usually applied in southern Ghana to a male or female chief as well as an honorific for certain members of royal families.

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to include queenmothers in the Houses of Chiefs system have always been stalled in the male-only Houses of Chiefs. Reasons for this have varied from the lack of queenmother-type offices in the North to the idea that it is not customary to have queenmothers in the House of Chiefs. Of course the Houses of Chiefs are not customary in the sense that they go back to the pre-colonial period. No doubt this debate will continue. During interviews with traditional court officials in 1990, the question of women’s eligibility for chieftaincy offices was raised. In one case, after the traditional officials had stopped laughing at the very idea of women being executive-type chiefs, the traditional officials explained that women could not usually hold, on a regular basis, such positions (which involved significant powers to make decisions on customary executive, legislative, judicial and land tenure matters). Rather, women from royal families were eligible to be chosen to act as regents in a care-taking, temporary role for that chieftaincy until a male royal could be found, selected and installed as chief according to custom.8 In the southern regions of Ghana many of the chieftaincies have a female chieftaincy office that is called, in English, the “queenmother”.9 The queenmother in Ghana, unlike the British case, does not have to be the biological mother of the chief but rather must come from the royal family of that chief. She is installed as queenmother according to custom. In the pre-colonial period, queenmothers were often influential political leaders. Queenmothers expected to be consulted by the chief/executive political leader on a daily basis on all types of questions. Queenmothers could be active political players in the affairs of state. Usually queenmothers played a key constitutional role of selecting new chiefs, (i.e. pre-colonial state office holders) and could as well lead impeachment proceedings against such office holders who were judged by the queenmother to be unsatisfactory. Queenmothers could act as leaders of the women in the community, especially with regard to social and morality issues affecting females. Queenmothers also had the power to act as judges in a limited range of civil cases affecting women and in which both parties agreed to be bound by the decisions of the queenmother’s court. Like the men who became chiefs with the imposition of colonial8 Custom is really the often unwritten constitution of a state or other political entity. Much of Canadian and British political history has been conducted under custom. In the case of Ghana, custom is also often used to refer to constitutional procedures that are rooted in the pre-colonial period. 9 For more on queenmothers as an institution and for case studies, see for example Rattray, 1929; Wilks, 1989; Aidoo, 1981, 1985; Stoeltje, 1995; or Arhin, 1985. See also Wilhelmina Donkoh, forthcoming.

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ism and the successor post-colonial state, queenmothers lost substantial amounts of power. They have retained some aspects of their pre-colonial powers. On the one hand, in many cases their advisory powers to the chiefs appear to have been considerably diminished. On the other hand, many queen mothers have retained their power to initiate and guide both the selection and impeachment of chiefly office holders. However, it may well be that queenmothers have lost more power than other types of chiefs through the imposition and implementation of the colonial and post-colonial states. Certainly it is true that a careful reading of the Fourth Republic’s constitution excludes (by not mentioning) queenmothers from the ten regional Houses of Chiefs and the National House of Chiefs. Since many chiefs are appointed to numerous regional and national state bodies on the basis of their membership in the Houses of Chiefs, queenmothers are excluded from participation in these decision-making bodies on the basis of their gender. Women from royal families in general are also excluded on the basis of gender from non-queenmother chiefly offices and so consequently from such state appointments that are granted constitutionally to members of the National House of Chiefs and the Regional Houses of Chiefs. Relevance of Chiefs in Present-day Ghana Ever since the various European empires created a category of political leaders known as “chiefs”, the colonial states and post-colonial states in Africa constantly paid and continue to pay significant attention to “chiefs” in various ways ranging from trying to control them, to trying to abolish them to trying to mobilize them to support this policy or that government. The British colonial state in what is now Ghana changed kings into chiefs. Britain attempted to control, but not eliminate, chiefs for imperial purposes. Nkrumah, in the lead-up to Ghanaian independence in 1957 and afterwards until his overthrow in 1966, very substantially reduced the power of the chiefs but did not eliminate them as a political-legal-constitutional category. His and all the other governments since independence have been concerned to control the chiefs but have not acted to restore substantially their powers or to eliminate them as a category of office-holders. Relations between the post-colonial state and the chiefs have varied greatly and have not been just a one-way exercise of power by those who control the state.10 Several statements over the last two decades 10 See for example Ray’s account of how the Gonja King publicly humiliated two district-level revolutionary leaders in 1984 (Ray, 1986a: 88).

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by Ghana’s heads of state and ruling parties quickly highlight the ongoing concern of the post-colonial state with chiefs. In early 1982, at the start of the December 31st Revolution led by Flight Lieutenant J.J. Rawlings, chiefs were forbidden from belonging to such revolutionary structures as Peoples’ Defence Committee and Workers’ Defence Committees. Chiefs were seen as being a counter-revolutionary category. Some eight years later, Rawlings saw chiefs in both negative and positive lights. As head of state and leader of the revolution, Rawlings expressed his concern in a 1990 speech to the National House of Chiefs. In a number of chieftaincies conflicts had broken out that totally disrupted the lives of the local people: All around the country, there are cases where the enstoolment or enskinment [i.e. inauguration] of an unpopular chief, against the expressed loyalties of the majority of the people, has brought development to a standstill, and has led to instability and even loss of life and property. (Rawlings August 23, 1990: 6)

On the other hand, Rawlings appealed to the chiefs to contribute their resources to the state’s efforts: “the institution of chieftaincy has so much that is good, so much potential to mobilize people for development towards a better life.” (Rawlings, 23 August 1990: 8) On the occasion of the State Opening of Parliament on January 12, 1996, now-President Rawlings expressed his desire to remove the provision in the Fourth Republic’s constitution that prevented chiefs from having an active role in party politics such as being elected as a Member of Parliament or serving in the cabinet (Rawlings, January 12, 1996: 2). This speech marked a major re-evaluation of the attitude to chiefs that the government had held a decade earlier. Nevertheless even with Rawlings’ overwhelming majority control of that Parliament, this was never enacted during his Presidencies (1993–1997, 1997–2001). Reflecting on the 1997 “riots, mob attacks on Police Stations and the brutal killing and maiming of their personnel by irate mobs”, President Rawlings attacked these and other “acts of indiscipline and anti-social behaviour that seem to be on the ascendancy in our society” which he blamed for blocking development and which formed a threat to democracy: “we must remember that the essential preconditions for the survival of democracy everywhere are an environment of peace and respect for law and order.” Conflicts over who should be the local chief were one of the major causes of “indiscipline and lawlessness” which thus directly threatened development and democracy (Rawlings, January 15, 1998: 7, 6, 11, 9). At the 1999 opening of Parliament, President Rawlings urged Chiefs to act as “. . . other local leaders of all persuasions” such as Members

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of Parliament, District Chief Executives11 in acting as channels of communication so as to moderate the demands of “their people” for development such as feeder roads and markets. Local leaders, such as chiefs and their people were counselled to wait for the implementation of the state’s development plans as articulated by the President and his political party. President Rawlings also indirectly referred to chiefs when he talked about the necessity of clarifying and changing the system of land tenure in Ghana. Land had to be made easily available to foreign and domestic investors12 rather than having them suffering significant legal problems under the present land tenure system in which chiefs and other traditional authorities play such a leading role (Rawlings, Jan. 14, 1999: 2–3, 23–14, 29–30). In the run-up to the 2000 presidential and parliamentary elections, Rawlings as the head of state expressed grave concern with chiefs over the threats that chieftaincy disputes presented to the peace, order, good government and development of Ghana: In my address to the parade of security agencies and the progressive voluntary organizations last week, I appealed to the nation to unite in order to build a better nation. Unfortunately, however, the leading institution which should lead in this national effort, is itself fraught with divisions and conflicts. We have, in recent times, witnessed too many bloody conflicts in chieftaincy matters, resulting in loss of lives and property. (Rawlings, January 13, 2000: 24)

On the cusp of the “Millennium,” then, the overall evaluation of the institution of chiefs by the Rawlings government that controlled the Ghanaian state was that the state wanted to enlist chiefs in a variety of state projects but often found chiefs difficult to manage and in special circumstances even saw chiefs as contributing to challenges of the state’s ability to govern. If one might paraphrase an old song, the Ghanaian state can’t live without chiefs and can’t live with them. In December 2000 the Rawlings government lost the presidential and parliamentary elections to the New Patriotic Party (NPP) led by Mr. John Kufuor. President Kufuor’s party in its election manifesto claimed parentage from a number of Ghanaians who had been chiefs, such as the late Gonja king, J.A. Braimah, as well as the Dagomba 11 District Chief Executives are the political heads of district level administration. Each one is appointed by the central government and must be confirmed by the local District Assembly or Metropolitan Assembly. In some senses they may be seen as performing the duties of a mayor with political and executive powers. 12 See the section on land and traditional authority in this chapter for further explanation.

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chief, Yakubu Tali, the Tolon Na (NPP, 2000: vii). President Kufuor himself is a member of the royal family of the Apagyahene at the court of the Asante king in Kumasi.13 The New Patriotic Party stated its support for chieftaincy in the 2000 elections: “Ghana has a rich store of traditional wisdom and institutions. The guardians of this treasure house are the traditional authorities. The NPP government will uphold their participation in the governance of the country.” (NPP, 2000: 34). Who are these chiefs and what underlies Ghana’s concern with them? Chiefs might not be the central component of the politics, economics and culture of Ghana, but chiefs are of great relevance to the people and state of Ghana. The National House of Chiefs, the Regional Houses of Chiefs and the Traditional Councils The “Houses of Chiefs” system consists of three levels: the National House of Chiefs, the ten Regional Houses of Chiefs and the more than one hundred and sixty Traditional Councils at the district and sub-district levels. Each Traditional Council is composed of the President who is the paramount chief or equivalent.14 and such other lower-level chiefs as divisional chiefs, paramount queenmother and other chiefs according to custom. The President of the Traditional Council has a seat in the Regional House of Chiefs. Each of the ten Regional Houses elects five members to the fifty-member National House of Chiefs. Each House of Chiefs elects its President and other executive members who form the Standing Committee (i.e. executive committee) to each house. Because of the unique overlord status of the Asantehene as king over all the other chiefs in the Ashanti Region, the Asante King is always the President of the Ashanti Regional House of Chiefs (Chieftaincy Act, 1971, Section 6 (3b) and 6 (5)). Besides the Standing Committee, each House has a number of other committees. The Stool and Skin Lands15 Committee deals with disputes and other 13 Such family links to chieftaincy are common in nearly all political parties and throughout the security forces, civil service, foreign service and universities and colleges. The elites of traditional authority and the Ghanaian post-colonial state are very much intertwined. In many senses they are different branches of the same political tree. 14 In a few Traditional Councils, the Presidency rotates amongst the paramount chiefs (if there are several) or amongst the divisional chiefs. 15 In southern Ghana (which was formerly heavily forested) special wooden seats

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questions over chief-held land. The Research Committee investigates the background to chief-recognition a variety of and other issues. The Judicial Committees determine and give judgement on issues of recognizing who is and who is not a chief, or what type of chief a claimant may be. Each House meets twice a year or more as needed. The committees meet as needed, usually at least twice a year. The National House of Chiefs was created in 1971 by an Act of Parliament (The Chieftaincy Act 1971, Act 370) and has most recently been embedded in the 1992 Constitution of the Fourth Republic (Chapter 22, Articles 270–273) as part of the state’s official policy of recognizing and guaranteeing the institution of chieftaincy (Article 270). This constitution gives seven major functions to the National House of Chiefs. First, the National House of Chiefs is to act as an advisory body to the state, including all government bodies under the constitution, that deal with “any matter relating to or affecting chieftaincy” (Article 272 (a)). This is a very broad and consolidated mandate that covers all manner of traditional authority matters in the social, political and economic realms of chieftaincy governance and customs and their interaction with the entire range of post-colonial state activities. Since there are chiefs or other forms of traditional authority in virtually every homestead, hamlet, village, town and city in Ghana, the scope of the National House of Chiefs’ authority can be better understood. Second, the National House of Chiefs was to develop and codify a unified system of customary laws and also to codify the rules of succession for every chieftaincy in Ghana (Article 272 (b), 1992 Constitution). The creation of a codified, unified system of customary law16 would have involved extensive efforts by many researchers over many years with the co-operation of many chiefs with various, sometimes differing, interests and interpretations of their own several systems of customary law. Were this to be done, it would have been possible to establish a uniform code of customary law. This could have been administered by chiefs, assisted by legal assessors, under state supervision and whose sentences could have been appealable to a state-run appeal court as has been the case in Botswana. In the case of Botswana, about 70% of all cases are brought before called stools are part of the regalia. This forms the physical manifestation of a chieftaincy’s legitimacy. Similarly, in northern Ghana, which is a cattle-raising area, each new chief sits on a cattle hide or skin. Hence, since land is seen as being attached to a full-fledged chieftaincy, the terms skin land or stool land mean land attached to a chieftaincy. 16 Woodman (1988) has a very perceptive analysis of what happens to customary law when it is codified and brought under state law.

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the chief ’s courts which use the codified customary law and operate in Tswana, the main indigenous language. These courts are thought to be so popular because they are more accessible, more understandable and less expensive to use than the regular state courts (Interview Commissioner Patricia D. Matenge, Customary Courts Commissioner, Tribal Administration Department, Ministry of Local Government, Lands and Housing, Gaberone, Botswana, Sept. 26, 1997. See also Sharma, 1999). However, the National House of Chiefs has lacked the resources, etc. to implement this part of its mandate. Similarly, the National House of Chiefs has lacked the resources, etc. to undertake the codification of customary laws on the succession and impeachment processes for each of the thousands of chiefs in Ghana. The state’s Chieftaincy Division in conjunction with one of the Regional Houses of Chiefs did compile such a document but the report was not released, reportedly because of disputes over the processes from those traditional authorities who had not been interviewed or who disagreed with the report. However, in the late 1990s, a new attempt at such codification of political succession was started. The National House of Chiefs received funding from the Konrad Adenauer Foundation17 to start a pilot study in 2000 on questions of customary political succession procedures in several regions. Thirdly, the National House of Chiefs was empowered by the constitution to evaluate traditional social practice. The House was not only to determine which customary practices were “outmoded and socially harmful” but was also to develop and implement strategies to eliminate such harmful traditions (section 272 (c)). The politicians of the post-colonial state appeared to be moving responsibility for the changing of social customs that dated to the pre-colonial period from their sphere of action to that of chiefs of the National House of Chiefs. The state was shifting this responsibility to the chiefs because the state expected that since chiefs dealt with customary rule and law (i.e. political and legal customs), the Houses of Chiefs system would also be the appropriate structure to deal with social customs. The Houses of Chiefs have discussed a number of important social custom issues such as the cost of funerals, widowhood and the treatment of certain girls and women under the rules of certain aspects of the traditional religions such as the Trokosi and witch camp practices. In the case of funerals, the Houses of Chiefs did condemn what has become the high cost of funerals in Ghana and recommended 17 This is the outreach arm of the German Christian Democratic Party, which has had a longstanding interest in traditional authority in Africa.

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that Ghanaians adopt less elaborate and expensive funeral practices.18 The National House of Chiefs does not have the legal power to prohibit what it deems to be undesirable customary social practices or the legal power to punish those who continue to carry out such undesirable traditional customs. In these senses the Houses of Chiefs are not legislative or judicial bodies, but rather they are forums for public debate of issues that would not otherwise receive much public attention. Furthermore, when the chiefs of the National House of Chiefs or one or more of the Regional Houses of Chiefs agree on the need to modify or eliminate a social custom, the chiefs lend their legitimacy and political and social authority to the issue’s resolution. As chiefs in the Houses of Chiefs are convinced to change their opinions on social and other issues, in turn they perform an important public education role with their subjects on social issues, and indeed on other issues. The National and Regional House of Chiefs can thus play an important role in helping to change public opinion. Without this change, the government would have trouble getting its own Members of Parliament, let alone those of the opposition parties, to outlaw or legally modify an undesirable practice. Indeed, if such a law were to be passed without the necessary shift in the opinions of the citizens, it might even be very difficult to get the police to enforce the law, as may well have been the case with the anti-Trokosi law (Interview with Justice Emile Short, Commissioner for Human Rights and Administrative Justice, Kumasi, June 28, 2000). Fourthly, the National House of Chiefs is in charge of giving official recognition to those that the House determines to be chiefs. In order to do this, the House maintains an official list of chiefs, The National Register of Chiefs (Article 270 (3b), 1992 Constitution) that was established in 1971 (Chieftaincy Act 1971, Act 370, Section 50). This national registry keeps track of the status of those traditional leaders who are recognized by the National House of Chiefs as chiefs by recording when they are installed as chiefs, when they are impeached and deposed, when they abdicate or when they die. The National House of Chiefs uses the government of Ghana “Gazette” to communicate these changes to the state, citizenry and others. This political communication of who is and who is not a chief is the exclusive responsibility of the National House of Chiefs. 18

In much of Ghana, funerals are complex, expensive ceremonies that take place over considerable periods of time and involve large gatherings of family, friends and dignitaries. Funerals are seen as important statements of the achievements and worth of the deceased and their families. Much prestige is at stake.

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Related to this is the fifth function of the National House of Chiefs: making the next-to-final determination on chieftaincy questions (Articles 270 (3a) and 273, 1992 Constitution). For example, the question may arise as to who is the legitimate chief in a particular chieftaincy. Disputes may arise at a number of points in the processes for the selection and deselection of traditional leaders: i.e. nomination, election, selection, installation or impeachment. The legitimacy or validity by which a traditional leader obtained or lost his/her office may be challenged on the basis of custom, which may not be widely known and which requires specialized knowledge. The first level of formal political structures at which a chieftaincy dispute not involving a paramount chief may be resolved is the Traditional Council. If the dispute cannot be resolved here, then an appeal can be launched to the Regional House of Chiefs. Since the paramount chief is the President of the Traditional Council, he cannot sit in judgement of himself. All disputes involving paramount chiefs are automatically first taken to the Regional House of Chiefs. Once a chieftaincy case reaches this stage a Judicial Committee of the Regional House of Chiefs will examine it. The Judicial Committee is composed of three member chiefs and assisted by a lawyer recommended by the Attorney-General of Ghana and appointed by the House. If the chieftaincy dispute cannot be resolved here, then the matter is taken to a Judicial Committee of the National House of Chiefs. This Judicial Committee is composed of five member chiefs and is assisted by a lawyer recommended by the Attorney-General of Ghana and appointed by the House. The hearings before the different Houses are often lengthy and may extend over several years. Also, besides these appeals, the Judicial Committees of the National House of Chiefs have original jurisdiction in chieftaincy matters involving several regions or those which do not fit into the conventional jurisdiction of a Regional House of Chiefs. If one of the parties is still not satisfied, they can appeal to the Supreme Court for a final judgement on their chieftaincy dispute (Articles 270, 273, 274). One chieftaincy dispute19 that recently made its way through the relevant Regional House of Chiefs and the National House of Chiefs to the Supreme Court of Ghana illustrates the complexity of such cases that are brought into the Houses of Chiefs system. The dispute centered on whether the occupant of a paramount chieftaincy was really entitled to hold that office of traditional leadership.

19 See Chieftaincy Appeal No. 12/93, 11th April 1995, Supreme Court of Ghana, Accra.

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The office dated back to at least the 1600s, possibly very much earlier. During the 1990s the then occupant of that paramountcy was challenged as being unfit to hold that office because it was alleged that a key female ancestor of his had been a slave at the time she and the eighteenth century office-holder conceived the twentieth century occupant’s ancestor. The defending occupant claimed that his female ancestor had been a legitimate female royal. The Supreme Court Justice, however, noted a number of discrepancies in the defense of the occupant. The judge was especially impressed by the fact that the occupant’s mother would not testify in court. How could any Ghanaian mother resist the opportunity to see her son become a chief, the judge asked? To become a chief was to achieve one of the most valued goals in Ghana. Therefore, the judge argued that the failure of the occupant’s mother to testify under oath in the Supreme Court that her son was not descended from a slave woman was strong evidence that the defending paramountcy occupant had “slavish” origins. On this basis, the Supreme Court declared that the defending occupant of the paramountcy was not a chief. After the appropriate customs had been accomplished a new occupant for the paramountcy was chosen and installed as the legitimate chief. The sixth function of the National House of Chiefs is to undertake various tasks that Parliament refers to the House (Article 272 (d)). Thus the House has a mandate to not only advise Parliament but also to carry out actions as Parliament requests. The seventh function that the 1992 Constitution assigns to the National and Regional Houses of Chiefs is to choose members as representatives to a variety of state bodies. For example, the President of the National House of Chiefs is one of the twenty-five members of the Council of State (Article 89 (2b)). One indication of the importance that the designers of the state constitution accorded to chieftaincy is that the President of the National House of Chiefs is the only membership category that is automatically and necessarily a member of the Council of State. This Council advises the President on important issues ranging from parliamentary bills to key appointments in the state, such as the Electoral Commission, which controls the political succession process of the post-colonial state, or the Public Services Commission, which controls most of the major staffing decisions for the administration of the post-colonial state (Articles 70, 90–92). The Regional Houses of Chiefs are each entitled to appoint, for example, one representative to such bodies as their Regional Police Committees or Regional Prisons Committees, and to appoint two representatives to the Regional Co-ordinating Council which is chaired by the Regional Minister (Articles 204, 209, 255).

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Land as a Challenge Beyond these constitutionally prescribed functions, the National and Regional Houses of Chiefs are also important sites for political struggle and conflict resolution, policy advocacy and public education, and other political communication. Land and chieftaincy disputes are two examples of the political struggles and conflict resolutions dealt with by the Houses of Chiefs system. In those British colonies which encouraged the immigration of European settlers, land was alienated early on and on a massive scale from the control of the indigenous peoples and their systems of land tenure, all of which were non-capitalist in operation and ideology. This colonial land alienation was accomplished variously by conquest, treaty and legislation, in what are now such disparate post-colonial states as South Africa, Canada and New Zealand. The degree and permanence of land alienation that the colonial settlers have been able to attain varies but the key point is that the indigenous peoples and their indigenous non-capitalist systems of land tenure were replaced by colonial regimes, their settlers and their capitalist land tenure systems. On the whole this marked a changeover from indigenouslycontrolled communal land usage to capitalist land ownership by individuals, for example, by fee simple land tenure. Communal land tenure usually assumes that land is not to be sold out of the collective group, say the extended family. Members of the collective group have rights to use the land, and indeed may inherit those usages, but they did not usually have the right to remove permanently and absolutely the enjoyment of that land usage from the collectivity by selling it. Capitalist land tenure assumes precisely this: land can be bought and sold just as any other commodity in the market. Land is to be considered purely as a source of profit to the individual, all nonprofit attributes of land are stripped away including any values that a community may have had about that land. As the transition from feudalism and communalism to capitalism took place in Britain, land was increasingly enclosed and cleared of those who did not have capitalist-style ownership rights or the capital to establish those market claims. Large numbers of these people were forced off the land into urban impoverishment, emigration abroad, hunger or even death. Thus, in Britain and in most of the settler colonies, the changeover from communal land tenure systems to capitalist, individual land-ascommodity land tenure systems disrupted the indigenous societies, impoverished most of the people and led to hunger and even starvation.

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In the 1980s and 1990s Ghanaian chiefs in the National House of Chiefs were aware of these social costs of changing from Ghana’s dominant system of communal land tenure to capitalist land tenure. Furthermore, the National House of Chiefs acted upon this knowledge by refusing requests from the Ghana government, backed by foreign and domestic investors and their agencies, to make precisely this change in land tenure. The lack of European settlers in Ghana during the colonial state’s existence meant that the demands to alienate land on a massive scale were not persistently and successfully pressed in Ghana as they were in the settler colonies: there was not a group who immediately demanded such land under capitalist tenure. The colonial state promoted the expansion of capitalism in response to imperial interests. In the case of what is now Ghana, the post-slave trade British empire was especially interested in gold, cocoa and timber. For a variety of reasons, British imperial and commercial interests did not need a large European settler population to produce these goods (Boahen, 1986; Metcalfe, 1964; Ward, 1948). Because of this, the demands of capitalism were limited in relation to land tenure throughout the colonial period and into the post-colonial until the 1980s. While colonialism was a major vehicle for the expansion of capitalism out of Europe from the late 1400s, since the 1970s neo-liberal globalization has been a major carrier of values and demands for the major capitalist powers, both state and non-state. While European colonialism threw the net of capitalism over much of the world and thus drew those areas into a globalized market or capitalist economy, capitalism varied in its need or ability to penetrate and permeate all aspects of non-capitalist life in different parts of the world. (Amin, 1996, 1998; Taylor, 1979). As the latest phase of capitalism’s expansion, neo-liberal globalization seeks to incorporate more and more of the globe’s peoples and resources into the global market economy, and thus to deepen capitalism’s economic, political and cultural control. Major neo-liberal globalization policies encouraged by the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF), multi-national corporations and the market-driven governments of Europe, North America and Asia are designed to open up the economies of the world for the benefit of major financial interests: open economies will lead, the neo-liberal finance interests argue, to growth in the global economy – the distribution of wealth is another question. Much of the thrust of neo-liberal globalization policies in a country is designed to provide inducements to foreign and domestic investors to invest in that country.

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Rawlings’ governments, from the end of 1982 onwards, responded to these pressures and this economic policy model by floating Ghana’s currency and easing foreign exchange controls, privatizing state corporations and in various ways facilitating the goals and activities of foreign and domestic business investors. Yet, while many aspects of the Ghanaian economy were opened by the Rawlings’ governments, the World Bank, etc., relatively little was done or accomplished to convert land from communal or customary tenure to capitalist land tenure. A key factor in this result is that customary land tenure is linked to traditional authority, who are either chiefs or heads of extended families. Some 90% of all land is held under customary tenure (Kasanga, 1988).20 Aspects of customary land tenure started to come under pressure from those wishing to privatize land as major cities such as Kumasi and Accra rapidly grew and the general Ghanaian policy environment from late 1982 onwards was increasingly penetrated and permeated by neo-liberal globalization ideas on the need to covert all activity into profit-oriented actions. Problems arose as the two different sets of assumptions on how best to use land came into conflict. Customary land is not supposed to be alienated completely from the traditional authorities in the form of absolute fee simple sales that would sever forever the land from the controlling chieftaincies and families. Such lands involve their ancestors, the present generation and their descendants. Customary land is not a commodity that could be bought and sold in the global market, rather it is linked to family values and the existence of chieftaincies. There is the saying: “What is a chief without land?” Customary land was for the use of those belonging to the relevant traditional authority. Land under customary tenure could be leased under a variety of conditions to those outside the family or chieftaincy (Kasanga, 1988). Leases were sometimes subject to disputes based on whether the person granting the lease legally had such authority since two or more family branches might be disputing who had this authority, i.e. of who was the proper occupant of the relevant traditional authority office. Several members of the relevant family or families might thus be caught up in a chieftaincy or other traditional authority dispute. 20 Larbi, 1996: 198 notes that there are three categories of land in Ghana: customary land, state land (both that acquired by state compulsion and customary land vested in the state for it to manage for its needs) and private land (which is “customary land acquired by individuals as freeholds”). See also Woodman, 1996 and Kasanga, 1988. Woodman’s magesterial volume examines how Ghanaian customary land law has been interpreted and implemented in Ghana’s courts.

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Succession disputes can discourage foreign investors and organizations when they discover that their land leases have been drawn into such disputes. Several Western embassies became involved in such contested leases (interviews, Ghana, 1992). Another example involved foreign investors who decided to establish a pineapple plantation that would export to Europe. The long term lease for the necessary land was signed between the foreign investors and that traditional authority whom the investors believed controlled the land. Having nearly completed the necessary production infrastructure and the preparation of the fields, the foreign investors were surprised when rival claimants to the traditional office demanded that the foreign investors cease all use of the land until the foreign investors had signed a new lease with the rival family group. When the original lease granters refused their rivals’ demands, they took the dispute to conflict-resolution mechanisms. Traditional conflict-resolution mechanisms can also involve the Ghanaian courts. Thus the foreign investors could see that their capital and initiative would be tied up in legal disputes without producing any profit for years. Foreign corporations and individuals wishing to invest in Ghana have accordingly pressed for changes in the system of land tenure. The Rawlings governments of Ghana actively attempted to remove or lessen obstacles to foreign investment. Furthermore, the security of private investments once the capital, expertise and technology had arrived in the country, as in the case of the pineapple plantation, needed to be protected by the state. This meant that the state had to take action to protect foreign and domestic investors in questions of customary land tenure if the demands of neo-liberal globalization were to be met. In short, the post-colonial state was expected to privatize and commodify land. Yet, from the 1890s to the 1990s, those traditional authorities who control land under customary tenure have rebuffed the attempts of the colonial and post-colonial states to eliminate such customary land tenure by replacing it with a new land tenure system that would commodify land, thus offering increased security to foreign and domestic investors. In March 1996, the Ghanaian Ministry of Lands and Forestry returned to the question of changing land tenure policy, by circulating a draft land policy that was designed “. . . to facilitate the present investment drive. . . .”. Amongst other goals, public sector institutions would administer the use of land so as to open up and protect the use of land, presently held under customary land tenure, for private sector investment initiatives. The Ministry argued that:

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Throughout the document the state argued that customary (i.e. noncapitalist) land tenure created country-wide problems for the commercial use of such land for agriculture, forestry, mining, industrial development and housing. The role of customary land tenure, administered by traditional authorities was clearly argued as resulting in: inadequate security of land tenure due to conflicts of interest within and between the land owning groups and the state, land racketeering, inadequate legislation, slow disposal of land cases by the courts, weak land administration systems which have deprived landowners and investors of the means for facilitating investment and development.

Conflicts and lawsuits between traditional authorities over the boundaries between them added to problems caused in some cases by unapproved and unreliable maps. The lack of accurate survey information had to be addressed. The existence and operation of seven major government bodies in the administration of land needed to be reformed. Beyond this, investors faced serious difficulties in getting access to land for commercial purposes. Even if investors thought they had achieved this, competing interests within traditional authorities could challenge this. Moreover, such disputes could escalate from the legal battles to literal battles between the contending traditional factions. The Ministry may well have been thinking of some examples discussed in the chieftaincy disputes section. In this ministry document, several major strategies were suggested as ways of solving land tenure problems that hindered the availability of land in Ghana for foreign and domestic investors. Some proposals were technical such as implementing more effective systems of surveying and registering land. The government committed itself to the principle that all Ghanaians would have equitable access to land as a social safety net. The main thrust of these proposals would have been to make land more easily accessible for domestic and foreign investors rather than for subsistence farmers and other non-capitalist users. For example, traditional sharecropping arrangements which had been accused of being abusive of the tenants for

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the benefit of the land holders (often traditional authorities) were to be changed into commercial leaseholds having clearly defined conditions and rents under a proposed Leasehold Law. Commercial market valuation would apply to all land. Such land values might rapidly rise. Undeveloped land was to be taxed at that new value in order to “allow land to be available on the market”. Going beyond the state’s proposals, it could be argued that the result might very well have been to force land from those who controlled it for customary purposes, e.g. family subsistence and prosperity through the generations, so as to allow land to go to those who could better use it, i.e. use land for the production of profit. The government seems to have assumed that the traditional authorities would cooperate in the giving up of their authority over land. The government knew that it was constitutionally obliged to refer questions affecting traditional authority to the National House of Chiefs. The National and Regional Houses of Chiefs were to “[u]ndertake reform studies . . . towards streamlining customary practices and adapting them to updated land use and management principles.” Underlying these proposals was a conflict of interest between the state and traditional authorities. Why should traditional authorities agree to give up partial control of their economic base, and thus part of their political base, just to please the post-colonial state, the World Bank, the IMF, the governments and corporations of the major capitalist powers as well as Ghanaian domestic investors? Because chiefs were organized into the National House of Chiefs that was a state-sponsored structure having constitutional recognition and jurisdiction, the traditional authorities were able to mount an effective defense of their customary land tenure. The Ministry report was referred for action to the Lands Committee of the National House of Chiefs. The 1996 reply from the Chairman of the Lands Committee of the National House of Chiefs, Osagyefo21 Kuntunkinunku II (Okyenhene22 and then President of the Eastern Regional House of Chiefs) argued that Ghanaians favoured customary land tenure because they understood it as it formed part of their culture and promised all who were linked to customary land tenure that they would have access to land for farming and housing. Thus customary land tenure was a social safety net of last resort:

21 22

Traditional authority title meaning “one who saves in battle” (Dickson, 1991: 146). Traditional authority title of the paramount chief or king of Akyem Abuakwa.

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  ‒   Not least among the merits [of customary land tenure], is what could be described as the system’s “in-built insurance policy”, by making land the recourse of last resort available to every citizen. This fact was demonstrated, during the lean period of recent past (1983), when most city workers were able to repair quickly to family and other acquired lands, for cultivation to supplement their meagre city earnings – a contingency which substantially mitigated an otherwise intolerable situation. That this could happen so easily was due to our indigenous system.

The essence of the traditional share-cropping systems was defended. The National House of Chiefs approved some reforms of the government’s proposed technical measures and suggested others. Those government proposals that would convert land into a commodity responsive to market needs and which would have removed land from the control of traditional authorities were challenged and rejected. Attempts to do this had been made by the colonial and Ghanaian governments in 1894, 1897, 1912, the 1940s and 1950s and most recently in 1987. These had failed. The government’s 1996 proposals would provoke strong opposition to any government attempts to do so. The National House of Chiefs argued that “History teaches that in Ghana, there is a psychological attachment to ancestral lands and stools of such potency that it is ignored or under-estimated, at great social risk.” Furthermore, such opposition could well escalate into violent uprisings. The National House of Chiefs cited the example of “the recent land disputes involving certain ethnic groups in the northern parts of the country.” The government, going into an election year, did not pursue this proposed policy change with regard to the privatization of land. Instead, government agencies and the World Bank have been exploring how to register land. (Interviews, Ghana, June–July, 2000). Not only did the traditional authorities in the form of the National House of Chiefs have a non-capitalist view of land, but they were firmly determined not to undermine customary land tenure upon which part of their authority depends.23 In this case, traditional authorities led by the National House of Chiefs prevailed over the interests of the state and investors. However, land tenure remains a policy question that political parties continue to address. During the 2000 presidential and parlia23 Would traditional authorities change their attitude towards customary land tenure and embrace a version of capitalist land tenure? Certainly given the participation of many chiefs in commerce, both historically (Wilks, 1989) and in the present (Ray, 1990), this would be possible. See Ommer (1986) for a discussion of this process with regard to the Scottish Highland clan chiefs.

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mentary elections, the NPP warned that “land tenure has become increasingly insecure” (NPP, 2000: 36). Now that the NPP has won the 2000 elections, the NPP will no doubt move to address its concern to reform the land tenure system in such ways as to preserve the interests of traditional authorities, investors and future generations of Ghanaians (NPP, 2000: 16). Chieftaincy Disputes as a Challenge Chieftaincy disputes have long been a source of minor and major political struggles for many Ghanaians. Most of these chieftaincy disputes have been resolved peacefully by the chiefs and courts invoking custom and customary law, the judicial procedures of the Houses of Chiefs system and the courts of the Republic of Ghana, or by mediation efforts of the Council of State and other offices of the state. Other chieftaincy disputes may become violent, resulting in injuries to people, even loss of life, as well as the destruction of animals and property and the serious disruption of life, development and democracy after the violence has occurred. Whether chieftaincy disputes are addressed by customary or state law, the House of Chiefs system, mediation or violence, they demonstrate the continuing importance of chieftaincy to many Ghanaians. What are these chieftaincy disputes? Chieftaincy disputes are conflicts over the political legitimacy of a traditional office-holder or candidate in terms of the selection or deselection processes for that office, or whether or not that office-holder has acted properly in that office, or whether or not that traditional authority is recognized as being valid by the people involved. While the political legitimacy of the major state executive and legislative office-holders (i.e. President and Parliament), is tested and resolved by elections every four years, chiefs face the daily possibility of a challenge to their political legitimacy. Chieftaincy disputes may go through peaceful or violent phases or a combination of both. At any one time, hundreds of chieftaincy disputes may be happening. Many are resolved fairly quickly, while others drag on over the years. The legitimacy of political succession is a major cause of chieftaincy disputes in Ghana. In some cases, the custom of rotating the chieftaincy office amongst the several sub-units of the royal family (or there may be two or more royal families eligible for the office) may result in disputes over which family is entitled to put forward a candidate or candidates for the office. In one case at Winneba (People’s Daily Graphic, 1993/12/13) on the coast to the west of Accra,

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the installation ceremony of the new Efutu paramount chief, who belonged to the successful royal family, was interrupted by an attack from the losing royal family. The Ghana police, who had been protecting the procession, had to use force to defend the newly installed chief: one was shot dead and three people were wounded in the ensuing melee.24 On the border with Cote d’Ivoire, at Banda (BrongAhafo Region) a similar question of whose family’s turn it was over the office of the Banda chief ’s okyeame (i.e. chief of staff/spokesman) resulted in the deaths of several people, the burning of over thirty houses, and the suspension of many social, political and economic activities while the government re-established peace, order and good government in the area as the precondition to the resumption of development activities in that part of Ghana. (Interviews August– September 1994 and November 1996; Daily Graphic, 1994.) At Daboya (Northern Region) the dispute was between two brothers as to who should become the sub-divisional chief, Yazoriwura. In the Gonja kingdom, unlike the Akan kingdoms in the south, certain chieftaincies open the gate to the next higher level of traditional authority. The office of Yazoriwura could lead to the divisional chieftaincy, the Wasipewura, which in turn was one of the gates to the Gonja kingship. The Wasipewura, ignoring the Northern Regional House of Chiefs Judicial Committee’s order, went ahead and installed the elder brother as Yazoriwura. In response, the younger brother reportedly killed his elder brother (Daily Graphic, 1994/07/05; Interviews August–September 1994 and November 1996). The fighting further resulted in three more people killed, two confirmed wounded, the burning down of the Wasipewura’s palace and the flight of the Wasipewura to Tamale, the regional capital, so as to be under the protection of the state. Sometimes chieftaincy disputes may be caused by perceptions of the chief ’s subjects that he/she is not behaving properly, i.e. according to custom. When the Jema chief (Western Region) ruled in favour of his wife in a domestic dispute, some of his subjects revolted. First they destooled him, removing him from the traditional office and its sacred character. Then they killed him by beheading. After Ghana police reinforcements arrived, they restored order, arresting forty-one people (Daily Graphic, 1994/05/04). Another case illustrates the complexity of such chieftaincy disputes as well as the peaceful means taken to resolve them. In this case a divisional chief renounced the overlordship of his paramount chief and declared that henceforth he 24 Disputes over the paramountcy at Winneba continue. See Daily Graphic, 2001/04/04.

