There is a quiet question many Ghanaians ask themselves, often in traffic, often in frustration, and too often in resignation: Are there different sets of laws for different people in this country called Ghana?
It is a question that refuses to go away—because the evidence that provokes it is everywhere.
On any given day, a public road can be taken over by a church service, a funeral procession, a street party, or a traditional event.
Vehicles are forced to detour, pedestrians navigate confusion, and productivity is quietly sacrificed at the altar of unchecked convenience.
What is more troubling is not just that these incidents occur, but that they often unfold with the visible presence—and sometimes the tacit endorsement—of the Ghana Police Service.
This is not an isolated inconvenience. It is the slow normalisation of disorder.
Let us begin with first principles. Public roads are funded by public resources for public use.
They are essential to commerce, mobility, emergency response, and daily life.
They are not extensions of private property—whether for religious gatherings, social celebrations, or cultural rites.
Yet across our cities, we have created a parallel reality where access to public roads is negotiable.
Churches erect tents that spill into streets. Bars and event centres expand their footprint beyond their walls.
Funeral cortèges move with urgency but without coordination, blocking intersections and disregarding basic traffic rules. Traditional ceremonies close off roads “temporarily,” often without notice or alternative arrangements.
And in many of these instances, the police are not enforcing the law, instead, they are managing the disorder.
Beyond physical obstruction lies another, more pervasive intrusion: noise.
In neighborhoods across Ghana, amplified sound systems have become instruments of dominance.
From all-night religious vigils to weekend parties and nightlife activity, communities are subjected to levels of noise that disrupt sleep, erode well-being, and compromise productivity.
This is not merely a nuisance; it is a public health concern.
The right to worship, to celebrate, and to conduct business must coexist with the right of others to rest, to think, and to live in peace.
When one consistently overrides the other, we are no longer balancing freedoms, we are simply privileging excess.
Where are the regulations? Where is the enforcement?
And perhaps most importantly, where is the empathy?
Ghana is rich in culture, and rightly so. Our traditions, ceremonies, and communal expressions are a vital part of our identity. But culture cannot exist above the law.
Increasingly, we are witnessing a pattern where traditional and social events assume control of public space without structure. Roads are closed at will.
Traffic is halted without planning. Entire communities are inconvenienced without consultation.
Particularly concerning are some burial cortèges within certain Islam communities, where urgency and emotion are understandable, but coordination is often absent.
The result is a dangerous mix of speed, congestion, and disregard for other road users and sometimes with the police present, yet unable or unwilling to restore order.
The question must be asked: when did cultural expression become a licence for public disruption?
At the heart of this issue lies a fundamental institutional challenge.
The Ghana Police Service is mandated to maintain law and order. That mandate is not conditional.
It does not bend to influence, popularity, or convenience.
And yet, we see a pattern of selective enforcement—or worse, visible accommodation of illegality.
To the Inspector-General of Police, Christian Tetteh Yohuno, and to the leadership of our law enforcement institutions, the questions are direct:
- On what legal basis are public roads ceded to private events?
- Are permits being issued, and if so, under what transparent framework?
- Why is enforcement inconsistent across different groups and contexts?
- What precedent is being set for a society already grappling with compliance?
Because when laws appear optional, compliance becomes negotiable.
It would be convenient to place the burden entirely on institutions. But that would be incomplete.
As citizens, we have also become accustomed to dysfunction. We excuse it when it aligns with our beliefs.
We tolerate it when it is temporary. We rationalise it when it feels culturally familiar.
In doing so, we reinforce it.
Every time we accept a blocked road without protest, endure excessive noise without complaint, or justify disorder in the name of tradition, we participate in the erosion of order.
And over time, that erosion becomes identity.
The cost of this culture is not always immediately visible, but it is significant.
It is measured in lost hours, delayed emergency responses, reduced productivity, and increased stress.
It is reflected in weakened institutions, diminished public trust, and a growing perception that rules are flexible.
More fundamentally, it undermines development.
Because development is not only about infrastructure. It is about systems. And systems require order.
This is not a call to suppress religion, culture, or social life. It is a call to align them with the expectations of a modern, functioning state.
We must:
- Enforce clear regulations on the use of public roads, with mandatory permits, advance notice, and designated alternatives
- Establish and uphold noise control standards that protect public health
- Ensure that law enforcement acts with consistency, neutrality, and professionalism
- Promote a national ethos that values order not as restriction, but as a prerequisite for progress
Ultimately, this is a question of national character.
Do we want a society governed by rules, or one negotiated by convenience?
Do we believe in equal application of the law, or selective tolerance of disorder?
Are we building a nation, or merely managing a collection of competing interests?
Order is not a luxury. It is the foundation upon which everything else is built.
And until we treat it as such, we will continue to move—not forward—but in circles, navigating the very chaos we have chosen to accept.
The author is Kwaku Nhyira-Addo, widely known as The Rainmaker; a seasoned broadcaster, thought leader, and brand development and communications specialist with a distinguished career spanning media, technology, and strategic consulting.
A compelling public speaker and entrepreneur, he operates at the nexus of influence, innovation, and storytelling.
He is the creator of Simple Conversations, a podcast that explores a broad spectrum of issues shaping humanity, reflecting his enduring commitment to elevating discourse and reframing the global African narrative.
