Is Newsfile trapping Ghana in a cycle of empty intellectualism?

As dawn breaks over Accra each Saturday, a peculiar ritual unfolds in middle-class homes across the city. Families gather around their televisions, drawn by the promise of intellectual discourse and political debate. The programme of choice? Newsfile on JoyTV, a show that has become a staple of Ghana's media landscape. I recall, as a young boy, being captivated by these weekly spectacles.

The articulate arguments, the apparent depth of knowledge displayed by figures like Kwaku Baako – it all seemed so impressive, so significant. Yet, as the years have passed, I have found myself questioning not just the value of this

Saturday morning tradition, but the very identity it represents. What are we truly achieving with these hours of debate? What progress are we making? More fundamentally, what do we, as Ghanaians, genuinely want for our nation?

Newsfile, with its carefully orchestrated panel of two "neutral" guests flanked by representatives from the NPP and NDC, has come to symbolise a deeper issue within our society. This format, supposedly designed to provide balanced discourse, instead reinforces a narrow, legalistic view of our nation's challenges and potential solutions. More insidiously, it perpetuates a mindset that keeps us tethered to our colonial past, even as we proclaim our

independence.

The show's emphasis on legal and political expertise, conducted almost exclusively in English, reflects a broader societal fixation on Western forms of knowledge and expression. Our reverence for the legal profession and our obsession with English proficiency are not just quirks of our culture; they are lingering symptoms of a colonial hangover we have yet to shake off. As the renowned philosopher Frantz Fanon observed, the colonised person who seeks to "whiten" themselves will often adopt the cultural tool of language. In Ghana, we

witness this phenomenon every Saturday morning.

In Ghana, we have elevated lawyers to near-mythical status. We have inherited a system where litigators and legal minds are seen as the ultimate arbiters of success and intelligence. This mindset permeates every level of our society, from the aspirations of young students to the composition of our parliament. It is telling that many of our politicians, already ensconced in the halls of power, still use public funds to pursue law degrees. This pursuit speaks to a

deeply ingrained belief that legal knowledge and Western education are the ultimate tools for governance and problem-solving.

But in this relentless pursuit of legal expertise and English eloquence, what have we neglected? While we have been busy producing an army of lawyers and English-speaking intellectuals, we have failed to address the fundamental question: What are we striving for? What does true progress and liberation mean for Ghana?

Our linguistic elitism, while rooted in our colonial past, is perpetuated by shows like Newsfile, where the ability to argue eloquently in English is prized above all else. But does this eloquence translate into meaningful change for the average Ghanaian? Does our fixation on legal and political discourse in a foreign tongue truly serve to liberate us from the complexes instilled during colonialism?

The consequences of this mindset extend far beyond our airwaves. It shapes our very identity as a nation. The middle class in urban centres like Accra increasingly defines itself through Western cultural markers, with English proficiency serving as a primary indicator of sophistication and success. In our quest to be "international," we risk losing touch with our own cultural identity. The child in Accra who speaks impeccable English but cannot string

together a sentence in their mother tongue is not a symbol of progress – it is a warning sign of cultural erosion.

This disconnect from our linguistic and cultural roots further widens the gap between the middle class and the broader population, creating a society where the elite increasingly view the common people with disdain or indifference. This alienation of the educated class from the masses is a recipe for continued exploitation and underdevelopment.

But perhaps the most damning indictment of our current path is the simple fact that all our sophisticated debates and legal arguments have not materially improved the lives of ordinary Ghanaians. Have they created jobs, built industries, or fostered innovation?

While we have been producing lawyers and politicians, nations like China and India have leapfrogged ahead by embracing technology and engineering. Silicon Valley stands as a testament to the job-creating power of tech innovation. Yet in Ghana, our brightest minds are still steered towards courtrooms rather than coding boot camps or engineering labs.

However, a glimmer of hope emerges from an unexpected quarter, challenging our

assumptions about language and success. Consider the recent YouTube phenomenon of Kumawood and personalities like Akabenezer. Operating almost entirely in local languages, particularly Twi, these creators have built a thriving entertainment ecosystem that reaches millions of Ghanaians.