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should be recognized not as a divisional chief, but as a paramount chief. He and the paramount chief then became entangled in customary law and state law actions, with reference being made to the Houses of Chiefs system. Other fronts for dispute opened up. The queenmother called for the divisional chief to be impeached and removed (i.e. destooled) because his efforts to become a paramount chief meant that he was not paying proper respect to the existing paramount chief. During this time, the queenmother also alleged that the divisional chief had improperly sold off land belonging to the chieftaincy. Another important cause of chieftaincy disputes is the breaking down of the consensus of who belongs to a traditional authority. For example, the Akuapem paramount chieftaincy (Eastern Region near Accra) is a confederacy of several peoples of whom two divisional chiefs have been trying to break away and become independent paramount chiefs. Ethnic differences, as well as differing versions of the history of the various groups and how they came to be grouped under the Akuapem paramountcy, have played important roles in the breakdown of the former consensus as to where the boundaries of Akuapem should be drawn and whether or not certain divisional chiefs should become separate paramount chiefs. At one point a dispute over traditional authority land boundaries led to the ambushing of a burial party and the loss of two lives. At other points, the dispute has been carried out peacefully before the Eastern Regional House of Chiefs and the National House of Chiefs, as well as in the media and in the organization of separate festivals and durbars (Interviews August–September, 1994, November 1996, May–July 2000; Ghanaian Voice 1994/01–31 to 02–02). Far more tragic examples of this cause of chieftaincy disputes have been the series of northern chieftaincy wars. The overlords and commoner peoples belong to different ethnic groups. Usually these have been chieftaincy disputes that exploded into devastating violence. In 1981 there was bitter fighting between the Nanumba overlords and the Konkomba (Skalnik, 1986). In 1985–89 there were repeated clashes between the B’moba and the Konkomba25 in Mamprusi (DruckerBrown, 1988–89). Again in the 1980s the Gonja overlords attacked the Vagala who had been trying to replace Gonja chiefs with their own chiefs. In 1993 the dispute between the Konkomba and their Dagomba, 25 The Mamprusi chiefs are the overlords of both the B’moba and the Konkombas. As such, the Mamprusi chiefs appoint subordinate chiefs in both these other peoples. At least some of the fighting between the B’moba and the Konkomba is related to these subordinate chief conflicts.

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Nanumba and Gonja overlords came to a head. The Konkomba wanted to replace the overlords with their own paramount chief and other chiefs who were also to have membership in the Northern Regional House of Chiefs. The Dagomba, Nanumba and Gonja chiefs vehemently rejected these proposals in a number of forums, including the December 1993 meeting of the Northern Regional House of Chiefs, attended by the Presidential Adviser on Chieftaincy Affairs. These chiefs argued that they could not agree to the creation of full chiefs for the Konkomba because to do so would mean handing over the lands that go with each chieftaincy from the lands of the overlords. On February 1, 1994, this chieftaincy dispute erupted into the worst internal war that Ghana had seen since independence. Terrible fighting engulfed seven districts in the Northern Region. Some three thousand people were killed, thousands more wounded, towns including district capitals (Yendi is also the Dagomba Kingdom’s capital) were besieged, some villages fell – their inhabitants forced to flee or be killed, the regalia and written histories of a number of overlord chieftaincies were destroyed by the Konkomba, tens of thousands became internal refugees, many private, commercial and public buildings were burnt. In order to stop the fighting President Rawlings sent a strong Ghanaian army force into the area. By August, the Ghana government was able to remove the state of emergency. Local government elections were postponed from March, when the fighting was raging, to later in the year after the fighting had stopped. Whatever the cause, conflict resolution mechanisms are needed to solve chieftaincy disputes before they burst into the violence that characterized this horrendous case.26 How are chieftaincy disputes resolved? It must be emphasized that nearly all chieftaincy disputes are resolved peacefully. First, many are peacefully resolved through informal or formal negotiations at the level of the chieftaincy itself. Second, the issue may be taken to the Houses of Chiefs system, which uses a juridical type process at the regional and national levels. If the issue cannot be resolved at the Traditional Council deliberations, then the dispute may be taken to the level of the Regional House of Chiefs where one of the Judicial 26

Interviews, August–September 1994, November–December 1996, May–July 2000. Private correspondence. Newspapers: see especially Ghanaian Chronicle 1994/02/ 10–13, 14–16; Daily Graphic 1994/02/4,11,14; Ghanaian Times 1994/02/11,12,14; Ghanaian Voice 1994/02/16–20. Dr. P. Ferguson made an oral presentation to the “International Conference on the Contribution of Traditional Authority to Development, Democracy, Human Rights and Environmental Protection: Strategies for Africa”, Kumasi, Ghana, September 5, 1994 in which she outlined the impact of the Konkomba attacks on Dagomba chiefs and their regalia.

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Committees will hear the case. If the solution to the chieftaincy dispute is not acceptable to one of the parties, they can appeal it to one of the Judicial Committees of the National House of Chiefs. This judgement can be appealed to the Ghanaian state’s Supreme Court, whose decision is final. During the considerations of the Houses of Chiefs, a party can refer technical legal questions to the courts of the Ghanaian state. Thirdly, at any point while the first two dispute resolution processes are going on, one of the parties may seek help from the state’s political leaders, such as the cabinet-ranking political head of the Chieftaincy Division, whether this person was the Secretary for Chieftaincy Affairs during PNDC rule, or the Presidential Advisor on Chieftaincy Affairs during most of Rawlings’ Presidency, or the Minister of Chieftaincy Affairs and State Protocol during the last year of his Presidency. Concerned petitioners were to be seen in the anteroom of the Chieftaincy Division’s political head offices in State House in Accra, waiting to put their chieftaincy case to this cabinet-rank state officer. The assistance sought might be formal or informal, depending on the circumstances and the prevailing legislative and constitutional provisions. Fourthly, the state used its legal framework in the forms of laws, regulations and constitutions to deal with chieftaincy disputes. Whenever chieftaincy disputes were thought by the colonial officials to be necessary for their interests, the British colonial state intervened in them. As previously explained, for many chieftaincy disputes the Ghanaian post-colonial state can rely on the chiefs themselves and the traditional leaders in the Houses of Chiefs, who can be augmented by the state’s judiciary, up to and including the Supreme Court. However, the Ghanaian post-colonial state can directly take action itself by means of its executive and legislative arms as expressed in its legal framework. From 1957 to 1979, Ghana carried on with the British colonial state’s practice of directly intervening in chieftaincy disputes as the government wished.27 The governments were able to recognize or depose chiefs because this ability was granted to them by those of the state who had created the constitutional arrangements.28 27

For perceptive treatments of this, see Arhin 1985, 1991 and Rathbone, 2000. See the following: The Ghana (Constitution) Order in Council, 1957, sections 35, 68; Constitution (Repeal of Restrictions) Act, No. 38 of 1958, section 2; Constitution (Amendment) Act, No. 7 of 1959, section 6; Houses of Chiefs (Amendment) Act, No. 8 of 1959, section 11; Brong-Ahafo Region Act No. 18 of 1959, sections 3, 4, 7; The Constitution of the Republic, July 1, 1960 [First Republic], article 20; Proclamation for the Constitution of a National Liberation Council for the Administration of Ghana and Other Matters Connected Therewith, 1966 [NLC], 28

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In 1979, the Third Republic’s Constitution removed the ability of the central organs of the state, i.e. Parliament and the President, to intervene in chieftaincy disputes regarding who was or was not a chief. This policy was carried forward even after the Third Republic was overthrown and replaced by the Provisional National Defence Council.29 This removal of these types of chieftaincy disputes from the competency of these central organs of the state marked a major change in the state’s strategy for dealing with chieftaincy disputes. Those who designed the canon30 of state policies by designing the state’s constitutions shifted this responsibility to the Houses of Chiefs system, which now acted with increasing autonomy, indeed, perhaps as an encapsulated enclave of traditional authority within the body politic of the state.31 By 1985 however, the PNDC felt the need to re-instate the control of the central state over all chieftaincy disputes. Most importantly, the Secretary (cabinet minister) for Chieftaincy Affairs was empowered to intervene as he believed necessary. So, for example, in 1989, the PNDC faced a situation in which four chiefs, whom the PNDC had confirmed previously as being proper chiefs, continued to be subjected to customary and legal proceedings to remove them from their traditional offices. Finally, with great determination, the PNDC issued a law that ordered all “. . . such protracted and vexatious litigation and proceedings . . .” against the four chiefs to stop immediately. In another case, this time in 1990, the PNDC ordered one chief to surrender stool property, i.e. the regalia, etc. belonging to the paramount chieftaincy office to the PNDC District Secretary. He would then hand over this stool property to the new paramount chief. By doing so the PNDC hoped to head off an escalation of this chieftaincy dispute into violence, since fighting to obtain the regalia of office may occur.32 State administrators argued that section 3; Constitution of the Republic of Ghana, 1969 [Second Republic], articles 153, 169(3), 105(3) – see also the Chieftaincy Act (No. 370 of 1971) passed under the constitution; National Redemption Council (Establishment) Proclamation, 1972 [NRC], section 23. 29 See: (a) Constitution of the Republic of Ghana, 1979 [Third Republic], articles 177, 210(4) – this last article is entrenched as it can only be changed if approved by a Ghana-wide referendum; (b) Provisional National Defence Council (Establishment) Proclamation (Supplementary and Consequential Provisions) Law, 1982 (PNDCL 42) [PNDC], section 53. 30 Valerie Haines’ work on the use of the canon (or dominant thought) in sociology has led me to see constitutions and legislation as establishing the political canon of a state. 31 For a discussion of “encapsulation”, see Ray, 1986b. 32 See (a) Chieftaincy (Amendment) Law, 1985 (P.N.D.C.L.107) amending section 48 of the 1971 Chieftaincy Act (Act 370); (b) Chieftaincy (Specified Areas)

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this legal framework was important in allowing them to manage, by direct intervention, chieftaincy disputes. These types of powers were once more overturned on January 7, 1993 when the Fourth Republic’s 1992 Constitution came into effect. For the second period of the post-colonial state’s history, the executive and legislative arms of government were forbidden to make any determination of who was or was not a chief, or what type of chief they were. In the past, the state had at times usurped custom by elevating a division chief to paramount chief or vice versa in demoting a paramountcy to divisional status. Once more, responsibility for solving chieftaincy succession and status disputes was given to the National and Regional Houses of Chiefs.33 Sometimes, however, passions over chieftaincy disputes outran the previous four techniques and exploded into violence. When this happened, the state had to turn to a fifth strategy: restore order using the state police and military to stop the fighting and simultaneously try to start negotiations between the two sides. Such chieftaincy dispute threats to peace, order and good government might be relatively small scale or they might be full-scale chieftaincy civil wars in northern Ghana. No wonder, then, that Rawlings as head of state during the PNDC era and the Fourth Republic, repeatedly condemned chieftaincy disputes.34 The actual number of major violent outcomes of chieftaincy disputes is small, probably in the same range of numbers or slightly more as the number of military overthrows of constitutional governments.35 Prospects Chieftaincy disputes, land and gender are three major challenges to traditional authority in Ghana. What can be done to eliminate or (Prohibition and Abatement of Chieftaincy Proceedings) Law, 1989 9P.N.D.C.L.212). At least one of the four chiefs abdicated later; (c) Mim Stool Property (Seizure) Instrument, 1990 (E.I.4). 33 See the Constitution of the Republic of Ghana, 1992 [Fourth Republic], article 270. This article was entrenched. In order to change it, Parliament had first to refer the proposed amendment to the Council of State, wait six months and then submit the proposal to a country-wide referendum in which 40% of the electors voted, and of those who voted 75% had to approve it before the Parliamentary bill became law. 34 See above for Rawlings’ statements at the beginning of this chapter. 35 The northern chieftaincy wars would seem to account for more politicallymotivated deaths than deaths caused by military coups. This is not to underestimate the effects of either type of action.

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at least minimize the frequency and effects of violent chieftaincy disputes? Some might argue that these problems could be avoided by the state formally abolishing the institution of chieftaincy. Some might try to marginalize chieftaincy, hoping it will, if not run away, at least discreetly creep away, leaving its sandals behind. Such strategies are unlikely to succeed in the short term in Ghana. Ghanaians argue over chieftaincy because they passionately care about chieftaincy, since it represents their roots and is an avenue of social advancement, and they do so independently of the post-colonial state. In the long term, chieftaincy might gradually become undermined by neoliberal globalization if, for example, traditional authority allowed its communal land to be sold off under the pressures of the market. Pressures to make chieftaincy more gender inclusive will continue. Specifically, the institution of the queenmother will likely be accepted in more areas of Ghana. Queenmothers or their equivalent will likely be admitted to the Regional and National Houses of Chiefs or some format of the Houses of Chiefs system. Given that chiefs have survived some sixty to one hundred years of administration by the British colonial state and some forty-four years of administration by the Ghanaian post-colonial state, Ghana’s chiefs are not likely to lose soon their collective sandals. A more useful solution to these challenges may well be to provide more resources to the Houses of Chiefs system so that more and better paid lawyers, researchers, administrators, and support staff, using the full range of communication and other technologies, are better able to do their jobs before conflict breaks out in chieftaincy disputes or over land disputes or in cases where development needs to be promoted. Chiefs remain part of the political world of most Ghanaians.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This research was made possible by research grants from the International Development Research Centre (IDRC) of Ottawa (Grant #03927), title “Traditional Leaders and Local Governance in Social Policy in West and Southern Africa (Traditional Authority Applied Research Network – TAARN)”; the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRCC) (Grant #410–98–1511) title” African Traditional Leadership and the State: Indigenous Legitimacy, Authority and Sovereignty in the Age of Development and Democratisation”; and the University of Calgary’s University Research Grants Committee.The Calgary Institute for the Humanities awarded me an Annual Fellowship for 2000–2001 which allowed me to write this chapter. I wish to express my profound gratitude for the help and guidance given to me by my colleagues and friends during the course of my research in Ghana, especially my fellow team members Prof. A. Owusu-Sarpong (Country Team Leader), Prof. Nana Arhin Brempong, Dr. K. Arhin, Assoc. Prof. C. Owusu-Sarpong, and Dr. W. Donkoh, on the Ghana Country Team of the IDRC-funded TAARN project. Special thanks are due to Peter and Ama Shinnie for convincing me to go to Ghana in the first place and to our many discussions on Ghana from which I have learned so much. I have much appreciated the research the assistance of my present graduate students Meghan Dalrymple, Morgan Nyendu and Monte Krueger. Research in Ghana was conducted in 1983, 1984, 1987, 1990, 1992, 1994, 1996 and 2000.


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LAND TENURE AND AGRICULTURAL DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA: THE INTERSECTION OF CLASS, CULTURE AND GENDER Louis Awanyo Introduction Since adopting the structural adjustment program in 1983, Ghana has been widely acknowledged as “the frontrunner in adjustment” (Leechor, 1994). Even though the Ghanaian economy has been growing at an average of 5 percent per annum, between 1985 and 1995, the slow annual growth of only 2 percent in agriculture, the largest segment of the Ghanaian economy, which was expected to be the leading sector of growth, was viewed as the achilles heel of the reform program (Leechor, 1994; World Bank, 1993: 27–31, 1994: 147; Gibbon, 1992; Gibbon et al., 1993). An important issue that arises is whether the agricultural sector has the capacity to adjust to the changing incentives of the economic reforms. There are several factors that shape the ability of farmers to respond to incentives (Berry, 1984; Watts, 1989). However, the issue of land tenure security has been the focus of many scholars on agrarian change in Africa. The debate with regards to land has been whether the agricultural incentives of the market reforms are being accompanied by changes in the property relations of land that are conducive for expanding production. The sluggish agricultural growth in Ghana, in spite of production incentives, makes this debate even more relevant. This chapter thus poses the question: what role, if any, do contemporary land tenure rights and property relations play in the slow growth of agriculture? The discussion specifically examines the issue of which farmers have been able, and which farmers unable, to change property relations by negotiating successfully for exclusive land rights (that provide land security).1 Furthermore, what are the 1 Place, Roth, and Hazell (1994: 19) observe that “land tenure security can be defined to exist when an individual perceives that he or she has rights to a piece of land on a continuous basis, free from imposition or interference from outside sources as well as [the] ability to reap the benefits of labor and capital invested in that land, either in use or upon transfer to another holder.”

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implications of access to such lands – viewed in the literature as so critical for increased agricultural investments – for the ability, or inability, to seize the economic reform’s incentives for increased production. These research questions are addressed in an in-depth study of farmers’ investments in agriculture from 1985–1995 in the Berekum District of Ghana. Based on the findings of the study, this chapter concludes by addressing the question of whether the success in acquiring exclusive land rights and the increased production occurring on such lands are indicative of an intensification of a process which began during the early 20th century with the introduction of cocoa cultivation in the study region. Economic Incentives, Land Rights, and Agricultural Production The debate on the relationship between economic incentives and markets, land tenure rights, and agricultural productivity is this: Do the indigenous, kinship/family-held, common property land tenure systems, that characterize much of Africa, facilitate or obstruct agricultural production as markets expand and provide incentives for agricultural investments? The common theme in this debate is the realization that local social relations of production, including the social relations of land tenure, shape agricultural production. The importance of social relations for production is further reinforced by the fact that in much of Africa “access to land, labor, and capital is primarily derived from kinship-based social units” (Awanyo, 1998: 516) and not from the narrowly-defined markets of some economists. Production is thus not simply an economic process but also a social process. A still influential position in the ongoing discussion on land tenureproduction relationship argues that the ubiquitous kinship/family based common property and landholding systems, in which most indigenous customary African land use arrangements are enmeshed, are characterized by multiple inclusive and open access rights. The property rights theory that emerges from this perspective holds the view that the multiple interests in land, and the often ambiguous and contested kinship rights over land, lead to exorbitant transaction costs of land for investors. Thus, Kom (1979: 14) observes with regards to Ghana that “the present land tenure system is not conducive to large scale development; a lot of time is wasted investigating title as to who owns what; who are the proper persons to give valid title and what is the extent of land these persons can validly grant” (See also Meek, 1946; Hayford, 1969; and Asante, 1975). The costs to investors for negotiating, monitoring, and enforcing rights to such

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land (the transaction costs) is said to undermine the ability of markets to do their job of stimulating investments, rewarding investors, and expanding production. There is also little motivation to respond to market incentives and invest in land because common property land use arrangements, it is alleged, do not provide the necessary secure rights of exclusion and land tenure security which are so critical for increased investments and that enable an investor to reap the fruits of his/her investments. The tenure system is consequently depicted as an obstruction to agricultural investments, particularly long-term capital investment. Tenure security and the exclusive rights it provides, according to the above perspective, achieve the following: 1) reduce the incidence of land disputes through a clearer definition and enforcement of rights and thus the farmer is likely to capture the returns on his/her investments; 2) increase land transactions by facilitating transfers of land from less efficient to more efficient uses by increasing the certainty of contracts and lowering enforcement costs; 3) increase credit use as lands with secure titles provide collateral which improves farmers’ credit worthiness; 4) greater agricultural investments (that follow from the above) raise agricultural productivity. To address the ostensibly insecure indigenous customary land tenure and to provide the exclusive and enforceable rights, many advocate land privatization and individual freehold-title registration, modeled upon private property rights in modern western economies (Firmin-Sellers and Sellers, 1999). However, as Mckay (1996: 113), Migot-Adholla and Bruce (1994: 4), and Feder and Feeny (1991) rightly alert us, an important reason for the advocacy of privatization (for providing exclusive and secure rights) is the conceptual muddling that conflates “common property” with “open access” social egalitarianism, in which rights are ambiguous and left unassigned, are ill-defined, and lack “any exclusivity.” These problems are perceived as inexorably leading to inefficient use, environmental degradation, and a “tragedy of the commons” (Hardin, 1968). The alternative to the influential view employs empirical data to achieve greater conceptual rigor and submits that indigenous landholding rights are flexible and have enabled farmers to respond to agricultural incentives. Based on extensive research, Migot-Adholla and Bruce (1994) highlight the movement from more inclusionary rights to more exclusionary individual rights within indigenous customary land tenure systems, a movement they describe as the “spontaneous individualization of rights” whereby farming households acquire “broader rights of exclusion and transfer . . . although they fall short of private property” (Migot-Adholla and Bruce, 1994: 4).

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Expanding markets for oil palm and cocoa in Ghana beginning in the late 19th and early 20th century, has led to the development of more exclusive land rights that allowed the long term and permanent investments required for realizing the benefits from these perennial/ tree crops (Awanyo, 1998; Gyasi, 1994; Migot-Adholla et al., 1991, 1994; Benneh 1970; Hill 1963). According to this evolutionary theory of property rights, it is such flexibility of indigenous land tenure systems to commercialization and relative factor price changes, and the security of tenure they provide as they move toward more narrowly-defined, exclusive, property rights systems, that has allowed considerable agricultural investments and placed Ghana among the largest cocoa producers. Thus, there is no demonstrated need for state-sponsored privatization, particularly in light of the accompanying conflicts this brings and its spurious connection to tenure security, long-term investments, and productivity (Migot-Adholla et al., 1991, 1994; Berry, 1993; Mackenzie, 1990, 1993; Haugerud, 1989; Agbosu, 1984). Place, Roth, and Hazell (1994: 20) provide a conceptual framework for assessing the effects of land use arrangements on agricultural production. The framework evaluates whether a land tenure system provides a bundle of rights with sufficient breadth and robustness, such as the right to use the land to cultivate (temporal) annual crops and (permanent) perennial crops, right of exclusion, and right of transfer. Also evaluated is the legal duration of a given bundle of rights and whether it is sufficiently long to enable the investor to realize with confidence the full benefits of the investment. Finally, the framework assesses whether the bundle of rights and their duration will be held with sufficient certainty. Migot-Adholla et al. (1991, 1994) apply this framework and convincingly show that customary land tenure systems in Ghana do provide tenure security and do not obstruct investments in spite of the widespread absence of a western concept of private property. Recent studies have elaborated further on the flexibility of indigenous land tenure systems and the land rights they provide (Awanyo, 1998; Berry, 1993, 1988; Mackenzie, 1993, 1990; Watts, 1993; Carney and Watts, 1991; Carney, 1988; Mamdani, 1987; Mikell, 1984; Abu, 1983; Okali, 1983a, 1983b). These studies provide a greater depth of understanding of the processes and factors that enable some farmers to acquire greater exclusive rights on lands that are the inclusive common property of a culturally-defined family or kinship group, and the conflicts that arise from these processes. They emphasize the processes of negotiation for land and the implication of social identities, such as class, gender, age, citizenship, and other social identities of difference, for the access to lands in general and in par-

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ticular for access to lands that provide greater rights of exclusion. In sum, there is a socially differentiated pattern of access to lands, including to those lands that provide greater rights of exclusion, rights to cultivate particular crops, rights of transfer, and that provide a duration of tenure which is long enough to realize the benefits of a particular investment. These locally-heterogeneous patterns of power and access to resources influence different patterns of agricultural production. As access to land and exclusive land rights are tied to social identities, it is crucial to acknowledge that the flexibility of indigenous custom with regard to access to land, and access to tenure that provides secure exclusive rights, vary for different individuals. Critics of the evolutionary theory of indigenous landholding arrangements are thus right in pointing to its rigidity, at least for some farmers. This chapter builds upon these contradictory insights on land tenure. It examines the intricate processes of land negotiation, highlights how these are conditioned by social identities and the culture and politics within which farmers are submerged. The chapter also illustrates how farmers who have negotiated successfully for exclusive land rights, and for whom the land tenure system has been flexible, have been able to realize the reform incentives and increase production. It is argued that for farmers who are unable to bargain successfully for exclusive rights, the land tenure system is viewed as an obstacle to realizing individual aspirations and to agricultural productivity. Specifically, the chapter: 1) it places primary emphasis on the social relationships of production in which farmers are entwined, and how these combine with resource endowments and economic incentives to condition land use; 2) it embraces the fact that access to, and use of, land is negotiated within social units, and that the outcome of the bargaining processes is critical for explaining land use; 3) it also suggests that individuals have varying privileges to resources, and indicates that, generally, success in resource negotiations varies by class and gender. The Study Area and Methods of Research Two rural localities, Jinijini and Koraso, in the Berekum district of the Brong Ahafo Region of Ghana (Figure 1) were selected for investigating the lingering questions regarding access to land and farmers’ investments from 1985–1996 under the conditions of economic reforms.2 Compared to the period from the late 1970s to the early 2 Both localities are located in the moist semi-deciduous forest ecological region, which supports both annual and tree/perennial crops. The annual food staples cultivated,

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1980s, the economic reforms have improved the structure of economic incentives in the study region. Relatively higher guaranteed prices for cocoa, improved access to markets and production inputs are examples of such changes. Snowball sampling was employed for selecting respondents. The study sought to capture the local differentiation in power and ability to shape access to land, particularly those arising from class and gender (Berry, 1993; Dei, 1992a, 1992b; Mikell, 1984; Abu, 1983; Okali, 1983a, 1983b). Employing income as a rough surrogate for class, the 23 contacts in the localities introduced the researcher to male and female heads of farming households perceived as having high, middle, and low income. These farmers in turn introduced other farmers of varied income. The income classification was verified during the course of field work through observations of such indices as standards of living and durable property ownership. To allow for in-depth gender analysis, all persons, both male and female, were included in the sample of respondents. This approach allowed for an analysis of both “between household” differences in income and “within household” differences in gender and their implications for access to land for production. Sixty-five households (31 low income, 16 middle income, and 18 high income households) were finally selected from the list of households obtained through snowball sampling. Within these 65 households of varying income, a total of 115 male and 86 female farmers were interviewed. Other than this primary sample, the researcher also interviewed 15 elderly custodians of family lands and indigenous leaders for further insights into the processes of access to land. While the sample for this inquiry is not a “statistically representative” subset of the larger population, it captures the varied and important local social identities of class and gender, and allows the researcher to explore the processes of access to land and their implications for the agricultural production of individuals of varied power.

mostly for the domestic and other Ghanaian markets, include vegetables, yam, cocoyam, cassava, plantain, and maize. Tree crops, such as cocoa, the main agricultural export of Ghana, and the new crop, cashew, are destined for external markets. Whether a crop occupies land only temporarily or whether it takes up land on a long-term basis has implications for access to land in the study localities.

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Figure 11.1: The location of Berekum District (Brong Anafo Region)

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Negotiating for Individual Land Rights in the Context of Multiple Rights to Land Access to land in the study region is primarily derived from social networks of kin, marriage, and community. At the center of the complex processes of land use is the principle of negotiation. The pervasiveness of negotiation in social and economic processes in African agricultural communities is underlined in a process in which people are continually engaged in efforts both to influence, and to understand the [changing] circumstance under which they produce, invest, exchange, and consume goods and services. Producers, for example, seek to bring power to bear on acquiring and using the means of production, on gaining access to income and wealth, and increasing (or maintaining) their capacity to produce or earn income in the future. They also think about what they are doing and what they are up against (Berry, 1993: 13).3

As access to and accumulation of land depend upon a social process of negotiation, agricultural production “cannot necessarily be explained in terms of [the] decisive choices” (Berry, 1993: 14) made by farmers in response to economic incentives. Instead, access to resources for agricultural production, such as land, is viewed as embedded in “multidimensional social processes” (Peters, 1987; Berry, 1993). Berekum farmers hold various types of negotiated titles to land for agricultural production. These titles provide varying degrees of exclusive rights and interests in land. Lands are derived from family, obtained as gifts, and acquired through rent, allocation, and purchase. The last source of land – purchase – is primarily associated with migrant cocoa farmers who cultivate in the Western Region (see Awanyo, 1998). While each purchase provides rights of exclusion that enable farmers to enjoy the benefits of their investments in agricultural production, purchases are also associated with the inclusive rights of the social group from which the land was obtained. This arises because land is viewed as the inclusive property of all members of the culturally-defined social group. Thus, there are always potential claimants to land. As indicated earlier, it is this complex 3 The concept of negotiation is widely used in the study of agrarian households. Agarwal (1994), Jones (1986), and Abu (1983), for instance, focus on the processes of household negotiation in agrarian land use. Sen (1990), Scott (1985), and Bourdieu (1977), explicitly and implicitly, also view negotiation as pivotal in social relations, and have developed theoretical frameworks for explaining this process.

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simultaneity of exclusive and inclusive rights that has been the focus of the extensive and divergent literature on indigenous land tenure systems in Ghana. The processes of negotiation for each land title in the study region and the associated rights, such as those of exclusion and inclusion, are described below. Family Land Family landholdings are the predominant source of land for farming in Berekum. A family is defined as an extended group of male and female descendants of a common ancestress because it is a matrilineal society. Every person is therefore a member of his/her mother’s abusua (family/lineage). Membership of a family allows an individual to make legitimate customary claims on family lands. Land is viewed as owned by, and the inclusive property of, a community comprising the living, the dead, and unborn generations. The collective authority of the living, the dead, and the unborn is symbolized by a stool, and the principal traditional authority, the chief, is viewed as the occupant and protector of the interests of the stool. Absolute ownership of lands therefore lies with the community, and chiefs are the custodians and trustees of all stool lands. Members of matrilineal families together hold inclusive rights to different portions of lands by virtue of first use by their ancestors and through inheritance. Other families are excluded from using such lands. By cultivating land, an individual member of a family acquires usufructuary title to family land. This excludes other family members and other individuals from enjoying the benefits of such land without his/her consent while the land is under cultivation (see Ollennu, 1962: 6; Benneh, 1970; Arhin, 1983a; Agbosu, 1984: 38–39). An individual or a single family cannot claim absolute ownership or title to stool lands, nor grant absolute title to land owned by the stool to another, no matter how long the land has been used (see Benneh, 1970; Berry, 1988; Okoth-Ogendo, 1989). Only specific rights of usufruct can be claimed or granted to individuals. Thus, as Awanyo (1998: 519) argues “the land tenure system makes a conceptual separation between soil/land and what grows upon it. This is what makes possible different rules for the soil and things upon it.” The farmer enjoys exclusive rights to the benefits of using the soil as long as it is under continuous cultivation and the product of one’s labor remains on the land. All members of the landholding family maintain their inclusive rights to family lands, and the landowning community maintain their inclusive rights to the land as part of stool lands. The abusua panyin (head of family), with the guidance of family

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elders, mpanyinfo, is responsible for allocating family landholdings to all adult family members. Any adult member of the matrilineal family is entitled to cultivate any portion of family lands that is not under cultivation. This includes fallowing lands previously cultivated by another. Although all family members have de jure rights of access to family lands, men generally have privileged de facto access because it is claimed that they carry more responsibilities which require greater material resources. (Awanyo, 1998: 528; Busia, 1951; 129; Okali, 1983a, 1983b; Abu, 1983; Mikell, 1984; and Awusabu-Asare, 1990). Fei explains: Women are not mfie mpanyin, heads of household. They don’t carry big asodie, responsibilities, like men. If a child or wife is sick and you don’t have good property like cocoa to take care of the family there will be trouble. . . . She [woman] doesn’t have big responsibility. The man has responsibility in the abusua, extended family. All responsibility for the children, wife, and the abusua is on you [man]. So you [man] need property. . . .4

Other than gender, positions of seniority, such as wealth, age and marriage also provide preferential access. Thus, while family lands provide open, de jure, access to all family members and can be employed for the expansion of agricultural production where they are available, permission has to be obtained from the custodian of the family lands for such expansion to take place. It is those with seniority, particularly those who forge close social relations with family heads and elders, who are most often successful in negotiating for the granting of such permission. Clearly, individuals in the abusua, family, have varying degrees of access to land and are thus differentially endowed with this resource. Generally, annual crops are the preferred choice for cultivation, and in many families only annual crops are permitted on family lands because under the bush fallow system this ensures only temporary use of family lands, which embody the inclusive claims of all members of the family, and protects the interests of family members in the land. To seize the economic incentives and expanding markets for perennial or tree crops that emerged all over the country, beginning in the late 19th century, flexible and greater exclusive rights on family landholdings evolved. Such rights facilitated permanent tenure on lands that are the inclusive property of all family members.

4

Interview in Jinijini with Alex Fei, 9th December, 1995.

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Gift Lands Evidence from Berekum undermines propositions, such as those of Kom (1979) and Meek (1946), that view indigenous land tenure systems as predominantly rigid, lacking in exclusive rights, and unable to adapt to changing economic conditions. The testimonies of farmers, family heads, and chiefs in the study region reinforce the work of Gyasi (1994), Migot-Adholla et al. (1994, 1991), Benneh (1970), and Hill (1963) by highlighting the fact that changes in the property relations of land often occur as important adjustments to accommodate the incentives to invest in production for markets. Gift lands are simply gifts of land from one person to another, and therefore their acquisition is largely the decision of the grantor. The evolution of gift lands, which are essentially a redefinition of family land rights, has been linked by elderly informants to the increasing commercialization associated with the cocoa economy from as far back as the 1930s. The phenomenon of gift family lands has occurred increasingly as a means of establishing more exclusive titles to land and improving land transfer. This change illuminates the manner in which power and customary claims converge and how this is used to mask individual accumulation of land. The wealthy, in particular, often employed their resource endowments to stimulate reinterpretations of the meaning of customary rights to land. This was especially necessary to enable them to realize the tremendous opportunities for profit-making associated with cocoa cultivation (Awanyo, 1998; Benneh, 1970). Testimonies of farmers provide insights into the processes influencing the granting of gift lands. To be a possible recipient of gift land, the individual needs to have accumulated considerable goodwill, or to use Bourdieu’s (1977) term, symbolic capital, in the eyes of the grantor, head, and elders of the family. Family heads generally granted gifts of family land to “deserving” family members. Individuals, often the wealthy, who hold exclusive rights to lands obtained as gifts can also grant such lands as gifts to other deserving individuals. Deserving individuals often meant those who had been generous and had maintained close relationships with the head and other elders of the family, or any other potential grantor. The wealthy hold tremendous advantage in accumulating such lands which are, by definition, family lands belonging to the whole family. Once customary procedure involving the calling of witnesses to observe the transfer is followed, such lands provide further rights of exclusion beyond that provided by family lands. The recipient farmer “gives thanks” of liquor, aseda, which is shared by all witnesses, and the transfer is viewed as legal.

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  ‒  

A gift of land provides the farmer with permanent exclusive rights, compared to the temporary rights associated with family lands. These rights of exclusion preclude family members from making claims on the land as long as the appropriate customary procedure has been followed. Most importantly, gift lands provide farmers with the right to cultivate whatever crop they choose. This enables investments in perennials, especially tree crops, which can remain on the land for many decades. Another exclusive right is that one’s title in the land is not void when the land is not under cultivation. The farmer can also transfer the land to another matrikin, member of the conjugal family, or non-kin in the presence of witnesses either during his/her life time or by testamentary transfer. However, in spite of all these rights, the inclusive rights of the land-owning group are reactivated when there is a discovery of inappropriate customary procedure or when the individual dies intestate. The land then reverts to family land and again is available for the use of all family members who want to legitimately exercise their inclusive claims of usufruct. Although the rights to use the land can be transferred to another person for a monetary consideration after family elders are informed, such transfer is not viewed as a sale of land. Such lands cannot be sold because the individual does not hold the absolute title – held by the whole community of living, dead, and unborn – which would allow such sale to be legitimate. In general, gift lands have provided tremendous opportunities for the wealthy and powerful to accumulate land, to expand production, and to realize the opportunities for investments in the profitable agricultural capital of tree crops. Successful negotiation for gift lands, just like any exchange, agreement, contract, or sale, does not preclude conflicts and disagreement with other parties. Many community members, predominantly the poor, loudly expressed their opposition to the accumulation of lands received as gifts by the wealthy. Within the sample of respondents for this study there was no reported litigation over any land received as a gift, other than a couple of minor boundary disagreements.5 This indigenous arrangement of gifting lands have therefore, overwhelmingly, provided very effective rights of exclusion, rights of transfer, and have also provided recipients with sufficient certainty of tenure security, as indicated by Gyasi (1994) and Migot-Adholla et al. (1994, 1991). The litmus test on whether such rights will hold for an individual, in spite of conflicts and disagreements that inevitably emerge as a 5

Many of these respondents who cultivate cocoa in the Western Region were however involved in recurring conflicts over land with their grantors in the Western Region (Awanyo 1998. See also Arhin 1983b).

      

285

result of the multiple rights held on family lands, is where all family heads were present when the lands were being granted as gifts to the recipients, and everyone did accept and drink aseda, the thanksgiving drink, offered by the recipient to seal the deal. Where these steps are followed, the full force of customary law favors the recipient. It is such certainty of customary law and tenure security that has allowed long term investments, for instance tree crops, on such lands. Allocated Lands Allocated lands are obtained from chiefs and other individuals, usually heads of families by non-citizens or by members of other families. These are stool or family lands that have not been claimed for cultivation. Requests for such lands are often made on behalf of the farmer by charismatic and articulate elderly family members. When the request is granted, the farmer “gives thanks”, aseda, comprising liquor and a symbolic sum of money to seal the contract. The farmer holds similar rights of exclusion as gift lands. However, when the land is left uncultivated for a subjectively-determined period of time, the chief has the authority to revoke the transfer. Several studies view such allocated lands as purchased or lands that have been sold and permanently transferred to the recipient, due to the bundle of exclusive rights enjoyed by the recipient, such as the power to cultivate crops of his/her choice, and to transfer the land through inheritance (Migot-Adholla et al., 1994, 1991; Dei, 1992a, 1992b; Hill, 1963). However, as Awanyo (1998) argues, in the eyes of the grantors no such purchase or permanent transfer has taken place (see also Benneh, 1970). The land grantors maintain what they view as their inalienable, irrevocable, and legitimate rights to the land, especially when the recipient of the land dies intestate. Rented Lands Land for farming can also be obtained by negotiating it from other families or individuals. This is viewed as a form of borrowing, and is an uncommon source of land in the study region. This form of landholding enables non-family members and non-citizens of Berekum to acquire land for farming from social groups in which they are not members. The terms of borrowing are negotiated and sealed with aseda. In addition, payments for the use of the land are negotiated. Payments may be in cash and/or a proportion of food crop harvests. The rights associated with this form of landholding are similar to that of family lands. All lands for farming can thus be located on a continuum with

286

  ‒  

varying degrees of exclusiveness and inclusiveness. Family lands hold potentially the largest numbers of inclusive claims. Most of such rights are often latent till the inclusive rights are threatened by exclusive claims. Gift and allocated lands potentially have the least claims for inclusion. It is hardly surprising that a key aspiration of farmers is to influence changes in property relations and acquire gift or allocated lands which are characterized by the highest degree of exclusive rights. The following sections elaborate on the different abilities to successfully negotiate for the various rights to land, outlined above, and the implications for realizing the economic reform’s production incentives for increased agricultural production. The discussion will show that successful bargaining for access to and use of land for production is inextricably linked to the farmer’s resource endowments or “entitlements,” customary rights, and the extent of conformity to customary expectations of appropriate behavior. It is proposed that customary rights and meeting expectations of behavior define the legitimacy of claims for resources. These factors, together with an individual’s resource endowments, also define one’s seniority and associated power, which provide preferential access to land. It will be also shown that in Berekum the identities of class and gender are the embodiment of customarily-defined seniority and power, and are important determinants of success in land negotiations. Thus, it is argued that the ability to seize the current economic incentives of the market reforms for increased production, and to contribute to the economic reform objectives, is primarily conditioned by the class and gender of the farmer and the related ability of the farmer to employ custom, and economic and political power to successfully negotiate for greater exclusive rights to land from various social units. The following sections, therefore, analyses the case of those farmers for whom the land tenure system has been flexible enough to allow them to respond to the economic incentives through expanded production. Accumulating That Which Belongs to All: Class, the Culture and Politics of Access to Land, and Production One identity among the many that differentiates farmers in the study region, and that has implications for agricultural production, is the farmer’s household income or class.6 Marxist political economy, and 6 Income is used in this study as a general surrogate for class, which is defined in Marxist political economy in terms of the relationships to the means of production.

