There is a peculiar kind of cruelty in watching a nation pretend to be brave.
It is the cruelty of the dangling promise, the theatrical debate, and the moral posturing that evaporates the moment the spotlight shifts.
For years, Ghana has been locked in a legislative drama over the “Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values Bill”—a piece of legislation designed to further criminalise LGBTQ+ identity and advocacy.
Yet, despite the thunderous rhetoric from political pulpits and the hallowed halls of Parliament, successive governments have failed to bring the bill across the finish line.
This is not a story of legal gridlock; it is a story of cowardice. It is a story of politicians in both the New Patriotic Party (NPP) and the National Democratic Congress (NDC) wielding the LGBTQ+ issue as a political cudgel in opposition only to fumble it awkwardly when entrusted with power.
Meanwhile, across the African continent and beyond, smaller nations with fewer resources and greater pressures have found the will to act, leaving Ghana exposed as a nation of endless debate and no decision.
The Opposition’s Weapon To understand the hypocrisy, one must look at the behaviour of the politicians when they are out of power.
In opposition, the anti-gay bill is not just a policy; it is a sword. During the lead-up to the 2024 elections, the NDC weaponized the issue against the then-governing NPP with surgical precision, led by Ningo Prampram MP, Sam George.
The rhetoric was fierce. NDC officials and their allies in the religious community painted the NPP as morally weak.
Assin South MP John Ntim Fordjour, a vocal proponent of the bill, recalled how the NDC “portrayed the NPP government as indecisive,” demanding the immediate passage of the bill.
One of the most dramatic stances came from NDC’s own Kwasi Bedzrah, the MP for Ho West. He issued an ultimatum that would make a revolutionary proud: “This bill must be passed, otherwise I will not return to parliament.”
For the opposition, the bill was a litmus test of moral fiber. They promised swift, brutal legislative action the moment they seized the reins of government. But may come what, the cycle continues.
The govt’s retreat
But the reins were seized. President John Dramani Mahama returned to power, and suddenly, the music changed.
The warrior’s cry for immediate passage was replaced by the diplomat’s whisper for dialogue and restraint.
Speaking at a Presidential Dialogue with Civil Society Organisations in March 2026, President Mahama essentially parked the bus.
He described the LGBTQ+ issues as “sensitive and emotionally charged” but insisted it was “not the most important issue we face as a nation.”
He argued that Ghana is still “grappling with the basic needs of education, health care, jobs, food, clothing, and shelter.”
For those who marched with him against the NPP, this sounded like a betrayal.
The opposition—now the NPP—immediately seized on the contradiction.
John Ntim Fordjour accused the President of replacing his “strong stance in opposition with rhetoric.”
He lamented that the NDC moved from “‘pass the bill’ to ‘manage how it is introduced and structured’.
The religious vanguard
If the politicians are the actors, the religious leaders are the directors.
The Church in Ghana has shown no such ambivalence.
The Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference has consistently demanded that Parliament “hasten the passage” of the legislation.
Following Mahama’s election, they met with him to insist that the bill, which the President had suggested was “effectively dead,” be revived and enacted.
Bishop Matthew Gyamfi pressed the President firmly: “What we want is for the bill to be made into law.”
Religious opinion leaders have rejected the notion that economic hardship should delay moral legislation.
To them, the fight against LGBTQ+ rights is a non-negotiable defense of biblical values.
They see the state’s delay not as pragmatism but as sinfulness. Yet, their influence, while immense in the social sphere, has failed to translate into the brute force needed to overcome the executive hesitation.
The spectacle of stalemate
The result of this dance is legislative paralysis.
The bill, which includes penalties of up to three years for identifying as LGBTQ+ and five years for advocacy, was passed by Parliament in February 2024.
But then-President Nana Akufo-Addo refused to sign it.
Citing legal challenges and constitutional concerns, he left the bill in limbo.
Human rights groups noted that Akufo-Addo, facing pressure from Western donors and the World Bank (with threats of losing billions in funding), chose the path of least resistance.
Mahama, initially signaling that the bill was “dead,” has since attempted a tightrope walk.
In a meeting with Christian leaders in 2025, he assured them, “I, as a Christian, uphold the values that only two genders exist as man and woman… I have spoken with the Speaker so that a renewal of the expired bill should be a bill that is introduced by the government.”
Yet, by 2026, he was urging “calm” and “democratic processes,” effectively kicking the can further down the road.
Speaker Alban Bagbin has since directed that the bill be re-laid before Parliament, but the path forward remains uncertain.
What others have done: Africa acts while Ghana talks
While Ghana remains paralyzed by political indecision on its anti-LGBTQ+ bill, numerous other African nations—many smaller and poorer—have acted decisively.
