Religion and the Inculturation of Human Rights in Ghana 9781472552570, 9781441199478, 9781441164940

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Preface This book is based on a research conducted between 2003 and 2008 on how local religious and cultural values may contribute, or are already contributing, to the embedding of human rights in Ghana. The motivation for the research was the recognition that human rights violations in Ghana at the grass-roots level are mostly linked to religious belief and customary practices such as witchcraft accusations, widowhood rites and citizens’ relations with traditional political authority. The main argument of the book is that human rights represent ‘dream values’ common to all societies, which thinkers, sages, prophets of various nations and eras envisioned and preached. Societies without known special prophets or individual thinkers also possessed these ideals, which were expressed in proverbs, legal norms and certain forms of taboos and implied in rituals. The following conclusions are made: first, that inculturation of human rights is already taking place in Ghana and that there are several points of affinity between Ghanaian cultural norms and international human rights norms. Secondly, traditional cultural norms contain original ideas that set apart human beings as unique species requiring a special respect of their dignity. Examples of such norms are the types of taboo called egudodoame (things that degrade the human being) in the Ewe language. These taboos specify certain acts that are never to be done to any human being. Thirdly, a traditional relish for the values of community stability and harmony makes human rights agencies that employ non-confrontational approaches the most preferred agencies from which victims of human rights violations seek help. Fourth, the religious orientation of most Ghanaians leads them to an understanding of human rights that is balanced with responsibilities. True human functioning, which is linked to human dignity in the Ghanaian context, involves the ability to exercise rights and responsibilities. The book comes as a contribution to the development of theories and contextual theologies that seek to explain and guide processes of cultural transformation. Specifically, it contributes to the ongoing discussion about the relationship between religion and human rights and is set to deepen academic reflection on the links between global trends and local cultures that are underpinned by strong religious currents.

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An Akan proverb says, dua kor gye ahum a obu (if a solitary tree is used as a windbreaker, it falls). That is, it is dangerous to overexpose an individual to extreme pressures by denying him or her relevant support in a noble venture. I have not been a solitary tree facing the storms as I worked on this project; therefore, it is proper that I return thanks to all who have walked alongside me. The almost equal sense of importance with which I received each contribution makes it difficult for me to decide whom to mention and whom to leave out. I deeply appreciate all the support offered to me. I wish to appreciate, in a special way, the great help I received from Prof Gerrie ter Haar of the Institute of Social Studies (ISS) in The Hague and Prof Martien Brinkman of the Free University (VU) of Amsterdam. Others deserving a mention are Dr Jan Platvoet of the Netherlands and all my colleagues at the Department for the Study of Religions, University of Ghana, especially Prof (Emeritus) J. S. Pobee, Prof. E. Dovlo and Prof Cephas Omenyo. I am also grateful to Prof E. K. Quashigah and Dr Kwadwo Appiagyei-Atua of the Faculty of Law, University of Ghana. I thank my research assistants: Ms Seyram Tettey-Quapedu, Foster Atsu, Kwaku Dugah Sonny, Michael Mensah, Ms Doris Boakye, Mr L. Laryea, Seth Tweneboah and my nephew George Atiemo. Furthermore, I thank Rev. and Mrs Amoah, Ghanaian Methodist missionaries in Amsterdam and Henk Bosch of Kerk-in-actie in the Netherlands and his family for their moral and material support. I am grateful to ICCO  – Kerk-in-actie for their generous financial support. There are many others who offered significant help whom space will not allow me to mention. However, I hope that seeing this book published will bring satisfaction to them all. My graceful wife, Ellen, and our lovely children, Barnabas and Tabitha, have been, together, a strong source of encouragement. No expression of gratitude will be enough for their gracious support.

Abbreviations AAA American Anthropological Association ACHPR African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights ACP African-Caribbean-Pacific AFRC Armed Forces Revolutionary Council ARPS Aborigines Rights Protection Society ARS Apostles’ Revelation Society BBC British Broadcasting Corporation CCG Christian Council of Ghana CDD Centre for Democratic Development CEDAW Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women CEDEP Centre for the Development of People CEOs Chief Executive Officers CHRAJ Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice COMOG Coalition of Muslim Organizations-Ghana CPP Convention Peoples Party CRC Convention on the Rights of the Child CYO Catholic Youth Organization DOVVSU Domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit ECHR European Convention on Human Rights ECR Enlightenment Critique of Religion EU European Union FBAs Faith-Based Associations FGM Female-Genital Mutilation FIDA Federation of International Women Lawyers GCBC Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference GNA Ghana News Agency GNCC Ghana National Commission on Children ICAMD International Centre of African Music and Dance ICCPR International Convention on Civil and Political Rights ICESCR International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights JW Jehovah’s Witnesses LDS Later-Day Saints MOWAC Ministry of Women and Children Affairs NAO Native Administration Ordinance NCBWA National Congress of British West Africa

Abbreviations NCC NCCE NDC NGOs NLC NRC NSS PNDC POCRIMO SFO SMC UDCD UDHR UN UNCRC UNDP UNESCO USA USSR WAJU WFDD

National Commission on Culture National Commission on Civic Education National Democratic Congress Non-Governmental Organizations National Liberation Council National Reconciliation Commission National Secular Society Provisional National Defence Council Positive Christian Movement Serious Fraud Office Supreme Military Council Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity Universal Declaration of Human Rights United Nations United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child United Nations Development Program United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization United States of America Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Women and Juvenile Unit World Faith Development Dialogue

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Introduction: Embedding Human Rights in Local Cultures – An African Imperative

A critical development in international affairs in modern times is the evolution of human rights law into an overarching ethical framework guiding interpersonal and interstate relations. The notion that all human beings are the concern of the global community, and that the violation of the rights of anyone anywhere, is a violation of international law is indeed revolutionary. The global conviction is that when the human rights of all people are assured, conflicts will be minimized and the peace and stability of the world will improve. This development has also affected Africa. Human rights have become prominent in the politics of Africa, and although in some instances politicians have argued against what they perceive to be an imposition of a foreign understanding of human rights on their people, most African countries are signatories to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), and several other instruments. With the coming into being of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (ACHPR),1 Africa has not only voted in favour of a global human rights regime but has also made a distinctive contribution to its development. In spite of the criticisms2 the Charter has attracted, it serves as evidence that African states take seriously the global concern for the implementation of human rights and are ready to submit to a common standard for holding their governments accountable on issues of human rights. African governments have also become more sensitive to their democratic and human rights credentials than they used to be in the immediate post-independence period up to about the early 1990s. The linking of human rights to development cooperation,3 the proliferation of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) dedicated to advocacy for the rights of the marginalized and the fresh attempts to re-establish constitutional rule in Africa have combined to give a new impetus to the pursuit of human rights. Consequently, African

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Religion and the Inculturation of Human Rights in Ghana

nations have been quick to sign human rights instruments.4 Ghana, for example, is said to have been the first country to ratify the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC). Yet the ratification of human rights instruments does not normally translate into compliance by states. There is often a gap between human rights laws that are supposed to be in force and their application. Weiss and Jacobson have identified some factors that undermine the capacity of nations to implement international treaties.5 They include the lack of administrative capacity, absence of rigorous enforcement mechanisms and unfavourable political and economic environment. African nations face additional challenges. They are also confronted by factors such as high rate of illiteracy and the persistence of cultural and customary beliefs and attitudes that restrict the growth of a healthy human rights regime. Since the 1960s, most African countries have been in transition from originally separate ethnic states to modern democratic nation-states. The long period of transition has meant that the customary arrangements for the enforcement of norms such as those that could assure basic human rights have been allowed to lie fallow, while modern equivalents have not been properly integrated. For example, in Ghana, which forms the immediate context of this work, human rights issues have largely been the concern of a few lawyers, politicians and NGOs. In most cases, ordinary citizens do not seem enthusiastic about pursuing their own rights or those of others; or, if they are concerned, they often do not have the capacity to pursue them. Due to this general apathy, or incapacity (as the case may very well be), many violations of human rights continue to occur. Reports issued periodically by institutions reveal extensive abuse of human rights in Ghana.6 It appears that the human rights of people are so easily denied to them or abused, especially by governments and their institutions, because many citizens seem to have no sense of being entitled to them. Traditional customary norms, administrative bottlenecks, poverty and physical and psychological distance between the people and state agencies serve as barriers to the realization of human rights. However, if the human rights regime is to enjoy any good fortune in Africa, and for that matter, Ghana, the concept must acquire a clearer contextual meaning and expression.7

Religion and human rights The modern human rights system seeks to achieve for the world general ethical and legal principles to which everybody would subscribe, and which when upheld

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and protected can lead to stability between and within nations. This means that modern human rights may be regarded as a tool for social engineering. They aim at the transformation of the behaviour of people and societies to conform to the ideals they represent. Human rights have often been presented as a legal issue. Yet legal regimes alone have not ensured adequate protection of human rights.8 Legislation and legal enforcement alone have not always proved sufficiently effective in changing people’s behaviour and transforming societies.9 In fact, the law and institutions related to it have sometimes been used to legitimize and maintain ‘policies and practices of political exclusion and marginalization of minorities or economically disadvantaged groups throughout Africa’.10 Although once a law is passed, it may be considered valid, even so its provisions may not necessarily enjoy automatic compliance.11 The mere existence of a law does not ensure effective enforcement. Voluntary compliance with the law is better assured when laws fit properly into the value system of a society. Value systems often converge with custom and religion. This raises the question of the role of religion in the promotion of human rights. According to Gerrie ter Haar, it is becoming clear that legal instruments are not enough if human rights are to be firmly grounded in different cultures, as people’s understanding of human rights is informed by their own world views and cosmologies. It is plain that in many countries human rights ideology finds its theoretical justification in religion.12

The position taken here does not represent a diminishing of the significance of the law in the promotion and protection of human rights. The law is important, among other things, for the implementation and enforcement of human rights norms.13 Human rights have been thought of in various previous declarations as ‘natural’, ‘self-evident’, and ‘Creator-endorsed’.14 From the very beginning, the framers of human rights instruments sought to ground them in foundations. Conventional attempts to ground human rights seek to provide grand foundations that presume a universal validity.15 Instead of such a grand scheme, we propose what may be called a ‘validating foundation’. This is slightly different from foundationalism in the conventional sense. What we call a ‘validating foundation’ refers to grounds from which human rights could draw their legitimacy in a given context. In agreement with Gutmann, we maintain that ‘there is . . . good reason for a human rights regime to welcome a plurality of nonexclusive claims concerning the ways in which human rights can legitimately be grounded, in religious and secular

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Religion and the Inculturation of Human Rights in Ghana

claims of various sorts.’16 We shall discuss in detail the idea of a validating foundation in the next chapter. Modern formulations that are contained in such instruments as the UDHR and related covenants as well as most regional instruments, avoid the use of explicit religious categories. Yet the attempt to construct a purely secular scheme of human rights seems ruined by the use of such terms and phrases as, ‘inherent dignity . . . of all members of the human family’ and ‘the dignity and worth of the person’. For example, the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (1986) states, as part of its preamble, that ‘fundamental human rights stem from the attributes of human beings’. In relation to human rights, the human being is also spoken of as being ‘sacred’ and ‘inviolable’. Based on a critical examination of such terms and phrases, Perry concludes that human rights are ‘ineliminably religious’.17 He rejects Dworkin’s position that there can be secular versions of the conviction that every human being is sacred.18 While we do not take sides in this debate, we proceed on the conviction that in the case of Africa, establishing essential and relevant linkages between religion and human rights is crucial. The purely secular presentation of the concept does not fit the context of African societies in which religion remains the point of reference for most fundamental issues. In Ghana, for example, the religious factor has always exerted considerable influence on processes of social transformation because the culture is largely religious.19 In most of sub-Sahara Africa, religion and customary norms remain the immediate context within which strictly personal matters related to important stages in life are settled.20 Hence, if, in the promotion of human rights, the religious factor is neglected, these rights will continue to remain unenforceable claims that the intellectual elites make on behalf of the masses that neither know about them nor understand them. Admittedly, religions may not be ‘easy allies to engage’; yet ‘the struggle for human rights cannot be won without them, particularly in Africa’.21 The human rights record of many religious traditions over the years has been very poor. It has not been easy for them to accommodate human rights in their theologies. With respect to issues of gender equality, the right of people to change their religion and the treatment of minorities, religious traditions have been found wanting in the past.22 Nevertheless, these traditions have rich resources that can be harnessed to serve the interest of human rights. Witte Jr. sees religions as ‘indispensable allies in the modern struggle for human rights’.23 Focusing, mainly, on Ghana, this book discusses how religion may help, or is already helping, in the inculturation of human rights in African societies. It is basically, an explorative work, seeking ways in which the largely religious cultural environment of contemporary Ghana

Introduction

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may translate, or is already translating, the modern concept of human rights into its peculiar context without undermining the concept’s universal orientation.

Inculturation – our hermeneutical model Although the term ‘inculturation’ has its origins in Christian theology, ‘religion’ in this work is not limited to Christianity. The focus is not on any specific religious tradition, but on ‘popular religion’ in Ghana, which has several strands that converge in common beliefs and practices and which generates important attitudes that cut across the various traditions. Thus our use of the term denotes religion that is common to a people but which is not institutionalized in a formal way. This is close in meaning to what Robin Williams has called ‘common religion’.24 However, whereas Williams had in mind something similar to what has been designated elsewhere as ‘civil religion’, what we call ‘popular religion’ only shares with his ‘common religion’ the idea of a ‘religion that is common to a people’. The phenomenon we refer to as ‘popular religion’ is ‘common’ in the sense of a shared ‘set of ideas, rituals and symbols’ as used by Williams and ‘common’ in the sense of ‘those beliefs and practices of overtly religious nature which are not under the domination of a prevailing religious institution’, as used by Robert Towler.25 ‘Popular religion’ is the realm from which most Ghanaians, ordinarily, draw resources to explain events and attempt to cope with life’s challenges. Largely, it forms the substratum of what we have described in this work as a ‘common Ghanaian culture’, which is hybrid and evolving (Chapter 4). Our discussion of the concept of ‘popular religion’ is revisited in Chapters 2 and 5. The decision to use inculturation rather than the more general term enculturation, used in the social sciences, is deliberate. The relatively wide and growing acceptance of inculturation in theological discourse has already marked it out as a technical term with its own peculiar nuances employed in a field related to the study of religion. Indeed, one of the most notable usages of the term outside the context of Christian theology was by Gerrie ter Haar in her inaugural lecture where she talked about the ‘inculturation of human rights’.26 Africa has, sometimes, been denied the claim that human rights are part of its indigenous cultural value systems.27 Therefore, it is important to explore concepts cognate to human rights that existed in Africa before 1948, the year of the promulgation of the UDHR. However, it is even more important to explore elements in contemporary cultures that may facilitate a purposeful conversation with international human rights norms.

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Ter Haar has argued forcefully in support of Vaclav Havel, calling for the highlighting of ‘the spiritual dimension and spiritual origins of the values guarded by the United Nations’ and their translation into the ‘organization’s practical activities’.28 The basis of her argument is that the purely secular expression of human rights does not appear to be sufficiently meaningful to many cultures since the ‘human being’ – the central concern of human rights – is conceived by most cultures in religious terms. ‘Clearly’, she states, ‘if we wish for a successful inculturation of human rights, we must give serious thought to the role played by religion’.29 Other people share Ter Haar’s views. In an article published in 1992, the Jewish Rabbi Julia Neuberger called on British Jews, Christians and Muslims, ‘who see themselves as within the prophetic tradition’ to press for the incorporation of the European Convention of Human Rights in British Law. She traced the ‘prophetic’ origins of human rights and argued for a commitment to human rights inspired by the prophets.30 Pobee, in outlining what he calls ‘wells of Living Water’ from which human rights may flow, makes the following points among others: That ‘religion of one type or the other is a living spring of life, especially of homo africanus, and therefore has a special place in the nurturing and fostering of human rights’; and that ‘a tested and renewed tradition, often undergirded by religion, is the living well from which the streams of human rights will rise and flow’.31 We proceeded on the presupposition that although the normative system of human rights largely operates with Western cultural and idiomatic paraphernalia, the values it represents have existed in most traditional cultures and that the cultures contain original seeds of human rights, which both can benefit from and profit the modern movement. Such original seeds make possible the embedding of human rights in local cultures. This conviction primarily determined the choice of inculturation as a hermeneutical model. Even though the starting point for the discussion of human rights in this work is what the UDHR and its related instruments define, we remained open to the prospect of discovering fresh dimensions of human rights in local cultures. ‘Inculturation’ is defined in this book as the process of encounter between the universal and the local that eventually results in the activation and redevelopment of local elements, which share some affinity with the universal ones, in such a way that both the local and the universal are mutually transformed. Applied to human rights, the resulting local version must overlap in meaning and practice with other local versions and harmonize with the global one. The overarching global regime then comes to find justification in ‘multi-local’ groundings. Since

Introduction

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the model is also offered as an addition to existing responses to the challenge of cultural relativism, there is the concern to ensure that inculturated versions of the universal norm do not represent deviations. At the base of this stance lies the conviction that in the realm of human rights the effort is made to divest issues such as justice and injustice of all ambiguities so that liberty and inclusion are always virtues and oppression and discrimination are exposed as vices. Four analytical elements are discerned in the process of inculturation. These are: spontaneous or popular dialogue, translation, confrontation and directional or formal dialogue. These elements are not only to be understood, totally, as stages or phases in the process but also as overlapping elements. Spontaneous or popular dialogue occurs in the context of everyday, informal encounters at the grass-roots level, independent of the formal or official sectors of society. ‘Translation’ goes beyond linguistics. It is about the engagement between international human rights and the local culture at the deep level of meaning so that the local expressions will flow effortlessly, from the inner worlds of the indigenous culture, connecting with its important myths, and finding expressions in its core values and symbols. The element of confrontation is discerned in situations where apparent incompatible elements clash. Contestations, negotiations, rejections and compromises are part of this element, and it results in the clarification, re-conceptualization and rearrangement of aspects of the local culture, which may appear to contradict core values and goals of the international system. It also contains evaluative criteria. Formal interventions to clarify ambiguities involved in the inculturated versions are what have been referred to as directional or formal dialogue. Such interventions may come from human rights workers, technocrats and scholars. Institutions of governance such as parliament and the courts may all be involved; they may deliberately take into account available local socio-cultural treasures in their efforts to build a human rights culture. The relevance of this approach to the African, and for that matter to the Ghanaian context, is manifold and extensive. Academically, it is an African contribution to the ongoing global discussion about the relationship between religion and human rights. It also provides leads to a clearer understanding of the role cultural and religious elements may play in the transformation of societies in contemporary times. Practically, it has as an aim to inform the social policy of governments, religious institutions and NGOs working in Ghana and in similar situations in other parts of Africa. Since most of the human rights issues that the government and NGOs are currently battling with are not simply legal and customary but have religious underpinnings, the potential utility value

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of such an approach cannot be in doubt. Issues under reference here include the inhuman treatment of people accused of witchcraft, female-genital surgeries (appropriately called female-genital mutilation by campaigners for its abolition), cult slavery, subtle forms of discrimination against people with disability, some forms of traditional widowhood rites and ill-treatment of children and other vulnerable members of the society. In many cases, after the failure of legislation and other administrative interventions, it is the religious NGOs which make new efforts to eliminate such abuses.32 Social activism in pursuit of human rights receives a boost only when the masses that stand to benefit from such activism give their support. Most people at the grass-roots level will give their support when they understand and identify with the principles being fought for. Perhaps it was in recognition of this that the first Pan-African Human Rights Conference held in Accra in November, 2008, resolved to ‘revitalize and strengthen the African human rights movement by making it more dynamic and ensuring the participation of the masses of our peoples’.33 If there is a successful inculturation of human rights, social activism will receive a boost and individuals at the grass roots will begin to demand their rights and respect those of others. This book explores how cultural and religious values, ideas and symbols of contemporary Ghanaian society might contribute, or is already contributing, to the theory and practice of human rights. Therefore, the main question that guided the research which formed the basis of this book was, ‘How can religious and cultural values contribute to the inculturation of human rights in Ghana?’ In seeking to respond to this question, the following sub-questions were explored: ‘What ideas about human rights (or ideas cognate to human rights) do people hold in contemporary Ghana?’ ‘To what extents do Ghanaian cultural and religious values enable a dialogue with the normative concept of human rights as stated in the UDHR?’ Following the well-established traditions of the modern academic study of religions, we focused on the concrete situations in which people seek to live their daily lives. Therefore the views, attitudes and practices examined were not, primarily, the classic ones stated in official documents, or even of scholars; but the views, attitudes and practices as expressed in concrete situations of contemporary life. As Ter Haar explains, ‘Any analysis of religion and human rights requires empirical study of the actual situations in which these ideas are expressed.’34 Both religion and human rights are cultural phenomena encountered, not primarily as abstract concepts but, manifestly, as issues of practical reality of life, and therefore they neatly fit the stated approach.

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Since what is intended here is more than the ethicist approach to the issues concerned, our analytical variables have been those that are related to the beliefs, theology or the metaphysical assumptions from which religious and ethical philosophies of Ghanaians are derived. However, these are expressed in social arrangements, behaviours, rituals and in the practices of political and judicial institutions as well as, in the particular case of Africa, in oral traditions such as proverbs, songs and anecdotes. Such ethnographic materials have therefore been included as texts in our discussions and analyses.

The geopolitical context of the research Three traditional areas35 and two major cities in southern Ghana served as the research locations. Findings are, therefore, mainly about southern Ghana; though, in several cases, they apply also to other parts of the country. The traditional areas are La in the Greater Accra region; Anlo in the Volta region; and Gomoa in the Central region. The cities are Accra and Kumasi. The selection of these areas was guided by certain practical reasons. First, there are sufficient relevant studies done on the larger ethnic groupings to which these traditional areas belong. These are the Ga-Adangme, the Ewe and the Akan. Secondly, Accra, the capital city of Ghana, and Kumasi, the most prominent city in the central part of Ghana, currently host people from different parts of the country. Each of the two cities can be described as a microcosm of Ghana and a melting pot of Ghanaian cultural ideas. In these places, modern political and religious ideas and institutions blend with traditional ones to constitute the ‘life-world’ of people.36 Traditional areas in Ghana, while maintaining their traditional political structures made up of the paramount chief, sub-chiefs and elders also fall under the structures of the modern nation-state. In the relatively large towns, the authority of the traditional institutions has been eroded by the local government structures. However, in the smaller towns and villages removed from the modern administrative structures of the district capitals, the traditional rulers continue to be relied upon by the majority of the people for judicial settlement of disputes. They also continue to be the focus for the mobilization of citizens towards the development of the area. It is appropriate at this point to give a brief description of each of the traditional areas that form the location for this study. The Anlo Traditional Area shares boundaries with the South Tongu district in the west, Ghana-Togo border

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to the east and stretches along the Atlantic Ocean in the south and north into the Akatsi district. It encompasses the whole of the modern administrative district of Keta, the southern and central parts of the Ketu district and south-east Akatsi district. Both the people and their language are referred to as Anlo and belong to the larger Ewe ethnic group. Anloga is the traditional capital and also the seat of the Awoamefia, the paramount chief. The early and long contacts with European missionaries, scholars, merchants and colonizers led to the projection of their dialect and culture as representative of Ewe culture in general.37 Although the general Ewe ethnic group is bound together in unity on the basis of language and common traditions of origin, there are differences in dialects.38 In terms of the colonial experience, Eweland was caught up in the crossfire of the rivalries among the cosmopolitan powers. Before the First World War, it was a German colony. In the aftermath of the War, it was divided between the British and the French under a mandate of the League of Nations. A referendum prior to Ghana’s independence resulted in a decision that ‘Trans-Volta Togoland’, the part under British rule, should become part of independent Ghana. Ewes and Ga-Adangmes share cultural affinities and have had close interactions with some of the other ethnic groups, especially the Akwamu and the Asante. The Anlo, traditionally, engage in three occupations: fishing, farming and kente weaving. The impact of the missionary era is evident in the close association between Eweland and the Evangelical Presbyterian and the Roman Catholic churches whose parent mission bodies concentrated their energies there. Since the missionary era, other Christian groups, especially of the Pentecostal type, have emerged and proliferated in the area. The resulting pluralistic situation sometimes causes considerable tension, especially, between Pentecostal groups and custodians of the indigenous traditions.39 The Gomoas are part of the Akan Mfantse sub-ethnic group.40 They speak the Mfantse dialect of the Akan language. The people of Gomoa had three original divisions: Gomoa Assin, Efua Ajumako and Gomoa Ajumako. The second group, Efua Ajumako, is now mostly known simply as Ajumako, and their home area constitutes the Ajumako Traditional Area, which is part of the Ajumako-Enyan-Esiam administrative district. In the context of this study, the ‘Gomoa Traditional Area’ refers to Gomoa Assin (also known as Akyempem) and Gomoa Ajumako. Their home area stretches along the Atlantic coast in the south and shares borders with the Awutu-Efutu-Senya District, Mfantseman Municipal District to the west, Ajumako-Enyan Esiam District to the north-west and Agona Municipal

Introduction

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District to the north. Until 2008, Gomoa constituted one administrative district with Apam as its capital; however, it is now divided into Gomoa West District, with Apam as its capital, and Gomoa East District, with Afranse as its capital. Nevertheless, Gomoa like other areas in Ghana still maintains the traditional structures of governance with paramount chiefs, sub-chiefs and their elders. It has two divisions, Gomoa Assin and Gomoa Ajumako, each with a separate paramount chief. As is the case with other Akan communities, queen mothers in Gomoa have considerable influence in the affairs of the communities. Traditional occupations of the people are farming, fishing and salt production. The coastal belt of Gomoa had close contacts with European traders, missionaries and colonizers whose legacy is seen in the growth of Christianity, with its wide network of basic educational institutions and churches that are scattered around the area. A European trading fort, Fort Patience, which was built by the Portuguese still stands in Apam. Like Anlo, Gomoa is affected by the pluralistic situation of the country, the leading traditions being Christianity and the Ahmadiyya version of Islam. Several important African Independent Churches have originated or have started their spread from Gomoa. For example, the Mozano Township which is built as the headquarters of Musama Disco Christo Church (MDCC) is situated there. The La Traditional Area is one of the traditional settlements of the Ga people who are believed to have migrated from Benin in Nigeria in the sixteenth century.41 Its southern border is marked by the Atlantic Ocean. It is bordered on the south-east by Teshie-Nungua and on the north by Oyarifa and Amanfro. The people of La, probably, might have moved to settle in their present home area in the seventeenth century.42 The growth of urbanization has affected the traditional, political and social life of the people. This means, La is an area where tradition and modernity exist side by side. The physical evidence of this is the dual nature of the township: the old section, marked by old buildings and traditional occupational activities such as fishing by men and fish-smoking and mongering by their women; and the new section, characterized by modern residential areas and a vibrant commercial centre. When Margaret Field studied La (or Labadi) in the 1930s, she observed that ‘some members of every family are always “away in the bush” in one or other of Labadi’s twenty or so large villages or smaller farming settlements’.43 These ‘large villages’ and ‘smaller farming settlements’ have now become large townships and home to multitudes of immigrants from other parts of Ghana and the West Africa subregion to Accra, the national capital. These townships include Shiashie, Achimota, Madina, Adenta, Ashale Botwe and Agbogba. Some

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Religion and the Inculturation of Human Rights in Ghana

of the plushest residential areas and important landmarks in Ghana are also located on La lands. They include Cantonments, the Burma Camp (which is the headquarters of the Ghana Armed Forces), the Kotoka International Airport, the Trade Fair site and the University of Ghana. This means farming, the other traditional occupation apart from fishing, no longer exists in La. Already in the 1930s, several La residents were employed as clerks and were commuting daily between La and their offices in the city of Accra.44 La was an important mission station of the Basel Mission whose school there produced a number of scholars and professionals. Yet, even in contemporary times, its traditional priests still exert considerable influence on the traditional rulers, elders and the community. The occasional tensions caused by the situation of religious pluralism in several traditional areas in the country afflict La and other townships of Accra in a more intense manner due to their urban nature. Qualitative techniques such as semi-structured interviews, focus group discussions and in-depth interviews with key informants were employed in the fieldwork. Since the study is generally a qualitative one, purposive sampling strategies were deemed most appropriate and were, therefore, mostly employed. For each of the selected traditional areas, elders, including traditional rulers and people identified as ‘knowledgeable’ or opinion leaders in the communities, were interviewed. In this case, traditional rulers and their elders, the traditional/ established authorities on the subject in the various study sites, were interviewed. Then also, for each traditional area, views of identifiable groups such as men’s, women’s and youth groups were captured in focus group discussions. The focus group discussions were used as a complementary method to the in-depth interviews conducted in the traditional areas. This was in order to find out how much the views of the key informants coincide with, or diverge from, that of the generality of the population. It was also to help determine how much continuities exist between traditional and modern ideas about human rights. In the cities of Accra and Kumasi, sampling was random. Data were collected by speaking to randomly selected respondents in the main business districts of the cities. Contacts were also made with state institutions, which have direct responsibility for ensuring the protection and promotion of human rights, such as the national, regional and district offices of the Commission for Human rights and Administrative Justice (CHRAJ) as well as NGOs dedicated to human rights advocacy. Since the research aimed at gauging the general appreciation of human rights in Ghana, a general survey conducted in the two cities was included. The objective of resorting to ethnographic research was to explore the extent to which local values and ideas about human rights and those cognate to them have

Introduction

13

engaged with the normative concept of human rights and mutually influenced each other. This methodology is relevant for the overarching hermeneutical model, inculturation of human rights, which is taken up further in Chapters 3 and 8. A qualitative method of collecting and interpreting data enables insight into the thought processes of the discussants in the research and how they relate to issues of human rights in the context of everyday challenges of life. Against the background of what has been identified as traditional elements that are conducive for the growth of a human rights culture (Chapter 6), the study attempts an evaluation of the participants’ understanding of, and attitudes to, the norms of modern human rights and, on the basis of the derived data, further attempts some generalizations. An important characteristic to note is the religious backgrounds of discussants. Most of the people interviewed for the purpose of the research were Christians of the various denominations and a few were Muslim. In Anlo and La, there were a few discussants who identified themselves as ‘traditionalists’, that is, practitioners of indigenous religions; but in Gomoa, there was hardly any such person among the discussants. Several of the traditional chiefs, who are supposed to be the custodians of the indigenous religious traditions, professed Christianity.45 Although in La, a man was encountered who claimed to be agnostic, almost everybody interviewed as part of the research belonged to one religion or another. It was assumed that the belief in spirit-beings was a common feature of all the religious traditions. Nevertheless, this assumption could not be taken for granted. Therefore, a series of four preliminary questions were asked (in addition to the biographical questions, which included the participants’ religious denominations): (1) Do you believe in God? (2) Do you believe in spirits? (3) Do you believe spirits can harm or help you? (4) If you do, how do you ensure that you stay safe from being harmed by them? This was to ensure that the assumption that belief in spirits is at the centre of contemporary Ghanaian religiosity was right across traditions. The picture that emerged confirmed our views about religion in Ghana and helped identify its elements and features as described in Chapter 5. The work is organized into nine chapters. The current chapter is the introductory chapter and sets the tone for the rest of the discussion. It raises the need for the cultural embedding of human rights as an African imperative in a globalizing world in which human rights have become an important standard for measuring the moral status of nation-states and the legitimacy of their governments. Chapter 2 discusses general theoretical issues about human rights in relation to religion and demonstrates how tradition becomes linked with

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modernity in the discourse on religion and human rights. Chapter 3 contains a more comprehensive discussion of inculturation, the main hermeneutical model of the work. This is done against a background discussion of some approaches to the issue of cultural relativism in current academic discourse on human rights. Chapter 4 seeks to explore the question, ‘Does Ghana have a common culture?’ The question is answered in the affirmative. However, recognizing the many different cultures of the diverse ethnic groups of the country and the long periods of exposure of these cultures to the wider world, an attempt is made to map out in a broad sense, common cultural features that have come to be associated with the people of the modern nation-state called Ghana. Chapter 5 attempts to answer the following questions and address issues related to them: to what extent is religion interwoven into modern Ghanaian society? What is the extent of its influence at the various levels of life? The chapter concludes that religion is an important resource for explaining both private and national events and a mechanism for coping with the challenges of life for many Ghanaians. Chapter 6 involves a discussion of the understanding and practice of human rights in indigenous societies and their development before and after the advent of foreign political, religious and social forces. Ideas cognate to human rights such as those that define human dignity and the practices they generate are explored. Chapter 7 is concerned about the evolution of human rights as part of the values protected by law and promoted as a matter of public policy in contemporary Ghana. It also attempts to find out and discuss how traditional elements such as religious beliefs and ideas influence people’s views and attitudes towards human rights in Ghana. Discussions in Chapter 8 involve a critical exploration and examination of popular ideas, symbols and imagery that have some relevance for human rights in Ghana. A discussion of the promise such ideas, imagery and symbols hold for the enrichment of the human rights doctrine is done within the framework of the inculturation model. Chapter 9 is the concluding chapter. It pulls together the various strands of arguments presented in the work.

2

Religion and Human Rights: Linking Tradition and Modernity

The relationship between religion and human rights has usually been seen as an uneasy one.1 The complexity of the issue is heightened by certain intellectual and political challenges of the contemporary world that require a clarification in any attempt to explore how human rights may be, or already are, embedded in local cultures. The challenges in view are expressed in concepts such as secularization, globalization and culture and how these are related to religion and human rights. Indeed, aspects of the discourse on secularization have often looked at the relationship between modernity and tradition in terms of a contrasting binary. Yet, a positive engagement between the two is recognized as a factor with great potential for the transformation of societies, such as are found in Africa, which have a religious orientation to most matters of fundamental concern in life. This chapter discusses such issues that are relevant to the current discourse on religion and human rights. Emerging from the ashes of a world war executed with great disregard for the life of the other, the modern concept of human rights has been deliberately held out as neutral from all particularistic ideological inclinations, including the religious. The desire of the framers of the UDHR to achieve universality for the project prevented them from giving consideration to what religion might contribute to human rights. Despite the strong lobbying of religious individuals and groups at the drafting of the UDHR,2 the final document and subsequent related instruments are held to be purely secular.3 This decision to avoid religion in the social and political reordering of the world through the formulation, propagation and implementation of the new legal and moral tool of human rights came to find support in the theory of secularization that became dominant from the 1960s onward.4 The secularization theory, which became paradigmatic in the social sciences, especially, in the mid-twentieth century, was informed by developments in

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Western European societies that insisted on separation between religion and politics. In that intellectual climate, the relevance of religion for modern social life was dismissively discounted. The theory, which held sway in the Western world and was shared by liberal intellectual elites5 in other parts of the world, predicted the certain death of religion and the ascendancy of secularism as tradition receded and modernity advanced.6 Peter Berger summarizes the theory, ‘that idea is simple: Modernization necessarily leads to a decline in religion, both in society and in the minds of individuals’.7 This theory was also used as a prognostic framework for the then newly emerging nation states of Africa and elsewhere. The expectation was that the religious world views of those societies would give way to secular ideas as the influence of modernity spread.8 The influence of the secularization theory has been extensive and enduring until the recently general acknowledgement in scholarship that it has been overstated. Casanova observes that it is the only theory able to attain a truly paradigmatic status within modern social sciences.9 In the spirit of what has been called the ‘Enlightenment critique of religion’ (ECR),10 many social scientists worked from the point of view that religion was a spent force and had no significance for public life. But the reality that has dawned on contemporary scholars is that many societies and individuals around the world have not been significantly secularized, although governments and state institutions have been. If secularization means the ‘loss of the social significance of religion’,11 then the extent of its influence has been exaggerated. This may be illustrated by the following incident. In 1998, the British Parliament discussed the Human Rights Bill, which was to be incorporated into the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR). The debate itself evidenced the strong presence of the church in the consciousness of the public, especially the church’s autonomy and integrity. Nothing illustrates this more vividly than the reported comments by the Duke of Norfolk, who wondered whether the religions of Europe that had existed for the ‘past two hundred years should take second place to human rights conventions, which started in 1950?’12 Referring to events in countries that have emerged out of the collapse of the former USSR, B. Rubin comments that ‘no area of the world illustrates more clearly the fallacy of past beliefs that religion would be a steadily declining influence in society’.13 It appears that the process of modernization is not hostile to the active presence of religion in the public sphere. Modernization does not need a secularist viewpoint to thrive. The experience of Ghana has been one of a marriage between tradition and modernity, and there is no sign that the forces of modernity will completely obliterate tradition in the near future.

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The resilience14 (not ‘resurgence’) of religion in public life in many parts of the world, and in world affairs, especially the increase in the number of conflicts linked to religion, has not only led scholars to revise their notes about secularization but has also compelled commentators and policy makers to take serious account of religion. The engagement between religion and development that is taking place in the context of the World Bank initiative, World Faiths Development Dialogue (WFDD), is an important example of this trend. It is now generally conceded that the secularization theory was overstated. Nevertheless, as it has been widely noted,15 religion is still being viewed with suspicion.16 Regarding human rights, an orientation seems to have emerged which, when not ignoring either the negative historical record of religion or its possible misuse now and in the future, maintains a positive perspective on religion.17 Human rights have become an issue of significant concern to both leading practitioners of religion and scholars who study religion. Religious traditions on their own or as part of a wider interfaith forum have formulated their own viewpoints on human rights.18 Apart from that, the past two decades have seen many religious traditions claiming human rights as an original part of their teaching.19 Religious leaders and groups in many parts of the world have become consistent advocates for human rights and, in conflict situations, effective brokers of peace.20

Definitions Clarity in scholarship is non-negotiable. Subjects must be clearly demarcated to be put in their proper perspective and problematized if any discussion of them would be received as properly academic. What we may call ‘methodological telescoping’ requires that all phenomena that come to be investigated are properly defined or clearly mapped out in order to keep away extraneous variables from interfering. In recent times, a growing awareness among scholars of the near impossibility of providing universal definitions of certain cultural phenomena,21 such as religion, democracy and human rights, has led to modifications in this position. Yet definitions are still deemed necessary.22

Religion With specific reference to religion, generations of scholars have noted the difficulty with universally applicable or essential definitions. The sheer

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abundance of definitions23 available at the market of religious scholarship can be both exciting and frustrating. The modern mindset of Western scholarship – conditioned to discern neat distinctions between the secular and the religious, the spiritual and the material worlds – has increasingly tended to conceptually separate the sphere of religion from other aspects of culture, even when the cultural context of the societies under study do not admit such neat dichotomies.24 It is interesting to learn that in the context of Europe itself, such distinctions have not always existed. In a rather forceful manner, Peter Harrison has sought to prove that the terms, ‘religion’ and the ‘religions’ emerged in the context of the inter-confessional controversies of seventeenth-century Europe. These terms and the concepts they imply later came to be extended to include religions outside Christianity.25 Both social scientists and scholars of the phenomenology of religion school contributed, in diverse ways, to maintaining the dichotomy between the religious sphere and others. The initial suspicion phenomenology of religion had of the alleged reductionist inclinations of the social sciences – a suspicion that lingered for a long time  – combined with other factors to conceptually widen the chasm between religion and other spheres of life. Phenomenology of religion’s almost doctrinaire ‘anti-reductionist’ stance, which maintained that religion was sui generis served to present the religious sphere as fundamentally distinct from the secular one.26 Also contributing to this development was the approach of the social sciences that churned out popular differentiating opposites such as ‘the “spiritual” versus the “material,” the “natural” versus the “supernatural,” the “sacred,” or “holy” versus the “profane,” the “empirical” versus the “meta-empirical”.’27 With such preconceptions, much energy in the Western European scholarly enterprise on religion was expended on attempts to discover a general core-essence of religion. Modern scholarship, however, prefers multidisciplinary approaches to studying complex phenomena such as religion. Definitions which claim universal applicability are no longer fashionable since both religion and the scholar are considered context bound.28 A widely recognized related problem is the fading away of the distinctions between the religious mode and the secular mode, which previously were thought to be unambiguously clear. Molendijk observes, The clear-cut distinctions between a religious mode, on the one hand, and politics, science and aesthetics on the other, between the transcendent sphere and the secular sphere of everyday life . . . are no longer evident, although they still inform much research.29

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Acknowledgements of new developments that are closely related to, but exceed the ‘traditional boundaries’ of ‘religion’,30 have combined with insights from non-Western cultures that do not draw sharp dichotomies between the religious sphere and the secular to render the exercise of definition even more complicated. Yet, the exigencies of modern scholarship and the growing complexities of contemporary societies demand that religion as a cultural phenomenon is, at least, isolated in a lexical definition for certain practical purposes. Such purposes may be different for the different sectors of society that may require a definition of religion.31 Instead of definitions that pretend to be universally applicable, scholars opt for what has been called ‘stipulative’ or ‘regulative’ definitions.32 A regulative or stipulative definition is the meaning a scholar wishes to assign the term ‘religion’ to guide his or her discussion. It serves the particular purpose of the scholar. This means, like the previous situation, there will be many different definitions of religion but the debate will not be about whether a definition is true or false. The appropriateness or otherwise of a definition is the more paramount issue. By implication, the contemporary debate is different from earlier debates because the academic reasons why a definition of religion is needed have become more complex. Ellis and Ter Haar argue in favour of this trend, Classical sociologists like Emile Durkheim and Max Weber developed theories with a different object from ours in their minds. Both men lived in an age when social scientists fully believed in the possibility of enunciating universal laws governing human behavior in a manner that few of their successors would do today.33

Definitions are therefore instrumental and they are meant to draw boundaries around the subject under reference in a particular context and at a particular time for appropriate usage – academic, administrative, legal, political or other. International Human Rights instruments seldom attempt to define religion. But if they do, they take a broad approach to defining the term. The UDHR itself, and the ICCPR and the Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Intolerance and Discrimination based on Belief or Religion mention religion but do not define it; nor do they explain what is meant by the term. However, in discussing religion in the context of operating such instruments, it has often been found necessary to officially define it. Obviously, being legal documents, their drafters had in view a legal purpose; therefore, definitions of religion are, understandably, legal in intent.

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However, defining religion for legal or juridical purposes is as complex as defining it for an academic purpose. Johnson observes, ‘no definition of religion for constitutional purposes exists, and no satisfactory definition is likely to be conceived’.34 In apparent recognition of the difficulties involved in isolating the religious mode from others, the UN Human Rights Committee in its general comments on Article 18 of the ICCPR proposed that the terms ‘belief ’ and ‘religion’ must be ‘broadly construed’ and not limited to ‘traditional religions35 or religions and beliefs with institutional characteristics or practices analogous to those of traditional religions’.36 There is an obvious concern in that statement to guard against the danger of defining religion in a way that is too narrow to legally protect groups and people who make a claim to being religious or holding a belief.37 Elizabeth Odio-Benito, the UN special rapporteur on Religious Liberty, in a report in 1987, defined religion as ‘an explanation of the meaning of life and how to live accordingly’. She added, ‘every religion has at least a creed, a code of action, and a cult’.38 The concern to make the definition of religion broad enough to take account of manifestations beyond ‘traditional religions or religions and beliefs with institutional characteristics or practices analogous to those of traditional religions’ follows a trend in modern scholarship that prefers to use terms such as ‘religiosity’, ‘world views’ or ‘spirituality’ instead of ‘religion’, in order to account for what Hervieu-Leger has called ‘the religious productions of modernity’.39 In line with this concern, some works that discuss religion’s role in public life distinguish between ‘spirituality’ and ‘religion’. Scott Thomas, for instance, thinks that such a distinction is important in accounting for the impact of religion on politics in Western countries.40 He sees ‘spirituality’ as a ‘broader concept’ which should be ‘included as part of the consequences of religion for international society’.41 Douglas Johnston also draws a similar distinction.42 He defines religion as ‘meant to imply the institutional framework within which specific theological doctrines and practices are advocated and pursued, usually among a community of like-minded believers’. Spirituality, he says, ‘transcends the normal parameters of organized religion, suggesting a less bounded and, at times, more far reaching scope of involvement.’ Part of the distinction is that whereas religion involves an ‘institutional framework’ and a ‘community of like-minded believers’, spirituality does not require explicit allegiance to a particular religious tradition or even the necessity to belong to a believing community.43 This division serves well his purpose of distinguishing between two different categories of religious players in public life: those who approach their work from the platform of a religious

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institution and those who work from personal commitment without necessarily deriving their authority from organized religion. Thus, the use of spirituality in this sense is meant to address the concern of not limiting religion to traditional institutional forms. The approach echoes the work of Wilfred C. Smith, who distinguished between external forms of religion passed from generation to generation, which he called ‘cumulative tradition’, and internal or personal forms, which he called ‘faith’.44 Smith argued strongly for a focus on persons rather than systems in the study of religion: ‘. . . in the study of religion one’s concern is not primarily the doctrines and scriptures and prayers and rites and institutions but, rather, what these do to a man.’45 In the Ghanaian context within which the present study is situated, the distinctions between traditional institutional forms of religion and the others may not be necessary. Common to the various phenomena to which the terms ‘religion’ or ‘spirituality’ or ‘world view’ or even ‘ways of giving meaning to life’ may apply is a shared ‘religious point of view’.46 Central to religion in Ghana is the concern to relate properly to a spiritual universe, which is thought to encompass the material world. Since human beings themselves are believed to be part of this spiritual universe, they are not only credited with the capacity to communicate with it but are also regarded as, in a sense, vulnerable to the influences of spiritual forces, which are thought to wield effective power over the material world.47 Assimeng has recognized the centrality of the belief in spirits in the religious practices of West Africans. He identifies as a central feature of religious life in West Africa, the ‘concern to ward off evil spirits from human affairs’.48 He draws attention to the central importance of ‘spirits’ as a definitive category of religiousness in West Africa. It is the category of spirit as such that defines the religious point of view in West Africa. Therefore its conceptual significance in discussing religion cannot be ignored in any serious academic work on religion in Ghana. Even though so much of contemporary West African religion expends considerable energy on rituals aimed at warding off evil that is believed to be caused by spiritual forces,49 the more general concern is to ensure that there is a continuous free flow of the positive influence from the world of spirits into the affairs of the material world. In the light of this, our definition of religion is that it is concerned with the belief in, and presumed relationship with, spirit-beings who, though thought invisible, are yet believed to participate in the material world, over which they are thought to wield effective power and whose affairs they are believed to palpably affect. This view of religion closely follows a definition put forward by Ellis and Ter Haar. In their study of religion and politics in Africa, they define religion as

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‘a belief in the existence of an invisible world, distinct but not separate from the visible one, that is home to spiritual beings with effective powers over the material world.’50 However, we have found it necessary to put forward a slightly different definition. While the point by Ellis and Ter Haar about ‘belief in the existence of an invisible world that is home to spiritual beings’ is right, the issues about presumed relationships with spirit-beings and their participation in the material world do not seem to be explicitly recognized in their definition. Yet, in the context of Ghana, these aspects are important. However, the two definitions share the basic ideas of belief in spirit or spiritual beings and the existence of an invisible world. The postulated relationships between the world of spirits and the physical world imply communication between the two realms, and people’s thoughts and behaviour towards their fellow human beings are largely influenced by ideals shaped by norms drawn from the context of these relationships. The category of spirits in the present context includes God, angels, deities, ancestors, ghosts and other non-material components of a person such as the soul that, in most religions, is regarded as the primary life-giving component of the human being. A stipulative definition such as the one proposed here is most appropriate because what is referred to as belief in spirit or spiritual, invisible or non-material beings or world is almost an indispensable aspect of contemporary Ghanaian religiousness. In the discussion of how religion relates to issues of the public sphere, it has been the norm to dwell on religious institutions and what has been seen as conventional and therefore regarded as ‘official’ religion. The present work, however, focuses on the common ideas and beliefs which underlie the ethical and other practices of religious people in Ghana, especially, and elsewhere in West Africa. The concern is not with any of the specific traditions or functions of religion. It is with what is designated in this work as ‘popular religion’. While not ignoring the problems associated with this designation,51 we choose to use it as an analytical category, since it is deemed appropriate in context. This position is in agreement with Klaniczay who argues that ‘popular religion’ has an explanatory value in that it helps distinguish between ‘popular culture’ and ‘elite culture’ in the history of religion.52 However, we do not use the term to denote the religion of the marginalized or the downtrodden. We use it to refer to religious beliefs and practices common to believers of diverse backgrounds in a particular place and which are not under the direct guidance or control of any particular religious institution. In that sense, it is similar in meaning in different ways to what Towler53 and Williams54 have, with differing connotations,

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called ‘common religion’. As indicated in Chapter 1, our use of ‘popular religion’, though is similar in meaning to both in a certain sense, also diverges from both in significant ways.

Human rights The concept of ‘human rights’ like ‘religion’ does not yield itself to easy definition. In its normative form, the concept is taken as given and ostensibly refers to a set of moral and legal principles that regulate relations between individuals, societies and corporate entities such as the state. The growing complexity of the concept results from the ever-expanding referents of its application in intellectual discourse and international politics as well as its practical application to the complex needs of the peoples of the world. The first time the concept appeared in any recorded public discourse, it was used as a synonym for ‘natural rights’.55 The concept of ‘natural rights’ itself has a long history in intellectual discourse, bearing inputs from many different philosophers of various backgrounds and epochs. It was fine-tuned by John Locke who, in the seventeenth century, sought to ‘innovatively’ weave together ‘universal natural law and universal natural rights’.56 Locke argued that prior to the emergence of organized society, individuals existed as autonomous persons who had ‘natural rights’ to life, liberty and property. These rights were deemed fundamental and to belong inherently to every individual. The authority of organized society should have no legitimate power to abridge them. Governments had the duty to ensure that all human beings enjoyed those rights.57 Subsequent thinkers built on this idea and Thomas Paine’s use of the term ‘human right’58 was a remarkable moment in the history of natural rights discourse. It seems therefore that in its nascent stages, human rights as a concept referred primarily to freedoms and liberties that individuals were thought to possess by virtue of their being human and which were to be protected and not violated by the state. Such ideas inspired the agitations and revolts of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-centuries Europe against the absolutism of political and ecclesiastical authority. In almost all such revolts, the primary concern was to secure civil liberties for the individual. These revolts bore fruits in several binding legal documents that secured important concessions from various European monarchs for their citizens. However, in most cases, these landmark concessions gained did not apply to all human beings in the sense in which modern human rights

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are understood. The specified rights were essentially granted to a certain class of ‘men’ and ‘citizens’. They were not understood as applicable to all races, social classes and genders. However, such documents and the struggles they inspired marked the beginnings of a sustained struggle that has spanned several decades in the universal human desire to end discrimination of all kinds. Such struggles were carried as seeds of worldwide protests into other parts of the world in the period of European colonial expansionism. When the time was ripe, such ideas served to reinforce similar ones in the local cultures of the colonized societies, providing not only justification for their struggles but also the language to express such libertarian aspirations. Civil liberties and political rights were also at the centre of the concerns of the modern human rights movement at its birth. This occurred notwithstanding the fact that issues of economic and social security had already been recognized in high circles as human rights issues. For example, in 1941, President Franklin Roosevelt of the United States of America spelt out four basic freedoms, Freedom of speech and expression – everywhere in the world . . . freedom of every person to worship God in his own way – everywhere in the world . . . freedom from want, which translated into world terms, means economic understanding which will secure to every nation a healthy, peaceful life for its inhabitants – everywhere in the world . . . freedom from fear – anywhere in the world . . .59

The UDHR of 1948 mentions the right to a ‘standard of living adequate for the health and well-being’ of everyone and their families, ‘including food, clothing, housing and medical care and necessary social services, and right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood . . .’60 Yet it took the ideological disputes of the Cold War period and the influence of certain social and intellectual movements of the twentieth century to make such issues mainstream human rights ones. The then newly emerging countries, such as those that had gained independence in Africa, carried their own value perspectives, which were usually closer to the economic and social rights talk of the ‘Eastern bloc’ into the international arena, and thus helped in the cause of such rights. But such concerns were not central to what the Western world had been familiar with in the history of its rights discourse and activism. In the context of the Cold War, the capitalist West saw the pushing of these rights as a ploy, led by the communist East, to extend its ideological influence. The difficult road to the compromise that was reached is reflected in the fact that efforts to provide legal grounding to the UDHR took

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so many years and resulted not in one but two documents – the ICCPR and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR).61 One result of this development was the generational classification of human rights which, until recently, seemed to have gained purchase in human rights talk. ‘First generation’ rights are the ‘traditional liberties and privileges of citizenship, covered by the first twenty articles of the [UDHR]: free speech, religious liberty, the right not to be tortured, the right to fair trial, the right to vote and so forth.’62 They are sometimes referred to as ‘negative rights’ because they are meant to prevent the state from interfering with the personal liberties of its citizens. Rights of the ‘second generation’ are called ‘positive rights’ because they oblige states to take steps towards the progressive realization of certain social and economic goals for their citizens. They include such rights as the right to quality education, the right to food, the right to shelter, the right to work and the right to fair wages. Third generation rights deal with collective and communal rights. They have been referred to as ‘solidarity’ rights63 or ‘group’ or ‘peoples’ rights. Examples of rights in consideration here are rights to national self-determination, the right to cultural identity and the right to development. In spite of the formal acceptance of all the ‘generations of human rights’ in international instruments, some scholars still insist that the second- and third-generation rights are not actually human rights.64 Rights classified as ‘first generation rights’ constitute what Gordon has described as the ‘standard’ or ‘dominant’ notion of human rights.65 Pleas have actually come from certain circles, especially legal positivists, for ‘control’ in the proliferation of human rights for the sake of quality.66 Tomuschat, for example, argues that it is not everything that may serve to improve individual well-being that should be accepted as human rights. He calls for the scrutinizing of ‘even well-established international treaties’ with a watchful eye.67 Joy Gordon observes that while the ICCPR contained requirements for immediate compliance by all states as well as mechanisms for enforcement, the ICESCR, originally, contained neither. He also notes that major Western NGOs such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch used to define human rights violations in terms of atrocities and political rights, not economic rights.68 Notwithstanding this apparent lack of commitment to rights other than those that square with conventional Western understanding, the voices that stand for the extension of human rights to include wider interests and concerns are many and loud.69 The vigorous involvement of religious actors and the continued discourse, involving not only scholars in law but also theologians, sociologist, psychologists, anthropologists and economists, naturally broaden the concerns

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and needs that form the focus of human rights. Perhaps the ‘Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action’ represents the outcome of the process of synthesizing human rights made possible and feasible, especially because the intense ideological disagreements of the Cold War no longer existed. The litany of human rights listed in the Declaration adopted in 1993 at the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna includes civil and political rights, economic, social and cultural rights, the right to development, the rights of refugees and internally displaced persons and so forth. The Declaration removes all differences – hierarchical or qualitative – between the various human rights: ‘All human rights are universal, indivisible, interdependent, and interrelated. The international community must treat human rights in a fair and equal manner, on the same footing and with the same emphasis . . .’70 Another area of the modern extension of human rights practice, which further complicates conceptualization, is the entry of non-state actors. Conventionally, human rights claims have been directed at the state as the primary duty-bearer. However, with the rise of globalization, international and national NGOs, multinational corporations and individuals have become players in human rights politics. Thus, the complex nature of the concept of human rights becomes obvious. Consequently, and not unexpectedly, different scholars have approached its definition from different angles. Theologians – Christian and others –, moral philosophers, lawyers and politicians have all defined the concept from their own perspectives and thus attached their own connotations to its meaning.71 However, extremely narrow definitions that restrict human rights to one or few aspects of its many dimensions only cannot be of much help. In reference here, for example, are definitions that make human rights purely legal72 or purely moral73; or other definitions that confine the term to the ‘dominant’ or ‘standard’ notion of human rights and leave out the emergent ones, without which other rights mean little for the majority of the peoples of the world. For the purposes of this work, a definition offered by Gordon is borrowed: ‘human rights are those resources or conditions which constitute the minimal conditions for human existence’.74 This definition is useful for certain reasons. In the first place, it escapes the reductionist trap. It may fit the purposes of jurists as well as those of moral philosophers. More importantly, it also serves the purposes of scholars of presumed neutral disciplines such as historians, anthropologists and phenomenologists. Secondly, it does not restrict the concept to anyone of its contemporary multifarious dimensions; especially so, when the contemporary human rights regime increasingly sees its scope beyond just ‘human’ beings to include ecosystems.