      

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the large body of literature that derives from it, indicate that the resource endowments and power of a farmer are instrumental in land use decisions. Higher income classes employ their resources to accumulate land and employ labor for increased production (Bernstein, 1979; Kautsky, 1976; Lenin, 1972). Evidence from this inquiry supports this literature. Farmers in wealthy households have greater access to all the titles in land described above. They have preferential access to family lands, are more likely than poorer families to negotiate the transfer of such lands for their exclusive use by obtaining them as gifts, and are more likely to obtain lands allocated by chiefs. Beyond confirming the above propositions in the literature, this study submits that of greater analytical value is an emphasis on the processes that enable successful negotiation for greater access to land, which ultimately allow for extended production. Such successful negotiation and preferential access to land, which enable the wealthy to contribute to the processes of agricultural growth occurring in the country, are shaped by their resource endowments and associated economic and political power, all of which are conditioned by the culture of the study region (See Bernstein et al., 1990: 4). As Berry (1993: 3) argues, researchers should look beyond agricultural production as a response of rational actors to market incentives to an approach that emphasizes that “farmers’ access to and uses of the means of production have also been shaped by the mobilization and exercise of power and the terms in which rights and obligations are defined.” In-depth interviews undertaken for the study showed that the economic and political power of various farmers, their customary rights, obligations, and expected behavior condition access to resources. While customary rights to land, such as those arising from membership of the matrilineage, provide de jure access to land, cultural concepts of seniority, the fulfilment of obligations, and adhering to expectations of behavior provide de facto access. Generosity, paternalism, humility, service, and consistent fulfilment of obligations and responsibilities towards the extended family and the community at large provide an individual with a good reputation and prestige, or symbolic capital (Bourdieu, 1977: 177).7 These traits, viewed in totalEvidence from the study region shows varying property and labor relations of production among the income groups. This variation is most apparent when the lowestincome households are compared to the highest-income households. The wealthy, for instance, have significantly greater access to lands over which they have exclusive rights and often employ hired labor than the poor. Thus, household income and class are employed interchangeably in this inquiry. 7 Bourdieu (1977: 178), defines capital to include, “all the goods [and services], material and symbolic, without distinction, that present themselves as rare and

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  ‒  

ity, constitute the most important attributes of seniority. Seniority is thus not only biological but also social. Individuals labeled as seniors receive preferential access to land because family heads view their requests as legitimate, having met the expectations of culturally-desirable behavior. As wealth enables an individual to meet all these attributes of desirable behavior more easily and consistently than poverty, the wealthy have more privileged access to land than the poor. Thus, in Berekum, success in land negotiation is primarily shaped by the individual’s wealth. In order to show the privileges of the wealthy, compared to other identities, the next section provides an in-depth account of how the processes of bargaining for land are specifically expressed in the study region. Impact of Wealth on Land Negotiations In spite of the customary rights of matrilineal kinship that define de jure access to land, mmusuapanyin and mmpanyinfo (family heads and elders) indicate that access to land is generally based on needs and the load of responsibilities carried by a person, such as those related to meeting the needs of a family and household. A similar observation leads Berry (1993: 104) to assert that “membership in social networks does not guarantee anyone access to land.” Opanyin Owusu explains: When someone in the family wants land for farming, he/she will get some elders to lead him/her to beg, sre, the abusuapanyin and mmpanyinfo (family elders) for land. The abusuapanyin and mmpanyinfo will listen to the elders [who came with the individual]. They [abusuapanyin and mmpanyinfo] will look to see if the person has responsibilities, asodie. If the person is married we know that his/her responsibilities are heavy. We will also look at the person’s behavior to see if he/she respects elders. We will also ask if he/she is hardworking and see if he/she likes farming. When everything is okay, we will assign one elder to go with him/her to show where he/she can make a farm and where he/she can make a new one. When we come back home, he/she will bring drink to ask for the blessing of the nananom [ancestors] to keep all evil away so that harvests will be good.8

worthy of being sought after in a particular social formation.” He elaborates that capital includes “material things (which can have symbolic value), as well as “untouchable” but culturally significant attributes such as prestige, status and authority (referred to as symbolic capital). . . .” He also emphasizes that this “capital acts as a social relation within a system of [production, and] exchange” (Bourdieu 1986, cited in Harker, Mahar, and Wilks, 1990: 13). 8 Interview in Jinijini with Opanyin Owusu, 13th February, 1995.

      

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While the meeting of obligations and conforming to expected patterns of behavior are also important for acquiring land, wealth is the most powerful means of de facto access. Yaw Donkor states in an interview that: In this world the only thing that is important is money. Have you heard the song “sika fre mogya” [money calls/attracts family]. That is how it is. When you don’t have money who will respect you? An adult becomes a child when there is no money. When they want someone to speak they will not call a poor person. You [poor person] have to agree with everything. You have no “mouth”. This abusua asase [family land] we are talking about, the rich people in the family get the best land. Always you hear that this person has been given a gift of land. When you ask why they didn’t bother to help you they can’t give you an answer, because when you asked they [family head and elders] kept asking you to go and come back again some other time, that this elder is not available, that you should wait and be patient. The elders say “Nnipa owo adie nona odi adi kese, nye nnipa okom de no” [The one who has much/riches is the one who gets big property/ resources, not the one who is hungry/poor].9

The outcome of the processes of negotiation, particularly those influenced by wealth, is expressed in the rough estimates of the sizes of respondents’ landholdings. Generally, landholdings of all individuals in the lowest income households were below 4 hectares, with 75 percent of the landholdings less than 2 hectares. Only 25 percent of landholdings in middle-income households were less than 2 hectares. In the wealthiest households, all landholdings were at least 4 hectares in size.10 Beyond the physical sizes of the landholdings, the types of titles to land and the meanings attached to each are critical for understanding current land use. The norms and customs of the study area view family lands as lands for all family members and consider anyone who cultivates too much of such lands as greedy and doing so at the expense of the family. Opanyin Asomah explains: Abusua asase is for all the abusua. Everyone needs a little land for growing food for their children to eat. So we have to share the land so that everyone can get a portion. When all the food [nutrients] in the soil is finished the person should have new land to use, so that the land can be left to become mfofwa, fallow land and allow the soil to

9 10

Interview in Koraso with Yaw Donkor, 22nd October, 1995. Landholdings were roughly calibrated by pacing around the holdings.

290

  ‒   turn [regenerate]. . . . The abusua will not allow only one person who is greedy/selfish to cultivate the bigger part of the land. If we allow this people will not get food to eat. The land is for all of us.11

Consequently, consistent extension of production is contingent upon the individual’s success in negotiating for more exclusive titles to land such as those acquired as gifts. This observation reaffirms the welldocumented hypothesis that increased commercialization and production incentives often lead to increased cultivation on lands which provide greater exclusive rights (Migot-Adholla et al., 1991; Agbosu, 1984; Benneh, 1970; Hill, 1963). Gyasi’s (1994) and Dei’s (1992a) work in the Eastern Region of Ghana are more recent examples that emphasize the increasing bargaining for exclusive land rights. Access to such exclusive rights is an important goal of farmers, and thus strategies that facilitate the acquisition of such rights are pursued. Generosity by the rich is especially effective in accumulating and gaining exclusive and privileged access to resources which belong to the whole family. Investments in family networks, including the giving of gifts to heads of family and elders are among the principal strategies employed by the rich. Expenditure on family networks and matrikin include expenses on education, health, cash advances, credit, assistance in pursuing a career, setting up an economic venture or learning an occupation, gifts of food, clothing, cash for subsistence needs, capital expenditure such as improving a family house or building a new one, and generous donations for family life-cycle events, particularly marriages and funerals. Gift giving and expenditure on family networks lead to the accumulation of symbolic capital, which is especially important in the transmutation of family lands to gift lands. The testimonies of two farmers illuminate the importance of investments in social networks and gift-giving, the economic self interest that motivates such practices, and how these facilitate land accumulation by the rich (see Mauss, 1970: 1). Thomas Diawuo, a wealthy farmer-teacher of Jinijini explains how he acquired a gift of 16 hectares of family land in 1986: I went to beg, sre, abusua panyin [family head] for asase, land, so that I could do the work [farm] bigger. Nowadays crop prices are good and many people want to do their work bigger. If you don’t do that cost of living is high and you will meet disgrace. As a man you will meet many asodie, responsibilities. If you don’t have money you will face a very big disgrace. I explained to abusua panyin and I begged him. He also listened

11

Interview in Jinijini with Opanyin Asomah, 17th February, 1995.

      

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to my request. He knows that I do good things for the abusua. When he had a case with someone, I got him a lawyer. So he doesn’t play with me at all. I asked him [abusua panyin] for the land after the bush burning period [1983], and he told me to wait, and that he will help me get good land. The land is very good. My work is going on well.12

Sixty year old Maame Yaa Rose, a divorcee from Jinijini explains how her resource endowments permitted her to acquire a gift of almost 11 hectares from her family: When I started making money, I didn’t say now look at me. I didn’t say when I was poor and my children and I needed your help, you didn’t care for me. When my cocoa money [from Juabeso-Bia, Western Region] started coming, I had a plan to cultivate food crops in Jinijini. There is money in it and I know many food traders who give me a good price. . . . I showed respect to the elders. When I go to Accra and I am coming back I [buy ] presents to [give to] them. At the end of every year I give them a goat or about four fowls. When I told them that I wanted to do farming in Jinijini, they were happy and promised me that they will look for a good plot for me. About 10 years ago they showed me some land and they asked me if I liked it. I said yes and thanked them. We drank and there were witnesses. They gave it to me as a gift so now no one in the family can take it from me because it belongs to me.13

It is important to emphasize that access to gift lands (and also the other forms of landholdings) is not only derived from family heads, nor is such access solely influenced by wealth. For instance, gifts of land may be awarded by a father or a husband, even in this matrilineal society, as rewards for exploiting another’s labor, for humility, and for the diligent performance of culturally-defined duties. A wealthy farmer, Samuel Yaw Asomah explains that his humility towards his uncle, his hard work and interest in farming, rather than in education, were instrumental in acquiring his first gift of land from his maternal uncle: I lived with my uncle during [school] holidays. I worked very hard and was very respectful. Whenever my uncle needed helpers on his farm, I always helped him. My uncle saw that I could weed very well, and I knew farm work. While many school goers all wanted to work in offices and go to Accra, I showed my uncle that I was very interested in farmers’ work . . . My uncle was sick for a long time and I 12 13

Interview in Jinijini with Thomas Diawuo, 13th March, 1995. Interview in Jinijini with Maame Yaa Rose, 13th March, 1995.

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  ‒   always paid him visits. One day he called witnesses and elders of the family, and my mother and I, and told everyone that because of my good character and my interest in farming he was leaving one of his fields for me on his death. He showed me exactly where the land was, and those farmers with whom he shared boundaries, and the flowers and orange trees on the boundaries. . . . Later, we called all the elders and I gave drinks to my uncle to thank him. We all shared the drink.14

Initial access to gift lands can often be most instrumental in the accumulation of wealth by recipients. Wealthy farmers in the study region are not only farmers but hold complementary occupations, including business entrepreneurs, traders, artisans, and professionals. However the wealth is acquired, it has often enabled individuals like Mr Asomah to accumulate symbolic capital which has been used to negotiate for and to acquire even more gifts of land. While service, good character, and humility to the grantors of gift lands are important, wealth is overwhelmingly viewed as the key to lands that provide exclusive rights in this study region (cf. Saul, 1988). The results of all these wealth, humility, and service-influenced strategies of negotiation for more exclusive rights to land, than those provided by family lands, and their implication for production are described in the next section. It should be reiterated that the accumulation of such exclusive rights to land is not a recent phenomenon, but has a long history. In order to seize the incentives for investing in cocoa production, more exclusive rights in land were acquired beginning in the early 20th century. What is occurring presently, under the incentives of the market reform program, is an intensification of this process, primarily among the wealthy (Awanyo, 1999: 235). Successful Bargaining for Rights to Land and the Implications for Production Variations in size and particularly the titles to landholdings reflect the differences in power over resource negotiation. These differences in access to land provide significant insights into which farmers are realizing the production incentives of economic reform by increasing production. Evidence from Berekum shows that it is the wealthy land owners who have the opportunity to increase their production. With larger landholdings and exclusive rights including the right to cultivate crops of their choice, wealthier farmers are better able to respond to the production incentives. 14

Interview in Jinijini with Samuel Yaw Asomah, 10th December, 1995.

      

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Out of a total of 90 farmers in the sample who indicated consistent increases in production within Berekum since 1985, 66 farmers, primarily men in the wealthiest households, cultivating the export crop cocoa, extended15 their farms in the conditions complemented by the economic reforms (Table 1). Thus extension, which is dependent upon access to land, was the primary strategy for increased production. The wealthiest accounted for 94 percent of all respondents (62 out of 66 farmers) who had extended production. Eightyone percent of all respondents in the highest income household had extended their farms compared to eight percent in middle-income households and none in the lowest income households.16 This observation supports the studies in the Ashanti Region by Commander et al. (1989) and in the Eastern Region by Dei (1992a) which point to the domination of the wealthy in processes of extending farms. As a result of norms that sanction greediness on family lands, most of the extension occurred on lands on which farmers held exclusive rights (Table 2).17 Forty-eight percent of all farmers who extended their farms did so on gift lands only. Another 38 percent increased their land use on both gift and family lands. However, the prevailing norms on greediness restricted their farm extension on family lands to smaller hectarages. Clearly, by renaming family lands as gift lands the accumulation of land and increased production by the wealthy produce less tensions than would otherwise have been the case. This renaming of family lands is so critical for the cultivation of perennial/tree crops, such as cocoa, and the newly introduced 15 Extensions were verified during field work and the sizes of land involved were estimated. Extension of land represented by far the most important strategy for increased production. 16 While all males in the highest income households have extended production in the sample of respondents, this is by no means indicative of a 100 percent probability that all farmers in the wealthiest households of the larger population would have increased production. The sample was obtained through chain sampling, and although farmers interviewed were obtained from a random sample of the farmers identified through chain sampling, it is most likely that it was the richest individuals who were identified in the first place, and this most likely influenced this outcome. These wealthy farmers were predominantly involved in the cultivation of the lucrative cocoa, from which they derived guaranteed incomes, and had thriving investments in non-farm economic activities. These sources of income were used to influence access to land. 17 Extension in land use is defined as increases in the use of land for more than three consecutive years. Therefore, when the farmer abandons lands after three years for fallow and cultivates new plots it is not considered as extension unless the farmer indicates that the size of the current plot represents an increase over the previous one.

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  ‒  

cashew, that only four of the 70 low-income farmers in the sample, whose main source of land is from family landholdings, cultivate these crops. These four farmers incorporated tree crops into their annual crop farms. No low-income farmer extended production in tree or annual crops. Twenty-seven low-income farmers who aspired to enjoy the benefits of the increasing and guaranteed prices and markets provided for these export crops by the government wanted to extend their family landholdings to include tree crops. Permission for cultivating tree crops on family landholdings was denied by their family heads and elders because allowing a perennial crop that provides de facto permanent title to land would undermine the broad, inclusive, principles and meaning of family land tenure as land belonging to, and for the use of, all members of the family, including unborn generations. On the other hand, 73 farmers in the higher income groups cultivate tree crops on their farms in Berekum and/or mainly on their landholdings in the Western Region of Ghana because they had acquired the exclusive rights on family or stool lands that allowed them to cultivate crops of their choice (see also Awanyo, 1998). Twenty-eight farmers in this group extended their production of these tree crops. Thus, the wealthy employ custom and their wealth to influence family heads and elders, and their decisions on “the uses [of land] which are legitimately viewed as exclusive and who has these exclusive rights” (Feder and Feeny, 1991: 136). In sum, land belongs to matrilineal descent groups and all members have customary rights to land, but this does not mean that all members of the group have equal access. This inquiry shows that class influences land use in a variety of ways that also illuminate the significance of culture and politics. The greater resource endowments (economic power) of the wealthy enables them to meet their numerous customary obligations and expectations, such as generosity and social exchange, and in turn they are rewarded with greater cultural and political power which increases their economic power even further. Such power is employed to successfully negotiate for not only larger landholdings, but also exclusive rights over family holdings. This combination of size and exclusive title to land enables the wealthy to enjoy the benefits of the prevailing production incentives by consistently extending production, and thus to contribute to ERPSAP’s objective of increased agricultural growth, while the poor are unable to do so. Clearly, it is the wealthy for whom the land tenure system has been flexible enough to allow for increased production.

      

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Who Carries More Responsibilities? Gender, and the Culture and Politics of Access to Land The present framework of analysis views the resource entitlements and the social relations of class as critical for understanding the varying patterns of individual land use. This framework also points to the equally important social relations within the household as indispensable for explaining agricultural production. Consequently, in the following inquiry, gender relations are explored as paramount among the social relations within households. They influence access to land and condition the ability of an individual to take advantage of the current production incentives for increased production. Impact of Gender on Land Negotiations As members of a matrilineage, women hold the same de jure rights of access to land as men. The differences in de facto access arises because of customarily-defined hierarchies of male and female power and responsibilities, as well as variations in economic power, which arise from the different resource endowments of men and women. These factors interact in a holistic manner to influence access to land, and hence differences in patterns of agricultural production by men and women. While women hold similar customary rights to family lands as men, family heads often assign larger plots to men than women. The differences in land sizes are symbolic, linked to the customary definition of whose responsibilities are more important and carry more weight, and thus require greater material resources. Family heads assert that men’s asodie, responsibilities, are heavier than women’s. Consequently, the social structure gives men preferential access to land resources. While this is the custom, it is increasingly contested in women’s discourse. Maame Effa explains: Men get the bigger share of everything that is shared. That is amamre, custom. The asase, land, they [family heads and elders] give to a man is bigger than what they give to a woman. I understand that men’s asodie, responsibilities, are bigger than women’s. They have to take care of their abusua, they have to take care of their children and their wives. When there is a problem everyone calls upon a man to lead. I understand. But nowadays which man is able to take care of all the needs of the family? Nowadays, women do more than men. When I stopped marriage with a man who was not treating me well, I took care of all my children. When I stopped [the marriage] and asked for land from the abusua panyin, family head, they [family head and elders] gave

296

  ‒   me only a small plot. They told me that in the last year, three men of the abusua, family, had got married and they needed land to meet their asodie, responsibilities. They gave all of them big plots of land to farm. One of them was given a gift because his uncle is osikani, rich.18

Marriage complicates social relations in matrilineal societies, as spouses are expected to maintain very close social and economic relations with their respective matrikin, who constitute “real” family in contrast to the conjugal family. Individuals are faced with an ongoing struggle to maintain some sort of balance between their responsibilities and sentiments towards the matrilineal family and the conjugal family. Marriage provides potential access to land from a spouse’s family, although de jure access to land is based on matrilineal relations. Within the conjugal family, custom dictates that the husband must provide the wife with land that will enable her to contribute to the welfare of the household, to reduce the responsibilities of the husband, and to provide her with some economic independence. Indeed, the culture holds women who are economically successful in high regard. Thus, on marriage, a man is expected to seek permission for his wife to cultivate part of his family landholdings. Others in wealthier households often give their spouses gifts of lands. For example, many migrant female cocoa farmers obtained their lands in the Western Region as gifts from their husbands (see Awanyo, 1998; Mikell, 1984; Abu, 1983; Okali, 1983a, 1983b). However, in spite of this norm, most men seek to control the economic independence of their wives, and thus limit the resources they provide for their wives’ economic activities. A low income farmer, Maame Owusua elaborates on some of these issues: When a woman goes into marriage, the man is expected to take good care of the woman and the children. It doesn’t matter that the custom is that your mother’s abusua is your mogya, blood. Once you are married, the wife and children are your responsibility. The wife is also expected to help the husband look after the children. So, the husband’s abusua gives the wife land for farming. The land they give to the wife is smaller than the husband’s because they say that women don’t have enough strength. My farm which I got from my husband is smaller than his own. That is how it is here. They also say that men’s asodie, responsibilities, are bigger than women’s. If you want more land you can only get it from your own abusua, family. I want to cultivate more land, because the cost of living is tough. But where will I get it? The men have all the land in the abusua.19

18 19

Interview in Jinijini with Maame Effa, 19th February, 1995. Interview in Jinijini with Maame Owusua, 20th February, 1995.

      

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Although there are many women who have encountered similar experiences to those of Maame Owusua, women often obtain both family and gift land from their own matrikin. Maame Afua Donkor explains why a woman will opt for independent farming on her own family land or acquire exclusive rights to lands for cocoa production in the Western Region: If your husband’s [farm] work is big [demanding] and if you have children, then if he takes care of them well you will som, serve, him and not go for your own land so that you can help him with work on his land. When you husband doesn’t do this [take care of children] then you have to go for your own land and work on it.20

Tensions, such as those arising from not meeting customary obligations within the conjugal household, lead women to negotiate for land from their own matrikin and other sources outside the conjugal household. Notwithstanding the source, women are generally disadvantaged in terms of access to land. Successful Bargaining for Rights to Land and the Implications for Production Table 1 indicated that extension was the main strategy for increased production in the study region, and therefore access to land is critical. Consequently, an exploration of the relative success of men and women in bargaining for land is crucial for insights into which gender is able to expand production. Many studies on agricultural households in Ghana submit that women have been less successful than men in negotiating for land (Okali, 1983a, 1983b; Abu, 1983; Whitehead, 1984; Mikell, 1984). They point out that the landholdings of women are smaller and they are often unable to bargain for lands that provide greater exclusive rights. In line with some of the observations in the previous section of this discussion, analysts conclude that women are disadvantaged in access to land (and also labor) both as members of their lineages and conjugal families. The implication is that women are less able to increase production. However, as Warner et al. (1997) point out, women do not constitute a homogeneous group and are characterized by variations in economic and political power, and thus the ability to negotiate for greater resources for production. For instance, women in wealthier households, as is the case for men, are more successful in their negotiation and have preferential access to land. Therefore, class intersecting with gender is important for shaping access to land. 20

Interview in Jinijini with Maame Afua Donkor, 2nd December, 1995.

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Evidence from the study region confirms the difficulties faced by women in bargaining for land. This study argues that the predominance of men, mainly wealthy men, among farmers who were meeting the market reform objectives by extending production primarily reflects their success in acquiring greater exclusive rights (Tables 1 and 2). All male farmers in the wealthiest households increased production, after the economic reforms were introduced, through land extension (Table 1). The source of such lands were mainly gifts (Table 2). While 70 percent of all the women in the wealthiest households also increased production, only 48 percent of them extended their farms (Table 1). As in the case of men such lands were primarily acquired as gifts (Table 2). Women in general were less successful in obtaining lands that provided greater exclusive rights, such as those associated with gift lands, which were critical for extending production without sanction and for the cultivation of the lucrative export tree crops. The predominance of female heads of households (5 out of 16 households) in the sample of middle-income households contributed to the seemingly greater success of women than men in extending production (Table 1). Female heads of households, like their male counterparts, are the main bread winners and are responsible for the welfare of all members of their household. Family heads of these women’s matrilineages are more willing, for instance, to give gift lands to female heads of households, because of the perceived larger responsibilities they hold. The larger responsibilities they carry on their own, the need to strive harder than most women to attain economic independence and meet the needs of their households, and their independent economic decision-making outside the constraints of an immediate male authority within the household, all contribute to their success in holding larger resources (See Robertson, 1984). Without the 2 (out of 5) female heads of households who extended production, 6 percent of men extended production compared to none of the women (Table 1). Although these figures are low, the pattern of male dominance is confirmed. Table 3 describes the crops cultivated on the extended landholdings. Most of the extension that took place within Berekum was for the cultivation of only food crops. In spite of holding lands that provided greater exclusive rights, only a few farmers were increasing their investments in Berekum for the cultivation of tree crops for exports. The scarcity of unexploited forests and soils which provide the optimal conditions for tree cultivation, and the increased occurrence of grass and other savanna vegetation that predisposes the region to

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extensive bush fires have led farmers to view capital investments in tree crops to be risky in Berekum. Constituting only 23 percent of farmers who had extended production in food crops and export crops, women were marginal to processes of extension in Berekum. Awanyo (1998) showed that while women comprised about 40 percent of a sample of farmers from Berekum who had increased production of the export crop, cocoa, in the more conducive environmental conditions in the Western Region during the period of the economic reform, the sizes of their landholdings were generally much smaller than those of men (see also Mikell, 1984; Abu, 1983). Thus, in general, the land tenure system was more flexible for men by allowing them to gain access to larger landholdings, and to acquire greater exclusive land rights than women. Men, therefore, dominated in the expansion of production. Among women able to extend production, the majority resided in the wealthiest households (Table 1). Class and gender are in effect inextricably linked in the successful bargaining for land that allow for increased production. The findings in this section, and the previous one, indicate that the broad-based expansion of production (involving especially lowincome farmers) anticipated under the economic reform program has not occurred, and thus the slow growth in agriculture (World Bank, 1993: 10–11). However, another interpretation can be made based upon the propositions of scholars who study “the agrarian question,” or the processes of agrarian change and transformation that occur as market incentives are unleashed (Lenin, 1972; De Janvry, 1981; Goodman and Redclift, 1982). This interpretation would suggest that the slow growth in agriculture will be reversed as the wealthy agrarian capitalist class continues to expand production and to enjoy economic incentives for production. For proponents of this view the accumulation of lands that provide exclusive rights for the wealthy class of farmers is one of the indicators of the emergence of a class of agrarian capitalists which could eventually accelerate agricultural growth. This study does indeed show that the wealthy have accumulated exclusive land rights and are expanding production.21 Is the 21

Agrarian capitalists, according to Lenin (1972), De Janvry (1981), Goodman and Redclift (1982), Bernstein (1979), and Mamdani (1987), hold and accumulate exclusive land rights, employ productivity enhancing inputs, and hire labor. This class of farmers invest their wealth productively in agriculture. Certainly, in Berekum, wealthy farmers are investing in agricultural production. Their negotiation for and accumulation of exclusive land rights was previously discussed. Investments in productivity enhancing inputs have however been far less impressive, and reflect a national pattern (Institute of Statistical, Social and Economic Research, 1995: 81–89).

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accumulation of exclusive land rights and the expansion of production taking place on such land indicative of the beginning of a sustained process of concentration of such land rights and a long-term trend in expanded agricultural production by the wealthy? An understanding of the society and culture of the study area would suggest that such an inference cannot be made with much certainty. First, it must be reiterated that there are often multiple interests and multiple de jure rights in any land and that these eventually limit the process of concentration of land rights. For instance, the principles of inheritance and rewarding family members for their service require that a grantor fairly and reasonably bequeath land among deserving family members. This means that concentration of land, under the control of an individual farmer, may occur at one time or in one generation but this land may be dispersed among members of the matrilineal and conjugal family at another time or in another generation (Berry, 1993, 1988; Okali, 1983a, 1983b; Hill, 1963). Secondly, while respondents in the present study indicated the availability of uncultivated family land which could be potentially cultivated if they were granted the permission to do so by family heads, population growth will in the long run affect the availability of land. The population of Berekum is growing rather slowly because of the extensive migration to more prosperous parts of the country and this partly explains the availability of land.22 However slow the population growth, a greater demand for land can be expected in the long run thus limiting the concentration and sizes of land, or intensifying conflicts over land, which may affect the ability of farmers to increase production by extending their farms, as they do now (Benneh, 1971; Patten and Nukunya, 1982, Arhin, 1983b). Thirdly, rather than being invested in agriculture the wealth of farmers is often invested in social networks and the extended family as a way of building up symbolic capital and of advancing authority and seniority within the community and the extended family (Awanyo, 1998; Berry, 1988, 1993). It is this dispersal of resources from production which explains why even the wealthiest farmers complained that productivity-enhancing inputs were unaffordable, and thus their poor and inconsistent use of them on farms. Wealth is also invested in less risky economic activities, such as in trading and in transportation, which yield much quicker returns, and which 22

For instance, Jinijini’s annual rate of population growth between 1970 and 1984 (the last published census) was only 0.8 percent. The sex ratio in 1984 was 88.7 men per 100 women, which is indicative of a region undergoing male outmigration.

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according to farmers continue to yield a higher rate of return than reinvestment in agricultural production. In sum, it is difficult to conclude that the current concentration of exclusive land rights which is leading to expanded production by the wealthy is the beginning of a trend that would eventually accelerate agricultural growth. Conclusion The chapter examined the role, if any, land tenure rights play in the slow growth in agriculture. Are the agricultural incentives of the economic reform being accompanied by the changes in the property relations of production, from inclusive land rights to exclusive land rights, that are conducive for expanding production? The debate on the relationship between land tenure and the ability to seize market incentives and to expand production has been contentious. To clarify this relationship, and to highlight the processes of access to land that shape agricultural production under the economic reforms in Ghana, this paper employed data from the matrilineal JinijiniKoraso region of Berekum. The discussion showed that extension of farms was the principal means of increased production and that this process was associated with those for whom the indigenous land tenure system had been flexible. More specifically, production increases were associated with farmers who had acquired greater exclusive rights on landholdings which are the inclusive property of the social group to which they belong. For these farmers changes in property rights had occurred. All members of matrilineal social groups in the study region have de jure rights to the groups’ landholding, but such rights do not ensure de facto access to land. The ability to successfully negotiate for land, particularly for exclusive land rights, was shown to be a key to increased production. The social structure and practices in the study area enable the wealthy and men to more successfully bargain for exclusive rights and thus enjoy more privileged access to land than the poor and women. The paper demonstrated that culture and politics perpetuated the poor and women’s inability to expand production, even in the context of production incentives, primarily because of their lower success in obtaining gift lands. But class and gender were complexly entwined. For instance, although women were disadvantaged as a group, there were variations in their ability to seize the production opportunities. Women in wealthy households were by far more successful in negotiating for lands with greater exclusive

  ‒  

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rights than poor women. As a result, the majority of women in the sample of respondents who extended production were in the wealthy households. While indigenous land tenure systems have been flexible to accommodate changing economic conditions, the evidence from the study area points to how power, culture, and politics condition class and gender differences in the ability to influence the flexibility of indigenous land tenure systems. Those who responded to the SAP incentives for increased production are those for whom the land tenure system has been flexible and which has enabled them to acquire exclusive land rights. However, whether the resources spent for privatization, titling, and registration programs by the state can provide returns in improved access to land by all groups of farmers, increased land security and reduced land conflicts that would bring about a broad-based expansion in production is a matter on which the jury is still out. APPENDIX Table 11.1: Income and gender of farmers who have increased production under the economic reforms* MODES OF INCREASED PRODUCTION

LOWEST INCOME (n=70) Male Female

MIDDLE INCOME (n=55) Male Female

HIGHEST INCOME (n=76) Male Female 49 (100%) (64%)

– –

– –

2 (6%)a (4%)b

2 (11%) (4%)

Other (n=24)c

2 (7%) (3%)

3 (8%) (4%)

5 (14%) (9%)

8 (42%) (14%)

TOTAL (all respondents who have increased production) (n=90)

2 (7%) (3%)

3 (8%) (4%)

7 (20%) (13%)

10 (53%) (18%)

Extension of Land (n=66)

– – 49 (100%) (64%)

13 (48%) (17%) 6 (22%) (8%) 19 (70%) (25%)

* All figures are rounded up to the nearest whole number, thus some percentages may not add up to 100 percent; Note a: Number of respondents as percentage of males/females in income category; b: Number of respondents as percentage of all farmers in income category; c: Other refers to processes of intensification such as fertilizer use, increased use of labor, and different crop spacing arrangements. Source: Fieldwork

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Table 11.2: Source of land for extension by type of crop and gender of farmer SOURCE OF LAND ON WHICH EXTENSION HAS OCCURRED BY GENDER OF FARMER FAMILY (n=4) 1. MALE 2. FEMALE

EXTENSION IN ANNUAL/FOOD CROPS ONLY (n=58)

EXTENSION IN PERENNIAL/EXPORT AND FOOD CROPS (n=8)

3 (5%)a –

1 (2%) –

GIFT (n=32) 1. MALE 2. FEMALE

17 (26%) 10 (15%)

3 (5%) 2 (3%)

GIFT AND FAMILY (n=25) 1. MALE 2. FEMALE

20 (30%) 3 (5%)

2 (3%) –

ALLOCATION/PURCHASE (n=5) 1. MALE 2. FEMALE

5 (8%) –

– –

45 (68%) 13 (20%)

6 (9%) 2 (3%)

TOTAL NUMBER OF RESPONDENTS (n=66) 1. MALE 2. FEMALE

Note a: Number of respondents as a percentage of all farmers who have extended production. Source: Fieldwork

Table 11.3: Hectarage of extension in Berekum by type of crop and gender of farmer TOTAL HECTARAGE OF EXTENSION

EXTENSION IN FOOD CROPS ONLY (n=58)

EXTENSION IN EXPORT AND FOOD CROPS (n=8)

14 HECTARES 1. MALE 2. FEMALE

5 (8%) 2 (3%)

2 (3%) –

45 (68%) 13 (20%)

6 (9%) 2 (3%)

TOTAL NUMBER OF RESPONDENTS (n=66) MALE FEMALE

Note a: Number of respondents as a percentage of all farmers who have extended production. Source: Fieldwork


 

CITIZENSHIP, CUSTOMARY LAW AND GENDERED JURISPRUDENCE: A SOCIO-LEGAL PERSPECTIVE Charlotte Kesson-Smith and Wisdom J. Tettey Introduction Democratic change has, without question, been lauded as the equalizer that will allow hitherto marginalized segments of society to gain a voice and a place in the emerging political dispensations that are emerging around the world. It is the political imaginary that is supposed to establish a notion of citizenship that is devoid of difference, discrimination and peripheralization of any group. The desire for such a dispensation is enscapsulated in the constitutions of both established and emerging democracies. These constitutions “guarantee” equality of rights and opportunities for all citizens. In spite of these provisions, however, there is a concern about the extent to which constitutional guarantees, together with the judicial processes that are supposed to uphold them, are indeed giving women a place in the mainstream of the socio-political arena. There are doubts about the practical manifestations of juridical citizenship as it affects the everyday lives of women in society. The South African Women’s Charter eloquently charges that “conventionally, democracy and human rights have been defined and interpreted in terms of men’s experiences. . . . If democracy and human rights are to be meaningful to women, they must address our historical subordination and oppression. Women must participate in, and shape, the nature and form of our democracy (cited in Seidman, 1999, p. 287). ‘Citizenship’ constitutes a very contentious concept (Lister, 1997, p. 13). It embodies contradictory tendencies that impose collective and individual demands for identity, power, and resource allocation. To understand the subjectivities that citizenship incorporates, and the different social positions that it prescribes, we need to move beyond its formal, juridical presentation. There is an emerging body of literature on citizenship that contends that “the specific location of people in society – their group membership and categorical definition by gender, . . . mediates the construction of their citizenship

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as ‘different’ and thus determines their access to entitlements and their capacity to exercise independent agency” (Werbner and YuvalDavis, 1999, p. 5; see also Pettman, 1999; Stasiulis and Bakan, 1997). It is clear from the mainstream literature on democratization that most discussions of democracy do not encompass a thorough and grounded incorporation of gender issues as efforts are made to reconstruct new states (see Yuval-Davis and Werbner, 1999 and 1997). This omission is definitely the case in Africa’s transitional democracies, with the exception, probably, of South Africa alone (Seideman, 1999).1 It is this general neglect of a gendered discourse in the movement toward democratic change that has led many feminist scholars, as well as post-liberals and radical democrats, to conclude that contemporary theories, concepts, and practices of democracy are blind to the fact that citizenship and political participation are defined and experienced differently by men and women. Feminist scholars in particular contend that in order to bring fairness and equality to the democratization process, there is a need to move away from a universal conceptualization of the relationship between genderless individuals and the state. They also advocate an approach that recognizes the differentials in citizenship between men and women. Such an approach is imperative because there is a deficit in citizenship for women as a result of their subordination by the various institutions, practices and processes that mediate their relationship with the state (see Jensen, 1995; Carloff, 1993). “Rather than being an artificial construct of modernity, citizenship as a subjectivity is deeply dialogical, encapsulating historically inflected, cultural and social assumptions about similarity and difference” (Werbner and Yuval-Davis, 1999, p. 3). Jaquette (1989) notes that most discussions, during the fashioning of democratic transitions, tend to be limited to amending state policies to offer women better access to state largesse. There is, usually, no fundamental rethinking of the nature of democratic practice so that it incorporates women in a way that moves them beyond wards of the state in need of protection to active agents of political transformation. To make this transition, it is crucial that we interrogate the extent to which state and social institutions, policies, and practices define and perpetuate the marginalized location of women within

1 The South African case is unique in view of the fact that the designers of the country’s democratic framework “discuss citizenship in explicitly gendered terms, paying close attention to the ways in which gendered identities and interests play out in the consolidation of democracy” (Seidman, 1999, p. 288).

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society and how such definitions affect the quality and essence of their citizenship. Such an exercise is a necessary first step in the construction of a gendered notion of citizenship, and socio-political participation, which serves to promote sensitivity to the unique location of women within the state and helps address the impediments imposed on them by contemporary practices within its institutions. Clearly, because “all citizenship is gendered – that is [since] relationships between individuals and states must be shaped, in part, by the gendered experiences of citizens – democratic institutions that treat all citizens equally almost inevitably reinforce gender inequalities” (Seidman, 1999, p. 302). The inability of current approaches to citizenship to recognize and respond to the differentiated constituencies that make up the citizenry has led to calls, by post-liberals and radical democrats for a legitimization of a differentiated public sphere that reflects the plurality of citizenship. Authentic citizenship also requires an “autonomous conscious subject” which is imperative for dialogical engagement with other citizens and the political system (see Held, 1995, p. 151; Tettey, 2000 and 2001). Bell Hooks (cited in Collins, 1991, p. 34) poignantly states, “oppressed people resist by identifying themselves as subjects, by defining their reality, shaping their new identity, naming their history, telling their story.” Emanating from a reconstructed perspective of citizenship is the idea of narrative and voice. Fundamental questions that are germane to understanding the disarticulation of women’s interests from the mainstream of social institutions, but which are not answered by many current democratic frameworks, include the following: whose views shape the institutional frameworks under which democracy is run? Who speaks on behalf of women in the formulation and implementation of statutes, regulations and policies? Whose aspirations are most stunted, denied and/or silenced by the nature of those frameworks? What needs to be done to make women’s rights an intrinsic part of the state’s operations? It is in the context of the limitations of a universalistic idea of citizenship to theorize the plurality of, and the hierarchization within, the concept that this chapter examines the relationship between gender and the judicial system in colonial and post-colonial Ghana. Our approach to the examination of this relationship is based on a discursive model of the public sphere. As Ghana forges a new democratic dispensation that ostensibly recognizes the equality of all its citizens, it is important that we do not lose sight of the need for a gendered jurisprudence. Such a jurisprudence is an imperative foundation from which to achieve the equality enshrined in the coun-

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try’s constitution. The 1992 Constitution presumably provides for gender equality through provisions such as Article 22, which states: 1) A spouse shall not be deprived of a reasonable provision out of the estate of a spouse whether or not the spouse died having made a will. 2) Parliament shall, as soon as practicable after the coming into force of this Constitution, enact a legislation regulating the property rights of spouses. 3) With a view to achieving the full realisation of the rights referred to in clause (2) of this article a) spouses shall have equal access to property jointly acquired during marriage; b) assets which are jointly acquired during marriage shall be distributed equitably between the spouses upon dissolution of the marriage.

