“We Want the System to Work” – But Can We Withstand the Consequences?

These days, during trotro debates and church announcements, from chop bars to public institutions, one gospel unites Ghanaians: “We want the system to work!” We say it with clenched fists, furrowed brows, and a touch of righteous anger, rolling off our tongues with the same conviction as “Amen” at an all-night vigil.

You hear it in traffic, in the chorus at funerals, and in benedictions after political rants. Like a hymn, it soothes our frustrations. But like James 1:22 says, “Be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.”

It appears we’re just deceiving ourselves, we don’t always live by the words.

We have grown weary of broken promises, of shortcuts for the connected, and of a nation where, sometimes, even common sense requires a letter of introduction.

Yet, pause a moment. Just suppose the system truly begins to work like a Swiss clock, ticking with no room for favoritism or excuses; can we survive it?

The Poor Man’s Paradox

Take a walk through our markets, the market woman, barely balancing her basin, calls for justice: “Let the system work!” The trotro driver mutters about police extortion. The university student says corrupt leaders must be jailed. But picture the system waking up from its slumber.

Suddenly, the very same spare parts dealer is being chased by GRA officers for not issuing VAT receipts. The trotro driver is handed a fine for driving with an expired insurance sticker. The student’s NSS posting now runs on merit, not connections, and her uncle can no longer ‘work it out’. The cry for change quickly turns into a whisper of regret.

Let’s consider a scenario where a farmer adds chemical dye to beans to brighten their appeal. If the system works, he’ll be caught. Or the chop bar operator who fries meat with unapproved oil. If the Food and Drugs Authority shows up unannounced, her complaint won’t be about public safety, but about “selective targeting.” We demand order. But when that order knocks, we act surprised, as if we invited a guest and forgot we had no extra chair.

Let’s Talk Taxes

We demand good roads, working hospitals, and teachers who teach without side businesses. But here’s the inconvenient truth: less than 10% of Ghana‘s adult population pays direct taxes. We all want the government to do more with less.

Imagine, if you will, a “cashless Ghana” where your MoMo account talks directly to the Ghana Revenue Authority. Suddenly, the silence in town will be louder than Dumsor.

Will the shoeshine boy at Kwame Nkrumah Circle begin to report his weekly income? Will the middle-class consultant stop asking the plumber to forget about receipts and “let’s just do it cool”? Even the big mall tenant, who never shows full sales records, might be caught in the crossfire. That boutique owner who calmly tells you, “POS no dey work,” just to dodge taxes, will she too survive when digital footprints become taxable trails?

We cheer when politicians are taxed. But what happens when the system knocks on your kiosk?

Law and Order for All?

Suppose the police suddenly enforce traffic laws with the zeal of a newly posted pastor. That gentleman who overlaps at Shiashie to beat the jam will pay dearly. That woman who lets her 12-year-old son ride a motorbike in the village will be summoned to court. The pastor who builds a church building on a waterway will be halted mid-Hallelujah.

We like it when the law humbles the mighty. But do we want it when it humbles us too? Will the man who relieves himself by the roadside because “there’s no toilet around” be ready to pay a sanitation fine? Will the shop owner who blocks the walkway with wares be ready to comply with city rules? Or the kaya girl who crosses the road where there is no zebra crossing, do we arrest her or let our conscience flinch?

And when CCTV cameras begin monitoring everything except our thoughts, will we still scream, “Let the system work!” or will we beg for blind spots?

Corruption Isn’t Just a Political Disease

Let’s remove our political glasses for a moment. Corruption in Ghana is not a political affliction, it is a national pastime, an unofficial sport.

It’s the teacher who sells handouts thicker than the syllabus. The parent who “talks to someone” so their child can pass. The nurse who requires a “little envelope” before attending to a groaning patient. The contractor who uses more sand than cement, then crosses himself after the building collapses.

If the system begins to work, many of us, yes, the ordinary folk, will begin to sweat more than the corrupt politicians we insult on radio.

It will mean the BECE invigilator who sells leaked questions is fired. The security man who lets a ‘connection man’ skip the queue at the hospital will lose his post. Even that judge who stretches a simple case for three years because he’s waiting for ‘motivation’ will be spotlighted, and not on Metro TV’s Good Evening Ghana.

The Real Cost of Discipline

A working system demands more than just shouting at press conferences. It demands a cultural reset, one that hits the rich, the poor, and the average Ghanaian sipping sobolo on a sunny day.

It means no short-cuts, no Ghana Man Time, and no “Do you know who I am?”. It means submitting building plans before the first block is laid. It means obeying sanitation by-laws even when no one is watching. It means land sales must be documented at the Lands Commission; not sealed with schnapps and hope. It means even the poor man cannot throw his garbage into the drain and blame the government for the floods.

It means your child’s school in the village must pass quality standards before it opens, not because the DCE passed by and said, “You people are trying.” It means the mechanic at Abossey Okai, who pours used oil straight into the gutter, is as guilty as the multinational factory polluting a river. This, dear reader, is the burden of discipline.

The Truth Is?

Yes, we want the system to work. And yes, the poor have suffered the most from a system that limps. But if we are truly ready, we must accept that working systems don’t tolerate indiscipline, no matter how petty. Change is not a slogan; it is a sacrifice. It is not a policy; it is a mindset. It is not “them”; it is all of us.

Let’s not shout for a working system if we aren’t ready to be citizens within it. Let’s not demand transparency if we still offer bribes to the police officer. Let’s not preach justice if we ourselves dodge the rules at every turn.

Because the truth is, if the system begins to work today, many of us, whether rich or poor, may not survive it.

But maybe, just maybe… that’s exactly the medicine Ghana needs.

Last Updated on April 1, 2025 by Senel Media