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The proposed definition is inclusive of all the so-called generations of rights and has a relatively large capacity to accommodate any new rights that may come up in the future. As the author himself claims, it is ‘reasonably less controversial’. This means, it has the capacity to address some of the concerns raised by scholars from non-Western countries. That is, it takes on board, in a fairly secure manner, concerns such as right to food, employment, development, clean environment, cultural and linguistic identity and so forth, many of which constitute the points of controversy in international human rights politics.75 Thirdly, it renders redundant the ‘foundationalist-constructivist’ controversy. Left-liberal scholars, in a postmodernist fashion, object to theories that seek to justify human rights on the basis of metaphysical assumptions. They offer constructivist explanations as opposed to foundational accounts of human rights. The definition adopted in this study has space for both. By defining human rights in terms of ‘resources and conditions’, space is also created to include the non-material resources or conditions considered vital for the complete and meaningful existence of human persons. These include ‘religious’ or ‘spiritual’ resources, which for so many cultures are necessary for securing a meaningful and quality human existence.76 Such resources may be intangible but they appear to be a strong anchor of the sense of human dignity for many people. Finally, this adopted definition makes it possible to include rights directly due to human beings who are deceased but are believed to continue to exist as part of the community. In several traditional cultures of Ghana, for example, it is not only existence in the material world that makes human rights claimable. The deceased are entitled to their human rights. Living persons in the communities under study include the spirits of the deceased that are believed to continue to exist as part of the community. Their interests, including their rights, are considered as important as those of the persons that are alive. This is contrary to mainstream views about human rights. For example, Cohen thinks that a right at its most basic level is a ‘safeguard prerogative because a person is alive’.77

The ‘human’ in human rights A fundamental problem in the discussions about human rights is the absence of a clear consensus on who the human being is, or what it means to be human.78 Ter Haar discerns the problem powerfully:

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Scholarly debate on the Universal Declaration invariably turns upon the nature of these rights and ways of applying them, without questioning the notion of a human being. That is, in addressing the fundamental question of a human’s rights and the application of these, the Declaration takes it for granted that we all agree upon what precisely is a human being.79

Donnelly observes that the very term ‘human rights’ points to ‘humanity, human nature, being, a person or human being’ as their source. The problem, as he diagnoses, is ‘to specify what “human nature” means in this context and how they give rise to rights’.80 In the international human rights instruments themselves, there is no real attempt to explain who the human being is. Yet the whole project of human rights is built on the conviction that all human beings have ‘inherent dignity’,81 ‘dignity and worth’,82 unique ‘attributes of human beings’83 and that all human beings are bound together by ‘a spirit of brotherhood’84 that makes them ‘members of the human family’.85 There is no attempt to explain these attributes that qualify the human being as a bearer of rights. However, in both traditional and modern societies, different ideas of who is human and who is not, or at least, who is sufficiently human and who lacks that sufficiency have existed. The over-cited examples of the rather unfortunate views about the black person held by leading Western thinkers such as Montesquieu,86 Kant,87 Hegel,88 Locke and Mill89 need not be repeated here. The existence of views in several traditional communities that give rise to discrimination against children, women and the disabled as well as persons who look different (see discussions of our field data in Chapter 7) underscores the need to clarify as part of human rights discourse the issue of ‘what precisely is a human being’. There is no consensus in academic literature as to what it is about human beings that gives them the ‘inherent dignity’ from which human rights arise. In an era of postmodernity, in which fragmentation of ‘reality’ is preferred above essentialist perceptions, it is common to discard metaphysical aspects of the classic theories about human nature. From that point of view, nothing is really pre-given. There are only constructions of meanings, and the category of ‘human’ is also constructed.90 Donnelly, for example, does not seem to be convinced by theories such as that of Locke, which present what he calls ‘divine donation’ as an answer to the problem.91 Yet, despite the great appeal of constructivist theories, there still does not seem to be any construct with sufficient strength to give grounding to human rights among the masses in many parts of the world.

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Many modern theorists strain themselves to be as ‘scientific’ and ‘rational’ as possible; since by definition, the scientific and rational temper is synonymous with the secularist stance, they avoid the use of ‘traditional’ or ‘religious’ language. That may have proved effective in the context of the Western world. But ideas give birth to mass movements when they have been understood and expressed in the common language and symbols of the masses. Perhaps, Ter Haar had something similar to this in mind when she wrote: ‘It is becoming clear that legal instruments are not enough if human rights are to be firmly grounded in different cultures, as people’s understanding of human rights is informed by their own world views and cosmologies.’92 In the closing years of the twentieth century and the early years of the twenty-first, the restatement of political ideas in religious idiom has seen the successful mobilization of large constituencies for one purpose or the other in many parts of the world in ways that have deeply affected world politics. Indeed for most societies in the developing world, what constitutes human nature and what gives the human being special worth is supported by religious explanations.93 Contemporary African ideas about the nature of the human being lean heavily towards the religious. In Ghana, for example, when people say the human being has dignity or worth or is sacred, they mean that the human being has been created by God and that there is something of the divine in every human being that links them with the world of spirits. Not everybody expresses this in the same way, but all versions of the concept have in common the idea that every human being has worth because they are more than mere matter. The dignity derived from such ideas is both inherent and transcendent, as is illustrated below. Religious explanations also tend to view the human being as essentially integrated with the rest of creation and these explanations, therefore, extend to the environment the right to be treated with a certain degree of respect. However, it must be recognized that certain aspects of the explanation, of whom or what the human being is, create grave problems. The belief in the superiority of a race, an ethnic group or caste has often led to gross abuses of human rights on wide scales. Such beliefs, partly, inspired the cruelties with which races, tribes and some social classes enslaved others and engaged in wars of ethnic cleansing. Religious explanations about individuals with a disability or who look different have also led to discriminations or even acts of cruelty, including murders against them in certain societies.94 This fact makes it even more urgent the need for a clear definition of the ‘human being’ in the context of human rights formulation and application. As Pobee, a leading African Christian theologian, states:

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The first question should be ‘what is humanity?’ . . . The question needs today’s answer. Only then can we come to the question of what instruments, vehicles and rights will carry and secure the integrity, identity and dignity of the human being.95

Contemporary Ghanaian conceptions of why the human being is sacred and worthy of dignified treatment are rooted in religious belief. For example, southern Ghana societies such as the Akan, the Ga and the Ewe, in their traditional views of the human being, hold that the human being in essence is a composite being made up of material and immaterial components that link him/her to spiritual entities such as God, the deities and the ancestors. These entities constitute the highest possible realities that can be conceived and are therefore worthy of reverence. To link the essence of human beings to these is to endow them with a sacred value. Commenting on the Akan maxim, ‘all persons are the children of God; no one is a child of the earth’, Gyekye writes, The insistent claim being made in the maxim that every person is a child of God does seem to have some moral overtones or relevance, grounded as it must, on the belief that there must be something intrinsically, valuable in God. A person, being a child of God, presumably by reason of his having been created by him and regarded as possessing a divine spark called soul (okra), must be held as of intrinsic value, an end in himself, worthy of dignity and respect.96

Ghanaian versions of the more modern traditions of Christianity and Islam hold views about humanity that are not significantly different from the indigenous views outlined above. Thus, the answer to what makes the human being sacred and, therefore, worthy of a set of rights that is measured by the category ‘human’ as a global standard, for most Ghanaians and others from similar backgrounds, is rooted in religious belief. In other words, religious belief supplies the ground for what we have called a ‘validating foundation’ of human rights.97 A validating foundation provides justification for human rights in local contexts. Such ground for justification often squares with a society’s core beliefs about humanity. Therefore, a ‘validating foundation’ for human rights may not be understood in a conventional foundationalist way. It does not include the idea of a single essential foundation of human rights applicable to all cultures; neither does it imply a theory of human nature conceived as universal. A validating foundation for human rights aims at establishing a justifiable basis for universal human rights in local cultures. It attempts to answer for a given society, the question,

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‘why should the human being have rights?’ Conventional foundationalist positions provide explicitly essentialist metaphysical or religious answers to this question. However, the use of such explicit religious categories is presumed to have been avoided in mainstream human rights discourse. Yet, it seems certain terms and phrases used in the various human rights documents resonate well with the religious or metaphysical meanings of the terminologies of the classic documents.98 Significantly, in spite of the extensive influence of the secularization theory in scholarship, interest in the concept of the ‘sacred’ has not lost its appeal among leading scholars, including those that profess to be agnostics or even, atheists. In the ‘Introduction’ to a book on the concept of the sacred, Ben Rogers described the contributors, who included Richard Dawkins, Richard Norman and Ronald Dworkin, as people who ‘can get on just fine without believing in the divine godhead, the devil, or the existence of the supernatural or transcendent realms. Yet most of them do not find it easy to jettison the concept of the sacred.’99 Dworkin maintains that the idea that human life is sacred may be held in a secular or a conventional religious way. He writes for example, ‘for some of us, the sacredness of human life is a matter of religious faith; for others, of secular but deep philosophical belief ’.100 Perry101 and others102 contest this view. While not denying that there are non-religious people who hold the conviction that the human being is sacred, Perry maintains that the only intelligible versions of that conviction are religious ones. Following from that, he argues that the concept of human rights is ineliminably religious.103 The conviction that the human being is sacred, whether as a religious belief or a secular idea, seems to provide for many people a ‘validating foundation’ for human rights. Included in the conviction that the human being is sacred is the idea, which the celebrated former president of the Czech Republic, Vaclav Havel, has called ‘self-transcendence’. This, he says, is at the root of all cultures, and therefore holds the greatest promise of supplying a truly reliable path to peaceful coexistence in the multicultural context of the ‘postmodern’ world.104 There may be both secular and religious versions of the conviction that the human being is ‘precious’ or ‘sacred’ or is possessed of ‘dignity’ but the evidence is overwhelming that the religious versions of such ideas constituted the original grounds of the liberal theory of rights.105 In a speech in July 1994 in Philadelphia, Havel traced the genesis of the ‘principle of inalienable human rights’ to the notion that the human being is the pinnacle and lord of creation.106 With characteristic poignancy in speech making, he declared,

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Politicians in international forums may reiterate a thousand times that the basis of the new world order must be universal respect for human rights, but it will mean nothing as long as this imperative does not derive from the respect of the miracle of Being, the miracle of the universe, the miracle of nature, the miracle of our own existence. Only someone who submits to the authority of the universal order and of creation, who values the right to be part of it and a participant in it, can genuinely value himself and his neighbours, and thus honour their rights as well.107

Globalization, religion and human rights ‘Globalization’ defines the contemporary age. It does not only provide the context of most modern political, social and economic activism but has also become the most common conceptual framework for academic discourse shared across disciplines. It is too palpable a phenomenon to ignore in terms of its impact on, or its linkage to, any subject of enquiry. Yet, few concepts in history have been so vigorously contested, though, in general terms, its reality is taken for granted.108 It is a concept with many different dimensions: economic, political, legal and cultural. Each of these different dimensions has evoked controversies of their own. Many people have greeted the emergence of globalization with exhilaration. They find in it the solution to all the problems of the contemporary world: answers to poverty, bad governance, violent conflicts, environmental degradation, unjustifiable restrictions on movements of peoples and ignorance.109 For others, globalization represents a return to the primitive era of ‘survival of the fittest’ and the re-enactment of the anarchic philosophy of ‘might is right’. To clarify the issue further, globalization is a phenomenon in which peoples – individuals and groups, nations and business entities – are linked in complex interconnections across national and continental boundaries. Defining characteristics of the phenomenon include the de-emphasizing of national sovereignty; the spread of liberal democracy as the accepted model of governance; trade liberalization, which creates a one world marketplace, independent of domestic political controls; and the liberalization of investment and corporate activities. Others are the deregulation of financial markets and capital flow; and rapid change and spread of technology, especially communication technology. As a concept, a terminology or an ideology, globalization may be new; but as a phenomenon, it is very old.110 Amartya Sen observes that for over a thousand years the process of globalization has contributed to the ‘progress of

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the world through travel, trade, migration, spread of cultural influences and dissemination of knowledge, (including that of science and technology)’.111 Much of the controversy surrounding globalization is generated by the equation of it to westernization. However, as Sen points out, Europe itself has benefited tremendously from its openness to globalization over the centuries. He says, the decimal system in mathematics, for example, which was developed in India and later used by the Arabs, reached Europe in the tenth century and contributed to the scientific revolution that helped transform Europe.112 Whatever the merits and the demerits of globalization, its various dimensions and layers have affected the world in relatively permanent ways. Globalization creates new pressures on world cultures, compelling individuals and groups to re-evaluate their local identities, loyalties and values in new ways. Such developments have often elicited responses that tend to reinforce religious and ethnic identity-consciousness and have resulted in actions that are natural expressions of the human impulse towards self-preservation. In the face of the powerful force with which globalization is reaching out to spread a new world culture in very subtle ways, it is not unexpected that individuals and communities will feel threatened and will attempt to find ways to preserve their long-held and cherished values and identities.113 But globalization also enables a networking of religious interests in which local religious ideas and attitudes are influenced in many different ways. Such networking often results in the spread of movements across national and continental frontiers. In many cases, identity-consciousness and cultural values are grounded in religious world views114; therefore, when cultures have to respond to new challenges, they take the form of cultural or religious renewal or revitalization. This partly explains the current proliferation of what some scholars have called ‘fundamentalist’ versions of old religious traditions. New religious movements come up when the official or orthodox tradition is widely perceived by believers as having lost its relevance or power.115 They may also occur when the plausibility of a religious belief that has connections with the core values of a community or group comes under severe strain. For example, when witchcraft and associated beliefs that formed aspects of the explanatory framework of misfortune and other events in southern Ghana suffered plausibility crises under the forces of modernity in the first half of the twentieth century, new religious movements in the form of the anti-witchcraft shrines emerged and proliferated.116 In a broad sense, there have been two forms of religious renewal in Ghana. The first, we may call ‘fixative renewal’, and the second, ‘dynamic renewal’. Fixative renewal movements have been characterized by a nostalgic desire

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to return to a romanticized version of a tradition in a distant past when the tradition was said to have been at the height of its influence and greatness. Such renewals are often without the openness to reform the tradition’s doctrines in the light of the changing needs of time. Neither do they show any openness towards the possibility to create relevant supportive structures and institutions. They normally do not tolerate other interpretations of the tradition, and may exhibit aggressive attitudes towards other branches of the tradition that do not share their interpretation. Both Christian and Islamic renewal movements have at one time or another manifested characteristics of ‘fixative renewal’. For example, in the early stages of the Charismatic renewal movement in the country, Christian groups whose views about the Holy Spirit were different from those of the movement were often condemned. This sometimes led to conflicts between members of the movement and the leadership of the established churches.117 In a similar manner, the persistent condemnation of Sufi practices by the Islamic renewal group, Ahlus Sunna Wal-Jama’a led to several incidents of violence in various parts of the country between the 1970s and the 1990s.118 Claiming to hold a ‘purer faith’ than what had been considered mainstream Islam in Ghana for centuries, Ahlus Sunnah Wal-Jama’a waged a jihad aimed at restoring Allah’s religion to ‘good health’.119 Dynamic renewal refers to the situation of renewal that allows reinterpretation of doctrines and the reform of relevant supportive structures in an attempt to reconnect faithfully with the authentic heritage of the tradition without insisting on fossilized doctrinal and liturgical patterns. Fixative renewal sees a fixed, fossilized, ‘purer’ or ideal form of the tradition to which every generation of believers must rigidly conform. It often gets linked up with its own kind across national boundaries, disregards sentiments of ethnic or national identity and is prone to be seized upon by people with an international or national political agenda.120 When that happens, it becomes an ideology. However, neither Islamic resurgence nor Christian Charismatic renewal in Ghana seems to have developed a definite political ideology, since the energies of reformers are mostly directed towards internal purification of the faith. Dynamic renewal allows for reinterpretation of doctrines and rearrangement of structures in response to new challenges. Each of these forms has its own implications for national as well as global politics. Religion’s importance to globalization lies in the fact that individuals and groups, experiencing disorientation as a result of the invasion of their microcosmic domain by macrocosmic forces, tend to appropriate spiritual

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values of their long-held traditions as part of their attempt to resolve the resulting conflicts. Since such values are often shared by individuals and communities across the world, religion itself assumes a transnational character with political implications.121 Confronting the analyst, therefore, is the paradox of globalization reinforcing culture-particular consciousness and at the same time helping to spread values that are deemed to transcend cultures. Some values start as global ones, while most begin within particular geographical and cultural contexts without any original intent to become global. Cultures tend to define themselves by certain values and thus deny that others may possess such values in the same way as they do. Most of the time when claims such as ‘Asian values’ or ‘African culture’ are made, an exclusive unique identity-consciousness is implied. At the base of the universality versus cultural relativism debate in human rights discourse is this claim that the dominant human rights norms as represented in the UN system are Western European and therefore foreign to other cultures.122 The history of religions, often interwoven with the history of cultures, has taught us that religious traditions start off with visions that are global in scope. The three major religions that have been generally described as ‘world religions’ – Buddhism, Christianity and Islam – had, from the very beginning, the self-understanding of being universal.123 Thus, they began with values, which they understood as universal and forming a standard of righteousness that fits all peoples everywhere. Taking the form of their community structure from the cultural context of their origins, and formulating their central doctrines in the language and idiom of the same context, they set out to reach out to the rest of the world, believing that what they taught as revealed truth would find acceptance in other places because it is universal truth. Seeing religion in this light can lead to its appreciation as a natural vehicle for the globalization of values.124 Similarly, modern human rights started off as representing a universal set of values. The drawing up of the UN Charter and the UDHR was a conscious process of establishing a regime of universal values to which all human beings, irrespective of their race, nationality, culture and creed, could subscribe. The universalist versus cultural relativist controversy125 presupposes that the UN human rights project has not been very successful in terms of the inclusion of all cultures. Scholars point to the emergence of regional human rights mechanisms and human rights documents by various religious and other groupings as proof of the near inadequacy of the UDHR. But such positions seem to turn the evidence on its head in order to ferret for proof to justify the rejection of the universal validity of human rights. The emergence of regional mechanisms, and

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what seem to be attempts at drawing alternative declarations of human rights by religious and other groupings, may rather be seen as contextual expressions of the universal ideal. These represent an acknowledgement of the desirability of human rights, a vote for the objective rightness of the concept as a universal moral standard. If a set of values starts off as universal, it does not mean that everybody accepts every aspect of it and lives by it uniformly. The habitual reluctance with which the United States of America approaches the signing and ratification of international human rights instruments126 and the existence of a ‘margin of appreciation’ in the European regional human rights system are good illustrations of the point we seek to establish. It does not even mean that such sets of values are incontrovertibly native to every culture in all its aspects. What it means is that it may be intuitively recognized as not only desirable but also right when encountered by most people in other parts of the world; values on which different people from different religious, philosophical and ethnic backgrounds can broadly agree as being good. People are able to recognize and pursue such values because they strike a chord with, and amplify, similar ideals cherished in their own culture. Human rights are universal because they began with that self-understanding. The fact that Western Europe and the United States led in the formulation of the initial instruments does not diminish the universal validity of human rights. The modern human rights regime has drawn on universal values from many different political, religious and philosophical backgrounds. In spite of the claim that human rights are a ‘Western construct of limited applicability’, based on the rights traditions of America, Britain and France, and which therefore is not applicable to other cultures,127 there is no direct evidence to suggest that human rights as they exist in the modern international system were ever envisaged by reformers of the Western tradition. Whether in the lofty realms of the minds of the classical thinkers or in the mundane contexts of political and social realities of Western societies, there does not seem to be any evidence to prove that human rights, as they are understood in the modern system, are explicitly native to their value system.128 Their histories are an exhibition of human rights negatives: religious intolerance, persecution of dissenters, witch-hunting and cruel burning of alleged witches, and racism. The political, economic and social arrangements of exclusion and discrimination justified by philosophies and theologies that also nurtured the slave trade and slavery and produced apartheid in the twentieth century were certainly not human rights inspired. Although, the intellectual and political dynamism of Western European societies enabled

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a flourishing of ideas and the language to explicitly express them, human rights are as native to them as they are to other societies. Human rights seem to represent the most excellent ideals of human values that undergird the concept of human dignity and the practices to protect it that have been implicit in the various cultures of the world. To illustrate this point, consider the following historical facts: At the time European Christians were persecuting their minority rivals, Islam, at least, recognized to some extent, the right of minority religious groups to exist and be protected by the Islamic state. It has been pointed out that married women in Britain could not legally hold separate property until 1925;129 yet, among many of the peoples of southern Ghana, it has been legal since time immemorial for women to own property separate from their husbands. This is not to set Africa, and for that matter Ghana, apart as epitomizing virtue while the West is vile. The point here is that, historically, the situation in which what pertains in practice is often a direct contradiction of the ideal has been a characteristic of all human societies  – developed, developing or underdeveloped.

Human rights as dream values The fact is that human rights have evolved in all cultures from imperfect seeds of customs and systems that assured the recognition and protection of human dignity, even if the category did not always extend to all. An illustration by K. Anthony Appiah is appropriate here: Free Asante citizens – both men and women – in the period before our state was conquered by Britain, as well as since, are preoccupied with notions of self-respect. Treating others with the respect that is their due is a central preoccupation of Asante social life, as is a reciprocal anxiety about loss of self-respect, shame, and disgrace. Just as European liberalism  – and democratic sentiment – grew by extending to every man and (then) woman the dignity that feudal society offered only to the aristocracy, and thus presupposes, in some modern Ghanaian thinking about politics depends, in part, on the prior grasp of concepts such as animuonyam (respect). It is clear from well-known Akan proverbs that respect was precisely not something that belonged in the past to everybody . . . But just as dignitas, which has grown into human dignity, which is the property of every man and woman, so animuounyam can become the basis of the respect for all others that lies at the heart of a commitment to human rights.130

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The literal meaning of animuonyam is ‘face-shine’. Its opposite is animguase, which literally means ‘fallen face’. Animuonyam means ‘respect’, ‘honour’ and ‘glory’. Animguase means ‘dishonour’, ‘disgrace’ and ‘humiliation’. One of the Akan proverbs showing that in the past animuonyam did not have universal application is animguase mfata okanni ba (dishonour/disgrace/humiliation does not befit an Akan offspring). However, as Appiah demonstrates above, ‘animuonyam can become the basis of the respect for all others’ just as dignitas has grown into human dignity and has become the property of every man and woman. Indeed Danquah, described by Wiredu as one of the ‘two most celebrated expositors of Akan thought’,131 while admitting that the maxim imposes the limit of group morality, attempts to develop it to embrace humanity in general.132 Human rights are universal in the sense that they represent a universal project that has been inspired by the existence of ideals drawn upon to promote and protect the dignity of individuals and groups in different world cultures. If the universality of human rights is understood in this sense, then it is consistent with the original aspiration of the UDHR as a common standard of achievement for all peoples and all nations, to the end that every individual and every organ of society, keeping this Declaration constantly in mind, shall strive by teaching and education to promote respect for these rights and freedoms and by progressive measures, . . to secure their universal and effective recognition and observance . . .133

There is no statement in the Declaration that seems to suggest that its drafters and supporters saw it as representing values of a particular region or people. In fact, at the time of the drafting of the Declaration, many Western nations held whole populations of other races in a sort of bondage. Ignatieff, who seems convinced of the exclusive European roots of the modern concept of human rights,134 also acknowledges the ‘natural propensity’135 of all humans towards the evils against which human rights seek to offer protection. It seems that the values that human rights seek to promote and protect are what we may call ‘dream values’. We propose to call them ‘dream values’ because they are values that are very high and desirable but mostly seem far away from actualization because of the natural human propensity to misuse power in social relations. In the history of cultures, prophets or sages have often emerged who try to propagate such values through teaching or legal reforms. They are values which thoughtful people, usually considered ‘thinkers’, ‘sages’ or ‘prophets’ have envisioned and preached; with the majority of people ignoring or even resisting their practical infusion into social life because of the ‘natural human

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propensities’ which human rights are meant to counteract. In almost every society, most of such people, even if they are originally rejected, come later to be ‘beatified’. Lauren has drawn attention to how the idea of human rights has had its roots in the different religious traditions of the world and concluded that no single civilization or people can claim as uniquely theirs the core values that human rights promote.136

When religious norms and human rights clash A number of modern controversial issues have often set some religious constituencies on a collision course with advocates of certain freedoms in the public sphere. The most difficult of these are in the area of morality. While human rights, in many respects, may be treated in connection with morality in several forms of discourse, they are often informed by secular perspectives on morality. Religious institutions and personages have been, in several instances, flayed by human rights advocates that operate from a secular orientation. In the same way, religious constituencies have sometimes viewed human rights workers as working against important traditional moral values. Traditionally, human rights impose negative duties on individuals with respect to the freedom of others. Individuals are free to live their lives the way they want, provided they do not affect the liberty of others. For example, the right to the freedom of expression, religion and sex orientation must not be interfered with either by the state, a group or an individual. However, in societies that are deeply religious, such issues often generate inner conflicts for several individuals. They also generate conflicts between sections of civil society that operate from secular platforms and those that draw motivation from religious sources. Certain officers of the state such as health workers and registrars of marriage whose religious and moral convictions are unfavourable to these issues face a quandary when the law seems to compel them to act against their moral convictions. Can the law, from the point of view of human rights, compel a registrar of marriage or a pastor to celebrate a same-sex marriage or a doctor to carry out an abortion or euthanasia if their religious and moral convictions are against these? Would the rights of such doctors and registrars not be violated by the state if they were compelled to do so? Would their refusal to perform those acts on religious grounds be regarded as violation of other people’s rights? Or would compelling them to act against their moral and religious convictions constitute abuse of their religious rights?

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An interesting example in this connection is a ruling by an employment tribunal in Britain in which the tribunal upheld Ms Lillian Ladele’s claim that her bosses at the Islington Council had discriminated against her by attempting to compel her to participate in same-sex marriage ceremonies against her ‘Christian conscience’. The tribunal in its ruling concluded that the council allowed the rights of homosexuals to trump Ms Ladele’s religious beliefs.137 But different groups viewed the ruling from different angles as is illustrated by the headlines of the various news reports on the issue. One report Captioned it as follows: ‘Secularism in Peril as Christian Registrar Wins Tribunal Case’,138 while another report saw it as a ‘Victory for Britain’s Quiet Majority’.139 In Ghana itself, the issue of whether same-sex relationships should be considered a human rights one or not often generates heated debate. Certain events, which occurred between 2006 and 2011, gave rise to an emotionally charged debate. The first event was when it was rumoured that gays and lesbians had scheduled an international conference in Koforidua.140 The second was when the Daily Graphic, the most widely circulated newspaper in Ghana reported that some NGOs claimed to have registered about 8,000 homosexuals in the Western and Central regions of the country.141 The third was when reports reached Ghana that the British Prime Minister David Cameron had issued a threat during the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting in Perth, Australia, to withhold aid from governments that did not reform legislation banning homosexuality.142 News about Cameron’s threat came in when the country was already embroiled in an almost one-sided debate on the issue. Government officials, including the president, as well as officials of the opposition parties, followed the public expression of disapproval and issued statements affirming that same-sex relationships were alien and could not be permitted under the laws of the country. President Mills, reacting to the British prime minister’s threat, declared: ‘. . . he does not have the right to direct other sovereign nations as to what they should do, especially, where their societal norms and ideals are different from those which exist in the Prime Minister’s society.’ In keeping with the mood of the public, he also stated, ‘I, as President of this nation, will never initiate or support any attempt to legalize homosexuality in Ghana.’143 Mr Mike Oquaye, the second deputy speaker of Parliament, a former political science professor of the University of Ghana and a human rights advocate, wrote a full-page article in The Ghanaian Times in reaction to Cameron’s threat. He called for the rejection of the suggestion to legalize homosexuality in Ghana, arguing that the practice was inconsistent with the country’s religious and cultural values.144

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Only a few individuals and organizations connected with human rights advocacy called for the issue to be accepted as one of human rights.145 But their calls were quickly dismissed by religious groups and individuals as falling apart with accepted Ghanaian values. The Christian council of Ghana, for example, in a statement read to the press declared, ‘we cannot afford to destroy our future in the name of human rights . . . The principle of moral conduct must not be changed with time, simply in the name of tolerance, human rights and in the name of socalled civilization.’146 President Mills, who relishes his Christian identity, had in a statement at the Ebenezer Congregation of the Presbyterian Church of Ghana in Sunyani affirmed the Christian Council’s position. He stated: ‘the word of God is clear and unambiguous – what is right is right, what is wrong is wrong’. Flowing with the currents of dominant public opinion on the issue, Dr Akwasi Osei, the chief psychiatrist of the Ghana Health Service, suggested that the rejection of homosexuality as human rights issue was in keeping with the idea of group or people’s rights in the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, since from the African point of view the practice offends cultural and moral sensibilities.147

Conclusion Human rights are thought of in secular terms most of the time, and they are mostly viewed as legal issues. Yet, there is a growing recognition of the fact that the human rights regime needs to be grounded in the value systems of the various cultures in order for it to thrive. Being non-native to any culture, the concept of human rights has existed as part of what Herbert has called the ‘social properties of all cultural systems’,148 and which we have referred to as ‘dream values’ in this work. They existed not in explicit form but as seeds to be developed or cultivated. The UDHR expects all peoples and nations to nurture themselves into maturity with respect to human rights. But this can happen more easily when human rights are embedded properly in the various local cultures of the world. In countries such as Ghana, where in spite of the growth of modern secular institutions of governance, religion continues to play important roles in public life, the embedding of human rights cannot occur without reference to religious beliefs. In other words, for human rights to be inculturated attention must be paid to the largely religious orientation of Ghanaians. The concept of inculturation forms the guiding idea of our theoretical framework. We take it up in the next chapter.

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Inculturating Human Rights: The Localization of a Global Culture

In the previous chapter, the position taken was that human rights represent universal ‘dream values’ that have been present in the various cultural systems of the world. In their original form, they may not have been as explicit as they are now expressed in the modern international system. Nevertheless, they provided the seeds from which the international system sprouted. Such sublime values formed the content of the visions1 of social reformers, sages, prophets and lawmakers of different historical eras, who saw in the far distance the normative system that has now become a reality. This is in agreement with Herbert’s view that human rights are derived from the ‘social properties of all cultural systems’ that need to be developed.2 As a ‘common standard of achievement for all peoples and all nations . . .’,3 the modern concept of human rights has, to varying degrees, created awareness and inspired agitations towards rearrangement of political, social and economic orders around the world. It can be observed that the use of the language of human rights has increased in the political and social discourses of many societies. Apparently, many factors have facilitated this modest spread of human rights culture. They include elements external and internal to the various societies. In this chapter, an attempt is made to set out a framework for the exploration of ways in which the international normative system of human rights is serving, or may serve, to activate and nurture values, which have been described as ‘social properties of cultural systems’ through a dialectical relationship with local cultures. To achieve this, we propose a model of inculturation of human rights. This model is also proposed as a response to the challenge of cultural relativism.

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Culture In spite of the avalanche of criticisms that Huntington’s clash of civilizations4 thesis has attracted, the awareness that culture has become an important discursive category in world politics has not grown less.5 ‘Culture’ has assumed an important role in power discourse. The powerful in society invoke it, ostensibly, against perceived intrusions on the identity and ways of life of the whole society. However, very often, the actual objective of such invocations is the preservation of the privileges of the custodians of power and the continued subjugation of the weak.6 In other cases, such invocations are resorted to in attempts to exclude other people and justify politics of attrition against others.7 The power of this form of discourse lies in the fact that it provides vehicles for the mobilization of a group identity-consciousness that serves to submerge internal inequities and inequalities under general group interests, which, in most cases, are actually those of the elite. Such discourse is intensely anti-universalist. Culture discourse in this manner tends to obfuscate other issues of value such as those that have to do with right and wrong inherent in social institutions and structures of particular societies, and it presents a false front of a simple monolithic cultural voice. It appears that the context of culture and its related discourse offer the safest bastion against the advance of transformative ideas such as human rights. Perhaps arguments made against the viability of human rights as a cultural project have been made within this framework. Chanock observes the incompatibility of human rights with culture, It is not easy to combine . . . a cultural view of rights, which implies that a consensus about rights is deeply embedded in, and reflective of, cultures. Rights would seem to belong to the disputed realm of politics rather than a deeper expressive realm of culture.8

Yet, culture stands as an important discursive category in talking about group difference in contemporary times.9 Culture seems to have superseded previously dominant terms such as ‘race, class or nationality’,10 which were easily susceptible to manipulation in Cold War politics. The stress on culture requires a readiness from human rights advocates to find appropriate resources from within cultures to strengthen people’s sense of entitlement to human rights as an integral part of their cultural self-awareness and expression. Presenting a global idea such as human rights in local idiom and symbols is one of the most effective ways to get people to understand, accept and identify with it.11 Thus, culture needs not be

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seen as an obstacle to the promotion and protection of human rights as it has generally been the case.12 Culture as a single homogenous and fossilized entity – a concept which, for a long time, was taken for granted in anthropological studies13 – is no longer a suitable proposition. Much of the culture talk in the dispute between universalism and relativism emanates from powerful segments of the societies concerned and often does not represent the voices of the majority.14 This necessitates subjecting culture as a discursive variable to critical analysis based on the context, purpose and meaning of its use.15 A synthesis of meanings based on scholarly works since the nineteenth century has presented culture as a taken-for-granted concept both among scholars and the wider public. A survey of a number of influential definitions of culture yields the following descriptive and explanatory meanings16: it is a ‘complex whole’17 or the ‘sum total’18 of all that contributes to shape and to enable a human being to live effectively in their environment and as a member of society. It is a community’s ‘complete design’ of living,19 and ‘learned behaviour’ in the sense that it is acquired.20 The content of the ‘complex whole’, the ‘sum total’ and what is ‘acquired’ includes knowledge and how to acquire it, belief, art, morals, law, customs, artistic norms, food habits, institutions, ideas and values. Which means it is the store of knowledge of a group contained in ‘memories, objects, and documents of men for further use’.21 This agrees with the highly influential definition by Geertz, which emphasizes the transmission of ‘meanings embodied in symbols’, or ‘inherited conceptions expressed in symbolic forms’.22 It is also in keeping with the 2001 Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity (UDCD) of UNESCO. The UDCD states, ‘culture should be regarded as the set of distinctive spiritual, material, intellectual and emotional features of society or a social group, and that it encompasses, in addition to art and literature, lifestyles, ways of living together, value systems, traditions and beliefs.’ Conscious of the tendency to misconstrue culture and abuse it, the Declaration provides in Article 4 that ‘no one may invoke cultural diversity to infringe upon human rights guaranteed by international law’. Several more years of scholarship since the middle of the twentieth century, and transformations that have taken place with rather unsettling speed, drawing the world together in a way that makes it impossible for cultures to exist in isolation have led to the questioning of the old assumptions about cultures. The emergence of rather sophisticated forms of communication and information dissemination and a phenomenal increase in migration have led to the general awareness that

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no cultural situation is homogenous, that no culture exists in isolation, and that cultural specificity can only occur by virtue of a local, parochial boundary maintenance in the face of an expanding world-wide field of locally available and perceived cultural alternatives.23

The implications of this for the concept of culture in contemporary scholarship are far reaching. It means that culture as a bounded, unique, holistic entity tied to an ethnic group and a particular place is no longer a viable concept. No individual or group of any society can be said to be the possessor of only one specific cultural form that is all-embracing and internally coherent.24 Notwithstanding the point made above, the concept of ‘culture’ or ‘cultures’, for most people, continues as a self-evident category that is undisputed. Thus the classical concept of culture that has been marked by the use of ethnonyms such as Akan culture, Yoruba culture or Gonja culture is still popular in various sectors. Certain factors are responsible for this situation. In the first place, culture is the context for the expression of primary identity. It is easy to express one’s identity as unique and different from others by invoking culture. Whether at the local, national or international level, the concept of culture is the first choice weapon in the arsenal of actors in negotiating conflicts over issues of power. Secondly, the concept of ‘culture’ has become a device in the effort to achieve unity and coherence as well as a device for legitimizing fragmentation. It is a mechanism for maintaining the stance of cultural relativism, justifying difference and widening gaps between peoples. With positions such as those upheld by the thesis of ‘Clash of Civilizations’, ‘culture’ becomes a concept that underlies presumed irresolvable differences between peoples. A residual understanding of culture as fossilized, bounded and monolithic widely exists among human rights workers, leading to an uncritical focus on culture as the most difficult of the implicating factors responsible for human rights abuses, especially of women. This leads also to the neglect of aspects of culture that promote human rights.25 So ‘culture’ or ‘cultures’ continue to exist as a self-evident reality in the consciousness of scholars, policy makers and the general public. This is why inculturation as a model for the exploration of issues of intercultural relevance remains viable and worthy of pursuit. However, cultures are complex subjects to investigate. They have outer or external aspects and invisible or internal aspects.26 The former includes the most obvious aspects of any culture, for example, dressing, food habits and the way mothers carry their babies; the latter includes world views and systems of values that are expressed through ritual, symbols and literature (written or oral).27 There is recognition that cultures are neither

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monolithic nor static. There are subcultures within the big representations; change is a constant feature of cultures.28 Our understanding of culture takes cognizance of these ramifications.

Human rights and cultural relativism The concern that the UDHR could be an imposition of values peculiar to Western Europe on other areas of the world, if it were uniformly applied, was expressed even before the document was born. In 1947, The Executive Board of the American Anthropological Association (AAA) issued a statement which they submitted to the UN Commission on Human Rights. The statement queried: ‘how can the proposed Declaration be applicable to all human beings, and not be a statement of rights conceived only in terms of the values prevalent in the countries of Western Europe and America?’29 Another portion of the statement said categorically that ‘man is free only when he lives as his society defines freedom’.30 The statement implies the idea that the values upheld by the human rights regime are defined differently by different societies and that it is unjustifiable to apply them uniformly and universally. Cultural relativism as a challenge to the concept of universal human rights did not go away after the UDHR was adopted in 1948. It came to be surrounded by a long controversy that was fuelled frequently by ideological rivalries for influence in world politics and the interest of political elites with various agenda in several non-Western countries. The debate gained renewed momentum, when in 1994 the former prime minister of Malaysia, Mahathir Mohamad, claimed that human rights as espoused by the UN system were different from what he referred to as ‘Asian values’.31 Promoted by other leaders of Asia such as Shintaro Ishihara, governor of Tokyo in Japan and Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore, the debate surrounding Asian values came to epitomize the universality versus cultural relativism controversy in human rights discourse. Although there is a significant waning of interest in the debate, the question still lurks around in the corridors of international politics and resurfaces occasionally. The AAA whose statement seems to have sparked off the debate has modified its position32 and the advocates of distinct ‘Asian values’ seem to have become less enthusiastic in staking their claims. However, while a consensus on the universality of human rights seems to have been reached, recognition of differences in cultural situations of regions and countries is implied in several declarations and attitudes of regional groupings and countries regarding

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human rights. Already mentioned is the Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action (1993), which in our view represents a significant stage in the process of synthesizing human rights. Regional mechanisms for the protection of human rights, which reflect regional peculiarities, have been fashioned and are working in almost all the regions of the world. Examples are the African Charter of Human and People’s Rights, described as an ‘African cultural fingerprint’,33 and the doctrine of ‘margin of appreciation’ of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR). The challenge of cultural relativism has engaged the attention of both Western and non-Western scholars, policy implementers and activists. Orentlicher has identified four major responses to the challenge.34 They are substantive accommodation, moral anthropology, procedural inclusiveness and transnational collaboration. Substantive accommodation refers to approaches that allow some measure of local exception or variations in the interpretation and application of universal human rights norms. She refers to the ‘margin of appreciation’35 allowed to contracting parties in the ECHR and what Donnelly calls ‘weak cultural relativism’36 as examples of this strategy. The second response, moral anthropology, seeks to locate a justification for universal human rights in their necessity to protect human agency based on the experience of grisly abuses visited by humanity on humanity in history. Such strategies derive from a natural intuition that human rights are necessary to assure the protection of human dignity because of the lessons of history. She cites as an example of this position, Michael Ignatieff ’s argument that it is the common human experience of pain in history and the capacity to imagine the pain of others that inform the basic intuitions to protect individuals from violence and abuse.37 Procedural inclusiveness starts with the acknowledgement of the exclusionary nature of the drafting process of the fundamental human rights instruments, but points to the fact of the involvement of all states as ostensible equal partners in subsequent international norm-setting as a progressive step towards achieving universal legitimacy. The fourth, which she says is closely related to procedural inclusiveness, is transnational collaboration. This is a practical strategy to secure the compliance of states with human rights norms. But it also has far-reaching implications for establishing and strengthening the legitimacy of human rights norms in, and across, the diverse world cultures. In this type of response, groups and individuals, principally non-state actors across the world, create relationships of networks in the pursuit of human rights. Such collaborations promote cross-cultural dialogue on human rights and thus help reinforce the acceptance of human rights as a genuine global culture.38

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An-Na’im and Hammond have proposed a ‘cultural transformation’ approach to human rights.39 The approach recommends using the dynamics of cultural transformation for the promotion of human rights in such a way that the validity of local variations is consistent with the universal norms in their implementation.40 They argue that the universality of human rights is to be achieved through a confluence of internal societal responses to injustice and oppression rather than transplanting ready-made concepts and implementation mechanisms developed in one context into another.41 The model of inculturation which we propose in the present work is underpinned by a similar assumption. Societies around the world and down the ages have had standards of justice and freedom, and have developed ways to respond to their aberrations. Such responses may not have been expressed in explicit rights language, but they are indications that the concept of rights is not alien to such societies.42 When the international concept and its related practices and institutions encounter these local standards and responses in a dialectical relationship, opportunities are enhanced for far-reaching transformations that can lead to the mutual benefit of the local and the international regimes. If people at the local level recognize universal standards in familiar currency, they will be more open to accepting them and thereby reinforce the legitimacy of the universal system. It is increasingly being acknowledged that voluntary, rather than enforced, compliance ought to be the norm; this can more easily happen when human rights norms have become an integral part of the moral psychology of persons and of the ethos of the community. Thus, it is important to look for popular acceptance and support for human rights norms beyond official formulations, which means serious and sustained engagement with cultural moral traditions. That is to say, we need to develop a strategy that is sensitive to both the goal of universality on the one hand, and the reality of particular cultural traditions on the other.43

Inculturation Inculturation as a concept emerged in twentieth-century Christian theology. It emerged in the practical context of the mission field in response to the widely felt need to relate the Christian faith – its theology, liturgy and institutions – to the different local cultural and social contexts of the world. The term is actually an adapted form of ‘enculturation’, which in cultural anthropology connotes

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the ‘process of acquiring the cultural traditions of a society’.44 In dealing with human rights, one wonders whether the concept ‘contextualization’ instead of ‘inculturation’ would not have been more appropriate. This question is raised in the light of the oft-repeated distinction drawn between the two: that whereas ‘contextualization’45 and ‘liberation’46 deal with issues of politics and social justice, ‘inculturation’ deals only with issues of culture narrowly defined as involving such elements as ‘language, symbols and rites’. However, as Brinkman points out, culture goes beyond these elements to include ‘conditions for material existence’.47 Thus, inculturation in the context of this work includes all the issues often isolated and dealt with under ‘contextualization’ or ‘liberation’ theology as well as those that became the focus of the post-Cold War African theology of ‘reconstruction’.48 It is proposed as a neutral hermeneutical model in response to the challenge of cultural relativism and the increasing recognition of the propriety of embedding human rights in the various cultures of the world. The strength of this model in explaining the tensions between a universal culture and local symbols and their meanings and how these tensions have been negotiated, or are being negotiated, in the Ghanaian context is what we attempt to exploit. The danger to any process of inculturation is to engage a culture at the superficial level, dwelling on the explicit, to the neglect of the deeper underlying invisible dimensions. Inculturation engages culture at all levels but, especially, at the deep level of meaning. Yet cultures, in their most widespread reach, are not represented by what their sophisticated intellectuals and famous artists think. Nussbaum cautions, It would be bizarre to treat Plato (an aristocratic disdainful of the democratic culture around him) as representative of ‘ancient Greek values,’ just as it would be bizarre to treat Karl Marx as representative of ‘German values,’ or James Joyce as representative of ‘Irish values.’49

She notes that people commonly make such mistakes when they study distant cultures. She advises broad reading and an effort to ‘discover a wide spectrum of popular thinking’ as a way of avoiding such mistakes.50 The directional or formal dialogue element involved in the ‘process of inculturation’ as discussed below takes this piece of advice into account. Current realities make it prudent to treat culture in any local context as involving diverse segments and given to continuous processes of construction and reconstruction. The dynamic nature of local cultures must be too obvious to point out; though scholars who fail to take notice of this fact have not been few. In

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the case of Africa, a long history of intra-regional encounter as well as encounter with the wider world has, together with other factors, produced a situation of continuous cultural change that affects institutions, creates new symbols and reinterprets old ones. This development continuously alters the people’s understanding of, and attitudes to, the various forms of power arrangements at the various levels. The drawing of the curtain on the colonial experience was followed by a scene depicting hurriedly contrived ‘European-model’ nation-states, made up of previously independent ethno-political units struggling to achieve integration. In terms of culture, therefore, African societies, in the majority of cases, are not only dynamic and plural but also complex and hybrid. But this view about cultures as dynamic, complex and hybrid is true of almost all societies anywhere in the world. Cultures are ‘complex mixtures, often incorporating elements originally foreign’.51 Hence, the study of culture in Africa as elsewhere must pay attention to the varied sensibilities at play in what is often treated as a single referent as in phrases such as ‘African culture’ or ‘Asian values’. The different strands, the ‘conflicts’ and ‘rebellions’,52 and the processes of evolution and incorporation of new ideas must be taken note of in any study that would claim contemporary relevance. It is appropriate, at this point, to discuss what we mean by ‘inculturation of human rights’. Twentieth-century contextual Christian theologies were interdisciplinary in orientation, combining the social, economic and political sciences with religious studies, cultural anthropology and the traditional theological disciplines based on the Bible and other church traditions.53 Inculturation theology is one of such theologies. Discourse on contextual theologies has included questioning the appropriateness or adequacy of the various terms and the concepts they imply54 and whether they address comprehensively the missionary concerns of specific contexts. Houtepen and Ploeger capture such concerns concisely in their delineation of three audiences with which Christianity had to dialogue as part of mission in the twentieth century: the poor, living faiths of humankind and manifold cultures.55 In the present work, the engagement of these three audiences by the church is understood as part of the inculturation process. That means, we do not share the view, which seeks to compartmentalize contextual theological approaches into ‘contextualization’ or ‘liberation’ and ‘inculturation’ or ‘ethnographic’ approaches.56 Therefore, applying it to the secular idea of human rights, inculturation may be understood as a process of encounter between the universal and the local that eventually results in the activation and redevelopment of local elements, which

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share some affinity with the universal elements in such a way that both the local and the universal are mutually transformed. The local becomes harmonized with the universal in essentials while its unique set of local expressions becomes a pattern that adds to the richness of the universal. The resulting local version overlaps in meaning and practice with other local versions and harmonizes with the global version. The overarching global regime then comes to find justification in ‘multi-local’ groundings.57 Inculturation of human rights does not mean the abolition of the local culture by the global one, or the assimilation of the local by the global or the local culture seeking to preserve itself against the global. It is the two cultures – the global and the local – engaging each other in a creative encounter at the conceptual and the practical levels in order to discover, develop and use appropriate concepts, values and other aspects of the local culture for the enhancement of human rights in the local context and for the enrichment of the universal regime. This comes close to Brinkman’s concept of double transformation.58 Our aim is to identify ‘social properties’ of the local culture that explicitly or implicitly resonate with the concept and practice of international human rights. It is also to show how the two, encountering each other in a constructive engagement, may lead to the activation of those local social properties to serve as familiar currencies in which international human rights norms could be easily recognized and expressed by members of the local culture.

Cultural relativism and inculturation The model of inculturation is most appropriate in discussing the issue of cultural relativism as a persistent problematic in human rights discourse. In the first place, while inculturation is sensitive to cultural diversity, it pursues a non-relativist approach to human rights. Although it upholds the legitimacy of different cultural expressions of human rights, it does so through a creative dialogue with the universal concept and expressions found in other cultures. Ter Haar actually draws a difference between cultural relativism and cultural sensitivity and points out that cultural relativism leads to a separate development of human rights while cultural sensitivity makes possible a process of mutually enriching dialogue.59 Secondly, it enables the previously colonized non-Western communities to use important values, original to their own cultural heritage, in the cause of human rights. Their ways of life have previously been commonly written off as of no moral or historical worth by the colonialists.60

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Thirdly, inculturation takes seriously the facts of cultural pluralism and diversity. In inculturation, cultural particularities are not denied but affirmed and enabled to mesh with the universal in a creative way, so that the universal becomes identified with the local without suffering distortions. Our inculturation model allows no room for a monolithic approach to expressing universal cultural phenomena. The founding vision of human rights as a universal value-system with which various nations have bound themselves in covenants and conventions allows for variations. Indeed, the UN system of human rights, at its founding, did not envisage sudden maturation of societies in the application of the norms it set forth. Rather, the UDHR is proclaimed to the end that ‘by teaching and education’ and by ‘progressive measures’, ‘universal and effective recognition and observance’ shall be secured.61 Fourthly, inculturation is appropriate because it is more practical than theoretical and occurs in the context of the concrete experience of the encounter between the local culture and the universal one. The relevance of this last point for effective human rights advocacy and activism cannot be overemphasized. Since inculturation begins with a spontaneous dialogue between the universal and the local in the local context, it is bound to employ symbols and other means of communication that are intimately familiar to the ordinary person. The language of inculturation is often the language of the ordinary person. Fifth, the inculturation model is appropriate also because it applies to all cultures. Since we regard human rights as representing universal ‘dream values’ that need to be developed in the various local cultures, it may be said that all human rights regimes, including European and American ones, are inculturated. The various regional mechanisms with their own peculiarities, in a way, represent inculturated versions of universal human rights. Sixth, the appropriateness of our model of inculturation lies in the fact that one of its underlying convictions is that cultures are not static and change in response to both internal promptings and external stimuli. This recognition in itself is an important stimulus to the study of processes of cultural transformation. Lastly, in most countries of the South, traditional institutions and customary laws continue to form the primary context within which the dignity of individuals and groups is negotiated. The process of modernization has not, in many cases, been accompanied by the establishment and adequate growth and spread of appropriate institutions of governance that can ensure the protection of human rights. Most people, therefore, continue to depend on traditional institutions and customary law.62 Inculturation, while it does not unduly disrupt the cultural life of communities, sets in motion a process of transformation that utilizes the

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virtuous elements of a culture and prunes it of undesirable ones through the element of confrontation, which we discuss below. As argued in the previous chapter, the claim by almost all religious traditions to have ‘fathered human rights’, and the formulation of interfaith and intra-faith versions of the UDHR, as well as the emergence of regional and national mechanisms, rather than being seen as evidence of the alleged alien nature of human rights to most cultures, must be understood as proof of the universal nature of the values they represent. Although, acknowledgement must be made of the fact that not all such attempts may pass a ‘test of orthodoxy’, if rigorously applied.63 In matters of intercultural nature, modern Western scholarship has tended to be less evaluative of other cultures. This tendency seems to be partly the result of the relativist challenge. It also seems to stem from a feeling of guilt caused by the realization that many of the earliest reports about non-Western societies and the conclusions based on them were spurious. This feeling of guilt is often exploited by politicians of the South who in many cases, in their attempts to cover up their misrule, blackmail Westerners by constantly reminding them of the ‘evils’ of colonialism and imperialism. With the loss of credibility of former paradigms that guided Western scholarship on non-Western societies and the missionary enterprise, the new paradigm that emerged was in the category of what Martha Nussbaum calls normative skepticism.64 In the academic study of religion, especially, the student is normally taught to ‘suspend’ all normative judgements regarding truth and falsehood. Similarly, so much of African scholarship about African culture also lacks critical evaluation. Gifford observes how East African inculturation theologians, particularly, romanticize African culture and dismiss positive contributions of modernity to African civilization.65 According to Merry, one of the several conundrums in applying human rights to local situations is that ‘human rights ideas are more readily adopted if they are packaged in familiar terms, but they are more transformative if they challenge existing assumptions about power and relationships’.66 However, in our view, packaging ‘human rights in familiar terms’ and challenging ‘existing assumptions’ need not be mutually exclusive. The inculturation of human rights as a transformative process must necessarily involve the evaluation of existing ideas and practices and their underlying assumptions. In dealing with human rights, it would be a fundamental deficiency to be non-evaluative. The realm of human rights is the realm where issues of justice and injustice are clarified and sorted out; where liberty is clear virtue over any form of oppression. It is the realm of fundamental equality where exclusion is always a vice and inclusion a

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virtue. Deprivation, discrimination and cruelty encountered anywhere must be named for what they are, even if they are clothed in the colourful apparel of an exotic culture.67 Finally, a clear strength of inculturation over other approaches is that it supplies grounds for drawing on both ‘positivist’ and ‘naturalist’ positions. This meshes well with the decision to take as the starting point of this study the understanding of human rights in terms of the contemporary normative system. Grounded in ‘human dignity’, they represent and articulate values that transcend positive law68; especially so, when such values predate their positivist expressions in the contemporary normative system. These values, representing the most sublime and the ideal virtues in world cultures, have been articulated, developed and spread in answer to the cry and yearnings of many suffering individuals and groups in various societies.