The following discussion will show how universalizing notions of citizenship have not only failed to appreciate the unique location of women within society, but also to appropriately respond to their circumstances within the justice system. We agree that “no persons, actions or aspects of a person’s life should be forced into privacy; and . . . no social institutions or practices should be excluded a priori from being a proper subject for public discussions and expression” (Young, 1990, p. 120). Our focus on the justice system in particular is necessitated by the fact that Law is one of the most powerful or intimidating tools that dominant society uses to maintain the status quo and the marginalized position of some groups. Law has a history of presenting justification for the ordering of things. Too often, or perhaps too consistently, this justification is taken for granted to be correct (Amoah, 1997, p. 86).

The chapter begins with a discussion of the position of women in pre-colonial society and an analysis of the effects that the introduction of English common law, the colonial court structure, and the interpretation of Ghanaian customary law have had on them. It is our contention that colonial rule entrenched a subordinate legal status for women under customary law because of the prejudiced way in which customary law was interpreted and codified during the colonial era. We engage in a discussion of the extent to which Victorian patriarchal ideology and values shaped the construction of a gendered subordination of women in the conceptualization and administration of justice, both in the Gold Coast as well as in post-colonial Ghana. This

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is followed by an interrogation of the extent of gender blindness within post-colonial jurisprudence and judicial practice, and in state actions vis-à-vis gender and the justice system. This examination concludes that no significant gains were made in the period prior to 1985, as far as women’s legal status, options, and opportunities were concerned. We also argue that although some legislative progress has been made since 1985, the fundamental subordination of women in Ghana’s socio-legal system remains largely unassailed. Thus, while we agree with Agyei (2000, p. 118) that women’s groups have “for a long time, spearheaded the development and empowerment of Ghanaian women,” it is important not to be overly enthusiastic, as she is, about the efforts per se. The more significant issue that needs to be critically engaged is whether those efforts have translated into substantive gains for women. Women in Pre-Colonial Society It will be useful to briefly discuss the socio-economic and political position of Ghanaian women in the pre-colonial setting in order to give a clear idea about the extent to which their current situation can be argued to be a product of social construction. Van-Hook and Ngwenya (1995) are correct in pointing out that the legal status of women cannot be fully comprehended and addressed without situating it within a historical context of political, cultural, and socio-economic change. In the pre-colonial context, Ghanaian women had certain socioeconomic rights that gave them an autonomous identity apart from their husbands in both the patrilineal and matrilineal descent systems. On marriage, the Akan woman for example, retains her own name and continues to be a member of her matrilineal family. Although the paternity of the husband over any children born in the marriage is acknowledged, the children are members of her matrilineal family. Furthermore, since no community of property is recognized between spouses, she can hold property independent of her husband. Also, it has always been taken for granted that an Akan woman earns her own living or a large part of it (Oppong, 1974, p. 33). Among the patrilineal Anlo Ewe, daughters were not excluded from inheriting part of their father’s property (Nukunya, 1997, p. 51). Greene (1996, p. 4) observes that “prior to the late seventeenth century, Anlo women inherited land from their mothers and fathers. They also had the right to bequeath this land to their children, despite the fact that the Anlo patrilineal system defined their children as members of a different patrilineage.”

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The generally widespread economic independence of the Ghanaian woman is also established. She is expected to be independent either through farming or trading and to contribute to the upkeep of the family. As Manuh (1997, p. 82) points out: Except in areas of the north where Islam had been established as a cultural mode, as in Gonja and Dagomba, free women throughout Ghana have had considerable economic independence and played other important social roles. Patrilineal women tend to have a strong work ethic, being autonomous economic individuals in those situations where they live apart from husbands, or making major contributions to the household through farming or other work where they reside with husbands” (see also Oppong, 1974, p. 34)

It is instructive to note that in 1874, the only African trader in Cape Coast who had sufficient capital to trade directly with England without going through the local British traders at the coast was a woman (Reynolds, 1974, p. 113). The political importance, especially of the Akan woman, is also intrinsic to the traditional system of authority. In Ashanti, lineage is conferred by women and recognition for political office is ultimately determined by the queen mother (see Busia, 1958; Ray, in this volume). It is her duty to nominate a chief, advise and guide the chief and publicly rebuke the chief when necessary. An Ashanti queen mother eloquently expressed the basis for the important role that women play in traditional politics in the following words: We in Ashanti have a law which decrees that it is the daughter of a queen (ohemaa) who alone can transmit royal blood. . . . This law has given us women power in this land so that we have a saying which runs: “It is the woman who bears the man” (Rattray, 1923, pp. 294–295)

Apart from conferring political power on men, women exercised political power more directly as queen mothers. Akan traditional society recognized the leadership of the ohene and ohemaa, literally translated as the ‘ruler’ and the ‘female ruler’ or queen mother respectively. The queen mother is usually the mother or sister of the male chief (Aidoo, 1981, p. 66). As co-rulers, the chief and queen mother manage the affairs of the community. The office of the latter carries important constitutional, legal and religious responsibilities. She is a member of the governing council of the state and takes part in deciding important matters of state. The importance of the queen mother’s office is summed up in the fact that her stool is referred to as “akonnua panyin”, meaning the ‘elder stool’.

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At the level of the village, the village council is constituted by the heads of the matrilineage, the odikro (male village chief ), the obaa panyin (female co-ruler with the odikro) and the old men and women in the village – i.e., the mpanyinfo and the mmerewaa respectively (Oppong, 1983, p. 93). In the case of the Anlo Ewe, “older women participated in the decision-making processes that concerned the community as a whole as well as their particular families” (Greene, 1996, p. 4). The above discussion about the relative autonomy and high status that women, generally, enjoyed should, however, not deceive us into assuming an essentialized bliss for women in the pre-colonial setting. The extent of gender inequality in pre-colonial society is manifested in several realms. One such area is within the institution of marriage, specifically the practice of polygyny. While men could, and in fact still do, marry as many women as they desire, under customary practices, it was inconceivable for a woman to have more than one husband at a time. Again, even though women inherited land and other property, their share was generally smaller than that of their male siblings in both matrilineal and patrilineal systems (see Manuh, 1997, p. 80; and Nukunya, 1997, p. 51). The duality of women’s position is captured in several proverbs. The following Akan proverbs are very illustrative: “The hen also knows the approach of daylight, but leaves it to the cock to announce it”; “When a woman owns a gun, it leans against her husband’s wall”; and “When a woman makes a giant drum, it is kept in a man’s room.” These proverbs suggest that the Akan woman possesses the ability to make the giant drum and to acquire the gun, but that the “manhood” of males must be protected by having the credit for the production of these artifacts reside with them. The pre-colonial marginalization of women notwithstanding, it can be argued that the subordination of Ghanaian women was further entrenched by colonialism. In fact, the bourgeoise patriarchalism that characterized metropolitan Britain blinded colonial authorities and Eurocentric scholars to the relatively high status that women enjoyed in ‘traditional’ Ghana. The following intimation by the renowned English anthropologist, Rattray, is instructive. When he inquired from the indigenes as to why his failure to recognize the important role of Ashanti queenmothers had not been pointed out to him, the indigenes responded thus: The white man never asked us this. As you have dealings which recognize only men, we supposed the European considered women of no account, and we know you do not recognize them as we have always done (Rattray, 1916, p. 84)

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Customary Law: Invention or Preservation of Tradition? In order to understand the gendered nature of contemporary Ghanaian legal structures and discourse, it is important to take a trip back to the jurisprudence of colonialism. This exercise in retrospection involves a critical analysis of the impact of the English common law, the colonial court structure, and the interpretation of Ghanaian customary and case laws in the formulation of judicial decisions involving women. The argument being advanced here is that the process of interpreting customary law and its attendant codification, during colonial rule, provided the foundations for the extensive marginalization and subordination of women in Ghana’s legal system. Indeed, Manuh puts it mildly when she opines that “the ambiguous status of women and children derived from the development under colonialism of what has been termed ‘legal pluralism’ – the operation of several legal systems in tandem” (1997, p. 77; see also Luluaki, 1997). The history of Ghana’s ‘modern’ legal system has its origins in the Royal Charter of July 28, 1874, that established the Gold Coast as a British colony (Bennion, 1962). This should not be misconstrued to mean that there were no systems of ‘traditional’ jurisprudence precedent to the imposition of the colonial legal system. In fact, as Allot (1970, p. 10) notes, “before the arrival of the British and other European colonisers . . ., indigenous legal institutions were found everywhere.” The groups of peoples who occupied the territory that became the Gold Coast were governed by various systems of well organized and applied mores, rituals and religious rites that had acquired the status of acceptable law through practice, consensus, and the pronouncements of traditional authorities. This embodiment of prescriptions and proscriptions, which became known as customary law, were presumed by some scholars as having “no creative conscious evolution of legal principles and doctrines; and no written process in the courts” (Allot, 1970, p. 62). Whilst it is accurate to say that there are no written legal principles or doctrines upon which customary law is based, it is utterly wrong to contend that they were not the result of a creative and conscious process. This view is borne out by the fact that these laws are adaptive to changing circumstances, and hence dynamic and flexible, even as they are guided by definitive parameters that are said to have their provenance in the inviolable institutions and mores of the past (See Obiora, 1993, p. 224; and Hammond v. Odoi, GLRD, paragraph 129). Until the introduction of English law, indigenous customary law as described above was the recognized and applicable law. Following

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the formal inception of English law, the legal structure of Ghana and the application of customary law was fundamentally altered. Colonialism imposed a new hierarchy of laws. “Although British authorities outwardly accommodated indigenous laws and its supporters, in practice they treated customary law with veiled contempt” (Mikell, 1992, p. 227). The Bond of 1844, signed between the British and some Fanti Chiefs, was important because of its implications with regard to Customary law. The Bond acknowledged the precedence of English law, and the chiefs acquiesced to the view that “human sacrifices, panyarring (i.e., the holding of a debtor’s family member hostage until a debt is settled), and other ‘barbarous’ customs were abominations and contrary to law” (Bennion, 1962, p. 8). The 1844 Order in Council asserted that only Customary law that was compatible with English law was to be recognized. As noted in the Order: Judges shall “observe until further order such of the local customs . . . as may be compatible with the principles of the law of England, and in default of such customs, shall proceed in all things as nearly as may be, according to the said laws of England (Bennion, 1962, p. 8).

English law, thus, became the residual law. The enactment of the Supreme Court Ordinance of 1876 marked the final step in the introduction of English law in Ghana. Section 87 of this Ordinance made it absolutely clear that native or customary law was to be accepted only if it was not inconsonant with and “repugnant to natural justice, equity and good conscience, not incompatible either directly or by necessary implication with any ordinance for the time being in force”. The precise meaning of this “repugnancy clause” or “repugnancy principle” was never determined and the extent to which British judges applied the principle vis-à-vis customary law is debatable (Merry, 1982, p. 74). What is indisputable, however, is the fact that the clause gave British judges wide-ranging discretionary powers in deciding which customary laws to uphold or strike down. It is also important to note that customary law was applicable only to issues between ‘natives’, and particularly to certain areas of social interaction, such as land, marriage, chieftaincy and succession. The application of the repugnancy clause, judicial precedent, and other principles of English law resulted in alterations to customary law. The resulting modification to customary law is what has been described as “the invention of custom/tradition” (See Hobsbawn and Ranger, 1983; Chanock, 1983, p. 53).

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Conflicts in English and Customary Laws and their Impact on Women English law modified customary law in a variety of ways. These included setting down criteria for the application of customary law which required that this law apply the principle of judicial precedent, be codified, and be proved in colonial courts. We will look at each of these prescriptions in turn, and examine their consequences for women in colonial and post-colonial Ghana. We will argue that the new legal order which resulted from colonial interference and codification of customary law were all instrumental in reducing the legal status of women under customary law. As Vogel (1991, p. 61) argues, in the context of Europe, “the resources for perceiving women and men as equals were available in the wider philosophical and moral frameworks of . . . theories of citizenship. The egalitarian principles were, however, displaced and overlaid by a predominantly political interest in the hierarchical ordering of marriage.” The Colonial Court Structure The use of native courts by the British for adjudicating disputes between ‘natives’ was an integral part of the colonial legal order and, as a corollary, an important step in the creation of legal discrimination against women. Early British policy validated traditional male-run judicial institutions while obliterating those indigenous legal institutions that were under the authority of women. The policy, for example, recognized existing traditional tribunals of male chiefs but provided no recognition for the queen mothers’ (Allot, 1970, p. 108). The colonial authorities also disrupted the balance that had hitherto characterized the composition of indigenous judicial institutions. With the promulgation of a new Ashanti Native Courts Ordinance (Native Courts [Colony] Ordinance, no. 22 of 1944), for example, the British arrogated to themselves the power to determine the composition, and to regulate the activities, of native courts (Allot, 1970). This gave them the power to prescribe the membership of the courts and to suspend and dismiss these members. Eventually, the composition of these courts was so altered that they did not reflect the leaders who were held as traditionally qualified to resolve conflicts (i.e., chiefs, queen mothers, male and female leaders). It is instructive to note that women were not appointed to any positions of authority in the colonial courts. This served to undermine the importance of women in the traditional judicial system and excluded them from the law-making process (Barnes, 1970). The exclusionary validation of male privilege in institutional structures and the silencing

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of women’s voices therein were entrenched by another aspect of the colonial legal system – the need to prove custom in colonial courts. Proving Custom in Colonial Courts In the colonial courts, Customary law was treated as foreign law. As such, it was considered as a question of fact to be proved in court (see Allot, 1970, p. 75). This requirement disadvantaged women even further. Proof of customary law entailed calling witnesses to court to testify to the accuracy of the customary practice at issue. Unfortunately for women, the usual practice was for the courts to call men, especially male chiefs, to give ‘expert’ opinions on customary law and to testify to the accuracy of customary norms in order to help the court arrive at decisions (Fitzpatrick, 1984, p. 21; see also Sarbah, 1968, note 8, part 2). This practice led, in many instances, to distortions and misrepresentations of customary law as a result of ignorance, bias or corruption on the part of the witnesses. Since most judges of the early courts were not conversant with local customs, the men were able, with the aid of colonial courts, to assert authority over women. [Indeed], throughout Africa, customs derived from the male informants ensured that men’s dominance over women was expressed even more clearly in colonial invented custom than it had ever been before and colonial courts enforced such custom (Fitzpatrick, 1984, p. 21)

Through this process of assigning authoritative voice to men in customary matters, the legal system ipso facto subordinated women’s views and consequently subjugated them within the social structure. The consequence was the maculinization of customary law, leading to what Woodman (1985, p. 153) referred to as the subordination of the “sociologists’ customary law” to the “lawyers’ customary law” which gave binding legal authority to those ‘expert’ views. This situation confirms MacKinnon’s (1983, p. 644) observation, with regard to the intertwined complicity of patriarchy and legal legitimization in defining women’s position in society, that “the law sees and treats women the way men see and treat women. Substantively, the way the male point of view frames an experience is the way it is framed by state policy.”

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Codification of Custom and the Principle of Judicial Precedent The codification of customary law had the negative impact of stultifying the growth of customary law by depriving it of its otherwise elastic nature. Where customary law had previously been able to adapt to socio-economic changes in society, codification prevented this growth. An eminent indigenous lawyer, John Mensah Sarbah’s, caution below underscores the seriousness of the problem: I am quite alive to the danger of reducing Customary Law to a condition of fixity in a semi-developed state of society, the effect of which may hinder the gradually operating innate generation of law by a process of natural development, independent of accident and individual will, which best accords with the varying needs and spirit of a people so circumstanced as the inhabitants of the Gold Coast (Sarbah, 1968, p. xi).

It must be noted that the problem is not with the “semi-developed state of [Ghanaian] society,” but that once a rule of custom had been codified, the codified law was considered as the actual custom of the people and used as the source of law in resolving disputes. Where codified custom was used as a source of law or as precedent, there were two likely problems. First, it took away the flexibility of customary law. Second, where a wrong rule of custom was incorrectly recorded by the writer, or the actual custom was misunderstood by the writer, the codification has the further impact of fossilizing a wrong rule of custom which was subsequently applied in the courts. Fitzpatrick recounts how an elder of the Dagombas of Northern Ghana, speaking to a foreign scholar, expressed the problem inherent in codifying customary law which has its basis in oral tradition: “. . . this our business has nothing to do with writing and you keep trying to put it down and in the process you ruin it for us.” (Fitzpatrick, 1984, note 27). Ranger also argues that codification of customary law altered its nature and essence: Since so few connections could be made between British and African political, social and legal systems, British administrators set about inventing African tradition for Africans. Their own respect for ‘tradition’ disposed them to look with favour upon what they took to be traditional in Africa. They set about to codify and promulgate these traditions, thereby transforming flexible custom into hard prescription (Hobsbawn and Ranger, 1983, p. 212)

The impact of this process of codification, coupled with the potential for distortion and the absence of women’s voices, had far-reaching

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implications for women. One area where this impact was particularly striking was family law. Family law represents an area where the colonial courts were enjoined to apply customary law in cases between ‘natives’. The Ghanaian marriage laws are a prime illustration of the application of selectively preserved customary law during the colonial era and the unfortunate consequences for women. It has become usual for the incidents of marriage and the rights of spouses within customary marriages to be interpreted from the male point of view. The male point of view has also been influenced by the Victorian, patriarchal ethos imported into the Ghanaian state through the vehicle of colonialism. Nukunya (1992) notes that “although the rights that are created by the marriage are reciprocal in the sense that both sides gain, it is usual to consider the issue from the point of view of the rights acquired by the husband.” So pervasive is the subordination of women that Nukunya feels no need to explain why it is ‘usual’ to consider the rights created in marriage solely from the male point of view. Sarbah (1968) also states that “in all primitive [sic] societies, the idea of purchasing a wife underlies the institution of marriage.” What he fails to include in this observation is the fact that, on marriage, Akan women, for example, retain their names and membership in matrilineal families. An Akan woman also maintains her economic independence after marriage and spouses can hold property independently of each other (see Bossman, 1967, p. 202; Oppong, 1974, p. 34). Obviously, the works of early writers, like Sarbah, were colored by their own personal biases and ideas about what the status of women should be (see Abel 1984, p. 6). In the area of property rights, the far-reaching impacts of this trend of distorting custom are seen in cases decided under ‘customary law’ which deal with women’s property rights. On the basis of judicial precedent, these codified customs and colonial decisions continue to be in force. Even when the recorded customs are accurate, there has been little, if any, heed paid to the impact of the inability of customary law to adapt to socio-economic changes as a result of the fossilization of customary law by judicial precedent and codification. MocClintock (1991, p. 118) laments that “all too often, the doors of tradition are slammed in women’s faces. Yet traditions are not the sacrosanct esssences of a people; they are the social inventions of a very recent origin – both the outcome and the record of political contests for power.” It is worth noting that several attempts were made by traditional authorities, between 1933 and 1948, to amend customary law to

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benefit spouses and children. These included resolutions by the Effutu State Council, the Joint Provincial Council, Akim Abuakwa State Council, and the Ashanti Confederacy Council suggesting that wives and children receive a third to two-thirds of a deceased’s property. Unfortunately, each of these efforts failed to gain the approval of the Governor-in-Council. In those cases where native authorities ruled for such compensation as was suggested by these resolutions, the regular courts dismissed those rulings on appeal (Manuh, 1997, p. 83). Customary Law, Legal Status of Women, and Post-Colonial Ghana It is our contention that because of the wholesale, unhistoricized, and uncritical acceptance of ‘custom’ in post-colonial jurisprudence, customary law has served as a bottleneck to the advancement of women’s rights in Ghana. This approach has resulted in decisions that tend to erode the rights and positions of women further, and perpetuate received, and sometimes erroneous, notions of women’s status in society. Obiora (1995) is absolutely correct in suggesting that the portrayal of custom as the reified and unchanging quintessence of an ancestral past is inimical to the advancement of women. It is ironic that in the post-colonial enthusiasm to ‘retraditionalize’ African societies (see Mazrui and Tidy, 1984, p. 298), codified customs became the point of reference, and the colonial influence on these ‘customs’ was largely ignored. Maddox (1993, pp. 39–40) points out that: From the point of view of those who have undergone colonialism, roughly speaking, all pre-colonial social structures and institutions are regarded as tradition and all colonial and post-colonial social formations are defined by the ordinary man [sic] and scholar as modern. But such a neat separation falsifies the changes that traditional institutions and social structures have experienced and the fragments of modernity they have picked up along the path of social change in colonialism.

Women’s strategic importance to national liberation and independent struggles in Ghana, and in many other developing countries, has never been in doubt (see Austin, 1964; see also Badran, 1995; Jayawardena, 1986; Mohanty et al., 1991). Their devotion to these causes was gingered by their perception of these struggles as “an emancipatory movement for autonomy, popular sovereignty and universal citizenship” (Werbner and Yuval-Davis, 1991, p. 1). However, ‘retraditionalization’ and the nationalist movement did not bring relief

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from domination but served to perpetuate subjugation. Attempts in the early 1960s to enact legislation that would have established uniform marriage, divorce, and inheritance laws, irrespective of whether one was married under the Ordinance or customary law, were strongly opposed and never saw the light of day (Manuh, 1997, p. 85; see also Mikell, 1992, p. 231). The intrinsic bias of the legal system is not helped by the fact that the judiciary has always been dominated by men. In 1957, there was only one female judge in the superior court structure; in 1984, women constituted only 10 per cent of the judiciary; a decade later, the figure rose by only one per cent (NCWD, 1995, p. 2). In 1998, only 12.5 percent of judges and judicial officers were women (Agyei, 2000, p. 125). In these male-dominated court rooms, selectively preserved ‘custom’ has been invoked under the guise of nationalism, presented in an image of immutable antiquity, and enforced without much empathy for women’s rights. Women and Custom: The Intestate Succession Cases An examination of case law relating to the customary law on intestate succession demonstrates the legal bias against women in postindependence Ghana. It is this legal bias, rather than a discriminatory customary law alone, which have reinforced the subordinate legal status of women. In deciding the property rights of widows in the estate of deceased husbands, courts in post-colonial Ghana have been influenced by male ‘cultural’ values and biases. Analysis of the cases decided prior to the enactment of the Interstate Succession Law (PNDC Law 111) in 1985, reveal a marked reluctance by the Ghanaian judiciary to apply or interpret ‘customary law’ in favor of women. In fact, contrary to the laudatory conclusions that Manuh (1997, pp. 87–88) draws regarding the inclination of the courts to rule in favor of women, our analysis comes to a less than flattering revelation. For instance, the courts consistently held that widows were not entitled to any portion of the estate of their husbands who had died intestate. One of the earliest recorded cases used to support the courts’ position on this issue is the 1888 case of Swapim v. Ackuwa (Sarbah, 1968, pp. 191–192). The main issue for the consideration of the court was the right of widows and children to residence in property built by a deceased husband and his wife on family land. The court accepted conclusively the evidence of two male chiefs and held that: The wife of the deceased husband, who was invited by a member of the family has no interest in the house which both she and the husband

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  ‒   built on family land, except that of a mere occupant. . . . The family would have the permission to turn the wife out of the house, if they wish it. And she should remain therein by the permission of the family, the wife having her own family, to whom she must go. . . . The children could remain or continue in the occupation thereof by the family, the children having their own family on their mother’s side to go to. But this right of the family is seldom exercised but where occasion is given. (Sarbah, 1968, p. 192) [Emphasis added].

Assuming that the evidence of the male chiefs in this case was an accurate statement of the law, it is important to note that the opinion was based on property built on land belonging to the husband’s family and not on the self-acquired property of the man. Furthermore, the custom as stated by the chiefs was in an era where kinship bonds were so strong that a widow could return to her matrilineal kin and take up residence with them. In an age of urbanization and strong conjugal bonds, such a notion should not be the basis for a legal decision, because it is totally outmoded and not in keeping with the times. In spite of the underlying differences between the Swapim case and the realities of contemporary Ghanaian society, the decision in that case has been adopted intoto and applied in post-independence cases. This is so in spite of the fact that the accuracy of the oral evidence on which it is based is questionable. The courts accepted as a ‘fundamental principle of customary law’ that wives are not entitled to a proprietary interest in estates of deceased husbands or jointly acquired matrimonial property regardless of the nature of their contribution to the acquisition of the property. In the case of Quartey vs. Martey, the high court held that: [B]y customary law it is the duty of a man’s wife and children to assist him in the carrying out of the duties of his station in life. The proceeds of that joint effort, and any property which the man acquires with such proceeds, are by customary law the individual property of the man, not the joint property of all; . . . the proposition that upon a man’s death intestate, his widow married under customary law is by that law entitled to one-third share of his self acquired property, real and personal, is untenable (GLR, 1959, p. 378).

The widow in this case had testified that she was married to the deceased for about 25 years prior to his death. On the outset of the marriage, the deceased had been unemployed, while the widow had been a successful trader throughout the marriage. In addition, she had assisted her husband financially towards the acquisition of the

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house in question. The court based its decision partly on an earlier case, Okwabi v. Adonu (WALR, 1957, p. 268), which decided that where a son worked with his father, property acquired from such joint effort would be presumed to be the property of the father. The fact that in Quartey v. Martey, the relationship between the couple was not filial but marital, and that they did not work together, was not taken into consideration by the court. The fundamental mistake made by the court in following the Okwabi decision was the failure to distinguish between the joint effort of a father and son on land belonging to the father and the contributions made by a wife or a son to a husband or father towards the acquisition of property. In spite of the shortcomings of the judgement in the Quartey decision, rulings in subsequent cases have been based on it. While courts were willing to modify aspects of the judgement, they retained and reaffirmed its substantive principle, thereby leading to a miscarriage of justice towards a lot of widows in the country. In Kofi Antubam (Decd), Quaico v. Fosu (GLR 1956, p. 139), the court decided that although widows could not claim a share in property acquired during marriage, they had a right to residence in such property during widowhood and to maintenance by the head of family or customary successor of the deceased husbands. The widow’s right to accommodation was, however, qualified as being ‘subject to good behavior’. The phrase ‘subject to good behavior’ was not defined by the court, thereby allowing ample room for the widow to be thrown out of her matrimonial home by the husband’s family at their whim. It is fair to say that the courts have, on occasion, registered their concerns about the negative impact of a static customary law on widows. In Abebreseh v. Kaah (GLR, 1976, p. 62), Justice Sarkodee, for example, acknowledged that “our laws have not kept pace with the needs of a people who cannot now resist intermarriages. The result is that our law of inheritance especially touching on the duties, rights and obligations of a spouse . . . is in a state of confusion” (see also GLR, 1956, note 127, p. 140; GLR, 1974, note 110). These reservations notwithstanding, the judiciary displayed a marked reluctance to advance the right of widows by continuing to apply outmoded rules of customary law vis-à-vis widows. This religious attachment to anachronistic laws, that are based on debatable premises, still guided decisions of the Ghanaian courts almost three decades after independence. A 1982 case will illustrate this inclination. In Etua v. Sika-Kyere Abusua (GLRD, 1982/83, paragraph 76), the High Court, in granting a widow’s claim to her deceased husband’s house, based its decision on the fact that the widow’s substantial

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contributions to the property and the husband’s intention to build the house for her were established. It is clear, however, that the overiding reason for the decision was not the woman’s contribution to the property, but the intention of the parties to hold joint property. Justice Twumasi reiterated the Quartey principle, stating that: I would not share the view that assistance by a wife however substantial in cash or kind in the acquisition of property by a husband per se suffices to stamp the property so acquired with the label of joint property. Whether the property acquired is the joint property of the man and wife who contributed to its acquisition, is all a matter of evidence of the intention of the parties (GLRD, 1982/83, paragraph 76, p. 193).

The judiciary’s obsession with applying what are clearly anachronistic ‘customary laws’ cannot be attributed to the argument that they are just applying the laws on the statute books, and that it is not their responsibility to make laws. Judges have exhibited progressive judicial creativity in other contexts where the disjuncture between the dictates of customary law and the realities of contemporary society has been used as a basis to deny claims based on that law (see the cases of Attah v. Esson, GLR, 1976, p. 128; and Atomo v. Tekpetey, GLR, 1980, p. 739). The same can be done in the area of the law pertaining to women. It is interesting to point out, however, that in the cases of judicial creativity cited above, the victims were men and the situation of the woman also affected by the latter case was not even considered to be an issue. Without doubt, the interpretation and application of ‘custom’ has been a major bottleneck to the promotion of the rights of women. The same bias has been evident in the interpretation and enforcement of statutes. The presumption of female subordination has been present in the determination of the property rights of parties to a marriage in the courts. An examination of selected cases decided under the Matrimonial Causes Act [MCA] (1971) illustrate this point. If the argument is to hold that ‘custom’ is solely responsible for the subordinate status of women, then the decisions under the MCA should reflect a level of gender equality consonant with the interpretation of a gender-neutral statute such as the MCA. Such equality has, however, been lacking in decisions under the MCA especially in the area of post dissolution maintenance and distribution of property. In addition, several decisions under the MCA are strikingly similar to the decisions examined above, under customary law.

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Women Under the Matrimonial Causes Act The MCA is the prevailing statute regulating divorce and ancillary matters between parties to a marriage in Ghana. The act ostensibly proceeds on the presumption of gender neutrality or the equality of the parties in the marriage. It states, for instance, that any party to the marriage may present a petition for the dissolution of the marriage. Despite the presumption of gender neutrality, however, several cases decided under the act illustrate a resounding bias against women, especially in the area of financial orders made on the dissolution of a marriage. Although the MCA is substantially based on the English Act, decisions under the former are substantially at variance with those decided under the latter (see Wachtel v. Wachtel, 2WLR 366, 1973). In spite of the fact that the MCA enjoins that what is “just and equitable” be done (Section 19 of the MCA), the courts have taken the view that property acquired during a marriage is the sole property of the husband unless a wife can show proof of substantial financial contribution to the purchase of such property. A classic case is found in Odoteye v. Odoteye (GLRD, 1984–86, paragraph 61). In this case, the parties had been married for 36 years. Subsequent to their divorce, the wife applied for maintenance and transfer of a house acquired by the husband during the marriage to her and her children, under section 19 of the MCA. She offered no evidence as to her contributions towards the acquisition of the house. The court, basing its judgement on an earlier 1959 decision (Majolagbe v. Larbi, GLR, 1959, p. 190), denied the application for the transfer of the property to the wife. The court stated, per Justice Griffiths-Randolph: Indubitably, it was not inconceivable that the female spouse would contribute to the cost of the property being acquired by the husband. Also the court had in some cases declared such property to be jointly owned by them. . . . In the instant case, the application for transfer of the house to the wife would be refused because there was no evidence of the wife’s contribution to the cost of the house (GLRD, 1984–86, paragraph 61).

The demand for proof of financial contributions from wives has resulted in a substantial miscarriage of justice in cases such as the above and especially where the wives are illiterate. The nature of documentary evidence sometimes demanded by the courts in order to show proof of contribution by women puts illiterate/semi-literate women, and wives who have contributed in kind, at a disadvantage.

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In the case of Aborbor v Abobor, the court denied the woman’s claim, stating that although it was likely that she had contributed to the upkeep of the home, she had not proved to the satisfaction of the court the extent of her contribution. The court ruled that the petitioner and her co-wife (since the husband had another wife) had kept [only] to their wifely duties; neither was entitled to any share of the properties which belonged exclusively to the [husband] . . . The English law position as accepted also under customary law is that the wife does not share property with her husband merely on the fact that she provided wifely duties. By custom, neither the wife nor the children acquire any proprietary interest in the husband’s farms or buildings merely because they helped him to cultivate the farms or put up the houses. . . . This is a customary duty they owe him (Unreported, Accra, High Court, Feb. 16, 1987; see also Wanitzek, 1991, p. 94).

The demand for proof of substantial financial contribution is unfair in view of the fact that the MCA does not specify any such requirement for determining post-dissolution awards. The premise underlying the demand for proof of substantial financial contribution from women is that the husband is the sole breadwinner and thus the owner of all property acquired during marriage. The courts have stuck to this premise, in spite of acknowledging, in certain instances, the substantial economic input of some women to conjugal coffers in contemporary Ghana (see Achiampong and Achiampong, GLR 1017, 1982–83, p. 1024; Ribeiro v. Ribeiro, GLRD, 1989–90, paragraph 168). It must be admitted that some judges have ruled in favor of women in similar cases, based on their personal sentiments (e.g., Oparebea v. Mensah, Unreported Judgement of the High Court, suit no. D&MC 1608/88, Dec. 14, 1989). The strict insistence of the Ghanaian courts for a woman to show proof of substantial financial contribution has wreaked tremendous injustice on women. An important issue such as property rights of women after divorce can no longer be left to the magnanimity of the judiciary. As the cases mentioned above indicate, the wide discretionary powers granted the judiciary have been exercised in a manner which is male-centered and based on the patriarchal values in which the judges have been socialized. In a society where over 29 per cent of households are female-headed (Manuh, 1997, p. 79), such biased decisions by the courts can be very debilitating not only for women but for their dependent children as well.

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State Policies and Attempts at Reform Over the last decade and a half, issues of women’s rights have been given relatively high visibility by the state, because of the pressures that pro-women’s groups have brought to bear on it. The state’s engagement with women’s issues has included participation in high profile national and international events that publicize the situation of women, and advocate positive changes to redress their subordinate role and the repressive conditions that they experience. Legislative changes have also accompanied state efforts, and they will constitute the focus of this section. The section examines legislative efforts made since 1985 to stamp out certain customary practices which discriminate against women. In evaluating these efforts, we will pay particular attention to the Intestate Succession Law, 1985 (PNDC Law 111). The Intestate Succession Law Although a substantial part of what became the Intestate Succession Law was completed by the Law Reform Commission in 1975, the proposals of the Commission were not passed into law, because of a lack of political will and stability (Manuh, 1997, p. 86). This inaction left the fate of widows to the discretion of judges. With the enactment of the law in 1985, the foundation was put in place to effect changes to the existing customary laws which did not always grant spouses and children a share in the estate of deceased spouses and parents who died intestate. It is presented as a gender-neutral statute, applicable across the country, irrespective of class, ethnic origin or form of marriage contracted by a deceased person. The law has, thus, been lauded as a progressive step in the protection of women’s rights, “a success for churches, traditional authorities, and women’s groups who had long pressed for changes in the marital laws of Ghana, but who had been frustrated by colonial and legislative resistance” (Manuh, 1997, p. 77; see also Dolphyne, 1991; Kuenyehia, 1989). One positive aspect of the law is the abolishing of discrimination against female children with respect to inheritance – a practice which was based on customary law. They are now entitled to the same share of property as their male siblings. To ensure deterrence, and hence to promote compliance, the law stipulates specific punishments for particular violations. It provides that a widow is entitled to twoninths of any property forming part of her husband’s estate and a widower is entitled to a third of his wife’s property. Under Cap 129, which is applicable to Moslems in accordance with Islamic law, a

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widow is entitled to a fourth of her husband’s estate, except where he was survived by children. In the latter case, a widow’s entitlement was halved to an eighth of the estate. A widower is allotted half of the wife’s estate, if she was childless, or a fourth, if she was survived by children. The law recognizes four categories of beneficiaries to the estate of the deceased. These are the surviving spouse (or spouses, in the case of polygynous marriages), all children of the deceased, and surviving parents of the deceased, and beneficiaries to the estate under customary law. Section 18 of the law defines a child to include “a natural child, a person adopted under any enactment for the time being in force or under customary law relating to adopting any person recognised by the person in question as his [sic] child or recognised by law to be the child of such a person.” In a polygynous society, such as Ghana, where it is not uncommon for men to have children outside the marital relationship, this provision entitles the ‘illegitimate’ children of the man to a portion of the estate of their deceased father. The implications of this provision for the widow will be considered later in the discussion. Section 4 (a) adds that where the estate consists of only one house, the said house shall devolve exclusively to the surviving spouse and children of the deceased who shall hold it as tenants-in-common. In Appiah v. Biani (GLR, 1991, p. 199), the court ruled against the mother of the deceased who wanted to take possession of his uncompleted house, and in favor of the spouse and her children. This case underscores the laudable functions of the Intestate Succession Law in providing widows with the security of their matrimonial home or any house forming part of the estate of a deceased husband. The law, in section 5, provides that where the intestate is survived by a spouse and child(ren), the estate shall be distributed as follows: 3/16 to the surviving spouse; 9/16 to the surviving child(ren); 1/8 to the surviving parent(s); and 1/8 in accordance with customary law, or 1/4 where there is no surviving parent. In a case where the intestate has no surviving child, section 6 of the law grants half the estate to the spouse, 1/4 to the surviving parents, and 1/4 to be share according to customary law. It adds that where there are no surviving parents, half of the estate shall be allocated according to customary law, with the other half going to the surviving spouse. Notwithstanding the positive implications of the law, there are a number of areas where it could be strengthened to enhance the position of widows. Section 3, for example, provides that: “Where the intestate is survived by a spouse or child or both, the spouse or child or both of them, as the case may be, shall be entitled absolutely to

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the household chattels of the intestate.” The provision is aimed at curbing a common practice where widows are stripped of all personal properties owned by the couple upon widowhood by their husband’s relatives and ousted from their matrimonial homes. This section could have a more equitable effect if the widow were given sole title to the household chattels. This is because, in most cases, household property is purchased through the joint efforts of a husband and wife, and it is the wife (rather than the children) who would most likely have contributed more to the acquisition of such property. Furthermore it is unfair, in a situation where the deceased husband of a monogamous marriage has children outside of that marriage, for those children to share the household effects with the widow even though they have made no contributions to the acquisition of such property. The absence of fairness in this regard is accentuated because, as discussed below vis-à-vis sections 7 and 8 of the law, children of the deceased are granted a higher share of the property than is allocated to the spouse who has a larger proprietary interest in the property.2 In Tabuah v. Darkwa and Nantee, brought before the High Court in Kumasi (Suit No. OS. 5451/81, December 8, 1989), the court ruled that “the two widows and the deceased’s children are entitled exclusively to all household chattels of the deceased. The widows shall be entitled for three-sixteenth whilst all the children shall be entitled to nine-sixteenth of the household chattels.” This seems to be a retrogression in judicial terms for women since case law, going back to 1962, had granted sole entitlement of household chattels to women (see United Simpson v. Jeffrey, GLR(1) 1962, p. 279). Sections 7 and 8 of the law are also worthy of note, even though their inequitable implications are not exclusive to women. Section 7 provides that where there is no surviving spouse, three-fourths of the estate shall devolve to the surviving child and one-eighth each to the parents and the customary law family of the deceased. Section 8 adds that if there is no surviving spouse or child, the parents of the deceased shall be entitled to three-fourths of the estate and onefourth shall devolve in accordance with customary law. The implication of these provisions is that although, under certain circumstances,

2 We do recognize the fact that children born outside a legitimate marriage are, sociologically, recognized as children of the man, and so should be catered for by the estate of their deceased father. However, giving them the bulk of the estate, despite the fact that they haven’t contributed to the property in the conjugal home, and may, in fact, already enjoy discreet disbursements and property from their father, seems unfair.