Akabenezer, with his comedic skits and relatable content, has not only amassed a huge following but also created employment opportunities for countless young

Ghanaians – from actors and scriptwriters to videographers and social media managers. This success story stands in stark contrast to the English-centric world of Newsfile and its ilk.

It demonstrates that there's a vast, untapped market for content that speaks directly to the Ghanaian experience, without the filter of colonial language. More importantly, it shows that economic success and job creation can emerge from embracing our local languages and cultural contexts, rather than mimicking Western models.

This brings us to a critical question: How many jobs does a lawyer actually create? In a country grappling with unemployment and underemployment, particularly among its youth, this is not a trivial consideration. While legal professionals play an important role in maintaining the rule of law and facilitating business transactions, they rarely serve as engines of job creation or economic growth. A single tech startup, on the other hand, has the potential

to employ hundreds or even thousands of people, spawning entire ecosystems of related businesses and services.

Our fixation on law and politics has come at the expense of developing a robust industrial and entrepreneurial history in Ghana. We lack the stories of homegrown industrialists who built factories, of tech visionaries who created innovative solutions to local problems, and of entrepreneurs who scaled their businesses to employ thousands. Instead, our national narrative is dominated by political figures and legal luminaries, their debates and discourses filling our airwaves every Saturday morning.

Even more troubling is what happens when our middle class is given access to real power and resources. The recent banking crisis serves as a stark illustration. When given control of financial institutions, segments of our middle class did not use this opportunity to build robust systems or drive economic development for the benefit of all. Instead, we witnessed a

series of bank failures that cost the state billions of cedis and eroded public trust in our financial institutions.

This behaviour reveals a middle class more interested in quick profits and personal enrichment than in nation-building. We see it in the revolving door between politics and private business, in the awarding of government contracts to cronies, in the use of public funds for personal gain. Our educated elite, it seems, is more committed to serving as intermediaries – profiting from their connections to both local power structures and international interests – than to driving true national development. This is precisely what Fanon warned about when he described the national bourgeoisie as "not engaged in production, nor in invention, nor building, nor labour; it is completely canalised into activities

of the intermediary type."

So, what is the way forward? How do we break free from this gilded cage of middle-class pretension and create a truly liberated Ghana?

First, we must reconnect with our own cultural and linguistic heritage. This does not mean rejecting English or Western knowledge entirely, but rather placing them in their proper context as tools rather than markers of inherent superiority. We need to celebrate proficiency in our local languages, to value ideas and innovations that solve local problems, not just those that mimic Western models.

Second, we need to diversify our conceptions of success and intelligence. Let us move beyond the narrow confines of law and politics to embrace a wider range of skills and knowledge. We need technologists, engineers, entrepreneurs, and artists – individuals who can create, build, and innovate in ways that directly benefit our communities.

Third, and perhaps most crucially, we need to bridge the growing chasm between our middle class and the broader population. We must reject the role of mere intermediaries or imitators of Western elites. Instead, we should strive to create a middle class that is truly national in its outlook and interests, one that drives development for the benefit of all Ghanaians.

This means creating educational and economic opportunities that extend far beyond the traditional professions, fostering an entrepreneurial spirit that can transform our economy from the ground up. It means holding our elites accountable, not just through toothless debates on Saturday morning television, but through robust institutions and an engaged citizenry.

As we reflect on our identity as an independent nation, let us aspire to be authentically Ghanaian – embracing our heritage while boldly facing the future. Only then can we hope to create a Ghana that truly works for all its citizens, not just a privileged few.

In the end, what do we, as Ghanaians, really want? Not mere intellectualism or Western affectation, but true progress – economic, cultural, and psychological. We want a Ghana where success is measured not by one's command of English or legal jargon, but by one's ability to contribute meaningfully to society. We want a Ghana where our children are as fluent in their mother tongues as they are in the languages of the wider world. We want a Ghana where innovation and entrepreneurship flourish, creating opportunities for all.

This is the Ghana we must strive for – not through endless debate, but through action, creativity, and a renewed connection to our shared heritage and humanity. Our task is clear: to build a truly independent Ghana that serves all its people, not just a privileged few. As Fanon reminded us, "Each generation must discover its mission, fulfil it or betray it, in relative

opacity."

Our mission is clear. The time for talk is over; the time for transformation is now.