Hermeneutical model explained The hermeneutical model of inculturation of human rights, as proposed in this book, involves four analytical elements: spontaneous or popular dialogue, translation, confrontation, and directional or formal dialogue. These are neither unconnected nor sequential stages. They are overlapping elements that may be present together at the same time throughout the endless process of social change. In the context of Christian theology too different levels have been discerned. Arrupe observed, ‘Inculturation includes various and diverse levels which must be distinguished but which cannot be separated’.69 The first element in this model of the inculturation of human rights, spontaneous or popular dialogue, may be identified at the primary stage of the process. In most cases, inculturation starts as a practical process of transformation, engaging concrete situations at the popular level, independent of, and outside the awareness of, the formal or official sectors of the society. Scholars and technocrats who eventually notice the development may then take steps to theorize or give formal intellectual or policy direction to it. History throws up countless instances of how elements of culture or civilizations have spread and established themselves, beginning with the less reflective masses (though, almost always, what appear to be spontaneous actions of the grass roots have actually sprouted from seeds dropped from the high towers of sophisticated thinkers of contemporary or by-gone eras). Such elements eventually develop into dominant paradigms, sometimes rendering anachronistic

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established systems that have been thought traditional. David Thompson notes the ‘remote and indirect’ connection between the ideas of leading thinkers like Voltaire, Montesquieu, Diderot and Rousseau and the occurrence of the French revolution.70 At the primary stage where spontaneous/popular dialogue occurs, inculturated elements often include high doses of ambiguities71; but they provide the starting point for a continuous and unavoidable dialogue towards the emergence of a new cultural reality. Usually, the slow spread of ideas and other cultural elements explode in revolutions when the environment is conducive.72 In other instances, their spread leads to milder agitations that compel powerful segments of communities to negotiate with the lower and weaker segments in order to rearrange the political, economic and social norms in saner ways. It has been held in some quarters that the emergence and development of human rights have been characterized, not by peaceful consensual processes but by clamorous contestations and violent revolutions.73 The revolutionary origins of classical rights documents such as the American Bill of Rights and the French Declaration of the Rights of Man are cited in support of this position. Martin Chanock, for example, takes this position and maintains that human rights have grown in societies by ‘a repudiation of the immediate political and legal order’ and not by historical evolution.74 However, it has been observed that unlike Europe and elsewhere where human rights have had what has been called ‘catastrophic origins’,75 the African experience has been one of peaceful evolution because of the culture of consensus building in matters pertaining to politics and social change. Though this is largely true, in the local histories and traditions of several African ethnic states or chiefdoms, one can find examples of general discontent exploding into popular revolts and compelling power-holders to negotiate with their people. Sometimes such revolts have resulted in the overthrow of a particular ruler, though they hardly result in complete overhaul of political arrangements as occurred in the case of France, for example. In Ghana, the settling of political and social issues has sometimes taken the form of crisis marked by sustained agitations against the custodians of power by commoners led by Asafo groups.76 Boahen reports of how, in Kwahu in 1915, widespread dissatisfaction among the citizenry led to agitations that culminated in the signing of a document that set out to address the problem of arbitrariness in fines imposed by the chiefs’ and to make the Traditional Council more representative.77 An old tradition of the Ga, recorded by Reindorf, points to the occurrence of stormy political developments in precolonial times which led the ordinary people to find ways of freeing themselves from the tyranny of cruel rulers. The

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tradition tells the story of Dede Akaibi, a strong-willed queen whose tyrannical rule over the people of Accra ended when she was buried alive.78 The details of the story provide an illustration of what Kwasi Wiredu refers to as the ‘futility of any attempt to control people’s thinking’.79 Before her tragic end, the queen had ordered the young men in her dominion to eliminate all the old and elderly by killing them; but this cruel injunction had not been widely obeyed. People hid their elderly relatives and reported that they had been killed. Definitely, after such a traumatic political experience, the people of Accra must have taken steps to reorganize power relations in ways that would minimize abuse and enhance the welfare of citizens.80 Translation forms the second element in our inculturation model. Again, the history of religions demonstrates the power of translation in the rooting of purported transcultural elements in local cultures. Sanneh, especially, has drawn attention to how translation of the Christian scriptures into the various mother tongues in Africa led to cultural renewal.81 The preservation of indigenous terms for basic doctrinal and ethical concepts in the process of translation has been significant in making Christianity indigenous to the African. For example, societies that have retained the indigenous name for God in the translation of the scriptures seem to have experienced a more rapid expansion of the Christian faith than others have.82 The same is said about Islam among the Hausa in northern Nigeria. The vernacularization of the Arabic alphabets and translation of some major texts of Islam into Hausa language has made Hausaland the most important and influential Islamic centre in West Africa.83 It is also said that Buddhism came to be so deeply rooted in Tibet because of the translation of the Buddhist texts into the mother tongue.84 Similarly, it is explained that the early rapid growth of Christianity in Korea was due to the use of vernacular from the very beginning.85 Accessibility to transforming ideas and concepts in a people’s mother tongue is an important route to creativity and sustainable development.86 Nevertheless, translation does not occur simply at the level of linguistics. Translation, in this case, refers to engagement between human rights and the local culture at the deep level of meaning so that the local expressions will spring out of the inner worlds of the local culture in a natural, effortless way. This might include translation in the linguistic sense but it goes beyond that into the deep recesses of the culture, linking up with its central myths or meta-narratives, finding expressions in its symbols and institutions, and reflecting in the reshaping of systemic arrangements. Such translation, when it serves as the basis of formal translations, involves very little danger of rendering human rights abstract ideals

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that are unrelated to the concrete, real-life situations of the vulnerable masses.87 But translated cultural elements often entail distortions or plain syncretistic aberrations, and it is always necessary at the directional or formal dialogue level to examine critically and refine existing popular translations. Confrontation refers to the situation whereby seemingly diverse and incompatible elements clash. It involves contestations, negotiations, rejections and compromises. It leads to the clarification, re-conceptualization and rearrangement of aspects of the local culture that imply a contradiction with the values, which the universal system sets out to protect and promote. Inculturation does not imply a free for all enterprise, with an independent parochial interpretation and expression of the universal culture in which everything is true or right and none is given. It is possible, however, in confrontation, to gain new perspectives that might point to a weakness in, or a blurred side of, the global culture which needs rethinking. An example, which is rather too general, could be seen in the dialectical relationship between the traditional Western idea of human rights, which to a large extent dominated the UN system at its beginning, and the ideas of countries of the South that are latecomers to the international regime. Many commentators have noted the ever-expanding frontiers of human rights to include issues that the dominant Western conception left out of its list. If economic, cultural, social and environmental issues have become inseparable aspects of the contemporary human rights system, it is because of confrontations in the encounter of cultures. Similarly, countries of the South have been compelled to rethink their understanding of issues of individual autonomy and related liberty rights which they previously underemphasized. Directional or formal dialogue refers to formal interventions aimed at clarifying ambiguous aspects of the inculturated version. It is mainly technocrats and scholars that are engaged in the process. At this level, state institutions of governance are involved. Parliaments and equivalent subordinated institutions at the lower levels, including the courts and other relevant institutions, may now in their work consciously and deliberately take into account what socio-cultural treasures are available to exploit or build upon.

Conclusion The inculturation model focuses on culture, not as an impediment to developing a viable human rights culture but as enhancing any such project. The model, as it has been defined for the purposes of this study, does not approach culture as a

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unified, static and fixed entity. Ghana shares in the problems that former colonial African states commonly face in terms of challenges presented by the need to weld together the different ethnic groups that are brought together to form one nation with a common culture. Moreover, interactions with the outside world have, to a certain extent, inserted Africa into the phenomenon of globalization. This further compounds the problem of African societies with respect to the issue of ‘national’ cultures. While most countries struggle to weld their peoples with diverse ethnic cultures into one, they also have to be able to manage the continuous influence from foreign cultures via the many vehicles that enable easy accessibility  – travel, education, internet and other media. Nonetheless, Africans do not only talk about ‘African culture’, but they also talk about cultures of the individual countries, for example, ‘Ghanaian culture’, ‘Nigerian culture’ or ‘Guinean culture’. The next chapter seeks to answer the question: ‘Is there a common Ghanaian culture?’

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Does Ghana Have a Common Culture? Exploring Historical Processes of a National Identity Construction

In spite of the widely recognized fact of the hybridity and dynamism of cultures in modern times, it is still commonly assumed that cultural totalities exist as part of objective social reality. Claims to a unified single national ‘cultural identity’ are invoked for important purposes such as the pursuit of national integration or the projection of a distinctive national identity to secure the loyalty of citizens.1 African nations have a rather pressing need to find creative ways to nurture and sustain a sense of collective identity critical for the building and maintenance of a united country. At independence, a sharp awareness of this need led the political leaders of the continent to engage in the construction of symbols and ‘rituals’ around ideological formulations. Such formulations assumed the existence of qualities or properties of essential ‘Ghanaianness’, ‘Nigerianness’ or even ‘Africanness’, on the basis of which political leaders and thinkers sought to recreate a new national and transnational consciousness and loyalty. These were meant to supersede the previously differentiated ethnic-based identities and loyalties.2 Therefore, to talk about a ‘common Ghanaian culture’ is to establish legitimate grounds for stability and the holding together of Ghana as a nation-state. This is reflected in the conviction underlying the passage of PNDC Law 238 of 1990 which established the National Commission on Culture (NCC). This Law seeks to promote the evolution of an integrated ‘National Culture’ and create a ‘distinct Ghanaian personality to be reflected in African and world affairs’. Constructing broad cultures or civilizations has not been just a project of political utility. The world of scholarship has also, sometimes, found the need to engage in such broad constructions as a framework for analysis. One of the best known but controversial examples is Huntington’s delineation of broad ‘civilizations’ of the world that constitute fault lines that ought to be closely

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monitored with perpetual alertness, since the mildest tremor occurring around them could cause costly damage to international peace and security.3 While Huntington’s thesis has evoked much criticism,4 probably due to its related doomsday predictions, the classification of the world or peoples into broad ‘culture areas’ or ‘civilizations’ has not been unknown in scholarship. With respect to Africa, Herskovits and Maquet have attempted to delineate different civilizations or culture areas. Herskovits, in 1962, identified different ‘culture areas’ that made it possible to ‘see the similarities and differences between African cultures in continental perspective’.5 His classification was principally geographical. In 1972, Maquet based his classification of ‘civilizations’ on historical factors.6 However, both of them seem to have ignored the fluid and overlapping character of the blocs in their classifications. Made up of autonomous ethnic states forcibly put together as one country, modern Ghana shares the anxieties of other former colonial African countries about integration and stability.7 Such anxieties, produced by the tension caused by a multiple-layered sense of identity, lead to inner conflicts that often afflict the consciousness of citizens and pose tremendous challenges to the growing new nations. When such conflicts occasionally burst out, they provide another pretext for invoking ‘culture’ as the basis of a sub-national identity with corresponding subcultures, claiming a basic ethnic uniqueness against all others. In this case, people may talk, for example, about ‘Akan culture’, ‘Ga culture’ or ‘Ewe culture’; or even as it has happened in recent times during elections, ‘Muslim north’ and ‘Christian south’.8 This chapter explores what it means to talk about ‘a common Ghanaian culture’. Attempts are made not only to identify the major features of this evolving culture but also to trace its roots and historical development. This will enable us to situate properly in context the inculturation model employed in this work.

Peoples of Ghana and their common culture The ethnic and linguistic heterogeneity9 of Ghana is one of the most prominent features of its social structure.10 It may be difficult to state in exact terms the number of indigenous ethnic groups in the country.11 However, recent classifications divide the people into eight major ethnic groupings plus other smaller tribes.12 The eight are the Akan, the Ewe, the Ga-Adangme, the Guan, the Gurma, the Grusi, the Mande-Busanga and the Mole-Dagbani. Each of these major groups has several subgroups, marked by sub-linguistic differences. While

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the traditional settlements of the Akan, Ewe, and Ga-Adangme groups are found mainly in the middle and southern parts of the country, the Guans are found scattered across the country. The Mole-Dagbani, the Gurma and the Grusi and Mande-Busanga groups are found mainly in the northern part. The Akan group which is the largest, constituting 49.1 per cent of the total population is divisible into two main linguistic groups, Twi and Mfantse. The various Ewe subgroups are also marked by local variations in terms of language and aspects of political and social life; yet there is considerable cultural uniformity to distinguish them together as one group. They form 12.7 per cent of the population of Ghana. The Ga-Adangme group which constitute 8.0 per cent of the population is not completely homogenous. It appears that the Ga people are a mix of migrant and autochthonous groups. The Adangme and the Ga are closely related and they constitute a distinct linguistic group.13 The Guan group which forms 4.4 per cent of the population have been absorbed, in some cases, into Akan linguistic groups, but they retain aspects of their culture, especially the patrilineal inheritance system. In other cases, they retain their language as minority groups in small traditional states in southern Ghana, with the Cherepong, Larteh and Anum together constituting the largest group. The Gonja and other Guan groups in the northern part of the country retain their distinctive languages and culture, though there is evidence of strong Akan influence. Figures for the rest are as follows: the Mole-Dagbani 16.5 per cent, the Grusi 2.8 per cent, the Gurma 3.9 per cent, the Mande-Busanga 1.1 per cent and all other tribes 1.5 per cent. Each of these is also marked by linguistic and subcultural distinctions, but cultural commonalities among them are quite strong. According to Gyekye, the word ‘culture’ as it has evolved ‘has come to refer to patterns of thought and ways of acting and behaving that have been created, fostered, and nurtured by a people over time and by which their lives are guided and, perhaps, conditioned’.14 Such ‘patterns of thought and ways of acting and behaving’ are evident in belief and value systems, and in the structure and operation of political, legal and social institutions. They are also expressed in the arts and sciences. By ‘Ghanaian culture’ is meant ‘the shared patterns of thought and ways of acting and behaving that have been created, fostered, and nurtured’ by the people of the modern nation-state of Ghana, and which guide the lives of individuals, groups and institutions there. It needs to be added quickly that the ‘creation’, ‘fostering’ and ‘nurturing’ of these ‘shared patterns of thought and ways of acting and behaving’ has not ended but is ongoing, continually responding to new situations and exigencies. Furthermore, the shared elements of the culture

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are not to be understood in terms of a uniform set of thought and behaviour patterns, which characterize every Ghanaian individual or group. While scholars have made attempts to outline, in broad terms, the features of a common Ghanaian culture,15 it must not be understood as implying a fossilized or static, self-contained, uniform culture, isolated from the rest of the world. The long and sustained interaction among the peoples of the world through immigration, trade, wars and political expansionism has ensured that cultures are regarded as eclectic and dynamic. The varieties of traditional cultures in Ghana representing the various ethnic groups differ in some respects. However, ‘there are deep underlying affinities running through these cultures which justify speaking of a Ghanaian culture’.16 The various ethnic societies that together constitute modern Ghana had various forms of interaction among themselves and with other West African peoples before the encounter with the Arabs and Europeans. They have also been exposed to other outside contacts and influences since the colonial times. The roots of a common Ghanaian culture, therefore, go deep into history and connect with several other cultures  – European, Arab and other African. These roots draw on ideas, values and practices made common to the whole world by the various forms of global interaction in contemporary times. In that sense, what we have called a common Ghanaian culture must be understood as a phenomenon that is still evolving. A common culture must not be understood in terms of total uniformity. The long period in which various ethnic cultures have existed side by side with each other, coupled with a growing consciousness of a national identity, has necessarily led to diffusion and convergence of cultural elements. If Ghana has been able to hold together for more than 50 years as a united country, it is because ‘all the subcultures within it embrace, to some extent, an overarching culture of shared values, collective symbols, norms, rules, attitudes and behavior patterns . . .’17 Any discussion of a common Ghanaian culture must therefore, include an analysis of the dynamic relationship between the traditional and contemporary elements within it. It must also involve an effort not to ignore elements that have been applicable only at certain stages but have eventually receded into oblivion or have reverted to their status as elements restricted to particular ethnic groups. In 1962, Antubam, an artist, provided a list of features of a ‘Ghanaian common culture’.18 Though his list is quite long, for the sake of comprehensive analysis, it is appropriate to reproduce it in some detail. It includes the idea of the existence of one great God as an integral member of society; belief in life after death as a vital source of hope; the belief in the perpetual existence of life, in which there

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is a cycle of pregnancy, life, death and a period of waiting in a universal pool of spiritual existence with a subsequent state of reincarnation, by which it is possible to change one’s lot for better or for worse; the belief in the sanctity of man as opposed to woman in society; the belief in the idea that man is born free from sin and the idea that he remains so until he is involved in some polluting circumstance in life, as opposed to the Jewish and Christian idea of man born with original sin which he is said to have inherited from his ancestors Adam and Eve; and the idea of the beauty of thought, speech, action and appearance as a basic and necessary prerequisite for appointment to the high office of state. Also included in the list are the ability to produce a child as a necessary factor for the continuance of marriage; the importance of marriage as a criterion for social status; the peculiar conception that it is improper and obscene to say thanks soon after one has been offered food by a neighbour; the idea of the left hand being symbolically female and obscene and the right being male and socially proper; the conception of society in terms of seven clans; the principle of age as a vital criterion of wisdom; and spontaneity in self-expression. Some other items on Antubam’s list are the system of social discipline and inheritance; the custom of counting from one to ten without stopping at five; and the tendency to stress in all forms of art the quality of significance as a criterion of beauty. While Antubam’s list captures many aspects of Ghana’s common culture, it also contains items that are exaggerations or no longer pertain. It is also obvious that in many cases he has generalized Akan cultural elements as representative of a universal Ghanaian culture. Akan cultural elements may dominate what may be regarded as a common ‘Ghanaian culture’ due to the size and distribution of the Akan ethnic group,19 which enable interactions between them and almost every other group in the country. This has led to a situation of mutual influences that have produced a fusion of cultural ideas and practices. The story of Adam and Eve of the Judeo-Christian tradition has virtually become incorporated into popular Ghanaian culture. However some of the items are too restrictedly Akan to be delineated as elements of a common culture for the whole country. Both Mends20 and Wiredu21 have rightly criticized Antubam on this account. Mends proposes a shorter list, which he describes as ‘some basic elements in the culture of Ghana’, and which is less controversial than Antubam’s list. His list of six elements includes two elements in Antubam’s list. His list is as follows: the importance that is attached to group life; the importance of kinship as represented in the institutional form of the extended family system irrespective of the differences of descent systems; chieftaincy and its symbolic significance; the pervasiveness and stress on ceremony and ritual in

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many aspects of social life; the idea of beauty of speech, thought, action and appearance as a prerequisite for appointment to high office; the tendency to stress, in all forms of art, the quality of significance as a criterion of beauty and virtue.22 Whiles Mends’s list takes account of significant features of a common Ghanaian culture, he does not seem interested in issues of the ‘inside’, out of which flow the external and expressive aspects of culture. He largely avoids issues of metaphysics and religion, and though his second item includes the ‘stress on ceremony and ritual in many aspects of social life’, he does not elaborate on issues of belief and world view. The world view of a people, and the beliefs associated with it, often constitute an important part of the wellsprings of their cultural expressions. One would, therefore, expect that in the discussion of culture the issues of world view and beliefs would find a mention. However, almost all the elements on his list are discernible features of the evolving common culture. Wiredu offers another list.23 Some of his elements are elaborations of aspects that Antubam and Mends have already mentioned. He includes in his list the following elements: kindness to strangers; reverence for ancestors and other departed relatives who are believed to be able to affect the living; the belief in the existence and influence of lesser gods as agents of the one supreme God; belief in witchcraft and a variety of spirits, fetishes and powers, both good and bad; the belief that human beings are born into the world with an unalterable destiny bestowed in advance by God; and the tendency to stress, not just in forms of art but in sundry other practices, the quality of significance. Other items are: the institution of polygamy and the high esteem for large families; the emphasis on the beauty and correctness of speech as a condition not only for high office of state but also for general social respectability; the influence of myths, totemism and taboos in thought and action; the attachment of a religious significance to the office of a chief, with reverence for and complete obedience to his authority, except where that is undermined by his own wickedness or malpractice; the high premium placed on consensus in group endeavour and a great capacity for reconciliation after even the bitterest conflict or dissension; and the education of children through informal day-to-day upbringing rather than through formal institutions. Wiredu’s synthesis is fairly representative of the features of an evolving universal Ghanaian culture, partly, because he built on the lists supplied by scholars who worked on the subject before him. Many items in this list feature often in individual and group behaviour. Some of the clearly positive ones also feature in collective self-representations of citizens at the popular level. For

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example, when Ghanaians want to express their sense of uniqueness, as in being different from nationals of neighbouring and other nations, they point to the claimed national virtue of ‘kindness to strangers’, which is expressed in the popular phrase ‘Ghanaian hospitality’.24 They also see themselves as ‘peace-loving’ and ‘God-fearing’. It seems that some West African neighbours also identify this with Ghanaianness, not always in positive terms, though. Towards the beginning of the restoration of democracy in Nigeria, when it appeared General Abacha wanted to manipulate the transitional process in order to transform himself into a civilian president as his friend Rawlings had done in Ghana, the renowned Nigerian writer Wole Soyinka is reported to have issued the warning: ‘Abacha, Nigeria is not Ghana’, appearing to be drawing attention to the fact that the Nigerian spirit is not as pacific as the Ghanaian. This is in keeping with what Wiredu describes as ‘great capacity for reconciliation even after the bitterest conflict or dissension’. This indeed has virtually been raised to the level of a national characteristic and is captured in the expression Fa ma Nyame (give it to God), which is sometimes condemned as negative by social commentators.25 Another example of contemporary significance is the stress on beauty as a condition for high office. It appears that the beauty or handsomeness of candidates remains a major criterion for the choice of political leaders in Ghana.26 However, several of these cultural characteristics mentioned above may be found mainly in rural Ghanaian communities as residuals of abandoned traditional moral ideals of an era that is gradually passing away. At best, they retain only a weak hold on small sections of the citizenry. For example, polygamy and large families are gradually becoming a thing of the past among many of the younger generation of citizens. Most educated people below the age of 50 would neither be involved in polygamous marriages nor go for large families. ‘School’ or formal education as a means of training children is more and more becoming the norm; in some cases, it combines with the informal day-to-day method of training children. New challenges that have come with economic and social changes since the middle of the 1980s have further weakened traditional structures related to the family system that provided the framework for the informal training of children. Nevertheless, most of the items in the lists are still observable characteristics of Ghanaian culture. Elements listed by Wiredu, such as reverence for ancestors and other departed relatives who are believed to be able to affect the living; the belief in the existence of lesser deities as agents of the one supreme God; the belief in witchcraft and variety of spirits, fetishes and powers, both good and bad; and the belief that human beings are born into the world with an unalterable

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destiny bestowed in advance by God that are related to traditional metaphysics and religion, have become the wellsprings that irrigate a contemporary popular culture which is largely underpinned by the traditional understanding of the world as full of spirits and as essentially sacred.27 It is within this basic world view that many Ghanaians live their lives and relate to other aspects of the environment. The continuing central place of religious belief in public behaviour in Ghana is partly due to what Assimeng has described as ‘the resilience of traditional conceptions of well-being’.28 At the base of this is the belief that evil deeds of individuals and societies attract negative spiritual influences that ultimately affect the general well-being of individuals and the country. This kind of value orientation informs the thinking and behaviour of most Ghanaians as they engage daily in various activities – economic, political and social.29 There is virtually nothing more to add to the above lists except four features, which, arguably, are important as part of the evolving Ghanaian culture, especially at the popular level. They include an optimistic attitude to life, expressed in the phrase ‘ebeye yie’ (it shall be well); greeting a group of people by handshake in anticlockwise manner (originally a practice in southern Ghana communities, it is gradually extending to the north through the various forms of contacts)30; an attitude of unquestioning acquiescence to authority, expressed in the oft-repeated phrase: ‘order from above’31; and ready deference to people of influence.

The roots of Ghanaian culture It has become almost conventional to interpret the history of the emergence of Ghana as a nation-state in terms of artificiality, disregarding the natural affinities that exist between the different ethnic groups.32 Smock and Smock observe that several historians and commentators have simply assumed that Ghana, like most modern African countries, began its evolution into a nation-state with the onset of colonialism.33 The implication of such an approach to the issue of the emergence of Ghana as a socio-political unit is that it comes to be regarded as a conglomeration of disparate tribal units, with no natural connections with one another, either in terms of history or culture. Yet, apart from its external borders and state structures that may be said to have been artificially created, cultural bonds between the various ethnic groups are, to a large extent, natural. While the colonial experience was significant in many respects, it should be seen as only one of the several important stages in a natural process of evolution which it disturbed in some way. Colonialism bequeathed

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its structures of modern nationhood to the independent nation-state, but the sense of belonging together as one people started to evolve long before the first European arrived. Colonialism actually interfered with what was a fairly natural process of evolution and distorted what could have been the physical borders and naturally evolved political systems of the nation-state that eventually emerged.34 In a series of lectures at the University of Ghana in 1995, the British historian Ivor Wilks raised serious questions about the tendency on the part of some historians to trace the beginning of a history that binds together the peoples of Ghana to the colonial era.35 What we have called a common Ghanaian culture has its roots in the various stages of a historical process during which a sense of bonding as a people who belong together emerged progressively. In this section, an attempt is made to trace this process, which in a sense is still ongoing.

Migrations Historians speak about extensive cultural interactions among the peoples of West Africa that must have occurred in the period between 500 C.E. and 1000 C.E.36 These interactions involved migrations of peoples from one part of the subcontinent to another. The forebears of many of the ethnic groups in contemporary Ghana were part of this development. According to scholars, the peopling of the land was marked by continuous movements of groups in different directions.37 Consensus among scholars on the nature of these migrations and their exact trails is difficult to reach.38 But there is almost complete unanimity that such movements did take place.39 Studies of oral traditions of origins have enabled scholars to build reasonably plausible theories of migrations and resettlements. The Guans were the first group of immigrants who are said to have migrated from the Mossi region of Burkina Faso. The Akan, Ga-Adangme and the Ewes who were to follow the Guans about 300 years later have traditions that corroborate the claim that the Guans were the earliest to have settled in Ghana from outside. The Guan states are often small in size and are scattered over a wide area along the river Volta; on the Akuapem Mountains and towards the coast in Central region. The Akan, the Ewe and the Ga-Adangme, who spread into the middle and the southern areas of the country absorbed some of the Guans and, in some cases, caused them to spread further in the land, establishing smaller independent states.40 The Kokombas and the Tallensi, like the Guans, are believed to have been already settled in the northern parts of Ghana before the arrival of the more

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powerful and politically centralized groups such as the Gonja, Nanumba, Mamprusi and the Dagomba. The latter conquered the former and imposed their rule on them.41 The Akan, made up of two main groups, the Mfantse and the Twi, are said to have made their earliest home at Takyiman and spread from there. The Ewe are said to have moved from Oyo in western Nigeria42 into the south-western regions of modern Togo and the south-eastern areas of Ghana.43 The Ga-Adangme trace their origins to Yorubaland in Nigeria.44 The migrants did not all move in one sweep. They moved in batches, and by the end of the year 1200 C.E., major movements had ended, and though some further migrants did move in later, they were small groups of invaders that were absorbed by the existing communities.45 The beginning of the evolution of a common Ghanaian culture must be located in this period. It has been suggested that the fusion of autochthonous societies that were mostly stateless with immigrant peoples who already had centralized political systems led to some important social changes in that period.46 Borrowing of cultural ideas and practices between the various peoples, who encountered each other in the movements and resettlements that occurred, must have been accompanied by a gradual integration of the various groups. Agriculture became an important occupation of the settled communities, and chieftaincy with its sacral associations must have begun to take shape and spread during the stage of migration.47 It was not only migrations that led to the fusion of peoples, ideas and cultural elements, but also trade and other forms of culture contact among the peoples of Ghana and between them and their neighbours.48 Such free movements of peoples and contacts must have led to the diffusion of cultural ideas and practices, not only among the peoples of Ghana but also of the subregion as a whole: Uninhibited circulation of men makes for exchange of goods and, more important, diffusion of ideas, and this may explain the remarkable similarities that exist among certain Neolithic artifacts in West Africa.49

At this early stage, most of the groups were involved in the process of ethnicstate formation and so, probably, had not developed set cultural forms that could be uniquely associated with any of them. The processes of state formation which involved fusion of originally different groups and the building of cultural identity consciousness had just begun. Ethnic cultures of Ghana may, therefore, be said to be generally hybrid in their origin.50

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The rise and expansion of kingdoms The period of migrations was followed by the rise, expansion and fall of kingdoms. The most remarkable of them was the Asante Kingdom which built an empire, the boundaries of which coincided approximately with the borders of modern Ghana. According to Boahen, by the end of the seventeenth century, states had been established in both the northern and the southern parts of the country.51 The states of Mamprusi, Dagomba, Nanumba, Wa and Gonja had already been established in the north; while in the south, the Akan states of the Akwamu, Denkyira, Mfantse, Asante and the rest had formed. To the east of the Akans were states established by the Ga-Adangme and the Ewe. A striking feature about the groups that peopled the country, which is now Ghana, was the affinity among large clusters of them with respect to ancestry, language and other cultural features. For example, based on oral traditions and linguistic and ethnographic evidence, it is concluded that the founders of the northern states of Mamprusi, Dagomba, Nanumba and Wa share a common ancestry.52 All the Akan peoples belong to a single stock and the Ga-Adangme and the Ewe have common roots. All the Guan groups belong together as an autochthonous stock. Such feelings of natural bonds, which were nurtured by oral traditions of the peoples and confirmed by affinities between various elements of their cultures, must have served as important sources of feeling together at a very early stage of the country’s evolution. In addition to such traditions of historical and ethnic affinity among large clusters of groups of peoples, there came inter-ethnic wars of expansion as well as diplomatic strategies, which created forms of alliances between states. This must have resulted in further borrowing of cultural elements, expanding the feeling of bonding among the different peoples. For example, several Akan states gained ascendancy over other Akan and non-Akan states at different stages and created empires. The Denkyira had gained dominion over most of the Akan states in the area of the modern Ashanti region by the middle of the seventeenth century. By the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Akwamu had emerged as the dominant power in the south-eastern part of Ghana. By the end of the seventeenth century, the Asante had become the most powerful state in Ghana. According to Boahen, by 1800, almost all the states in the north, including the Gonja and the Dagomba, plus states such as the Nzema, Aowin and Wassa to the west, and the Ga and some principal Ewe states to the east, had been incorporated into the Asante Empire.53 Apart from the Mfantse states that

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had formed a confederacy, all the states to the south had been incorporated into the Asante Empire by 1800. The expansion of the Asante Empire led to the diffusion of Akan cultural influence among the other peoples, and though, in most cases, it produced resentment and bitterness on the part of the conquered peoples, it also led to formal alliances between states. In the attempt to maintain control over, and ensure the loyalty of conquered peoples, the Asante sent resident commissioners supported by army detachments to the territories. There were such commissioners and detachments in Elmina, Cape Coast and Abura Dunkwa in 1861.54 Commissioners were also stationed in the Ashanti territories east of the Volta.55 From the commissioners and their garrisons, some of the non-Akan speaking peoples learnt to speak the Akan language. An African agent of the Basel Mission, Rev. David Asante, reported in 1884, for example, that many of the peoples in towns in Ewe territory such as Dadiase, Adjuti and Litime could understand and speak Twi quite well.56 Yendi and Salaga also had resident Asante officials.57 Wilks reports about Namasa, whose chief was honoured for their support in the war Asante fought against Gyaman around 1732 with titles and gifts of Akan chieftaincy paraphernalia including a palanquin, state chairs, umbrella horn and drum. The chiefs of Banda, Bamboi and Yeji also received such honours.58 The kingdom of Dagomba was honoured in its relationship with Asante with the right to use the ‘prestigious praise name of the Asante themselves: Asante Kotoko, Anwaa Kotoko (Asante Porcupines, Dagomba Porcupines)’.59 This is corroborated by Ferguson who in 1894 reported that ‘the king of Kumasi distributed honors and court decorations to the various kings of his kingdom’.60 Such practices encouraged the spread of elements of Akan chieftaincy culture. A very clear evidence of these developments is the spread of Akan drum and horn culture far beyond Akan territory: the language of the drum, and to a great extent also the horn, is always Akan.61 Writing about the Asante influence on other ethnic groups, Ferguson explained, For full 30062 years persons were collected from all parts of its dominions who, having been instructed in . . . customs and manners practiced at Kumasi . . . were distributed as residents, royal executioners, tax collectors and other official agents in every part of the dominion. Its merchants met the caravans from the north at Salaga. Thus its language became widely diffused and with Hausa and Mossi became the language of commerce.63

But the spread of cultural influence at the height of Asante power was not a oneway affair. The Asante themselves received many non-Akan influences through

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the interaction with people in their tributary states. The practice, for example, of the wearing of the traditional northern smock (fugu) covered with small leather packets containing texts from the Qur’an by Akan paramount chiefs on some special occasions, and on almost all occasions by their war chiefs, is widespread. The fugu has also become an important feature of the chieftaincy institution among almost all ethnic groups, including those in southern Ghana.

Trade Trade was also one of the most important vehicles through which the foundations were laid for bonding and the evolution of a common Ghanaians culture. Before the arrival of Europeans, trade was both internal and external.64 External trade by land was directed towards the states of the Northern Sudan such as Ghana and its successors; by sea, trade was directed towards the coastal areas of Dahomey, Nigeria and Angola.65 Important market centres emerged in the transitional zone between the forest and the savannah. Towns such as Atebubu, Yeji, Ejura and Salaga66 became important centres where Akan traders from the forest areas in the south exchanged goods such as gold and kola for cloths and other manufactured goods from the Mande and Hausa traders.67 This trade did not involve only the forest peoples and the foreigners – Mande and Hausa. The peoples of the coast and the middle belt as well as the people of the savannah regions were also connected in several ways to both the internal and external trade. The Akans of the forest area got their supplies of fish and salt from the coast. In turn they supplied the coastal peoples with goods from the interior. The cultural impact of this trade on the Akans was tremendous. It opened up and maintained several footpaths that linked the various market centres. It appears by the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries that gold mining in the Akan forest areas was already attracting Dyula entrepreneurs and skilled labourers in significant numbers. These included merchants, blacksmiths and farmers.68 Historians have noted how this intensive cultural interaction led to the direct borrowing of certain paraphernalia of chieftaincy, institutions, words and expressions from the Mande. It is suggested that state umbrellas, swords, palanquins and other regalia that have become important identifiable marks of chieftaincy have been borrowed from the imperial courts of Mali.69 Words that have been borrowed from Mali by the Akan include oponko (a horse), yoma (a camel), okoroo (a canoe), kotoku (a sack) and boto (a pouch), all of which are associated with

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trade and transportation. Other borrowed words include sebe (amulet), osanku (a harp), odonno (a drum), odonko (slave),70Kramo (a Muslim), krataa (paper), samina (soap) and gyata (lion).71 The coming of the Europeans to the coast created more opportunities for more people to be involved in trading. According to Daaku, the presence of European traders on the coast diversified the already existing patterns of trade. In addition to the old footpaths, the arrival of the European traders and the establishment of their trading houses along the coast brought into existence many new paths that connected towns and villages to the important coastal trading centres.72 This facilitated easy mobility and led to the rise of new market centres on the coast, most of them, previously small fishing villages, becoming transformed into commercial towns. The European presence also widened participation in trading activities and created market for services and skills such as interpretation, bricklaying and masonry. The Europeans also cashed in on the existing transatlantic trade between Ghana and peoples along the coast of Dahomey and Nigeria. They employed Mfantse canoe-men to man their canoes from Elmina to areas such as Popo, Whydah, Badagry and Lagos.73 The above developments brought people of different ethnic groups together in the quasi-urban centres in both temporary and permanent ways, affording opportunities for the borrowing and fusion of cultural ideas74 and the emergence of new cultural forms.

Religion It seems that the most important roots of a common culture of Ghana are connected with religion. In spite of significant changes that have occurred as a result of the influence of forces linked to modernity, ‘Ghanaian culture’ seems to be one that is characterized by a sense of transcendence. Assimeng lists elements of metaphysical nature that are common to Ghanaian communities and of which these communities hold ‘clear understandings’.75 These elements, which he notes have been the subjects of several scholarly works,76 are as follows: a) The belief in a Creator: his nature, attributes and role in the affairs of mankind. b) The belief in spiritual intermediaries, each of which is associated with a specific department of activity for the well-being of mankind.

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c) The belief in the mediation of gods, of varying levels of greatness and power, in the affairs of mankind. d) The pervasive influence of magic, witchcraft and sorcery. e) The belief that there is a spiritual counterpart of everything, such as land, rivers, mountains, tees, forests and, of course, human beings. f) The belief that a thing can be itself and something else also, as evident in totems as objects of veneration and adoration. g) The assumption that a human being is both physical and spiritual. h) The role of ritual and of symbolism in thought, belief and behaviour. i) The pervading influence of myths of origin, nature, destiny, things and events. j) The importance of propitiation calendars and ceremonies, with the fullest expression in the form of festivals. k) The position of the dead: (i) categories of the dead; (ii) destination of the dead; (iii) the religious, social and psychological functions of funerals; (iv) theories of reincarnation. l) The continuing influence of honhom fi (evil forces), and the need to constantly ward them off from the affairs of human beings, with the help of divination mechanisms. This list basically represents traditional religious elements. The various ethnic groups had their own religious beliefs and practices, which had underlying similarities that made possible the use of religious elements in trading and other areas of intercultural encounter.77 Natural affinities between the traditional religions of the various groups also enabled inter-borrowing of religious ideas and practices. To a very large extent, such indigenous elements have persisted and continued into the modern era. Indigenous religion has also become the potent solvent that bleaches off the culturally inappropriate and undesirable blots of the more modern traditions of Islam and Western missionary Christianity, transforming them into veritable local varieties of those universal traditions.78 These elements have become the underpinning ideology of Ghanaian common culture, especially at the popular level. In that sense, the stem root of Ghanaian common culture may be found in what Ali Mazrui in a BBC documentary on Africa described as ‘a triple heritage’.79 It was this condition that the first president of Ghana, Dr Kwame Nkrumah, so perceptively noted and proposed in his philosophy of ‘Consciencism’, synthesizing the three strands

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of Africa’s cultural and historical experience: Indigenous religion, Islam and Western European Christianity to create ‘a new African reality’.80 Islam preceded Christianity in Ghana by several decades. It was present in the northern part of Ghana by the fourteenth century. It was commercial interests rather than commitment to proselytizing imperatives that first brought Muslims to Ghana. Gold, cola and slaves attracted caravans of Mande, Dyula and, later, Hausa Muslim traders to the northern parts of Ghana, and by the eighteenth century their influence had become strongly felt in royal courts of kings across the upper half of what is now modern Ghana. Islam was more strongly established in some of the traditional states of northern Ghana, especially, Dagbon. By the latter part of the eighteenth century, that kingdom was already considered Muslim.81 In Dagbon, Gonja, Mamprusi and Wa, Islamic festivals came to replace pre-Islamic traditional ones or, in some cases, the two came to be merged; in matters of inheritance, marriage and divorce, Islamic laws rather than customary practices have come to be followed. Cultural elements that may be traced to agents of Islam include the use of Arabic names and circumcision. It was Islam that also first introduced the art of writing and formal education to Ghana. The skill of writing together with that of preparing and dispensing of magico-religious objects such as charms and amulets earned them great respect and honour in the royal courts and among the people in general.82 Asante kings, for example, welcomed Muslims and employed them in the courts as secretaries, chroniclers and interpreters. On account of its strong links with trade, Islam’s influence is strongest in urban and commercial towns. This is the case both in the northern and the southern parts of the country. In most cases, Muslims live in enclaves (zongo) and have not become integrated into the host ethnic communities; they have nonetheless been agents of cultural change in Ghana. The zongo provides the context for the integration of the people of many different tribes and ethnic backgrounds that make up that community; the unifying variable being their common allegiance to Islam. In contemporary times, zongo communities in the cities often include significant numbers of non-Muslims. It also appears that the ‘sojourner mentality’ associated with itinerant traders did not encourage, initially, the construction of permanent accommodation facilities among the early Muslims in Ghana. This, in most cases, led to the zongos becoming slum areas when, instead of them becoming temporary quarters for traders and travellers, they eventually turned into permanent suburbs. It seems the basic cultural outlook of the Muslims was not substantially different from that of the local people. So while they settled in the zongos in their own

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communities, the extensive nature of their interaction with local communities did not lead to any fundamental alterations in the existing social and political arrangements.83 Like Islam, Christianity arrived in Ghana in close alliance with commercial and other interests. European explorers and traders who came to Ghana were usually accompanied by chaplains, who understood their primary responsibility as ministering to the spiritual needs of their own compatriots. This led to the rather limited impact of Christianity on the indigenous communities in the first 300 years of its presence in the country. This was notwithstanding the fact that Prince Henry who initiated the voyages of exploration had as one of his objectives the evangelization of Africans. The Portuguese Roman Catholic chaplain, the earliest of the succeeding generations of European Christians to work in Ghana, arrived in the fifteenth century.84 The Dutch, British, Danes, French, Swedes and others followed and engaged in keen competition for trading rights. These Europeans, a mix of explorers and traders, usually accompanied by chaplains, saw themselves as representatives of their respective countries and sometimes re-enacted the violent rivalries between their countries in Europe on African soil.85 In spite of the limitations of the early Christian presence in Ghana, it provided some of the early channels that served to generate and transmit cultural ideas across tribes and communities. These included the introduction of Western formal education, Christian preaching and attempts to make Ghanaians literate in their own mother tongues. For example, attempts were made by the Portuguese in 1529 to establish a school in Elmina for the mulatto children. The Dutch made similar attempts in Moure in 1634 and at Elmina in 1641 for both mulatto and African children. In 1743, the school in the Elmina Castle achieved an enrolment of 45. This number included four mulatto boys, seven mulatto girls and five African girls. By this date, Jacobus Capitein, an African trained in Holland, had reduced the Mfantse language to writing and had translated some important Christian documents. The Danes also established a school at the Christiansborg Castle in 1722 and sponsored two boys, Frederick Pederson Svane and Christian Protten, to train in Denmark. On their return, they worked as missionaries. A high appreciation of the importance of education at this early stage led the African elite to take several initiatives of their own to secure the education of their children. For example, the Asantehene, Opoku Ware I, sent twelve boys and two girls to the director-general of the Elmina Castle to be educated in Holland. The Dutch sent only one boy on and kept the rest in Elmina. Furthermore, in 1752, the English Society for the Propagation of the

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Gospel (SPG) established a school in Cape Coast at the request of a prominent Ghanaian merchant Caboceer Cudjo. The society later sponsored three boys, including two sons of Cudjo, to train in England. The two sons did not survive to return. The third person Philip Quaque did survive, and became the first African to be ordained by the Church of England. On his return, he reopened the Cape Coast castle school started earlier by one Thompson and trained several people, including Joseph Smith, who later came to head the school, and William de Graft whose request for Bibles brought the Methodist missionaries to Ghana in 1835. Thus, at the time the second phase of the Christian missionary enterprise in Ghana began, communities along the coast already had some familiarity with the Christian faith and a few literates of varying levels of competence existed. Some of these served as companions or interpreters to the missionaries of that era.86 For example, the earliest Methodist missionary was received by a group of African Christians in Cape Coast.87 However, the second wave of Christian missionary activity gave impetus to the ongoing processes of change stimulated by the presence of Christianity that supplied some of the patterns of lifestyles, ideas, idioms and explanatory models that became important blocks in the building and spread of a trans-ethnic Ghanaian cultural identity-consciousness. Islam and Christianity vary in respect of the nature of specific elements they contributed to Ghanaian cultural and religious ideas and practices and the extent of their influence. Nevertheless, aspects of both that have some affinities with the fundamental religious values of Ghanaians have combined with traditional religious elements to form a religious synthesis that serves as an important ideological base of ‘Ghanaian culture’. Prominent among the synthesizing elements are the tendency to explain events in the physical realm in terms of spiritual causation; conceptions of well-being or otherwise as dependent upon the mood of spirit powers in an invisible world; and the interconnectedness of individuals to the society in an ontological sense, so that evils of the society are believed to affect ultimately the physiological well-being of the individual and vice versa.

Colonialism Processes of social and cultural change stimulated by European presence on the coast beginning from the fifteenth century gradually became intense, expanded in scope and were long sustained. The European powers soon got themselves

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involved in the politics of the ethnic states,88 often taking sides in local hostilities and supplying arms, sometimes fighting alongside their local allies.89 Rivalry was intense among the Europeans themselves, and they involved the Africans in these feuds. With the departure of the Danes and the Dutch in 1850 and 1872 respectively, the British became the dominant power, gradually extending their influence to the interior and the northern states. The British government itself had decided in 1828 to withdraw from the country due to frustration over its failure to tame the Asante and establish peace between the Mfantse and the Asante. But a group of London merchants wanted to continue doing business and prevailed upon the government to extend limited support in the administration of the castles and the forts. The government agreed to their request but directed that they should not interfere in the affairs of the local states.90 However, some order and stability were needed for effective trade and other activities such as missionary work, and the president of the council appointed to administer the forts and castles, George Maclean, assumed the powers of a governor. He turned out to be a skilful administrator with great talent in diplomacy.91 He helped prepare the ground for the establishment of a formal British colonial administration. The long period of contact with Europeans and its culmination in British colonization had important implications for the evolution of ‘Ghanaian culture’. The enduring cultural influences of the various European nations are discernible in the identification of certain ethnic states, districts and towns with specific nations. For example, there are ‘British Accra’ and ‘Danish Accra’, and ‘Dutch Komenda’ and ‘British Komenda’. An early twentieth-century description of Kete Krachi talks about five sections of the town including ‘German Krachi’ and ‘British Krachi’.92 On the coast, the Africans tended to side with their particular group of Europeans when inter-European rivalries turned violent.93 It appears that the use of one’s father’s name as surname emerged within this period and must have been connected with Christian baptism. Other influences of cultural significance are found in European words that have found their way into Ghanaian vernaculars, especially, Akan but also, Ga and Ewe. They include the following: asopatere (shoe, asopatir, Portuguese), buuku (book, English), krataa (paper, charta, Portuguese), Fensre (window, fenestre, French), panoo (bread, panis-Latin; pain, French), saman (summons, English), lampuu/dampuu (tax, l’import-French).94 The peace created by the British colonial authorities through the combined use of force and diplomacy enabled greater interaction among the peoples and led to the growth of a trans-ethnic national consciousness, especially among the elites.

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In an atmosphere of relative stability and peace, activities of cultural encounter including trade, and missionary activities such as the promotion of education and evangelization, could be carried out without too many hindrances. Cultural encounters engendered by forces associated with the colonial era brought indigenous social structures under severe strain and created the need for new mechanisms for adjustments. Anxieties caused by the belligerent tendencies of the Asante compelled the southern states to forge alliances, both among themselves and with the colonialists. The colonialists themselves needed the cooperation of the Africans to subdue the Asante. Such alliances among the coastal states and their dependence on the British for protection were important stages in the gradual emergence of Ghana as a territorial unity with a common government. Especially, starting from the time of Maclean, feuding parties, including states, turned to the European officials for arbitration in matters of disagreement. The formal establishment and exercise of British colonial authority and the application of English common law meant the introduction and spread of the values implied by such law.95 While the policy of indirect rule did not enable any radical transformation of the traditional customary judicial system and the values underpinning it, their subordination to English common law which was secular tended to undermine the aura of sacredness that surrounded indigenous customary law processes.

The emergence of new elites Contacts with European modernizing forces led to the rise of new indigenous elites, who became agents for the promotion and spread of new cultural values. Two groups of elites emerged; many of them were mulattos. The first group came to be known as ‘merchant princes’. These were mainly merchants who made some fortune and became influential in society, playing important roles as agents of social change.96 The second group was the intelligentsia. Their strength was the education they had acquired. Quite a number of them had had part of their education abroad. They championed the modernization of political and social institutions and spearheaded the protest against colonial rule. Some of this group of elites also advocated integration of the Gold Coast and Asante into one country. Women were part of both groups of elites. Most of these women, especially on the coast, were educated and wealthy, and had considerable influence. Women’s activism was organized under the auspices of women’s97

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voluntary organizations such as the Native Ladies of Cape Coast or the Ladies of the Gold Coast.98 Though small in number, the elites exerted significant influence on the society. The importance of the merchant princes on the coast equalled or even surpassed that of the traditional chiefs in some cases, and the intelligentsia became the opinion leaders, regularly consulted by the various councils of chiefs in matters related to the colonial government. Wealth, Western education, and Christianity combined to reshape the thinking of the new elite. They acquired new tools for evaluating not only the conditions of their own indigenous society and its institutions but also the colonial institutions and the behaviour of the officials. Most of them stood for the critical evaluation of traditional institutions and practices and their modernization, and even their abolition where necessary. Against this background, many of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century elites saw in the colonial enterprise the hand of providence and advocated for a united modern country under the rule of Great Britain, though they were not blind to the injustice inherent in colonialism. Ekem Ferguson,99 C. C. Reindorf,100 and Casely-Hayford101 were some of the intelligentsia who promoted such an idea. Another group, described as a ‘non-literate sub-elite’,102 emerged in Asante. This group was made up of people, most of them non-literate, who had settled on the coast and other places as traders and had become wealthy. Though most of them made their money long before Asante became a British domain, they could not assert themselves openly in Asante. The rigid social stratification in Asante, in which differentiation between nobles, ordinary citizens and slaves was diligently maintained, made it difficult for such a class of people to emerge earlier than it did. In the period before colonization, the Asante state placed limitations on individual capacity to accumulate capital. Several mechanisms were employed to achieve this. According to Arhin, such mechanisms included the imposition of various taxes on goods and compelling emerging rich people to grant loans to traditional power holders.103 The object of this was to prevent the accumulation of wealth that would make ordinary citizens rivals to the natural holders of power. With the advent of colonial rule in Asante, it became safer for these people, who constituted a distinct class of sub-elite ‘between office holders and non-office holders’, to assert themselves and exert influence on socio-political issues. This class of people, who came to be known as akonkofo (traders) or asikafo (rich people) became agents of social change in Asante. They stood for individual

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enterprise and advocated individual property ownership. They also promoted European ways learned from the coast, and became critics of aspects of Asante tradition and custom.104 This group shared the understanding of progress held by some of the intelligentsia on the coast: the establishment and spread of Christianity, the provision of educational facilities, protection of free enterprise, cessation of inter-ethnic wars, uniting the various provinces into one nation under the rule of Great Britain.105 A group of Asantes who took refuge in the coastal towns during the Asante Civil War of 1884–8 expressed similar sentiments, calling for replacement of traditional customs with Christian and modern ones.106 They advocated strongly the unification of the territories under the British Crown, including Asante and all the territories that previously constituted what Arhin and Wilks107 have called ‘Greater Asante’. Thus later nationalists and the independence movement who directed their agitation towards achieving independence for Ghana approached their work with the deep conviction that there were sufficient cultural bonds for the various peoples to be considered as one. Dr J. B. Danquah, Dr Kwame Nkrumah and the other nationalists of the independence movement spoke of Ghana as containing one people with one destiny. Notwithstanding this picture of a united country with one people, sharing common values, holding together as one nation has been difficult. From time to time, inter-ethnic rivalries occur and threaten national cohesion. Perceptions of domination by one tribe in national politics and the neglect by governments of certain areas in the provision of amenities have sometimes led to the revival of secessionist agitations.108 Boahen observes: ‘Ghana is far from achieving a nation-state status and is basically a confederation of various regions with ethnicity or tribalism and ethnocentricism still very active, pervasive and decisive forces.’109 Nevertheless, it is clear that elements that unite the people of Ghana in terms of cultural expressions are much more than the material things that divide them.

Conclusion In spite of the ethnic heterogeneity that marks the nation Ghana, there are common cultural characteristics that bind them together as one people. The elements that constitute these characteristics have been drawn from various sources including the indigenous religion and culture, Christianity and Islam.

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Encounters such as migration, trade, inter-ethnic wars and intermarriages produced new cultural forms and also led to the fusion and spread of cultures. The process of evolution of a trans-ethnic Ghanaian culture has led to more than unity in terms of externals. This set the stage also for the development and spread of modern ideas such as human rights, which, since independence in 1957, various stakeholders have been trying to promote through constitutional and other arrangements. In the next chapter, the place of religion in that evolving and hybrid culture is explored.