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either a surviving child or parent may become entitled to threefourths of an estate, no provision grants such a large portion of the estate to a surviving spouse. The law assumes that there is always a community of interest between widows and children. This is a naïve assumption. Where, for instance, a widow has no child(ren) of her own, a provision such as Section 4 which grants the widow and the children a joint interest in the matrimonial home may have undesirable consequences for her. She may be compelled to enter into an uncomfortable arrangement, where she has to share her matrimonial home with her husband’s ‘illegitimate’ children and the mothers of those children. The law also has the potential to fragment property to the point where its utility to the widow becomes diminished. How do the two widows, in the Tabuah v. Darkwa and Nantee case referred to above, share one house and household chattels equitably with the ten surviving children of their deceased husband? In spite of the existence of this law, and the gains that it has brought some women, the implementation and enforcement of these laws over the 15 years, has . . . been resisted by areas, which practice the matrilineal system of inheritance that do not recognise spouses and children’s rights to inheritance” (Mould-Iddrisu, cited in ghanaweb, March 13, 2000; see also Manuh, 1997, p. 78).

Mikell (1992, pp. 233–234) reveals that women still have to contend with family members of their deceased husbands insisting that the widow has no right applying for letters of administration without the involvement of the deceased’s Head of family. The biggest constraint to the effectiveness of the law is the fact that families undervalue the contributions of women to their husband’s largesse. Even where such contribution is acknowledged, it is considered to be “uxorial labor” that requires no compensation. Some Islamic scholars gnaw at the credibility of the law through statements that contend that it “does not apply to Muslims since . . . the law is in conflict with the Islamic Law on Inheritance. In the case of the death of a Muslim, the elders are to distribute the wealth acquired by the deceased according to the dictates of Muslim tradition as enshrined in the Koran and not engage the services of a law court for distribution” (ghanaweb, August 27, 2000). These attitudes explain the refusal of some groups and individuals to respect national legislation. It is also important to note that lot of women, particularly those in the rural areas and/or lower socio-economic classes, do not have the wherewithal to engage the services of lawyers to help them pursue cases

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in court, hence making it impossible for them to take advantage of the provisions of the law when families are non-compliant. Conclusion: Women’s Rights, the Legal System, and the Case for a Gendered Citizenship Since 1985, some awareness has been shown by government with respect to the problems facing Ghanaian women. The United Nations Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) was ratified by the government in January 1986. A few laws have also been passed during the same period aimed at improving the status of women.3 Furthermore, the 1992 Constitution guarantees women several rites. Presumably, these provisions shall contribute towards eliminating the discrimination suffered by women especially in post-marital distribution of property. The use of ‘equitably’ in Article 22(b) rather than ‘equally’ raises problems. This is because ‘equitably’ grants judges the direction to decide what is a fair distribution of matrimonial property depending on the particular circumstances of the parties in question. The Matrimonial Causes Act similarly grants the same discretionary powers to the judiciary. As pointed out earlier, the judiciary has traditionally applied such discretionary powers in a manner that is discriminatory to women and denies them an equal share in matrimonial property. It is, thus, doubtful whether Article 22(b) effects any positive changes to women’s rights where post-dissolution awards are concerned. Other important constitutional provisions relating to the rights of women are Articles 17, 26 and 27. Article 17 guarantees women freedom from gender based discrimination. Article 26 (2) prohibits all customary practices that are “injurious to the physical and mental well-being of a person”. For women, this means that customary practices such as widow inheritance, female genital mutilation, trokosi, and widowhood rites are all prohibited by this constitutional provision. Finally, Article 27 guarantees women’s maternity rights, day care facilities for women with children below school-going age and

3

These are the Intestate Succession Law, 1985 (PNDC Law 111); the Customary Marriage and Divorce (Registration) Law, 1985 (PNDC Law 112) (as amended by PNDC Law 264 and 263); the Criminal Code (Amendment) Law [Act 484] and PNDC Law 90 which prohibits female genital mutilation and widowhood rites respectively.

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“equal rights to training and promotion without any impediments from any person.” As admirable as these constitutional guarantees may seem, not much has been done to enact legislation that will effectuate these guarantees. In spite of Article 22 (2), no legislation has been enacted regulating the property rights of spouses within, and subsequent to, marriage or which enforces the constitutional guarantees in Article 27. Kuenyehia rightly warns that if this is not done, the situation would continue to be that a wife who is unable to prove some kind of financial contribution, which is capable of monetary computation, will not be able to successfully claim a share in the property which she and the husband acquire during the subsistence of the marriage (cited in ghanaweb, March 13, 2000).

Although government cannot be held culpable for all the disadvantages that women suffer, it is nevertheless accountable to its citizens when it fails to meet its obligations under national and international laws. Government has clearly been slow to meet its commitments under the domestic law of Ghana, particularly the Constitution. There has been a similar reluctance by government to transform its commitments under CEDAW into domestic law in spite of the fact that CEDAW was ratified by Ghana in 1986. For instance, part of government’s obligation under CEDAW is to protect women from abuse either by the state or by private actors (see Articles 2 (c), (d) and (e) of CEDAW). For the government, this implies: A duty to install, sensitize and train law enforcement agents; maintain an effective criminal justice system, enact laws proscribing abusive acts such as sexual harassment, battery, female genital mutilation and other traditional practices and customs that are based on gender bias and stereotypes (Mathangani, 1995, p. 190).

In Ghana, there is an absence of domestic laws dealing with sexual harassment and battery of women, as well as the continued practice of trokosi (vestal virgin sacrifice) and other discriminatory customary practices such as female genital mutilation (see ghanaweb, Feb. 19, 2001; Ghanaweb, Oct. 16, 2000; Bilyeu, 1999; Okwabanego, 1999; Mould-Iddrisu, 1993). These omissions and commissions cast doubts on government’s commitment to equality for women and fulfilment of its obligations under CEDAW. CEDAW also urges governments to promote women’s rights (Articles 2, 3, and 4 of CEDAW). Mathangani (1995, p. 190) explains that the duty to promote the rights of women includes

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a general duty to advance the other objectives set forth in the [convention]. This could be through legislative means, affirmative action to counter gender imbalances, influencing public opinion, empowering citizens through training, transforming attitudes inimical to the realizaton of rights and providing financial and other assistance to women.

The National Council for Women and Development (NCWD) submitted a proposal a long time ago, urging government to initiate affirmative action policies for women. The lack of timely response on this submission raises questions about government’s commitment to women’s advancement. To achieve gender equality for women in Ghana, there has to be a major revolution in all strata of Ghanaian society, especially with regard to what constitutes custom. The simplistic acceptance of custom as rooted in antiquity must end. The impact of colonial rule on Customary law must be properly assessed. When voices are raised in defence of custom, the status of the speakers must be questioned. It is a faulty approach when women consider custom as the sole obstacle to their emancipation; it is also faulty when men uphold custom as the quintessence of the ancestral past which should be maintained. The historical formulations of customs that oppress women must be located and condemned. There is also an urgent need for legislative intervention and reform of statutes needed to translate constitutional guarantees of gender equality into more specific legislation. The necessity for education cannot be over-emphasized. There is a need to increase the levels of female literacy in Ghana and legal literacy, in particular, has to be encouraged and promoted. Legal literacy drives through the media, drama and music should be fostered. These efforts were effective in curbing the incidence of FGM and will be necessary for further success. Most importantly, there is the need for a comprehensive anti-sex discrimination code in Ghana. This code should incorporate an affirmation action policy geared towards increasing the number of women in the judiciary, parliament, law enforcement agencies (particularly the police force) and all government agencies and organizations. Increased female visibility in these areas would contribute greatly towards dissipating negative stereotypes of women and increasing sensitivity and awareness of women’s issues. While the establishment of a Ministry of Women’s Affairs by the Kuffuor administration sounds like a progressive step, it will make no substantive impact on women’s lives if it is relegated to a ghettoized institution that only has token symbolic value. In addition to having a separate ministry

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for women’s affairs, it will be useful to integrate gender issues and sensitivity to them in all state institutions for any substantive, sustained, and meaningful impact to be made. As Seidman (1999, p. 303) notes in the South African context: If women’s interests are defined, in part, by the institutions through which political participation is channeled, the democracy in South Africa may offer a new vision of gendered citizenship. Institutional mechanisms requiring officials to consider the impact of policies on real (gender) citizens may be the closest any democracy has come to incorporating gender into the definition of citizenship. Gendered citizenship, from this perspective, would include not so much a specific package of rights or policies as institutional mechanisms allowing, perhaps, stimulating an articulation of gendered democratic aspirations.

It is important to recognize that the concept of ‘citizenship’ is broader than the instrumental notion of political participation. It should encompass an understanding of the different ways in which we engage with the political system as a result of our gender, ethnic, cultural and other backgrounds. This chapter, therefore, concludes that the Ghanaian judicial system, and indeed all state institutions, need to embrace the emancipatory ideals of gendered subjectivity, which provides the basis for equal citizenship (see Prokhovnik, 1998; YuvalDavis, 1997). As has been demonstrated in the preceding discussion, such an approach also offers a useful analytical tool for reconceptualizing citizenship. This is particularly important in this era of democratization, so that the enthusiasm with which we embrace the ‘third wave’ (Huntington, 1991) as currently defined may not distract us from recognizing the extent to which our ‘democracies’ ignore the differences between various groups of citizens and the unequal gender spaces and privileges that still characterize Ghanaian society.

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CULTURE, INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE AND DEVELOPMENT


 

IS CULTURE THE OBSTACLE TO DEVELOPMENT IN GHANA? A CRITIQUE OF THE CULTURE-DEVELOPMENT THESIS AS IT APPLIES TO GHANA AND SOUTH KOREA Henry M. Codjoe Introduction When I read the book Culture Matters, edited by two Harvard University professors, raising questions about the relationship between culture and development, I said to myself, ‘Here we go Again.’ The ugly head of the role of culture in explaining underdevelopment, especially in Africa, has been raised again. Like recent editorializing in the western media Africa becomes the whipping boy (see for example, The Economist, 2000: 17–24). The mystification of the so-called Asian tigers, even amidst recent economic problems, has again been given prominence. For about two decades now, we have all been reading about “the East Asian Miracle.” East Asian economies like South Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, Japan, Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia have been described as “the center of world economic dynamism” (Cumings, 1984: 1). These countries, it has been noted, have “emerged as the pioneering set of countries graduating out of the class of developing countries and into the coveted group of newly industrialized countries (NICS)” (Mehmet, 1999: 114). In contrast, we are constantly reminded about how much of sub-Saharan Africa has fallen behind and put at the bottom of the evolutionary economic development ladder. So, it wasn’t a surprise that one of the editors of the book, Samuel Huntington, in a Foreword had this to say: In the early 1990s, I happened to come across economic data on Ghana and South Korea in the early 1960s, and I was astonished to see how similar their economies were then. These two countries had roughly comparable levels of per capita GNP; similar divisions of their economy among primary products, manufacturing, and services; and overwhelmingly primary product exports, with South Korea producing a few manufactured goods. Also, they were receiving comparable

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  ‒   levels of economic aid. Thirty years later, South Korea had become an industrial giant with the fourteenth largest economy in the world, multinational corporations, major exports of automobiles, electronic equipment, and other sophisticated manufactures, and a per capita income approximating that of Greece. Moreover, it was on its way to the consolidation of democratic institutions. No such changes had occurred in Ghana, whose per capita GNP was now about one-fifteenth that of South Korea (Huntington, 2000: xiii).

How could this be explained? Again, according to Huntington, “undoubtedly, many factors played a role, but . . . culture had to be a large part of the explanation. South Koreans valued thrift, investment, hard work, education, organization, and discipline. Ghanaians had different values. In short, cultures count” (2000, xiii, my emphasis). Another contributor to Huntington’s book, David Landes, joined in with this bold assertion: “If we learn anything from the history of economic development, it is that culture makes almost all the difference” (Landes, 2000: 2; see also Landes, 1998). Huntington and his colleagues are part of what the New York Times has described as “a growing number of scholars who have come to believe that social attitudes are more important than politics and economics in determining why some societies are richer than others” (Stille, 2001). These scholars believe that “neither colonialism nor dependency has much credibility”, and that “traditional cultural values are at the root of the poverty, authoritarianism, and injustice” in Africa (Harrison, 2000: xx/xxvii). Indeed Bauer (1981: 70, 72, 69) noted that “whatever one thinks of colonialism, it cannot be held responsible for Third World poverty. . . . far from the West having caused the poverty in the Third World, contact with the West has been the principal agent of material progress there.” For example, “as late as the second half of the nineteenth century Black Africa was without even the simplest, most basic ingredients of modern social and economic life. These were brought there by Westerners over the last hundred years or so.” So, there you have it. It’s the culture!! There is something terribly wrong with African culture, a kind of moral deficiency, if you will. Thus, according to Etounga-Manguelle (2000: 67), an African, Africa needs “a cultural adjustment program.” In fact, as an African, I had to restrain myself when reading EtoungaManguelle’s piece. His descriptions of what he called African culture were simplistic and downright insulting! If they needed an African to validate their thesis, they found one in Etounga-Manguelle. I will describe him as an “Afro-pessimist” who substitutes “caricature for analysis” by offering “up a simplistic and distorted portrayal of Africa,

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which only serves to reinforce deeply held racial stereotypes, [and] perpetuate a distinctly distorted view of contemporary African realities” (Gordon & Wolpe, 1998). I must say that I find this whole cultural deterministic argument very disturbing. Can we really say that Ghana’s economic problems are the result of the cultures of its people? That there is something wrong with Ghanaian culture which is stopping the country from becoming a South Korea in terms of economic development? What do Huntington and his colleagues really mean when they say “culture matters?” I believe, like Shweder (2000: 160), that what they really mean is that “some cultures are impoverished or backward, whereas others enriched or advanced. It means there are good things in life that all human beings ought to want and have but that their culture keeps them from wanting and/or having.” And of course, advanced cultures are (read as White) Americans and Europeans, and now a few East Asian countries; and the impoverished cultures are the (non-White) Third World, especially, and especially Africa. This is pure ethnocentrism and moral arrogance, smacking of Western superiority. In fact, I am not alone in my harsh response to this propaganda. Bayoumi (cited in Stille, 2000), also observes that with the publication of the Huntington volume and the renaissance of cultural developmentalists, “there is a shift from a racism based on skin color to a racism based on culture, which is not to say that culture does not have a role in who we are and how we do things.” Bayoumi, a Harvard economist who has worked in many developing countries, says he is “very skeptical of these cultural explanations” and thinks “this idea of culture is generally used very loosely in a self-serving way in which rich people blame poverty on the inferiority of somebody’s culture” (cited in Stille, 2000). Ash also objects “to the implicit determinism in grouping countries as Protestant, Orthodox, Islamic and so forth. We started the 1990’s with a sort of vulgar economic determinism – get the economics right and all else will follow – and we ended the decade with what I would call ‘vulgar Huntingtonism’” (cited in Stille, 2000). And finding any single explanation overly simplistic Appiah notes that “clearly history, habits, values, religious institutions all matter but lumping them all together under the label ‘culture’ is too broad to be very useful” (cited in Stille, 2000). It is within the context of the foregoing remarks that I want to critique this sociological explanation of “good culture equals development” thesis using the Ghanaian and South Korean development cases. In doing this, I share Parenti’s (1999) analysis that

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  ‒   generally, whenever anyone offers culturalistic explanations for social phenomena, we should be skeptical. For one thing, culturalistic explanations of third-world social conditions tend to be patronizing and ethnocentric. It’s in their culture, you see. Culturalistic explanations divorced of political-economic realities readily lend themselves to such obfuscation . . . Such fare often has real ideological content, . . . propagating images and values that are often downright sexist, racist, consumerist, authoritarian, militaristic, and imperialist.

In what follows, I shall begin with some definitions of culture and move on to what are really Ghanaian/African and South Korean cultures. I then argue that explanations for South Korea’s “economic miracle” lie elsewhere and not necessarily its culture as Huntington and company will have us believe. I also show that Ghana’s economic problems do not necessarily have to do with its culture and provide alternative reasons. In my analysis pertaining to Ghana, I shall place Ghana’s development crisis within a general African context. I conclude with a critique of the culture development debate from an Africanist perspective. What is Culture, Anyway? Culture is one of those words that have defied a tight definition. As Soyinka (1991: 32) astutely notes, “culture is not parts. Often it is not even a sum of parts, but a summation, a synthesis. That is why culture sometimes leaves one dissatisfied in its definition” (my emphasis). And that is why I might add, it all depends on who is defining what? For example, sociologists generally define culture as “the values, beliefs, behavior; and material objects that, together, form a people’s way of life. Culture includes what we think, how we act, and what we own. Culture is both a bridge to our past and a guide to the future” (Macionis, 2001: 61). Some anthropologists see culture as “community-specific ideas about what is true, good, beautiful, and efficient” (Shweder, 2000: 163). Other social scientists see culture as “goals, values and pictures of the world that are made manifest in the speech, laws, and routine practices of some self-monitoring group” (cited in Shweder, 2000: 163). Yet another definition refers to culture as “representing the customs and mores of a society, including its language, art, laws, and religion” (Parenti, 1999). A slightly different definition by Said (1993: xii), which I prefer, sees culture to mean “all those practices, like the arts of description, communication, and representation, that have relative autonomy from the economic, social,

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and political realms and that often exist in aesthetic forms, one of whose principal aims is pleasure.” I am sure readers will be curious about the definition employed by Huntington’s group to make their “culture matters” case. Acknowledging that the term “culture” has had “multiple meanings in different disciplines and different contexts,” they go on to say that because they are “interested in how culture affects societal development,” they define culture “in purely subjective terms as the values, attitudes, beliefs, orientations, and underlying assumptions prevalent among people in society” (Huntington, 2000: xv). I am glad they say their definition is purely subjective. And that is precisely my point in this essay. Sometimes, these definitions are meant to sound neutral, but as Parenti (1999) correctly points out, “culture is anything but neutral. Much of what is thought to be common culture is the selective transmission of class-dominated values . . . What we call ‘our culture’ is largely reflective of existing hegemonic arrangements within the social order, strongly favoring some interests over others.” I strongly believe that this old talk of “culture matters” in development is nothing more than what Said (1997) has called “a recycled version of the cold war thesis,” which seeks to “exploit differences and conflicts” and “to support in other civilizations, groups sympathetic to Western values and interests, to strengthen international institutions that reflect and legitimate Western interests and values, and to promote the involvement of Non-western states in those institutions” (Huntington, cited in Said, 1997). It is nothing more than fostering capitalist values and institutions and shows a “commitment to the view that Western society is the best possible historical society” (Ake, 1982: 128). It is what Bonilla-Silva (2000: 189–190) has called the “new racism,” one that “is centrally rooted in a discourse of cultural difference,” and has acquired an ethnonational character that celebrates “cultural particularity.” This implies, according to Inglehart and Carballo (1997: 34) that there exist “coherent cultural regions, having people with distinctive values and worldviews that make them think differently and behave differently from people of other cultures.” It is what leads commentators like Daalder (cited in Morrow, 1999: 64, 66) to opine that the reason why the United States intervened in Kosovo and not Rwanda or Sudan is that Kosovo “is nearer the heart of Europe to which Americans feel a special bond, a special cultural and moral link.” In fact, this whole “culture matters” debate being propagated by Huntington and his ilk is nothing more than a rehash of modernization theory. There is nothing new here. Students of development

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studies will recall how modernization theory identified tradition as the greatest barrier to economic progress. “Cultural inertia” in these traditional societies discouraged people from adopting new technologies that would raise their living standards (Macionis, 2001: 311–312). Theorists like David McClelland, David Lerner, Alex Inkeles, David Smith all posited some version of this “modern” versus “traditional” societies which “crystallized a set of binary oppositions that defined the peoples of Western and non-Western nations: human/subhuman, developed/underdeveloped, civilized/barbarian, rational/institinctive, Christian/heathen, superior/inferior, and clean/unclean” (BonillaSilva, 2000: 191–192; see also Ake, 1982; Peet & Hartwick, 1999; Mehmet, 1999; Wiarda, 1987; Bernstein, 1979). This is why Said (1993: xiii) points out that, “in time, culture [has come] to be associated, often aggressively, with the nation or the state; this differentiates ‘us’ from ‘them,’ almost always with some degree of xenophobia. Culture in this sense is a source of identity, and a rather combative one at that, as we see in recent ‘returns’ to culture and tradition.” With this as a background, I want to turn my attention next to what then is said about Ghanaian/African and South Korean/Asian cultures that in the case of the former tends to hinder development, and in the latter fosters development. Here, I will be general in my description and analysis, but I shall also note what are specifically Ghanaian and South Korean cultures. African/Ghanaian Cultures Given the thesis of my paper, I want to begin with what the “Culture Matters” theorists say is wrong with African culture and why Africa cannot make it unless it adopts a “cultural adjustment” program. In a recent header it called “Hopeless Africa,” the British conservative weekly, The Economist (2000: 17) used the “Bad African Culture” argument to say that Africans “seem especially susceptible” to their political and socio-economic difficulties, “for reasons buried in their cultures” (p. 17). Indeed, the magazine writers implied that Africa has “some inherent character flaw that keeps it backward and incapable of development” (The Economist, 2000: 22). This portrayal in The Economist echoes the views of the “Culture Matters” group. This group characterizes Africa as having a “cultural line” that is “corrupt,” and “traditional cultural values [that] are at the root of [its] poverty, authoritarianism, and injustice” (Harrison, 2000, p. xxvii). Table 13.1 lists the various traits, that in the view of the group, reflects Africa’s “Bad Culture.”

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Table 13.1: Africa’s “Bad Culture” • An animist past • Secure in the status quo • Demonstrate a lack of concern for tomorrow • Sees space and time as a single entity • Does nothing to prepare for the future • Claim to magical powers • Equate all power with divine authority • Devoted to the cult of mediocrity • Jealousy • Individual responsibility does not exist • Works to live but does not live to work • Friendship comes before business • • • • • •

• There is little enthusiasm for work • Weak controls over uncertainty • Enslaved by its environment • Anchored in his ancestral culture • Religious • Passive • An enemy of competence • Will not accept changes in social standing • Intolerant • Tribalistic

• Demonstrates a propensity to feast • Prefers interpersonal warmth over content Avoids conflict • Saving for the future has lower priority Not better at economic management • Magic and witchcraft flourish Irrational • Ruled by tension, fear, and moral disorder Uses intelligence least • Disrespect for human rights Violent • Cannibalistic Lacks initiative and dynamism • Totalitarian

There is no doubt that the characteristics described above can be found among various African peoples and nations. But can we really say these are inherently African, or that Africans are naturally born with these traits? I do think otherwise. Indeed, these “inherent cultural flaws” can be found in every nation on this planet. Africans do not have a monopoly over “bad cultures.” So, what can we really say about Ghanaian cultures? One has to be careful, as Skinner (1973: 4) has noted that “recent work in physical anthropology, archaeology, and linguistics has led scholars to abandon rigid categorizations, especially those linking race, language, and culture. Instead, they are more attentive to dynamic factors such as history, migration, adaptation to ecological niches, and genetic exchange and drift in their efforts to understand the peoples of Africa

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and their culture/history.” Ghanaian traditional society is organized around kinship, in which the family plays an important role, both as “an economically productive unit and a socially and demographically productive unit” (Pellow & Chazan, 1986: 92). The family reinforces natal group solidarity and works as a microcosm of the larger society. It feeds into the larger unilineal descent group and reckones according to one’s line of descent: patrilineal or matrilineal. Indeed, it is said that, in Ghana, the extended family system is the hub around which traditional social organization revolved. Functioning under customary law, this extended family tradition is a corporate group with definite identity and a membership that controls property, the application of social sanctions, and the practice of religious rituals. The extended family, then, functions as a mutual aid society in which each member has both the obligation to help others and the right to receive assistance from it in the case of need. In addition, the family functions as a socializing agency with the moral and ethical instruction of children being the responsibility of the extended family. Here, traditional values may be transmitted to the young through proverbs, songs, stories, rituals, and initiations associated with rites of passage. Elders and the aged play an important role in this responsibility. Respect for elders and authority become crucial (Pellow & Chazan, 1986: 92; Ghana: Traditional Patterns of Social Relations). As well as the family, Ghana’s social and cultural milieu is a reflection of the importance of ethnic groups as the basic ordering unit in society. In recent times, ethnic identity seems to be shifting and undergoing changes in response to urbanization and migration. However, it is still an important aspect of Ghanaian society and culture. Ethnic groups are bound culturally (through ideology, language, marriage), structurally (through roles and relationships), and geographically (in a regional sense). Another essential characteristic of Ghanaian society and culture is its dual but interrelated nature. Although the majority of Ghanaians still live in rural areas, the process of modernization associated with urban life has, nonetheless, affected all Ghanaians’ social behaviours and values. People, ideas, goods, and services flow constantly between the so-called traditional and modern life. While relationships within traditional society are based on family membership, inherited status, and ancestral beliefs, relationships in modern society are determined by achieved status, formalized education, and in some cases ethnic affiliation. As a result of social change, in Ghana today, people face the dilemma of cross-cutting loyalties. For example, ties to the “home-

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town” are never severed; they are maintained through formal and informal institutions, rural-urban continuity, and the constancy of basic loyalties. As individuals, Ghanaians today comfortably retain the traditional alongside the modern (Pellow & Cazan, 1986: 105; Smock & Smock, 1975: 199). Language, dress, and customs also provide the most visible signs of cultural expression among Ghana’s ethnic groups. Today, styles of traditional dress are perhaps less significant because of the extensive borrowing between groups and because of the popularity of Western clothes, especially among men. Nonetheless, Ghanaians continue to proudly wear “traditional dress” for celebrations and ceremonial occasions and this “national dress” conforms to any of the traditional patterns (Smock & Smock, 1975: 199). Using the “Culture Matters” groups’ definition of culture, the above discussion and other sources, the salient features of Ghanaian culture and society can be isolated as follows: Table 13.2: Some Salient Features of Ghanaian Culture and Society • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Religious Verbal Hospitable Extremely sociable Recreational Appreciation for reciprocity Steeped in the oral tradition Ethnic and linguistic heterogeneity Belief in education Family is important and extended Culture organized around kinship Matrilineal Patrilineal Belief in mutual aid and assistance Obligation to help others Respect for elders and authority Strong ethnic identity and affiliation Rural, increasingly urban Transmit values through proverbs, songs, stories, and rituals using the oral tradition • Cultural expression through language, dress, and custom • Cross-cutting loyalties with respect to ethnic identity, traditional values and allegiances • Music and dance are integral parts of cultural expression

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Asian/South Korean Cultures Since the “Culture Matters” theorists, especially in Huntington’s volume, tout the East Asian “dragons” in the world market as a result of their culture, I want to continue my discussion here with their analyses and descriptions of what they consider to be Asian culture. If Africa’s “cultural line” is described as “corruption,” that of Asia has been described as “Confucian” because Asian countries are among “the least corrupt countries in the world.” Confucianism “fall mostly in the middle” between “the Protestant societies of northern Europe and of British settlement” where “corruption is lowest” (Huntington, 2000: xv–xvi). For many, Confucian or “Asian values” emphasize discipline and order, traits non-existent in “corrupt” Africa (Sen, 2000). Using Japan as a “counterpoise to dependency theory” and a perfect model of Confucianism, Landes (2000) shows us how “culture makes almost all the difference.” It is Asian culture par excellence. Table 13.3 lists what I could glean from his and other studies. Table 13.3: Asia’s “Good Culture” • • • • • • •

Hardworking Tradition of effective government Tight family structure Self-disciplined Inherent superiority Punctual Nationalistic

• Sense of higher duty to country • Moral • Collective commitment to modernization • Importance of self-improvement • Delays gratification • Propensity to save • Priority away from warfare toward industry and commerce

• • • • • • •

Thrifty High levels of literacy Strong work ethic Sense of national identity Obedient Worshipful respect for authority Intense sense of group responsibility • Ethical • Patriotic • General schooling

• Respected achievement motivation • Reliance on social networks • Bond of family

It is interesting how selective citations of Confucius and how memories run short when it comes to making the case of “Asian values” as the foundation for economic prosperity (Sen, 2000). Africa couldn’t “take off ” but Asia did because God blessed it with good Confucian values and attitudes. And that is why South Korea is an “industrial giant” and Ghana is an “economic basket case.”

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It is my contention that the “Culture Matters” argument by Huntington and his colleagues is at best tenuous and at worst a racist stereotyping of Ghanaian and African events. I certainly agree with Blaut (1992) that this ranking of human groups on some cultural criteria is dangerous and the worst form of what he calls “cultural racism.” I’d like to piece together, as I did for Ghana, briefly some salient features of South Korean culture. Here, I have relied mostly on encyclopedic entries retrieved from the Internet and major works on East Asia and the two Koreas by Fairbank et al. (1989), and Kim (1992). Korea’s identity is strongly affected by Chinese civilization and its institutions. The adoption of Chinese culture and institutions, however, did not obliterate the identity of the Korean people, described as a homogeneous ethnic group with their own language, culture and customs. The Korean language was deeply affected by the country’s long contact with China. Not only did its written form rely on Chinese characters until the fifteenth century, but also about half of its vocabulary was of Chinese origin. Indeed, Shamanism, Buddhism, and Confucian philosophy constitute the most important elements of modern Korean culture (Fairbanks et al., 1989: 876; South Korea: Korean Identity). Family and lineage groups are of tremendous importance in Korean society. Because one’s social and political status in society was largely determined by birth and lineage, a great deal of emphasis was placed on family. Confucianism stressed the importance of the family unit. Historically, the Korean family has been patrilineal, and transmits such values as hard work, frugality, and savings to each new generation; parents make sacrifices for their children’s education; and children usually take care of their aged parents. Frequently the family also functions as an economic unit. Each family maintained a genealogical table with meticulous care. Only male offspring could prolong the family and lineage lines and theirs were the only names registered in the genealogical tables; therefore, the birth of a son was regarded as an occasion of great joy. In fact, it is said traditionally, the purpose of marriage was to produce a male heir to carry on the family line and not to provide mutual companionship and support for husband and wife. In these instances, marriages were arranged. A go-between or matchmaker, usually a middle-aged woman, carried on the negotiations between the two families involved who, because of a very strict law or exogamy, sometimes did not know each other and often lived in different communities. On the whole, the Confucian principle of “Five Relationships” governed social behavior in Korean society. Righteousness toward the sovereign, filial piety, deference to older and superior persons,

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and benevolence to the younger and inferior are inviolable rules of conduct (Fairbanks et al., 1989: 876; Kim, 1992: 102; South Korea: Political and Social Institutions; South Korea: Traditional Family Life). Contemporary urban family and social life in South Korea exhibits a number of departures from traditional family and kinship institutions. One example is the tendency for complex kinship and family structures to weaken or break down and be replaced by structurally simpler two-generation, nuclear families. There is an increasing tendency for an individual’s location and personal associations to be transitory and temporary rather than permanent and lifelong, although the importance of school ties is pivotal. Mobility in human relations also is becoming more apparent as people change their residences more frequently, often because of employment, and an increasing proportion of the urban population lives in large, impersonal complexes (South Korea: Family and Social Life in the Cities). All these developments have lead Kim (1992: 101) to conclude that “South Korea has been overwhelmingly ‘westernized’ in its culture although with some disparity between urban and rural regions.” Another common feature of Confucianism, which characterizes Korean society and culture, was a thirst for education. Learning is highly valued, both for itself and as a way of getting ahead in society. This stress on education survived the historical change from Confucian to transitional to modern Korean society, where students attending universities are known to fill the libraries from morning to night. This aspect of Korean society has earned Koreans the reputation as one of the hardest working people in the world, not mentioning the generosity, warmth and kindness of the Korean people. It needs mentioning as well that Koreans, like the other East Asian peoples, have a highly developed aesthetic sense and over the centuries have created a great number of paintings, sculptures, and handicrafts of extraordinary beauty. Folk tales are also given high prominence in South Korean society, and are closely tied to religious traditions with shamanistic, Buddhist, or Confucian themes (Fairbanks et al., 1989: 876; South Korea: Cultural Expression). Table 13.4 provides an outline of the salient features of South Korean culture and society using the information I gathered for my description above and other sources.

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Table 13.4: Some Salient Features of South Korean Culture and Society • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Ethnically homogeneous Frugal Generous Hardworking Warmth Highly developed aesthetic sense Thirst for education Influenced by Chinese culture Patrilineal Belief in ancestor worship Deference to older and superior persons Kindness Extended family relationships Folksy Shamanism, Buddhism, and Confucian philosophy are important elements of culture • Filial piety and continuation of the male line are important in family life • Tendency to prefer male children over female children • Social status largely determined by birth and lineage

In closing, I couldn’t help but notice some similarities in the cultures of Ghana and South Korea that I have described above. For example, both cultures show a deep respect for elders and authority, are warm and hospitable, have extended family relationships, and both are also influenced by the impact of “modernization” on traditional values and allegiances. From listening to these “Culture Matters” theorists, one wouldn’t have thought so. Their essentialist perspective makes them blind to look for some common cultural traits between and among societies and cultures. But they do have an agenda, one that is to show, in essence, that Africans and other non-Europeans are not racially, but rather culturally backward in comparison to Europeans or Westerners because of their lesser cultural evolution. And it is for this reason that they are poor. Their “traditional” cultural qualities, which come with being African, blocked development. This was what led to the truly massive theory-building effort that came to be known as “modernization” and has now been resurrected by Huntington and his “Culture Matters” gang. You see, if they say African countries are underdeveloped because of the “race” of its inhabitants, they will be called racists and that is not kosher. Nobody wants to be called racist these days. But if

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they say Africans are underdeveloped because of their culture, you can’t call them racists. After all, what counts is culture, not color. So, we no longer have a superior race; what we have today is a superior culture, and it is “Western culture,” “the West.” Quite a clever distinction, isn’t it? (Blaut, 1992; Ake, 1982; Amin, 1989; Peet, 1991; Nafziger, 1979; Hettne, 1982). Plus ça change, plus de la même chose. South Korea is ‘Developed’; But I Don’t Think It is Entirely Because of Its Culture. Here Is Why So, what is really behind the rapid growth of South Korea’s economy compared to that of Ghana? What was behind what Western developmentalists call the “miracle” of South Korea? Well, the “Culture Matters” advocates say it is culture. I argue that culture it is not. What they call culture, I’ll call “capitalist values and institutions,” or what Ake (1982: 5) calls “market place attitude.” The reduction of development to a series of cultural traits is nothing more than a concealment of “a conservative political and ideological stance” (Ake, 1982: 173). For starters, the point needs to be made that the development process is an enormously complex one (Amsden, 1989), and that as Chomsky (1996: 120) observes, “historical conditions are too varied and complex for anything that might plausibly be called ‘a theory’ to apply uniformly.” What really happened in South Korea, in my view, is what Cumings (1984) has called the “many are called but few are chosen” model of economic development. South Korea belonged to the “development by invitation” club of nations initiated by the United States. Cumings (1984: 38–39) further explains: In short, the developmental ‘successes’ of Taiwan and Korea are historically and regionally specific [e.g., Japan’ s greater attention to Korea and Manchuria before 1945], and therefore provide no readily adaptable models for other developing countries interested in emulation. The evidence also strongly suggests that a hegemonic system is necessary for the functioning of this regional political economy: unilateral colonialism until 1945, U.S. hegemony since 1945. The world system does not provide open access for all. It can tolerate only one or two hegemonies, and only one or two Japans.

That was why I’ll argue, South Korea was “invited” into this hegemonic arrangement and became “developed” and Ghana was ignored and became “underdeveloped.” According to Chomsky (1996: 120),

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“the first order of business for global planners in 1945 was the reconstruction of the rich industrial societies.” Each region of the world, in what Chomsky calls “the government of the world” (as seen by George Kennan and his State Department Policy Planning Staff, 1948–49), was assigned its status and “function” by the hegemonic planners. Get this: “Africa was to be ‘exploited’ for the reconstruction of Europe, while Southeast Asia would fulfil its major function as a source of raw materials for Japan and Western Europe” (Chomsky, 1996: 121). That the historical paths to development in South Korea and Ghana differ can be shown in the role Japanese colonialism played in South Korea’s development. British colonialism in Ghana did not play that role (see Kay, 1972; Howard, 1978). The context in which to begin understanding South Korea’s economic dynamism is “with the advent of Japanese imperialism.” There is no doubt that Japanese colonial rule laid some of the key foundations for South Korea’s later entrance into the modern economy (Amsden, 1989: 32). According to Cumings (1984: 8), “Japan’s imperial experience differed from the West’s in several fundamental respects. It involved the location of industry and an infrastructure of communications and transportation of the colonies, bringing industry [e.g., steel, chemicals, hydroelectric facilities] to the labor and raw materials rather than vice versa.” As well, Japan emphasized not only military and police forms of control but also development under strong state auspices. This it did after the Depression using a “mighty trio” of state organization, central banking, and zaibatsu conglomerates to industrialize Korea. Indeed, industrial production was overwhelmingly dominated by Japanese business as most investment was financed by Japanese banks, which quickly asserted control over investment and the monetary system (Amsden, 1989). Things worked so well that “by 1940, 213,000 Koreans were working in industry, excluding miners, and not counting the hundreds of thousands of Koreans who migrated to factory or mine work in Japan proper and in Manchuria. Net value of mining and manufacturing grew by 266 percent between 1929 and 1941. By 1945, Korea had an industrial infrastructure that, although sharply skewed toward metropolitan interests, was the best developed in the Third World” (Cumings, 1984: 13). This Japanese role changed South Korea from “overwhelmingly an agricultural country” into what Amsden (1989: v) has described as a “late industrialized” country, i.e., “a subset of developing countries that began the twentieth century in an economically backward state based on raw materials, and dramatically raised national income per capita by selectively investing in industry.”

