Now, it is Official: Conversation is Almost Dead

You don’t always have to answer when they ask you how you are doing. For, ‘How are you’ is a greeting, not a question (Arthur Guiterman). But if you must answer, you should be wise enough to keep your words soft and tender, because tomorrow you may have to swallow them. Otherwise, you should shut your mouth and say nothing. Nothing at all!

At first, it was vaguely original, that most of our politicians and other well-placed opinion speakers are not civil in their utterances. Now, it is official: we simply do not know how to do it. We have probably confused when to discuss something with when to argue for points. It is revealing to find members of parliament calling ministers of state stupid fools, and ministers insinuating that MPs are unintelligent. This was caught on TV, and also on radio for the consumption of the whole world. From Kobby Acheampong’s Kookoase Kuraseni gaffe, to Omane Boamah’s almost physical antics on TV, and not forgetting Ursula Owusu’s Kwasiapanin absentee father inference, there are too many uncivil moments in our social and political conversation. Would somebody remind these leaders that two monologues do not make a dialogue?

“If you wouldn’t write it and sign it, don’t say it” (Earl Wilson). Often employing insulting language to explain yourself is to write shfkawilhuy bgarqaftprdjis to a loved one and expect her to decipher something lovely from obvious nonsense. That is what our politicians reduce us to each time they insult one another on TV or radio. They should let us know when they want to talk, and also indicate when they are ready to speak. As for talk, they say is cheap, but it is only a wise person who speaks.

The other day, a former football manager called some young politicians minor beings. What do major beings look like? They measure 7ft tall and have the jaws of a Travolta. Then, of course, we have borne with the insults, innuendos and more insults from some of the most important people on the land. It’s almost become their custom, and we seem to have made room for the language of people we once admired. We have almost patented their invectives and are ready to follow them with a basket to stock their insults. Where does it stop? It might never stop if we don’t police the conversation.

And it cuts across. You would think the pulpit is the best place to brew civil speech. It is a good thing most sermons are necessarily public news. That should, at least, encourage us to leave the private speeches of men of God secret, as we are all entitled to. But insults will out anyhow, along with character and its real contents. When you hear a preacher insulting his congregants to their face, daring them not to give coins as offering, then it makes you wonder where the national conversation is going. The tape was played on radio for the benefit of all of us. The man of God actually calls his followers ‘Kwasea’ for selecting the smallest denomination to give to God, after which he lifts his head to the heavens and curses ‘Thank you Lord Jesus.’ Luckily, God often doesn’t answer back.

It offends our sensibilities when fine and usually intelligent-sounding people muddy our conversation. Consider the recent affair between Kwesi Pratt and Yaw Buabeng Asamoah on radio. Kwesi had reminded co-panellist Asamoah, a good legal brain with some 14 years professional practice under his belt that, “You are supposed to be a lawyer.” Supposed to be? Asamoah had forcefully chided. He had not changed careers yet. But how does he remind Kwesi that he is still in the law business? It was heated. It got bad. Then it became very bad. You would wonder how they would look at each other when they meet next time on the streets. Surprisingly, we understand these folks who throw verbal punches on radio, meet at coffee shop at Labone and laugh it all off. They invent a backspace to wipe their mess all clean and discuss their wives and girlfriends instead.

These are usually fine gentlemen. Nana Akomea is a particularly nice fellow who wears civility on his sleeves and exudes a rather healthy dose of tolerable confidence. When I worked in advertising years ago, I was a friend to a friend who was Nana’s best friend. This Ansong of a friend was just as open-minded as his friend Akomea. You wouldn’t think Nana would be provoked to cast aside that very fine side of his unassuming demeanour and lose his cool anywhere. And here, I would urge journalism professor Kwame Okoampah-Ahoofe to apologise to Daily Post editor Dokosi for his recent remarks about him and the Ewe people. It doesn’t help the conversation. And, perhaps, so also must Nana Akomea, especially as Tourism minister Agyenim-Boateng has expressed regret over the incident. It is always a very brave thing to do. IMANI’s Franklin Cudjoe has done that over his Facebook comments on Felix Kwaye. Kwame, please do same.

How do radio and TV talk shows in the West compare? It gets heated here, too, though it doesn’t get too heated that show moderators have to put off microphones. Well, that is not quite true. MPs in Britain’s House of Commons have sometimes been escorted out of proceedings or made to withdraw unhealthy statements. There are similar incidents in the parliaments of other advanced democracies. There have been punches–physical punches–like the hefty one Tony Blair’s deputy Prime Minister, John Prescott, administered to the face of farmer Craig Evans for throwing an egg on his person. That was also captured on streaming media. He later apologised for the punch.

We have also had a few punches of our own, right in the corridors of power. Maybe tribalism is the devil muddying our conversation. This devil makes you feel superior to other Ghanaians. In countries with very large numbers, our 24 million population would make up just one tribe. Years ago, I joked to myself that if I ever got triplets, I would give them names from three different tribes. I loved the name Elikem. I would name another Zinnabu and the other Nyarko, after my mum. I thought that would be my single effort at neutralising the tribalism poison. But I realised I would actually be reinforcing the devilish idea. Folks would still ask them what manner of man is their father when they went to school. My partner at the time had asked: “And who is going to endure the pains of labour to bear you children for that experiment.” If Dokosi was simply the name of a Ghanaian, as Stroumboulopoulos is Greek, then we would, perhaps, be thinking of ourselves and each other as Ghanaians, instead of as Ewes, Fantes and Gas.

So who is going to help us get our conversation back? How many of us can insult our friends to their face when they express a contrary opinion? Yet, when we are in character as politicians, radio or TV commentators and analysts, we sidestep traditional and social boundaries to talk away, when all we need to do is speak, and actually speak well.

Kwesi Tawiah-Benjamin

Ottawa, Canada bigfrontiers@ymail.com