5

Locating Religion in Ghana: Exploring the Contours of Spiritual Capital

‘The Ghanaian is by nature highly religious.’1 This is the way the eminent Ghanaian anthropologist Dr Sarpong describes the average Ghanaian. Indeed, the view that African societies and religiousness are synonymous has become a given assumption upon which many ethnographic works on Africa begin and end. In recent times, this view which has assumed the status of a paradigm has begun to be challenged.2 However, while the bold attempt to challenge what is almost an entrenched view in scholarship is commendable, the extent of the influence of religion in all areas of life in Ghana is too clear to be denied. A central concern of this chapter is to gauge the scope of religion’s influence in the affairs of Ghana. The pervasiveness and influence of religion in Ghana make it an important ‘spiritual capital’3 that affects issues of both private and public life. The concept of ‘religious capital’ or ‘spiritual capital’ follows the rather trendy sociological coinages such as ‘human capital’,4 ‘social capital’5 and ‘cultural capital’.6 Indeed discussions of ‘religious capital’ or ‘spiritual capital’, used interchangeably in this work, have mostly built on these earlier concepts. For example, following the household production and human capital approach of Becker, Iannaccone defined ‘religious human capital’ as ‘skills and experiences specific to one’s religion, including religious knowledge, familiarity with church ritual and doctrine, and friendships with fellow worshipers’.7 He argued that, in the same way as the skills known as human capital enhance the production of household commodities, religious human capital enhances the production of religious practice and satisfaction. Stark and Finke build on Iannacone’s definition, moving beyond knowledge and familiarity to emotional attachment. This is because while they acknowledge the importance of religious knowledge, they think that religious experiences often ‘form an emotional bond that enhances the productive capacity

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of religious capital’. They therefore define religious capital as consisting ‘of the degree of mastery of, and attachment to, a particular religious culture’.8 As much as the above definitions are important, they do not sufficiently capture what is meant by spiritual capital in the context of this book. The widespread belief in Ghana that spiritual power resides in the invisible world and can be accessed for improving the quality of life, and the influence this belief has on private and public life in Ghana, is what we refer to as ‘spiritual capital’. We take our point of departure from a statement reported to have been made in a book on Ghana published by John Mensah in 1933 and quoted by Kimble: ‘to the African the whole universe breathes of God . . . the extent of this faith . . . is a locked-up spiritual capital . . .’9 In Ghana, belief in God is linked with the belief in spirits who are regarded as real and powerful, though subject to God. In our definition, spiritual capital is literally ‘spiritual’ in the sense that it refers to a belief in a world of spirits regarded as real with which believers may relate for material and other benefits. Religious or spiritual capital has implications for both private and public life. Aspects of such implications have been noted with regard to Ghana. In a paper exploring the importance of ‘faith-based’ associations (FBAs) in Ghana, Crook observes that religious groupings are among the most vigorous elements in Ghanaian civil society, with ‘probably the largest and the most socially rooted and widely distributed membership base of all civil society organizations’.10 According to official statistics, 94 per cent of all Ghanaians are affiliated to religious traditions. However, aspects of spiritual capital such as religious ideas and emotional attachments are also present and widely influential in Ghana.

Religion and the nation-state Religion in Ghana connects with most aspects of life, and in the public sphere, it is explicitly recognized and dealt with, albeit in a way not completely unambiguous: the constitution of the republic makes the country a secular state but not an atheistic one. It acknowledges and proclaims belief in God.11 It also makes clear provisions that ensure that no religion is imposed on the nation or has predominance with state support. There is a clear constitutional separation between politics and religion. However, in recognition of the pervasive religiosity of the Ghanaian people,12 the constitution also prescribes representation of religious constituencies on certain statutory bodies.13 In practice, prayers are offered at important state functions, and institutions such as Parliament and

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the Judiciary begin their daily or annual sessions with prayer or, in some cases, with elaborate church services. At the level of the citizens, it is a widely observed practice to tap religious resources in the attempt to live a life of dignity and address life’s challenges. Assimeng outlines six significant phases of what he describes as ‘national religiousness’, which have occurred within the social, economic and cultural changes that have taken place in the country since independence.14 The first is the phase of formal subordination and marginalization of religion in public life (1957–66 under the government of Dr Nkrumah) and the second phase was characterized by official attempts to ‘bring back God’ to the centre of national life (1966–9 under the military regime of the National Liberation Council). The third phase was marked by a conscious ‘God-fearing posture’ on the part of public officials, led by Dr Busia, the prime minister (1969–72). Religious life, especially, church going became fashionable at the level of national leadership. The fourth phase was one of ‘psychological insecurity and extreme superstition’ (1972–9, under the military regimes of the Supreme Military Council (SMC) I & II). The fifth phase was the period under Dr Limann’s presidency which was marked by economic and social difficulties which were said to be capable of solution ‘only by God’ (1979–81); and the sixth phase was the phase of ‘Holy War’ when under Rawlings’ second revolutionary government, radical attempts were made at socio-economic transformation (1981–92).15 The formal place of religion in the political history of the country since independence has been determined by the ideological inclinations and the value orientation of particular regimes. In the period immediately after independence, the state under its first president Nkrumah and his Convention Peoples Party (CPP) government marginalized institutional religion in national affairs. However, the effort to weld together the various ethnic states into a united country and create a national consciousness of identity and loyalty to the new nation was underpinned by a quasi-religious ideology. This ideology called ‘Nkrumaism’ was a kind of ‘political religion’,16 which employed several metaphors borrowed from religion to express its tenets.17 Nkrumah described himself as a ‘non-denominational Christian and a scientific Marxist’.18 Projecting himself as Africa’s Messiah, he encouraged the virtual deification of his person. In this enterprise, he was actively supported by his party’s official newspaper, The Accra Evening News, which presented him to the masses as the redeemer, a Moses, appointed by God to lead his country to the promised land of the ‘Political Kingdom’.19 For example, the issue of 4 February 1960 carried a commentary, part of which read as follows: ‘. . . the

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whole phenomenon of Nkrumah’s emergence is second to none in the history of world messiahs from Buddha and Mohammed to Christ.’20 In March, 1960, the newspaper ran a series with the title ‘Seven Days in the Wilderness’, in which it reported a seven-day fasting and meditation by the president. This process of virtual deification was also characterized by the spread of stories about him that made him look more than ordinary in the eyes of his people. While some of these stories were officially published, others circulated as rumours. Such stories helped to build a sense of legitimacy in support of Nkrumah as a ruler in a newly contrived nation whose peoples for ages had recognized the authority of their own chiefs as their natural rulers. Nkrumah, in the words of Pobee, an ‘upstart commoner’,21 had real problems of legitimacy in that context. The idea of a political leader, whose source of legitimacy was located outside the indigenous customary laws and conventions, was novel. Ghanaian chiefs draw their legitimacy partly from the close connection between them and the spirit-world of the gods and the ancestors.22 To redirect the people’s sense of loyalty from their small ethnic states, characterized by a high level of homogeneity to a new central government, overseeing the disparate ethnic groups then being welded together as one country, there could have been few alternatives to the use of religious imagery and symbolism. When later Nkrumah became increasingly dictatorial and some members of his regime were seen as corrupt, wild rumours alleging his involvement with the occult began to spread. One of such rumours alleged that he engaged in rituals involving human sacrifice to his God, Kankan Nyame, imported from Guinea. The veracity of most of these rumours could not be established; yet after his overthrow, they grew wilder. One of his former ministers, Mr. Tawiah Adamafio, giving evidence before the Apaloo Commission, which was set up by the military junta to investigate aspects of the Nkrumah regime after its overthrow, confirmed that Nkrumah had sought the protection of the Akonnedi shrine at Larteh and a Moslem marabou from Kankan in Guinea.23 Newspapers carried cartoons of the body of a pregnant woman alleged to have been used for rituals of human sacrifice. Apparently, the soldiers who overthrew his government believed some of these stories and took them so seriously that the new head of state Lt. General J. A. Ankrah contracted a Pentecostal prophet to perform a cleansing ritual at the Castle, the seat of government, before he took up residence there.24 It was this prophet, Prophet Wovenu of Apostles’ Revelation Society (ARS), who officiated at a Special Service of Rededication, held in the forecourt of the Castle. It was the first time a minister from outside the mainline churches had officially functioned

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as the main celebrant in a religious service organized by the state. Not surprisingly, Rev. Prof. Baeta, an eminent clergyman from the mainline churches, expressed misgivings about the sidestepping of mainline ministers and priests.25 However, what seems to have escaped Baeta’s attention was the then emerging attitude of choosing between different types of spiritual resource-persons for different purposes. In the situation of the then growing religious pluralism within Christianity, the people had come to assign special areas to the various categories of churches. The mainline churches were, in the minds of the public, competent in ceremonies and formal rites such as christening, weddings, burials and formal prayers at state functions. But in crisis situations, when there was a felt need for special divine intervention, most Ghanaian Christians trusted better the competence of the then newly emerging ‘Spiritual Churches’, referred to in academic literature as African Independent Churches (AICs). It was this attitude, which showed in the decision of the government to choose Prophet Wovenu over the others. Nkrumah was generally believed to be a man with a great spiritual support base. A more spiritually powerful person was needed to handle any spiritual threat that might still hover around the Castle. It is interesting, in this direction, to learn that when the government wanted somebody to handle their credibility issues in international circles, it was Baeta whose help they sought.26 It was a simple matter of assigning competences! In fact, rumours were rife that the coup-makers consulted the same Wovenu before their operation.27 While the truth or falsity of most of the rumours about Nkrumah could not be established, it is possible that the soldiers who overthrew his government played on public perceptions in order to further discredit him and strengthen their own legitimacy. Nkrumah’s regime was seen as one that actively pursued an ideology that undermined the ‘fear of God’, which for many Ghanaians is an important ‘Ghanaian value’. Organized religion, especially Christianity, under the auspices of the Christian Council of Ghana (CCG) and the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church often engaged his government in protracted controversies over several issues. His constant indulgence in Marxist-Leninist rhetoric raised suspicion in Church circles that he was out to pursue an atheistic agenda as a national policy. This, coupled with alleged ‘brainwashing’ strategies aimed at weaning Ghanaian children from the ‘fear of God’ through the Young Pioneer Movement, caused considerable tension between the government and religious leaders. Things got to a head when the government deported the Anglican Bishop of Accra, Richard Roseveare. The bishop had, on behalf of ‘all heads of Churches in Ghana’ condemned ‘the incipient atheism’, which Nkrumah was alleged to have

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been promoting among the youth of the country through the Young Pioneer Movement.28 In response to a protest by the Christian Council, the government withdrew the deportation order and the bishop returned to post. On another occasion, he caused the arrest of Fr. Vincent Damuah, founder of the Catholic Youth Organization (CYO), which had been specifically founded by the Roman Catholic Church to counter the ‘ungodly influence’ of Nkrumah’s Young Pioneer Movement on Ghanaian children. It seems that it was Nkrumah’s aim to create the right conditions for the coexistence of the different religious traditions and break the established and prestigious position missionary Christianity enjoyed in the era of colonial rule. This showed in his educational policy. There was a ‘deliberate move to take over primary schools where Church influence had been strong’.29 E. K. Quashigah, a law professor of the University of Ghana, confirms this and explains that section 22 of the Education Act of 1961 represented a conscious effort on the part of the government to ‘eliminate religion as a controlling factor in the public educational system’.30 Nkrumah did not set out to destroy religion. He saw himself as a Christian, though a ‘non-denominational’ one. This is evident in the policy concerning prayer at state functions. Instead of only Christian prayers, Islamic prayers as well as the libation prayer of the indigenous religion were to be offered at functions such as Independence Day celebrations. Initially, the Christian Council protested against the inclusion of the pouring of libation but gave up when Nkrumah insisted on this decision. The evidence may also be seen in the decision to change the name of the Department of Divinity at the University of Ghana to the Department for the Study of Religions.31 The religiously pluralistic nature of Ghana was recognized and consciously promoted by the government at the birth of the nation. One of the earliest laws passed in independent Ghana was the Avoidance of Discrimination Act, 1957, which made it illegal for any person or group to engage in ‘ethnic, regional, racial or religious propaganda to the detriment of any other community’. It also prohibited political groupings based on regional, ethnic or religious affiliation. His trans-denominational background, together with his Marxist orientation, influenced his preference for a secular state in which no religion had predominance over others. He wrote, ‘Religion is an instrument of bourgeois social reaction. It is essential to emphasize in the historical condition of Africa that the state must be secular.’32 This set the pattern to be followed with varying degrees of commitment by succeeding regimes.33 The National Liberation Council (NLC) government, which succeeded Nkrumah’s CPP, saw as part of its task, the restoration to the country, the

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traditional value of the ‘fear of God’. Several steps were taken towards bringing God back ‘to the centre of national life’.34 For example, the words of the national anthem were changed to begin with ‘God’, and church going became an important trend for public officials. This trend continued into the civilian regime of the Second Republic led by the former Oxford professor and Methodist lay-preacher Busia.35 Religion gained considerable significance in public life, but attention was on the mainline traditions to the almost complete exclusion of the newer groups. The military regime, the National Redemption Council (NRC) and the SMC I that followed Busia’s short-lived administration, was marked by what Assimeng has described as ‘psychological insecurity and extreme superstition’.36 General Acheampong, the leader of the military junta, had special preference for churches on the fringes of Ghanaian Christianity. Pastors that belonged to these ‘fringe groups’37 were the frontline players of public affairs in which the government thought there was the need for a religious leader. For example, Bishop Blankson of the Bethany Church was made the Chairman of the University Council of the state University of Science and Technology in Kumasi. In 1977, when there had been a long drought and the crops had failed, resulting in a serious famine, there was the usual general feeling of divine displeasure, characteristic of the Deuteronomistic writer of the Old Testament. Most people felt there was the need to seek divine forgiveness and intervention. So a ‘National Week of Repentance and Prayer’ was proclaimed by the government. For the second time in the history of the nation, an official state religious program had a preacher from outside the circles of the mainline Protestant and Roman Catholic churches. It was Rev. Abraham De-Love of the Philadelphia Mission, one of the many religious leaders who stayed close to the corridors of power, who preached the sermon on that occasion. It seems that awareness of non-acceptability of his government by the elite sections of the public, including the mainline churches, compelled the general to court the friendship of religious groups on the fringes who themselves felt marginalized by churches in the mainstream. The perceived general collapse of public morality and the failed economic policies caused considerable public frustration that seemed to have fed the rising religious ferment of the times.38 Acheampong’s successor, General Akuffo, who led the SMC II government, presented an image of a pious Presbyterian, determined to undo the harm caused by their regime under his predecessor. His reign was so short-lived that it is not easy to assess his attitude towards religion separately from that of his predecessor. The general perception was that he was not going to be effective since he was part of the regime that had caused the mess. In 1979, when Flt. Lt. Rawlings and his Armed Forces Revolutionary

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Council (AFRC) burst with the force of a volcano unto the political scene, there were many who interpreted their rather extreme approach to justice in terms of divine judgement. The era of the Third Republic under Dr Hilla Limann was marked by widespread pessimism, caused by the immediate past experience of the people with regard to the performance of the political leadership. However, underlying this pessimism was a deep ocean of hope, and many Ghanaians believed that a fundamental change was possible. Among intellectuals, especially students on the university campuses, many believed that a dramatic change for the better was imminent. But the path to this change became a matter of contestation between two main groups of intellectuals. There were those who believed that the best path to change was ‘scientific socialism’. This was in keeping with the general political trend in other parts of Africa. Inspired by the Libyan regime of Gaddafi and the Haile Menghistu revolution in Ethiopia, such young intellectuals advocated a Marxist-Socialist path to national recovery. The second group was made up of ‘born-again’ Christians who believed that evangelical Christianity offered a better remedy to the ills of the nation.39 There was a third group that was inclined towards political Islam, but it was not influential for two reasons. First, its support base was insignificant in terms of numbers; secondly, their concerns seemed to have been subsumed under those of the scientific socialism camp. It was made up of a small minority of young Muslim intellectuals, who took interest in studying and propagating ideas from the Green Book of the Libyan Revolution. Against the background described above, the description by Rawlings of his 1981 coup d’état as a ‘Holy War’40 and the popular nickname ‘Junior Jesus’ he acquired are significant. In those imageries, he seemed to have captured the sentiments of the protagonists of all the camps. Actually, attempts were made to enlist the support of the various Christian youth groups in the ‘Holy War’.41 An umbrella organization, the Positive Christian Movement (POCRIMO), was put together with the aim of mobilizing the support of Christian youth for the revolution. But the attempt failed rather quickly. The confusing signals transmitted through certain events and decisions of the government raised deep suspicions about its intentions, and thus, it gradually lost the support of religious constituencies. Among these events were the formation of the Afrikania Mission by Vincent Damuah, a former Roman Catholic priest and member of the government; the persecution of Christian groups in various parts of the country; the attempt to stifle freedom of religion through the banning of sponsored

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religious programmes on state radio and television; and the ban on the playing of gospel music on the state radio. The Afrikania Mission came to be detested by most Christians because of the persistent attacks it made on Christianity in its weekly radio programmes. The consternation Christians felt was underpinned by a sense of betrayal because it was Damuah, who was regarded by many as a moderating influence on the radical government, representing a Christian voice, who had become the severest critic of the church. A Christian newspaper, The Believer, edited by Apostle Barnabas Akrong, a former ally of the regime, led in the hostile response to the Afrikania challenge. The paper described Damuah as ‘the accuser of the brethren’. Furthermore, in their revolutionary overzealousness, some of the agents of the revolution caused many irritating moments for Christians in several communities. This created the impression that the revolution was anti-Christian. Reports came from several parts of the country about how government operatives had forced Christians to engage in communal work on Sunday mornings instead of gathering for worship. In Kumasi, an attempt by a soldier to interrupt a worship service and get the worshippers to join in a community pothole-filling exercise on a Sunday morning resulted in the death of several people, including the pastor and a pregnant policewoman, who was a member of the church.42 The most far-reaching move that set the government and the church on a collision course was the passing of the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) Law 211 (1989) which, among other things, required all religious groupings in the country to register with the National Commission on Culture (NCC). A Religious Affairs Committee was set up to advice the NCC on the issue. The NCC was to register only groups whose applications had been passed by the Religious Affairs Committee.43 Section 3 of the Law made it mandatory for ‘Every religious body in Ghana’ to register within three months ‘from the commencement of this Law’. This meant that all religious groups, including the well-established Christian churches, were required by the Law to register. Failure to register was to attract very severe sanctions, which ranged from outright prohibition to confiscation of property to the state. The NCC’s decision as to whether a group qualified to be accorded the status ‘religious’ or not was to be final.44 There was no provision for appeal to any court. Sections 1(7), 9(3) and 10 left too much power in the hands of the NCC; especially as the definition of a ‘religious body’ in the Law was vague and open to arbitrary interpretations. In a memorandum submitted to the government by

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religious leaders, a request was made for a clear interpretation of what the term, ‘religious body’, included.45 Section 20 defined ‘religious body’ as any association of persons, or body or organization – a) Which professes adherence to or belief in any system of faith or worship; or b) which is established in pursuance of a religious objective. It was the NCC which was to determine whether a group had been ‘established in pursuance of a religious objective’ or not. The fear of possible arbitrary interpretation of the Law was not a mere academic question. Within the political and social climate of the period, such fears were real. As soon as the Law was announced, the government suspended the activities of two foreign religious bodies: the Jehovah’s Witnesses (JW) and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS), better known as the Mormorns. They also disbanded two indigenous religious movements: the Nyame Sompa Church of Ekwam-krom and the Jesus Christ Church of Dzorwulu in Accra. They were described as ‘sects’, and accused of crimes that were clearly unsubstantiated. The indigenous groups were said to have been engaged in indecent forms of worship; while the JWs were accused of unpatriotic behaviours. The LDS suffered apparently on the basis of suspicion and alleged misdeeds in countries where they had been before coming to Ghana. It is clear also that public sentiments against these bodies played an important role in influencing the decision of the government. One of the official reasons given for the promulgation of the law was to protect the public from ‘too many bogus churches’ and to control corruption.46 The law, as should be expected, attracted resistance, especially, from the Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference (GCBC) and the CCG.47 Churches affiliated to these organizations refused to register, maintaining that the law directly contravened the freedom of religion enshrined in the UDHR.48 The religious leaders were not happy about placing a tool in the hands of the government by which it could easily control ‘the activities of all the religious bodies, and especially Churches’.49 In a joint pastoral letter to their members, the two bodies reported the steps that had been taken on their behalf since the announcement of the Law. They included copies of letters sent to the government and reports of their meetings with representatives of the government. In that letter, they expressed concern about reports that some people were already interpreting the law in their own way and, on that basis, harassing congregations.50 After some time, the negotiations between the government and the religious bodies discontinued and the law remained in the statute books until 1992, when a new constitution, with strong human rights provisions, was promulgated.

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However, during the whole of that period when the law was deemed to be in force, the GCBC and the CCG continued to defy it by refusing to allow their members to register, and the government had to tacitly suspend the enforcement of the law by keeping quiet over the churches’ refusal to cooperate.51 The insistence on the right to freedom of religion by the religious bodies was typical of the mainline churches in Ghana. They have always been in the forefront of resistance against misrule and human rights abuses by governments.

The religious scene The vibrancy of the religious scene in Ghana is indicative of the central place religion occupies in the consciousness of the people. This relatively small country of about 22 million people presents a kaleidoscope of several different religious manifestations, all of which, to different degrees, have affected the way people attempt to understand and relate to the world around them. According to the final report of the 2000 population census, there is hardly any Ghanaian who does not profess some form of religious belief. Only 6.1 per cent of the population claim to belong to no religion; 69.8 per cent claim to be Christian; 15.9 per cent Islam; 8.5 per cent African traditional religions; and 0.7 per cent belong to other religions. Religious activities are among the deepest and the most manifest passions of Ghanaian people. Both in the city and in the village, Ghanaians demonstrate a religious consciousness that suffuses their entire life. Most public and private events are turned into religious ones or, at least, are accompanied by some form of religious activity. This is not in reference only to the elements of religion contained in the daily activities of the people that are carried out as a matter of custom.52 It is also in reference to the other versions of such practices that have continued into the more modern religions such as Islam and Christianity. For example, in many workplaces, both public and private, there are regular times of prayer before the start of work or during break time once or twice every week. When businesses seem to suffer slumps, religious functionaries such as pastors or evangelists or malams53 are invited to offer divine help. The case of the defunct Ghana Airways is the most well-known example.54 On the campuses of the various public universities, religious activities take much of students’ time. Gardens and open spaces such as parks turn into prayer grounds in the night and at dawn. At the University of Ghana, prayer activities increase during examinations period. Sometimes, they set in motion what they call ‘prayer chains’.

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This is an arrangement in which students offer a fraction of their time each day to be praying in turns during the examination period. Usually, students who are not writing examinations at a particular time pray for their friends as they write. Prayer and other religious activities in Ghana are not simply a means to enhance one’s spiritual life; they are, also, a means to achieve material ends such as health and healing, good marriage, guidance in life’s pursuits, success and protection. In times of crisis, such as illness or when one or one’s relative is in trouble with the law or threatened with the loss of job or faced with the prospect of public shame, Ghanaians, characteristically, do not mind going outside their normal range of religious activity in search of spiritual assistance. If necessary, people resort to religious functionaries with a reputation for spiritual power such as prophets, malams, priests or diviners, outside their normal religious traditions. This means the Ghanaian religious scene is characterized by a high level of clientele behaviour. People go to seek divine help where it may be found without necessarily becoming members of the helper’s religious group or tradition.55 In several cases, once people achieve their aim, their relationship with the functionary or the group seldom continues. An important factor that makes this kind of religious behaviour possible is the belief that the real arena where issues of life are settled is the spiritual realm. It is this belief that underlies the attitudes and practices of the phenomenon which Paul Gifford describes as ‘Ghana’s New Christianity’.56 Although Gifford deals mainly with aspects of contemporary Ghanaian Christianity, the core element he identifies goes beyond the aspect of Christianity that he studies. The belief that spiritual favour or disfavour determines the success or failure of nations and individuals is an important feature of religion in contemporary Ghana.

Institutional religion and popular religion Usually religion manifests at two levels in societies: the formal institutional and the popular. Religion manifests at the institutional level in the form of well-established groups, whose long existence has led to clearly recognized structures, well-defined doctrines and conventional ways of doing things. In the Ghanaian context, these include denominations of the various religious traditions in the form of churches, mosques and traditional shrines. Religion at the institutional level has been influential in several important ways in Ghana since precolonial and colonial times. With their well-organized

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administrative structures, religious institutions, especially the mainline churches,57 have an ubiquitous presence in the country. In many cases, they collaborate with government to provide social amenities such as schools, health-care delivery institutions and agricultural extension services. But they have also consistently been central players in keeping civil society alive. They have contributed in several important ways to ensure that a critical space is maintained for civil society in the public sphere.58 At the national level, Muslim organizations often collaborate with Christian ecumenical bodies to play such important roles. The significance of institutional religion to the nurturing of a human rights culture in Ghana is immense.59 This constitutes one form of ‘spiritual capital’. However, it does not represent the major focus of this work. Our primary concern is with another form of ‘spiritual capital’ which consists in the manifestation of religion at the popular level. Yet, popular religion as a phenomenon in Ghana is not altogether unrelated to institutional religion. ‘Popular religion’ is not easy to define.60 The temptation into which many have fallen is to define ‘popular religion’ in terms of the socio-economic status of the people involved in it. This trend has been noted by Pace among Italian scholars who see popular religiosity as a ‘class phenomenon which most especially involves subaltern classes and most predominantly, though not exclusively, agricultural classes’.61 Levine, speaking from the Latin American context, confirms Pace’s observation, when he points out that a ‘focus on the poor’ seems to recur in all the case studies that engage the concept of ‘popular religion’.62 However, such definitions that have carried with them the derogatory connotations of the religion of the ‘marginalized’, of the superstitions of the ‘common’ illiterate mass of believers as against what is ‘rational’, ‘proper’, ‘true’ and ‘orthodox’63 have raised doubts about the validity of ‘popular religion’ as an analytical category in the study of religion. Usually, these derogatory descriptions are considered polemical categories employed by the powerful to depreciate the religion of the weak.64 Thus, ‘popular religion’ as an analytical category in the study of religion has not always enjoyed respectable acceptance.65 Research works that focused on it have been described as ‘at best irrelevant and at worst reprehensible’.66 Nevertheless, what we call ‘popular religion’ in contemporary Ghana cannot be said to be predominantly the domain of the underprivileged. There are many affluent, well-educated and highly placed people who share in the beliefs, practices and behaviours that constitute the realm of ‘popular religion’. In that context, it is not the religion of the ‘common person’ but ‘religion’ in which persons of different religious backgrounds in the society share and on which no formal institution exercises control or has direct responsibility to regulate.

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As we stated in Chapter 1, we use the term in a way that is closer in meaning to Williams’s ‘common religion’. For the purposes of this work, therefore, ‘popular religion’ refers to the cluster of beliefs, attitudes and practices in which many different people of diverse religious backgrounds share and which manifest at the unofficial level. Most of the ideas, beliefs and practices associated with ‘popular religion’ are normally drawn from the various religious traditions and are common to people of the different religious traditions in a society, but lived outside the control or guidance of any official institution of the established traditions. Persons subscribing to popular religion are often, though not always, members of established religious institutions. The question about whether the realm of ‘popular religion’ is predominantly populated by the poor and the vulnerable is not a simple one to decide, particularly with respect to societies in a transitional stage between tradition and modernity such as Ghana. In such places the persistence of strong kinship connections continues to nourish filial feelings and blurs social class differentiations. Indeed, when socio-economic differentiations began to emerge alongside the growth of strong individual consciousness in the rudimentary capitalist economy in the early twentieth century, both the high and low in southern Ghana communities were joined together in the same type of popular religious devotion.67 William Christian Jr. takes a similar view about religion in seventeenth-century Spanish society: I do not think devotion per se was a matter of wealth or social class. In the early seventeenth century poor and wealthy peasants alike in the villages in Toledo had a number of religious pictures on their walls. Indeed, joint religious devotions probably helped hold communities together in the face of wracking disparities of wealth and opportunity.68

In Ghana, distinctions based on wealth, class or intellectual status with respect to religious devotion are not the norm. In the realm of popular religion, persons of all socio-economic backgrounds are found, though, in certain cases, it is possible to determine the class of those people predominantly attracted to specific aspects of ‘popular religion’.69 Yet in the main, it can be observed that the range of people subscribing to popular streams of religion in Ghana cuts across the various religious denominations and socio-economic classes. As with popular cultures, ‘popular religion’ in Ghana does not present itself to us in a single homogenous package. There are many different strands. For example, it is possible to talk about ‘popular Islam’ and ‘popular Christianity’. It is also possible to find a particular group of people attracted to specific aspects of popular religion and

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rejecting others. But the common underlying world view, beliefs and practices of the various strands include spiritual healing, demon-/ spirit-possession and exorcism, and communication with the spirit-world. It also includes rituals and prayers that are directed against one’s enemies whether spirit or human beings. Such beliefs and practices are isolated from the complex of systematic teachings and well-ordered practices found in the official institutions of the mainstream traditions and are exclusively focused upon. Popular religion has evolved from attempts by ordinary people to connect with, and draw power from, the spiritual realm so as to live better in the context of everyday experiences of the swinging fortunes of life. It is largely the result of processes of interactions between the indigenous religious culture and the foreign religions in the historical context of pluralism.70 It also manifests in the recourse to ‘holy people’  – Muslim marabous, prophets/prophetesses, healers and spiritual guides  – to find solutions to life’s problems. In normal circumstances, people will mostly visit centres and holy persons of their own traditions for help; that is, Muslims would feel most comfortable receiving spiritual help from a Muslim ‘holy person’ and Christians would feel likewise receiving help from a Christian ‘holy person’. However, as already observed, in crisis situations, many Ghanaians would not mind going outside their normal range of religious activities if they perceive that there is the possibility of obtaining help there.

Religion and public discourse Conventional social science theory explains religious revitalization in Africa as an attempt to cope with the anxieties imposed by changes driven by the forces of modernity. Field,71 Ward72 and Douglas73 have all given such an interpretation, which is persistently repeated. They are largely right in this conclusion. However, the African experience reveals religion as a phenomenon that is more than a reactive mechanism. It has also been the cause of change. It has prompted changes in thought patterns; provided new perspectives on fundamental issues of ultimate concern; generated alterations in existing world views; and provided new ideas and expressions that have challenged, or at least, shaken the older order. In some cases, it has also led to the permanent or temporary realignment of significant social and cultural forces.74 While it would be futile to attempt to deny the historically observable pattern of religious revitalization at important crisis points,75 it is also too simplistic and

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narrow to see religious revitalization in Ghana only as the result of individual and social dislocation. Religion in Ghana is at the core of individual and collective identity.76 In most cases, revivals do not occur primarily because people want to solve a non-religious problem; they occur to protect or rework the plausibility of core beliefs and values when they come under strain. Invariably, such beliefs and values are interrelated with other aspects of life. The rise and growth of new religious movements within established traditions are necessarily related to other factors in their context. For example, the ‘new shrines’ that arose and proliferated in Ghana between the 1920s and the 1960s seemed to have arisen to provide new outlets for the expression of indigenous beliefs and not mainly as a ‘search for security’ prompted by new conditions, as scholars like Field seem to suggest.77 In response to Field, Jack Goody has argued that the rise of renewal movements is not a new phenomenon in religious traditions and that there is evidence that British colonialism brought a greater sense of security and not less.78 In that sense, the ‘search for security’ thesis becomes only partially true. There was very little that was new in the attitude that Field and others observed about the behaviour of Ghanaians in relation to the new shrines. Religion had always been viewed by Ghanaians as having a utility value. What was new was the strain suffered by the indigenous religious traditions because of attacks on them by Christian proselytizers. Ghanaians do not divorce religion from public discourse; it is not seen as a necessary option to pursue. Religious beliefs in Ghana are not a matter of purely personal concerns; they are always part of the issues debated on in public. Then also, public matters, such as politics, the economy, health and education are subjects of religious discourse.79 ‘Popular religion’ enables wider participation in public political and social discourse in Ghana. It supplies a language of discourse that is easy for most people to identify with. In the public sphere, it contributes concepts that feature in everyday discourse, concepts that are shared across the religious, cultural and social divides of the country, thus providing a common idiom for public discourse. These concepts such as God, Satan, devil, evil spirits, witches, righteousness, divine judgement, forgiveness, reconciliation and transformation appear frequently in public discussions, especially in radio phone-in programmes. We have already noted how the pre-independence nationalists drew on Christian ideas to push forward their agenda. It was more a matter of ideas than institutional involvement in politics. Nkrumah especially drew the people to his

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side, largely because he made creative use of religious language and imagery. As Botwe-Asamoah explains, Nkrumah’s skilful use of the creative culture and folk wisdom . . ., his use of white handkerchief, horsetail, and a walking stick, for instance, was in keeping with the secular and religious roles of the traditional kings and queens . . . This was consistent with the authority of the traditional African priest.80

According to Pobee, ‘He [Nkrumah] created a sacral basis of authority by a certain symbolic claim to royalty’.81 As is obvious from Botwe-Asamoah’s passage cited above, Nkrumah, in a new era, employed religious ideas and imagery drawn from both the indigenous religion and from Christianity. This is understandable. His era was the era of new forms of indigenous Christian faith expressions that were, largely, a synthesis82 of Christian and traditional spiritualities. Nkrumah not only patterned his style after chiefs and priests of the traditional religion; his style was also close to aspects of the then emerging African Independent Church (AIC) prophets. All these were motifs that most Ghanaians could easily identify with. The evidence of the power of religion in public discourse in Ghana goes beyond the symbolic use of religious motifs by politicians. A fundamental development, partly engendered and nourished by religious discourse, and which has had an irreversible impact on Ghana’s political and social life, is the growth of a radical sense of the autonomous individual. This development carried with it revolutionary changes in people’s attitudes towards kinship networks, relations of subjects to their chiefs and attitudes towards economic and labour issues. According to Kimble, for example, Christianity liberated the individual.83 That is, in preaching the gospel, which addresses the individual’s personal responsibility before God for their own actions, Christianity made people to gradually develop a conscience that was more and more individualistic rather than collective. Thus, the idea that every individual will appear before God to answer for their deeds caused individuals to begin to focus more on themselves and not so much on the community in certain matters of moral choice. This, plus the basic message that Jesus died for all but his salvation is only for those who believe, followed by a call to decision, practically expressed in the personal submission of oneself for baptism, promoted and contributed significantly to the strengthening of the sense of individual autonomy.84 Many factors sustained the growth of such individualistic consciousness. First, the traditional societies already had deep-seated individualistic orientations. In fact, the widely held view that African traditional societies were deeply

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communal is, in many respects, an overstatement. With respect to the Akan, especially, it seems to be more an invention by scholars than a fact borne out of historical evidence. The Akan, as portrayed in reliable historical records, have been fiercely individualistic; having a natural tendency towards competition, they are soundly capitalistic85 and militaristic, shrewd enough to take advantage of new trends such as the use of firearms.86 In their encounter with Western Europeans, Akans exhibited tendencies that showed clear marks of individualism. The Coussey Committee which was set up by the colonial government to make recommendations for constitutional reforms87 emphasized this tendency towards individualism in its report, describing the Ghanaian as ‘a born individualist’ who by nature is ‘intolerant of dictatorial methods in any form’.88 With such a background, it was easy for the radical individualism of the West that formed part of the socio-cultural paraphernalia of the Christianizing and civilizing agents of the colonial powers to take roots. Secondly, the substitution of Christian burial for the traditional one made it possible for people to ignore certain fundamental demands of the traditional community upon them. In Ghanaian traditional communities, one sanction that people dreaded was for their ‘dead body to be disgraced’.89 Among the Akan, for example, to die and not have a family (abusua) to accord your body proper burial was the ultimate disgrace. The implication of the church’s take-over of the burial of its members for the harmony of the traditional societies in such a context is obvious. Subjects who rebelled against their chiefs and disregarded customary norms took refuge in the church.90 Thirdly, Western education that accompanied the missionary enterprise produced educated elite that led in the articulation of the people’s aspirations.91 Some of these stood against some traditional cultural practices and advocated the establishment of liberal democratic institutions.92 Fourth, there were seeds of the idea of individual autonomy already existing in the traditional religio-cultural thought. Belief in entities such as the okra which upon a person’s death returns to God was easy to connect with the Christian idea of the soul that would appear before the judgement seat of God. Certain traditional proverbs and maxims also supported the growth of individual consciousness. A few examples will suffice: ːesono obiara na ne nkrabea (the destiny of one person is different from that of another). Nkrabea, roughly translated destiny, is an important Akan concept. According to Akan traditions, each person, before they receive their soul from God and come into the world, would be given their nkrabea, which determines a person’s life.93 So the proverb simply means that you do not have to worry so much about other people with regard to certain activities in life since each

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person has their own destiny. Another proverb to consider states: abusua te se kwae, wowo akyiri a wo hu no se ebom nanso se wo ben ho a na wo behu se wosisi nkorkor (the extended family unit is like the forest; from a distance, all the trees look like one tree, but when you get closer, you discover that each tree stands on its own). The lesson is clear: though the extended family may seem as one unit, each individual within the unit is ultimately responsible for their personal welfare. The sixth factor that nurtured and sustained the growth of individualism in Ghana was the transformation of the economy with its accompanying rise of urban towns. In Chapter 4, we mentioned the rise of urban centres such as Atebubu, Yeji and Salaga in the north; then, on the coast towns such as Elmina, Accra and Cape Coast which were basically trading centres. In these areas, people learned new ideas and new ways of doing things. Settlers had to find new ways of doing old things like naming newly born babies and burying their dead away from their traditional communities and homes. Through trading and new forms of labour, commoners became rich and wanted freedom to enjoy their wealth. Such people naturally looked for ways to protect their wealth from encroachment by the traditional authority. The case of the akonkofo and the educated elite in Asante, which we mentioned in Chapter 4, illustrates our point. The seventh and last factor identified is also the most important, namely, the power of the colonial government. The support the government and missionaries gave to African converts to Christianity in cases of conflict with the traditional rulers and the communities strengthened the individual’s sense of independence. This, for example, was the case with the Methodist converts in Mankesim.94 In the case of Asante, it was after the extension of colonial rule that individuals, including the new elites, were able to assert their independence.95 This development had consequences, both for the colonialists and for the traditional political set-up. It combined with other factors to undermine the authority of chiefs and sowed the seeds of the anti-colonial struggle. Subsequently, the youth regarded the traditional set-up as outmoded and yearned for a more open and democratic society.96 Colonial policy from 1930 onwards made witchcraft accusations illegal and took away the power of the chiefs to try cases involving witchcraft accusations.97 The period was characterized by weak traditional institutions that had obviously spent themselves out. The forces of the Christian religion had seriously weakened chieftaincy and its related institutions. Other factors responsible for this were modernity and inconsistencies in the British colonial policy towards them. There was an increase in people’s awareness of themselves as autonomous individuals

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who, in certain cases, could stand up against the community or even the chief. For example, a subject could bring the chief of his town to the court of the British colonial officer.98 This general loss of influence of traditional institutions also affected the indigenous belief systems. It was in those circumstances that the proliferation of ‘new shrines’, already mentioned above, took place. They represented a renewal of the indigenous belief systems. In the situation of a rising sense of radical individualism and the loss of vitality of the traditional religion under a nascent capitalist system, the indigenous religious tradition repackaged itself and moved quickly to recapture its own credibility and the plausibility of aspects of its core beliefs and values. They also formed a friendly corridor of shallow waters through which distressed Ghanaian societies at the time escaped to safety from the deep oceans of spiritual and psychological confusion that threatened to overwhelm them. The loss of plausibility of aspects of traditional belief systems left them vulnerable to harmful powers of the spirit-world with no adequate alternative means of protection. By their creative practices, the shrines directly and indirectly addressed several of the problems of the time. First, they reinforced the emerging sense of radical individual autonomy but with a sense of community responsibility. This was done by their method of initiation. The voluntary decision to submit to the initiation ceremony was similar in concept to certain aspects of Christian baptism. It involved the individual’s voluntary decision to enter into a covenant with a deity, and to commit him/herself to obeying a specific set of moral laws. They also organized their own burial services for their deceased members and made their members pay voluntary weekly dues. Nevertheless, the shrines also represented an attempt to re-establish a new sense of community and to renew the society’s sense of morality.99 This was evidenced by people’s readiness to go through the initiation ceremonies and submit themselves to the rigorous laws, which carried rather frightening sanctions.100 A study of their laws reveals insights that underscore the theme of a renewal of the sense of community and morality. To illustrate this point, consider these laws of Tigare, the most popular of them: (1) ‘Do not show disrespect to the chief of your town/village’. (2) ‘Do not walk past a neighbour’s farm without weeding a little.’ It is obvious that the first one was an attempt to save the chiefs from completely losing their respect in the eyes of their subjects. The second was aimed at restoring the practice of mutual assistance, a long-standing practice in rural societies by way of which people were able to clear land for farming so that there was no need for hired labour. In the then emerging capitalist economy, it

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was becoming difficult for those without sufficient money to clear their land for farming, hence the social relevance of this law. The shrines also represented a certain form of protest. Their polemic against Christianity seemed to have been considerably successful.101 They accused Christianity of corrupting morality by preaching a judgement that was pushed to the end of the world. They claimed that this aspect of Christian teaching was responsible for the increase in crime and other forms of antisocial behaviour. They explained that their own gods were swift in judgement, thus deterring potential criminals. One law that illustrated their resentment for the colonialists and the presence of other foreign interests in the country was the Tigare law forbidding stealing: ‘you must not steal’; but then the unspoken aspect of that prohibition was that it did not include items taken from a foreign firm or government department. That is, if you stole from a colonial government department or a foreign firm, you broke no law. On the face of it, one might question the morality of this provision; however, it is part of the genius of religion to provide outlets for the recovery of a community’s property lost through systematic exploitation.102 Christian missionaries reacted to the challenge posed by the new shrines by writing pamphlets and instigating the colonial government against them.103 In spite of that, the shrines grew in influence and created several difficulties for the colonial government.104 Consequently, an important lesson inherent in the experience with the new shrines is that, in pluralistic societies, religious ideas must thrive or survive on the basis of the plausibility of their claims and not by coercion or state patronage.

Current religious discourse in the public sphere Current religious discourse in the public sphere still hovers around the old themes, which revolve around the following ideas: that material and physical well-being depends on spiritual factors; that good behaviour is positively rewarded by the spirit-world; that Ghana is a God-fearing nation; and that evil spirits are real and are at work to destroy people, but they can be dealt with through the help of a stronger power, especially God. Such ideas feature frequently in public discourse and apparently shape the attitudes of people to life. In the year 2007, the government provoked a controversy by an attempt to expunge ‘religious and moral education’ from the syllabus of basic schools in a new educational reform. At both the institutional level and the popular level, strong arguments were made against the proposal, though a few officials in the

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Ministry of Education and some social commentators pushed the government to go ahead with the implementation of the proposal. The Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference (GCBC) issued a rather strong-worded communiqué, imploring the government to change its decision and asking their teachers and agents to defy the government and teach the subject in all Roman Catholic schools. The CCG and the Muslim groups also joined in the debate, taking sides with the bishops. The debate did not remain at the official level. Soon, the public joined in and radio presenters featured special phone-in programmes in which members of the general public were to express their opinion. One of such programmes was organized by the leading Accra radio station, Peace FM, during one of its most popular Akan language programmes in December, 2007. Among reasons given by callers against the proposal were the following: ‘without religious instruction, the future of the country is bleak, because immorality will increase’; ‘the president was bowing to pressures from Europe and America where satanic powers influence government policies’ (citing the legalization of same-sex unions in those countries to buttress their point that Satanist cults control governments in Western countries). Significantly, the bishops in their communiqué also made reference to ‘political and financial institutions from the Western world’ which require ‘our policy-makers to sacrifice some of our rights, values and traditions, such as the teaching of religion in schools, as a condition for granting financial assistance’.105 In public discussions of these and related issues, people appeal to religious authority, especially the Bible, more than to any other source. Even when traditional rulers, the chiefs who are regarded as custodians of the traditional culture, have to contribute to debates, they often quote passages from the Bible to support their point. In spite of the pronouncedly Christian and Islamic nature of the popular religious scene, it is widely believed that many Ghanaians still believe in, and continue to use, religious resources such as ‘evil medicine’ and cursing, which were frowned upon by traditional societies. It is widely alleged that aspiring candidates for political offices, when they give money to voters in an attempt to buy their votes, compel them to swear an oath that if they do not vote for them after taking the money, the deity should kill them. Often the deity invoked is one with a reputation for taking swift action. This became such a big problem in the then ruling New Patriotic Party (NPP) during their 2007 congress to elect a flag bearer that the chairperson, Mr. Manu, issued a statement warning that anyone caught indulging in the practice would be subject to appropriate sanctions.106

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Critical perspectives: Gifford versus Ter Haar Whether this inclination towards the kind of religion so dominant if Africa holds any potential for development or not is a subject of scholarly debate. Paul Gifford, in his discussion of the transformational value of contemporary Ghanaian demonology has taken on Gerrie ter Haar, who interprets the phenomenon as bearing meanings and imagery of political relevance for Africa.107 He expresses serious doubts about any positive result coming out of Ghana’s current religious revival. He has doubts because it is not obvious to him what direct or indirect correlation there might be between anything in that revival and the nation’s political or economic transformation.108 He demands immediate evidence of the claims made by Gerrie ter Haar and those scholars who share her views. For example, he argues with respect to Nigeria: Yet in what way have charismatics transformed the public sphere in Nigeria? Is the country less corrupt, more transparent, and more governed by law? No evidence is given of such transformation, nor is it indicated what might count as evidence, and how we might assess it.109

He shows a similar tendency with respect to Ghana. He is actually of the view that a focus on spiritual or moral interpretations of political issues diverts attention from ‘practical effectiveness’ in building institutions.110 Gifford seems concerned about the chronic institutional weaknesses in Africa that hinder the development of democratic and other modern ways of ensuring good governance on the continent. Since the religious phenomenon under discussion does not seem to provide any conduit for mobilizing direct pressure on governments to build strong institutions of governance in similar ways to Europe, they seem to him to be of no consequence for social change in Africa. He also does not give any room for the usual excuses invoked to explain Africa’s slow process to development. Arguments that find excuses in culture or the colonial experience do not seem to excite him.111 Without saying it explicitly, he seems to be pressing home the point that Africa must not be seen to be different from other parts of the world, for example Europe. This is because institutions of accountability such as the courts, the police and special statutory bodies, such as human rights commissions and the Serious Fraud Office (SFO), are as relevant for Africa as elsewhere. In another work that focused on East Africa, Gifford argues,

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The sheer novelty of the modern world is left unaddressed in this preoccupation with African culture . . . Yet this dichotomy (either African or Western, with a true African always opting for the former) surely obscures the crucial element of novelty. Accountable government for example, is not Western in any real sense. In Britain Henry VIII was almost totally unaccountable, as was Louis XIV in France. Had Britain’s King Charles I deigned to plead at his trial in 1649, he would have argued that ‘The king can do no wrong,’ for the monarch is accountable only to God. To most of his compatriots of the 17th century this truth was self-evident; to the people of Britain today the claim is absurd. The demand for accountable leadership is totally new.112

He makes similar assertions concerning the separation of church and state, which he says is ‘hardly 250 years old’ in Europe. He declares that ‘these things are not part of any Western heritage. Quite the contrary; they are totally new, but novelties seemingly required by the dynamics of modern society.’113 The modern nation-states of Africa do indeed need these ‘novelties’ to be able to hold their own in the comity of nations in an era of globalization. In Ghana, the growth of modern ideas and institutions has not led to the abandoning of religious beliefs. Nor has the intense religiosity of Ghanaians led them to shun participation in political and economic life.114 The neo-Pentecostal/Charismatic churches may not be serving as obvious nurseries for democracy because of the pastor or prophet-centred approach to church government. Nevertheless, the beliefs and ideas found in popular religion to which they contribute have the potential to strengthen the growing democratic culture. For example, the inspiration or the sense of inner power, which participation in the religious activities under discussion generates in believers towards their proper functioning in life, is an important resource. Generally, what has been referred to as popular religion in this work, which draws aspects of its ideas from the neo-Pentcostal/Charismatic churches, heightens the individualistic consciousness of the Ghanaian. As will be shown later in Chapter 9, themes such as ‘prosperity’, ‘deliverance’ and the ‘breaking of covenants and ancestral curses’ that are central to popular religion in Ghana are related to the individual more than to the group. A sense of individual autonomy is considered an important prerequisite for the growth of human rights in any society. Moreover, it is in the meetings of church groups such as the women’s group or the youth group that several Ghanaians learn about new public policies, bills and laws. In a context where illiteracy is still high and

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formal civic associations are non-existent, religious groups play important roles in public education on issues of political and social relevance. In several cases, religious installations such as chapels and mosques serve as meeting places where communities discuss development issues and where other civic activities take place. For example, when the 2008 election dates fell on Sunday, most of the churches decided to worship on the Friday or Saturday before the election day to enable their members to participate in the process and also to make their chapels available to be used as polling stations. A world view that encompasses both the physical realm and the invisible spiritual realm has not proved less able to accommodate the ‘novelties’ required by the ‘dynamics of modern society’. What we have called popular religion in Ghana is not antithetical to the workings of modern political and economic institutions. We maintain that there are aspects of what we have designated, ‘popular religion’ in Ghana that may serve to reinforce the appreciation of human rights and issues of governance. For example, repackaging national issues of current significance such as the fight against corruption, fairness in the administration of justice, creation of jobs and the strengthening of the police to deal with armed robbery as prayer topics has the potential to increase citizens’ awareness about these issues and make them subjects of public discussion. Furthermore, in the process of developing a modern democratic and economic political culture, the idiom and symbols supplied by popular religion serve as a language for veiled criticism of corrupt and incompetent politicians and public officials. Apparently, Gifford’s disagreement with Ter Haar has to do with differences in the interpretation of aspects of the African reality. Gifford takes a conservative stance with respect to social transformation, largely ignoring or dismissing the claims that African religious cultures, including their various forms of religious renewal, hold positive implications for the development of their political and economic life. Ter Haar agrees with a certain trend that is growing in development discourse that the inclusion of religio-cultural resources has the potential to ensure sustainable development. Gifford does not accept as valid claims that religious beliefs of the type under discussion and the attitudes they generate can have direct positive impact on political and economic transformation. Ter Haar, however, maintains that there are important implications of what she calls a religious or spiritual approach to development, which Gifford fails to recognize. Ter Haar’s position is in line with what is clearly a new thinking in development work. The World Bank, the UNDP and the EU have all come to acknowledge the importance of culture, including religion, in development, especially in regions where previous approaches that were purely secular have not seemed to work.

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The approach to development that this new thinking advocates is also aimed at addressing the same concerns as Gifford laments. They include the absence of strong institutions of democratic governance, weak commitment to the rule of law, endemic corruption among office holders and frequent abuse of and lack of protection of basic freedoms.115 What Gifford seems not to appreciate is religion as a resource in the process of social transformation in the context of Ghana, where governments since colonial times have sought in vain to abolish popular beliefs such as witchcraft and ‘bad medicine’.116 In Ghana, business persons, politicians, technocrats and ordinary men and women engage in activities that suggest that they do not only explain events from a religious viewpoint but also draw inner strength and motivation from religious belief.117 Since the meanings assigned to events in life are mostly linked to their basic religious world view, it should be natural that the symbols with which they express their political and other concerns should mostly draw on religion.

Conclusion Religion, in its manifold manifestations, suffuses almost all aspects of the life of Ghanaians, especially at the popular level. It serves as a resource upon which individuals and communities have drawn to address grave challenges at different periods in the life of the country. Its impact on the transformational processes that started in the precolonial period has been huge, and its value as ‘spiritual capital’ with investment value in the processes of social change has not diminished in contemporary times. This is because modernity coexists with tradition and the two, largely, blend together in several ways. Being at the base of traditional culture, religion has occupied a central place in the development of ideas and methods for ensuring human dignity in traditional societies. It has also contributed to the transformation of ideas about individual autonomy and the development of popular ideas and language in public discourse. It should be worthwhile to examine its contributions to the development and nurturing of indigenous ideas of human dignity and rights. This, we hope to do as part of the discussions in the next chapter.

6

Human Rights in Traditional Ghana: Exploring Indigenous Ideas of Human Dignity and Rights

Ghanaian concepts of human dignity have been based, largely, on the belief that all human beings are the children of God. In spite of the fact that traditional Ghanaian societies have generally been devoid of universal egalitarian arrangements, the more reflective segments of the population have always held the conviction that all human beings are essentially equal. In Chapter 2, we have called human rights ‘dream values’. They represent ideal values, which, the human spirit, represented by reflective individuals such as sages and prophets in various places and times, has yearned to reach in order to give practical expression to the concept of human dignity in the context of community life. According to Ignatieff, there is a ‘moral intuition’ that recognizes all humans as belonging to one specie, which therefore makes all humans entitled to equal moral consideration.1 Certainly, if there is such ‘moral intuition’ that constitutes the basis of progress towards the recognition of the worth of all humans and their dignity, it must be universal. Such moral intuition cannot be exclusive to Europeans. It is universal not in the sense that every human being is consciously able to ‘intuit’ and treat all human beings as equal in practical terms. The point is that in every culture, there have been individuals who have arisen from time to time to demonstrate their ability, not only to intuitively discover this fact (truth), but also to loudly proclaim or teach it. As Ignatieff argues, it is a move towards progress when such intuition gains influence over the conduct of individuals and states. In that case, we may talk about the ‘diffusion of human rights’, not in the sense of a ‘global diffusion’ of uniquely Western cultural norms, but a global diffusion of a universal ideal or a universal ‘dream value’ gradually and progressively being made real to the global human family. This chapter deals with how indigenous ideas about human dignity (and those cognate to them), and the normative concept of human rights, are already

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engaged, or may be engaged, in any form of dialogue. It examines how the values that the UDHR seeks to protect and promote have, implicitly or explicitly, featured in the context of traditional communities in Ghana. An attempt is made to extract from written and oral sources the specific variations of such values that were known before Ghana encountered the wider world through trade, missionary activity and colonialism.

