On Titles, Appellations and Praise-Singing: The Missing Link

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When I wake up each day, whatever issue grips my mind, whether it angers me or fascinates me, I write it down. Writing prevents me from swallowing my own words only to hear another person say them later with conviction. Today, what troubles me is the shallow way we discuss the fight against galamsey in Ghana. From the killing of Major Mahama at Dunkwa to the endless videos and photos flooding social media, public focus has remained fixed almost entirely on environmental consequences: polluted rivers, poisoned fish, leached soil, and cancers. All these are serious, but they are not the core issue. The true crisis is that Ghana has failed its youth, failing to provide opportunities and making it difficult for its citizens to thrive.

This failure is structural. Our governance system is designed to keep everyone dependent on the state. When motivational speakers or businesspeople say, “There is money in Ghana, the youth are just lazy,” they ignore the elephant in the room: the absence of real avenues for self-sufficiency. The government imagines that social democracy requires centralized state control. Yet, in every country where this model has been practiced rigidly, the result has been poverty and stunted growth. People point to Cuba, Russia, or parts of Eastern Europe. But these are weak examples. Cuban doctors, who are exported worldwide, return home to earn less than a thousand dollars a month, tightly controlled by their government. Russia, even with its billionaires and the glamour of Moscow, remains a country where ordinary citizens struggle for basic housing. Even China has shifted away from Soviet-style centralization, opening space for private enterprise to drive prosperity.

Ghana, by contrast, clings to outdated models. Why must the government be responsible for paying salaries of every lecturer and administrator in every tertiary institution? Why must institutions like Korle Bu Teaching Hospital, which has existed for decades, still rely entirely on state subvention instead of building internal sustainability? Why do SSNIT, TOR, EPA, and NPA perpetually drain the public purse instead of standing on their own? Over sixty percent of our national budget deficit is swallowed by salaries and arrears. Meanwhile, trained nurses and teachers graduate only to sit at home for years waiting for government postings that never come. This is the real failure, not just polluted rivers.

Meanwhile, when you look at countries like the United States, the contrast is striking. Universities there generate their own income through tuition, research grants, endowments, and partnerships with industry. Teaching hospitals raise funds through service delivery, insurance systems, and philanthropic support. Even regulatory agencies are often partly funded through fees and fines collected from the very sectors they supervise. The state does not carry the burden of paying every salary because the system is designed to encourage self-sustaining institutions. That is why wealth creation, and the expansion of the middle class thrive. Ghana has adopted the form of social democracy, but not its underlying substance. Instead, we have created a bloated state that tries to do everything while doing almost nothing well.

It is this same systemic weakness that renders our educational institutions a mill for producing graduates with little to no real-world preparation. At the University of Cape Coast, I sat in class with Professor Peter Grant, who taught the classics with passion. We studied Roman bravery, Greek communal spirit, the Peloponnesian wars, and the Punic wars. But very few of us were guided to link these historical lessons to Africa’s realities in a unipolar world. Worse still, the so-called professors and doctors we produce often publish their last meaningful research decades ago, or conduct “flowery” studies with no impact on national development. Yet, in the culture of praise-singing, the government elevates them to ministerial and CEO positions, forcing them out of classrooms where they were already making little impact.

So, academia has become a conduit for political appointments in Ghana. Journalism has followed the same path. The effect is devastating: none of these big titles has culminated in solving the teething issue of youth unemployment. The government has failed to tap the brains of these so-called title holders to create even the barest minimum of opportunities for young people. The result is what we see today: galamsey. People lease, sell, or till their land to extract gold, which they use to survive and provide for their families. And yet, society continues to focus only on the aftereffects of their activities, when in reality the system has provided them no alternative. What is the use of all these big names and titles in governance, then?

Take institutions such as GNPC, Ghana Gass, NPA, TOR, SSNIT, or even the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The reality is stark: the only two ways you enter such places are either through a tightly knit family relation already inside or through the political door. Those who work there know that they sit in some of the few places where one can make a decent living in Ghana. Naturally, they close the doors to outsiders who do not belong to their coterie. Such is the reality of our country. Our government has failed us, and in this fight, it should be scarlet with shame and compunction instead of infuriating the very people it has abandoned.

In serious countries, surgeons remain at their posts, researchers stay in laboratories, and academics remain in classrooms, generating knowledge and linking their work with industry to create jobs. Government complements these efforts with policy and infrastructure. In Ghana, the opposite is true. Rather than using their expertise to transform lives, many chase titles, unlettered appellations, and political posts, while the state entrenches nepotism and systemic corruption. My own cousin graduated five years ago but has never held any meaningful job, public or private, that paid her more than 1,200 Ghana cedis a month. Until recently, even medical doctors earned less than 12,000 Ghana cedis, and associate professors less than 15,000. So why wouldn’t everyone gravitate toward government positions, which promise power, perks, and prestige? And for those who cannot get these opportunities, why wouldn’t some turn to the pulpit, while others turn to galamsey?

This obsession with titles is cultural. It is not new. We love to heap praise, elongate salutations, and adorn individuals with honorifics. However, when applied to governance, it becomes dangerous. We confuse ceremonial grandeur with competence, image with delivery, and rhetoric with reform. This is why the galamsey problem remains unsolved. We keep focusing on drones, soldiers, and slogans, the performance of governance, instead of addressing the structural truth: communities are cut out of ownership of the land beneath their feet.

The conclusion is clear: our problem is not just environmental damage, nor is it a lack of motivation among young people. It is a failure of governance design, exacerbated by a culture that prioritizes titles and praise while overlooking delivery. Until we dismantle centralized control, empower communities as co-owners of their resources, and demand real productivity from our scholars and leaders, the cycle will repeat. We will continue to sing songs of honor while our rivers turn brown and our youth become desperate.