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Japanese colonialism had introduced capitalist social relations on a wide scale that had a lasting effect on the class structure of Korea. Landed wealth was transformed into merchant capital and agriculture was forced to provide surpluses to support industrial growth. Closely tied to this was the suppression of the working class so as to ensure that the surplus provided by agriculture was not eaten up by real wage rises. This was of the utmost importance in an industrialization process dependent on exports, exports which provided the foreign exchange to buy the imported inputs on which home industry depended. The government was uninhibited in taking measures to protect domestic capital from foreign competition (Amsden, 1989: 49–50).

Interestingly enough, the accounts of Japanese colonialism written before 1920 are enthusiastically favorable, praising Japan for uplifting a Korean population that lacked “dignity, intelligence, and force” (cited in Amsden, 1989: 31). I thought Korean culture exhibited these positive cultural traits. The impact of Japanese colonialism on Korean development precipitated an economic expansion that depended on state intervention. First, the state typically used subsidies to encourage businesses to become internationally competitive; these businesses, including factories built by the Japanese and passed into Korean hands, focused strategically on the shopfloor to make the best use of the technology and relying on unusually repressive labor conditions to grow. In this regard, the South Korean model is far from ideal. Labor is repressed, there is no permanent employment, working hours are much longer (52 hours per week in big firms, longer in small firms), women are particularly exploited, business and government are in cahoots, and pollution is extreme (Amsden, 1990: 71, 75; Cumings, 1884: 30–31). Second, state intervention in South Korea produced extraordinarily rapid growth because unlike state intervention in Brazil, Turkey, and India that defied the price mechanism, intervention succeeded in South Korea because the government had “gotten relative prices right.” The state did not hesitate to distort prices from what they would have been if the forces of supply and demand operated freely. Third, to prevent abuse of monopoly power, the South Korean government imposed price ceilings on products ranging from nylon stockings, peppers, and cars to steel, paper, and cement. Illegal capital flight was punishable with a minimum of ten years imprisonment and a maximum of the death penalty. Industry was so protected against imports that, for example, no foreign car was to be seen on South Korean roads for 25 years; during that time no South Korean

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car was seen on foreign roads. Fourth, to prevent Japanese takeover of its industry, South Korea approved foreign investments very selectively. It is often said that the foreign multinational firm is a virtual stranger in South Korea. No wonder South Korea produced one of the highest productivity growth rates in the world, piling up foreign debt to finance a big push into heavy industry, and punishing poor performers and only rewarding good performers (Amsden, 1990: 72–74). This export-led, labour-intensive economic strategy was combined with a remarkable push for import-substitution programs. Key industries such as textiles, cement, flat glass were protected by and nurtured behind a wall of tariffs, overvalued exchange rates, and other obstacles to foreign entry. Favored capitalists who took over formerly Japanese-held industries interpenetrated the state, official monopolies, and banks, making windfall profits in import-substituting industries through such connections. All these laid the foundation for many of the conglomerates that would appear in the 1960s and 1970s in South Korea (Cumings, 1984: 25; Mehmet, 1999; Kim, 1992; Hamilton, 1986). The role played by the United States was perhaps the most important in South Korea’s development. The fact that American analysts tended to deny the authoritarian politics of the South Korean government in fostering economic growth speaks volumes. It was these same American analysts that talked about how modernization and economic development would promote democracy. But they were mute about South Korea because it suited American geopolitical interests. The geographical lines, or hegemonic outer limits included Taiwan and South Korea. North Korea and Manchuria were out. American Secretary of State Dean Acheson would remark in 1954 that “Korea came along and saved us” (Cumings, 1984: 18–20; see also Chomsky 1996, 1991). Indeed, as Amsden (1989: 35) remarks, “the power and ideological struggles of the Cold War were visited upon a nation [South Korea].” The benefits bestowed upon South Korea by the United States were enormous. Ghana had no such chance. In fact, U.S. neocolonialism in South Korea was detailed and extensive in its economic and political control that it was central in the promotion of the process of indigenous capital accumulation. Let us start with the Korean War, 1950–1953. The United States buttressed the Korean army so much that, at the end of the war it numbered 600,000 men – the fourth largest army outside the Soviet bloc. It had modern heavy equipment, and an officer corps of significant proportions. After biding its time in the 1950s and blinking at the student revolution that brought a decade of political incompetence

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to a close, the military would open a new chapter on both growth and state power in the 1961 coup. Indeed, the U.S. government and the Korean military shared a fundamental obsession with anticommunism and a commitment to capitalist ideology. They were made for each other. Both countries needed one another in the geopolitical vortex of the postwar period, with the United States decidedly holding the upper hand (Amsden, 1989: 35, 38). The amount of military and economic the United States poured into South Korea is very significant. This aid, massive in the fifties and sixties, was instrumental in generating the process of industrial development that enabled South Korea to achieve independence from aid. And with the capitalist foundations already been laid by the Japanese, South Korea was able to “take off ” and become an “economic miracle.” Culture had nothing to do with it. During the 1950s, U.S. aid accounted for five-sixths of South Korea’s imports (Cumings, 1984: 24). The average annual inflow of aid from 1953 through 1958 was $270 million excluding military assistance. This was nearly 15% of the annual gross national product (GNP) and over 80% of foreign exchange (Amsden, 1989: 39). If one examines per capita grant and loan economic assistance to other U.S. aid recipients worldwide, Ghana ranks forty-first; South Korea ranks eleventh. To give an idea of the geopolitical nature of U.S. aid, consider: from 1954 to 1958, South Korea received more economic aid (in addition to enormous military aid) than all of India, Pakistan, the Philippines, Burma, and Sri Lanka combined ( Johansen, 1980: 162, 163, 168). Aid was just one side of the story. The United States also deeply influenced economic policy through the IMF and the World Bank based on traditional market theory. American officials tolerated import substitution in Taiwan and South Korea while chiding both for having the state too involved in the economy. American commitment was reinforced by the continuous monitoring of the South Korean economy, in particular, by the Bretton Woods institutions, technological transfers through tied American aid, and was stiffened further with neoclassicism by Korean graduate students returning from economics departments in American universities (Amsden, 1989). So far, I have been arguing that South Korea’s elevation as an economic giant had nothing to do with its culture. Didn’t some Korean culture or values play any role at all? Some (e.g., see Fairbank et al., 1989) have argued that the power of the state to discipline and bring business in line was because of Korea’s cultural tradition of deference to authority; that’s why its private industrial, mercan-

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tile, financial, and agricultural interests have been weak in challenging state authority. I will argue that the state was able to exercise these authoritarian economic policies in spite of, and not because of its cultural traditions. To be sure, some cultural values (e.g., education) and most certainly historical factors (e.g., Japan’s greater attention to Korea) played a role, but to essentialize this economic development as simply a cultural phenomenon as we have been led to believe is disingenuous. It is a much more complicated process than that. I will perhaps concede that, the South Korean reverence for education facilitated some aspects of its economic development. For example, as Mehmet (1999: 115) points out, the South Korean example “verified empirically the wisdom of investment in education [and] human resource development, . . . strategies sadly ignored in the rest of the developing world.” The state invested heavily in education, from the primary level up. We get a glimpse of Korea’s education policy from Amsden (1989: 219) when she notes that, “what distinguishes the curriculum of Korean schools from that of countries whose attempts at development have failed is not its emphasis on science and technology. The major difference seems to be that Korean education places a heavy stress on moral education and discipline.” Here, the military played a role by giving disciplined training and basic literacy to a mass of young people, while rearing officers and managers who later populated state bureaucracies and big corporations (Cumings, 1984: 26; Kim, 1992). To sum up, I want to emphasize again that the rapid economic development of South Korea was not a culturally specific phenomenon. Its roots lay in Japan’s colonial policies, although brutal, but they laid a basis for economic development. South Korea’s economic success, as Chomsky (1991: 245–246) correctly notes, “is no tribute either to democracy or to the wonders of the market, [or culture]; rather, to harsh labor conditions, efficient quasi-fascist political systems, and, as much as in Japan, high levels of protectionism and planning by financial-industrial conglomerates in a state-coordinated economy.” South Korea, therefore, “provides supporting evidence for the proposition that economic expansion depends on state intervention to create price distortions that direct economic activity toward greater investment. Where Korea differs from most other late industrializing countries is in the discipline its state exercises over private firms . . . Discipline by the state over private enterprise was part and parcel of the vision that drove the state to industrialize” (Amsden, 1989: 14). This paradigm of “crony capitalism” operated well because the state is willing and able to exact performance standards from

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big business in exchange for trade protection and subsidies. The state recognized developmental intervention as a necessity (Ray, 1998; Kim, 1992; Woo-Cumings, 1999; Hamilton, 1986). Of course, all of South Korea’s efforts were aided and abetted by the United States, whose deep ideological commitment has been well documented (Gill, 1999). The mystification of the economic successes of the “Little Dragons” in Southeast Asia has gone on for too long. It has gotten fresh legs with this resurrected “Culture Matters” argument. But it is not going unchallenged. With the recent collapse of the Asian economies, we have all seen that the emperor really has no clothes. It has exposed the “myth” of the “miracle,” and rendered the culture argument untenable. The supposed superiority of “Asian values” is nothing more than propaganda. If anything, what the East Asian economic crisis shows, in the so-called new era of “globalization,” is that, there is intense interstate conflict over the form and direction of regional and global patterns of capitalist development (Gill, 1999; Pempel, 1999). And for Ghana, Too, Culture Has Nothing to do With Its ‘Underdevelopment’ Just as I argued that culture had nothing to do with South Korea’s economic success, I am contending again that Ghana’s underdevelopment has nothing to do with its “cultural values and attitudes.” The idea of “cultural obstacles to development” is itself suspect since it implies that there is some essentialist or natural process that is being obstructed. The subject of Ghana’s deep economic and social crisis have been researched, analyzed and documented extensively that there will be no point for me to detail them here (see for example, Chazan, 1983; Herbst, 1993; Rothchild, 1991; Ahiakpor, 1985; Killick, 1978; Kay, 1972; Graham, 1985; Hutchful, 1987; Omaboe et al., 1966; Foster & Zolberg, 1971; Genoud, 1969; Frimpong-Ansah, 1992). Any discussion of Ghana’s economic difficulties must be placed in the context of what the Economic Commission of Africa (1990) has described as Africa’s “vicious and unremitting socioeconomic crisis.” Almost all reports on Africa in recent years have noted the “deep economic and social crisis, producing political upheavals comparable in depth only to the liberation struggles of the pre-independence era in the late 1950s and early 1960s” (Brittain, 1992: 41). As Saul and Leys (1999) note, Africa’s sad story is one “of inexperience, incompetence, corruption, ethnic competition, decline, indebtedness; then structural adjustment, state contraction, state breakdown, war, fur-

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ther decline, further war: such is the consistently overgeneralized media account tinged, all too often, with a barely-concealed element of racism.” As a result, they contend, “Africa seems doomed to stay marginalized,” and its destiny “under actually existing global capitalism is stark.” How did Africa get to this state? Was this the result of Africa’s “inherent cultural flaws” as the “Culture Matters” theorists would have us believe? Certainly not! Saul and Leys (1999) explain: To understand this we must backtrack briefly to the 1960s. The newly independent African states inherited the colonial state structures, geared to expanding export production of taxable primary crops and minerals. For political support, the new leaders had to rely not on urban working classes or middle classes, which most barely existed, but on rural notables, whose allegiance they secured through chains of patronage stretching from the ministers’ offices to the villages. By the mid-1970s – sooner in many places – this system had become unstable. There was not enough patronage to go round and those excluded from it mobilized their districts and ethnic groups in increasingly unmanageable opposition.

This condition is the direct and/or indirect result of the colonial experience which distorted, disarticulated, and retarded development of the precapitalist African formation. The origins of the African crisis must therefore be located at the inheritances at political independence, of very fragile and unstable political structures; deep-rooted contradictions between the power elite and the people; regional, ethnic and religious antagonisms within African states; weak unproductive economic structures and the domination of state structures by largely unproductive and highly factionalized dominant classes. The net impact of these developments has been economic stagnation and deterioration (Ihonvbere, 1992; Ake, 1981; Onimode, 1986). In providing an alternative explanation to Ghana’s poor economic performance, I start with the premise that, “the integration of Africa into the world capitalist system by Western colonialism and imperialism is the event which has had the most influence in shaping the economic and political development of contemporary [Ghana]” (Ake, 1981: 14). To be sure, I recognize and fully acknowledge the significance of internal dimensions of Ghana’s crisis (e.g., bad leadership, bureaucratic inertia), but the colonial impact cannot be discounted, a premise the “Culture Matters” theorists reject. Indeed, an explanation of Ghana’s underdevelopment must begin with its colonial past. Unlike the Japanese colonialism which laid the foundation for South Korea’s subsequent economic development, British colonialism contributed significantly to Ghana’s peripheral economic status, as explained by Kay (1972: xv):

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  ‒   When the British finally pulled out of Ghana in 1957 they left behind them a country which bore all the most important features of underdevelopment. In particular it suffered the acute form of structural dislocation characteristic of an open dependent economy: production and consumption were not integrated within the country but through external trade. Thus the colony exchanged commodities which it produced but did not consume or even fully process, such as cocoa, gold and manganese, for other, mainly manufactured goods, that it did consume but did not, and in many cases could not, produce itself. In addition its rate of growth depended upon the performance of its export sector: when export earnings were buoyant, as in the twenties and fifties, the colony enjoyed mild prosperity; when they slumped in the thirties it was engulfed by depression. The ‘model colony’ was also the ‘fragile economy’: foreign political domination on the one hand and external economic dependence on the other constitute the main aspects of the political economy of colonialism.

Howard (1978: 15) also adds that: During the colonial period, Ghana’s economy underwent a transition from its various pre-capitalist social formations to a quasi-capitalist organization of production . . . Such a transition to capitalism was incomplete . . . The incompleteness of the transition, however, was not a result of strictly chronological features (i.e., Ghana had not yet had enough ‘time’ to become capitalist); it was a result of the very structures of the world capitalist system, which prevented the formation of a developed capitalist mode of production in ‘peripheral’ areas.

British colonial policies in such areas agriculture, transportation, finance, trade, and education all went to satisfy the imperial requirements of British capital and society. Secondly, although Ghana also instituted some of the economic policies that South Korea developed, it was not able to take-off economically like the Southeast Asian country. In fact, at independence, Ghana attracted much international interest as Nkrumah embarked on economic experiments and strategies to accelerate the development of the country’s economy (Grundy, 1963). According to Killick (1978: 1–2): Until the fall of Nkrumah early in 1966, economic strategy in Ghana was inspired by a vision of economic modernization similar to, and influenced by, that of many [Western] professional economists who were concerning themselves with the problems of under-developed countries: a ‘big push’ primarily involving a major investment effort, a strategy centred around industrialization drive, emphasizing import-

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substitution, structural change and a less open economy, to be achieved largely through the instrumentalities of the state. A study of the dominant ideas of development economics thus illuminates much of what happened in Ghana in the sixties and, by the same token, what happened there constitutes a case study of development economics in action. After 1966, the country’s new rulers began to turn to policies which in some measures reflected the changing concerns of development economists, but which also maintained a strong continuity with those inherited from Nkrumah.

Thus, as Killick (1978) and others (Cantor, 1966; Fordwor, 1971; Foster, 1965) have shown, Ghana much travelled the same road in terms of the role of the state in promoting economic development through import-substitution industrialization, expanded education system, infrastructure improvement, and so on. But why did Ghana fail and South Korea succeed? Here is one answer: Nkrumah’s development strategy was a basically sound one but it suffered from an unfavourable colonial heritage, defects of leadership, poor implementation and adverse external circumstances. His large investments in physical and human capital built a foundation for future dynamic growth; that this growth has not yet materialized is due to inevitable time lags and the advent after 1966 of governments which were unsympathetic to the structural transformation intended by Nkrumah (Killick, 1978: 332–333).

Later Ghana was to adopt World Bank and IMF structural adjustment programs, especially under the Rawlings era (1981–2001) to rehabilitate its economy. These World Bank and IMF adjustment programs in Ghana and Africa do not address the specificities and implications of the historical experiences of African countries as well as the content and character of contemporary politics and political balances and struggles (Ake, 1989). If anything, these policies promote political authoritarianism and the militarization of politics on the continent because they are so anti-people and unpopular that only authoritarian regimes can implement and sustain them (Economic Commission for Africa, 1990; Boafo-Arthur, 1999; Agyeman-Duah, 1987; Rothchild, 1991; Committee for Academic Freedom in Africa, 1992; Campbell & Loxley, 1989; Hansen, 1984; Ray, 1986; Shillington, 1992; Kwarteng, 1982).1 1 According to an article in the Financial Times of London of November 3, the Western donors who have made democratic reforms a condition for financial support for Third World countries feared that a defeat of Ghana’s Rawlings in the

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Apart from that, I argue that Ghana’s economic policies failed and South Korea’s succeeded because Ghana had no strategic importance to the United States and its allies. Because of geopolitical factors, South Korea received significant boost to its economy from massive American aid and Japanese investments. Ghana had no such luck. Because of Nkrumah’s socialist rhetoric, pan-Africanist stance and flirtations with the Soviet bloc during the days of the Cold War, Ghana was perceived by the United States as anti-Western and deserved to be punished. Indeed, it is now common knowledge that the United States’ Central Intelligence Agency aided in the overthrow of Nkrumah’s government (Hersh, 1979; Stockwell, 1978; Kalb, 1982; Mahoney, 1983). It is instructive to put into some context Africa’s economic marginalization in contemporary international affairs when it comes to international economic assistance. In fact, according to Ake (cited in Mwalilino, 2000), the winding down of the Cold War has thrown in the marginalization of the strategic significance of Africa to the Super Powers. Africa has become less important to the Super Powers, particularly the West . . . Now Poland and Hungary get 10 times as much aid per capita from [Western] Europe than sub-Sahara Africa. And Latin American countries get 34 times as much aid per capita than Africa gets, because of the proximity to the United States and their strategic significance. Investment has dropped off, trade of Africa with Western Europe has declined quite substantially, and so on. Africa will not be getting resource flows from the industrialized world.

Africa looks with envy as the rich world rush to help Asia’s distressed economies with quick loan packages worth tens of billions of dollars. “We [Africans] have observed the speedy reaction to Asia, and seen the huge sums of money [the IMF and World Bank] have been able to come up with almost instantaneously, often bending the rules freely,” noted Ivory Coast’s Finance Minister Niamien Ngoran in 1998. “When it comes to [Africans], our negotiations can drag on for months while [the IMF and World Bank] split hairs and act very finicky. One can easily get the impression of a double standard” (cited in Codjoe, 2000: 31). At the same time, IMF and World Bank spent billions bailing out bankers in East Asian crisis economies. recently held elections would cause a period of economic policy instability, and that a democratically elected president would be more inclined – as previously – to populist sentiments and opinion instead of concentrating on the problems that so needed attention; see West Africa, December 21–27, 1992.

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Despite the huge repayments to the IMF by African countries, total African debt continued to rise. In fact, according to a New York Times report, “there are 41 poor nations considered the most highly indebted, 80 percent of them in Africa. Some pay 60 percent of their annual budgets for debt service. That leaves little to invest in basic education, health, rural roads and other programs that help people escape from poverty” (cited in Codjoe, 2000: 31). And there is no relief in sight as low commodity prices, which have failed to keep within sight of the steadily rising prices of all imports, and rising debts are shackles binding Africa’s people to poverty (Brittain, 1992: 46; Codjoe, 2000; Ihonvbere, 1992).2 The news is not good for Africa under the present Bush administration; Africa is even going to be more marginalized. During the Presidential debates, when asked about Africa’s strategic importance to the United States, Bush had this to say: . . . Africa’s important. And we’ve got to do a lot of work in Africa to promote democracy and trade. And there are some – the vice president mentioned Nigeria. It’s a fledgling democracy. We’ve got to work with Nigeria. It’s an important continent. But there’s got to be priorities. And Middle East is a priority for a lot of reasons as is Europe and the Far East, and our own hemisphere. And those are my four top priorities should I be the president (Debate Transcripts, The New York Times, October 12, 2000; emphasis added).

The statement prompted a letter writer to the New York Times to conclude: When George W. Bush suggested in the debate that he didn’t think intervening to stop genocide in Africa was necessarily in America’s strategic interest, I was glad that he at least went on to list other places that he thought were important. But he listed as more important almost the entire remainder of the populated surface of the earth: the Middle East, Europe, the Far East and “our own hemisphere.” When Governor Bush went on to say that intervention in Haiti was a mistake, he left

2 At a recent meeting of the United Nations conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) in Bangkok, Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika told delegates that the African continent is being rubbed off the map by the trade policies of richer nations, and that Africa’s hopes of benefiting from the world economy had been dashed. Mr. Bouteflika, currently President of the Orhganization of African Unity, accused rich countries of using covert methods to evade their responsibility to open their markets to imports from Africa. “Ultimately, a new map of the world is being drawn up and an entire continent – Africa – is purely and simply being rubbed out,” he said, (cited in Codjoe, 2000).

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So where and how does Ghana’s “cultural traditions” fit into the above discussion? The culture matters advocates and others instantly point to “tribalism,” “political violence,” “corruption,” “personalization of authority,” “illiteracy,” “chaos,” “military dictatorships,” “bad and corrupt leadership,” and others (See Table 1) as the contributing factors to Ghana and Africa’s underdevelopment (see for example, Ayitey, 1998). I wouldn’t disagree that these are some internal factors hindering development on the continent. But I argue that they are symptoms of underdevelopment and global capitalism on poor countries like Ghana (Robinson, 1998/99). They are hardly unique to Africa; they are not specific African “cultural traits.” These socalled cultures afflict almost every society, including the so-called advanced countries. How about this for American “culture”: The USA has the most powerful economy in the world. But it is beset by social problems. There are extreme disparities of wealth and power; an estimated nine percent of the nation’s children live in extreme poverty and many within US society are destitute. Drug and alcohol addiction are rife. . . . For more than a century the rights guaranteed by the US Constitution were denied to whole communities. Indigenous tribes were slaughtered, relocated and their cultural traditions destroyed. Slavery was not abolished until 1865 and racial segregation remained legal until the 1960s. Women were denied the right to vote until 1920 . . . Despite serious attempts this century to overcome racism, the USA has not succeeded in eradicating the discriminatory treatment of African Americans, Latinos and other minority groups, including Native Americans, Asian Americans and Arab Americans (Amnesty International, USA Briefing, Part One; see also Chomsky, 1991, 1996).

To conclude this section, we need to take heed to Ray’s (1999: 17) contention that, probably no single explanation can account for the various economic development paths around the world. One important issue he notes, “is understanding the sources of growth in these countries. Based on the many theories that we have studied, we can trace high growth to one or more of several contributing factors: among these, the most important are capital accumulation, both physical and human, and the pace of technical progress” Ray’s (1999: 119; original emphasis). Perhaps most important for our study here, Ray (1999: 17) points out “the heady successes of East Asia are not

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fully understood” and using culture as an explanatory variable is misguided. Indeed, Africa and Ghana’s development processes are complicated and to reduce them to “inherent culture” is totally irresponsible. While the above analysis might appear overly defensive of Ghanaian/African cultures, that, indeed, is the purpose. I want to put to rest once and for all the argument that African cultures are responsible for the continent’s underdevelopment. Critics might also argue that I fail to address some important concerns facing subSaharan Africa. That is not the focus of this essay. I’d also want to point out that although the essay indirectly addresses the issue of “race,” I do not give it the full theoretical analysis that might be warranted here, and critics might at times find the way I discuss race problematic. Again, it is not the focus of this essay as I have discussed these issues elsewhere (Codjoe, 1994; 1998; 2001a, 2001b, 2001c). Conclusion So, why bring up this old debate about culture and development again? A number of reasons come to mind. First, as a great theorist of the Cold War, Huntington is recycling a version of that era that conflicts in today and tomorrow’s world will remain not economic or social in essence but cultural and ideological. Hence, his attempt to show in his The Clash of Civilization and the Emerging World Order (1996), that there is a “clash of civilizations,” and that, “the great divisions among humankind and the dominating sources of conflict will be cultural.” Thus, the real goal since the Cold War to map the emerging world situation is really to find countries “sympathetic to Western values and interests” (cited in Said, 1997). In this regard, the “Culture Matters argument is nothing more than propaganda: it “constitute[s] imperialism to the extent that they universalise capitalist development as economic development [by] foisting on [African nations IMF and World Bank] solutions to their economic problems” (Ake, 1982: 152). This dependence encourages and deepens an inferiority complex among African peoples and ostensibly as evidence of Africa’s “cultural flaw.” Second, by invoking culture as the explanation for Africa’s economic problems, they absolve the Western nations from any responsibility toward a solution. But, we still need to be mindful that, “imperialism is largely to blame for the underdevelopment of [Africans]. It was imperialism which enslaved and demoralized them, assaulted their culture, plundered their material resources and rendered their

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economies incoherent” (Ake, 1982: 177). Having said this, I am also mindful of the fact that, for what Fanon (1968) calls the “national bourgeoisie,” Africa’s leaders bear some responsibility to the continent’s crisis. Aided and abetted by the West, Africa’s demoralized and cynical leadership has completely failed its citizens. In a report to the U.N. Security Council in 1998, Secretary-General Kofi Annan noted that it was time for Africans to hold their political leaders responsible for the economic failures that ravage their lives. “Where there is insufficient accountability of leaders, lack of transparency in regimes, inadequate checks and balances, non-adherence to the rule of law, absence of peaceful means to change or replace leadership, or lack of respect for human rights, political control becomes excessively important and the stakes become dangerously high,” Annan said (cited in Codjoe, 2000: 32). Third, this “rhetoric of cultural self-justification,” as Said (1997) puts it shows that the Culture Matters crowd do not have a “concrete understanding and theoretical understanding of how cultures work, how they change and how they can best be grasped or apprehended.” The notion of culture here is portrayed as “monolithic and homogeneous,” with the idea that “some races and cultures have a higher aim in life than others” (Said, 1997). But no culture is absolute, and that “social, political, and linguistics realities could be arranged in numerous ways, . . . that national identities have been constructed arbitrarily, that languages and nationalities have been linked artificially.” Thus, seen through the lens of world multiculturalism and diversity, “globalization”, shifting identities, and the “unprecedented movement of people, technology, and information from one location to another, including across previously impermeable boundaries,” the traditional notions of culture and, perhaps of citizenship, practically beg for reconsideration (de Courtivron, 2000: B4). Finally, and the most important in my view, the notion that “Africans belong to a basically sick or unregenerate culture” (Said, 1993: 19) is a racist assault on African and Black peoples all over the world. Indeed, the stereotypical image of Africa as a “dark continent ravaged by famine and slaughter” is widespread. Africa has become the joke of the world. Comparing Africans to Blacks in America, here is what a columnist opined: American blacks should step back and quit listening to all the people who are telling them to feel sorry for themselves. As a group, American blacks are, without a doubt, the most fortunate group of black people on the planet. You don’t see any long lines of people trying to immigrate to such African paradises as Angola, Rwanda, the Congo,

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southern Sudan, Liberia . . . If I were black, I would be grateful to my slave ancestors, not ashamed of them (Charley Reese, columnist for The Orlando Sentinel, cited in Codjoe, 2000: 13).

African nations have become the world’s scapegoats when it comes to judging catastrophic events. Be it corruption, ethnic strife, wars, human rights abuses, poverty, so-called democratic values, coups and military rule. These events are described as if they are uniquely African, or that they are happening because Africa is destined to be that way. In the process, they go to defend an international political and economic system that is exploitative, unfair and harmful to Africa’ s interests. As well, it portrays and gives comfort to racist views which see Africa and Africans as “congenitally irresponsible, indolent, devious, primitive, inferior in intelligence, and not fully human.” It is indeed a shame that African scholars today have to spend considerable time and be preoccupied with debunking these racist assumptions instead of focusing on scholarship that will lead the continent out of its economic and political mess.


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CRITICAL TEACHING IN AN AFRICAN CONTEXT: LOCAL KNOWLEDGE AND EDUCATIONAL REFORMS George J. Sefa Dei Introduction This paper looks at what constitutes ‘critical teaching’ in Africa. Ghanaian schooling is used as a case study to highlight the limits and possibilities of education for social transformation in Africa. Throughout the text my frequent transition from Africa to Ghana and vice versa may at times appear problematic. While in such intellectual engagements one needs to be cautious in making generalizable claims about Africa, I also want to reiterate the relevance of the Ghanaian case for Africa as a whole. Elsewhere (Dei, 2003) I expanded on some of the ideas enunciated in this essay for rethinking schooling and education in Africa. I come to this discussion informed by on-going research on minority schooling in multiple contexts. Within Canadian and Euro-American contexts, educators continually struggle to provide inclusive education to meet the needs of a diverse student body. Similarly, African schooling is not immune to this concern. Increasingly, the power of multiple knowings in the context of difference and diversity is being acknowledged. The search for relevant education that addresses the multiple and complex needs of a diverse body public is ever more pressing today than ever before. Among many things, Africa must confront the challenges of ‘postcolonial education’ for celebrating difference and diversity. Among the pressing questions are: how do we theorize education within the context of ‘precolonial,’ colonial and colonized relations and their aftermath as diverse subjects negotiate and come to terms with their everyday existence and survival (Prakash, 1995; Harding, 1998)? How do the experiences of migration, agency, resistance, and the reclamation of multiple identities and representations inform our understanding of the (African) subject (Fanon, 1963)? And how do differences, multiplicities, ambivalences and contingencies inform educational practice? While the investigation of these questions is crucial, they are not the direct and immediate focus of this paper. This essay will

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specifically examine the extent to which local subjects utilize their knowledge and cultural resource base(s) to ensure that education responds to local needs and concerns. An argument can be made that the struggle for educational change in Africa is being conducted along two battle fronts. Firstly, the topic of educational change has been discussed or broached in terms of equity and social justice. Secondly, reform has been conceptualized in terms of the urgency to provide learners with critical learning skills that challenge mental subversion and allow people to use their creativity and resourcefulness to solve pressing and immediate social problems. By the development of critical consciousness, I am referring to the work in the tradition of Kincheloe and McLaren (1994), which conceptualizes learning as a process not transmitting knowledges to oblige assimilation, but of considering how the social construction of human consciousness is a political process shaped by power. Equity and social justice and critical conscientization are powerfully linked. For example, Asante (1988: 50–51) discusses oppression consciousness and Ndulu et al. (1998) situate the transformative possibility of understanding equity issues at the nexus of social, economic, political and cultural dynamics in the face of globalization. Furthermore, African education is not alone in taking up these two crucial strategies for educational change. Many local communities in both the North and the South face disturbing moves by primarily largely fiscally conservative governments to undermine public schooling. In Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean, faced with budget deficits, economic recession and other monetary woes, national governments are reneging on equity commitments. They are “. . . favouring privatization, reduced government expenditures, user charges and difficult choices between sub-sectors in education” ( Jones, 1997: 373). Similar developments can be recounted in the North even in times of prosperity.1 In a ‘post-colonial’ context, whereby former colonized

1 For example, Hatcher (1998) recounts events in Britain where the current discourse and practice of ‘school effectiveness and improvement’ has sidelined equality and social justice concerns. Equity issues remain peripheral to educational policy developments despite the fact that there continue to be “. . . profound inequities . . . affecting students from ethnic minority backgrounds” (p. 287). Dei and Karumanchery (1999) also discuss similar problems for Canadian contexts in terms of how a “corporate managerialist model of education” (Hatcher, 1998: 268) is being strenuously pursued by the provincial government in order to respond to the requirements of a global market competition. In the current economic scene, governments have begun to view and speak about education through the metaphor of the market. When examining this discourse, one needs to ask the question, “who is deciding the educational agenda and why?”

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nations and other national and local governments have been seeking to transform local and national governments into more representative governing structures, why is it that their powers are being eroded systematically by this global market competition? What are the colonizing interests and tools in this era? The tensions visible in the post-colonial challenges of African school reform as seen alongside the pressure of this “global market context” provide an opportunity for critical insights. In the face of such (market/capital) challenge how are local communities dealing with change? What lessons can be learned from the educational front through the exercise of local creativity and resourcefulness? The literature abounds with a discussion of the many problems afflicting African schooling and education (see Dei, 1999a, b). Without a doubt there are genuine concerns, ranging from the shortage of trained teachers, lack of basic materials, decaying physical infrastructure, fiscal, administrative, bureaucratic mismanagement and inefficiencies, curricular irrelevance, school indiscipline, declining academic standards, as well as ethnic, cultural, linguistic and gender disparities and imbalances in education. But beyond these difficulties, there are cases of educational achievements and success stories that not many hear about. We are reminded that “the effect of schooling, the way it alters a person’s capacity to behave and do things, depends not only on what is learned, but also on how and why it is learned and the environment within which it is learned” (Dore, 1976: 8 cited in Nwagwu, 1997, p. 94). Implicit in this reasoning is the power and efficacy of ‘critical teaching.’ Operationalizing the Notion of ‘Critical’ in Teaching Practice Critical education is read as providing learners with thinking skills to question the taken-for-granted assumptions about knowledge and society, and to work for social justice and equity. Conceptually, critical teaching cannot be separated from the understanding of power issues in education. Critical teaching allows for the examination of the dynamics of power around classroom instruction, curriculum politics, social organization of knowledge and the effects and implications in terms of differential schooling outcomes for learners. Critical teaching also allows us to rethink the processes of producing, validating, interrogating and disseminating oppositional/counter knowledge that can destabilize status quo knowledge. Hence, it is a question of the reconceptualization of schooling and education. ‘Critical teaching’ helps us to interrogate the four characteristics of ‘valid knowledge’

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as promoted in schools (see also Hatcher, 1998). Through the combination of the four characteristics of abstract universalism (that downplays the specificities of local school situations); decontextualization (that gives no recourse to the importance of students’ experiences, histories, cultures and identities in the learning process); consensualism (that avoids dealing with conflict and controversy); and managerialism (that privileges a top-down approach to schooling administration), schooling reforms have failed to address the structural, political and historical dimensions of change (Hatcher, 1998: 274–5). In this paper, I work with an understanding of ‘critical teaching’ which centres the interrogation of power relations in the structures for delivering education – structures for teaching, learning and administration of education. Critical education interrogates how schools are addressing questions of equity, particularly how educational approaches deal with social difference and diversity in the school population. Critical teaching also seeks to promote local/indigenous knowledges for decolonization purposes. It also means teaching students to develop a ‘sense of entitlement’ to participate in their education as well as a ‘sense of responsibility’ to create and use knowledge to transform society. In other words, my argument is that rethinking schooling and education in African contexts calls for ‘reconceptualizing’ issues. This means employing alternative/counter discursive frameworks that would help pose new questions for research inquiry. Thus, in my study I use an anti-colonial discursive framework to critically interrogate the structures for teaching, learning and administration of education, and also to understand questions of culture and cultural politics of schooling, difference, identity and representation in schooling. The anticolonial framework may be defined as a theorization of colonial and re-colonial relations and the implications of imperial structures for the processes of knowledge production and validation, the understanding of indigenity and the pursuit of agency, resistance and subjective politics. The framework conceives of ‘colonial’ not simply as ‘foreign’ or ‘alien’, but as ‘imposed and dominating’. It interrogates the configurations of power embedded in ideas, cultures and histories of knowledge production and validation in schools and off-school sites. The framework also recognizes the importance of locally produced knowledge emanating from cultural histories, traditions, daily human experiences and social interactions. As a discursive approach, it sees marginalized groups as subjects of their own experiences, histories and actions, and highlights the understanding that any politics of representation and identity need to continually reassert the presence of those marginalized as knowing subjects (see also Memmi, 1969; wa Thiong’o, 1986).