Ghanaian indigenous societies and human rights Most of the scholars who deny that Africa had any original familiarity with the concept of human rights have been non-Africans. Therefore, when an African comes to a similar conclusion, his views must be taken seriously. In a work published in 2000, a Ghanaian scholar Amoako Baah argues that ‘the social conditions that foster human rights implementation are still non-existent in Akan society today’. He states further that ‘by Locke’s assertions, especially, since the human rights concept rests mainly on his philosophical ideas, Akan society as it exists today is still in “the state of nature”’, and that in this ‘state, rights do not exist’.2 Baah also believes that the evidence he presents exposes the mistake of authors who ‘claim that Africans have had human rights all along’.3 From his point of view, these authors either did not understand the concept of human rights or ‘confuse human rights with African societies’ means of administering social justice, or a means of securing human dignity among a particular people’.4 Baah’s real concerns seem to be about the imperfections of the system of human rights, which does not seem to work very well in non-Western countries. He seems to have a good appreciation of the reasons why this is the case. He mentions obstacles such as poverty, the limited reach of central governments, absence of facilitating institutions such as the courts and agencies of human rights commissions in most of the rural districts and, above all, the unwillingness of Western governments to accord equal status to human rights that fall outside those that we have referred to as the ‘standard or dominant notion’ (Chapter 2). This leads him to adopt Donnelly’s definition, which delineates only the so-called first-generation rights. Proceeding from there, he works on the basis of certain assumptions about the causes of the failure of succeeding governments in Ghana to uphold human rights.5 What is difficult to appreciate is his conclusion that the Akan society of the twenty-first century ‘is still in the state of nature’ and therefore cannot have the concept of human rights.6 Definitely, Akan society, like other ethnic societies in

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Ghana, has not been static. It developed, even in precolonial times, some system of governance for the collective security of its members. In those arrangements, there would have been some implicit concern for individuals to secure human dignity, as they understood it in their own context. Though Baah, rightly, does not see human rights as meaning the same as human dignity, he insists that ‘any debate about human rights should ultimately be linked to how best human dignity can be protected’.7 This is where we agree with him. Human rights are linked to human dignity, though the two are not the same. Even the UDHR begins with a clearly stated recognition of the ‘inherent dignity’ of ‘all members of the human family’. We also agree with him that certain forms of political arrangements are more fostering of a human rights culture than others. But we disagree with him on his conclusion that human rights are not suited to the Ghanaian context because they have not been fashioned out for societies such as Ghana. The lack of capacity to implement human rights norms, especially economic and social rights, should not be equated with the absence of the concept. Akan and other societies in Ghana possess traditional political arrangements that contain seeds of affinity with the concept and practice of human rights. Mention of the precolonial era, colonialism, missionary activity and trade brings into the discussion the importance of history.8 The history of Ghana encompasses all the experiences, which together constitute the wellsprings of knowledge that shape the course and goal of the country’s development. Therefore, we attempt an exploration of indigenous concepts and practices of human rights in Ghana, using, as case studies, the three traditional areas: Anlo, Gomoa and La, as well as the cities of Accra and Kumasi. Since the traditional institutions claim continuity with the past,9 we shall consider both historical and contemporary situations with respect to ideas, institutions and practices that may be directly or indirectly connected to human rights in traditional governance, as distinct from modern government administrative institutions. In that sense, what we call ‘indigenous’ cannot be regarded as ideas or practices frozen in time, since the absorption of new ideas in the period of the various historical encounters implies the practice of borrowing and inter-borrowing which has produced hybrid traditions.10

Traditional political arrangements The assumption that human rights are best promoted and protected in the context of Western type democratic regimes is widespread. It is widely held that

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political arrangements of societies are important for the thriving or otherwise of human rights.11 Accordingly, the current global concern for human rights has also inspired advocacy in international relations for the development of democratic institutions worldwide. ‘Good governance’12 has become an important subject in development co-operation between the countries and institutions of the North and those of the South, especially Africa. The Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action (1993) in paragraph 8 underscores democratic governance as a necessary condition for human rights to exist when it maintains that ‘democracy, development and respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms are mutually reinforcing’.13 This casts doubts on claims that concepts and practices similar to human rights existed in non-Western countries such as Ghana before its encounter with the West. Based on certain assumptions, several people hold and propagate the view that no such concept and practice existed in Africa before its encounter with Europe. Hagan has listed a number of these assumptions, which he prefers to describe as ‘misconceptions and fallacies’ on account of which attempts to foster human rights and embody them in Ghanaian institutions and practices have failed.14 They include the view that the concept of human rights does not have roots in Ghanaian traditions but it is a European import meant to frustrate the nation’s authentic development. Also included is the view that vast numbers of the people do not know what their rights are and, to that extent, do not insist on their rights, and that economic and social development should have precedence over other rights. However, these views have been premised on a generally flawed historical assessment of African societies. Several societies in southern Ghana, including the Akan, Ewe and Ga, were societies with social arrangements that ensured a high level of participation in governance and allowed a relatively large space for individual self-expression. As El-Obaid and Appiagyei-Atua have noted, Africa’s pre-colonial history (up to the early 1800s) witnessed the prevalence of traditional ethnic communities living under various sociopolitical arrangements (called traditional African political systems). These arrangements, ranging from the simple to the complex, embodied elements of traditional forms of democracy and human rights embedded in the religion and culture of these communities. Pre-colonial history came to an end with European contact.15

In a 1931 survey report on the major ethnic groups which then formed the ‘Gold Coast Colony’, it is stated:

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The Akan form a social group organized on democratic, quasi-military lines, the men not being circumcised; the Ga-Adangme practice circumcision and being in the intermediate cultural stage between the Akan and the Ewe, have a constitution which is semi-military and semi-sacerdotal and less inclined to democracy; the Ewe society is built on a religious base, circumcision is practised, a democratic form of government is non-existent, it not having yet wholly evolved from the patriarchal state.16

The difference between the systems of the Ga-Adangme and the Ewe, on the one hand, and that of the Akan, on the other, gradually faded as various forms of interaction, especially inter-ethnic wars and other exigencies of the era, compelled the other ethnic groups to organize their political systems along the lines of the Akan. According to Nukunya, the Akan political arrangements and the philosophy supporting them are largely mirrored in the political systems of many ethnic groups in southern Ghana, with slight differences in detail.17 Many of the British colonial administrators and visitors to Ghana in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were impressed by the system of governance they found. Most were convinced that it was a system that could be easily developed into a modern democratic form of government. In 1926, Governor Guggisberg justified the involvement of the traditional rulers – the chiefs – in the administration of the colony through the then newly created Provincial Councils of Chiefs in the following words: Sovereignty in the Gold Coast tribes lies in the people themselves who elect their chiefs and can, if they so desire, deprive him of office. Each chief is, in fact, but the mouthpiece of his State (oman) Council without whose approval no chief can perform any executive or judicial act . . . Could anything be more democratic or more representative of the people?18

Similar observations were made by several other authors like Martin Wight who, in a description of the people of the colony, wrote: In broad terms, Africans may be said to have two fundamental political attitudes. They are temperamentally law-abiding and they resent and resist government by dictation. There is no intrinsic disharmony between the indigenous institutions of the Gold Coast and the imported Western representative system. The purposes and methods of the indigenous and imported institutions are the same: both embody representative principle, and both are government by discussion.19

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R. S. Rattray, however, saw a ‘fundamental difference’ between African (Ghanaian) and Western political ideas. But this consisted only in the fact that the Ghanaian system ‘reflected temporary military needs, was decentralized, and fostered lesser loyalties contrary to all the tendencies of the modern Western state’.20 Differences that are even more fundamental existed that made the political and social environment not quite conducive to the exercise of human rights in the modern sense. The underlying philosophy located the source of the ruler’s authority beyond the people. Once a chief was enstooled, his person came to be considered sacred. He became the living link between the physical, visible world of the living and the spiritual invisible world of the ancestors,21 who were considered the real custodians of the collective morality and property of the lineage. Therefore, no matter how young a person was, once he was enstooled, he assumed the title Nana among the Akan, Nii among the Ga and Togbe among the Ewe. In that case the egalitarian outlook, so important for equality and equity in social and economic relations, was not quite developed. Originally, the Akan society was hierarchically structured, with chiefs occupying the highest position, followed by mpanyimfo (elders), and made up of sub-chiefs and then lineage and clan heads. After these came the adehye, that is the ‘free’, non-slave people who were members of the local matriclans and were ruled and represented by the mpanyimfo. Adehye might also refer more narrowly to the members of the ‘royal’ abusua, that is, the matrilineal relatives of the local ohene. Servants, pawns and slaves followed in that order at the bottom of the structure.22 In some cases, the constitution of the traditional state did not permit deposition. This, for example, was the case with respect to the Ga Mantse (the Ga paramount chief). Field explains that since the religious processes involved in making him a chief could not be undone, the Ga paramount chief was chief for life. He could, however, be removed by being killed or sent into isolation or ignored completely by his councillors and subjects.23 It seems, however, that this provision did not always hold, for it is recorded that a chief by the name Nii Tackie was destooled by the people of La in 1918.24 Yet the European commentators referred to above were largely right in their view that the indigenous political system of Ghana contained several elements that, conceptually, shared affinities with modern democratic principles. All of them mentioned important modern democratic principles as features of the Ghanaian indigenous system. They mentioned, for example, election, representation, discussion or consultation; they also mentioned the right of the people to depose. There were also the ‘two fundamental political attitudes’ of the people (law-abiding and aversion for government by dictation), which,

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combined with the nature of indigenous political arrangements, could serve as a powerful environment for the nurture of a human rights culture. The process of electing a chief may look undemocratic on the surface, even anti-democratic. However, the truth is that, though the chief must come from a particular family (a matrilineage in the case of the Akan, and a patrilineage in the case of the Ga and Ewe), the process might be fairly democratic. In the Akan system, for example, when the office of a chief becomes vacant, the next in command summons a meeting of all the sub-chiefs and clan heads or elders of the town or the state. This gathering will send a delegation to the queen mother, whose constitutional right it is to nominate a candidate for the office, and they will ask her to make a nomination. The queen mother will call a meeting with all adult men and the senior women of the branches of the royal lineage to discuss the issue subjecting all the eligible candidates to scrutiny and finally selecting the most suitable. When they have made a choice of candidate, the name of the nominee is presented to the meeting of chiefs and elders, who may approve or disapprove of the choice. In the case of a disapproval or rejection, the process will start all over again and continue until an acceptable candidate has been found.25 This means that it is not automatic for a particular eligible person of a royal lineage to become chief. Logically, the eldest person among the eligible candidates should be considered the most eligible; yet it does not work that way most of the time. As Arhin explains, all the members of the royal lineage have a hereditary right to the stool, but the representatives of the common people have the right to accept or refuse to be ruled by a particular member of the lineage.26 Hereditary rights are matched by practical considerations such as personal fitness for the office. The representativeness of the Ghanaian traditional political system is manifest in its conciliar nature. That is, the various lineages are represented on a council at the village or town level, while the various villages and towns have representatives on the divisional council, with each division having representatives on the council of the paramount chief. Each level has a recognized head with autonomy in most local matters but with clearly spelt-out procedures on how it is linked to the higher levels of the hierarchy. In Anlo, there are two councils: the War Council which advises the Awoamefia (the king of Anlo) on matters of security and the council of the leaders of clans resident in Anloga, the capital seat that assists the Awoamefia in the day-to-day administration of the state. The War Council is made up of the leaders of the three military wings of the state and is headed by the Awadada (literally, ‘War Mother’). The Akans and the Ga have similar arrangements. The conciliar system makes it difficult for the chief to abuse his power. It also ensures that the best ideas available in the land are tapped for the common

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good and provides an opportunity for wider participation in governance and a channel for free expression of sectional concerns. Underlying the conciliar practice is the traditional wisdom expressed in the proverb in Ewe: Ta deka media adanguo; and in Akan (Mfantse): Tsir kor mpam (literally meaning, ‘one head does not decide’). Without the authority of the council, the chief could neither pass any new law nor abrogate or amend an existing one; neither could he rule in any civil or criminal case. Among the Akan, the queen mother is usually an important member of this council, which has legislative, executive and judicial powers. The council deals with all matters of everyday nature, but in matters of great importance an assembly of the people is summoned for discussion. In such assemblies, every individual citizen, no matter their socio-economic status, has the right to express their view.27 Chiefs are subject to the democratic control of the queen mother, their elders and the common people.28 If a ruler consistently acted in ways that did not agree with those approved by his people, he could be deposed. Deposition is normally a formal and orderly constitutional process. Nevertheless, indigenous political arrangements of Ghana are a complex mix of democratic and autocratic elements. The sacred nature of the system tends to obfuscate its democratic aspects in fundamental ways: Chiefly authority was validated not solely by the consent of the governed but by the special relation of the chief to God in His manifestations and to the spirits of the departed ancestors . . . Even significantly democratic processes were often carried out behind an autocratic facade. Thus, the election of a chief resulting from extensive consultation was announced by the Queen Mother as if the choice were hers alone. Similarly, important decisions of state policy representing a patiently sought consensus were declared by the chief ’s linguist as if they sprang full-blown from the brow of Jove.29

The rights discussed above were in most cases exercised by citizens; foreigners or strangers could not exercise most rights, as illustrated by the proverb: onanani nkasa (a foreigner does not have a say); though, in certain matters of legal nature, a foreigner is given the benefit of the doubt or may be excused: ohoho nto mmara (the stranger does not break the law).30 In that sense, discrimination was not completely absent. Indeed, discrimination also occurred in several other instances; for example, sometimes the collective might of the community was mobilized against the individual’s legitimate concern and interests. In certain circumstances in the past, interference by the community in the life of an individual member was justified through the notion of collective responsibility, according to which the misbehaviour of one member put the lives of other members of the community

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in jeopardy. For example, among the Ewe, innocent members of a lineage could be punished for the offence of another member.31 Among the Akan, and also almost all the societies in southern Ghana, the practice of panyarring32 was widespread before the advent of colonialism. There was also a practice whereby people who owed a debt sent their children or nephews or nieces as pawns for the debt. In desperate situations, people pawned themselves.33 In some other instances, ascriptive criteria such as age and social status determined the extent to which a person could participate in governance.34 Yet, Wight’s description of Ghanaians as people who ‘resent and resist government by dictation’, was based on traditional attitudes towards political office holders and this fact is echoed in people’s self-understanding as citizens of a modern Ghana. The soldiers and police officers who led the coup that toppled Kwame Nkrumah’s CPP government claimed to have acted in accordance with ‘the oldest and the most treasured tradition of the people of Ghana, the tradition that a leader who loses the confidence and the support of his people and resorts to arbitrary use of power should be deposed’.35 Even in the precolonial context and before the advent of the Atlantic slave trade and its subsequent abolition, the various categories36 of slaves and pawns in the communities had some rights.37 However, human rights are much more than open and participatory political arrangements. They are concerned with securing the dignity of human beings, both as individuals and groups. Moreover, the civil government of the nation-state has superseded the traditional political system, since independence. The chiefs are now regarded as symbolic representatives of the country’s traditional culture, with no real power over their citizens under the country’s constitution. Nevertheless, they are the most visible symbols of political authority in many communities, even in contemporary times. Actually, their influence in society far exceeds what the current national constitutional arrangements are prepared to grant them.38

Traditional legal systems The nature of lawmaking processes, law enforcement systems and the judiciary is of critical importance for the functioning of human rights regimes. As hinted at earlier, the chiefs and their elders combined in their offices, functions of the legislature, the executive and the judiciary. The questions that interest us are: ‘did the indigenous judicial processes contain ideas and procedural patterns that were supportive of the human rights of the people?’ ‘Did the judicial process recognize and affirm the dignity of parties by adhering to the basic principles of

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equality before the law, fair hearing, and presumption of innocence until proven otherwise?’ The indigenous legal arrangements that existed prior to colonialism, and which continued to evolve throughout the colonial period and in the post-independence era, have not gone completely out of use. Laws that are part of those arrangements continue to be recognized by the country’s constitution as part of the legitimate laws of the land, under the rubric of ‘customary law’, defined as ‘the rules of law which by custom are applicable to particular communities in Ghana’.39 Though in application, customary law is limited in the context of the overall national judicial system, it constitutes an important influential element of the legal order of contemporary Ghana. This means that the indigenous judicial system still operates in many communities in Ghana, albeit in a limited way. The procedures of traditional lawmaking, application and enforcement in Ghana were oral. Laws and related procedures were ‘handed down by oral tradition and developed by usage’.40 Yet the law was not static but continued to evolve, since the communities took notice of changes and adjusted their laws to suit new conditions. However, change was slow due to certain fundamental features of the system. In the first place, the process of lawmaking involved both the direct issuing of laws and the invocation of immemorial custom. Secondly, administration of justice, though secular in the main, could not be isolated from the religious world view. The judicial role of the chiefs and elders could not be separated from their ritual functions. Thirdly, the communal and religious inclination of the society meant a relish for stability and harmony as fundamental values, and where stability and harmony become the most important goals of a community, change is accepted only slowly. In such contexts, radical individuals who pursue their parochial but legitimate interests through litigation are bound to be considered troublemakers. Nevertheless, the law, in its secular aspects under the traditional arrangements, was personal. It governed the individual as a member of the community.41 The chiefs and their elders constituted the courts. Minor cases could be handled at the courts presided over by lineage heads and elders; major cases involving offences such as murder, stealing and adultery were handled by the chief ’s court. Important legal principles and judicial practices were observed. For example, the laws were predictable because they were published before they came into effect; they were published through the traditional channels, especially the beating of the gong-gong in public places.42 This fulfilled the general principle that, in fairness to those to be affected, any legal standard before it is applied must be promulgated in advance.

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The principle of fair hearing was also an important pillar of the traditional legal system. According to Sarbah, this principle was learned by the Mfantse the hard way, when the authorities mistakenly executed the innocent son of the chief priest of their national oracle.43 There was also room for appeal. When one of the parties in a case was not satisfied with the ruling, they could appeal to a higher court; that is, if the case had first been heard by the court of an elder or a chief of lower status. In the Akan areas, cases involving capital punishment permitted an appeal to be made by invocation of the state oath.44 Trials were held in the open; the general public was permitted to be present as spectators, and though they did not take part in the proceedings, ‘their shouts or murmurs of approval, disapproval or protest tended to influence the final decision of the court’.45 In spite of the relatively fair, transparent and dynamic nature of the traditional legal regime, certain aspects of it seriously involved the potential for the abuse of human rights. In certain cases, the communal and religious perspectives of the society generated intolerant and abusive attitudes. That an individual’s attempt to pursue justice could be misconstrued as trouble-making has already been alluded to. A practice in Gomoa provides an interesting example. Gomoa Antseadze used to be the highest court of the various Gomoa chiefdoms. It was there that the most serious crimes such as treason and murder were tried. In most cases, offenders who were taken to the court there did not return to their hometowns; they were sentenced to prison terms and remained there or were sold into slavery or executed. The executions took place in two shrines, which represented the two types of offenders that were executed at Antseadze. There was the general shrine for the execution of offenders guilty of grievous crimes, and there was the shrine called Edzibem Posuban (the shrine of the not guilty), where people considered as troublemakers were executed. These people, indeed, were not guilty but wanted to insist on their rights. Sometimes, the only basis for their execution was that they had previously won three cases; this was interpreted to mean that they were troublemakers. In other cases, they were condemned because they refused compensation packages recommended by the elders or a chief at a lower court.46 The Edzibem Posuban still stands in the middle of the town, and though it is no longer the site for the execution of the ‘not-guilty’, it is a reminder of the traditional aversion for litigation. Another aspect of the traditional judicial systems of the past that would evoke extreme condemnations in modern times was the manner of punishing certain categories of offenders. We have already mentioned the decapitations, banishments and sale into slavery of the guilty. A practice in Anlo history known as Nyiko is one example. Like other traditional societies, the Anlos looked with

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repugnance on certain types of crimes, especially crimes that had the potential to undermine the security, reputation or cohesion of the traditional state.47 Nyiko was used against those who repeatedly flouted the laws and customs of the land. In the Nyiko customary punishment, offenders were buried alive. Greene lists offences considered so grievous to deserve the severest punishment. These included taking away another person’s life through witchcraft or the use of black magic, stealing, meddling with somebody else’s wife, incurring debts, disobedience to parents and untruthfulness.48 Another limitation of the traditional judicial system was its methods of investigation. In certain cases that required some investigation to arrive at the truth, there was a resort to trial by ordeal. This did not ensure fairness to suspects, since it was difficult to prove or disprove the outcome. Yet evidence obtained through such practices was admitted and cases were judged based on it.49 Sometimes the process involved the drinking of poison, which was presumed to cause the death of the culprit while it was presumed not to harm those who were innocent. In certain other cases, the ancestors and the gods were invoked by the offended against those who had offended them. These spirit-beings were believed to be the ultimate custodians of justice and to be able to deal directly with culprits, especially if these intended to hide and not own up to their crimes.50 Since the ultimate authority was believed to rest with the ancestors and the deities, it meant the chiefs and elders who were the administrators of justice were accountable to them. Any deliberate act of unfairness or injustice could result in the death of the members of the panel of chiefs and elders or of the witnesses who sat on the case. Such deaths were interpreted as the ancestors summoning them to appear before them to explain their actions.51

African communality and human rights If the political arrangements from precolonial times have been compatible with democratic principles, was that alone sufficient for the fostering of a human rights culture? The communal nature of African societies has been used in the past by certain ideologues and politicians as the basis for declaring human rights as unsuited to the African context. This plea became a smokescreen that prevented the rest of the world from seeing the abuses that African political elites of the 1960s and the 1970s unleashed on their citizens. Since this dichotomy – Western culture being individualistic and African culture communal – came to be seen as

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defining the difference between Western Europe and Africa, such abuses came to be tolerated by the rest of the world. The characterization of African society as radically communalistic was used to present human rights as alien to Africa. Chanock has questioned the basis of the dichotomy drawn between Western cultures that are supposed to emphasize individuality and others such as African ones that are said to emphasize communality in human rights discourse. He relates the widespread acceptance gained by that view to the ideological disputes of the Cold War era in which the critique of individualism became a weapon in the hands of the socialist block in their attack on capitalism. On the other hand, communalism was understood as a mode of social organization of primitive peoples and, therefore, not meant for civilized European societies.52 However, human rights have emerged because of the social nature of human beings; by their nature, human rights are meant to apply in the context of community life. In fact, they are meant to mediate competing claims in the context of group life. The official documents53 of the UN system of human rights envisage an international community of individuals recognizing their own inherent dignity and that of others and behaving towards one another as is appropriate: ‘Classical liberalism from which rights flow, does not subordinate the group to the individual, but is concerned with the kind of group to which individuals belong.’54 Human rights are communal in the sense that they make life in the context of group life more orderly, with claims of rights and demands of responsibility on one another. It protects the individual as a social being, and, by that, ensures that society itself is protected. This does not dispute the clear bias of the UN system of human rights towards individual rights. The emphasis on the individual in the UN human rights instruments is too obvious to deny. Nevertheless, just as individuals make up groups in the West, so are groups made up of individuals in Africa. That is, in the same way as human rights in the individualistic culture of the West do not necessarily set the individual against the group, likewise in the communalistic culture of Africa, the group does not swallow up the individual into complete anonymity. In the Introduction to the second edition of Cruickshank’s Eighteen Years on the Gold Coast of Africa, Busia wrote about the Mfantse kinship system, This kinship system emphasized group solidarity, and the individual found fulfilment only as a member of the group; the isolated individual is a nobody; but the individual as a member of the group was a human being, a personality, and the group was always there to offer protection and security, as well as make demands when the occasion arose.55 [Emphases are mine.]

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And Chanock writes about modern Western societies, . . . the attempt to depict Western societies as individualistic misses the point that these very societies, with their powerful cohesive ideologies of nationalism, patriotism, collective action and welfarism, have been and are far more ‘successful’ groups on a larger scale over long periods of time, with better working consensual traditions of government than the often fragmented, authoritarian, familistic, localistically-based societies which invoke their cultural attachment to groupness.56

With respect to human rights, the controversy about individualism and communalism ought to be understood in the context of the capacity of the different states and the level of development of their political and economic facilities. Africans are not so innately communalistic as to be indifferent to their sense of individual identity and aspirations. When the social and economic climate permits, individuals in Africa are prepared to stake their claims against the community. A visitor to the then Gold Coast in the first half of the twentieth century is reported to have observed what he described as a ‘plague of litigation’, which held up ‘almost every development of public works’ by lawsuits.57 Modern human rights culture emphasizes the state’s role as the duty-bearer of most rights. However, the lack of capacity of most African governments to provide physical and social security for the majority of their people makes such an orientation dangerous. Undue focus on the state and emphasis on individual autonomy tend to undermine the altruistic and voluntary spirit that is an indispensable social capital for the building of a dynamic civil society – so critical for the flourishing of a human rights culture. Not only African societies, but also most religious traditions, attempt to condition their members to be sensitive to their neighbours’ needs in the same way as they would want people to be sensitive to theirs when in a similar situation.

Human dignity Human rights are usually linked to the concept of human dignity. It has become a generally accepted view that ‘what is called “human dignity” is simply the acknowledgement that people are entitled to rights’.58 The UDHR starts with the recognition of the ‘inherent human dignity . . . of all members of the human family’, and the ICCPR states that human rights are ‘derived from the inherent dignity of the human person’. So the United Nations human rights system has, as a central objective, the protection of human dignity.

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Arvind Sharma relates the concept of human dignity to human rights in three ways. First, he says, human dignity is the product of the successful assertion of human rights; secondly, participation in the political process enhances both human dignity and human rights; and thirdly, human dignity could be regarded as a source of human rights.59 But in what does human dignity consist? What is it about the human being that makes them beings with dignity? This question leads us to revisit what we described as a ‘validating foundation’ in Chapter 2. It appears that in the history of organized societies, it has always been the case that human beings have considered themselves unique among all other beings. Whether in the great civilizations of antiquity or in the twentieth-century international diplomacy of the United Nations, leading thinkers have maintained that there is something about the human being that makes them special specie, deserving of society’s mandatory honour and protection. In Western scholarship, philosophy and theology in particular have, mostly, supplied the standard for the measurement of human dignity. In that sense, the content of human dignity in Western traditions has been derived from both religious and non-religious sources. A sketch of the history of the concept of human dignity in Western scholarship, as has been thought in the different periods by different thinkers, reveals several positions. Among the more influential are the ideas of Kant and Cicero, which we discuss below. One of the earliest views on human dignity was that it consisted in human rationality, which includes the ability to make the right choice between good and evil. The Stoics, who represented this view, made a distinction between an extraneous and an inward basis of dignity. Extraneous bases of dignity included such things as the social and political position a person occupies and the reputation that comes with it. Cicero, a leading figure of the Stoics thought that dignity based on extraneous circumstances made a person dependent on those extraneous things. In that case, when there is a loss of position and of the wealth, power and honour that come with it, the person is left broken and tormented mentally in such a way as to hamper the cultivation of his or her humanity. Therefore, Cicero maintained that it is better to keep one’s sense of worth in oneself and not link it to anything outside the person. Thus, human dignity is embedded in a quality of ‘self-government’, of the individual, which is deemed intrinsic to everybody. Men, women, slaves and freeborn: all are endowed with this dignity, rooted in self-sovereignty. It is rationality that distinguishes the human being from other creatures such as animals. For example, human rationality and discerning abilities provide ‘a therapeutic effect’ that empowers human beings to be composed and self-controlled in order not to

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fall for temptations from within and without. This enables the ‘self-government of the soul’,60 meaning that human dignity is radically based on individual autonomy and that it is inward-based; it is not dependent on any circumstances outside a person so that ‘no longer are we winning fame in public space; we act to maintain our sense of worth in our own eyes’.61 Another view says that human beings are priceless; that is, they have an intrinsic value that cannot be reckoned in terms of market prices. This makes the human being unique and sets them apart from all other categories. Therefore, all other categories can be priced but not the human being. This is the view of Immanuel Kant who draws a difference between human beings, other beings and other categories that may apply to human beings such as status. The human being has value that cannot be priced, whereas other beings or things may be priced. But anything that has a price is subject to price fluctuation and the laws of supply and demand. For example, in times of war, the price of soldiers will increase because there will be a high demand for them, but in times of peace, their price value might fall. However, according to Kant, human beings are priceless; they have an intrinsic value that cannot be diminished by any circumstances. Therefore, human beings are an end in themselves, hence the categorical imperative: ‘Act in such a way that you always treat humanity, whether in your person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means, but always at the same time as an end.’62 Human dignity requires that people act towards humanity in accordance ‘with duty’ and ‘from duty’. One who acts ‘from duty’ does not use people simply as a means but also at the same time as an end, as beings that have value in themselves.63 In Kantian philosophy, the value of the human being is derived from no other source than the human beings themselves. The moral will to act towards humanity in accordance with the categorical imperative is a quality that comes from self-sovereignty or autonomy. Individual autonomy carries with it the idea of moral self-sovereignty, in which the human being does not submit to anything outside himself or herself and yet does not give in to immorality. The way to determine whether our moral decisions are sound or not is to submit them to the categorical imperative of ‘universalizability’: ‘Act only on that maxim through which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.’64 If the criterion of universalizability is met, human beings achieve genuine autonomy. Dignity linked to autonomy of the individual ensures that the appropriate borderlines around each individual are recognized, and humanity is not violated in the person of none, since all are of equal dignity. But Cicero’s self-government of the individual soul and Kant’s categorical imperatives deriving from the intrinsic value and the autonomy of the individual

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as the basis of the concept of human dignity do not contradict theological formulations that ground human dignity in metaphysical realities. From the very beginning of the Christian era, theologians combined biblical insights with philosophical ideas such as that of the Stoics of whom Cicero was a prominent representative. Christian thinkers such as Augustine and Thomas Aquinas located human dignity in the image of God. What constitutes the ‘image of God’ is itself a subject of unending controversy among Christian theologians. The image of God has been located in several motifs. For some theologians, the image of God is reflected in the spirit of the human being as distinct from the body; for others, it consists in the ‘natural’ image of God given to Adam, the first human being created, which was lost at the fall in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 1–3) but was recovered, no more as ‘natural’ but ‘supernatural’ through Christ.65 Another view links the image of God to the Christian doctrine of the Trinity. This explanation is traced to Augustine. It identifies the ability to remember God, the knowledge of God and the love of God as the manifestation of the image of God in human beings. Relating human dignity to the image of God was the dominant way of conceptualizing the inherent value of the human being until the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. Beyond these eras into the present period, the concept lives on and is expressed in several different forms by Christian theologians, extending the discussion to the idea of God’s immanence in creation. Nevertheless, the new responses to the question of human dignity have provided new grounds of legitimation for many people, but they have not superseded religious explanations such as those derived from the doctrine of creation and the image of God. The current situation provides a plurality of explanations or justifications, some religious, others secular. This is natural in the present context of plural values. People must find their own justification for upholding the values that are common to all.66

Human dignity in the Ghanaian context What does ‘human dignity’ mean in Ghanaian culture? As we established in Chapter 4, what constitutes Ghanaian culture is made up of elements drawn from the cultures of the many ethnic groups that form the nation and the various historical experiences of encounter through trade, colonialism and inter-ethnic cultural encounters and wars. This means the people’s belief systems and concepts about God, the universe and human beings are influenced by all these factors. A great chunk of elements constituting Ghana’s common culture is made up

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of ideas, values and standards that have been left with the people through the colonial experience. Yet, whatever changes resulted from the colonial experience have not obliterated or invalidated all values that existed before the onset of colonialism.67 With regard to concepts of humanity, Ghanaians see three dimensions: the physical or material dimension, the spiritual dimension and the social dimension. Though the traditional views persist, they often get mixed up with biblical or Christian ideas, revealing how much Christianity and local indigenous beliefs are in dialogue. The fact that most of the custodians of custom in the traditional areas under discussion have received some level of Western education and are Christians, or at least have been in contact with Christianity over a long time, affect their interpretation of traditional ideas. This is illustrated by the following conversation that ensued between the researcher and Togbe Zewu III,68 a senior chief in Anloga: Researcher (Res.): From the point of view of Anlo culture, who/what do you say the human being is? Togbe Zewu (Togbe): The human being is a creature of God, higher than all other creatures. Res.: Are all human beings equally human? Togbe: Yes, since all of us are descendants of the same parents. Res.: Who are these parents? Togbe: Adam and Eve; is that not what the Bible says? Res.: Yes, but is that also what the Anlo tradition says? Togbe: No, Anlo tradition is different but what it says is confirmed by the Bible.

Although Togbe Zewu continued with an outline and an explanation of the Anlo view of the human being, he kept referring to the Bible to illustrate or confirm his point. I found similar behaviour in Gomoa. In response to the question, ‘how are human beings related to, or different from other creatures, for example, animals?’ The following conversation with Nana Okra Tawia69 ensued: Nana: All other beings were called into being by God or were created by God, but the human being was created by God and was given the breath of God. Res.: So is there a relationship between human beings and animals, for example?

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Nana: God realized human beings could not live alone on earth, so he created other things to make life in the world easy for them. According to the Bible, animals are meant to be used and manipulated by humans.

Like Togbe Zewu, Nana Okra Tawia clearly knew the custom and history of his traditions, but it seems his Christian background and education have become part of his identity-consciousness, and he draws more naturally on his Christian background than on his identity as a traditional chief. The cases of these two chiefs mirror the changes that are taking place in the concepts, ideas and values of Ghanaian people. This is not surprising, given the view that has gained currency in African scholarship that the accommodating nature of African belief systems makes it easy for the people to absorb new religious ideas without any feeling of contradiction.70 Generally, the concept of the human being in southern Ghana falls into what Vroom has termed religious anthropologies71: a three-dimensional being of body, spirit and the soul, with complex kinship relationships, explained in physical and metaphysical terms. In their physical dimension, the human being is matter, which constitutes the body (nutilo in Ewe; honam in Akan; gbomortso in Ga); in their spiritual dimension, human beings are believed to possess non-physical components, which also define their kinship links in the society. Among the Ewe, every human being possesses gborgbor or luvo, which is translated ‘spirit’. But there is also the se, which is translated ‘soul’, and which is regarded as a double of the individual and the bearer of the individual’s ‘destiny’72; the term se is actually translated as ‘destiny’ and is thought to have great significance for the life of the individual in this world as it is believed to keep the person company from cradle to grave, protecting, guiding and animating them. The Ga and the Akan have similar ideas. In addition to the gbomortso, the Ga believe that two elements constitute the non-physical aspect of the human being. These are the kla, which may be translated ‘soul’, and the susuma, normally translated ‘spirit’. Strong influences of Akan concepts about the human being can be discerned in the Ga concept. The Akan talks about okra and sunsum as constituting the non-physical aspect of the human being. The okra, which is like se in Ewe and kla in Ga, is also translated ‘soul’, and the sunsum, like gborgbor or luvo and susuma, is translated ‘spirit’. Apart from these, there is an element which is usually translated as ‘blood’. The Akan call it mogya, the Ga la and the Ewe ewu. The threefold composition of the human being carries with it ontological links with various metaphysical entities and social units. For example, in the Akan

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concept, the human being is considered a child of God because it is God who is believed to give the okra. In fact, the okra is regarded as a spark of God73 and returns to God after the death of a person. This is also the case with the Ga and, as we have already seen, the Ewe. This means that the human being, in the sense of the individual person, is believed to possess something of the divine essence.74 The okra as a spark of God is also thought to endow humans with immortality, and this is what is expressed by the Akan adinkra symbol, Nyame bewu ansa na mawu (if God can die, then I would too). This concept of the human being has certain implications for kinship relations. Kinship is determined primarily by blood in all three research areas. Among the Ewe and the Ga, a person’s primary kinship group is that of the father. This means, in matters of succession to office and inheritance of property, they follow the patrilineal principle. The Gomoa, an Akan group, being matrilineal have a different arrangement. Inheritance to property and succession to office is through the mother’s line. Notwithstanding the categorization of the various groups in terms of patrilineality and matrilineality, there are always arrangements that connect persons to the father’s kinship group in the case of the Akan, and to the mother’s kinship group in the case of the Ewe and the Ga.75 These kinship relationships are underpinned by certain customary beliefs, and personal behaviour within the groups is believed to be sanctioned by the supernatural.76 The Akan especially have an elaborate system of metaphysical links with various entities. The sunsum is believed to put a person in a social unit called ntoro. Each ntoro is regarded as linked to a specific obosom (deity) which is thought to sanction people’s behaviour within the unit. The Akan-Mfantse actually call the ntoro, egya bosom (father’s deity). This represents the traditional conception of the human being in southern Ghana. Each person is thought to have been created by God with an independent soul that is said to carry something of God’s essence. Each soul is viewed as unique in relation to other human beings and creatures and their unique destinies. But people are born into the world of humans, which is deemed to interact unceasingly with the world of the deities and the ancestors. An old tradition found among the Akan and the Ewe, and which is still very much alive in some communities in both Anlo and Gomoa, suggests a prenatal existence of humans prior to their birth into the world. The Ewe call the realm of that existence Bume; the Akans call it Asamando, which is the same as the word used for the world of the spirits of the deceased. It is believed that there is a female spirit in that prenatal world, called in Ewe Bumenor (Mother of Bume),77 and in Akan, ena Saman (ghost mother). This belief is sometimes invoked to explain the belief in

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reincarnation. Those who die in infancy are sometimes said to have been taken away by their ‘ghost mother’. Thus, the community into which a person is born transcends the realm of the physical world. Depending upon a person’s level of knowledge and commitment as a Christian or Muslim, some of these ideas may be mixed up in ways that affect their perspectives on life.78 What are the implications of the view of the human being discussed above for the concept of human dignity and, by extension, human rights? Human dignity, as we saw above, is rooted in the constitution of the human person as a being thought to have been created by God, who is said to carry something of God’s essence in the form of the ‘soul’, which is viewed as the bearer of a unique destiny. In addition, every human being is believed to be in a continuous, unbreakable relationship with the kinship group and to be a member of the wider community, which is said to include the gods and the ancestors. Flowing from these convictions is a complex, extensive and sometimes ambivalent set of ideas, behavioural patterns and attitudes towards human beings. In all three traditional areas, there are taboos with respect to the human being. Such taboos indicate that human beings are never to be subjected to certain forms of treatment because they are seen as sacred. These are different from taboos that relate to particular persons due to their sacred status such as chiefs and priests. The taboos in question apply to all human beings as specie. There are also certain conditions that are believed to rob people of aspects of the quality of humanness. These include certain diseases, physically challenging conditions and scandalous moral lapses. While it is not a straightforward matter to determine what constitutes the content of human dignity in traditional thought, it seems that the concept of dignity itself may be captured in what the Akan calls enyimyam, the opposite of which is enyimguase or fer (shame/ disgrace/dishonour). Enyimguase is traditionally so detested that death is to be preferred to it, as expressed in the Twi proverb, Fer nye enyimguase dze nkye efanyim owu (between shame and death, death is to be preferred). Among the Ewe, the Ga and the Akan, there are certain prohibitions or taboos with respect to the treatment of a human being. They are part of what the Akan-Mfantse generally call akyiwadze (Twi: akyiwade). This may be translated as ‘hateful things’, or more appropriately ‘abominable things’. There are different categories of akyiwadze. There are those that apply to every human being, and there are those that apply to people because of their status as adults, office-bearers, men, women, children, twins or a new mother. For the purposes of this work, our interest is mainly in those akyiwadze that apply to human beings based on their being ‘human’. These are called egudodoame by the Ewe. The word

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egudodoame has two parts: egudodo – ‘reduce’, ‘disgrace’, ‘demean’, ‘degrade’ – and ame – ‘human being’. This gives it the meaning of ‘things that degrade or demean or disgrace human beings’. They are things that are thought to take some quality away from one’s humanity and to undermine human dignity. They include hitting somebody with a broom, kicking somebody with the feet, spitting on another person, using foul language on another person and invoking the slave-ancestry of another person in order to humiliate them. Others are: hitting somebody with a shoe or with sandals, illegally taking another person’s life, taking one’s own life and subjecting a person to any form of cruelty or torture. In order to appreciate how these taboos are linked to human dignity, it is important, first to understand the meaning of some of them in the context of the traditional culture. Egudodoame or akyiwadze of the type under discussion are considered very grievous acts, because their implications are regarded as potentially disastrous for both the victim and the community. Their negative effects are believed to go beyond the physical and to affect the soul and the spirit of the victim. Since the ‘soul’ (okra/luvo/kla) is believed to be the person’s double and the main life-giving aspect of a person, its moods are said to be affected by certain experiences and events in life. Prolonged illness, near-fatal accidents, public shame, insult, slander, fright and trauma are said to be able to affect the condition of the ‘soul’ negatively. When the soul is so affected, its vitality and life-giving activity is thought to become undermined and, as the belief goes, might further affect the confidence, health and spiritual security of a person. It might even result in a person’s death. The ‘soul’ is believed to be pure crystal or, in local colour symbolism, ‘white’. It is thought that any of the incidents and events mentioned above could cause a change in its colour or mood. It is actually believed that such things cause a temporary separation, though not a parting, between the essential components of a person – the body, the soul and the spirit. In such circumstances, the wholeness of a person’s being is believed to be fundamentally affected, and in the experience of the people, it reflects bodily on the mood of the person involved. It is in such circumstances that the paleness of a person resulting from illness or depression is explained as ne kra aguan (her/his soul has deserted him/her), ne kra abotow (his/ her soul is low in spirit) or ne sunsum aye har (her/his spirit has lost its weight). The close-knit kinship system in which individuals and groups are joined in an extensive and complex network underpinned by metaphysical explanations means that an insult or abuse suffered by one person is thought to affect many people at the same time. Those found guilty in traditional courts of causing any

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offence of such nature to another person were, therefore, punished severely. In the case of slander, for example, among the Mfantse the punishment was severe.79 The acts that are classified as egudodoame are taboo offences because their effects are believed to be devastating to the vital life forces of the individual and the community. For example, to hit someone with the hand is bad enough. However, to hit them with a broom or with sandals or a shoe from under one’s feet is regarded as a terrible form of violence. The meaning of the act is the issue. Brooms are used to sweep refuse, garbage, the dross we do not want near human habitation. That is what they must be used for; not on human beings. To use a broom on a human being is to draw an equation between the person and refuse. In outlawing such a practice, the community affirms human dignity. The same could be said about using your feet or your sandals or shoe on another person. The foot is not only the lowest part of the human body but, metaphorically, also the dirtiest. It is a show of the grossest disrespect to use one’s feet on any human being, for whatever reason.80 Those who engage in certain unacceptable behaviours are also regarded as having undermined their own sense of dignity as human beings. Traditionally, the rapist, especially the defiler of a minor, those who commit incest and adultery, the murderers, alleged witches or wizards and practitioners of evil magic were treated in ways that suggested a depreciation of their humanity. In the olden days, those guilty of sexual offences such as rape, adultery,81 incest and defilement, as well as those who broke taboos, including those categorized as egudodoame, were taken through rituals of cleansing and restoration after their punishment. Those guilty of murder, witchcraft and the use of evil magic, and incorrigible thieves were condemned to death or banished from the community.82 Rituals would be performed for both the perpetrator and the victim. Rituals were performed on the victim because it was assumed that the humiliation and trauma suffered had violated their dignity and affected the proper and integrated functioning of their essential components  – the soul, body and spirit. The perpetrators also had to go through the rituals because it was held that their behaviour veered way off what was expected of a normal member of the human family. In Ewe, the popular phrase etsi Bume (part of you is left in Bume, the prenatal world of spirits) would be used of such people; the Mfantse would say, onnye nyimpa (he/she is not human). In Ewe, the ritual to correct egudodoame is called gudedename, which literally means ‘cleansing a person of evil’. Viewing humanity in terms of the sacred puts the human being in a unique category and entitles them to certain basic forms of respect. By specifying certain taboo acts as ‘never to be done’ to any human being, traditional society showed

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that it believed in a threshold of dignity below which no human being should fall. In holding certain moral failings in extreme abhorrence, these societies underscored the dignity that comes with the exercise of responsibility in human communities. Perhaps Kant’s ‘priceless value’ of the human being and Cicero’s ‘ability to discern between good and evil’ combine to provide some insight into what it means to be human and to possess dignity in the Ghanaian world view.

The differently able, the differently looking and human dignity Does every person possess human dignity in equal measure in Ghanaian societies? Most discussants insisted that traditional ideas of dignity encompassed all members of the community. Granted that everybody is presumed to have dignity; do traditional societies in Ghana recognize and respect everybody’s dignity equally? Initially, it was difficult to find a way of ascertaining in our research the factuality of the claim that all humans are equal in dignity. Eventually, the decision was taken to focus on how the various categories of people are treated at important landmark stages in life, such as birth and death. The underlying assumption of this method was that the rites that are performed at those stages often give some indication of the community’s views and beliefs about the person with respect to their standing or status in the community. Understanding the various symbolic acts and objects involved in the rites can reveal something about the community’s assumptions about their members who are, in one way or another, different in appearance and, in other ways, from the generality of the people. For example, a newborn child that has not been given a name is not regarded as having yet attained personhood because its identity is not fully defined. If it dies before the eighth day when, customarily, it should have been named, it is buried without ceremony. Having a name means having an identity; having an identity is considered an important part of being human. In the traditional areas studied, a person’s basic identity is defined by belonging to the lineage. The act of naming the child is an expression of its being accepted by, and incorporated into, the community.83 Thus, for a child to die before it was named meant that it had died when it was not yet fully human. In traditional communities, in the past, babies born with serious deformities were not allowed to live; they were killed shortly after birth. They were considered not properly human; sometimes, they were considered as spirits that had come in that form to punish the parents for some offence. A female discussant at Gomoa

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Antseadze claimed that such babies were taken to a river or to a lake side, and when rituals had been performed for them, they would turn into a snake or a fish and swim into the water. However, an elder explained that this was the story normally told to the public, but that the babies were actually killed. Twins and albinos are traditionally looked upon as carriers of special spiritual power. But while twins were traditionally almost always regarded as mascots bringing good luck when well handled, albinos84 and hunchbacks were regarded as persons who carried a rare sacred quality that made them the most preferred candidates for rituals involving human slaying.85 A study of burials and funeral rites is important to help determine how a society regards categories of human beings. By observing and analysing the way communities bury different categories of human beings, one may arrive at a particular society’s concept of what makes a person properly human. In all three societies studied, it was observed that the deceased also have a dignity that must be protected. They have a right to a decent burial and funeral. Those who are denied the full range of honour due the dead are those regarded as having lost the right to be accorded a funeral that befits their dignity as human beings. For example, in the past, and in a few cases in modern times, among a section of the Ewe, people who were thought to be witches or wizards or to use evil magic were denied decent burial and funeral rites. In some cases, even after they had been buried, if it was revealed that they were guilty of such offences while they were alive, their bodies were exhumed and burnt.86 This was to prevent the reincarnation of such evil persons. For the same reason, persons who had died of suicide, as well as murderers, were also not accorded normal funeral rites. While it is not difficult to understand why people who are known or believed to be guilty of serious offences should lose their dignity, it is not so easy to understand why similar treatment is given to persons who through no fault of theirs are born deformed.87 For example, in some of the research areas, persons with deformities such as cripples and hunchbacks were also treated differently in burial. The explanations given by discussants were the same in all cases. It is to send a message to the spirit-world that the society is not tolerant of such conditions and that those buried should not reincarnate in the same or similar form. Thus, they were buried disgracefully in order to discourage such people from coming back to be born into the family in the same condition. This means that although such people might possess dignity in and by themselves, that dignity is undermined in the eyes of the society by their unfavourable and challenging physical condition.

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However, traditional attitudes towards the disabled or physically challenged people and the deformed while they are alive are generally positive. The belief that the world is both physical and spiritual, and that there is constant traffic between the two worlds, means that it is thought that the gods and the ancestors may sometimes appear as strangers; for example, as a lunatic at your door. The way you treat such a stranger would lead to a blessing or a curse: if you treat them well, you would be rewarded; but would be punished if you treat them badly. Such beliefs discouraged public mistreatment of the disabled and the deformed in traditional society. Nevertheless, the expectation that families should protect their physically challenged members as a matter of duty was a more effective incentive than motivations derived from the fear of divine retribution. By traditional norms, it is cruel and shameful to neglect the weaker members of your family.88 Maltreating any disabled or vulnerable person could result in courting the anger of their families. This is underscored by the Mfantse proverb: obodamfo mpo wo owura (even the lunatic belongs). One of the most formidable mechanisms for the protection of individual rights in Ghanaian traditional societies was the family. For example, parties in marriage could always count on the extended family to defend them against marital abuse.89 Among the Mfantse, it was the chief who catered for the welfare of the deformed and others who had come of age but were not able to fend for themselves because of their challenging physical condition. Mostly, such people became part of the palace servants and performed light duties such as entertaining people at gatherings at the palace. Sometimes they depended on the traditional priest at the state shrine to cater for them. This seems to have been an old Ghanaian practice. When individuals were in distress and could no longer depend on their families, they became the responsibility of the community. Reports about Efutu in the Gold Coast of the seventeenth century show that in the then emerging urban communities, the increasing number of destitute citizens were catered for by the imposition of special taxes and from court fines, and the chiefs were obliged to provide the physically handicapped with employment.90 It is also said that the ‘priestly estate of the abosomfo and asumanfo assumed responsibility for the material welfare of the destitute’.91 Traditional ideas of human dignity did not apply to everybody in equal measure. Again, this is evident in some of the practices that attended the burial and funeral of kings and chiefs. The belief that the human being has a soul and a spirit that survive their sojourn in the material world implied that when people died, they moved on to settle in another world. Traditionally, the dead are said to embark on a journey to another world, where they would continue to live in ways

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similar to life in this world. Therefore, cloths, ornaments and money were usually buried with the dead. This was done for all who died, including the commoner. But in precolonial times, the practice existed where on the death of a king some people were killed by decapitation and were buried together with him.92 Probably, the idea of a chief or a king appearing in a new world with a retinue of courtiers was meant to assert his greatness. The number of people killed for this purpose depended upon the greatness of the particular king or chief.93 Was this a case of ensuring dignity related to the status of the king by disregarding the inherent human dignity of the ordinary person? One of the paradoxes of religion is how it affirms life to the point of making it sacred and yet provides the basis for its destruction in ritual and other contexts. Ritual killings and human sacrifices, both in cases in which the victim offers him/herself voluntarily and in cases in which they are forcibly seized and killed cannot, either in modern times or in the past, be justified. Even in the context of the traditional practice, a pointer to the admission of its wrongness was the resort to ritual fumigation and bathing with herbs by executioners in order to escape harm by the vengeful spirit (sasa) of their victim.94 We may conclude that there have been ideas of human dignity and a general recognition that such dignity ought to be protected, although the idea of dignity was not applied equally to everybody. Yet, the presence of such ideals in Ghanaian culture should serve to facilitate the development of a modern human rights culture.

Colonial encounters and human rights Traditional societies in Ghana produced their own paths to social change before the onset of colonialism and during the colonial era. Social change occurred both as a result of internal promptings and in response to external stimuli.95 Though the encounter between the peoples of present-day Ghana and Western Europe started in 1471, it was only in 1844 that a formal relationship between the British and the people began, which eventually resulted in the colonization of Ghana. Several chiefs of the coastal ethnic states, apparently, impressed by the pacifying effects of the administration of George Maclean, the president of the Council of Merchants appointed by the British Committee of Merchants to administer the forts and castles in 1830, readily appended their signatures, in 1844, to a declaration that came to be known as the Bond of 1844.96 The document acknowledged and regularized British jurisdiction and power that had been exercised irregularly by Maclean. The text of the declaration reveals how much,

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by that time, a self-evaluation of indigenous customs and practices, prompted by the encounter with the West, was already yielding fruits in the direction of human rights. Declaring that ‘the first objects of law are the protection of individuals and property’, the document acknowledged as ‘abominations’ and ‘illegal’, customs such as ‘human sacrifices’ and ‘panyarring’. British colonial rule came with new ideas and values that combined with other factors such as the missionary enterprise to create an environment that facilitated a speedy activation and development of indigenous ideals that showed affinity with the values of freedom and dignity of the individual and the rule of law.97 The modest success of the British judicial system, introduced by Maclean, meant that the traditional system of administering justice had been exposed to critical evaluation and would in due course have to undergo serious reform or naturally die. A natural love for freedom and justice, which had lain uncultivated all along, began to be unleashed when the time was ripe. By 1842, a picture emerges of a people increasingly conscious of their individual identities and fired by a sense of fairness and justice: ‘people brought “palavers of all kinds, law suits, complaints of servants against their masters, masters against their servants, wives against their husbands, and law suits relating to the owning of ground etc.”’98 Clearly the process of inculturation of human rights had already begun, and applying the four analytical elements of our model of inculturation – spontaneous/popular dialogue, translation, confrontation and directional dialogue  – the various developments could be explained systematically. In the previous chapter, we discussed how certain factors, including the work of the Christian missionaries, led to the emergence and growth of individual consciousness in the colonial era. In Asante, where colonial rule was established much later in 1902, similar developments occurred: ‘Mission training, education, and increase in trading and cocoa cultivation’ led to the spread of ideas linked to modern concepts of democracy and human rights.99 The communalism of precolonial times came to be resented by the ordinary people. Arhin writes about the illiterate sub-elite in Asante: It is clear . . . that the apparent support of the akonkofo for colonial rule was specific: it was limited to what was believed to be a feature of colonial rule, which was to protect individual enterprise and property against state aggrandizement. Correspondingly, criticism of the traditional authority was limited to that aspect which the akonkofo thought prevented personal accumulation of wealth.100

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In the end, these developments undermined the indigenous institutions and led to widespread protests against both the traditional political system and colonial rule. By the beginning of the twentieth century, criticism of both the traditional order and the colonial system had become a passion of the educated elite and the merchant class of the country. Then also, newspapers emerged that were fiercely critical of both traditional and colonial institutions and policies.101 The result was the emergence of new groupings around new interests, such as economics, politics and Christianity. They included the Aborigines’ Rights Protection Society (ARPS) and the National Congress of British West Africa (NCWA). There were also literary and reading clubs as well as ladies’ associations that brought together educated women. The rigorous enforcement of the emancipation order by the colonial government, and the encouragement and support given to slaves by the missionaries,102 began to sweep away the distinctions between the various strata of the traditional social structure. The stress on the equality of all human beings, and the constant use of terms such as ‘freedom’ in the crisis period of the emancipation, helped nurture the ideas and vocabulary for the articulation of universal ideas at the grass-roots level. This is illustrated by an incident that reportedly happened at the Kyebi Basel Mission School in 1876. It is said that one day when it was the turn of a pupil who belonged to the royal family to fetch water, a child of a former slave told him, Kosaw nsu no bra, afei yen nyina aye pe (Go and fetch the water, for we are all equal now).103 Assimeng lists a number of ‘internal and external’ factors that contributed to these developments. He mentions, among other things, the Christian gospel, with its emphasis on equality of all people before God and the one God who is supreme over all nations; he also mentions literary education, geographical mobility, journalism and mass communication, and visits by Africans to Europe and America.104 However, these factors worked with the speed they did because the soil that was ploughed was already fertile and contained the seeds of values supportive of the new ideas. A memorandum written by J. C. deGraft Johnson, an assistant secretary for Native Affairs, paints a picture of what had become a general characteristic of the Ghanaian ‘native’ by the end of the second decade of the twentieth century, . . . no freeborn Gold Coast (Ghanaian) native, who was not in want, would condescend to carry loads or do manual work for any man for wages. He will work or farm for himself, but to be hired out on a wage-system goes against the grain of his conception of freedom . . . Generally speaking he takes his liberty so seriously that he will rather starve than be regarded as menial.105

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With such level of consciousness about their personal liberty, the culture of the then emerging modern nation-state had already reached a high level of dialogue with ideas cognate to human rights. It appears that the power and influence that made the prominent individual a patron of others, in a new era of opportunities, inspired a general ambition in people to want to be economically independent.