Senegal doubled its maximum prison term for same-sex acts to ten years in March 2026, criminalized “promotion” of homosexuality, and ignored international criticism.
Mali in October 2024 with penalties of up to seven years’ imprisonment.
Followed by Burkina Faso, which inherited no colonial anti-gay laws from France, voluntarily enacted a five-year prison sentence in September 2025.
Uganda has passed some of the world’s harshest legislation, including the death penalty for “aggravated homosexuality,” and has withstood global condemnation to keep the law fully enforceable.
Beyond Africa, nations like Iran, Mauritania, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen prescribe the death penalty for same-sex acts, while Afghanistan, Pakistan, Qatar, Somalia, and the UAE also apply it.
Across the continent, extensive anti-homosexuality laws exist in Algeria (three years), Burundi (two years, with stoning suggested), Cameroon (five years), Chad (two years), Comoros (two years), The Gambia (life sentences), Ethiopia (10 days to three years), Malawi (14 years), Nigeria (14 years), Sierra Leone (life imprisonment), Tanzania (up to 30 years), Togo (three years), Zambia (15 years), and Zimbabwe (where Mugabe infamously declared gay people “worse than pigs and dogs”).
The contrast is damning; while Ghana’s leaders debate and delay, other nations—acting on their own convictions— have moved forward without hesitation.
The colonial legacy question
Some in Ghana argue that the bill is a relic of colonial-era morality.
But this argument rings hollow when one examines the data.
While it is true that many of the laws criminalizing homosexual relations originate from British colonial times—out of 53 Commonwealth countries, 29 retain such laws—the recent wave of legislation in Burkina Faso, Mali, and Senegal demonstrates that African nations are not merely preserving colonial statutes. They are actively choosing to strengthen and expand them. Burkina Faso, which had no such colonial inheritance, chose to criminalize homosexuality in 2025.
Senegal, which already had prohibitions, chose to double the penalties in 2026.
This is not colonial hangover; this is contemporary choice.
The price of cowardice
What makes Ghana’s situation so tragic is that the nation is not lacking in legislative will at the popular level.
Public opinion surveys consistently show strong opposition to LGBTQ+ recognition.
The religious and traditional leadership are united and vocal.
Parliament has actually passed the bill—twice, in practical terms. Yet the executive branch flinches.
And it flinches while nations with far less international leverage—
Burkina Faso, Mali, Senegal—forge ahead undeterred.
President Mahama’s argument that economic priorities must come first is precisely the argument of a leader who never intended to act.
As Reverend Ntim Fordjour pointed out: “When the NDC used LGBTQ+ issues as a campaign tool, did Ghana not need roads, jobs, education, infrastructure, and hospitals? What has changed?”.
The answer is that nothing has changed except who holds power.
Conclusion: The betrayal of leadership
A nation that uses a vulnerable minority as political football is a nation that has lost its moral compass.
But a nation that watches its neighbors—Senegal, Burkina Faso, Mali, Uganda—take decisive action while it continues to debate is a nation that has lost its nerve.
The failure to criminalise LGBTQ+ identity is not a failure of legislative procedure; it is a failure of political will.
The NPP had years to sign the bill and did not. The NDC promised to do it overnight and has instead filed it under “non-priority.”
Meanwhile, smaller nations with fewer resources have acted. Senegal’s President Faye kept his campaign promise within months of taking office.
Burkina Faso’s military junta acted within a year.
Uganda’s government withstood a storm of international condemnation and held its ground.
We are left with a truth that is uncomfortable for both sides.
The Ghanaian politicians do not actually want to solve this issue. A solved issue cannot be used to whip up hysteria during an election.
If the bill were passed, the rallies would lose their spark, and the preachers would lose their political leverage.
Ghana has become a nation where politicians swear oaths before the clergy and the nation, only to hide behind “economic priorities” when faced with the international consequences.
The nation watches as its leaders stand before the Bible, promising action, while across the continent, leaders of smaller, poorer nations simply act.
This is not leadership. This is not even effective cowardice—it is the worst of both worlds, pleasing neither the religious conservatives who demand action nor the international community that demands restraint.
This is a cowardly nation, afraid of the wrath of the church, afraid of the sanctions of the West, and tragically afraid to take responsibility for the hate it has sown.
Until a President—whether from the NPP or NDC—has the courage to either sign the bill or decisively reject it with sound reasons attached, Ghana will remain stuck in this purgatory of hypocrisy, where the rhetoric is loud, the action is silent, and the rest of Africa simply moves on.
A citizen’s weary of the spectacle
By Isaac Siabi
