The Sleeping Elephant and the Remaking of Asomdwekrom

Fellow Asomdwekromanians,

I write to you again after being incommunicado for quite a while. Forgive your nephew; the demands of rigorous doctoral work required my full attention and a necessary period of quiet. Today, however, I return with fresh lamentations about the Elephant’s prolonged slumber and the unfolding events in Asomdwekrom.

Elephant folks in Asomdwekrom are behaving as though the country is in perfectly normal times. Apparently, nothing unusual is happening—just the routine trimming of institutions, the occasional high-profile conviction, and a light redecoration of the judiciary. One assumes it's all normal.

I was preparing to teach a summer class in faraway Obronilaniland when news of Wontumi’s conviction reached me. Many of my compatriots were shocked. That is understandable, considering many have not been paying attention. But for anyone following events with even casual interest, the outcome felt less like a surprise and more like the next item on a well-organized checklist.

Consider, if you will, this entirely coincidental sequence: the dismissal of Justice Torkornoo, the installation of Zu-za’s preferred Chief Justice, Baffoe-Bonnie, the elevation of figures such as Dormaahene, and judicial reasoning that helpfully reminds us that “all men are not equal before the law.” Add to that the appointment of over 67 judges in just 18 months, raising questions about the speed and scale of the judicial appointments.

And the Elephant’s response? Calm, measured, and politically correct. Press conferences are held, statements are issued, and the nation is reassured that “history will judge.” One might be forgiven for thinking they expect history to solve the problems that require action today.

The Elephant, it seems, believes politics is a performance—best conducted at podiums, carefully worded, and safely deferred. Each week brings another expression of concern, as though concern itself were a form of action. At this rate, the party risks evolving into a weekly seminar on disappointment.

The Elephant’s favorite line remains: “We will retaliate when the tables turn.” A comforting thought because it promises future action without demanding difficult action in the present. It is also a conveniently distant one, safely placed in an uncertain tomorrow. As the Akans say, “The man who says he will cross the river tomorrow may wake up to find the bridge gone.” But perhaps the plan of the Elephant is to issue a statement about the missing bridge when the time comes.

Meanwhile, entirely in the background, the judiciary is being redesigned—quietly, steadily, and with admirable focus by President Ogwanfunu and his ilk.

Take the removal of a sitting Chief Justice under highly contested circumstances, followed by a rapid expansion of the bench. These are not minor administrative tidbits; they are structural adjustments. Whether one calls it governance or strategy, the principle is simple: institutions tend to reflect those who shape them.

Then comes the tribunal bill, passed by a Parliament with a heavily lopsided majority just a few days ago. It is yet another reminder that the judicial system is being reshaped—and once institutions are redesigned to serve those in power, they rarely return to their original form.

And still, the Elephant watches patiently. One might even say sheepishly.

There is an unmistakable air of slumber—of a great animal confident that its size alone guarantees relevance. But forests, inconveniently, do not wait. They change. Quietly at first, then all at once. A sleeping Elephant does not command such a forest; it merely occupies space while others redraw the boundaries.

If the party truly believes the judiciary is becoming entangled in politics, then its current strategy—expressing concern and then remaining largely silent—is certainly consistent. Whether that strategy is effective is an entirely different question.

Because when 67 appointments happen in rapid succession, silence does not read as discipline and believing in the eule of law. It reads as consent.

The clergy, too, have perfected the art of selective outrage. Their prophetic voice appears with remarkable confidence when the circumstances are safe and the targets are convenient, but fades into cautious silence when speaking truth requires sacrifice, consistency, and courage. A voice that only rises when it faces no consequences is not prophecy—it is hypocrisy. When troubling patterns become clear and moral responsibility requires action, the response is often not leadership but deliberate silence and avoidance.

And those at the center of these developments, President Ogwanfunu and those under the eagle-headed Umbrella, may take comfort in the quiet. They should not. The Elephant’s restraint is not permanent; it is elective. And public memory, contrary to popular belief by President Ogwanfunu and his cohort, is not as short as perceived.

For when political fortunes change—as they inevitably do—the judicial system shaped for political purposes will not simply disappear. The same tools created today can later be used by those who gain power tomorrow.

If these precedents are acceptable now, they will be unavoidable later. If silence is the strategy today, it will be the precedent tomorrow. And sympathy, like power, is rarely retroactive.

Politics, unfortunately, is not for the faint-hearted. “The chick that stays under the basket should not complain that it never saw daylight.” But perhaps, when the time comes, another statement will be issued by those riding the Elephant about the darkness they failed to confront.

This is not merely a political observation from a distance. I am currently in the fourth year of my doctoral program in Obroniland, and throughout this journey, I have carried a strong conviction: after completing my studies next year, I would return home to Asomdwekrom, join the academic community, teach at one of the universities, and contribute my quota toward ensuring that the values, principles, and institutions I believe in are strengthened.

However, the Elephant’s response to these developments—the hesitation, the silence, and the absence of a stronger sense of urgency—has forced me to pause and rethink the decision I have long been certain about. The question is no longer simply whether I want to return home, but whether the environment I return to will provide the space for meaningful contribution, principled engagement, and the kind of institutional progress I hope to support.

For now, I remain an observer, watching closely. The decision ahead is one I do not take lightly.

History, as always, will deliver the final judgment—but not the kind announced at press conferences. It does not remember those who merely offered eloquent commentary while standing safely at a distance. It remembers those who recognized, perhaps earlier than others, that the storm was not approaching—it had already arrived.

I hope to come again with another konkonsa soon, ''Deo volente'' (God willing)!

Agya Kwaku Ogboro

Letter to Abusuapanin

NB: I would be grateful if this article was published

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