Conclusion Seeds of human rights did exist in precolonial and colonial Ghana. The political arrangements and social structure of the various traditional societies were relatively open, and several Europeans who visited the country were fascinated by the level of the rule of law and the sense of freedom they found. Underlying these aspects of political and social life was a foundation of religious beliefs concerning the universe, the human being and the workings of the various components of the social and political set-up. Prominent elements in the nurturing of the seeds of human rights were devices that were meant to ensure the protection of human dignity. These included formal arrangements by which the vulnerable in society were protected and catered for. They also included taboos that prohibited the meting out of certain forms of treatment to human beings, based on the belief that human beings have a dignity that cannot be violated. Yet, these existed side by side with beliefs and practices that violated, rather than upheld, the dignity of certain categories of human beings. The European presence began an inculturation process which challenged some of the negative aspects of the culture and helped activate and develop elements cognate to human rights. In the next chapter, we explore the results of the various historical processes in the area of human rights and the possibilities for their further development.

7

Human Rights in Contemporary Ghana: Fruitions and Possibilities

We have explored indigenous ideas of human dignity and how these were reflected in traditional societies and their institutions. There were indigenous elements that, at least, in a rudimentary way, ensured the protection of human dignity in the society. Though these were not well developed, they were important seeds that began to be activated in the context of the historical encounters with Europe. This chapter explores what fruits the historical processes, such as colonialism and the emergence of Ghana as a nation-state, have yielded in the area of human rights and the possibilities that exist for their further development. It also examines contemporary attitudes towards human rights in Ghana, as well as the various cultural and religious factors that facilitate or impede their growth.

The human rights situation in Ghana Commitment to protecting and promoting human rights is quite high in contemporary Ghana. Since 1992, there has been a steady improvement in the human rights record of the country.1 Several new legislative Acts aimed at improving general enjoyment of human rights have been passed in recent years. Among them are the Domestic Violence Act (2007); the Disability Act (2006); Whistle Blowers’ Act (2006); Human Trafficking Act (2005); and the Juvenile Justice Act, (2003). Others are the Criminal Code (repeal of criminal Libel and Seditious Laws) Act (2001) and the Children’s Act (1998). Ghana has also ratified or signed most United Nations (UN) and African Union (AU) human rights treaties.

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But the picture is still far from perfect; as the caption of a newspaper article put it, ‘Systematic Human Rights Violations Still Persist’.2 The CHRAJ report of 20063 draws attention to several instances of violations throughout the country. Violations highlighted include detention of new mothers and their babies by hospital authorities because of their inability to settle medical bills; the denial of quality health-care delivery service to several sections of the population; and the inaccessibility of quality education for many children. The report also highlights the persistence of child labour and the physical and psychological abuse of alleged witches. It estimates that there are 1 million children in Ghana who do not go to school. Furthermore, in spite of the passage of a law on persons with disability, several public facilities, including educational and religious institutions, lack provisions for physically challenged persons to gain easy access to them without depending on other people for assistance. Added to these are the several customary practices that encourage violations, namely widowhood rites, ritual servitude such as trokosi and female-genital mutilation (FGM). Police brutality against civilians and a growing culture of mob justice meted out to alleged criminals were also decried by the report. The Constitution makes human rights in Ghana everybody’s business. In addition to the ‘Executive, the Legislature, and Judiciary and all other organs of government and its agencies’, fundamental human rights as enshrined in the Constitution ‘shall be respected and upheld’ also by ‘all natural and legal persons in Ghana’.4 This understanding seems already widely recognized. In our field research, the question, ‘whose duty is it to ensure that people’s human rights are protected?’ returned the answer: ‘all of us’ in its various forms, such as ‘every citizen’, ‘you and I’ and ‘all Ghanaians’. Though there were answers that distributed the responsibility between central governments, district assemblies, chiefs, parents and the general citizenry, the general idea, as gathered from focus groups and interviews with individual discussants in the research areas, is that the promotion and protection of human rights are the responsibility of all citizens. This is not only in agreement with aspects of traditional culture,5 but also with certain provisions of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights.6 Yet, there is not much effort on the part of the state to promote human rights education in the curricula of schools. CHRAJ, the National Commission on Civic Education (NCCE) and a number of NGOs are doing well with respect to citizens’ education on human rights at the non-formal level, but not much is being done through the formal system of schools and colleges. The seeming awareness and acknowledgement of the constitutional responsibility shown by research participants obviously has very

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little to do with the article that enjoins them to protect and promote human rights. This became clear when in a focus group discussion one participant suggested that human rights were the responsibility of the government. The rest of the group looked amused by the suggestion and tried to correct her by asking, ‘who is the government?’ and answering their own question, said, almost in unison: ‘all of us are the government!’ This idea is found to be widespread; it was encountered in all the traditional areas. It seems it has resulted from the attempt by agencies of civic education to undo the damage caused by aspects of the colonial government’s approach to governance, which almost completely alienated the citizens from the government. It was part of the attempt to mobilize the support of citizens for national reconstruction in the early post-independence period that created the claim that everybody was part of the government.7 While the colonial experience in general helped make explicit both cognate ideas to human rights in the Ghanaian indigenous culture and those that had come in through the encounter with the West, it also, to catastrophic levels, undermined people’s original sense of freedom, justice and fairness. Though Ghanaians, as Boahen explains, never reconciled themselves to the fact of colonialism and resisted the colonialists from beginning to end,8 by the end of the experience, the resistance had come to involve mostly the elites. Most of the people had become cowed into submission to what has been known in Akan as aban. Aban is the Akan for ‘government’ and derived from the Akan word for ‘castle’. The colonial government had its headquarters in the ‘Castle’, first the Cape Coast Castle and, then, Christiansborg Castle in Accra. These used to be both the seats of the colonial governors and the warehouses of the slave trade period. The ‘Castle’, with its prison and mounted canons and iron gates, came to symbolize the use of brute force that no one could question.9 It was from there that the harsh colonial policies of forced labour, the imposition of arbitrary taxes, arbitrary arrests, humiliation even of kings and exclusion from governance were issued. Consequently, aban (government) became not only physically remote from the people but also psychologically remote and terrifying. This development has had serious ramifications for human rights, even after independence. As we pointed out in Chapter 5, the new shrines, particularly Tigari, saw the colonial government as an enemy, a foreign entity fleecing the country of its wealth. They reacted by excluding from their prohibitions, the offence of stealing any items taken from the government or its affiliated commercial companies. Many local observers believe that the genesis of the lamentable lack of commitment on the part of many Ghanaians to their jobs in public or state enterprises (aban dwuma)10 can be traced to the colonial era. However, with

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respect to human rights, the development has been damaging to the roots. The fear of aban became extended to the fear of aban nyimpa (literally, ‘government person’, but more appropriately, public officer). Aban nyimpa includes all kinds of public officers, especially, civil servants, the police and the army and politicians at the national and the local levels. Gyimah-Boadi suggests that ‘perhaps, the most important negative legacy left behind by the colonial state was police/ security personnel and, to some extent, public official intimidation and even brutalization of people’.11 The psychological distance between the government and the people, and the fear attached to ‘government’, became shocking to the sensitivities of Ghanaians when, after independence, the African successors of the colonialists became more brutally repressive than the Europeans. The resulting frustration on the part of succeeding governments and agents of civic education over people’s inability to recover from this feeling of alienation and fear seems to have led to this idea of all citizens being part of the government. Apart from the obvious lie contained in the idea, it is also damaging to the cause of human rights. It has led to a general unwillingness on the part of many Ghanaians to hold the government accountable for acts of omission and commission that deny people their human rights. In the 1980s, the idea was found so counterproductive by the Christian Council of Ghana that in some of their publications, they sought to educate the public by drawing a difference between the ‘state’ of which every citizen could claim to be a part, and the ‘government’ which was different from the state.12

Public awareness of human rights Both government agencies and NGOs maintain that there is an appreciable level of awareness of human rights among Ghanaians. In a score range between ‘excellent’ and ‘very poor’, most government agencies said awareness was ‘very good’, and most of the NGOs said it was ‘good’. In our survey in the cities of Accra and Kumasi to gauge people’s awareness of human rights, we asked a series of six questions: (1) Do you know about human rights? (2) Can you give examples of human rights? (3) Have you heard about the UDHR? (4) Do you know about the ACHPR? (5) Which human rights agencies in Ghana do you know about? (6) Why should people have human rights? If somebody answered ‘no’ to question 1, we recorded it and discontinued the interview. Of the total number of respondents, 12 per cent said they did not know about human rights, 88 per cent of respondents said they knew about human rights but only 28 per cent

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knew about the UDHR. Conversely, only 16 per cent said they had heard about the ACHPR. Of the 12 per cent that did not know about human rights, majority were women within the age range of 45 to 65 with only basic-level education or no education at all. All the respondents who knew about the UDHR had, at least, a basic-level educational background. All the respondents who had heard about the ACHPR had had tertiary-level educational training (see Appendix, Tables A. 4, 7, 8 and 9). Judging from the responses, it seems that Ghanaians are more familiar with the activities of the UN than they are with that of the AU. The UN human rights system seems better known among Ghanaians than the African regional mechanism. This may be explained in terms of the fact that the UN has been around longer than the AU and that the several UN agencies and the roles they play make it more visible than the AU, which has practically no presence on the ground. The appointment of Mr Kofi Anan, a Ghanaian as secretary-general of the UN must also have been an important contributing factor to this development. In terms of basic rights, respondents mentioned the following, ranked in terms of frequency: the right to life, right to the freedom of movement, right to the freedom of speech, right to the freedom of worship, right to health, right to education, right to good drinking water, right to vote, right to belong to a family, equality before the law, right to work and earn a living, right to marry and have children, right to be treated fairly before the courts (see Appendix, Table A.7). It is noteworthy that most of the rights mentioned fall within the domain of civil and political rights, and that these appeared more frequently than the others did. Since our respondents were accosted and interviewed in the streets, it is possible that they did not have time to reflect on the questions before giving their answers, and the ideas of human rights that came naturally to them were those that have been dominant over the years. It is also possible that living in the cities and being somewhat educated, they have been influenced by the frequent references to human rights issues in terms of the dominant notions in the press. This is highly probable, especially since a comparison with data from the traditional areas shows significant differences. In the traditional areas, in terms of frequency, the following list emerged: the right to life, right to food, right to health, right to identity, right to own/ not be deprived of property, right to shelter, right not to be enslaved, right to freedom of speech, right not to be forced to perform a customary rite such as widowhood rites, right to freedom of worship, right to vote and be voted for, right to freedom of association. Other rights mentioned were the right to equal access to family inheritance, the right to a decent burial, the right not to be denied

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proper care in old age and the right not to be discriminated against. Respondents also mentioned rights that are specific to children and women. With regard to children, the following came up: the right to be given a name (identity), the right to be protected from cruelty, the right to have guardians, the right to go to school, the right to health care, the right not to be enslaved, the right to be listened to and the right to play. Women’s rights mentioned were, in terms of frequency, as follows: the right to marry and have a family, the right to work and acquire property, the right to inherit ‘grandmother-land’,13 the right to be protected from cruelty in marriage, the right to be provided for in marriage, the right to be listened to and the right not to be forced to go through a customary rite such as widowhood rites. In the traditional areas, knowledge about the international mechanisms such as the UN system and that of the AU was not generally appreciable. However, participants who had had some education and young people still in school had heard about the UDHR but not about the ACHPR. But almost all participants knew about, at least, one of the national statutory bodies in Ghana and some of the civil society groups working in the area of human rights. When asked to mention where they could seek help from in the event of human rights abuse, they readily mentioned CHRAJ, WAJU (DOVVSU) and FIDA. CHRAJ is the Commission for Human Rights and Administrative Justice, WAJU stands for Women and Juvenile Unit of the Ghana Police Service, the name by which Domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit (DOVVSU) was previously known, and FIDA is the Federation of International Women Lawyers, an advocacy and service delivery organisation dedicated to women’s human rights.

Human rights in the mother tongue To set out in search of direct mother tongue equivalents of human rights in nonWestern cultures is to embark on a tricky adventure. It appears that a term that captures the abstract concept, ‘human rights’, does not exist in any of the local languages of the communities of southern Ghana. Translations that came out have only cognate links to the term ‘human rights’. Our findings confirm Englund’s observation that translated equivalents of ‘human rights’ in African languages have meanings that are ‘situational rather than abstract’.14 In public discussions on radio, the phrase that is mostly used in reference to human rights in Akan is fa ho dzi (freedom/independence/liberty). Callers into radio phone-in programmes in Akan, who wish to complain about

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In Ewe, participants suggested the following: Amegbeto fe dedienono. Amegbetofe ablome nono Ameŋuto fe didi Amegbeto fe ablode kple dzidzemekpokpo Nusiwo dena bubu gbeto fe agbennoŋuti Nusi hia be ame nawo le se nu Amegbetofe didiwo alo hiahiawo si mele be woaxole esi o Monukpokposi Mawu na ame Bubu dodo amenu

Human beings safety Human freedom One’s own needs Freedom and comfort that a human being must have The things that give respect to the human being Lawful things that human beings should do Human needs and wants which no one must be deprived of Opportunities God gives to human beings Respect due to human beings

The Akan and the Ga gave fewer suggestions. In Akan (Mfantse), the following suggestions were made: Nyimpa ne fa ho dzi Nyimpa biara ne kyepen Dza nyimpa wo ho kwan de onya anaa oye

Nyimpa biara na adehyedze

The freedom, independence, liberty of human beings That which is due to each human being That which human beings have permission/way/authority to do or take (i.e. as sanctioned by legal/moral/ customary norm) The inheritance of every human being

In Ga, three suggestions were made: Gbomoadesa gbenaa

Hegbe ni gbomo adesa yoo Nyommo dromo keenii ni gbomo adesa ko nyenn asho yee denn

That which human beings have permission/way/authority to do (i.e. as sanctioned by legal/moral/customary norm). The authority/way/permission/ human beings have God’s gracious gifts which no human being can take away from his/her hands

infringements of their human rights often say, woetsiatsia mefahodzi do (they have trampled on my liberty).15 There does not seem to be any phrase or term in the local languages that captures the idea of human rights as an abstract concept. This does not, in any way, undermine the position that indigenous ideas and practices existed in Ghana that had affinities to human rights. The absence of a term or phrase to capture the idea in abstract terms does not signify the absence

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of the idea itself. Most of the terms used are closely related to the idea of human rights, even if they do not state it in precise terms.

Human dignity, human rights and the Constitution Traditional ideas that set the human being apart as sacred, and therefore deserving of respect, have continued into the contemporary situation. As discussed in the previous chapter, several traditional ideas about human dignity among the Anlo, Mfantse and Ga were expressed in terms of taboos, which the Anlo-Ewe call egudodoame. Basic to that idea was a religious cosmology that envisioned the human being as a being connected to various spirit-beings in such a way that the human being’s life and worth were regarded as based on the sacred. In contemporary times, this idea is expressed in terms of ‘God’s creation’, ‘children of God’ or ‘image of God’. The Akan maxim, onipa ne asem (it is the human being that matters), makes the human person the centre and measure of the legitimacy of all decisions by society: onipa ne asem: mefre sika a, sika nnye so; mefre ntama a, ntama annye so (I called gold: gold did not respond; I called clothes: clothes did not respond; it is the human being that matters). This idea makes the human person not only a bearer of rights but also a bearer of responsibilities towards other individuals and groups in society. Participants in focus group discussions and respondents in the survey generally justified human rights on two bases: First, the human being is sacred and, therefore, must not be treated negatively; secondly, all human beings are part of a community and have the responsibility to respect one another’s dignity for the harmonious function of society. With respect to the first reason, this was mainly expressed in terms of the biblical concept of the ‘image of God’ or of the human being as God’s creation and regent on earth, or of all human beings as God’s children. The second reason was still connected to human dignity. The ability to live with others in a community, respecting others and fulfilling one’s responsibilities to them is in itself considered an expression of one’s humanity. How is this idea of dignity that combines inherent worth with a sense of responsibility reflected in the current constitution of the country? The Constitution of Ghana ‘declares’ and ‘affirms’ a fundamental commitment to certain foundational provisions, including ‘fundamental human rights and freedoms’,16 but there is no reference to ‘human dignity’ in the preamble, though it is mentioned in the actual text. Does this signify an absence of a validating foundation for the country’s human rights regime? Alternatively, does it mean

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that some principle, other than human dignity, provides a basis for its human rights regime? In any case, does it matter, in terms of practical importance, where a provision appears in a constitution? Mentioning human dignity in the preamble could indicate that it is fundamental to human rights; its mention in the actual text without its appearance in the preamble could mean that it is important, but not fundamental.17 It is a rule in international law that provisions of constitutions should be interpreted also in terms of its preamble.18 This is affirmed by the Vienna Convention of the Law of Treaties (1969) in section 31 (2) which spell out the function of the preamble to a constitution.19 Matthijs de Blois sets in opposition to each other the ideas of ‘individual self-determination’ and ‘human dignity’ as the two basic principles upon which any human rights formulation may be based.20 According to him, a human rights regime derives its inspiration and patterns of interpretation from either of these two principles. A regime that emphasizes the principle of individual self-determination operates on extreme individualistic considerations. It does not grant either the state or any other entity the right to interfere with the life and freedom of individuals, so long as their actions do not harm or interfere with the rights of others. In other words, the only basis on which the state can interfere with the freedom of an individual is to prevent them from harming others.21 Those inspired by the principle of human dignity tend towards social responsibility with regard to the well-being or the best interest of all persons. In that sense, the degrading of human dignity in one person is a degradation of the dignity of all. In the spirit of Kantian duty towards treating the human being with dignity, whether in one’s own person or in the person of another, the state or others can interfere in a person’s life in that person’s best interest. The conviction that all human beings have inherent worth that must be respected in all circumstances, irrespective of any additional high or base qualities, is central to this approach. Inclining towards either of the two principles has implications for the understanding and interpretation of human rights, whether in terms of moral norms or legal formulations.22 An examination of Ghana’s Constitution leads us to the understanding that both human dignity and individual self-determination are core principles of the human rights regime of the country. This seems to be the case with the human rights regimes of most countries in the world, though in terms of emphases, countries may differ in their preferences for one principle or the other. In the case of Ghana, if the two principles were set in opposition to each other on a scale, preference would weigh in favour of human dignity. This is in spite of

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the observation that human dignity does not receive mention in the preamble to the constitution. Article 15 (1) stipulates, ‘The dignity of all persons shall be inviolable’. And section 2 (a) prohibits ‘torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment’ of arrested or detained persons. Section 2 (b) also protects ‘arrested’ or ‘detained’ persons from being subject to ‘any other condition that detracts or is likely to detract from’ their dignity. Article 33 (5) affirms ‘fundamental human rights’ by allowing the courts to ‘roam the highway of human rights the world over and pick and apply certain rights which are not found in the constitution but which are intended to, among others, secure the ‘freedom and dignity of man’.23 So Article 33 (5) caters for the recognition of new rights without going through the usual process of signing, ratifying and incorporating new international human instruments into the domestic law. The protection of personal liberties of individuals is assured in Chapter 5 of the Constitution, which deals with fundamental human rights and freedoms. But these liberties are set in the context of a balance between the individual’s rights and the security and moral considerations of the state.24 The range of human rights provided for by the Constitution is comprehensive, encompassing all the rights previously categorized into generations.

Religion and human rights in the context of plural values The preamble of the Constitution begins with the phrase ‘in the name of God’ and invokes the ‘natural and inalienable right’ of the people to enact a constitution for themselves and posterity. In keeping with the general trend, it may be argued that a pluralistic country such as Ghana should leave the invocation of God out of its constitution and lawmaking. However, it is at least, considered legitimate to refer, in the preamble, to the ‘cultural, spiritual and religious traditions that have significantly influenced the history’ of the nation.25 Commenting on this point, Prof Quashigah of the Law Faculty of the University of Ghana quotes what Justice Douglas said of the Constitution of the United States of America to describe the position of Ghana’s Constitution with respect to religion: We are a religious people whose institutions presuppose a Supreme Being. We guarantee the freedom to worship as one chooses. We make room for as wide a variety of beliefs and creeds as the spiritual needs of man deem necessary. We sponsor an attitude on the part of government that shows no

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partiality to any one group and that lets each flourish according to the zeal of its adherents and the appeal of its dogma.26

‘Natural and inalienable right’, invoked in the preamble of Ghana’s Constitution resonates with the idea of ‘natural rights’, that, incidentally, finds affinity with views about human rights propounded by religious thinkers: ‘Any governmental or social order claiming to be “humane” must respect the dignity which man has by virtue of his being in the image of God.’27 While natural rights and natural law seem to have been overtaken by positivism, their relevance for the contemporary human rights system can be established; modern neo-natural law thinkers such as John Finnis continue to engage in discourses on them.28 Several scholars have noted the connection between Christianity and the evolution of human rights in Western Europe. Christianity has shaped European values, including secular ones. What this means is that the context of Europe, within which human rights first came to be explicitly stated and developed, had been shaped, to a large extent, by a single politico-religious ideology  – Christendom. In Europe, human rights developed, at the initial stages, in the context of a largely homogenous value system, in which there was little conflict between core values and ideals that supported their development. However, the contemporary context of Ghana presents a completely different picture. There is nothing like the Christendom ideology through which culture is supported mainly by a single value system. Ghana is a highly pluralistic country in which several different religious traditions exist together with a few people who do not practice any religion or who prefer to maintain secular perspectives on issues of central concern such as human rights. Implications of pluralism for the public sphere are complex. Religious differences, including secular thought, cannot be ignored in a discussion of public values of interpersonal and inter-communal consequence. The use of religion in relation to the expression and projection of identity, solidarity and difference make it unwise for such differences to be ignored. In the history of Ghana, religious identity has sometimes defined whether one belongs to a majority or to a minority group. Depending on where a person finds himself or herself at any particular time, he or she becomes either part of the majority or the minority, with all the advantages or the disadvantages that go with such a status. By extension, the situation of pluralism and religious difference also becomes the context of struggle, contestations and compromises about issues of power and domination. For example, it would seem that the institutionalization of the two Islamic holidays of Id al-Adha and Id al-Fitr in 1996 by an Act of

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Parliament was primarily to enhance the enjoyment of religious freedom and eliminate religious discrimination. But it was also the fruit of a long period of murmurs of agitation and lobbying by Muslim opinion leaders. It was done, also, to balance the Christmas and Easter holidays of the Christians. The creation of a Muslim Educational Unit and the establishment of Islamic educational institutions have served to neutralize the virtual monopoly that Christianity has held in the formal education sector of the country. Muslim opinion leaders, since independence, have seen reforms in Islamic education and changes in Muslim attitudes to Western-type education as the most important paths for Muslims to take in order to catch up with their Christian compatriots in terms of socio-economic development. Religious constituencies in pluralistic contexts pay attention to issues of influence and power in the public sphere, since this is the arena where debates about values take place. They are also not indifferent to issues about numbers, since in most cases, numerical strength determines who is perceived to wield greater influence. In the current situation of regular elections to retain or change governments, numbers do count; politicians desiring to manipulate religious sentiments are sensitive to such figures in their strategic political calculations. Against this background, the controversy that erupted over the release of the provisional results of the 2000 Ghana Population and Housing Census may be properly appreciated. The statement issued by the Coalition of Muslim Organisations  – Ghana (COMOG) contended that the Muslim population of the country was much more than the 15.9 per cent the official report claimed. They charged that their population had been underestimated in order to deny them development: When it suits our adversaries, they accuse us of giving birth indiscriminately, but they turn around to short-charge and defraud us when our increasing numbers have the potential of turning into a seeming advantage.29

Nevertheless, the public sphere in Ghana involves players of both religious and secular persuasions, and debates over issues do not normally take place between clearly delineated constituencies in terms of religious affiliation. For example, in the debate on the Domestic Violence Bill, there were both Christians and Muslims who supported almost every part of the Bill; on the other hand, there were Christians as well as Muslims who were against certain provisions of it. There were also those who took sides in the debate without any religious or moral consideration. In the debate concerning the exclusion of ‘religious and moral education’ from the courses proposed for the educational reforms, Muslims and

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Christians were united in demanding that the subject be reintroduced. Despite such manifestations of unity and collaboration, there is a high sensitivity to perceptions of communal differences on the part of the state. A perception widely held is the one that divides the country into the ‘Muslim north’ and the ‘Christian south’. Such perceptions have compelled almost all political parties to seek to ensure a balance between a perceived ‘Muslim north’ and ‘Christian south’ in the distribution of offices. Though several research reports have proved otherwise, the perception still persists. For example, the 2000 Population and Housing Census report revealed that Muslims in the three northern regions constitute about 7.5 per cent of the total population of the region and in the three southern regions about 8.5 per cent of the total population.30 In spite of this revelation, the old perception that divides Ghana into ‘Muslim north’ and ‘Christian south’ has not gone away. Hence, any discussion about human rights in Ghana, whether academic or policy oriented, must take into account religious and secular perspectives.

Legal pluralism The state seems to give tacit recognition to the plurality of values in the country and seems interested in fostering its persistence. As a matter of policy, state educational institutions, for example, are mostly run jointly by the state and religious groups. In spite of the prohibition of practices and rules that might deny students the right to freedom of religious expression, the religious institutions in Ghana strive to impose their identity on the schools. In the past, when there were only few Islamic schools in the mainstream, Muslims who enrolled in Christian schools complained of discriminatory practices against them by school authorities. The state’s recognition of plural values within its borders is reflected most clearly in the plurality in aspects of its legal system. According to the Constitution, The common law of Ghana shall comprise the rules of law generally known as the common law, the rules generally known as the doctrines of equity and the rules of customary law including those determined by the Superior Court of Judicature.31 [Emphases are mine]

‘Customary law’ is defined as ‘the rules of law which by custom are applicable to particular communities in Ghana’.32 This means the law that applies to people as members of communities, ethnic and/or religious. Customary law in this

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sense refers to what Gedzi prefers to call ‘indigenous law’.33 It is the ‘personal law’ that governs a person as a member of a particular community; the customary law to which a person is subject.34 Customary law applies, especially, in matters such as marriage and family life, land, chieftaincy and other customary beliefs and practices. There are a few problems, however, when the Constitution seems to take for granted that the meaning of the phrase ‘particular communities’ is clear to everybody and that what it means is conveniently applicable in the context of the modern nation-state. An example of the problems we have in view is the multiple meanings that one can ascribe to the designation ‘particular communities’. It could mean one or all of the following: (1) A group of people living together in the same place but not necessarily belonging to the same ethnic or religious group; for example, Alajo community or La community. (2) People identified by their common membership of an ethnic group but not necessarily living together in the same place; for example, an Ashanti living in Accra or an Mfantse living in Anloga are members of their ethnic groups as communities but not living in their home areas. (3) A group of people that share a common interest such as a religious persuasion, as in ‘Christian community’ or ‘Muslim community’, in which case, the members of the community are hardly confined to a single place as their abode. In the case of first meaning, it would be relatively easy and in keeping with modern practice to invoke laws that apply to ‘particular communities’. Area councils and sub-metro councils have by-laws that apply in their communities. However, if, apart from the by-laws made by the area councils, a traditional council in Alajo or La seeks to invoke a customary law, should it apply to natives of the area alone? Or should it also apply to non-natives living there? Since customary laws are often overlaid with religious beliefs in content and application, would it not mean a violation of the right to freedom of religion if non-natives or even natives who do not subscribe to the indigenous beliefs any more are subject to such laws? In the case of the second meaning, some of the issues raised above apply. In addition, the application of customary law in matters regarding land administration, marriage and divorce, family life and practices related to the burial and funeral of the deceased can lead to the blurring of the boundaries between the human rights of non-natives and the limits of traditional authority.35 This is especially so, since in practice, chiefs and their traditional councils, sometimes, assume the power to enforce customary laws.36 The courts of traditional rulers, where justice is administered on the basis of customary laws, are active in several communities in Ghana. Gedzi’s recent

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study reveals that the chiefs’ courts in Anlo and Asante continue to ‘resolve cases that otherwise would go to the formal courts’.37 It seems that this type of legal pluralism is an attempt by the state to ensure the rights of religious, cultural and ethnic communities, in keeping with international human rights norms regarding cultural and social rights. But it also reflects the lack of capacity on the part of the state to register an effective presence throughout the country. In the face of the inadequate resources of the nation-state, the state is compelled to ignore the critical issues involved in the chiefs’ adjudication of particular cases and their attempt to apply customary sanctions, including those that undermine the human rights of citizens. Our fear with respect to the use of customary law in Ghana is that it might be used as a smokescreen to cover up human rights violations by the powerful in the ‘particular communities’. For example, it may serve as a cloak of respectability for abusive community leaders and violators of human rights in the domestic setting. This arrangement shows too little potential for a vibrant human rights culture, especially because of the patriarchal and authoritarian nature of Ghana’s cultural and religious communities. It is under such arrangements, for example, that restrictions on people’s freedom to choose a marriage partner, or decide on divorce, or propagate or change a religious faith are easily imposed.

Diversity, human rights and peaceful coexistence In spite of the evolving cultural synthesis which we have referred to as a ‘common Ghanaian culture’, differences exist. Confronted with the diversity of cultural values and moral doctrines, scholars have argued either in favour of irreconcilable cleavages between cultures38 or in favour of diversity, with an underlying basic inclination towards mutual accommodation for the protection of a common humanity.39 Ghana has been largely spared inter-religious or inter-ethnic conflicts; though in recent times, there have been pockets of violent clashes over religious or ethnic differences. Suspicions held by different religious and ethnic groups against one another continue to exist and raise the level of tension occasionally. Rivalry for public influence becomes intense occasionally, and gets tangled up in issues of appointment or election to political office and in the distribution of other public goods.40 What is required to ensure peaceful coexistence is an approach that does not ignore the diversity of perspectives – religious and non-religious – of the Ghanaian population; an approach that does not go ahead to impose a supposedly

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neutral moral principle on everybody. In this direction, the line taken by Rawls, Habermas and Nussbaum, especially, is appropriate. Common to all of them, as we shall find out in our discussion below, is a basic direction towards the realization of common grounds among the diverse individuals and groups for a just and peaceful society. Each of these theories is developed in a comprehensive manner, providing many different insights. However, we shall dwell on aspects that will help us explain how consensus may be reached for peaceful coexistence in plural societies. John Rawls proposes ‘an overlapping consensus’.41 His theory has gone through some revision since it was first propounded. Basically it holds that in any modern human society such as a country, people hold ‘different comprehensive doctrines’ which are all reasonable and, in many cases, incompatible. In order for fundamental political principles such as human rights to work in pluralistic contexts, people cannot be expected to abandon their varying comprehensive doctrines. Rather, individuals and communities are encouraged to find justification for such common projects within their own ‘comprehensive doctrines’ in order to reach what he calls an ‘overlapping consensus’.42 Rawls bases his theory on the assumption that human beings share a common capability towards objective and impartial reasoning. His theory also presumes a well-ordered liberal democratic society characterized by the fundamental intuitive idea of ‘justice as fairness’.43 That is, the basis of the ‘overlapping consensus’ is the idea of justice, which is intuitively accepted by people from the diverse backgrounds. If everybody decides to hold on to their own comprehensive doctrines, there cannot be any consensus, and it will be difficult, almost impossible, to have societal life. Yet, it is almost impossible for people to abandon their comprehensive moral views. Therefore there will be the need to keep the ‘comprehensive doctrines’ away from the public sphere, even though people’s acceptance of the common principles are grounded, each in their own ‘comprehensive doctrine’. To that end, ‘overlapping consensuses’ is primarily concerned with the validation of a common doctrine for the stability of society. Obviously, the presumed moral orientation of people towards readiness for cooperation cannot be taken for granted. Human beings, as recent world events demonstrate, are not so naturally ready to give up on aspects of their ‘comprehensive doctrines’ for the sake of stability. Yet Rawls’s idea is an important one for universalizing human rights in the contemporary world of plural values. One of its unique strengths is that it does not seek grounding in only one validating foundation (Chapter 2), but it is to be grounded in several sets of justifications. Furthermore, while favouring an open discourse on issues

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that are controversial, it does not concern itself with issues of truth or falsehood of any of the claims made. His concern is ‘justice as fairness’ as a political rather than a metaphysical concept; a ‘conception of justice . . . that can serve as a basis of informed and willing political agreement between citizens viewed as free and equal persons’.44 For Habermas, there are two worlds: a ‘life-world’ and a ‘systems world’. The ‘life-world’ is the familiar realm of cultural experiences and intersubjective interactions that lead to identity formation, transmission of knowledge and consensus building with regard to ethical norms. Schutz and Luckman explain the ‘life-world’ as ‘the unquestioned ground of everything given in my experience and the unquestionable frame in which all the problems I have to deal with are located’.45 It is within the ‘life-world’ that people make meaning of events through the language and cultural norms established through processes of intersubjective communication. The various departments of life that have now been differentiated into distinct and separate sectors were originally all part of the ‘life-world’.46 Politics, economics, law and religion were interlinked with ‘love, sex, and children’s upbringing in the family’.47 Within the ‘life-world’, interactions were easy due to shared values and common norms; in any matter that called for a decision at the collective level, consensus was reached by an examination of the validity of each claim. In the end, the most reasonable claim was taken. With the onset of modernity and societal interactions becoming more complex, structures were established to meet the increasing sophisticated demands of the ‘life-world’. These structures include the systems of economic, political and legal arrangements that are separated from the ‘life-world’. These are features of the ‘systems world’.48 In situations of diversity of values and opinions, such systems help maintain order and social cohesion. The ‘systems world’ imposes itself on the ‘life-world’ and eventually overwhelms it. This development Habermas describes as the ‘colonization’ of the ‘life-world’ by the ‘systems world’. Our interest in Habermas at this point has to do with the ‘life-world’ and his idea of communicative action, which enables consensus to be reached in a pluralistic society. Martha Nussbaum has developed what she calls the ‘capabilities approach’ as the source of political principles for a liberal pluralistic society. These capabilities are presented in a manner that makes them free of any specific metaphysical grounding. This way, they become the object of an ‘overlapping consensus’ among people who otherwise have very different comprehensive conceptions of the good. She uses the approach to provide the philosophical underpinning for an account

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of ‘core human entitlements’ that should be respected and implemented by ‘governments of all nations, as a bare minimum of what respect for human dignity requires’.49 Our purpose for invoking her theory is to draw attention to its value as a basis for achieving consensus of a shared conception of humanity in a world of diversity. We shall revisit Nussbaum’s capabilities approach in Chapter 8.

Fruitions and possibilities of the inculturation process The progress made in the human rights regime in Ghana, demonstrated in the passing of several human rights-related laws and the growing awareness of human rights norms by the public, as shown by the report of the survey discussed above, is indicative of the fruitions of the process of the inculturation of human rights that has been going since colonial times. The side-by-side existence of modern state structures and traditional authority of the ethnic states makes a certain level of legal pluralism inevitable. Legal pluralism implies a multicultural society in which plural values exist. But how does the situation of plural values affect the development of human rights in Ghana? There is a ground of consensus based on human dignity and why it has to be protected. Beliefs about the human being as created and possessing physical as well as metaphysical components largely serve as the justification for the idea of human dignity. Continuities between traditional ways of protecting human dignity and a modern human rights culture can also be discerned in certain practices and attitudes of Ghanaians. In all three traditional areas that constituted the research sites, there appeared to be a readiness to resort to less confrontational mechanisms of resolving issues of human rights violations. As our data show, our research participants were more ready to seek the assistance of institutions such as CHRAJ, DOVVSU and FIDA than to go to court. This preference could be explained by several factors, but the two that were cited by the discussants were the free services that most of them offer and the arbitration approach, which makes them friendlier to societies that still hold dear the traditional values of harmony and stability. In the focus groups in all research sites, the general perception was that the courts delayed in dealing with cases, were expensive and favoured the rich and the influential. The idea that it is the troublesome citizen that resorts to litigation also persists and, as much as possible, people would like to avoid going to court. Responses from our focus groups revealed three main sources from which redress would normally be sought by victims of human rights violations. Listed in order of

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importance, according to the frequency with which they were mentioned by participants in the various focus groups, these were: first, statutory bodies and NGOs such as CHRAJ, DOVVSU and FIDA; secondly, traditional authorities such as chiefs, community and family elders, but also, pastors; and thirdly, the police and the law courts. Several of the participants said that what they would do if their human rights were violated would be determined by the nature of the abuse and who the perpetrator is. In certain cases they would be prepared to go to court or report to the police; in other cases, they would ‘give it to God’, meaning, they would not seek redress. In several traditional areas and urban communities, certain traditional beliefs and practices may lead to human rights violations. Among such practices is trokosi, found among the Ewe in Ghana, Togo and Benin, as well as the Ga-Adangme.50 In this practice, teenage girls are given by their families to serve at a shrine as atonement for the sins of another family member. Controversy built around it when some NGOs drew attention to it. Some opinion leaders from the communities where the practice existed defended it as their ancient custom that had great merit.51 Eventually, the practice came to be banned under the Criminal Code (Amendment) Act of 1998.52 Yet, as Quashigah predicted,53 before the law was enacted, criminalization of the practice has not led to its demise. Witchcraft accusations too continue to occur in communities around the country. The belief in witchcraft is strong and widespread in Ghana. Most of our discussants believed ‘witches’ were real, and described them as not being ‘properly human’. Just as the case of trokosi, laws passed against witchcraft accusations since colonial times have not been able to banish the practice. The 2004 human rights report on Ghana issued by the US embassy says about this practice, A strong belief in witchcraft continued in many parts of the country. Most accused witches were older women, often widows, who were identified by fellow villagers as the cause of difficulties such as illness, crop failure, or financial misfortune. Many of these women were banished by traditional village authorities or their families and went to live in witch camps, villages in the north populated by suspected witches. The women did not face formal legal sanction if they returned home; however, most feared that they could be beaten or lynched . . . There were several cases of lynching and assault of accused witches. In September, Yendi police arrested a Tamale farmer for allegedly cudgelling to death a woman suspected of being a witch. In August 2004 the court sentenced a man to death for killing his wife, who he believed was a witch.54

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Other practices in this category are related to widowhood rites and rites of puberty, which are all supported by religious beliefs that draw legitimacy from custom. Most of the time, it is the fear of spirit powers that prevents citizens from standing up against obnoxious customs and their related practices. For example, according to Quashigah, ‘Trokosi girls are intimidated with the threat of spiritual calamities if they should dare escape’.55 This fear also keeps victims of human rights abuses away from reporting to the police or other authorities. In that case, the most effective remedy for securing the rights of people in such contexts is to grant them refuge from their traditional fears. Fear of spiritual powers may be an important factor in the inability or the reluctance of some victims of human rights violations, especially women and children, to seek redress; but the most important implicating factors are linked with the judicial system. We have noted above factors such as the perception of corruption, long delays in hearing cases in the courts, the psychological and, in some cases, physical distance between the courts and the people and the expensive nature of judicial processes. These, rather than religious convictions, are sometimes responsible for the decision by some victims not to pursue cases but to ‘give it to God’ or to resort to ‘spiritual justice’. In spite of the comprehensive human rights provisions embodied in the Constitution and the great improvement in the country’s efforts towards promotion and protection, there is a clear weakness in enforcing the laws against harmful customary practices.56 However, such weaknesses are not easy to overcome. They stem from the recognition of the complexity of the problem by both state officials and human rights workers. As already pointed out, in Ghanaian communities, the value of harmony and stability are highly priced. Hence, in matters involving members of a family or of the same community, reporting abuses to the police and resorting to litigation in courts occur only in extreme cases.57 Halim candidly observes, ‘as natural as resorting to the legal system may seem to western women, it is a hateful scandalous process for African women’.58 Sometimes, those who are expected to enforce the law are themselves so deeply influenced by traditional norms that they fail to appreciate the need to prosecute offenders.59 The best way to go seems to be to seek to promote more the non-conventional approaches with which most Ghanaians are comfortable and gradually build on the successes already achieved. Combining this with education and exposure of the custodians of customary laws and practices to modern human rights norms will eventually lead to great increase in the fortunes of human rights in Ghana.

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Conclusion The human rights situation in Ghana has seen a remarkable improvement through legislation and the work of state institutions dedicated to human rights. Public awareness of human rights is also high, though knowledge about major international instruments such as the UDHR is not extensive. It appears that continuities of the modern universal system of human rights with indigenous ideas of human dignity and the way in which that dignity is protected has been an important factor in the modest growth of the human rights culture in Ghana. The preference for non-confrontational approaches, which reflect the traditional orientation towards the values of harmony and stability, leads citizens to use the services of state institutions and NGOs that employ methods of arbitration rather than litigation in settling cases. Religious and cultural values often do not support conventional methods of protecting and promoting human rights such as litigation and other adversarial strategies. In the context of ethnic and religious diversity, legal pluralism is resorted to in certain cases as a means of achieving coexistence. Human rights have developed in Ghana in a context of plural values, with the national constitution recognizing the pluralistic situation and allowing the application of indigenous laws in matters related to issues of personal concern such as marriage and family life. This arrangement also, to some extent, gives room for the expression of group rights within the bounds of the national constitution. However, in certain cases, customary norms provide the pretext for the violation of human rights within particular communities. But the continuous exposure of customary norms to modern human rights norms which are incorporated into the national constitution will lead to significant reforms in the direction of human rights.

8

Translating Human Rights in Ghana: Rooting a Secular Idea in a Religious World View

Human rights have become an important and most acceptable approach to securing respect for, and protection of, human dignity. The superiority of this approach to other known approaches lies in the fact that it empowers the individual or groups to claim respect and protection from governments, institutions and society as a matter of moral and legal duty devolving on them. It treats its subjects in ways that do not leave them with a sense of humiliation, as was potentially the case with other humanitarian approaches that depended on the benevolence of other individuals and institutions.1 It also has a higher potential of certainty and sustainability. Both in the context of ruler-subject relations within a country and in the context of international relations, the human rights approach has the potential to ensure that parties engage each other in ways that enhance, rather than diminish, their sense of dignity. But the realization of this vision, for most people, would require a cultural embedding that will render the idea and associated practices integral to their own local cultures. Against this background, this chapter explores how human rights are already embedded or may be embedded in Ghanaian culture, employing our proposed model of inculturation.

Rooting a secular idea in a religious world view Forms of inculturation of human rights have already been going on in many regions of the world and among several religious and secular groupings. Documents that have stamps of specific religious traditions such as Judaism, Islam, Christianity and Buddhism, or even ecumenical groupings have been developed.2 Although most of these documents express human rights visions, and may be considered documents in solidarity with the UDHR or documents

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intended to offer alternative perspectives to the UDHR, they signify a basic universal acceptance of human rights. They are part of the ongoing inculturation process aimed at broadening the legitimacy base of human rights and thus vindicating their claim to universality. One example with direct relevance for our present purpose is the African regional mechanism for the protection of human rights and its founding document, the ACHPR. Specific provisions of that document, which, presumably, gave it its peculiar African character, have also become the features that have exposed it to scathing criticisms.3 However, some of such criticisms have been rebutted by African scholars, including the Kenyan lawyer Makau wa Mutua, who prefers to see the document as an ‘African cultural fingerprint’; a distinctive African contribution to the international regime of human rights. As he puts it, ‘To be sure, the fingerprint belongs to Africa, although it is also human and thus aspects of it reveal universal characteristics’.4 The involvement of religious constituencies in this development is evidence that the concept of human rights is not incompatible with religion. Since inculturation deals with thematic concerns that also provide the main critical data for postcolonial theory, it can be said that the two are closely linked.5 For example, both seek to address the impact of colonialism and related forces such as the missionary enterprise on the social and cultural life of formerly colonized peoples and their responses.6 However, in our present case, we employ inculturation not strictly as a variation of postcolonial discourse but as a model within which apparent incongruities between international human rights concepts and practices and local human rights norms, or local norms related to human rights, may be addressed. Our interest has to do, mainly, with the engagement of relevant local ideas with the ideas underlying the international system of human rights. Postcolonial theory tends to be oppositional, rejecting almost everything thought to be of Western origin and approving almost everything perceived to be originally African. We cannot achieve our objectives for this study by treading such a path. It is a path that hides subtle pitfalls of cultural relativism. It can also lead to a romanticization of the African past and culture, ignoring the fact that these were not free of oppressive and other negative elements.7 African inculturation theology itself has not been free of criticisms, especially, from feminist theologians. It has been accused of aiding and abetting the violation of human rights of women. Mercy Oduyoye, for example, argues that most of ‘Africa’s progressive theologies’, including inculturation, are ‘nothing but a smokescreen from under which Western Christian patriarchy and African

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Christian patriarchy engage in a combined offensive against women’.8 This observation must serve as a nudging mechanism to keep us alert and prevent us from ignoring subtle differences of advantage and disadvantage between and within various segments and groups in the present study. While we do not employ inculturation strictly as a variant of postcolonial theory, we take account of how colonial policy helped, in certain cases, to entrench a culture of human rights violations that continue to affect the postcolonial state in Africa.9 Claude Welch identifies three ways in which colonialism affected human rights in Africa.10 First, the state organization reflected European administrative convenience rather than the interest of the colonized. The policy was not favourable to the creation of modern political entities covering a geographical expanse beyond the boundaries of the traditional local states. For example, the British stopped attempts by the Mfantse people on the Gold Coast to establish an Mfantse Confederacy, arresting and charging its leaders with treason at a time when there was no formal colonialism.11 Similarly, the Asante Confederacy, which had a semblance to the modern nation-state, was disrupted by the British and its king carried into exile.12 It was only as the time of independence drew near that the colonial authorities quickly put together the former separate political units as one nation. The concept of a modern nation-state was not properly nurtured. Secondly, most of the period of colonial rule was marked by authoritarianism. In the policy of indirect rule the colonialists co-opted the traditional chiefs and supported them with the force of their administrative machinery to apply indigenous customary laws with respect to certain kinds of offences. This laid the foundation of the legal pluralism that we referred to in the previous chapter. The idea of democracy was not nurtured until the closing years of colonial rule. Thirdly, different law codes were applied to different sections of the country. In the urban areas, European law codes were applied, while traditional legal codes, treated as inferior,13 were used in the rural areas. Such policies negatively affected the growth of modern institutions and the transformation of traditional ones. For example, the system of indirect rule assumed for the chiefs, powers they did not originally have, and the treatment of indigenous customary laws as fixed legal codes led to the entrenchment of customs that were meant to serve specific purposes in specific periods.14 However, it is also important to recognize that while colonialism carried with it a big load of injustice and human rights violations, it also, in several ways, intentionally and unintentionally, created the environment for the emergence of new ideas that were friendly to human rights. Both sides of the colonial history have to be kept in mind.

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Translating human rights We could not find direct mother-tongue equivalents of human rights in our research areas. But the absence of exact linguistic equivalents of human rights in the various mother tongues does not signify the absence of the idea in Ghanaian traditional cultures. As Gewirth maintains, ‘. . . persons might have and use the concept of a right without explicitly having a single word for it’.15 The universal idea of human rights preceded its explicit expression and formal articulation by several hundred years, even in the West. In Ghanaian traditional culture, rights ideas and language were invoked in settling issues of contention in litigation and arbitration. This is illustrated in the Mfantse maxims: nyia adze ye ne dze na odzi na nye nyia okom dze n’a (it is the rightful heir who inherits; not the one hungry for inheritance); also nyi a odze n’adze no odze ne benkum gye (the rightful owner takes it with the left hand).16 Implicit rights language is known in traditional Ghanaian culture; hence, the normative concept with its explicit language finds a basis in the indigenous culture to build on for its local expression. Cognate concepts such as ‘freedom’, ‘equality’, ‘way’, ‘inheritance’, ‘due portion’ and ‘human needs’ that are offered as local renditions of universal human rights (Chapter 7) illustrate the difficulty in finding an explicit term for human rights in any of the Ghanaian mother tongues. Describing human rights in terms of ‘freedom’ or ‘equality’, or ‘one’s due portion’, or ‘one’s right of way’ or the ‘authority one has in society to act in certain ways without constraint because it is permitted by law or by custom’ is not woefully wrong. The historical conditions that have shaped the human rights regime in Ghana are actually reflected by some of these designations. While the most critical issues in the country’s history include slavery and the slave trade, the most recent development that is still alive in the collective consciousness of the people is colonialism and the resistance it provoked.17 The struggle for independence was a struggle for freedom, and the elite leaders of the struggle presented it in such terms. In the end, ‘freedom and justice’ appeared together on the national crest, as the motto of the nation. In the stratified traditional society, forms of bondage reduced large numbers of individuals and families to servitude of various forms including slavery and pawnship. In contrast to such conditions of servitude were the various categories of ‘free-people’, the highest of which were those who belonged to the ruling classes. Among the Akan, for example, anyone who was not in any form of bondage was one of whom it was said, odze ne ho (he/she is self-sovereign, free). But the idea of freedom expressed in the Akan language, for example, as fa ho dzi, which literally means ‘self-rule’ carries nuances such as ‘autonomy’, ‘equality’

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and ‘equity’. However, some of the deeper meanings assigned to the concept of human rights via its Ghanaian mother-tongue translations are captured in long sentences such as the Ewe, Amegbetofe didiwo alo hiahiawo si mele be woaxo le esi o (the human being’s needs and wants which he must not be deprived of); the Akan, Nyimpa biara na adehyedze (the inheritance of every human being); and the Ga, Nyonnmo dromo keenii gbomo adesa ko nyenn ashoye edenn (God’s gracious gifts which no human being can take away from his/her hands). Put together, it appears that in Ghana, human rights are seen as needs and wants, they are an inheritance; they are God-given and no one is permitted to take them away, or to deny another person of them. In fact, ‘inheritance’ is inadequate to express the real meaning of adehyedze. The word does not only connote the right to inheritance or absolute ownership. It comes from the word odehye, which means literally ‘the one who owns the boundary’. This gives adehyedze the literal meaning, ‘that which falls within one’s boundary’. It connotes royalty; that is, kingship and sovereignty. It may be properly rendered, ‘sovereign ownership’. While in linguistic terms it may be difficult to find an adequate term as equivalent to human rights, at the level of conceptualization it finds meaning in several local expressions.

The Ghanaian religious world view Driving current ‘Ghanaian culture’ is what we have referred to in this work as ‘popular religion’, which has resulted from the currents of beliefs and ideas that have been exerting influence on Ghanaians since precolonial times. Writing in 1975, Asante observed, Traditional tenets of the cult of ancestral worship, animism, Christianity, Islam, Western liberal individualism, and socialism all vie for the allegiance of Ghanaians. The result is a strange melting pot of ideas.18

This ‘strange melting pot of ideas’, which produces a synthesis between the traditional and the modern, provides the context for a continuous intra-cultural conversation, prompted by both internal conditions and encounters with external forces. The thick carpet of religious ideas and beliefs that is an underlay of the evolving Ghanaian common culture, largely informs the interpretations and explanations of events in the lives of individuals and the nation. Gyekye’s point that the Akan conceptual scheme explains causality in terms of spirits means that in resolving the disruption caused to the ‘life-world’ by the ‘systems

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world’, religion becomes one of the ready tools to be employed with the greatest competence by Ghanaians. Invoking religion to explain economic and moral failure is a noticeable feature of Ghanaian society. Furthermore, traditional conceptions of well-being that have become a central aspect of contemporary popular interpretations of national events continue to nurture the general religious orientation of Ghanaians.19 Although Wiredu insists that the African belief in extra-human forces is nonreligious,20 he nevertheless does not deny the existence and widespread extent of such beliefs. He argues that the Akan approach to such spirit-beings, for example, is purely utilitarian and lacks the aspect of ‘unconditional devotion’ that, in his view, must characterize a religious approach to any object of worship. Nevertheless, the much repeated claim that the dichotomy between the secular and the religious does not fit the African, and for that matter the Ghanaian case, must make this debate redundant.

