Open letter to party footsoldiers

Dear Footsoldier,

Accept my warmest regards from my humble home in Salaga. Salaga is one of the colonial towns that still has visible remnants of slavery and its attendant effects. For example, the wells, slave market etc are still here with us. A closer look leaves one wondering if all these atrocities could have happened without the tacit approval of our gun powder and mirror-loving forebears.

Comrades, I may not know where am reaching you from. Notwithstanding, the dynamics of slavery may be different in your community, however, one thing is certain. Its scars and stench is seen and felt by you too. So journey with me as I try to reposition the narrative of footsoldiers.

Footsoldiers occupy a strategic stratum of political party membership. Their role forms the pivot of political activism and Victory. This phenomenon is not exclusively practiced in Ghana. Even the Doyen of democracy has these groups and its mode of operation shares many similarities with Ghana.

For example, they (footsoldiers) do all the "dirty works" and take no pay. They effectively communicate party policies and serve as a link between the masses and the political elite.

Footsoldier's work is the nitty-gritty of politics -- the organizational effort of finding voters and getting them to the polls, tracking down ballots.

It is an invisible and unglamorous side of political life, but one every serious candidate considers essential.

I shudder to say they are modern-day slaves of the political class. Footsoldiers all around the world are enthusiastic youth who use their own meagre resources to champion the cause of their various parties. At times, they peril off their lives to see their favorite candidate win. Sadly, they're forgotten immediately after power is won.

Going forward, just like our forefathers who had Independence from slavery, footsoldiers need emancipation from the dogma of these self-centered political elites. We can also be CEO, Ministers, Board of Directors, etc.

Dear Footsoldier, am shutting my window where I took cold breeze whiles steering at the slave market when I was writing this letter to you.

Until I return,

I am yours truly, Footsoldier.