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Toh (1993) has observed that teaching critically about the concerns and sufferings of others outside one’s local world, “can be helpful in reorienting learners towards parallel problems in their own society” (p. 11). This is not simply learning but applying knowledge. Day (1981) (cited in Troyna and Forster, 1988), speaking more directly to collaborative research, provides important insights into the pursuit of critical education. It is argued that effective learning can occur when a learner is allowed to confront problems which are central to her or his own practice. This ‘self-confrontation’ can be a process of learning which leads to change “through internalization rather than compliance or identification” (Troyna and Forster, 1988: 293–294). Also, when teaching proceeds from a process of reflection on actions, intentions, and a review of personal, social and institutional factors, the learner can claim ‘ownership’ and ‘control’ in the knowledge production process to define issues of relevance and application. For critical teaching to succeed it is important for educators to “. . . move away from knowledge transmission teaching by using resource-based learning” (Troyna and Forster, 1988: 295). In critical teaching practice, the high intellectual pursuit for ‘universal culture’ is problematized as it conflicts with the search for knowledge that resonates with local peoples and their conditionalities. In the Ghanaian context, a critical teacher can make use of African knowledge principles as a ‘cultural frame of reference’ to rethink schooling and education. Scheurich and Young (1997) highlight the ontological, epistemological and axiological positions that may characterize different knowledge systems. The ontological position speaks to the primary assumptions that people have/make about the nature of reality. In African systems of thought, the ontological viewpoint stresses that to understand reality is to have a complete or holistic view of society. The view stresses the need for a harmonious co-existence between nature, culture and society. There is the idea of mutual interdependence among all peoples so that the existence of the individual/subject is only meaningful in relation to the community that she or he is part of. On the other hand, the epistemological position enthuses that there are different ways of knowing about reality. There is no one reality. Thus, in African systems of thought, knowledge is seen as cumulative and as emerging from experiencing the social world. Practice and experience are seen as the contextual basis of knowledge. Knowledge is for survival. Both go hand in hand. While membership in community accords rights, there are important matching responsibilities. The axiological position maintains that there are “. . . disputational contours of right and wrong or morality and values . . . [that is] . . . presumptions about the real,

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the true and the good” (Scheurich and Young, 1997: 6). In African systems of thought, therefore, cultural, spiritual and ideational beliefs, values and practices are evaluated in the history and contexts of communities as societies strive to set their own moral tone. While these ideas may be shared by other indigenous peoples, it is the privileging of certain core social values for ‘reward’ (e.g., responsibilities over rights; community over individual; peaceful co-existence with nature over control or domination of nature) that sets different knowledge systems apart. The Case Study and Context This paper is based on a field study conducted in Ghana in the 1997–98 school year to examine local responses to educational reforms implemented since the early 1980s. Fieldwork examined actual school and classroom educational practices; but more importantly, given the focus of this paper, it entailed soliciting responses of students, school administrators, teachers/educators and parents to educational reform initiatives. Field ethnographic studies were conducted in two Ghanaian school sites and local communities between July and October, 1997. The schools selected were a Senior Secondary School (SSS) and a Teacher Training College. The selected secondary school is one of a number of science resource centres established in major regions of the country under the expanded reform program of the 1990s. Being a second cycle institution, its graduates move on to post-secondary education, training college or university education. The teacher training college was chosen because it is a primary institution in the country training post-secondary students as teachers in the vocational and technical courses of the Junior Secondary School ( JSS) program established under the initial reforms of the mid 1980s. The 1980s and 90s reforms in Ghana were intended to address and transform the colonial legacies of Northern/Western Europeancentered elitism to create new content and structures corresponding more substantively to local Ghanaian knowledges and needs. Structurally, these reforms were characterized by the re-organization of formal schooling into a 6–3–3–4 system of educational cycles, constituting six years of primary education, three years of junior secondary schooling, three years of senior secondary or technical/ vocational schooling and four years of tertiary education towards either a university degree or other diploma. Curriculum reform also sought to emphasize the accessibility and relevancy of mathematics, science technology, social sciences and technical skills to accelerate

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African entry into the global economy through ‘human capacity building’ education. In fiscal terms, ‘structural and sectoral adjustment’ reforms, such as the establishment of new user fees, the encouragement of community schooling, and the reduction of budgets for staff, teacher training and textbooks, were intended to precipitate cost-effectiveness and cost recovery. In 1994, the Ministry of Education, in response to the poor achievement indicators of the first graduating class of the 1987 reforms, instituted an Education Reform Review Committee (ERRC) through which curriculum was reduced to fewer core subjects which were supplemented with a new program of religious/moral education for cultural and religious values education for teaching indigenous languages, life skills and culture. At each school site, thirty (30) students were interviewed. These sessions were supplemented with additional interviews with twentyfive (25) parents and twenty-eight (28) school teachers, administrators, and university-trained educational theorists and practitioners. The selection of students followed a procedure of initial contact with schools and educators and a request to interview students in the three levels of SS1, SS2 and SS3, reflecting differences in course programs as well as gender, age and to some extent ethnicity. The selected parents lived in the same communities as the students interviewed. Preference was given to parents and guardians of the students interviewed where possible. Assistance was sought from schools, educators and students to make initial contacts with these parents and guardians. In the case of other parents the researcher visited the local communities and through personal contacts with local educators and community workers those parents/guardians willing to be interviewed were solicited to be part of the research project. The university-trained educational theorists were drawn from officials working at the regional and national levels of the Ministry of Education and other educators in the wider Ghanaian community. Through in-depth individual and focus group (students only) interviews, study participants were asked for their perceptions of and views on continuing school reform initiatives and the connections of these initiatives to national development, as well as their expectations regarding the search for genuine educational options in Africa. Interviews were also supplemented with ethnographic studies of classroom and school settings, to examine teaching and instructional practices and social arrangements. Among the key research questions guiding the Ghanaian study were: a) how do schools/educators take into account students’ home and off-school cultures in the teaching, learning and administration of education?, and b) how do schools seek out and incorporate African

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and local centred resources in the curricular and teaching practices? Among the more specific questions asked of study participants are “how do students, teachers, educators, and parents understand the nature, effects, implications and limitations of educational reforms?”; “what do students and educators like about their schools and why?”; “what changes do they want to see effected in the school system?”; and “what specific teaching, instructional and curricular practices enhance learning for a diverse student body?” Elsewhere (Dei, 1999a, b, 2002) I have presented students’, parents’ and educators’ responses to on-going reforms. In this essay, my intention is to focus specifically on the issue of ‘critical teaching’ in terms of its evocation in Ghanaian schooling and educational practice. In exploring the narrative responses of the study participants, I have paid attention to subjects’ (indigenous/local) understandings of critical teaching that promote effective learning outcomes for youth. In what follows, my discursive approach is to use narrative voices of students, teachers and parents to inform our understanding of critical teaching in the Ghanaian context. Critical Teaching in Practice Teaching Respect: The Centrality of Culture and History Critical teaching is preparing learners to apply knowledge in daily life. Teaching must integrate social values and the cultural resource base of local peoples. Teaching much interrogate and teach African social values and mores, such as community traditions of mutuality, mutual interdependence, and social responsibility. By integrating teaching in the appreciation of the past, history and culture of the learners can be able to identify with the subject of study. Adwoo,2 an eighteen-year old female student in the Senior Secondary (SS)3 level decries the disrespect that can be shown towards the poor and uneducated. To her, critical teaching works with the cultural politics of schooling. Effective pedagogy works with teaching respect for each other. Adwoo argues that “it’s not normal that everyone will be rich or everyone will be educated so no matter who that person is, that person . . . [must be] . . . respected.” Adwoo may be equating ‘schooling’ with ‘education’ by arguing that not every citizen can

2 3

All names given in this paper are pseudonyms. SS designates ‘Senior Secondary School’.

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be educated. She, nonetheless, rightly connects learning with respect and developing a knowledge base about one’s culture, history and shared sense of belonging to a place. To her, learning about one’s history, past and culture is key to developing a responsible citizenry: I personally have no other interest but as a citizen of the country . . . I think it is somehow good to know something about the past . . . and our ancestors and other things. . . . It also helps . . . [to] . . . be a good citizen . . . [and] . . . to know the culture is also very advisable as you know, . . . to fit into society (07/09/97).

A knowledge of history allows Adwoo to appreciate the past and draw on its implications. An educational and communicative project affirming the ‘past’ cannot be interpreted unproblematically as a call to retrogress to ‘primitivity’ (See Amadiume, 1997: 12–13). Education grounded in African ‘past’ should be read as a politicized discourse to interrogate the African history, culture and tradition in order to learn from their sources of empowerment as well as understanding the disempowerment for African peoples. For the critical reader, education cannot ignore the cultural realities of the people. It means appreciating local culture and generating information that resonates with daily experience. Meaningful and Relevant Teaching Adoma, a sixteen-year old student in SS1 identified her favourite subject as Government Studies “because of the way the teacher teaches.” She adds: “[ T ]he teacher teaches in the sense that . . . makes the class so lively that everybody takes part in it and it is not boring” (07/09/97). But she adds that it is not simply the instructional style of a teacher that counts. She connects pedagogy with the issue of educational relevance and wonders why some schools do not offer Government Studies: Government is a subject that is everywhere, in our homes, in the schools . . . everywhere. And, in fact those who are not offering government I don’t know what is wrong with them but the way government, even culture . . . I don’t know . . . if you study government you learn to appreciate what a government in your time is doing. Like people just don’t quite [like] something . . . they just start insulting the government or something, they don’t actually know what is happening so if you learn government you will know the situation and what events have occurred. You learn to appreciate, either [something] is good and bad you just don’t get up and talk (07/09/97).

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From within this desire to understand the workings of governance, a critical learning environment might seek to position this dialogue within the context of the pressures that many local governments are facing to adopt fiscally conservative policies. With an understanding of the local and the broader context, students and communities can work through strategies and positions to take, cognizant of what is in the interest of the people and the many local communities and economies. Adoma speaks to this when narrating the pedagogical strategy of her teacher, by pointing to how learning from the past, history and the known should provide a context for validating knowledge about the self: You can’t start without a past, you can never start without a past, you came from the past, you should always start from the past and build on for the future, like the Europeans came and when they took countries, we have to learn it in order to know how to behave and assess ourselves and things like that (07/09/97).

The student comes to this understanding of Government Studies, in part, because of the exposure to the relevance of the subject as conveyed by the pedagogue and class participants. She sees the subject as meaningful in her daily lived experiences and the knowledge she is provided with is something she can work with to explain contemporary events. Understandably, she wishes the same for other students. In many ways, her narrative speaks to the interface of knowledge for decolonizing purposes. Critical teaching emphasizes inquiry and processes skills in the application and utilization of texts and curriculum. Classroom teaching aims to provide knowledge as ‘life skills’ to the learner. Teaching must make knowledge relevant to the learner’s lived experience. Thus, a critical teacher would see education as meaningful if it leads in some portion to human understanding and problem-solving. For any teaching to be critical, it must encourage students to think creatively and act self-reflectively about themselves and their place in society. Kube, a student in SS1, is pursuing business education. He echoes the sentiments that students in general share about education and its social relevance. He links education and social development and believes it is through the acquisition of knowledge that students can make valuable contributions to society. Asked about what he sees as the importance of getting an education, he responds: “Yes, you will help a lot to develop our economy in our countries, you acquire more knowledge than those people who don’t have any education, you help them in this society to be aware of the importance of the

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economy” (27/09/97). To the student, the acquisition of education comes with some responsibilities to a larger collective, not simply the self. The presentation of teaching as active, dialogical and experiential learning in order to think critically about the problem of ‘development’ can help students “develop a sense of their own potential for making a difference in their societies” (Hickling-Hudson, 1994: 31). Perhaps, what is remarkable in Kube’s narrative is his linking of ‘relevant teaching’ to the teaching of history and culture. For example, he articulates the importance of teaching and learning Ghanaian culture as a way to understand ourselves. Culture, he reasons, is a shared attribute, the possession and understanding of which strengthens how as a group, we come to live collectively and appreciate one another: Culture is the way, the way for people to live in the economy or society. It is good to learn culture, . . . you learn about your historical background of . . . the country and then the religious and the different religions in the country and we know how to move about or move with other people and then you know other people from other religions and other [ethnic groups] and it will help you to develop morally, or to help yourself to develop morally . . . (27/09/97).

But for the critical educator it is not simply how culture is lived and experienced, but also, how it is evoked and what interests it can serve. Therefore, teaching within the context of a politicized understanding of culture is to raise new questions about the construct and the power issues of legitimation and validation of knowledge. Positive Learning Environment Every leaner is an embodied spirit/soul. Understanding the spiritual sense of self is significant for pursuing effective social politics. In order for the learner to understand the self, education must be presented as an emotionally and spiritually felt experience (See Dei, 2001). Rather than being estranged from one’s surrounding environment the learner must instead be engrossed in it. Fela, a student in SS3, indicated his favourite teachers and explained why. They are his favourites because these teachers not only know their subjects; they are caring and approachable, and above all, they are known to offer useful advice and guidance to students. To the student, these are the attributes of a good teacher that enhance learning. The student brings to his understanding of critical teaching, an

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appreciation of what the teacher does in the classroom and what she/he stands for, as well as the socio-environmental contexts in which learning proceeds. Fela enthuses: . . . our surrrounding . . . also give us pleasure. . . . There are a lot of activities . . . that normally go on in our campus . . . [and] . . . people from different schools will come. . . . [When] we have activities . . . [our teachers] . . . allow us to go and participate or take part in certain things. . . . Our entertainment program . . . [has] . . . a lot of academic work and it is something like the [academic] . . . quiz and then drama which help us to learn something (21/09/97).

It seems that one way for an educator to popularize ‘school/academic knowledge’ is through the use of local popular culture (e.g. folk drama, folk songs, drama, theatre) and other forms of folkloric production and community talks as forms of ‘entertainment’ (Thiesen, 1993). The pedagogical effect is that learning becomes a pleasure activity, combining the ‘academic’ and the ‘social.’ Furthermore, the collective engagement of students in these activities helps to cultivate a sense of identification to the school and the educational process. Dealing with Change and Transition Omari, a father of six who received his postgraduate training outside Ghana, agonizes over the changes currently taking place in the educational system, particularly the competing forces of modernity and traditional values. He sees the role of teacher and parents as helping the youth deal with the challenges as they straddle between two or multiple cultures. He argues that critical education and teaching must help equip the youth to deal with the problems, constraints and opportunities of a society under transition. Omari’s narrative is worth reproducing at length since it captures some of the dilemmas, tensions, ambiguities and contradictions as students, educators, and parents confront change and look for ways to create responsible citizenry among learners. Asked to put his own interpretations on current tensions in schooling, Omari offer this view: Because of . . . certain tendencies, . . . it is [now] a whole system, . . . western civilization and the students are taking on certain airs, certain attitudes towards things even towards their parents. But things were not like that in the olden days. So it is the influence of western culture which is now . . . very easily acquired through the present communication system. . . . For the kids . . . they are now torn between these two cultures, is it the European culture which is good for them

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or the African culture, the African way of thinking?. . . . I’ll give you an instance: A kid [would] return from school in the olden days [and be] expected to help with the family chores. [But today] . . . [s]he would come . . . maybe the mother has finished preparing everything [and] [s]he just needs to go to table. [S]he won’t bother about the chores. [S]he will expect the mother to go and clean everything, why?. . . . Instead of sitting down to study they come and go. . . . There are so many of these, outside influences which are really having very . . . bad influences on our kids but now it is very difficult to sort of reverse the trend. . . . Things are progressing and it is no fault of the kids because it is rather the form of interdependence in this world, so nobody can do anything about it now. But the only thing is a question of tolerance and a very big responsibility of parents, too, to visualize the sort of problems these kids are now [facing] in the 20th or 21st century. . . . Their problems are quite different from what we were used to so we have to learn to adapt to the present system so that the kids will also adapt to the system. So . . . the two – the parents and the kids, there is need for them to interchange, to adapt because the kids can’t go back to the old days, theirs is just to move ahead but it is our responsibility, the responsibility of parents to sort of adapt ourselves because our way of thinking . . . needs to be changed and this is what we have to do in order to sort of be at par with kids (16/09/97).

Omari presents an understanding of the tension between the past and the present that connects schooling to parents’ roles and responsibilities. In fact, he offers a critical reading of school-community relations that move beyond the traditional approach to pathologizing families, parents and communities for educational problems of the youth. It is important to note within the context of this paper that Omari refers to the “influence of Western culture which is now easily acquired through the present communication system.” Understanding the power and influence of this tool to colonize local cultures, particularly in the next generation of youth is an important message to both parents and educators. Awareness of and engagement with this challenge facing the youth begins the process of seeking to find learning and teaching strategies to enable students and communities to understand and use communication technology for their needs and interests and not to be passive recipients of the new outside colonizing culture. As he says, educators and parents need to adapt thought and action to meet current realities, through critical teaching, in order to deal with these changes.

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Defining a ‘Good Teacher’ Ferdio teaches life skills at secondary level. At the time of the interview, he had made a decision to leave teaching temporarily to pursue postgraduate studies at a local university. His future plan is to obtain a doctorate degree in education in a North American university some day. He is very clear as to the qualities of a ‘good teacher.’ He lists patience, humility, a readiness to learn from students, and to allow experience to shape personal thoughts and ideas are cardinal: A good teacher is someone who accepts [her]/his students as they are in the first place. Then [s]he has the patience to know [their] problems, and always tries to teach from the known to the unknown, where [s]he bases [her]/his teaching on known experiences, or [uses] the environment [for] examples, before [s]he shifts to the abstract. . . . The good teacher should always be ready to listen to [her]/his students. [S]he should . . . be authoritative in class. And, at certain times [s]he should participate in the class activities by giving [students] examples. Then also, . . . if [s]he is observing it must be participant observation, where at certain times, [s]he will broach [herself ]/himself into teaching, becoming a role model for [students], before they shift on to what [s]he wants [them] to know. Then also in the classroom, [s]he should be prepared to listen to the problems of the children [and] help solve them (11/08/97).

He sees the teacher as a listener, an initiator, a participant in the classroom and a role model for students. But above everything, a good teacher to him is one who makes knowledge relevant to her or his students. As already alluded to, this is a theme many students share and identify with. Strategies in Critical Teaching The good teacher as a critical educator must know what specific instructional strategies to follow with her or his students in the classroom. Ohemaa is an English and History teacher with eight years professional service at the local teacher training college. In her work with student teachers, she shares her thoughts about preparing students for practical assignments in schools. She powerfully alludes to how local context, history and subject of inquiry are crucial to the pursuit of critical teaching. Beside the challenge of ensuring that teaching and learning happen simultaneously, Ohemaa speaks of the need to address the relevance of what is taught. To her, this is

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important so that students can establish some form of identification and connectedness to the knowledge production process. Practice and experience become the contextual basis of classroom knowledge and teaching. In responding to how specifically she generates discussion in the classroom with her students, she affirms: Well, o.k., that depends on the topic but then I try as much as possible to use current issues. I tell them [students] that they should consider the [local] environment. For instance, if you are teaching in . . . [mentions subject matter and place] . . . try to use those examples you know which [are] within the children’s experience so that you build on that. So I tell them that the way you handle a topic . . . will be different from the way you handle . . . [inaudible]. . . . Let’s say, for instance, you are teaching the history of the school, the history of [this school] is different from [that] of the Catholic School. . . . So . . . you give them the guidelines. . . . You know what I do is to make them do some research on the school itself. . . . And, I tell them that it is not that I don’t know but I want you to do it so that when you go, . . . wherever you are posted . . . you will be able to teach those people the history of their school (20/08/97).

Asked to expand on how and from where she draws her classroom examples she enthuses: . . . I would say it depends on the occasion but basically I try to build on what they know. I say we start from the known to the unknown, like you’re handling a [subject] like ‘division of labour’ you can start right from the home where the household chores is divided or you can even use the school environment because, the school for instance (and depending on the level too), . . . they have people performing functions. We have the blackboard monitors, etc. and other things so I always tell [students] that you should use what you think is within the child’s experience and . . . that one I really emphasize. [When] you do [that] the more they know (20/08/97).

It is clear from Ohemaa that critical teaching must be situated in appropriate contexts and must draw on powerful analogies to register ideas on to learners. She agrees emphatically that students can teach the teacher as well. Her narrative clearly shows the humility that is required of a good and effective teacher. Such humility provides a sense of comfort and security for the learner to know that she/he can also lay some claim on the knowledge production process. In effect, critical teaching works with the idea that students do not come to school as empty vessels to be filled with knowledge. Students

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can educate the teacher because they come as embodied spirits and empowered subjects with some knowledge to impart and share: “Sure they can because I always tell them they shouldn’t see the teacher as the one giving them the knowledge. It is give and take and [if ] there was a discussion, I tell them they should feel free and . . . if [what is said] is right we all accept” (20/08/97). The teacher’s humility and desire to learn allow students to intellectually and politically empower themselves. Similarly, no knowledge is innocent. All knowledge has a politics, whether or not explicitly acknowledged and engaged. The shift away from mere theorizing and intellectualizing academic issues to concrete and political engagement is another aspect of critical teaching. In Ghanaian schooling, some educators present teaching as learning for self and collective emancipation and eventual human survival. Such critical teaching assists students to examine the school curriculum for hidden messages that infantilize all students, but particularly cultural, ethnic, religious and linguistic minorities. Additionally, a few educators have come to see critical teaching as ‘eco-political education,’ that is, education for political action in order to confront structures of exploitation and to challenge unsustainable development (Hickling-Hudson, 1994). Such recognition gives an explicit political dimension to teaching so that education is not viewed uniquely in terms of its overtly observable phenomena, but rather in terms of the consistencies and tensions between policy and practice at a systemic level. When anchored in social politics and activism, critical learning can assist learners in challenging the technofix and techno-centrist approach to education. It allows teachers and students to see themselves as creators and subjects of change. It (critical teaching) helps students understand the structural roots and causes of human poverty; that poverty is not an independent variable but the result of exploitative social, economic and political structures that create social and material wealth for a few by disadvantaging many. There are many ways the critical educator can pursue such transformative education. As Hickling-Hudson (1994) pointed out, an ‘ecologically-activist teacher’ can use popular culture, drama, theatre, local media, folktales, songs and myths to teach students to understand the nature of the environmental crises in local, regional, national and global contexts. This is working with available knowledge and cultural resources. Furthermore, African education is not alone in taking up these two crucial strategies for educational change. Many local communities in both the North and the South face disturbing moves by primarily largely fiscally conservative governments to undermine public schooling.

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Indigenous Knowledge and Teaching/Learning ‘Science and Technologies’ as Praxis In critical teaching, teachers can use indigenous knowledge principles and epistemologies as an important basis of instruction ( Jegede, 1997: 16). To exercise intellectual agency, teachers and students should engage in a process of recuperation, revitalization and reclamation of African knowledge forms as a necessary exercise in empowerment. Kofi, a highly respected community worker and science teacher, complains that not enough money “has been pumped into science education in Ghana”, whether at the primary, secondary or university level. He teaches chemistry and core science at the secondary school level and utilizes experiential knowledge to argue that science is a practical subject and students must be taught to work with materials and apply knowledge to everyday practice. He criticizes the early education he received at school with its emphasis on rote learning, memorization and regurgitation of facts. Critical teaching is helping students create, act and interact with knowledge rather than merely reading about and regurgitating knowledge. Kofi forcefully articulates the problem of the legacy of colonial/Western education: [I]t was in the university that I had a feel of the science proper. At the O level and the A level we were taught to pass, we memorized everything, we were bored but when we got to the university we were made to do all our practicals on our own, every time. So until that time (university) I saw science as Western. But now science seems more indigenous to me than [it was] previously.

In the conversation, Kofi points out that rote learning, promoted in his early education, was not critical education in that it never challenged the social order of things. Critical teaching must allow the learner to know that instruction cannot be detached from learning. Furthermore, critical teaching means working with the idea of the compatibility of multiple knowledge systems and the learner’s ability to grasp different ways of knowing through ‘collateral learning’ ( Jegede, 1997: 13). Through critical teaching, students can move from the mere regurgitation of facts to critical analyses of the social and political constructions of knowledge. In classroom teaching practices, educators help students choose from ‘technologies’ that contribute most to the solution of daily human problems. Critical educators must resolve the conflict of conceptual and instructional models between the school and the home by making knowledge relevant and applicable (see also Jegede, 1997). In other words, educators must use critical teaching as a way to subvert didactic, authoritarian

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learning based on rote memorisation and regurgitation. In fact it is in defining ‘indigenous education’ that Kofi brings issues of relevance and the practical application of science knowledge as something worth starting from the known to unknown: What I mean by indigenous, what I mean is that all things that are pertaining to Ghana or to the peasant or maybe a child from the village and is doing science how he can go back to the village and apply the science. So in teaching how to make soap we deal now with the indigenous raw materials like coconut, the plantain peels . . . and the ash to get the paste which is essential. . . . [What] Western science would have used in making their soap we use our own palm oil and other raw material to use for the soap rather than buying the imported oil or whatever type of oil they use. So presently science means more indigenous than western (13/08/97).

The critical educator would work for closer links between the ‘school curriculum’ and social environments, relating the teaching of science and technology to local situations (see also Thisen, 1993). More importantly, Kofi’s narrative attests to the power of indigenous knowledge to not only subvert cultural domination by western culture and technology but also the potential of developing alternative local economies through the application of indigenous science and adaptation of other sciences to local needs. Critical teaching will affirm rather than devalue local knowledges. Itwaru (1999) argues that part of the imperial and colonial ideology is to see the colonized as the ‘inferiorized other’. The ‘other’ becomes the disauthenticated person/personhood, one devoid of an indigenous knowledge, identity, ancestry and history. Yet, the ‘othered’ subject brings a knowledge that can be oppositional or rupturing to conventional/standard/stable/imposed knowledge. Hence the imposed knowledge is always insecure of its own existence. Threatened by oppositional knowledge, imposed knowledge will move to destroy, devalue any critical thought and action. In other words, the imposed order anticipates resistance and moves to destroy it (Itwaru, 1999). In fact, one way of destroying such oppositional knowledge is to deny authenticity and an indigenous identity to the self that seeks to create such critical knowledge. Thus, the authority of the indigenous self is questioned. To Kofi there is something to be learned in the Africanization of the student and her/his knowledge base, that anything indigenous, local or African is not inferior. Africanizing the teaching process helps the learner develop an awareness and a deeper consciousness of one’s own identity, culture and history. It is therefore the task of the critical teacher to equip students to draw on local surrounding

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environments as important sources of knowledge. Critical teaching must pay attention to traditional knowledge as well as the values embedded in local cultures as important sources of cultural resource knowledge. In the specific area of science, it means teaching ‘science’ as a way of life for local peoples, teaching from first hand experience and by practical example. It is helping students develop a local scientific culture so crucial to human survival. In other words, a certain degree of local science knowledge is essential to become an informed and responsible citizen. Discussion This paper has shown how critical teaching allows students to make connections between local and other knowledges. This essay has argued that critical teaching allows the learner to utilize their own creativity and resourcefulness in producing relevant and meaningful knowledge. By providing learners with the intellectual tools to resist colonizing and imposed knowledge, students are able to destabilize dominant cultural, social and political forms. A very simple and concrete example from this study of the power of knowledge creation when it is generated from within the context of the local is illustrated by the quality of responses to different types of questions. The questions that were more effective in tapping into the rich source of student knowledge about learning were not the more general and universal types of questions about what makes a good teacher or a good lesson. Rather, the best questions were those that asked the students whether they thought it important to learn about local history, the local culture and local languages and how they understood the value of western science and indigenous science. The questions that tapped into specific local realities, values and student life were those that brought forth a dialogue with a greater depth of understanding, insight and discussion to the interviews. This contrast was particularly salient in the interviews with high (secondary) school students. There are broader implications in this essay for educational change in the African contexts. An examination of the ways critical teaching and learning is understood and pursued in some Ghanaian contexts suggests some viable educational initiatives for educational change in Africa. There is an imperative need to focus on the innovative educational practices of some teachers (e.g., teaching, communicative, and instructional practices) that point to the importance of local creativity and resourcefulness to deliver education in a very comprehensive

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way. Briefly, I will mention six areas as important lessons (see also Dei, James, Karumanchery, James-Wilson, and Zine, 2000). First is the place of the individual learner and the use of personalized and intuitive learning. Local school teachers work with the idea that learning begins with the self and that every way of knowing is subjective and based in part on experiential knowledge. To be effective, learning must be personalized in order to develop the intuitive and analytical aspects of the human mind. Individual attention permits the educator and the learner to start with the self and project onto the group. Therefore, specific attention to individual students goes beyond child-centred learning. The second is spirituality and spiritual learning. I am using ‘spirituality’ in terms of the understanding of the self and not simply the ascription to any high moral or religious order. It is the ability to understand the self, relate to others and to act for collective interests. Promotion of the self-concept and personhood can be a site of individual agency and resistance. By working with a broader definition of education that encompasses emotional and spiritual dimensions, local teachers aim at youth empowerment for social change. Local teachers’ understanding of education is that learning must be an emotionally felt experience. Therefore, specific educational strategies address the learning needs of students by integrating spirituality with school curriculum, instruction and pedagogical practices. Teaching practices reconcile the ‘secular’ and the ‘sacred’. Rather than shying away from spiritual dimensions of education, school and classroom practices integrate secularity with individual and community notions of religion and spirituality. Education is not pursued as the pursuit of a secularized, fragmented knowledge, but as a process to understand the workings of the body, mind and soul, and the interconnections between society, culture and the physical and metaphysical realms (Dei, 2002). Third is the use of local knowledge as a powerful cultural resource and instructional base. Critical teachers tap indigenous, traditional and culturally-based knowledges as important educational resources for the learner. Specific instructional practices ask learners to situate knowledge in the everyday practices and interactions of society, and to relate common-sense knowledge to schooling and education. Classroom teachings draw from the ecological contexts of students’ homes, communities, social and cultural frames of reference. Fourth is co-operative education and the broader concept of ‘educational success’. Critical teachers have high expectations of their students’ academic performance. For students, parents and teachers, education is valued as key to economic success and social mobility.

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Critical teachers, parents and students stress the connection between ‘academic’ and ‘social’, arguing that academic success is only meaningful if it leads to integration into the local community as active contributing citizens. This is a broader definition of what it means to be ‘successful’. Success is defined to recognize the learner’s limitations and extent of community involvement, as well as her/his nonacademic proficiency in areas such as psycho-social development and the ability to utilize cultural knowledge and capital. This educational approach helps to improve and sustain the learner’s self-esteem, pride, and sense of identity. The rights of success are accompanied by reciprocal obligations and mutual interdependence between the individual learner and the community. School and classroom teachings privilege self and collective empowerment, voluntarism, group participation, collaboration and solidarity. Fifth is the centrality and importance of culture in critical education. Local school teachers allow learners to participate fully in school life and culture while continuing to develop and practise their home cultures and personal and collective identities. Local educators work with the notion of ‘culture’ as shared, dynamic and expressive of collective values and aspirations. Students, parents and guardians are seen as educators by embodying knowledge about local culture (norms, social values, traditions and histories) that they can impact to the youth. Culture is taught to emphasize strict discipline of the learner. Discipline means respect for authority and tolerance for each other. Generally, respect is defined as something which is ‘given’ to others and expected from students. Alternative strategies of conflict resolutions privilege arbitration and reconciliation, rather than simply punishment and retribution. Sixth is the recognition of the necessity of creating working partnerships between schools and diverse local communities. Critical teaching stresses that education is a process within a larger continuum and broader context such that schooling issues cannot be understood outside the macro social, cultural, economic and political forces that impinge on society as a whole. Providing education to youth then is a task involving several stakeholders: teachers, students, parents, families, governments and local communities. The Ghanaian case study also shows that to transform education to meet contemporary needs and aspirations of a diverse population, there are other areas that need some attention (Dei, 1999a, b). These concerns reflect the struggle of Ghanaian schools to deal with minority education in the context of prevailing discourses of nationhood and citizenship. One of these concerns is the idea of uncontested culture, place and identity. The approach to accentuate similarities

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by denying difference can be problematic to the extent that the silencing and negation of difference is an abuse of control or strength. Within local schools, not only is culture assumed to be homogenizing, but there is also the tendency to privilege dominant groups’ cultures (see also Fine, 1991). Furthermore, the power differences and contestations around culture, tradition, class, ethnicity, and gender remain unresolved. This is particularly evident when students’ and educators’ narratives affirm the discourse of the dominant by suggesting that schools treat all students equally, and that the issues of socio-economic family background, gender, ethnicity and religion, and what these mean in terms of social difference, are not really salient in the context of schooling and education in Ghana. Finally, there is the issue of representation. To rethink schooling and education in the African context, viable approaches must be grounded in a philosophical understanding of the powerful linkage between identity and knowledge production and the need to validate difference for learners. School and classroom practices need to address issues of representation (see also Dei et al., 1997). Concerns of ‘visual representation’ (i.e., the inclusion of class, ethnic, religious, and cultural minorities, and also women and their cultures within the visual/physical landscape of the school and the classroom) and ‘staff equity’ (i.e., the representation of teachers from a variety of ethnic, religious, cultural and gender backgrounds in staffing positions) barely arise as ‘problem areas’ in the context of existing hegemonic discourses on Ghana’s education. Local schools have an ethnically diverse teaching staff without a conscious political practice to do so. Yet still, gender representation in staff is a problem as can be evidenced by the low number of female teachers in top administrative positions. The area of ‘knowledge representation’ (i.e., the centering of African cultural knowledges and discourse within the school system) also needs addressing. Knowledge representation is a commitment to valuing different cultural knowledges as well as a concrete validation for difference and identities. Admittedly, local schools are not all to blame, given that the national emphasis on promoting local/indigenous scholarly works is a powerful rhetoric that is not matched by a genuine and sincere attempt to promote materials and texts written by indigenous Ghanaian and African authors from an African-centred perspective. However, there are useful lessons from some schools as educators strive to include texts and other materials from indigenous backgrounds to allow students to make linkages between their local reality and broader transnational issues.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This paper was presented at the Comparative and International Education Society (CIES) annual meeting held at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, University of Toronto, April 15–18, 1999. I would like to thank members of the audience for their comments and suggestions. I am thankful to Margarida Aguilar and Christine Connelly of the Department of Sociology and Equity Studies, OISE/UT for reading an earlier draft of this paper. I also acknowledge the comments of the anonymous reviewers of the paper when submitted for publication in this book. I am also grateful to Messrs Ernest Dei of OISE/UT and Kofi Adu-Amankwah, Ferdinand Otigbo, Dickson Darko, and K. Baah of Ghana for their help and research assistance during the course of my study leave in Ghana. Finally, I acknowledge grants received from the Spencer Foundation, U.S. and the Social Science Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) Small Scale (through OISE/UT) which helped to finance this study.


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ENVIRONMENTALISM AND CULTURAL CHANGE: THE ROLE OF THE MASS MEDIA Kwamena Kwansah-Aidoo Introduction The environment and the threat to its stability have become important issues to nations and even local communities over the past two decades. Particularly in the last decade, environmental issues have “become quite ‘popular’ in many senses” (Slack, 1994: 1). Indeed the environment has become such an overriding concern that the World Development Report of 1992 was based on “Development and the Environment.” In accordance with this concern, the environment has made major headlines in the popular media the world over, sometimes through major disasters, while at times through the activities – arguments, proclamations, and even doomsday predictions – of environmental groups, politicians, corporations, academics, and even cult leaders. Kunst and Witlox in this regard, note that “the greatest problems facing humankind in the twenty-first century . . . may lie in the field of environment and ecology” (1993: 1). Vyas and Reddy (1998) likewise confirm that most developing countries are now expressing concern for the environment. On the African continent, the picture is gloomy. Timberlake (1985: 18), commenting on the state of the environment in Africa, laments: Africa is in environmental crisis . . . The continent has overdrawn its environmental accounts and the result for most of Africa south of the Sahara has been environmental bankruptcy. Bankrupt environments lead to bankrupt nations and may lead to a bankrupt continent.

In the specific case of Ghana, there are serious environmental problems (EPC, 1992, Nsiah-Gyabaah, 1994). These problems are varied but can be broadly grouped under the thematic framework of physical environmental and human/social environmental problems. The former includes issues such as desertification, deforestation, impoverished vegetation, bush fires and destruction of water sources, while issues such as waste disposal, noise pollution and population growth fall under the latter. Though the issues and problems falling

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under these two broad frameworks are interrelated, the distinction is necessary to allow for a coherent discussion of these issues later in the chapter. In the last two decades, there have been attempts by the government (mainly the military government of the Provisional National Defence Council and the National Democratic Congress-led civilian government) and environmental lobby groups, to address the issue of environmental degradation in the country. However, these attempts particularly in the 1980s, did not yield much result. Ghana’s Environmental Action Plan produced in 1989 captures this state of affairs succinctly by noting in the preamble that: “Attempts over the years to address environmental problems in Ghana have been ad-hoc and largely cosmetic, or at best sector-oriented and therefore limited in scope” (EPC, 1989: 20). One of the shortfalls of the ad-hoc approach has been the lack of any coordinated effort to raise environmental awareness among the populace, particularly in the area of using the mass media (Anane, 1996). Environmental awareness, as Vyas and Reddy (1998: 53) note, “is the prerequisite for effective tackling of environmental degradation.” Without awareness of the enormity of environmental problems, people may not even recognise environmental problems let alone take steps to tackle them. So the main purpose of creating awareness is to inform people about environmental issues, including how they might tackle environmental problems and to get them to adopt proenvironmental behaviour. This is where the media in Ghana come in. They (the media) have the capacity to reach all the corners of the country with environmental messages. Thus, they are very important in any environmental communication effort. The ultimate goal of environmental communication is to bring about positive environmental change, which will put a stop to environmental degradation. The process of environmental change is however not a simple one. The issues involved in bringing about environmental change are many and varied – not only communication and media related, but socio-cultural, economic, institutional and political as well. The actors and processes involved in the dynamics of environmental degradation are complex and variable, thus making the process of bringing about change equally complex. Consequently, this paper while arguing for the proper harnessing of media resources for environmental communication advocates a holistic approach in discussing and acting on issues of environmental degradation and environmental change in Ghana. The holistic approach involves a look at the many different issues – socio-cultural, political, economic, legal, structural, institutional – that are interconnected

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with each other and also with the environment and its degradation. Needless to say, these issues also impinge on the media’s efforts in environmental communication aimed at making people conscious of the environment. But before we go any further, we need to look at the issue of what constitutes the environment. Kwansah-Aidoo (1999: 10) notes that “the environment can be described as a fleeting concept because it conveys different meanings to different people.” As a result, definitions of the environment vary depending on who is offering it and the purpose of their work. The Macquarie Concise Dictionary defines “environment” as “the aggregate of surrounding things, conditions or influences.” According to Gilpin (1996: 74), the European Union defines environment as “the combination of elements whose complex interrelationships make up the settings, the surroundings and the conditions of life of the individual and of society, as they are or as they are felt.” In both these definitions one finds room for varied conceptions of the term. Indeed, Heberlein (1981a) notes that, technically speaking, the environment is anything that exists outside one’s self, while Gooch (1995a) also mentions that the environment can conceptually range from the local to the global. This implies that, for many people, the environment is what they see and/or what immediately applies to them. This can bring about some difficulties and variations in discussing the environment, especially in a situation where the media in many developing countries, including Ghana, import many environmental programs with strategies and philosophies from the developed world. So what constitutes the environment in Ghana? The following discussion examines the different conceptions of the environment in Ghana. The Environment in Ghana: Traditional and Modern Conceptions Traditionally, the environment is a very important part of the Ghanaian’s life especially for those who live in the rural areas. Writing about the traditional Ghanaian concept of the environment, Quarm (1995: 99) notes: Traditional wisdom holds the environment sacred. This sacredness is symbolised artistically by statuettes of a woman of tranquil radiant beauty with a distended abdomen and enormous breasts. She signifies the actual and potential ability of the environment to give birth and sustain human beings adequately if they pay her reciprocal duties of awe and care. She is, after all, pregnant, the bearer of the land’s eternal renewal and commands the reverence and esteem due to her burden of continuously bearing the vital gifts of the earth.

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The above conceptual of the environment has two distinct features. The first is that, the concept is limiting because it refers to only certain aspects of the environment. The second feature is that, it ascribes spirituality to the aspects of the environment. These features are important because they affect the way in which the environment is talked about, and also the way people relate to it. Indeed, the word “environment” does not translate into a single word in any of the indigenous languages spoken in Ghana. For example, when the Twi (Akan) speaking farmer says “asaase yaa” which translates literally into “mother earth”, he/she is referring to the land which they cultivate and therefore does not include the sea nor the sky. Similarly, when the Fante (Akan) speaking fisherman says “bosom po” which literally means “sea god” he is referring to the sea that is the source of his livelihood. In both cases these individual aspects of the environment are considered as gods, and there are days set apart when people do not encroach on the territory of that god. On these days that belong to the gods, the people are to take a break from whatever aspect of the environment they deal with. Traditionally, it is believed that if one contravenes this arrangement, the person will encounter their particular god, and this will have devastating consequences for him/her and possibly the society at large. Unlike the traditional, modern conceptions of the environment in Ghana are much more encompassing. Kwansah-Aidoo (1999), in a research on media and environmental awareness, reports that educated city dwellers conceived of the environment in two ways: (1) In broad and general terms including the physical, social, political and even the media; and (2) in terms of the physical or natural world. Specifically, 87.5% of the 205 respondents which included environmental journalists, defined the environment in terms of the natural or physical. A sample response is provided below: “When we talk of the environment what I think about is that on which life on earth depends. So we talk of the earth itself – soil, rocks, forests and all those components, the water resources, the air we breath, the atmosphere and the flora and fauna.” The above conception of the environment which is relatively broad and can be described as modern, is in line with that which can be gleaned from officially produced documents and publications on Ghana’s environment (see for example, Anane, 1996; EPC, 1985, 1991, 1992; Nsiah-Gyabaah, 1994). All these sources discuss the environment and environmental problems mainly in terms of physical or natural resources without providing a definition. For the purposes of this chapter then, the environment will refer to the resources of the physical and natural world which interact with each other to

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sustain human life in Ghana. This definition will provide the general basis for the subsequent discussions on environmental degradation in Ghana and the media’ s role in bringing about environmental change. Environmental Change and Consciousness: An Analytical Framework As stated earlier, the underlying goal or ultimate desire of any environmental communication effort, is to get people to act in ways that will not harm the environment, after they have been made aware of issues and how to deal with them. This is a positive aspect of environmental change following environmental awareness. The reasoning behind this argument is closely linked to the concept of “environmental consciousness” (Morrison, 1986; Ranniko, 1996). The linkage between the two lies in the fact that both proceed from the same point – an awareness of environmental problems. The point of departure however is, whereas positive environmental behaviour is a matter of conjecture, the concept of environmental consciousness embodies an inclination to act favourably towards the environment. Theoretically, environmental consciousness provides a meaningful conceptual framework for a chapter that emphasises the importance of the media and at the same time argues for a holistic approach to dealing with environmental change. The concept is relevant because communication, by way of providing information to create awareness, is the first step in the process of engendering environmental change. The concept also provides the basis for a model of environmental change that considers relevant societal factors in Ghana – a holistic approach. Environmental consciousness can be defined as the acquisition of knowledge about environmental problems or issues which translates into attitudinal changes resulting in a tendency to act positively towards the environment.1 Thus defined, environmental consciousness comprises “both an intellectual and an affective element”, meaning there is a knowledge of environmental problems as well as a way of relating, and also the attitudes which this knowledge awakens (Kontola and Konttinen, cited in Rannikko, 1996). In addition to being informed and having a positive attitude towards the environment, environmental consciousness “also includes action, how 1 The concept of environmental consciousness thus defined, is similar to what some scholars describe as environmental concern (see for example, Suhonen, 1993; Wall, 1995; Gooch, 1996).