Tensions between secular and religious perspectives The overwhelming religious character of the Ghanaian population means that the minority, whose approach to issues may not be guided by religious considerations, may occasionally come into dispute with the majority. In the public sphere, where general norms are set, contestations between different perspectives should be expected; in fact, this should be encouraged. It is one of the situations in which the element of confrontation in the inculturation process may be observed. Tensions normally heighten when questions, traditionally considered moral and touching on religious sentiments, become framed as human rights questions; or when issues considered by sections of civil society as human rights issues, but considered by religious people as doctrinal or moral, come up in the public domain. Discussion of certain issues has been going on in the Western context for many years, and probably in ‘ethics’ and ‘moral philosophy’ classrooms in Ghanaian seminaries and universities too, but are yet to be considered in the public domain. They include euthanasia, abortion, the use of condoms to prevent HIV/AIDS and same-sex relationships. With regard to issues that have to do with prevention of health hazards, as for example the use of condoms, the Ghanaian attitude to life, health and healing is such that most of the time, doctrinal injunctions will be disregarded, since any religious belief or practice that does not enhance life and health is not attractive to the Ghanaian. Admittedly, in recent times, some members of the Jehovah’s Witness Movement have refused blood transfusions for their ailing family members.21

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In such situations of conflicts, what is the most helpful approach to pursue by those concerned about the inculturation of human rights? Since religious convictions and cultural beliefs with respect to such issues are hard to give up on, or even to modify, the approach to be taken is important. The controversy provoked by the issue of ‘marital rape’ during the debate about the Domestic Violence Bill between the years 2003 and 2005 offers an important example. Dwelling mostly on this issue, campaigners for the Bill aroused fears in religious and traditional segments of the society that the proposed legislation was going to undermine basic principles of fidelity and trust in marriage and thereby undermine family values. It was clear that many people supported the law but felt uncomfortable about the aspect of ‘marital rape’ for religious and cultural reasons. The debate on homosexuality, which became intense in 2011 following a news report that an NGO had registered 8,000 gay people in two regions, also illustrates the analytical element of ‘confrontation’. Some human rights workers, some politicians and representative of state agencies maintained that homosexuals had rights to choose their own lifestyle, but such statements always received quick and scathing rebukes from religious groups. For example, the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church of Ghana was reported to have described homosexuals as ‘filthy’22, and the Christian Council refuted the claim that the homosexual issue is a human rights one. In the same manner, the religious groups and leaders also came under attacks. For example, a lady university professor was reported to have described those who condemn homosexuals as hypocrites.23 Others on both sides were more sober, urging others contributing to the debate to endeavour to make their contributions in emotionally detached manner, acknowledging that the issue was one which usually evoked strong emotions.24

Inculturating human rights in Ghana – Employing the four analytical elements Our model of inculturation, as outlined in Chapter 3, has four main analytical elements: spontaneous or popular dialogue, translation, confrontation and directional or formal dialogue. As we explained, these are not to be construed in terms of either unconnected phases or sequential stages of a process. They are to be understood in terms of overlapping elements that may be present at the same time at various stages in the complex and dynamic process of social change. Inculturation must, of necessity, involve comparison – a comparison of the global culture with the local. Comparative analyses normally take account of,

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not only present phenomena but also relevant historical data. A critical aspect of the exploration we embark upon is how to resolve the incompatibilities between normative human rights and traditional customary norms, sometimes presented as the basis of claims to cultural and group rights, but which in several instances also provide the context for the easy violation of human rights by influential individuals and traditional authorities.25 Most of the themes that are important to the project of inculturation of human rights in Ghana are conceived and interpreted in the context of a basic spiritual world view. Among them are conceptions of the human being; what is meant by human dignity; the place of the individual in the community; relations between rulers and the ruled; and mutual rights and obligations between individuals. Other important themes include the human rights implications of the relationship between human beings and their environment (both physical and metaphysical). A discourse on these themes is also a discourse about justice, well-being, freedom and peaceful coexistence among groups and individuals, and with the natural environment. Embedding human rights in any culture must involve an exploration of how human dignity is conceived in context. This is necessary, not only because of the need for justifying why human beings should be entitled to rights, but also because of the interconnectedness of the various aspects of the physical, metaphysical and social environments which, in the context of Ghana, should be considered in relation to human rights.

Physical and metaphysical environments The sense of community of traditional societies in Ghana goes beyond the physical. It includes the ancestors, who are actually regarded as the custodians of customary norms and as the actual owners of the group’s natural resources. This dimension of religious belief, in times past, ensured the protection of natural resources from being alienated or desecrated; since the ancestors did not only represent the past, but also the future, preservation of resources implied respecting the rights of the unborn.26 Apart from the ownership of land and other natural resources by the ancestors, which bestowed sacredness on the environment, several plant and animal species were believed to possess spirits that made it imperative that human beings showed respect in their use of them. The natural environment – land, water bodies, vegetation and some animals – was regarded as sacred. While the universal norms of human rights may not come to be based on the beliefs or taboos underlying the practices of showing

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reverence for the ecosystem, they may exploit the idea that, in some way, the ecosystem is regarded as worthy of preservation for the collective good of humanity. For example, the taboo that forbids fishing on specific days and the belief that on such days, the gods and their children turn into fishes and, therefore, must not be caught, represent the community’s concern for the protection of the ecosystem. Such practices and their underlying concepts bring into the ambit of metaphysical concern the preservation of the natural environment as a matter of socio-religious responsibility. They could also serve as ‘raw materials’ to be developed and expressed in the language of human rights. This agrees with our element of popular or spontaneous dialogue in the process of inculturating human rights; rights language can be easily inserted into the local context at the level of translation and directional dialogue. Translating the idea of preserving land, water bodies and other resources as a sign of respect for the ancestors and a concern for the unborn into the language of human rights as a starting point is a viable proposition. Religious beliefs and ideas alone may not be sufficient to secure compliance, but authorities and human rights workers may be inspired by the existence of these norms and be guided in formulating appropriate policies and their implementation in ways that are meaningful and, therefore, acceptable to majority of the ordinary citizens. Local and international NGOs may also take advantage of the availability of such resources in their advocacy and training programmes at the grass roots.

The human being as an individual Although modernity has deeply penetrated contemporary Ghanaian society, several features of the traditional culture still persist. Modernity and tradition have not proved incompatible in the Ghanaian context. Nowhere is this more evident than in the context of religious practice, where belief in the reality of spirits is combined with a high appreciation of modern global systems and the way they work.27 The idea that the human being has a soul that carries nkrabea (destiny) underlies the sense of individuality. This belief in nkrabea serves as the basis of a sense of autonomy because it is not conceived collectively. Each soul carries its own nkrabea. It is a radically individualistic concept, as is illustrated in the maxim: obi rekra ne Nyame no na obi ngyina ho (nobody was there when one was taking his/her destiny from his/her God). Wiredu describes the implied privacy involved in this concept as ‘metaphysical right to privacy’.28 In the context of the limited economic and other opportunities, which, sometimes, generate

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stiff competition and without the previous strong kinship network support systems, a sense of radical individuality indicates not only autonomy but also vulnerability. This sense of vulnerability and the desire to achieve the ‘destiny’ carried by one’s ‘soul’ make it natural to want to seek help from presumed benevolent spirit powers, or to seek to keep one’s affairs away from the influence of evil spirit forces. To the extent that this leads to a high level of individual consciousness, it supplies a good ground of affinity with the sense of individuality considered critical for the development of a human rights culture. It appears that scholars who overemphasize the dichotomy that assigns communitarian characteristics to Africa and individualistic characteristics to Europe often neglect to investigate aspects of the religious thought of Africa. While African indigenous religions, especially Ghanaian ones, have always included the community in its scheme of thought, they have not taught the dissolution of the individual ‘soul’ into a sea of spirits or impersonal state of existence after death, in which the individual spirit no longer exists or is merged into an impersonal reality.29 Yes, they retire to a world of spirits ruled by the ancestors, but they retain their individual identities as spirits and, on appropriate occasions, are addressed by name in libation prayer. Most traditional societies in Ghana cannot be put in purely ‘either – or’ categories in terms of the communitarian-individualistic divide. Linked also to the concept of the ‘soul’ and other presumed metaphysical components of the human being is the idea of human dignity. In the context of the synthesis that we have called Ghanaian culture, the human being is conceived in terms of not only the ‘soul’ but also, ‘spirit’, and in certain cases, ‘blood’ or some other similar concept (depending on the segment of popular religion one is most inclined to). The belief that the human being is the creature of God, and possesses non-material indestructible elements that survive death, underscores the exalted place the human being occupies in the thinking of the contemporary Ghanaian. In Chapter 6, we saw how this high view of the human being was traditionally expressed mainly in terms of taboos of the egudodoame type. The fact that there are certain things that must never be done to human beings because of their status as human beings, and that such acts symbolize degradation, is a good starting point to discuss the subject of human dignity. In the same vein, the extension of the idea of sacredness to the environment  – water bodies, vegetation, animals and the earth – in itself promises a meaningful engagement with modern international concerns about ecosystems which are also expressed in terms of human rights.

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Translations of ‘human rights’ collected from the field contained cognate concepts such as freedom, equality, natural inheritance due to each human being, the portion due to each person as a human being, human needs common to all persons, human necessities, power to live as a human being, things that are permissible and divinely bestowed gifts. These ideas of human rights flow from people’s sense of dignity, which is conceived in terms of the basic respect and honour that every human being is thought to inherently carry. Such inherent honour and respect are captured in the Akan and Ga concept of enyimnyam (animuonyam in Twi, hie nyam in Ga). Literally, the word means ‘face shine/ glory/aura’. The last syllable, nyam, is also found in the word Onyame, which is the Supreme Being, translated ‘God’ in the Akan versions of the Bible and Nyonnmo in the Ga Bible.30 This not only links human dignity to a divine source but also ascribes to it a metaphysical quality. This underlies the Ghanaian relish for ‘beauty of speech, thought, action and appearance’, which traditionally serve as criteria for appointment to high office. It sets a standard for measuring the complete humanness of individual persons. Normally, qualities looked for in occupants of high office are those qualities considered ideal by a community. This means, by stressing on ‘beauty of speech, thought, action and appearance’ as qualifications in relation to high public office, Ghanaian society sees in these qualities what may be regarded as expressing its ideal humanness.31 Enyimnyam then becomes the outward manifestation of the inherent human dignity. It is the ‘content’ of the concept of human dignity manifest to the world outside a person. This idea of dignity does not only depend on the performance of duties but also on achievement. Dignity in this sense, therefore, includes certain physical, social and moral qualities or abilities, which every member of the human family ought to possess. By intuition, the society has in mind how a human being should appear and function; so if anybody does not meet those criteria, they are considered to be below the minimal standard of dignity. This would impose a duty on the family or the community to protect such a person so that their disabilities or inabilities do not become impediments in their way to make up for what they fall short of physically, and, in other ways, as human beings. We noted how on their death, certain differently looking and differently able people were denied aspects of the honour accorded to the dead by traditional societies in Ghana (Chapter 6). We said that by such acts, the society showed its aversion for the conditions of disability and deformity, but that this did not mean their humanity was denied: rather, it was affirmed. While they lived, they were respected and supported. The symbolism of rites performed at their burial makes sense in the context of the traditional belief in reincarnation. The

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message communicated was simply this: ‘Human beings must be whole in body and function properly in all their faculties. You are a human being, when you are coming into the world the next time do come in whole and function fully as a human being.’ In other words, while their deformities and failings were regretted, their basic humanity was nevertheless affirmed. But how can human dignity so conceived give support to efforts aimed at the development of a local expression of the universal human rights concept? Human dignity in the sense of enyimnyam presents a picture of ‘true’ human functioning, which must be used as a standard by society to ensure that each human being realizes the power to exercise their rights and responsibilities. Traditional societies protected and supported the physically or mentally handicapped within the context of the kinship system, with the ruler, in certain cases, taking care of those who lacked the support of relatives. There were also various resources available to restore the humanity of those who failed to live up to the society’s standard of morality or social responsibility (Chapter 6). After such persons had been appropriately sanctioned, they were taken through rituals of cleansing and restoration. Such rituals, while they signified society’s disapproval of antisocial or criminal behaviours, also symbolically affirmed the dignity of those involved. The relevant point for us is that human dignity may be measured in terms of basic functionality that enables a person to fulfil their responsibilities and enjoy their rights. There is hardly any restorative dimension to the prison systems of modern African nation-states. Penal codes only aim at punishment with no mechanism to rehabilitate and reintegrate those fallen foul of the law. Yet, if there is anything like human dignity, then it must be affirmed even in ‘inhuman human beings’.32 It is not just those who cannot function properly because of some form of retardation or of disability, but even alleged or confirmed criminals. Ritual formulas employed in such cases were significant for the cathartic effect they had on the culprit and the reassurance they brought to the public that the former criminal was still human and had been restored to function normally as such.

The ‘capabilities approach’ and Ghanaian conceptions of human dignity The idea involved in our approach may be developed within the framework of Nussbaum’s ‘capabilities approach’ to human dignity.33 Although she does not seem to explicitly include criminals and their rehabilitation in her scheme, her

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emphasis on a caring society makes her approach broad enough to include such concerns. She advocates what she calls the capabilities approach as a philosophical underpinning for an account of ‘core human entitlements’ that should be respected and implemented by ‘governments of all nations, as a bare minimum of what respect for human dignity requires’.34 She focuses on ‘human capabilities’, by which she means ‘what people are actually able to do and be, in a way informed by an intuitive idea of a life that is worthy of the dignity of the human being’.35 She suggests a threshold level of each ‘capability’ below which truly human functioning is not possible. She maintains that these ‘capabilities’ should be pursued for each and every person, treating each other as an end, and none as mere tool of the ends of others. The social goal of the approach is to be understood in terms of getting citizens above this ‘capability threshold’.36 Nussbaum lists ten capabilities as ‘central requirements of a life with dignity’: life, bodily health, bodily integrity, senses, imagination and thought, emotions, practical reason, affiliation, other species, play, control over one’s environment.37 She proposes these as contents of the abstract concept of human dignity. A person’s dignity does not depend on their possession of such basic capabilities as individuals; rather these must be understood as the characteristics that every member of the human specie must possess.38 Therefore, once a person is born into existence they are entitled to these capabilities. A just and caring society assumes the responsibility for ensuring that the basic capabilities that are acquired by every human being for adequate human functioning as part of the community are acquired even if a person does not possess them. The convergence of this with the Ghanaian world view and conceptions of the human being is in the fact that Nussbaum views the human being as a being with physical, emotional, spiritual and social needs. Sociability is an important characteristic of the human being in need of care. Her theory presupposes a society in which human beings are held together by altruistic ties of mutual advantage. It posits a strong commitment to the good of the other person. The Ghanaian conception of the human individual in relation to the community is that of interdependence. This is illustrated in the maxims: onyimpa hia mboa (the human being needs help) and onyimpa nnye abedua na w’aso ne ho azde ye (the human being is not a palm tree that will be able to meet all its needs alone).39 The indigenous Akan version of interdependence for mutual benefit, which is also found among the Ewe, the Ga and most other ethnic groups in Ghana has been developed by Wiredu in his principle of ‘sympathetic impartiality’. This

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principle stipulates a moral imperative that requires everybody, in their conduct, to manifest a due concern for the interest of others at all times. As he explains, A person may be said to manifest due concern for the interests of others if in contemplating the impact of her actions on their interests, she puts herself imaginatively in their position, and having done so, is able to overcome that impact.40

This is clearly in keeping with what is required of every citizen as a duty-bearer with regard to the rights of others and the general good of society. The principle encourages mutual support by citizens to fulfil their duties and affirm their sense of dignity in their recognition and enjoyment of rights. Sympathetic impartiality is a deeply entrenched traditional value, which guides social relations. Like Rawls’s overlapping consensus and Habermas’ communicative action, it seeks to provide a basis for harmonious and peaceful coexistence of mutual respect in the pluralistic context of the world. Like Nussbaum’s capabilities approach, it seeks to promote a just, fair and sympathetic society in which dignity is accorded equally to all members of the human specie. Sympathetic impartiality is expressed in maxims such as okwasea na ose wodze me yonko na wondze emi (it is the fool who says ‘it affects my neighbour but not me’) and se amma wo nyonko antwa akron a wo nso worenntwa du (if you do not allow your neighbour the ninth count, you cannot count ten). It expresses what has come to be described as the ‘golden rule’ found in the teachings of most religious traditions.41 Nussbaum’s ‘basic capabilities’ also converges with the traditional Ghanaian idea of human dignity conceived as enyimnyam, which includes certain physical, social and moral qualities or abilities that ensure basic human functionality. Actually, her list of ten capabilities as ‘core human entitlements’ that should be respected and implemented by ‘governments of all nations, as a bare minimum of what respect for human dignity requires’42 could also be understood as constituting some or all of ‘those resources or conditions which constitute the minimal conditions for human existence’43 and which forms our operational definition of human rights.

The human family: Local and universal One of the declared bases why human rights are held as a universal set of principles, desirable to be upheld everywhere, is the idea of humanity as one family.44 This is important to note because it reflects the shift from rights regimes

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as citizens’ rights to human rights. Informed by the long and ugly experiences of discrimination based on race, class, tribe and religion with their attendant fruits of domination, slavery and wars, the human rights project launched by the international community seeks to undo all distinctions based on primordial identities. In that sense, the human rights concept may be understood as a tool for the nurturing of a sense of global belonging. The idea of a ‘human family’ does not only aim at creating global citizens out of local peoples in their particular contexts; but it also has implications for national governments too. National governments assume responsibility for the human rights of both citizens and non-citizens within their areas of jurisdiction. The inculturation approach must therefore contend with the challenge of traversing any sharp sense of local particularities. Divisive schemes that formed the bases of racial, ethnic, class or religious discrimination were often justified by religious belief. In Ghana, aspects of cultural traditions were sometimes formulated in such a way that each ethnic group saw in its own people essential humanness and all outsiders as savage or unclean. Although this may not have been explicitly stated in cultural norms and customs, the effect of the attitudes and corresponding resentments generated by such ethnocentric formulations still sustain inter-ethnic suspicions. However, such traditions also contained more important inclusive aspects, parts of which have survived into the present time and may be developed in support of human rights. According to Ghanaian traditions such as those of the Akan, Ga and Ewe, and what we have referred to as a common Ghanaian culture, all human beings have come from God and each one possesses a soul, which is a spark of God that gives life to them. For example, the maxim ‘all human beings are children of God; no one is a child of the earth’, expresses the view that all human beings have their origins in God and not from this earth. It is the earth that creates differences between human communities; it is the realm where human beings can draw boundary lines. The earth is the place where differences in climate and vegetation produce differences in skin colour and differences in ways of seeing and doing things that have come to be described as ‘culture’. But God (Onyame) does not draw differences between human beings. Among the Akan, for example, the firmament serves as a symbol of God; it is said to reflect his shining glory and majestic power. The word onyam, which shares roots with Onyame, is also used to describe the shiny appearance of the firmament.45 There are no visible boundaries in the firmament; boundaries are seen as things of the earth, created by human arrangements. Though each soul carries its own

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destiny and is accountable to God and is a spark of the divine in equal measure, whether in terms of quantity or quality, it shares with other souls a basic common humanity; a human family that shares similar basic needs, fears and aspirations. In the spirit of the elements of popular or spontaneous dialogue, translation and directional dialogue, the idea of the brotherhood of all human beings expressed in the UDHR is already being inculturated in the local Ghanaian context. This is greatly facilitated by the extensive influence of Semitic traditions of creation, which trace the origins of all human races to a common ancestral couple, Adam and Eve.

Relations between rulers and the ruled It is said that the earliest Ghanaian elite agitation for freedom and democratic governance was driven by religious thought. According to Assimeng, the Bible was the first large-scale form of literature available in most of Africa; so the earliest nationalists of Ghana, who were all educated in mission schools, obtained the idiom for the expression of ideas of equality, freedom and democratic rule from that source. However, this is in reference to the modern period.46 In Chapter 6, we discussed the open and participatory nature of traditional governance. This aspect of traditional political culture unfortunately was not nurtured by the colonialists into a modern African version of democratic governance. In Ghana, however, aspects of that culture seem to have been carried into modern attitudes to governance. For example, traditionally, politics and piety have not been separate pursuits but conjoined in such a way that political involvement and religious devotion are not antithetical. Ghanaians in general are highly politically conscious and participate freely in politics in spite of their intense religious devotion. An observable aspect of Ghanaians in public office is that, while they may draw on their religion for confidence building and protection against those who, they believe may attack them through spiritual means, they do not allow their faith to influence working relationships. Their religion may provide personal ethical visions of life, but they do not approach their work as propagandists of their religious traditions. Participation in politics comes, almost naturally, to most Ghanaians. History provides evidence of how ordinary people resented and resisted the British imposition of the indirect rule, which made the chiefs part of the colonial administration in terms of carrying out the orders and policies of the

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colonial government. This arrangement cut off the chiefs from their subjects because the laws and policies they implemented had been imposed instead of reached by consensus. It meant that popular participation in governance, which was characteristic of most traditional societies, was abolished.47 The element of spontaneous or popular dialogue between indigenous principles of governance and the modern democratic ideas are discernible in these developments. It may be argued that the traditional religio-social culture provided elements of the political preparation needed for the establishment of a democratic culture in Ghana. Democratic practice insists on important principles such as due process, correct procedure and the rule of law. Palace etiquette involved elaborate procedures which, when ignored, incurred sanctions. In the same way, procedures, whether they had to do with deposition of a chief from office or the installation of a new chief, had to follow a prescribed step-by-step process, otherwise they would be regarded null and void. Rituals of various types also followed strict procedure; otherwise their efficacy would be undermined. Therefore principles of modern democratic governance such as are expressed in the terms ‘due process’ and ‘proper procedures’ are not entirely novel to the Ghanaian context. The indigenous political system prepared the grounds for these principles of democratic governance long before the onset of colonial rule.

Confronting custom Exploring the possibilities of reconciling entrenched customary beliefs and practices with international human rights norms, we have argued, is critical to the inculturation model. The realm of culture often supplies the resources for the legitimization of resistance to change. Custom and tradition48 are two important resources and properties of culture frequently invoked in internal contestations and disputes over social goods and policy direction. In that sense, they are inextricably entwined with the structures of power, as those who assume the power to interpret cultural values or to determine the authenticity of customs and traditions play a critical role.49 Several traditional beliefs and customary norms continue to influence life in urban and rural communities in Ghana, and since, generally, socialization processes orient people to accept and conform to such norms, it becomes difficult for most people to raise voices of protest. An examination of news reports as well as official reports50 of state agencies and NGOs on Ghana reveals a continuous tension between the exercise of the

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human rights of individuals and groups and the customary norms of traditional communities.51 One of the most difficult obstacles to an enhanced regime of human rights in Ghana appears to be the continuous application of traditional beliefs and customary practices to many issues of personal and public circumstances. Since Ghanaian societies are mostly patriarchal, it is women and children that are mostly affected by the repressive dimensions of custom.52 Yet, change is not unknown to the traditional cultures of Ghana. Whenever it was deemed necessary, chiefs and elders met in council to make fundamental alterations to traditional laws and customs. For example, the Bond of 1844 is ample evidence that Ghanaian cultural traditions are not averse to change but are adaptable to meet the contingencies of new situations.53 Also, in 1938, the Confederation of Akan Chiefs passed a law that granted widows and their children one-third of the deceased husband’s properties.54 This means inculturation of ideas and practices linked to universal human rights are already taking place in the processes of lawmaking and administration of justice in the context of traditional rule. In that case, the reform of customary laws and practices to harmonize with universal human rights norms already finds a foundation to build on. Conditions are ripe for directional dialogue. Formal interventions through appropriate legislation at the national level, dialogue with chiefs and other stakeholders and exposure of the custodians of customary laws and practices to universal human rights through education are important in this regard. Issues of relevance to human rights and Ghanaian customary practices that have attracted international attention in recent times include witchcraft accusations, child labour, trokosi, FGM and widowhood rites. Other issues are property rights and application of customary law. FGM and trokosi have been extensively dealt with in several scholarly works and reports of NGOs,55 we shall, therefore, not engage in extensive discussions of these issues. In the rest of our discussions, we shall dwell on the other issues. Moreover, although, we have discussed customary law in Chapter 6, we shall be making references to it again since several of the issues under discussion are connected to it.

Witchcraft accusations On Friday, 12 January 2007, an interesting reader’s letter was published in the Daily Graphic, the most widely circulated Ghanaian newspaper. In the light of its relevance to our discussion, I take a rather lengthy quotation out of it:

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I have always had a morbid fear for courts, but in November, 2006, curiosity took the better part of me and I went to the District Magistrate Court at Assin Foso to listen to a judgement which was to be delivered by the Magistrate, Joseph Blay Esq. In 1989, my family suffered gross injustice at the hands of the rulers of my town, Katakyiease, near Mfantse Nyankomase. The facts of the case were the same as what the judge was due to give a decision upon, so a lot of interested inhabitants were in the audience with me. In the year referred to, my grandmother, aged about 89, died. While we were preparing for the funeral and making other arrangements to bury her, the rulers of the town came to inform us that the old lady had been branded a witch so they would not permit her to be buried the normal way. We were ordered . . . to bury her quietly at sunset. We were ordered not to weep, not to perform any funeral ceremony and not play any instrument. We were simply told that that was the custom for burying witches. We were forced to comply and my grandmother was buried like a dog. I was very bitter but nothing could be done. In October, 2006, history repeated itself. An 85 year old lady, Obaapanin Yaa Kodua, died at Katakyiease. The rulers informed her family that she had been declared a witch so she could not be permitted to be buried like a normal corpse. As usual the family accepted the orders . . . but a daughter of the deceased . . . After all attempts by her to get the elders to change their decision had failed, she sued at the court for redress and that is what brought us all to court that day. In his judgement, the magistrate made several references to the constitution of the Republic of Ghana . . . After giving all these references and examples, he finally said, ‘so with effect from today the customary practice of refusing a decent burial to old ladies because they are deemed to be witches is abolished forthwith in Katakyiease and elsewhere. Anybody who indulges in such a practice . . . will be breaking the law . . .’ A retired catechist confessed to me that he felt as guilty as the rulers of the town because some years back he and his family suffered a similar fate but could not muster the courage to challenge the elders . . .56

The story told by the author of this letter does not represent an isolated case. Witchcraft accusations are rampant in both rural and urban communities in

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Ghana. But as the author of this letter and the retired catechist she refers to did, most families do not seek redress in court, either because they do not have the financial resources or there is no member of the family with sufficient courage to take on the powerful custodians of custom. The lack of courage on the part of those who could afford the financial costs of litigation stems from several factors. In the first place, not many members of the community have been able to divest themselves of the beliefs underlying traditional customs. Residual amounts of belief in the traditions continue to lurk in the minds of even the educated members of the community. Secondly, kinship relationships are still of important effect in Ghana; the extended family system creates a complex web of relationships in which kinship connections can be traced through a chain of linkages until no one is a stranger to any. What is feared is the disruptive effect of litigation in the civil courts. Moreover, the relative isolation of several communities and towns from structures of the central government does not make it safe to court the displeasure of the community by humiliating its elders in court. According to one of the paragraphs we omitted, after the judge’s verdict, ‘the rulers of the town sat in the court-room stupefied and complained that this could not happen. This, according to them, was a traditional practice handed down to them so it could not be abolished.’ The shock experienced by the traditional rulers was understandable in the context. The decision of the court meant to them a complete loss of power to ‘protect’ their people against what they sincerely believed was a destructive spiritual power  – witchcraft. Since colonial times, almost all of the legitimate customary avenues through which communities used to deal with the perceived threat of witchcraft have been systematically blocked through legislative interventions under various regimes. Yet, the belief has persisted. While judicial and administrative regimes have been successful in taking away the powers from traditional authorities to deal with alleged witches, they have not achieved much in their attempt to remove or change the belief. The belief and the resulting accusations, which continue to exist throughout the country, have been a cause of trouble for many citizens, especially, old women.57 With the onset of colonialism, the authorities wrestled with the phenomenon of witchcraft belief and its associated matters. The government commissioned anthropologists to research the phenomenon and scholars like Margaret J. Field and R. S. Rattray conducted significant and useful investigations.58 The British authorities made it illegal for the chiefs, the traditional rulers, to carry out capital punishment. This was reserved for the courts of the colonial government. Other

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practices, such as trial by ordeal in which the accused person was forced to drink the bark of odum tree were also banned. With the continuous decline of the judicial powers of the traditional rulers to sanction alleged witches, the only means of deterring their people from becoming ‘witches’ were the humiliating prohibitions imposed on their funeral as reported in the story cited above. Witchcraft was, perhaps, the most difficult problem that ever confronted colonial lawmakers.59 Beginning with the Native Administration Ordinance (NAO) of 1927, which empowered chiefs to try cases involving witchcraft accusations, the colonial authorities tried several approaches to the issue with very little success. The Native Tribunals that operated under the Ordinance, in their effort to establish the truth of allegations, referred litigants to the shrines. But the reported abuses at the shrines were publicly decried in the press and by the Christian missionary bodies. This forced the government to pass the Order in Council (No. 28), which proscribed ‘witch and wizard finding’.60 But this did not solve the problem either, as communities and influential individuals continued to petition the government to allow the shrines to operate.61 The issue is not a simple one. The human rights issues involved include the right to life, since accusations sometimes result in lynching and other forms of violent behaviour; the right to dignity, since accusations bring public shame and ridicule to the accused; the right to bodily integrity, since sometimes the accused are beaten, tortured and have injuries inflicted on their bodies; the right of free movement, since sometimes the accused become confined and cannot freely move about. Others are the right to freedom of belief, since sometimes the accused are forced to go through rituals and trials by ordeal that are against their own religious beliefs; the right not to be discriminated against, since in most cases they are isolated by the community and because, in most cases, the accused are old women. Issues become even more complicated when some people feel themselves to possess the supposed evil power of witchcraft and confess to it. That could be interpreted as a form of neurosis,62 but if such a person claims responsibility for some harm that has befallen another person or the community, the reaction of supposed victims will be difficult to predict, especially since the courts have no expertise in handling issues of such nature. Religious functionaries, whose methods are rooted in the culture, remain the best resource persons for addressing the problem. The controversy provoked by ‘Order 28’ in the 1930s finally led to a settlement which, though not directly dealing with the human rights dimension of the problem, may provide a pattern to guide our present project. Danquah, the leading Gold Coast nationalist, philosopher and lawyer, argued that the

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most important problem was not whether witchcraft was true or not, but the undeniable fact that the overwhelming majority of Ghanaians believed in it. He likened the priests of the new shrines to clinical psychologists, particularly to psychoanalysts, and said that while it was wrong for any authority – chiefs and family elders, for example – to compel anybody to consult a shrine on suspicion of being a witch, a person who went to the shrine on their own accord because they felt themselves to be possessed of witchcraft power should not be stopped. This basically was the substance of the settlement reached in 1932.63 It reflected the emerging consensus that the dignity of alleged witches deserved to be protected. Through popular or spontaneous dialogue and the critical element of confrontation, it had come to be generally accepted that the supposed evil power of witchcraft could be destroyed through the work of the religious specialists without harming the alleged witch.

Widowhood rites Widowhood rites continue to feature in the life of several communities in Ghana. Even though it involves a lot of practices that may be termed cruel and which violate human rights of women, legislation has not been able to deal with it. The rites, which take different forms in different traditional areas, generally have features such as the following: confinement for a period of time, usually, in the room where the body of the late husband was laid in state; shaving of the head to the scalp; eating sparingly, usually, once a day; having daily cold baths; using a stone as pillow for the period of confinement; wearing a black cloth throughout the period; and being taken to the beach or the refuse dump at night for a final ritual bath. In some cases, in involves cruel elements such as putting pepper in the eyes of the widow; pouring hot water on her, which sometimes scalds her body; and starving them for days. There is a law prohibiting the cruel aspects of widowhood and forbidding widows to be compelled to go through the rites. Moreover, since widowhood rites seems to be widespread in Africa,64 international instruments exist that seek to protect women against such abuses, the most explicit being the Women’s Protocol to the African Charter, which was adopted on 11 July 2003.65 In spite of the existence of relevant laws and vigorous advocacy by women’s groups, including religious ones, widowhood rites continue to pose a challenge to the human rights of women in Ghana.66 In 2008, the media was dominated by reports concerning the three widows of Nana Adjei Dimpo II, the late paramount

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chief of the Mo Traditional Area in the Brong Ahafo Region. The three women had been confined for nine years following the death of their husband. According to the traditions of the area, widows of a chief should remain in confinement until the final funeral rites are held, and the funeral rites cannot be held until a new chief has been installed. In this particular case, a rather long litigation over who should be the next chief had delayed the funeral rites. It took the personal intervention of the president of the country to persuade the traditional council to amend the custom so that the funeral could be held for the widows to be released.67 Widowhood rites persist because they have social and religious significance for many women, which is why in some cases, women voluntarily submit to them. In some areas, women who have converted to religions such as Christianity and Islam are exempted; yet, many Christian women voluntarily submit to them. The rites have motifs such as ritual separation between the widow and the ghost of the dead husband; cleansing from ritual pollution; proof of fidelity during the marriage; and as an expression of love and respect for the late husband. In certain cases, the performance of widowhood rites becomes the basis of the woman’s claim to her share of the deceased husband’s estate. Furthermore, the traditional process of socialization creates fear of spiritual sanctions, which makes it difficult for women to refuse to undergo such customary rites. Several Christian churches have sought to overcome these fears through religious instruction and the development of alternative rites that are devoid of the negative features of the traditional one. This in itself is evidence that some form of inculturation is already taking place, which may be taken advantage of by those concerned to embed human rights in Ghana.

Child labour References to increased incidents of child labour in Ghana broach the issue of human rights and the long-standing traditional practice of involving children in the economic and domestic activities of the family.68 Children’s role, traditionally, was to provide supportive services such as fetching water and transporting firewood for fuel. Children also engaged in petty trade, especially hawking.69 Traditionally, women going into marriage for the first time were given girl-children of other relatives to help and support them with domestic chores; in contemporary times, the phenomenon of ‘house-help’ has become a mechanism by which city and urban households enjoy such services, traditionally provided

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by children. As Oppong and Abu put it, ‘such practices have the support of customary norms, values and beliefs, regarding their efficacy’.70 Against this background, it is not surprising that a report by the ILO in 1996 revealed that 75 per cent of child labour in Ghana took place in such family situations.71 Cultural and religious factors are deeply implicated in the perpetration of child labour in Ghana. Traditional methods of child training consider it a virtue to introduce the child to the traditional occupation of the parents early. Boys normally followed the occupation of their father and girls that of their mother. In addition, petty trading as a means of supplementing income was seen as an important skill, especially for girls. The process of socialization involved aspects that ensured children grew up conforming to social norms. Emphasis was placed upon values such as ‘respect, obedience and service to elders . . . sanctioned by corporal punishment, ridicule, and magico-religious threats ensured that children remained oriented towards working diligently for elders in their households, whether parents, relatives or strangers’.72 Such factors make it easy for children to continue to be exploited. But economic and political factors are as implicated as the cultural and religious. This is illustrated by a paper on Ghana prepared by Sudharshan Canagarajah and Harold Coulombe for the World Bank.73 Among its conclusions are the following: first, the probability of children’s labour participation declines with the rising levels of household welfare (although the link between the two is said to be weak); secondly, the high cost of schooling pushes children into the labour market; and thirdly, fathers with relatively high level of education have a significant negative influence of the likelihood of the child working. The second point is particularly interesting, since the research revealed that one out of every five children in Ghana goes to school and works. As the report explains, ‘as children find that they cannot afford school, they are pushed into working in order to enable them to attend school or, it may just completely prevent them from going to school and participate in household enterprises’.74 Actually, the traditional culture sets limits for the tasks in which children may be involved. This is underscored by the Akan maxim that abofra bo nwaw na ombo akyekyer (the child breaks the shell of the snail; not the shell of the tortoise). Very clear lines are drawn between the types of work in which children may be engaged and work for adults. Perhaps, it is due to this traditional attitude to children’s participation in work that both the Labor Decree (1967) and the Children’s Act 1998 (Act 560) contain the provision that children may engage in ‘light work’. Such cultural values and practices can provide the grounds for an engagement with modern human rights norms.

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Property rights The issue of property rights in Ghana is linked to the issue of individuality and communality. Traditionally, the right to land is linked to membership of the kinship group. Nukunya reports that among the Ewe, for example, every member of the kinship group ‘is entitled to a number of rights and privileges including a plot of land to cultivate, a creek to fish in, a place to live and a group to care for him in time of need’.75 According to Danquah, land is communally owned among the Akan, and individuals belonging to the kinship group are entitled to a piece of land for cultivation.76 What this means is that in traditional societies land was owned by the lineage. This was an arrangement that ensured equitable distribution of the common property. It was not permitted to sell any part of the land, because that would mean depriving future members of the lineage of their right to land and, by implication, livelihood and shelter. Consequently, mechanisms existed for lineage elders, as custodians of the property, to account to the members of the lineage. Yet modern developments have led to serious abuse of lineage property. By the middle of the 1960s, the erosion of traditional religious values had combined with other factors such as the traditional deference to status, to undermine fiduciary standards in most communities in Ghana. Lineage members became less able to demand accountability of lineage heads.77 Traditionally, religious standards that demanded complete fidelity and fairness in such matters placed effective checks on the powers of lineage heads and elders. But with the decline in such values, several elders and lineage heads deliberately sacrificed such values for personal gain. By the 1980s, this aspect of rights had become so alarming that the PNDC government found it necessary to enact a ‘Family Accountability Law’ under which any member of a family could take family elders to court to account for their stewardship. This is a clear case where, it seems that, economic interests have overshadowed ancient customs and religious beliefs. In matters related to property, there has also been the opportunity from time immemorial for individuals to own property, apart from the lineage ones. Whether a person is male or female,78 married or unmarried, they can own property as an individual. This cannot be said to be of a recent origin; an observation by a Dutch official in Elmina in the eighteenth century read: Married people here have no community of goods; but each has his or her particular property; the man and his wives generally adjust the matter

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together; so that they are to bear the charge of house-keeping, while the clothing of the whole family is at his sole expense.79

Parties in a marriage always, in a customary legal sense, never lost their sense of individual autonomy, especially, with respect to property. According to Danquah, women in Ghana have always been free and independent, ‘both as to holding any kind of property, and in the exercise of intangible civil rights’.80 Inheritance arrangements also did not traditionally discriminate against women. Among the Anlo, for example, daughters were not excluded from inheriting property of the father.81 Greene observes that prior to the seventeenth century, women inherited from both their fathers and mothers; in spite of the fact that the society was patrilineal, women could bequeath land to their children.82 Issues of inheritance and property rights in Ghana have been an important issue of public interest for several hundred years. Factors such as intermarriages between people of matrilineal and patrilineal groups and concern for widows and children of deceased men have served to make these issues, subjects of spontaneous or popular dialogue in the process of inculturation. We also see all the other elements of inculturation already involved. Nevertheless, the process towards rearranging inheritance systems and indigenous property rights systems to conform to international standards need to be guided through formal interventions in keeping with the element of formal or directional dialogue in the inculturation process.

Conclusion The understanding of the universe and relationships within it in terms that transcend the material view of reality to include the spiritual is not antithetical to a secular project such as human rights. Since this has been the most popular framework of understanding for individuals and communities in Ghana to interpret events, the evaluation of evolving values and their expression are naturally best done by employing systems of meanings familiar to it. Forms of inculturation are already taking place, there are several points of affinity between local Ghanaian values and the norms of international human rights that facilitate the ongoing dialogue in which translations, and confrontations are taking place. However, there is the need to push issues forward faster and, in a more systematic way, by giving direction to the process of inculturation, which

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has been ongoing since colonial times. This calls for a deliberate recognition of, and the systematic exploitation of ‘spiritual capital’83 in the effort to make human rights an integral part of Ghana’s culture, with deep roots in the Ghanaian world view. The metaphysical linkages implied in the common world view, and the values activated by such foundational ideas of human dignity and common membership of a universal family, may serve as the basis of a human rights regime in which everyone is the other person’s keeper.

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Conclusion: Religion and the Inculturation of Human Rights in Ghana

One of our basic assumptions has been that human rights are presumed upon certain ideas about the human being as a being with dignity that needs to be protected and not violated. In Ghanaian culture, such ideas are basically linked to religious beliefs. Indeed, forms of democracy and human rights that existed in precolonial Africa were embedded in ‘religion and culture’.1 Another basic assumption upon which our discussions have proceeded is that almost all cultures have had ideal values or ‘dream values’, by which prophets, wise men or great lawgivers have sought to promote and protect respect for human dignity and from which human rights are derived. Societies that have not produced individual thinkers have had these dream values expressed in proverbs, taboos and ritual forms. We have explored these issues, bearing in mind their practical implications for the inculturation of human rights in Ghana.

Inculturation of human rights in Ghana – An ongoing dialogue Placing our discussions in the framework of inculturation has required a focus on the concrete situation of the context. This is also in keeping with well-established traditions in the modern academic study of religions. The local context, in the case of this study, has been one that carries the indelible marks of the historical processes of colonization, Islamic and Christian proselytization, and various forms of cultural encounters between the different ethnic groups that were brought together to form the modern nation-state called Ghana.

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Drawing attention to these historical processes, we have sought to justify the talk about a ‘common Ghanaian culture’ in order to be able to apply the model of inculturation to that context. Yet, the ‘common culture’ has within it ‘multiple strands’ and is still evolving. The degrees of exposure to the different ideas and values through religious proselytization and other forms of contact with forces of modernity such as Western education have not been the same. Nevertheless, a blend of elements from the various ethnic and linguistic groups, the colonial experience, Christianity and Islam provides the cultural commonality that has come to be associated with contemporary ‘Ghanaianness’. We included in our analyses, ethnographic materials such as proverbs, song texts and taboos as authentic texts embodying a rich store of indigenous knowledge, which continue to shape citizens’ understanding of, and responses to, events. We maintained, throughout the discussion, openness to the possibility of discovering fresh dimensions in the local context that might shed new light on the universal regime of human rights. In any purposeful cross-cultural encounter, such openness is an investment worth making. There is always the possibility of being awakened to new self-discoveries that might be of mutual benefit for both the local and the universal. The local context culture is never completely empty or passive, even if it is caught up in a long process of transition, which puts it in a state of virtual liminality.2 Life does not cease in situations of transition. The negotiations, contestations and the struggles that ensue in societies in transition as part of the attempt to reorient themselves draw on familiar resources, sometimes significantly modified or reinterpreted, to resolve issues of conflict, justice and equality. ‘Familiar resources’ in this case do not refer only to ideas and other elements native to the culture; they often include hybrid ideas which have crystallized out of the exposure of the local culture to foreign ideas and beliefs over a considerably long period, as is the case of many previously colonized African countries. This is illustrated in some of the responses given by our discussants. For example, in our exploration of the basis of local ideas about the nature of the human being, we discovered how biblical ideas about the human being have become mixed with local understandings. Affinities between the biblical idea and local ones that linked the human being to God in a metaphysical sense have enabled a dialogue on how societies conceptualize the nature of the human being and why dignity must be ascribed to such a being. Dialogue between human rights ideas and local values began in Ghana long before the birth of the UDHR. In the process, some indigenous ideas cognate

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to human rights were activated and developed through the colonial period and after. Written records produced by some of the early European visitors to the country expressed surprise at the level of openness of the political and social culture of the people.3 Well-noted aspects included the representative nature of the indigenous political system, the relatively wide participatory nature of the system and the power of the ruled to depose a ruler who broke the social contract. Other aspects noted were the people’s natural love for freedom, the high level of individual consciousness and the right to private property ownership. The existence of such ideas and practices, which, though perhaps not adhered to all the time, leads us to the basic general assumption that human rights have existed in Ghanaian culture as ‘dream values’. These ‘dream values’ may be understood as ideals cognate to human rights presaged in traditional norms, taboos and proverbs. An analysis of some of these norms, taboos and proverbs in the context opened up fundamental ideas about the nature of the human being and their ascribed dignity because of that. Dignity based on the elevated status of the human being as a ‘child of God’, because of which equality and the interconnectedness of all humans as one family is conceived, provides a ‘validating foundation’ for human rights. Thus, we confirm Herbert’s position that human rights ‘may be thought of as deriving from the social properties of cultural systems, which require development to be expressed as rights in the modern sense, but nonetheless regarded as implicit’.4 The transformational value of both religion and human rights are not in dispute. With visions that are universal in nature, both summon human societies to change their behaviours and reorganize their structures and relationships in conformity with the ideals they represent. As illustrated by the criticisms of the nineteenth-century Christian missionary approaches to Africa and the cultural relativism debates in human rights discourse, transformational processes that sidetrack cultural resources of the context often fail. That is why the model of inculturation we employ in this work is so appropriate. Genuine transformations through the process of inculturation will lead to a revitalization of the human rights movement by enabling people at the grass roots to participate fully. Inculturation employs concepts, idioms and imageries familiar to the context, thus the universal becomes transfigured in the local context. Such transformation is often two way, affecting both the universal norm and the local context in the spirit of ‘double transformation’.5 An inculturation approach to human rights produces such double transformational effects because it is a culturally sensitive approach.

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Religious resources as spiritual capital Working with ‘popular religion’ as an analytical category has enabled us to focus on religion sui generis rather than on specific traditions. The phenomenon of popular religion in Ghana, which is, mostly, a synthesis of the three main traditions – Ghanaian indigenous culture and religion, Christianity and Islam – underpins the culture of contemporary Ghana. Popular religion in Ghana is not organized; it manifests in the widespread belief in God and in the world of spirits, which has continuously informed interpretations of political, social and economic events both in relation to individuals and the country. This, in our view, constitutes a form of ‘spiritual capital’ that must be exploited in the service of human rights. Not all aspects of popular religion in Ghana can be regarded as ‘spiritual capital’ in relation to the nurturing of a human rights culture. Religion, like any other social phenomenon, is ambivalent and may be used for good or evil. To a very large extent, what we describe as ‘spiritual capital’ in Ghana is neutral. It can be used positively or negatively. This is an important reason why a conscious and deliberate intervention in the manner of what we have called in this work ‘directional’ or ‘formal dialogue’ in our model of inculturation is necessary. Processes of production, necessarily, involve the separation of by-products from the main product and further separation of ‘waste’ from by-products that can be useful in some way. In the same way, the process of inculturation must involve the element of ‘confrontation’ in order to do away with, transform, or, at least, modify the negative aspects of religion into a positive spiritual capital.6 Specific elements of spiritual capital present in popular religion in Ghana include ideas that are either explicitly expressed or implied in maxims or proverbs, taboos and rituals, as well as survivals of indigenous political and juridical principles and practices, which inform attitudes and behaviours of great numbers of Ghanaians. These elements provide important connections with aspects of public life in terms of their implications for the conceptualizations of issues of justice, reconciliation, human rights, democracy, environmental issues and the fight against corruption. The currents of ideas and practices generated and spread by the various strands of popular religion in Ghana are varied.7 Therefore, it is not easy to discern fully the impact they make on individuals and the society. However, what can be hardly disputed is the capital that accrues from religious belief and participation in religious activities.8

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But what we have called ‘spiritual capital’ in this work is not significant for religious purposes only. Religious people normally carry with them the social and other skills they learn in the context of their faith practice and apply them to their non-religious activities.9 The strong and widespread belief in God and in the presence and the power of spiritual forces or spirit-beings, which is at the base of popular religion in Ghana, is one of the most important factors that affect the fortunes of human rights and governance in Ghana. This is demonstrated in our discussions below. The practical relevance of popular religion for human rights, partly, lies in the ideas and idioms it supplies for the strengthening of the individual sense of autonomy or the continuous cultivation of individual self-consciousness. First, popular religion generates confidence in individuals in their life pursuits by its strong insistence on the belief that God is interested in, and is involved in, the affairs of this life. It projects this-worldly goals and reassures the individual of God’s good plans for their life. Secondly, popular religion in Ghana generates hope by its claim that changes in life’s circumstances are possible for everyone through the various ritual means, including prayer. Indeed, what various commentators have variously described as ‘prosperity theology’ or ‘faith gospel’ or ‘abundant life’ theology10 preached by contemporary Charismatic/Pentecostal Christian groups has become popular, because it strikes a chord with the individualistic consciousness of most people in Ghana. The success of prayer camps, shrines, malams and prophets may equally be explained in terms of the avenues they provide for addressing individual problems. Elements of popular religion that are supportive of human rights are that which generate open and inclusive attitudes in the public sphere. The largely open approach to participation in religious activities, which encourages free choice in relation to what spiritual goods a person finds appropriate and effective for their purpose, and which do not necessarily require conversion is highly important and requires attention in the effort to develop democracy and human rights culture in Ghana. This is suited to the relative individualistic orientation of the people of southern Ghana, represented in this work by the Anlo (Ewe), Mfantse (Akan) and the Ga (Ga-Adangme). Their traditional support networks have suffered significant disintegration in the face of the invasion of forces connected to modernity. In principle, popular religion in Ghana is greatly facilitating the development of human rights and democracy with their emphasis on the individual. It provides routes around the deep sense of vulnerability that individuals feel in the face of the rather fierce competition that has characterized life in Ghana since the

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introduction of a ‘market economy’ in precolonial encounters with Europe. The deep sense of vulnerability that in the early stages of the introduction of market economy made individuals who found it hard to subsist, pawn themselves11 now finds some mitigation in popular religion. Popular religion in Ghana fosters a radical sense of individuality that seeks to break free from ‘negative family traits’ and the recurrent experience of negative events often interpreted as the results of ‘ancestral curses’ or ‘covenants’ made with spirits by family ancestors of generations past.12 Although success or failure is believed to depend on the favour or disfavour of spirit-beings, they are not explained in relation to a person’s relationship to the spirit-world only. The choices a person makes in life too are understood as having significant consequences for success or failure. This is expressed in the Akan maxim, obra nye w’ara abo (life is as you make it). However, ‘religion’ remains one of the most readily available resources to which resort is made in a person’s attempt to succeed in any of life’s endeavours. For example, the Akan, traditionally, see no meaning or purpose in failure of any kind. In the event of failure they, literally, ‘whip themselves’ and perceive themselves as ‘shorn of self-worth’.13 A person who continually fails in life’s endeavours is described in Mfantse as nyimpa gyangyan (literally ‘empty person’, ‘one without worth’). Since the nature of the individual’s nkrabea (destiny) cannot be predicted and the favour of spirit-beings cannot be taken for granted, people take precaution by relating appropriately with them for maximum benefit. Hence they approach life in their personal capacity – primarily as individuals not as members of the group; after all, ‘no one else was present when one was taking leave of his/her God’. What manifests as success or failure in a person’s life is believed to be the result of the positive or negative disposition of beings in the spiritual realm. This strong faith in God underlies what has almost become a Ghanaian national cliché that expresses hope and which is often invoked in the face of challenges: ebeye yie (it shall be well). Underlying this cliché is the conviction that Nyame wo ho (God lives). The Arabic Insha Allah (by the grace of God) and the Hausa Aquai Allah (God lives), which have become part of the tool-bag of popular expressions of hope and determination convey the same sense of trust in God. It is also underscored by the biblical text so commonly cited by Christians in Ghana: ‘The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to the skilful; but chance and time happen to them all.’14 In the gospel song oka kyere me se, by Fred Oware, ‘chance’ is translated nkrabea. That is also the translation in the Akan (Akuapem) Twi Bible. Thus, through the avenues of ideas, images, prayers and rituals offered

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by contemporary popular religion, believers attempt to define the boundaries around themselves as individuals claiming their right to the pursuit of life goals and their right to participate in community life. This strong faith in God, as was pointed out in Chapter 4, has become a national characteristic which manifests also, in the forgiving and mollifying attitude often expressed in the statement, fa ma Nyame (give it to God). A God who is conceived as supreme and above all powers and is the ‘owner of the earth’ to whom every living creature will have to account one day conveys a message that no human power or earthly institution is absolute. On the level of everyday life of citizens, one often hears in reference to a threat by a state official or some other authority the defying statement: onnye Nyame! (he/she is not God). This conviction has also been the source of the strength of citizens who have had to endure abuses at the hands of powerful people and institutions. At the hearings of the National Reconciliation Commission in 2002, many witnesses said that they were sustained by their strong faith in God during the time they suffered abuses at the hands of agents of the revolutionary regime. When human rights are linked to the religious belief in God as the supreme judge and the final arbiter in matters of justice, all human authority is understood as subordinate to God. In other words, worldly thrones are subordinate to a higher authority, which, in the spirit of natural law and natural rights discourse, also provides a more meaningful standard for measuring the rightness of the behaviour of institutions of power and that of their agents. Furthermore, the widely held self-understanding of Ghanaians as a ‘peace-loving’ people, which in itself is part of the spiritual capital with relevance for governance and human rights, is often alluded to in public appeals for peace by various political and religious leaders. It seems that projecting it as their national characteristic, the quality of being ‘peace-loving’ has made Ghanaians strongly inclined to tread the path of peace and avoid that of violence. This self-perception is derived from the related claim of the nation being a ‘God-fearing’ one, special and different, in that regard, from neighbouring nations that are torn apart by civil wars and social unrests. Its potential for mobilization towards good ends is great. Moreover, popular religion in Ghana disregards gender differences and leads to the acceptance of women as spirit mediums or prophetesses whose services are freely sought by both men and women without any feeling of embarrassment. From the perspective of human rights, this is positive; especially, several women have become pastors, prophetesses or spiritual guides who are accepted by

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both their fellow women and men as leaders in society, helping to deal with the problem of gender discrimination.15 Nevertheless, there are specific aspects of religion in contemporary Ghana, which might serve to hinder the development of human rights instead of facilitating it. Often, there is no critical engagement with the traditional culture, and cultural beliefs and practices are taken for granted and are accepted wholesale. Examples in this direction include certain beliefs and taboos about women and the phenomenon of witchcraft accusations.16 Aspects of popular religion constantly fuel the belief in witchcraft and pander to the negative attitudes that often lead to serious abuses of the human rights of those so accused.17 Yet the belief is so strong among Ghanaians that they carry it with them wherever they go.18 The other issue in this regard is the fear created by the belief that one can be harmed by another person through spiritual means. This is debilitating and seriously undermines the development of a sound human rights culture. For example, people may not be eager to pursue their rights through the law if they have any reason to believe that the other party may resort to spiritual means in an attempt to harm them.19 This corroborates Victor Gedzi’s findings in Anloga and Kumasi that some women are unable to use a rights framework to contest their claims over property for fear of ‘spiritual reprisals from family members and other disputing parties’.20 On the other hand, such victims of injustice may themselves resort to the use of spiritual means in their desire to obtain justice. This point is corroborated by data from the research areas. In each of the traditional areas and the cities, several participants said they would be ready to defend their rights against any individual or public official by using the state institutions such as the police, the courts and statutory human rights bodies such as CHRAJ. However, they also said they would be prepared to ‘leave things in the hands of God’ or use spiritual means to achieve their aim. In an article in the Statesman newspaper, one Prof Asare lamented the increase in the incidence of mob justice, vigilantism and what he called ‘spiritual justice’ in Ghana.21 A study of how the belief in an invisible world of spirits impacts on the attitudes of public officers, and by extension, their effectiveness in office will throw more light on ways such beliefs play out in the public service of Ghana as the fear of being harmed through spiritual means also afflicts public office holders.22 Some public officials believe that members of the public at times attempt to use spiritual power in order to influence them. It is likely that the endemic weakness afflicting state institutions may, partly, find explanations in this kind of fear.23

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This particular aspect of the influence of popular religion restricts its capacity to contribute positively to a human rights culture.

