No Need To Speak English To Our Constituents

Parliament is a formal space, and English serves as the official working language of the state, a legacy of our history that’s woven into our systems. In that chamber, it makes perfect sense to speak English. It ensures that laws are recorded, debated, and interpreted within a shared framework. No one is disputing that fact.

However, once you step out of that chamber and head back home to your constituency, where people stood in the sun to cast their votes for you, everything shifts. The environment changes. The audience changes. The purpose changes. You’re no longer addressing a national record; you’re speaking to market women, farmers, teachers, artisans, elders, and youth.

They know you not as Honourable Member but as their son, daughter, brother, or sister. So, the question becomes straightforward and deeply human. If you and your community share a language that embodies your history, your proverbs, your humor, and your collective understanding, why would you choose to abandon it? Communication should never feel like a performance meant to earn applause. It should feel like a bridge connecting hearts.

When leaders insist on using English in situations where a local language would convey the message more clearly, it can unintentionally create a sense of distance. It can feel like formality taking the place of familiarity. Yet, at its essence, leadership isn’t about sounding polished; it’s about being understood. Language is more than just words. It’s memory. It’s culture. It carries the legacy of our ancestors and the rhythm of our daily lives.

Certain ideas resonate differently in our mother tongues. A proverb in Dagbani, Twi, Ewe, Ga, or any other Ghanaian language can clarify a convoluted policy far better than a paragraph of parliamentary English. That’s not anti-intellectual; it’s simply intelligent communication.

English plays a crucial role in our world. It links us across borders, paving the way for conversations in trade, education, and diplomacy. But does it really need to take over every local chat? Is it necessary to use it in community gatherings where both the elders and the youth would understand your message better in their native tongue?

When a leader opts to speak the language of the community, something remarkable happens. The distance between them shrinks. Trust flourishes. The talk shifts from being a one-sided lecture to a genuine conversation. Politics starts to feel less like a performance and more like a shared duty. This doesn’t take away from the importance of English. Instead, it places it where it belongs: as a tool, not a status symbol. It’s a means to an end, not a badge of honor.

True leadership isn’t about how you sound or the words you use; it’s about being clear, sincere, and making connections. The best leaders aren’t those who impress with their eloquence; they’re the ones who make their people feel acknowledged, understood, and included.

Ultimately, the key question isn’t whether English is good or bad. The real question is whether we’re communicating to show off or to truly connect. That difference shapes the kind of politics we engage in and the society we create.