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Figure 15.1: The conceptual background of environmental consciousness (cf. Rannikko, 1996: 59)

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individuals function in concrete situations” (Rannikko, 1996: 59). Thus, raising environmental consciousness is something the media need to do, and do on a more regular and sustained basis (Figure 15.1). The model provides a pathway to environmental change based on the assumption that “out of increased environmental consciousness, micro and macro levels of social organisation would, more or less of their own volition, start to make changes necessary to solve environmental problems” (Morrison, 1986: 187). This is crucial because if the extent of environmental abuse and degradation is to be minimized, people should move beyond just being aware of environmental problems. They should prepare and put themselves in a position where they are willing to “participate in environmental reform” (Morrison, 1986: 187). The framework is also important because when adopted as an underlying theoretical approach by the media and planners of environmental messages, it can and should influence the way in which environmental messages are packaged and presented in the media to achieve the expected goal of engendering consciousness.

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Environmental Problems and Issues in Ghana Ghana, like most other Africa countries, has its fair share of environmental problems, which can be grouped broadly under the physical and/or human/social. Under the physical, several studies have pointed out the alarming rate at which forests and other woodland formations in the northern savanna are vanishing (Brookman-Amisa, 1985; Centre for Scientific and Industrial Research, 1974, and Environmental Protection Council, 1985). These studies coupled with desertification have led to a situation where the effects of the harmattan are now being felt more severely in the southern part of the country than it was before. The acceleration in desertification and the destruction of the woodlands are largely due to uncontrolled human activities – misuse and overuse of land. Many indigenous plants and animals have also become threatened as a result of over-exploitation and the lack of adequate regeneration. Bushfires, for example, are a major source of environmental concern especially during the dry season. It is estimated that damage caused to property by bushfires between 1992 and 1996 cost the nation seven billion cedis. This amount increased in 1997, with the Greater Accra Region alone recording two billion cedis.2 The widespread destruction of the tropical rain forest is another major cause of environmental degradation in Ghana. The persistent felling of trees for export and domestic consumption has had negative ecological effects. It is estimated that more than 90% of the country’s high forests have been logged since the 1940s (EPC, 1991). Nevertheless, exploitation continues as a result of poverty and an apparent lack of alternatives. For example, in the 1990s whereas the government was exhorting people to refrain from illegal and unnecessary tree-felling, the Ghana Exports Promotion Council was encouraging the export of charcoal, which would involve cutting more trees, in order to earn foreign exchange (Atuobi, 1996; EPC, 1991). Deforestation has also damaged water resources, made the land liable to erosion and brought about a decrease in agricultural production. Vegetation has become so deprived of the nutrients that even the rainy season does it no good in terms of recovery. Traditional farming methods like shifting cultivation, shifting-field cultivation,

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This information was given in a report by Ghana Review International posted on “Africa Think Thank”, an African Internet Newsgroup, on March 19, 1998. According to the report, the information was provided by the Chief Disaster Officer, Bushfire and Lightning Technology Sub-Committee of the National Disaster Management Organisation, Ghana.

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crop rotation coupled with uncontrolled cattle grazing and the use of chemicals have all contributed to the sorry state of the country’s forests. The use of fire for clearing the land before planting, which kills regenerating seeds, is also a major factor in the destruction of vegetation in Ghana. All these developments, no doubt, affect the country’s economy, which is mainly agriculture-based. The agricultural sector alone accounts for 51% of GDP, and 50% of the country’s total export earnings, while employing 57% of the total workforce of the country (Iddrisu, 1995: 125). Pollution is also another source of environmental degradation in Ghana, with air, land, water and noise featuring prominently. The mining industry, for example, releases fumes into the atmosphere causing air pollution. It also discharges wastes and effluence into rivers and streams thereby causing water pollution and segmentation. A notable example in this instance is the release of mercury and other mining chemicals into the Woara Woara River which is the main source of drinking water for the people of Mpohor in the Western Region (Anane, 1996; Sarpong, 1993). Mining activities also pollute the land through fall-outs from toxic dust and the flooding of streams polluted by chemicals used for mining. Dankelmann and Davidson (1988: 80) sum up the physical aspects of Ghana’s environmental problems thus: Ghana’s environment is suffering the effects of dramatic changes; its forests have been degraded into savanna, and the savanna areas are fast turning into deserts. The invasion of desert through over cultivation, forest clearing, and overgrazing has been worsened by extreme climatic changes in West Africa since the recent severe persistent droughts. Vegetation has become so impoverished that it is difficult for the forests to recuperate even with the onset of rains. At the current rate of deforestation, about two-thirds of the country will soon experience severe wood shortages and serious environmental resource degradation. The most affected areas are the Northern and Coastal grasslands.

In the social/human sphere, there are a number of outstanding environmental problems. The rising level of noise within and outside industrial areas, from music shops and advertising vans is a major problem. Noise pollution is a major feature of the big cities and apart from constituting a hazard to nearby residents, it also poses a health threat (hearing loss and sleeplessness) to those affected. Waste disposal is also another area that poses a severe environmental hazard. In most parts of the urban areas the ‘bucket’ system is still in use for disposal of human waste, but the collection system has bro-

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ken down as a result of the lack of labour. Despite the government’s promotion of the use of Ventilated Improved Pits (VIP), especially in rural settlements, many people resort to indiscriminate defecation (EPC, 1991; Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999). Population growth is another area posing a threat to the environment in Ghana. With a population growth of 3.5%, the estimated 47,800 towns and villages will soon be unable to harbour the entire population set to reach 19.9 million by the year 2000 (UNDP, 2000). An important feature of the national population distribution is its progressive concentration in urban settlements with a consecutive reduction in rural areas. This is the result of urban development and rural neglect (UNDP, 1997). The expanding urban fringes are filled with new shelter, but without proper roads and adequate community services. City centres are crammed with informal trading activities and structures that conflict with pedestrian and vehicular traffic. The big urban markets are crowded places of filth, squalor and seasonal mud. Drains are broken and choked. Refuse collection and street clearing systems are unable to cope with mounting refuse and filth in parts of the urban settlements. The poor sanitary conditions in these settlements cause air and water-borne diseases such as cholera and malaria (EPC, 1991; Songsore and McGranaham, 1996). Efforts at Environmental Change Given the grim environmental situation, it is puzzling why efforts to reduce the rate of environmental degradation in the country have not been successful. One major reason for policy failure is perception of environmental problems. More often than not, those in authority see environmental problems as only technical problems requiring technical solutions. However, as Timberlake (1985) asserts, the answers to environmental bankruptcy in Africa are not just technical. The answers need to span across a wide range of sectors taking into consideration the multitude of factors that work together to bring about environmental degradation. Another reason has been the notion held by those in authority that environmental concerns are European and North American issues. Some leaders even couched the whole environmental debate in terms of another form of western colonisation – neo-colonialism. As Julius Nyerere, former Tanzanian president, put it: Until the last few years Africa regarded environmental concerns as an European or North American matter. Indeed there was the tendency

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  ‒   to believe that the talk on environment was part of the conspiracy to prevent modern development on the continent. Now we have reached a stage of recognising that environmental concerns and development have to be linked together if the latter is to be real and permanent. The question is how to do this? (Cited in World Resources, 1986: 8).

Ghana’s apparent answer to Nyerere’s question is the Environmental Protection Agency (formerly known as the Environmental Protection Council – EPC), a government body which was set up in 1972 to coordinate all environmental matters. The EPC was also to cooperate with the government to prepare an Environmental Action Plan (EAP) to help make Ghana’s economic development strategy more environmentally sustainable (Nsiah-Gyabaah, 1994). But it was not until March 1988 when the government realised the severity of the environmental situation that those concerns were placed on the priority agenda. Subsequently the EAP was prepared and submitted to the government in 1991. Some of the strategies suggested by the EAP to halt environmental degradation include the adoption of a national environmental policy, adoption of a policy agenda, and environmental education. The role of the media in achieving these objectives was also emphasised (Tawiah, 1995). Other documents such as Ghana’s Environmental Action Plan (1991) and the Ghana National Report to the Earth Summit (1992), have also cited the mass media as a useful and vital means of information dissemination for environmental education. On a practical level, the Environmental Protection Agency has formed an environmental working committee, which meets periodically to brief journalists on environmental issues and possible solutions. This provides a forum for responding to issues occupying the minds of journalists and also serves to update the environmental knowledge of journalists. The ultimate aim is to get journalists to pass on the knowledge and information they have acquired to the broader Ghanaian population in order to create public environmental awareness. Even though the above measures might give the impression about a higher level of environmental awareness, the reality is quite different (Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999). The World Resources Institute (WRI), the International Institute for Environment and Development (IIED), and the World Conservation Union (WCU) country study describes the situation as follows: “In Ghana, there is a notable lack of scientific information on many aspects of the environment and a disturbingly low level of public awareness (cited in Anane, 1996: 65, emphasis mine). Anane (1996: 65) further notes that “it is a fact that the alarming rate of environmental degradation in Ghana . . . can partly be attributed to the near absence of environmental journalism in the country”.

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These observations bring to the fore the need to step up environmental communication and the necessity of getting the media to play a more active role in the process of bringing about the much needed environmental awareness and consciousness which will ultimately lead to environmental change. The Media and Environmental Consciousness The role of communication in the process of environmental change is so paramount that there is no shortage of reasons as to why any society should invest in environmental communication. As the earlier discussion on the concept of environmental consciousness depicts, one of the major points in this regard is that, environmental knowledge is an important first step towards environmental consciousness, which can then lead to environmental change. In other words, people need to be aware of environmental problems and issues and how to act on them, in order to adopt positive environmental attitudes and subsequently engage in pro-environmental behaviour. Another reason why environmental communication is important is that, the many daily decisions that people make affect the environment and vice versa (Karembu, 1993). For example, a seemingly simple decision to cut down some trees in one’s own backyard have a number of implications for the ecological balance of the area by way of affecting the quality of air in the surrounding area and disturbing the natural habitat of birds living in the trees. Similarly, there is a direct relationship between quality of air for example, and the quality of life a person enjoys. These connections that seem so obvious are unfortunately lost to many people who cannot simply see them, or are too busy attending to other things to stop and give the environment a thought. Thus, communication about these issues is one of the surest ways of drawing people’s attention to the environment and its importance. Furthermore, environmental communication can lead to an awareness which can arouse interest and possibly lead to a desire and willingness to participate in decision-making on one hand, and resistance to decisions that harm the environment, on the other. People who are unaware or ignorant of issues tend to be apathetic and this apathy sometimes results in these people engaging in anti-environmental behaviour. For these reasons, among others, communication provides one of the vehicles in which to embark on the journey from environmental ignorance, apathy and degradation to pro-environmental behaviour and environmental change.

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Any discussion on environmental communication must necessarily include the mass media for very practical reasons. The mass media’s sheer reach makes them an impossible channel to ignore in any attempt to inform and even educate people about crucial issues. Also, for most people, the media reflect to a certain extent the realities of the community and the world in which they live. In addition, they have the potential and ability to provide accurate and timely information that can help decision-makers and the general public reach decisions concerning the environment and its management (Ansah, 1991; Boateng, 1993; Obeng-Quaidoo, 1991). Thus, by virtue of their reach and influence, many (environmentalists, politicians, communication scholars) have suggested that the mass media may be able to, through emphasis, put environmental issues on the personal agendas of their audience (Atuobi, 1996; Gooch, 1995b; Hansen, 1991). By highlighting environmental issues, the mass media can get people to at least think about these issues, which is an essential step in the process of raising awareness about the environment. As Atwater, Salwen and Anderson (1985: 395) note, the environment is “the kind of issue for which most audience members depend heavily upon the mass media for knowledge and salience”. Citing Downs (1972), they also mention that public perceptions of environmental issues oscillated with media presentation, observing that the media play an important role in attracting public attention to the environment as an issue. The media are also important because they have a profound impact on the process of constructing a society’s environmental problems in the sense that they not only reflect but also intensify the culturespecific view of the environment (Grauman and Kruse, 1990, Szagun and Pavlov, 1995). In this regard, they help individuals and society at large in the construction of what constitutes the environment. Environmental awareness is a social construction and each society constructs its view of environmental problems within the context of its cultural values and its social and political forces (Grauman and Kruse, 1990; Szagun and Pavlov, 1995). In Ghana, there is evidence to suggest that the media can help to construct environmental problems (see, Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999; Anane, 1996). In a similar light, Lippman (1991: 12) notes that, it is impossible for human beings to have direct knowledge of the environment because it is “altogether too big, too complex, and too fleeting” and “we are not equipped to deal with so much subtlety, so much variety, so much permutations and combinations.” Thus, there is a compelling need, with reference to the environment, to reconstruct the issues in a way that can be managed. The reconstructed and con-

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sequently manageable environment becomes a pseudo-environment – an imagined replica of the real – built from our individual and private perceptions or projections of the world. It is in the (re)construction of the pseudo-environment that the mass media comes in, providing us with images and stories of things that are happening away from what falls within our experience. The media are able to direct people’s attention to the world beyond their immediate experience and play an important role in shaping the pictures in our heads regarding the world, as they go about their daily task of selecting and reporting the news (Sonski, 1996; McCombs and Estrada, 1997). For example, in November 1996, 42 divisional chiefs constituting the Wassa Fiase Traditional Council in the Western Region took to the streets to protest environmental degradation as a result of surface mining in their traditional area (Anane, 1996). This singular event which received wide coverage by the private media, helped to draw attention to the seriousness of environmental degradation caused by mining. A major way in which the media can help draw people’s attention to local environmental problems with the hope of getting them to act is through media awareness and education, resulting from well thought out and planned campaigns and program. Effective educational programs about the nature of environmental degradation will not only arm the public with the needed information, but can also motivate them to translate the knowledge they acquire into meaningful behaviour (Atuobi, 1996; Hamilton, 1991). The reasoning here is that if people are made aware of issues of environmental management and protection, they may feel encouraged to embark on sustainable use of natural resources and to adopt environmentally friendly attitudes.3 Suhonen (1993: 91), captures the essence of the media’s role in environmental communication this way: Examination of the relationship of the mass media and its public to environmental issues frequently proceeds on the assumption that solving environmental problems requires the active involvement of citizens, both in their own daily lives and in politics. The involvement of individuals requires, in turn, that the media provide them with information on environmental issues, that they offer interpretations of the nature of these problems and create the will to act (emphasis mine).

3 It is important to note that, although making people aware of environmental problems and issues is a necessary first step towards encouraging pro-environmental behaviour, environmental awareness in itself will not necessarily lead to proenvironmental behaviour.

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Indeed, there is evidence that the media in Ghana have contributed in creating environmental awareness and consciousness among some educated people. Kwansah-Aidoo (1999) reported that 89% of respondents he interviewed in Accra indicated that the media’s emphasis on the environmental had made them more aware of environmental issues and problems in the country. Further to that, 70.8% indicated that as a result of that awareness, they have become more inclined towards taking action(s) to resolve environmental problems – in other words, they have become environmentally conscious. The discussion so far in this section, has emphasised the importance of communication and the role the media can play in environmental change in Ghana. It needs however to be pointed out that, despite this great potential of the media, communication researchers are cautious in affirming the role the media can play in the quest for environmental change. They are quick in pointing out that the media do not provide the panacea to the world’s environmental problems, though they can help in arousing public interest and confidence (Nwosu, 1993, Greenberg and Chess, 1992). In view of this caution, the following section discusses some of the challenges that the media face in their efforts to be at the forefront of environmental change. The Media and the Environment: Challenges One of the major obstacles in Ghana’s environmental communication effort through the media is language. Admittedly, the problem of language has been outstanding in most areas of national life since independence. However, it manifests itself in a more daunting way in the area of environmental communication. Language, as Haag (1984) notes, becomes a barrier when the relevant information is presented in a language that is not understood. Most environmental messages in the Ghanaian media are presented in English, effectively cutting out a section of the population who do not speak or understand English. Even in cases where environmental messages are presented in local languages, there is still a problem. Many environmental terms, terminologies and concepts, are very difficult to translate into most if not all, of the local languages. As noted earlier, the English word ‘environment’ itself cannot be translated into a single generic word in any of the local languages. More specifically, Karembu (1993: 61) provides an example of a concept that is important but can prove very difficult to translate into a local language: “Trees absorb carbon dioxide and release oxy-

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gen into the air”. How do you translate carbon dioxide into for example, Twi, Ga or Ewe? Chances are, in order to get close, the word will be corrupted or even kept intact in any message in the languages mentioned, and this might pose a big problem for the uneducated person who has no idea what carbon dioxide is. The language problem also manifests itself in another form, by way of the limited number of languages used in the media. Television and the print media, in particular, use predominantly English and this deprives a large section of the population from receiving environmental information via two important media that have the innate ability to reach all, barring structural difficulties. Another media-related obstacle is the severe lack of knowledge about environmental issues by journalists and media workers who occasionally write about the environment (Yankah, 1994; Amoakohene, 1995; Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999). The lack of knowledge manifests itself in two main ways: in the first instance, it leads to the production of very shallow reporting and low standard media texts on the environment. Many educated people expressed concern about the quality of environmental reporting in the media (Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999). The second way in which the lack of knowledge manifests itself, is, through the obvious lack of meaningful suggestions for dealing with environmental problems in media reports and programs. Stemming from the previous point is a general lack of interest in the environment and environmental issues. This lack of interest and enthusiasm is reflected in the relative absence of environmental issues compared to other issues, in the media – particularly the private media. The general consensus is that unless the environment draws attention to itself through a dramatic event or act of nature, environmental news and information are quite boring. This means that, for the media who are generally interested in keeping their audiences so as to remain viable, if the environment does not sell, then, the little attention paid to it, the better for their popularity. Such an attitude also ensures that, most of the attention to the environment in the media is reactive, in the sense that, it is only when things happen to the environment – usually negative things – that the environment becomes an issue in the media. The media’s reporting of the government’s environmental activities remains a problem. Here again, the issue is two-faced. One aspect has to do with whether the state-owned media (SOM) report on government activities that affect the environment, and if they do, how they do it. The tendency of the SOM to adopt the attitude of “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil”, where government activities are concerned is a challenge to be overcome. A good example

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of this attitude comes from the protest by the chiefs who constitute the Wassa Fiase Traditional Council in the Western Region about environmental degradation as a result of surface mining in their traditional area in November 1996 (Anane, 1996). The SOM hardly gave this event a mention, while the private press reported it and even did follow-ups. Such an attitude is a challenge because it breeds distrust of the SOM and affects their collective credibility. Needless to say, credibility is very important if the media, particularly the SOM, are to be at the forefront of creating awareness in order to bring about positive environmental change. The other side of the coin has to do with reporting of the environment as a by-product of political or other reporting. Most of the coverage of environmental issues in the media is the result of covering something else, like a Minister’s speech, or other activities of members of government. In this case then, the environment simply gets a ride on the shoulders of whoever or whatever is the focus of the coverage. Such coverage or reporting tends to obscure the nature of environmental issues and consign them to the backstage, ultimately creating the impression that the environment is not important. Many of the issues that have been raised here in relation as challenges can be tackled with dedication and resolve. The language barrier can be overcome partially by adopting a localising approach. By this, it is meant that, the educated, opinion leaders and influential people in local communities must be trained and used for the purposes of communicating about local environmental problems, both in the media and outside the media. To a large extent, local people and organisations dealing with environmental problems that are peculiar to their own local situations can find ways of talking about and expressing what is of concern to them. Communication researchers and language experts also need to work together to find ways of presenting difficult, but relevant foreign environmental concepts to local people in simpler and more understandable ways. Within the media too, a number of steps need to be taken if the media are to make an effective contribution to creating environmental awareness. Journalists who report on environmental issues need to undergo training in specialised environmental reporting so that they can come up with stories, articles and programs which are well-researched and well-presented. Specialised training resulting in improved skills should enable journalists to help the populace to see the linkages between the various aspects of our lives and environmental degradation and how environmental change or improvement can positively impact our lives. The media should also increase the attention they give to the envi-

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ronment and make good use of their ability to set the agenda for many people. In this regard, the media should actually play an environmental advocacy role and carry out the media function of providing surveillance of the environment to the letter. In this role, they should be impartial and point out both those who treat the environment with respect, and those culprits whose activities adversely affect the environment, irrespective of who they are. Also in this role, the media should be pro-active in their approach to reporting on the environment. They should move away from the mostly reactive style of reporting where the environment usually gets mentioned as a footnote in a political event, or only when the environment spectacularly draws attention to itself by way of a natural disaster of some sort. The media should also be the champions of and leaders in an ecological approach to environmental communication – an approach, which does not simply subtract from or add to what there is, but rather seeks to bring about desired changes. An ecological approach recognises the intricate relationship between the different factors and therefore advocates an interrelated approach to bringing about environmental change. Another area to look at in terms of communication and the media is the targeting of messages. Media planners and environmental communication researchers and workers should work together to delineate the different audiences and to fashion special and simplified messages that can be effective in reaching the different audiences. Many environmental messages in the media are too general, without any real targeting of a specific audience. Consequently, they do not reach any specific group of people and therefore are without any effect. Groups that need to be considered in terms of targeting should include the following: rural; urban; educated; semi-educated and uneducated (See Kwansah-Aidoo, 2001c). The work of the media and the attendant problems, notwithstanding, in a holistic model, there is a need to examine non-media related concerns and their impact on environmental awareness. Non-Media Related Concerns In the course of advocating for environmental change in Ghana, environmental communicators and planners have to contend with many issues beyond the mass media. Some of these issues are discussed in this section under the categories of socio-cultural issues; economic issues; structural/infrastructure issues and political/legal issues. On the socio-cultural front, issues like low education and

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illiteracy are major factors in the campaign for environmental change. Indeed if Ghana had a 100% literacy rate, language will no longer be a barrier since English, the most widely used language in the media, is the language of instruction from the fourth year in primary school onwards. However, with a literacy rate of 65% (UN Human Development Report, 1997), both language and illiteracy present challenges to any attempts at environmental communication. Illiteracy becomes a problem because certain concepts are easier to explain to the educated than the uneducated. Also, research has shown that, the level of education is related to a positive response to environmental messages (see Grob, 1996). Deeply ingrained socio-cultural behaviours and practices present another set of obstacles. Many people in Ghana engage in environmentally harmful practices that are the result of a variety of traditions, accepted social norms and sometimes deeply cherished social values. The practice of throwing away food wrappers wherever a person finds himself or herself, especially when dustbins are few and far between, is one such behaviour that has become very much a part of contemporary Ghanaian society. In fact, so entrenched is this behaviour that people who speak out against such acts are simply told to mind their own business (Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999). Certain age-old farming practices, such as the slash and burn method, for example, have also been known to be notorious culprits in environmental degradation. Another issue under this category, is the mentality – particularly among uneducated rural folks – that, one should have as many children as he or she is naturally capable of. Since unfettered population growth has serious environmental consequences, socio-cultural attitudes and reproductive behaviour will have to be addressed. In recent years also, there has arisen the disturbing tendency for people to think that if something does not belong to them personally, or to someone they know, they can treat it the way they want. This attitude has led to a situation where many really do not care how they treat the environment because it simply does not belong to them. Kwansah-Aidoo (1999) for example found that, even among educated people, there were some (though a few) who felt that the environment did no belong to them and that it was there to be used anyhow. These people believed that, solving environmental problems was mainly the job of the government. The socio-cultural practices, attitudes and behaviours cited here serve as a veritable impediment to environmental change. The only way to bring about change in these attitudes is through civic education. This education should be both formal and informal and

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should not be only through the media, but through educational institutions as well. Churches, societal groups and associations, which provide a means of socialisation can also be used for this purpose. There should be a concerted and well-coordinated effort, utilising all avenues and means possible, to socialise people into changing attitudes that negatively affect the environment. Economic Issues The nature of the economy remains as one of the key obstacles to environmental change in Ghana. Despite being touted as an economic “success story” in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Ghana is still a low-income country. This means that many people have a low purchasing power and they indeed have to struggle to make ends meet. Survival therefore becomes an issue and for many people, their economic survival comes before the environment. As someone put it “the bottomline for most people is, man must eat to live [sic], and so if in the course of finding food to eat the environment gets destroyed or degraded, so be it” (cited in Kwansah-Aidoo, 1999: 258). Lowe and Morrison (1984: 89) are right in pointing out that “[f ]or many people whose current prospects are financial insecurity or hardship, environmental issues may seem of marginal relevance.” In a research on environmental degradation and desertification in Northern Ghana, Nsiah-Gyabaah (1994) found that the economic status of individuals largely determined their response to conservation efforts: The survey responses also show clearly that tree planting is highly and positively correlated with economic status. The wealthy farmers show greater commitment to tree planting and soil conservation than poor farmers. Among the poor farmers, their weak financial position prohibit them from actively adopting tree planting even if the motivation to do so exists (Nsiah-Gyabaah, 1994: 158).

In explaining why the situation is so among the farmers, NsiahGyabaah (1994: 159) observes that: local farmers often have a thorough knowledge and understanding of their environment and their needs. The reason why the environment is degrading is not that farmers are ignorant but poor farmers who are risk averse are more concerned with their immediate survival needs than in obtaining fuelwood in five or more years’ time.

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The truth of the matter is captured by Tutu (1996: 116): “When it is in the short-term interest of users to destroy the environment, it is very difficult for positive policy to prevail.” For many people, they cannot be asked to protect the environment, when they have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. The implication as noted earlier is clear, when people have to think of their immediate survival, environmental protection or conservation will be low on the list of things that they deem important. Nsiah-Gyabaah (1994: 159) captures this very well by noting that “poverty is not a fertile ground for sowing the seed of conservation.” It is no secret that, in many cases the environment is degraded because of the immediate economic interests of individuals or groups. This notwithstanding, carefully planned communication and education through the media and other channels can draw people’s attention to the long-term consequences of their actions, and also provide worthwhile suggestions on how to handle such tempting situations. This will hopefully act as a check to the tendency to sacrifice the environment on the altar of immediate economic gain. The economic insecurity is compounded by the lack of the means to purchase newspapers, radio or television sets which tend to be the major sources of environmental information. This problem is made worse by the fact that operating radios and televisions require the use of electricity, or batteries, in the case of radio. Considering the current cost of electricity, regular use of these media become a formidable issue for low-income earners. Research has indicated that some people will not engage in activities that degrade the environment if they had better options. For example, Kwansah-Aidoo (1999) found that the lack of dustbins, public places of convenience and proper drainage systems in many residential areas, was a major contributor to the huge problem of litter and waste disposal in Accra. In order to dispose of both solid and liquid waste in the appropriate manner, certain basic structures and infrastructure need to be in place. However, many places in Ghana lack basic facilities such as drainage systems and dustbins by the wayside, and this makes it impossible to adhere to messages admonishing people not to litter the city, for example. Thus, whereas the messages aimed at inducing environmental change are admonishing people to adopt a certain kind of behaviour, the situation on the ground does not encourage people who are so-inclined to adopt such behaviour. For environmental communication such as the “Don’t litter the city” campaign launched in the media in the latter part of 1997 to result in the desired behavioural change, care should be taken to provide the necessary infrastructure that will enable such behaviour to be adopted.

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Political/Legal Issues The preamble to Ghana’s Environmental Action Plan summarises some of the political and legal issues involved in environmental change by noting that: It has become evident that the body of existing legislation on the various aspects of the environment is inadequate, and many provisions have no bearing on present-day realities as well as the aspirations of the people of this country. There is clearly the need for a new direction and trust in national development efforts to ensure that plans aimed at improving the standard and quality of life take due cognisance of environmental considerations (EPC, 1989: 20).

Although this observation was made over a decade ago, the situation has hardly changed and a number of analysts on the environment have expressed a sense of frustration and disdain at the seemingly lackadaisical attitude of the government where damage to the natural environment is concerned. Martin Duodu, for example, in an Internet discussion, captured the growing sense of frustration as follows: Is it an accident that we are cutting down our forests and shipping the timber to Europe and America at such a rate that some of our trees have already become extinct and others are fast following suit? Does our government care that the lumber-felling companies destroy the food farms of the poor during the timber production processes? Is our government even remotely aware of the extent to which wholesale logging is fast changing our climate, by denuding the rain forests, and thereby inviting even more drought than El Nino has planned for us? (Okyeame, 25 August, 1998).

Similar sentiments have been expressed by Mate (1998) who noted growing environmental concerns about the boost in gold mining investments in Ghana. The government, as the moral guardian of the country and consequently the environment, has the responsibility of monitoring it and ensuring that the country embarks on “environmentally sustainable development” (Mate, 1998: 2). As one of Kwansah-Aidoo’s (1999: 271) interviewees put it, “It is the duty of the authorities to either control the activities of these mining companies that are destroying the environment or stop them altogether.” To encourage real environmental change then, the government needs to play its part and to attend to issues such as passing new laws or updating old ones to reflect current needs and replace archaic ones. The government should also lead the way in showing concern for the environment by enforcing these laws and also putting in place

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measures that will discourage people whose economic activities harm the environment unnecessarily. Offenders should be prosecuted irrespective of whether their activities provide revenue for the government or not. A perception that the government is not concerned about the environment does not help at all in the quest for environmental change. The government needs to act on environmental concerns and then communicate these actions to the populace so as to let people know that they care about the environment. Such actions will go a long way to change the negative perception that some people currently have about the government’s environmental policies. Conclusion The issues discussed here support this chapter’s contention that the process of engendering environmental change should be approached from a holistic perspective. As has been argued, the factors that give rise to environmental degradation are varied and complex and that makes the process of stemming environmental degradation and/or bringing about environmental change equally complex. The issues that have been discussed here are all variously linked to each other. The pathway to environmental change involves a complex assortment of issues that are all interrelated. For environmental change to occur, people need to become aware of environmental problems and issues and how to deal with them as a first step. The next step is that awareness should lead to a predisposition to act in a positive way towards the environment – described earlier as environmental consciousness. In the final step, the predisposition becomes an actual manifest behaviour, which ultimately results in environmental change. However, many factors – media communication and publicity related issues, socio-cultural issues, economic issues, structural/infrastructure issues and political/legal issues – intervene and affect the progress from awareness to change. These issues or factors are interconnected and also affect every stage of the process or pathway to environmental change as has been shown in the earlier discussion. Media publicity and attempts to create awareness, for example will not yield much result if people do not have access to the media because of economic reasons, or if as a result of non-existing infrastructure people cannot engage in preferred behaviour. Consequently, any attempt at dealing with environmental change should consider these multiple and variable factors. And this can be done only through a holistic approach that seeks to tackle all the issues involved. Within

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the holistic approach however, it needs to be realised that some factors/issues such as those relating to media and communication which affect the necessary first step of awareness, carry more weight than others and therefore, the issues should be dealt with according to the weight they carry.


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INDEX Acheampong, 121–122 agricultural productivity, 72–73, 75, 274–277 Agricultural research and extension, 137–151 agricultural sector, 7, 135–138, 142, 144, 147–148, 276, 280 Akuffo, 47 anti-colonial framework, 190 Armed Forces Revolutionary Council, 122 Berekum, 98, 274, 280, 283, 286, 288, 292, 298, 300–301 births (fertility), 226–227 bourgeoisie, 4, 11, 26, 35, 41, 155 Busia, 121 Business Advisory Centres, 39 Business Assistance Fund, 39 Canadian International Development Agency, 63, 74, 161, 164, 166, 172 capital accumulation, 218–219, 226, 251, 260 capitalism, 11, 13, 125, 153–154, 210, 215, 229, 353 capitalist market, 13, 24, 30 Chieftaincy Act, 251, 253 chief; chieftaincy, 14, 15, 243 chieftaincy disputes, 14, 243, 263–269 civic engagement, 84, 99 cocoa, 10, 14, 139–140, 142, 138–139, 146, 274, 276, 292 collaborative trust, 25, 27, 28 Colonial, 11, 29, 32, 138, 314–315, 368 colonialism, 12, 31 Committees for the Defence of the Revolution, 83 Convention People’s Party (CPP), 21–22, 32, 119–120, 241 co-operative education, 207 Coussey Committee, 46 credit, 13, 16, 38, 40, 74, 87, 115, 174, 194, 206

criminal libel, 98, 104, 108–109, 113, 123 critical education, 365–387 critical learning, 365–387 critical teaching, 367–370 cultural domination, 111, 382 Culture, 335–363 DAs, 45–81, 51–53 Demographic and Health Surveys, 11 development by invitation, 348–349 discursive framework, 368 District Assemblies, 45–58, 67–68, 75–76, 79 District Assemblies Common Fund, 55, 58 District Chief Executive, 51–55, 57, 59, 62–63, 65 District Secretaries, 47, 51, 57 Economic Recovery Program, 1, 6, 22 economic reforms, 3, 286 eco-political education, 380 Electoral Commission, 55, 99, 255 Empretec, 24, 40–42 Engineering Design Centre, 159 Entrepreneurship, 162 Environment, 389–411 environmental communication, 393, 399–402, 405, 408 environmental consciousness, 393–394, 399–402 ERP, 6, 9, 49–50 ethnic rivalries, 114, 118, 366, 386 European Union, 161, 164–165, 391 extension officers, 145–150 food crops, 147, 298–299 Fordist mass production, 27 Frequency Control Board, 88 Gender, 306–307 gender analysis, 278 Ghanaian culture, 16, 104, 340–343 gift land, 283–285, 292–295, 298 GRATIS, 24, 41, 36, 39, 154, 158–173

450



growth rate of GDP, 000 HIV/AIDS, 277 human factor; human factor decay, 6, 108, 114–115, 126–132 IMF, 1, 6, 13, 177, 187, 223, 225, 231, 236, 261, 352, 357–359, 381–383 indigenous science, 206 infant mortality rate, 229 integration, 117–119, 132 International Monetary Fund, 5, 22, 49, 212 intuitive learning, 206 investment, 21–23, 30, 37–38, 43 ITTUs, 8, 154, 158–173 Junior Secondary School, 158–159, 370 Keta, 59, 62–63, 66, 71, 75–76, 80 knowledge representation, 209 Koforidua, 202, 204, 208, 216 Kufuor, 84, 125, 249 Kumasi, 52, 54, 59, 62–66, 71, 147, 167, 232–233, 258 Land, 161, 256–263, 273–302 land tenure, 256, 263, 273–303 Limann, 123 Living Standards Surveys, 224 Malthus, 225 Management, 47, 75 manufacturing, 31, 33, 35, 39–42, 154 mediated democracy, 87–88 Metropolitan Assemblies, 52, 57 monetisation, 201–205 National Agricultural Research System, 140–141 National Alliance of Liberals, 120 National Communications Authority, 89 National House of Chiefs, 243, 250–255 National Media Commission, 90, 92, 95, 98 National Register of Chiefs, 43 nation-state, 6, 12–13, 15, 24–25, 27–30 Native Authorities, 46 NBSSI, 24, 39

NDC, 2, 42, 53, 125 neo-liberal, 202, 213, 257 neo-liberalism, 156, 207 neo-Malthusians, 226, 232 networks, 32–34, 117–118 Newspaper Licensing Law, 83–84 NGO, 4, 7–8, 24, 135–151 Nkrumah, 115–119, 241, 247 normative trust, 25 organized labour, 177 PAMSCAD, 1, 23 pedagogy, 373 Penal Code, 91 PNDC, 2, 14, 22, 45, 47–48, 124, 189, 245, 268 politicized discourse, 373 population movements (migration), 225 population optimists, 226 post-colonial, 201, 318, 365 private media, 85, 89, 105 privatization, 275–276, 302 Progress Party, 120 property rights, 274–276, 301 Public Sector Performance Improvement Programme, 249–250 Queen mother, 246, 310 Rawlings, 83–84, 91, 93, 96, 98, 100–101, 103, 106, 122–126, 245, 248–249 Regional Coordinating Council, 51 Regional House of Chiefs, 250–255 Resistance, 185, 187–188, 192, 194–197, 200, 365 Retrenchment, 207 Senior Secondary School, 158, 201, 218, 231, 233, 370–371 SMC, 47, 122 social mobility, 384–385 South Korea, 335–336, 344–354 spiritual learning, 375–376, 384 start-up capital, 38 State Enterprises Commission, 186 state-media relations, 83–85 State-Owned Enterprise, 178–182, 186, 190–191 state-owned media, 83, 97, 100–103, 403

 Structural Adjustment Programs (SAP), 49–50, 150, 154, 158, 172, 177–179, 181, 189, 191–192 Supreme Court, 254–255, 313 Supreme Military Council, 47 symptoms of underdevelopment, 360 technological innovation, 153, 171 tenurial status, 209 Total Fertility Rate, 229

451

Traditional Council, 46, 250–254 trokosi, 252, 329, 330 urban culture, 202 Vision 2020, 1, 21, 23, 43 Watson Commission, 46 Workers Defence Committees, 47 working capital, 37 World Bank, 181–182, 225, 186–187, 231, 352


AFRICAN SOCIAL STUDIES SERIES 1. Saskia Brand, Mediating Means and Fate. A Socio-Political Analysis of Fertility and Demographic Change in Bamako, Mali. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12033 5 2. Axel Harneit-Sievers, A Place in the World. New Local Historiographies in Africa and South Asia. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12303 2 3. John O. Oucho, Undercurrents of Ethnic Conflict in Kenya. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12459 4 4. Sandra J.T.M. Evers, Constructing History, Culture and Inequality. The Betsileo in the Extreme Southern Highlands of Madagascar. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12460 8 5. Kempe Ronald Hope, Sr., From Crisis to Renewal. Development Policy and Management in Africa. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12531 0 6. Wisdom J. Tettey, Korbla P. Puplampu, and Bruce J. Berman (eds.), Critical Perspectives on Politics and Socio-Economic Development in Ghana. 2003. ISBN 9004 13013 6

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