Religion, human dignity and human rights in context Suggestions put forward by respondents as the translation of human rights in Ghanaian mother tongues point to a basic understanding of human rights as entitlements for the general happiness of the individual and which are due to all human beings equally because they are all created by God. Human rights, according to those translations, are ‘the portion naturally due to every human being’, ‘natural inheritance’ or the ‘freedom’, ‘way’, ‘permission’, the ‘authority’ that human beings have because they are human. Our working definition of human rights borrowed from Gordon as ‘those resources or conditions which constitute the minimal condition for human existence’ allows us, in our analysis, to include as human rights, local Ghanaian intuitions about what makes a human being human, understood in terms of basic functionality that enables a person to fulfil their responsibilities and enjoy their rights. Finding a convergence between the various ‘resources and conditions’ intuitively perceived in Ghanaian culture as ‘constituting the minimal conditions and resources for human existence’ and Nussbaum’s ‘capabilities’, we sought to fill the abstract concept of human dignity with content to justify its protection. We concur with Nussbaum that a just society ought to ensure that human beings born without any of those resources or conditions ought to be helped to acquire them or enabled to function properly in every way: physically, socially and spiritually. The significant Ghanaian contribution is the understanding of the individual’s relation to the community as one of interdependence as explained in Wiredu’s principle of sympathetic impartiality. Human rights in a caring society must include the dimension of altruism. The constraints that limit the enjoyment of human rights in Africa have included the lack of capacity by the state to cater for victims of human rights abuses. Baah’s objection to the implementation of human rights as packaged in the normative system in Africa is premised on the basis that the current underdevelopment of most African countries, including Ghana, does not make it conducive for a thriving human rights culture. This makes any type of advocacy that focuses entirely on state responsibility inappropriate in context. Society, at the various levels – individual, family, community, state – must all be educated to feel part of a ‘community of duty bearers’ for ensuring the rights of all, especially, the

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most vulnerable. A focus on the state or government exclusively does not fit the context of limited resources; it kills the spirit of benevolence, which, though not completely sustainable, has helped make life a little more dignifying for several vulnerable people in Ghanaian traditional societies: In the human community, especially one with limited resources, mutual assistance, and benevolence are the mediating forces that bring about harmony, which in turn fosters moderation, tolerance, and concern for one’s fellow man.24

In spite of the almost exclusive focus on the state as the duty-bearer, such a position does not contradict universal norms. The ACHPR recognizing as part of the arrangements that have helped several members of African communities to maintain their sanity in the face of challenging situations that threaten to undermine their sense of dignity, has spelt out not only rights but also duties for individuals and communities. Articles 27 to 29 spell out such duties. Indeed the idea is not completely alien to the UDHR itself. Article 29 of that document talks about the duties everyone has ‘to the community in which alone the free and full development of his personality is possible’. The language of rights and duties, properly employed in such a context, will help undo the sense of humiliation that might accompany a system of mutual dependence as a means of protecting human dignity. This, in our view, is not very different from the current trend of placing international assistance in the language of human rights as expressed in the idea of right to development. Development cooperation expressed in the context of human rights frees underdeveloped countries from a sense of humiliation that has the potential to undermine a nation’s self-esteem. The feeling of being dependent on another’s benevolence to survive is humiliating but when there is a sense of being entitled, the sense of shame is removed. Religious language, more than any other medium, helps in conceptualizing the virtues of sharing as part of mutual responsibilities in community life. It makes being benevolent not just as a duty imposed by God and the metaphysical connections with one another as human beings but also as a virtue that defines one’s humanity as a member of the human family.25

Implications for social policy The widespread effect of the belief in spiritual realities on contemporary Ghanaians is accompanied by a strong belief in spiritual power which is presumed accessible

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and the use of which is often widely resorted to. This is an important aspect of what we have termed ‘spiritual capital’. At the level of popular religion, claims and accusations concerning the use of such power occur frequently. Since spiritual power can be either positive or negative, it can generate either fear or courage, and as pointed out in the previous chapter, belief in spiritual power has sometimes led to grievous abuses of human rights and crimes such as the looting of graves for ritual purposes. These beliefs therefore need to be taken account of in the framing of social policy. Taking religious beliefs and practices seriously in the formulation of social policy implies neither a personal belief nor non-belief on the part of policy makers or implementers. What it simply means is that an important social fact with consequence for the failure or success of policies is being taken into account. It is the exploration and maximization of all available resources for the sake of progress. Wiredu has drawn attention to the pragmatic nature of customs and taboos in Africa. He argues, . . . although the average mind does not look beyond precedence for the justification of customs, the really wise men of the group can point out the rationale. This is probably also true of taboos. On the face of it a taboo is an arbitrary prohibition based on the will of some non-human power and backed by threats of unusual consequences. In fact, on deeper scrutiny, such rules may be found not to be without rhyme or even reason.26

The major implication of this insight for our discussion is that aspects of popular religion that seem to project a negative image for politics in Ghana do not always mean what they purport in the first instance. Popular interpretations of symbols and images may lead to absurd practices and self-defeating attitudes. But guidance by reflective opinion leaders can lead to more pragmatic understanding of the symbols and images and the production of knowledge that increases the value of spiritual capital. Then also, the wide network of religious institutions and persons that serve as important dimensions of spiritual capital in Ghana need attention from both government and its development partners. Their potential may be developed through empowering programmes such as incorporating human rights education in the curricula of institutions that train their agents. In our discussions about witchcraft accusations in Chapter 7, we found in a reader’s letter the mention of a catechist who confessed that he and his family quietly suffered humiliation when the body of a deceased relative was denied dignified burial because somebody accused her of witchcraft. If this catechist was empowered with the right information, he could have been of help to several victims.

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We make this recommendation against the background of another story in which a catechist’s proactive move led to the arrest and prosecution of women who had attempted to circumcise some girls.27 The Mission House has generally been regarded as a place of refuge in several Ghanaian communities since the era of the missionaries.28 Even in contemporary times, the prayer and healing camps, scattered around the country, continue to be seen by most Ghanaians in distress as sanctuaries where they may go for relief. Yet they become one of the favourite objects of criticisms by human rights NGOs for their alleged breaches of the human rights of their clients. This brings us, once again, to the issue of exploiting spiritual capital as part of formal or directional dialogue in the process of inculturation. As we explained in Chapter 3, formal or directional dialogue as an element of the process in our model of inculturation calls for formal interventions that are aimed at the clarification of ambiguous aspects of the developing inculturated version of the global culture. Technocrats and scholars, state institutions at the various levels of governance, parliament and equivalent subordinated institutions at the lower levels are the major players in this connection. Then also, the courts and other relevant institutions in their work may be called upon to take into account available socio-cultural treasures that may be exploited or built upon. Governmental and non-governmental institutions dedicated to human rights advocacy, education and implementation, especially, would also have to pay attention to issues of ambiguity in the local culture in order to remove the negative aspects of the culture that can undermine the growth of a good human rights regime. This is in keeping with the element of confrontation. The inculturation of human rights in any context must not lack evaluative criteria. For our purposes, we have worked on the basis of the spirit of the UDHR, with openness for fresh insights and contributions from the local culture. Academic research into relevant subjects, exploring the extent of belief in the spirit-world and how it impacts positively or negatively on human development must be encouraged. The acknowledged or unacknowledged inadequacy of state institutions and development partners in understanding and dealing with issues of religious nature must not lead to the neglect of religion as a resource for development in modern times. Then also, alleged or reported abuses from religious functionaries such as prayer and healing camps must not interest policy makers and NGOs only when they come into the news for the wrong reasons. Because of their wide influence and attraction for citizens, research into their operations to find out how they may be empowered to assure the human rights of their clients must be encouraged. They have been,

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and still are, providing important services meant to help clients maintain their sense of dignity in a situation of extreme deprivation. If the various religious functionaries who provide services such as healing, counselling and care for citizens in distress are regarded as allies in the struggle to protect human rights at the grass roots, they could be helped to evaluate their methods and make them more human rights friendly. In recent times, formal organizations in the area of reproductive health have attempted to treat as allies, the traditional midwives, now designated as ‘traditional birth attendants’ (TBAs), and have provided some training that has enabled them to approach their work with greater awareness and confidence. If there is any feature of religion that seems to be an enduring and a revitalizing factor of religious life in Ghana, then it is the belief in evil powers, especially witchcraft. It seems the problem of witchcraft will take a long time to go away from communities in Ghana; yet, legislation and prosecution do not tackle the problem at its roots. These have to be combined with a well-thought-out public education programme that will take into consideration both the issue of belief and that of accusations. Already, the claim by the ‘new’ shrines, which is also made by the contemporary Charismatic and Pentecostal traditions as well as malams, that it is possible to neutralize the evil power without physically harming the alleged witch or wizard can be a good starting point for confronting the issue. These functionaries, obviously, have taken over the role played by the ‘new shrines’, and since in some cases, the accusations start from them, they must be part of the solution. We are not by any means suggesting that they should be given the official stamp to continue to function as ‘spiritual courts’ in matters involving witchcraft. The main point we wish to emphasize is that since their expertise in such matters is highly respected by the public, it is important that any arrangements to ensure the human rights of people accused of witchcraft should take account of them. Religious interpretations of reality and the language they supply are not irrelevant to public discourse on issues concerning the human factor in development efforts. Indeed much of the bemoaned failure of development efforts in African countries has been due to the failure on the part of policy makers and implementers to take into account the religious factor. Strengthening spiritual capital by a continuous process of evaluation, discriminating between positive and negative aspects and doing a creative balancing by supporting the legal and administrative mechanisms of the state with appropriate religious and cultural values will certainly profit the development of human rights in Ghana and, by implication, similar countries elsewhere.

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Furthermore, a research into how religious human rights of citizens of Ghana are affected under traditional political authorities is needed at this stage. We considered such issues as beyond the present study. Yet in almost all the research areas, we found traditional authorities and religious groups in perennial conflicts over refusal to participate in certain traditional customary rites or festivals. In some cases, the offending persons were interrogated and sanctioned at the court of the chiefs. Perhaps, a study into the thin line between ‘custom’ and ‘religion’ will be helpful in this direction. An emerging polarity between the ‘religious’ and the ‘secular’ as concepts could be discerned in all the research locations. However, it seems the basic understanding involved is one of distinction and not separation. ‘Custom’ is about rituals and other practices associated with the office of the chief and the traditional area. These, normally, involve the veneration of the ancestors, the tutelary gods, the blackened stool and the observance of special sacred days. The scheme is certainly not free of the dubiety that surrounds attempts in conventional scholarship to construct a category of the religious separate from the secular for societies including those in Africa.

Notes Chapter 1 1 The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (also known as the Banjul Charter) was adopted at the eighteenth Assembly of Heads of State and Government of the Organization of African Unity in 1981. It came into being upon ratification by a simple majority of the member states of the OAU on 21 October 1986. 2 The Banjul Charter has been widely criticized, primarily because it departs significantly from the foundational human rights instruments of the UN system, especially the UDHR. For discussions on aspects of the African Charter, see R. Gittleman, ‘The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights: A Legal Analysis’, Virginia Journal of International Law, 22 (1982): 667–714; U. O. Umozurike, ‘The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights’, American Journal of International Law, 77 (1983): 902–12; and B. H. Weston et al., ‘Regional Human Rights Regimes: A Comparative Appraisal’, Vanderbilt Journal of International Law, 20/4 (1987): 585–637. 3 Karin Arts, Integrating Human Rights into Development Cooperation: The Case of the Lome Convention (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2000): 43. 4 As at December 1998 European Union (EU), countries had registered more “far-reaching” reservations than the African–Caribbean-Pacific (ACP) countries in respect of very fundamental human rights instruments as follows: International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights – (ICCPR) EU= 53 per cent; ACP=2 per cent. International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) – EU=33 per cent; ACP=2 per cent. Convention on the Elimination of all forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) – EU=20 per cent; ACP=11 per cent. ( See Arts, Integrating Human Rights into Development Cooperation, 385–9. 5 Edith B. Weiss and Harold K. Jacobson (eds), Engaging Countries: Strengthening Compliance with International Environmental Accords (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1998): 19–37. 6 Reports issued annually by the CHRAJ reveal extensive abuse of human rights in Ghana. See also Mike Oquaye, Government and Politics in Contemporary Ghana (1992–1999) – A Study (Accra: African Governance Institute, 2000): 44–9. 7 Sally Engle Merry, Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006): 1.

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  8 As Finnis argues, ‘the Rule of Law does not guarantee every aspect of the common good, and sometimes it does not secure even the substance of the common good. Sometimes, moreover, the values to be secured by genuine Rule of Law and authentic constitutional government are best served by departing, temporarily but perhaps drastically, from the law and the constitution.’ See John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980): 274–5.   9 Antony Allott, The Limits of Law (London: Butterworth, 1980): 45–72. 10 Abdullah A. An-Na’im (ed.), Cultural Transformation and Human Rights in Africa (London/New York: Zed Books Ltd., 2002): 4 and 5. 11 Allott, The Limits of Law, xi. 12 Gerrie ter Haar, Rats, Cockroaches and People Like Us: Views of Humanity and Human Rights (The Hague: Institute of Social Studies, 2000): 3. 13 An-Na’im, Cultural Transformation, 4. 14 The US declaration of independence speaks about ‘self-evident’ truths and ‘inalienable rights’ endowed by the ‘Creator’. John Locke maintained that natural rights derive from our human nature, and that they are self-evident and God-given. 15 Charles Beitz, ‘Human Rights and the Law of Peoples’, in Deenk Chatterjee (ed.), The Ethics of Assistance: Morality and the Distance Needy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004): 196. 16 Amy Gutmann, ‘Introduction’, in Amy Gutmann (ed.), Michael Ignatieff, Human Rights as Politics and Idolatry (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001): xxiii. 17 Michael Perry, The Idea of Human Rights: Four Enquiries (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998): Chapter 1. 18 Ibid., 11. 19 Max Assimeng, ‘Historical Legacy, Political Realities and Tensions in Africa’, in Rajesheker and J. S. Pobee (eds), Encounter of Religions in African Cultures (Lutheran World Federation, Report and Papers of a Consultation Sponsored by the Lutheran World Federation World Council of Churches, University of Malawi, 1989): 7. 20 E. B. Idowu, African Traditional Religion: A Definition (London: SCM, 1973): 206. 21 An-Na’im, Cultural Transformation, 4. 22 Louis Henkin, ‘Human Rights: Religious or Enlightened?’ in Carrie Gustafson and Peter Juviler (eds), Religion and Human Rights: Competing Claims (New York/ London: M.E. Sharpe, 1999): 31–5. 23 Jr. John Witte, ‘Introduction’, in Jr. John Witte and John D. van der Vyver (eds), Religious Human Rights in Global Perspective: Religious Perspectives (The Hague/ Boston/London: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 1996): xix. 24 Robin Williams used the term in 1951 to refer to religion that is common to a people; one that ‘can supply an overarching sense of unity even in a society

Notes

25 26 27

28 29 30

31

32

33

34 35

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riddled with conflicts’. See Robin M. Williams, American Society: A Sociological Interpretation (New York: Knopf, 1951): 312. We use the term in a significantly different way. Robert Towler, Homo Religiosus: Sociological Problems in the Study of Religion (London: Constable and Co., 1974): 147–8. Ter Haar, Rats, Cockroaches, 4. R. Howard, for example, rejects the claim that human rights as a concept was known in precolonial African societies. Rhoda Howard, ‘Group versus Individual Identity in the African Debate on Human Rights’, in A. A. An-Na’im and F. M. Deng (eds), Human Rights in Africa: Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1990): 159, 167. Ter Haar, Rats, Cockroaches, 5. Ibid., 4. Julia Neuberger, ‘The Prophetic Tradition and Human Rights’, in Dan Cohn-Sherbok and David Mclellan (eds), Religion in Public Life (London: The Macmillan Press, 1992): 71. John S. Pobee, ‘Africa’s Search for Religious Human Rights’, in Johan D. van der Vyver and Jr. John Witte (eds), Religious Human Rights in Global Perspective: Legal Perspectives (The Hague/Boston/London: Martinus Nijhof Publishers, 1996): 414. In Ghana, it is the NGOs, including the religious bodies, that have been working to abolish certain oppressive customary practices, which have persisted in spite of legislation proscribing them. For example, a Christian NGO, International Needs, has been working hard to abolish the notorious Trokosi system. The Presbyterian Church of Ghana and the Roman Catholic churches are engaged in similar schemes seeking to liberate and empower women who are maltreated because they have been accused of witchcraft. Many other religious groups are involved in similar projects in various parts of the country. The Accra Declaration on Human Rights in Africa (Pan-African Human Rights Conference, Accra, Ghana, 21–23 November 2008). Information obtained from www.myjoyonline.com (accessed on Friday, 28 November 2008). Ter Haar, Rats, Cockroaches, 5. In this study, ‘traditional area’ refers to a geopolitical area governed by a paramount chief, sub-chiefs and elders. Usually (though not always), a traditional area is populated by people of the same or similar ethnic and linguistic background. Urbanization and economic activities such as farming and trading in contemporary times have ensured that most traditional areas have large numbers of settlers of different ethnic and linguistic backgrounds. According to Jurgen Habermas the life-world is ‘represented by a culturally transmitted and linguistically organized stock of interpretive patterns’ (J. Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action: A Critique of Functionalist

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37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44 45

Notes Reason [T. McCarthy, Trans. Vol. 2 Life-world and System] (London: Polity Press, 1987): 124). Kathryn Linn Geurts, Culture and the Senses: Bodily Ways of Knowing in an African Community (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 2002): 21. G. K. Nukunya, Kinship and Marriage among the Anlo Ewe (London: Athlone Press, 1969): 1. Sandra Greene, ‘Sacred Terrain: Religion, Politics and Place in the History of Anloga (Ghana)’, The International Journal of African Historical Studies, 30/1 (1997): 1–22. J. B. Crayner, Borbor Kunkumfi (Accra: Bureau of Ghana Languages, 1989): 67–79. Margaret J. Field, The Social Organization of the Ga People (London: The Crown Agent for the Colonies, 1940): 142. A. A. Akrong, ‘Sacrifice in Labadi (Ga) Religion’ (MA thesis, University of Ghana, 1978): 3. M. J. Field, Religion and Medicine of the Ga People (London/New York/Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1937): 39. Ibid. Four of the five chiefs we interviewed in Gomoa, including two queen mothers, claimed to be Methodists while one claimed to be an elder of the Presbyterian Church. In Anloga, of the two chiefs and three elders interviewed, two claimed to be Roman Catholics, one belonged to the Presbyterian Church and one belonged to the Apostles’ Revelation Society (ARS). In La, as I have already hinted at, the chief was facing opposition from some of his elders and the state priests for refusing to perform some rituals on the basis that he was a Christian.

Chapter 2   1 Abdullah A. An-Na’im (ed.), Cultural Transformation and Human Rights in Africa (London/New York: Zed Books Ltd., 2002): 24.   2 One of the drafters, for example, was Monsignor Roncalli who later became the primate, Pope John XXIII. J. Morsink, The Universal Declaration of Human Rights: Origins, Drafting and Intent (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999): 1 and 2; Robert Traer, ‘Religious Communities in the Struggle for human rights’, Christian Century, 28 (September 1988): 837; Canon John Nurser, ‘The “Ecumenical Movement” Churches, “Global Order,” and Human Rights: 1938–1948’, Human Rights Quarterly, 25 (2003): 841–81.   3 Joseph Runzo, ‘Secular Rights and Religious Responsibilities’, in Joseph Runzo, Nancy M. Martin and Arvind Sharma (eds), Human Rights and Responsibilities in World Religions (Oxford: One World Publications, 2002): 13.

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  4 Inger Furseth, ‘Secularization and the Role of Religion in State Institutions’, Social Compass, 50/2 (2003): 191–200.   5 Peter L. Berger, The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religions and World Politics (Grand Rapids: The Ethics and Public Policy Centre and Wm. Erdmann’s Publishing Co., 1999): 10.   6 Mark C. Taylor (ed.), Critical Terms for Religious Studies (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998): 1 and 2.   7 Berger, The Desecularization, 2.   8 Robin Horton, ‘African Conversion’, Africa, 41/2 (1971): 50–7.   9 Jose Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1994): 17–18. 10 Ibid., Chapter 1. 11 Bryan Wilson, Religion in Sociological Perspective (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982): 49. 12 HL Hansard, vol. 584, col. 1324, 19 January 1998. Quoted by Peter Edge and Graham Harvey, Law and Religion in Contemporary Society: Communities, Individualism and the State (London: Ashgate, 2000): 72. 13 B. Rubin, ‘Religion in International Affairs’, in D. Johnston and C. Sampson (eds), Religion, the Missing Dimension in Statecraft (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994): 23. 14 Peter Berger, sounding almost sarcastic, writes, ‘The assumption that we live in a secularized world is false.’ And also, ‘Strongly felt religion has always been around; what needs explanation is its absence rather than its presence . . . The University of Chicago is a much more interesting topic for the sociology of religion than the Islamic schools of Qom.’ Yet, he uses the term ‘resurgence’ to describe the development (Berger, The Desecularization, 2 and 12). I think with respect to Ghana and most parts of Africa, ‘resilience’ should be more appropriate. 15 Runzo, ‘Secular Rights’, 9. See also Ter Haar, ‘Religion: Source of Conflict or Resource for Peace?’ in Gerrie ter Haar and James J. Busuttil (eds), Religion, Violence and Visions of Peace (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005): 3. 16 See Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of the World Order (New York: Simon Schuster, 1996). 17 The number of conferences and workshops organized at the international, regional and national levels on subjects such as Religion and Development, Religion and Human Rights and Religion and Violence have increased since 2001. Publications that deal with religion and other aspects of international and national concerns such as politics, law, human rights, etc. have also increased since 2001. They include, Gerrie ter Haar and James Busuttil (eds), The Freedom to Do God’s Will: Religious Fundamentalism and Social Change (London: Routledge, 2003), Joseph Runzo, Nancy Martin and Arvind Sharma (eds), Human Rights and Responsibilities

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25 26 27 28

Notes in World Religions (Oxford: One World Publications, 2002) and David Herbert, Religion and Civil Society: Rethinking Public Religion in the Contemporary World (Hampshire/Burlington: Ashgate, 2003) as well as the volumes edited by Martin Marty and Scott Appleby and published by the University of Chicago Press in the 1990s. For example, Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (eds), Fundamentalisms Observed (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991) and Accounting for Fundamentalisms (1994) by the same authors and publishers. Examples are: ‘The Precepts of the Order of Inter being’ (Buddhist), ‘The Universal Islamic Declaration of Human Rights’ and ‘The Cairo Declaration of Human Rights’ (Islamic), ‘Rabbis for Human Rights: Principles of Faith’ (Jewish) and ‘Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the World’s Religions’ (interfaith). See Gerrie ter Haar and James Busutill (eds), Bridge or Barrier: Religion, Violence and Visions for Peace (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005): 299–370. Marcus Braybrook, Stepping Stones to A Global Ethic (London: SCM Press, 1992): 11–16; Louis Henkin, ‘Religion, Religions and Human Rights’, Journal of Religious Ethics, 26/2 (Fall 1998): 236. Hizkia Assefa, ‘Peace and Reconciliation as a Paradigm: a Philosophy of Peace and Its Implications for Conflict, Governance and Economic Growth in Africa’, in Hizkia Assefa and George Wachira (eds), Peacemaking and Democratization in Africa: Theoretical Perspectives and Church Initiatives (Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers, 1996): 51–2. Arie L. Molendijk, ‘In Defence of Pragmatism’, in Jan G. Platvoet and Arie L. Molendijk (eds), The Pragmatics of Defining Religion: Contexts, Concepts & Contests (Leiden/Boston/Koln: Brill, 1999): 9. Almost all the articles in the Molendijk and Platvoet, The Pragmatics of Defining Religion, are in favour of defining ‘religion’ for one reason or the other. It said that as early as 1901, James Leuba listed 48 definitions in an article. See Molendijk, ‘In Defence of Pragmatism’, in The Pragmatics of Defining, 3. King, for example, observes that the attempt to find ‘some distinctive or possibly unique essence or set of qualities that distinguish the religious from the remainder of human life, is primarily a Western concern’. W. L. King, ‘Religion’, in M. Eliade (ed.), The Encyclopaedia of Religion (New York: Macmillan, 1987): Vol. 12, 282. Peter Harrison, Religion and the Religions in the English Enlightenment (Cambridge/ New York: Cambridge University Press, paperback edition, 2000): 9–10. Timothy Fitzgerald, The Ideology of Religious Studies (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000): 54–71. Jan Platvoet, ‘To Define or Not to Define’, in The Pragmatics of Defining, 251. This is not just a recent lesson learnt. William James, the American Psychologist, in his Varieties of Religious Experience (1902) dismisses the viability of any attempt to arrive at universal definition of religion. (Quoted by David Wulf, ‘Psychologists

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Define Religion’, in The Pragmatics of Defining, 208). See also, Platvoet, ‘Contexts, Concepts, and Contests: Towards a Pragmatics of Defining “Religion”’, in The Pragmatics of Defining, 521. Molendijk, ‘In Defence of Pragmatism’, 6. Ibid. Judges of the law courts, tax officials, etc. in modern societies do need to clarify what constitutes religion and what does not in order to take important practical decisions. Molendijk, ‘In Defence of Pragmatism’, 9. See also, Platvoet, ‘To Define or Not to Define’, 260. Stephen Ellis and Gerrie ter Haar, Worlds of Power: Religious Thought and Political Practice in Africa (London: Hurst & Company, 2004), 14–15. Philip Johnson, ‘Concepts and Compromise in First Amendment Religious Doctrine’, California Law Review, 72 (1984): 817 and 832. This term refers, in this context, to Christian mainline churches and not ‘African Traditional Religion’. Human Rights Committee, General Comments on Article 18, ICCPR/C/21/rev.1/ add.4, 27 September 1993. See Masimo Introvigne, ‘Religion as a Claim: Social and Legal Controversies’, in Platvoet and Molendijk, The Pragmatics of Defining, 41–72. UN Doc. E/CN.4/1987/26. Daniele Hervieu-Leger, ‘Religion as Memory: Reference to Tradition and the Constitution of a Heritage of Belief in Modern Societies’, in Platvoet and Molendijk, The Pragmatics of Defining, 75. Scott Thomas, ‘Religion and International Society’, in Jeff Haynes (ed.), Religion, Globalization and Political Culture in the Third World (London: Macmillan, 1999): 34. Ibid. Douglas Johnston, ‘Beyond Power Politics’, in Douglas Johnston and Cynthia Sampson (eds), Religion: The Missing Dimension in Statecraft (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994): 4. Ibid. W. C. Smith, Faith and Belief (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979): 12. W. C. Smith, ‘Traditional Religions and Modern Culture’, in C. Oxtoby (ed.), Religious Diversity: Essays by Winfred Cantwell Smith (New York: Harper & Row, 1976): 72. Runzo, ‘Human Rights and Religious Responsibilities’, 17. Writing about the Akan, Gyekye explains that their world view is one of action and counteraction of potent spiritual forces: spirit acting upon spirit. The human being and other beings in the material world are the lowest beings in the general

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Notes metaphysical framework of the universe, and they can be controlled by the stronger spirit-beings. See Kwame Gyekye, An Essay on African Philosophical Thought: The Akan Conceptual Scheme (Cambridge University Press, 1987): 88–95. Max Assimeng, Religion and Social Change in West Africa (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1989): 60. Abamfo Atiemo, ‘Mmusuyi and Deliverance: A Study of Conflict and Consensus in the Encounter between Christianity and African Traditional Religion’ (M.Phil. thesis, University of Ghana, 1995): 129–35. Ellis and Ter Haar, Worlds of Power, 14. For examples of discussions raising issues with ‘popular religion’ as an analytical term see Pierre Bourdieu, ‘The Genesis and Structure of the Religious Field’, Contemporary Social Research, 13 (1991): 1–44; Jacques Berlinerblau, ‘Max Weber’s Useful Ambiguities and the Problem of Defining “Popular Religion,”’ Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 69/3 (September 2001): 605–20; Manuel Mejido, ‘The Illusion of Neutrality: Reflections on the Term “Popular Religion”’, Social Compass, 49/2 (2002): 295–311. Gábor Klaniczay, The Uses of Supernatural Power: The Transformations of the Popular Religion in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, trans. Susan Singerman (Cambridge: Polity Press /Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990): 3. Robert Towler, Homo Religiosus: Sociological Problems in the Study of Religion (London: Constable and Co., 1974): 147–8. Robin M. Williams, American Society: A Sociological Interpretation (New York: Knopf, 1951): 312. Paul Gordon Lauren, The Evolution of Human Rights: Visions Seen (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998): 20. Ibid., 15. Jerome J. Shestack, ‘The Philosophical Foundations of Human Rights’, in Janusz Symonides (ed.), Human Rights: Concepts and Standards (Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2000): 37. Thomas Paine, Rights of Man (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions Ltd., 1996): 31. A. Cassese, International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001): 351. UDHR. Towards the close of 2004, the United States was yet to ratify the ICESCR. Jeremy Waldron, Liberal Rights, 5 (1993) quoted by Joy Gordon, ‘The Concept of Human Rights: The History and Meaning of Its Politicization’, in Robert McCorquodale (ed.), Human Rights (Ashgate: Darmouth, 2003): 58. See Bertha Esperanza Hernández-Truyol, Report of the Conference Rapporteur (Final Report to the Conference on the International Protection of Reproductive Rights): 44 AM. U. L. REV. 1389, 1407 (1985).

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64 See Maurice Cranston, What Are Human Rights? (New York: Basic Books, 1964): 40; and also, Hugo Adam Bedau, ‘Human Rights and Foreign Assistance Programmes’, in Peter G. Brown and Douglas MacLean (eds), Human Rights and US Foreign Policy (Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1979): 38. 65 Gordon, ‘The Concept of Human Rights’, 62–3, 101. 66 Philip Alston, ‘Conjuring Up New Human Rights: A Proposal for Quality Control’, American Journal of International Law, 78 (1984): 607. 67 Christian Tomuschat, Human Rights between Idealism and Realism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003): 2. 68 Gordon, ‘The Concept of Human Rights’, 62. 69 See Roscoe Pound, Jurisprudence (St. Paul, MN: West Publishing Co., 1959) quoted by Shestack, ‘The Philosophical Foundations’, 42. See also Berma Klein Goldewijk and Bas de Gaay Fortman, Where Needs Meet Rights: Economic, Social and Cultural Rights in a New Perspective (Geneva: WCC Publications, 1999). 70 The UN Secretary-General, Report of the World Conference on Human Rights (UN Doc. A/Conf. 157/24, 1993), paragraph 5. 71 Tomuschat, Human Rights, 1; see also Upendra Baxi, ‘Voices of Suffering, and the Future of Human Rights’, in McCorquodale (ed.), Human Rights, 163: She analyses the difficulties involved in attempts to define human rights in view of the many dimensions and the complex nature of the discourse and practice of contemporary human rights and proposes that the ‘contexts of domination and resistance’ be allowed to ‘articulate’ themselves as separate but equal perspectives on the meaning of ‘human rights’. 72 John Austin, The Province of Jurisprudence Determined (London: Weidenfield and Nicholson, 1954): 158–9. See also, Rex Martin, ‘Human Rights and Civil Rights’, Philosophical Studies, 37/3 (1980): 391–407. He argues that it is legal recognition and government protection that constitute the claim to a right. 73 Cranston, What Are Human Rights? 36. 74 Gordon, ‘The Concept of Human Rights’, 63. 75 See Ebow Bondzie-Simpson, ‘A Critic of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights’ Howard Law Journal 31 (1988): 643, 658. 76 Gerrie ter Haar, How God Became an African: African spirituality and Western Secular Thought (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009): 14–17. 77 Ronald Cohen, ‘Endless Teardrops: Prolegomena on the Study of Human Rights in Africa’, in R. Cohen (ed.), Human Rights and Governance in Africa (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1993): 4. 78 The history of human rights is filled with countless moments of the exclusion of many Western and non-Western populations. ‘Icons of classical European liberal thought’ provided, at various stages, the intellectual bases for the exclusion from the category of human, ‘“slaves”, “heathens”, “barbarians”, colonized peoples,

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Notes indigenous populations, women, children, the impoverished, and the “insane”’ (see Upendra Baxi, ‘Voices of Suffering’, 167–8). In the twenty-first century, many religious societies around the world continue to exclude large segments of populations from enjoying certain basic rights on the basis of a discriminatory definition of what constitutes a human being or who is more human. Gerrie ter Haar, Rats, Cockroaches and People Like Us: Views of Humanity and Human Rights (The Hague: Institute of Social Studies, 2000): 5. Jack Donnelly, The Concept of Human Rights (London/Sydney: Croom Helm, 1985): 27. Preamble to the UDHR (1948) and also the common preamble to the ICCPR and the ICESCR (1966). The Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action (1993). African Charter on Human and People’s Rights (1986). Article 1, UDHR. Preambles of UDHR, ICCPR and ICESCR. David B. Davis, The Problem of Slavery in Western Culture (Ithaca, NY: Cornel University Press, 1966): 403. Kant does not accept that apart from white people other races have ‘human dignity’. Johannes A. van der Ven et al., Is There a God of Human Rights? The Complex Relationship between Human Rights and Religion: A South African Case (Leiden/ Boston: Brill, 2004): 270. For Hegel, African men ‘were not real beings’, and apart from ‘European male citizens’ all the rest is really located between ‘the animal and the human being, and cannot be mediated with history’. J. Hengelbrock, ‘The Stranger between Oppression and Superiority: Close Encounter with Heinz Kimmerle.’ Homepage IFK-Intercultural Communication, http cited in van der Ven, et al. Is There a God of Human Rights? 270. Bikhu Parekh, ‘Liberalism and Colonialism: A Critique of Locke and Mill’, in Jan Nederveen Pieterse and Bikhu Parekh (eds), Decolonization of Imagination: Knowledge and Power (London: Zed Books, 1995): 81–8. Upendra Baxi, ‘Voices of Suffering’, 176. Donnelly, The Concept of Human Rights, 27. Ter Haar, Cockroaches, Rats, 3. Ibid. See ‘Albinos in Burundi Flee Killings’, Daily Graphic, Saturday, 4 October 2008, 5; and hunchbacks in Ghana. See, ‘2 More Arrested Over Hunchback Killings’, The Ghanaian Times, Tuesday, 2 September 2008, 4. John S. Pobee ‘Africa’s Search for Religious Human Rights’, in Johan D. van der Vyver and Jr. John Witte (eds), Religious Human Rights in Global Perspective: Legal Perspectives (The Hague/Boston/London: Martinus Nijhof Publishers, 1996): 393.

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  96 Kwame Gyekye, ‘Person and Community in African Thought’, in Kwasi Wiredu and Kwame Gyekye (eds), Person and Community (Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 1992): 114.   97 Focusing on traditional Hinduism, Lourens Minnema has argued that ‘the doctrine of human rights cannot automatically count on meeting with approval from the part of world’s religions’ because the human rights doctrine as stated in the UDHR is an expression of a particular world view in the same way as the various world religions are the expressions of particular world views. However, he does not deny that it is possible for individual thinkers within the tradition to find elements internal to it, which may be developed in support of human rights. See Lourens Minnema, ‘Hindu Discourse and Human Rights Discourse’, Studies in Interreligious Dialogue, 16/2 (2006): 133–47.   98 Amy Gutmann, ‘Introduction’, in Amy Gutmann (ed.), Michael Ignatieff, Human Rights as Politics and Idolatry (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001): xxiv–xxv.   99 Ben Rogers (ed.), Is Nothing Sacred? (London/New York: Routledge, 2004): 1. 100 Ronald Dworkin, ‘Life Is Sacred: That Is the Easy Part’, New York Times Magazine (16 May 1993): 36 quoted by Michael Perry, The Idea of Human Rights: Four Enquiries (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) 11. 101 Perry, The Idea of Human Rights, 29. 102 See articles by Nigel Warburton and Michael Clark in Rogers, Is Nothing Sacred? 103 Perry, The Idea of Human Rights, 29. 104 Vaclav Havel, ‘The Need for Transcendence in the Post-Modern World’, www. worldtrans.org/whole/havelspeech.html. 105 Jeffries Murphy, ‘Afterword: Constitutionalism, Moral Skepticism and Religious Belief ’, in Alan S. Rosenbaum (ed.), Constitutionalism, the Philosophical Dimension (New York: Greenwood Press, 1998): 248. 106 Havel, ‘The Need for Transcendence’, 3 (accessed 13 September 2005). 107 Ibid., 4. 108 In a reader compiled by Lechner and Boli, none of the 58 articles disputes that there is such a thing as globalization. The debate is rather about the merits and demerits of the phenomenon and how to minimise its negatives and enhance its positives. (See, Frank Lechner and John Boli (eds), The Globalization Reader (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004).) 109 Micklethwait and Wooldridge, for example, argue strongly in favour of globalization and see in it a great promise for the future of the world. (See John Micklethwait and Adrian Wooldridge, ‘The Hidden Promise’, in Lechner and Boli, The Globalisation Reader, 9–15.) 110 Globalization becomes an ideology when it is perceived as providing the channels of domination of weaker parts of the world by stronger forces through the spread

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Notes of values and cultures that enable the economic rape of the weaker societies by the stronger. When globalization comes across as an ideology, it provokes resistance. Ideologies beget opposing ideologies. Globalization as a phenomenon is when it is perceived as a situation of fact that must be recognized and accepted together with the challenges it presents. In that case, it is seen as neutral and comes with an international sense of responsibility to manage it for the good of all. Amartya Sen, ‘How to Judge Globalisation’, in Lechner and Boli, The Globalization Reader, 16. Amartya Sen, ‘How to Judge Globalization’, 17. He does not ignore the historical aberrations related to globalization such as conquest, colonialism and alien rule. Thanh-Dam Truong, ‘Reflections on Human Security: A Buddhist Contribution’, in Gerrie ter Haar and James Busuttil (eds), Bridge or Barrier: Religion, Violence and Visions for Peace (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005): 270. M. Castells, The Information Age: Economy, Society and Cultures Vol.2 The Power of Identity (Oxford: Blackwell, 1977): 9–10. This, for example, has been cited by several authors as one of the main reasons for the rise of the Charismatic movement in Christianity in Ghana and elsewhere. See, for example, Abamfo O. Atiemo, The Rise of the Charismatic Movement in the Mainline Churches in Ghana (Accra: Asempa Publishers, 1993): 31–3; E. K. Larbi, Pentecostalism: Eddies of Ghanaian Christianity (Accra: Centre for Pentecostal and Charismatic Studies, 2001): 316. Geoffrey Bing, Reaping the Whirlwind (London: Macgibbon & Co., 1968): 128. Cephas N. Omenyo, Pentecost Outside Pentecostalism: A Study of the Development of Charismatic Renewal in the Mainline Churches in Ghana (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum Publishing House, 2003): 276–89. Nathan Samwini, The Muslim Resurgence in Ghana since 1950 (Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2006): 198–9. Husein Abdur-Rahim Husein, Co-Existence among Muslim groups in Ghana: A Case Study of Tijaniyya and Ahlussunna in Kumasi and Wenchi (Dissertation, University of Ghana, 2003): 95–6. The Ahlussunna Wal-Jama’a in Ghana has over the years established links with radical Islamic sects such as the Shia in the Arab world that support their local missionary activities including the building of mosques and the setting up of schools. See Holger Weiss, Begging and Almsgiving in Ghana: Muslim Positions towards Poverty and Distress (Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet, 2007): 49. Thomas, ‘Religion and International Society’, 30. See A. Polis and P. Schwab (eds), Human Rights: Cultural and Ideological Perspectives (New York: Praeger, 1979): 1, 4; Jack Donnelly, Universal Human Rights in Theory and Practice (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989): 118; and R. Howard, ‘Group versus Individual Identity in the African Debate

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on Human Rights’, in A. A. An-Na’im and F. M. Deng (eds), Human Rights in Africa: Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1990): 167. Writing specifically about Christianity, Brinkman states, ‘Christianity was never viewed as a faith that was bound to a certain territory. It was never viewed as the faith of a certain people who lived in a certain area. From the beginning it has always moved across borders and was universally inclined.’ See Martien E. Brinkman, The Non-Western Jesus: Jesus as Bodhisattva, Avatar, Guru, Prophet, Ancestor or Healer? (London: Equinox, 2007): 18. The spread of ideas such as the sacredness of the individual human person, respect for the rights of collectivities, incorporation of animal and environmental rights into human rights regimes and others have partly been made possible through the teachings of the religions. American Anthropological Association raised issues with the draft UDHR in 1947, arguing that freedom may be genuinely enjoyed when it is defined contextually by the society in which it is lived. See, ‘Statement on Human Rights’, in American Anthropologist, 49/4 (1947): 539. For example, it took the United States more than four decades to decide to ratify with reservation the Genocide Convention (1948) and as at the time of this work, 2009, it was yet to ratify the 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC). Polls and Schwab, Human Rights, 1 and 4. MacIntyre, in arguing against the naturalist view of human rights, observes that until close to the Middle Ages, there could be found no evidence for the recognition of human rights anywhere in the world. A. MacIntyre, After Virtue, second edition (London: Duckworth, 1985): 69. J. B. Danquah, The Ghanaian Establishment (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1997): 29. K. Anthony Appiah, ‘Grounding Human Rights’, in Amy Gutmann (ed.), Michael Ignatieff Human Rights as Politics and Idolatry (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001): 107. Kwasi Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars: African Perspectives (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1996): 48. J. B. Danquah, Obligation in Akan Society, No. 8 in the series West African Affairs (published by the Bureau of Current Affairs, London, 1952): 14. Preamble to the UDHR. Gutmann, Michael Ignatieff ’, 91. Ibid., 80. Lauren, Evolution, 11. Mail Online, Saturday, 26 July 2008, ‘Mail Comment: A Victory for Britain’s Quiet Majority’.

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138 A report on the website of the National Secular Society (NSS), ‘Secularism in Peril as Christian Registrar Wins Tribunal Case’. (secularism.org.uk, accessed on 28 July 2008). 139 Mail Online, Saturday, 26 July 2008. 140 Kwaku Sakyi-Addo, ‘Ghana Bans Gay and Lesbian Conference’, Reuters News, 2 September 2006. www.mg.co.za/articlepage.aspx?area=/breaking news africa/&articleid=282945 – accessed 7 April 2008. 141 Moses Dotsey Aklorbortu, ‘8,000 Homos in Two Regions: Majority Infected with hiv/aids’, Daily Graphic, Tuesday, 31 May 2011, 1. 142 BBC report carried in The Ghanaian Times, Monday, 31 October 2011, 5. 143 Stephen Larbi, ‘Mills Talks Tough’, The Chronicle, Thursday, 3 November 2011, 3. 144 Mike Oquaye, ‘Ghana, UK and Homosexuality’, The Ghanaian Times, Monday, 8 November 2011, 10. 145 Such people included the former advisor to President John Kufuor on HIV/AIDS and Population issues, Prof. F. T. Sai, Ms Anna Bossman the acting commissioner of the Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice (CHRAJ) and Nana Oye Lithur, a human rights lawyer. 146 Stephen Odoi-Larbi and Abena Pokua Osei, ‘Homosexuality Is Ungodly’, The Chronicle, Tuesday, 19 July 2011, 3. 147 Dr Akwasi Osei, ‘Human Rights versus People’s Rights’, Daily Graphic, Tuesday, 21 June 2011, 10. 148 Herbert, Religion and Civil Society, 150.

Chapter 3    1 Paul Gordon Lauren, Evolution of Human Rights: Visions Seen (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998): 39–71; Jerome J. Shestack, ‘The Philosophical Foundations of Human Rights’, in Janusz Symonides (ed.), Human Rights: Concepts and Standards (Aldershot: Ashgate/UNESCO, 2000): 31–68.    2 David Herbert, Religion and Civil Society: Rethinking Public Religion in the Contemporary World (Hampshire/Burlington: Ashgate, 2003): 150.    3 Preamble to the UDHR.    4 Samuel P. Huntington, ‘The Clash of Civilizations?’ Foreign Affairs, 72/3 (Summer 1993): 22–49.    5 In the last two decades, the theme of ‘culture’ has become an important concern for the European Union (EU). See for example, European Parliament Decision No. 508/2000/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 14 February 2000 Establishing the Culture 2000 Programme, Official Journal of the European Communities L 63. Among academic works that deal with the issue of culture in

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the context of the EU are: Clive Barnett, ‘Culture, Policy, and Subsidiarity in the European Union: From Symbolic Entity to the Governmentalization of Culture’, Political Geography, 20 (2001): 405–26; Marc Abeles, ‘Virtual Europe’, in Irene Bellier and Thomas M. Wilson (eds), An Anthropology of the European Union: Building, Imagining, and Experiencing the New Europe (Oxford: Berg, 2000): 31–52; and C. Shore, Building Europe: The Cultural Politics of European Integration (London: Routledge, 2000). Perhaps, events at the Vienna Conference on Human Rights in 1993 were among the clearest manifestations of the importance of ‘culture’ as a term often invoked in modern political discourse. For example, in the immediate post-independence era, many African leaders who invoked ‘culture’ as the basis for the rejection of ‘Western’ human rights did so in order to keep the international community away while oppressing their own peoples. See Dunstan M. Wai, ‘Human Rights in Sub-Saharan Africa’, in P. Schwab and A. Pollis (eds), Human Rights: Fifty Years On: A Reappraisal (Manchester: University Press, 1998): 113–413. An example is when Western leaders such as Bush and Blair claim that the values of their people are under threat by terrorists and set out to invade other nations in order to extend the ‘cornerstone value’ of Western culture – democracy – to those nations. Martin Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, in Abdullahi A. An-Na’im (ed.), Cultural Transformation and Human Rights in Africa (London/New York: Zed Books, Ltd., 2002): 39–40. Sally E. Merry, Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006): 14. Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, 41. As one of the responses to the ‘Clash of Civilizations’ and ‘End of History’ theses, the UN sponsored a publication, marking the ‘Decade of Dialogue’. This publication authored by some of the eminent thinkers and commentators on issues of international public interest, drawn from across the world, obviously acknowledges the importance of culture as an important term in describing group interest. (See Giandomenico Picco et al., Crossing the Divide: Dialogue Among Civilizations (South Orange, NJ: The School of Diplomacy and International Relations, 2001).) N. Daniel, The Cultural Barrier: Problems in the Exchange of Ideas (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1975): 211. For a discussion on how culture has been misrepresented and blamed for abuses in human rights documents, see Sally Engle Merry, ‘Human Rights Law and the Demonization of Culture’, Polar: Political and Legal Anthropology Review, 26/1 (2003): 55–77. E. A. Nida, Customs and Cultures: Anthropology for Christian Missions (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1954): xii.

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14 Kate Nash, ‘Human Rights for Women’, Economy and Society, 31/3 (August 2002): 424. 15 Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, 42. 16 A. L. Kroeber and C. Kluckhohn brought together 164 different definitions and claimed that about 300 were actually used in their book. See C. Kluckhohn and A. L. Kroeber, ‘Culture: A Critical Review of Concepts and Definitions’ (Papers of the Peabody Museum of American Archaeology and Ethnology. XLVII/1, Cambridge, MA, 1952): 38–40, 149. 17 E. B. Tylor, Primitive Culture (London: J. Murray, 1871), cited in Makhan Jha, Introduction to Anthropological Thought (New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House, 1983): 21. 18 Robert H. Lowie, The History of Ethnological Theory (New York: Rinehart, 1937): 3. 19 C. Kluckhohn, ‘The Study of Culture’, in P. I. Rose (ed.), The Study of Society (New York: Rinehart, 1967): 86–102. 20 Tylor, Primitive Culture; A. L. Kroeber, Anthropology: Race, Language, Culture, Psychology, Prehistory (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1948): 8; Lowie, The History, 3. 21 C. Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1949): 17. 22 C. Geertz, The Interpretations of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1973): 89. 23 Wim van Binsbergen, ‘Cultures Do Not Exist: Exploding Self-Evidences in the Investigation of Interculturality’, Quest, XIII/ 1–2 (1999): 45. 24 Ibid., 82. 25 Merry, ‘Human Rights Law’, 55–77. 26 Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, 17. 27 Recognition of the complexities of ‘culture’ as a field of study has led to the careful and systematic methodologies developed by anthropologists. The two approaches designated, the emic (insider-view) and the etic (outsider-view), are examples of such methodologies. 28 Nash, ‘Human Rights for Women’, 424. 29 AAA website, ‘Statement on Human Rights’, www.net.org/stms/humanrts.htm, 539. 30 Ibid., 543. 31 H. Makarrudddin (ed.), Politics, Democracy and the New Asia: Selected Speeches by Dr. Mahathir Mohamad (Malaysia: Prime Minister’s Office, 2004): 207. 32 See statement on human rights issued by AAA in June 1999, accessed on 16 December 2008. 33 Makau Mutua, ‘The Banjul Charter: The Case for an African Fingerprint’, in A. A. An-Na’im (ed.), Cultural Transformation and Human Rights in Africa (London/ New York: Zed Books Ltd., 2002): 68.

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34 Diane F. Orentlicher, ‘Relativism and Religion’, in Amy Gutmann (ed.), Michael Ignatieff, Human Rights as Politics and Idolatry (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001): 141–58. 35 Ibid., 142. 36 Ibid. Jack Donnelly, ‘Cultural Relativism and Universal Human Rights’, Human Rights Quarterly, 6 (1984): 401. 37 Orentlicher, ‘Relativism and Religion’, 147. 38 Ibid., 154. 39 A. A. An-Na’im and J. Hammond, ‘Cultural Transformation and Human Rights in African Societies’, in An-Na’im, Cultural Transformation, 13. 40 Ibid., 15. 41 Ibid., 16. 42 Richard Dagger, ‘Rights’, in Terrence Ball et al. (eds), Political Innovation and Conceptual Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989): 286. 43 John Kelsay and Sumner B. Twiss (eds), Religion and Human Rights (New York: The Project on Religion and Human Rights, 1994): 36. 44 G. A. Theodorson and A. G. Theodorson, Modern Dictionary of Sociology (New York: T. Y. Cromwell, 1996): 13. See also Oliver A. Onwubiko, Theory and Practice of Inculturation: African Perspective (Enugu: Snaap Press, 1992): 8. 45 A. A. Roest-Crollius, ‘Inculturation and Incarnation: On Speaking of the Christian Faith and Cultures of Humanity’, Bulletin, Secretaries Proon Christianes, 12 (1978): 138–40. Cited in J. S. Pobee, Skenosis: The Christian Faith in an African Context (Gweru: Mambo Press, 1992): 39. 46 For a more detailed discussion of this, see Emmanuel Martey, African Theology: Inculturation and Liberation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1993). 47 Martien E. Brinkman, The Non-Western Jesus: Jesus as Bodhisattva, Avatar, Guru, Prophet, Ancestor or Healer? (London: Equinox, 2007): 6. 48 For an elaborate exposition on African ‘theology of reconstruction’, see J. N. K. Mugambi, From Liberation to Reconstruction: African Christian Theology after the Cold War (Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers, 1995). 49 Martha Nussbaum, Cultivating Humanity: A Classical Defense of Reform in Liberal Education (Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press, 1997): 128. 50 Ibid., 128–9. 51 Ibid., 117. 52 Ibid. 53 Anton Houtepen and Albert Ploeger, ‘Introduction’, in A. Houtepen and A. Ploeger (eds), World Christianity Reconsidered (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2001): 11. 54 For example, Pobee, Skenosis, 23–41. 55 Houtepen and Ploeger, World Christianity, 11.

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56 See an elaborate discussion of these in Robert Schreiter, Constructing Local Theologies (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1985): 12–16. 57 Gutmann, Michael Ignatieff, xxii–xxv. 58 Brinkman, The Non-Western Jesus, 17. 59 Ter Haar, Rats, Cockroaches, 8. 60 See for example, G. F. W. Hegel, The Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibrie (New York: Wiley Book Company, 1900, 1944): 39–99. 61 See the preamble of the UDHR. 62 Abamfo Atiemo, ‘International Human Rights, Religious Pluralism and the Future of Chieftaincy in Ghana’, Exchange, 35/4 (2006): 360–82. 63 Analyses of some of such documents have revealed serious inconsistencies with international norms. 64 Nussbaum, Cultivating Humanity, 136. 65 Paul Gifford, ‘Africa’s Inculturation Theology: Observations of an Outsider’, Hekima Review, 38 (May 2008): 18–34. 66 Merry, Human Rights and Gender, 5. 67 Nussbaum, Cultivating Humanity, 137. 68 Bas de Gaay Fortman and Goldewijk Berma Klein, Where Needs Meet Rights: Economic, Social and Cultural Rights in a New Perspective (Geneva: WCC Publications, 1999): 4. 69 P. Arrupe, Carta Sobre La Inculturación (14.v.8), in La Identidad del Jesuita en nuestros tiempos (Sal Terrae, Satander, 1978): 96. Taken from translation by Onwubiko, Theory and Practice, 4. 70 He argues that the significance of the influence of such scholars prior to the outbreak of the revolution lay in the fact that their work fostered a ‘critical and irreverent attitude’ towards all existing institutions: ‘They made the men ready, when the need arose, to question the whole foundation of the old order.’ See David Thompson, Europe Since Napoleon (London: Penguin Books, 1985): 24. 71 Thompson points out that when the ideas of the Philosophes came to be used in the French Revolution, they were used in ways in which the Philosophes themselves would have opposed. Thompson, Europe Since Napoleon, 24. 72 This seems to have been the case in most of Africa. In Ghana, it is observed that the encounter with the outside world, especially Europe, involved the sowing of new ideas of freedom and rights and the nurturing of old ones, which ignited sustained agitations when the time was ripe. For example, as early as 1896, the people of southern Ghana, under the leadership of the Aborigines’ Rights Protection Society (ARPS), successfully resisted attempts by the colonial government to take over private lands and also refused to pay taxes without being represented in the estates of governance. See A. A. Boahen, ‘The Concept and Practice of Human Rights in

Notes

73

74 75 76

77 78 79 80

81 82 83 84

85

86 87

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Ghana’, in Human Rights and the Democratic Process (Proceedings of the Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, XIX, 1980): 29. U. K. Preuss, ‘Constitutional Power Making for the New Polity: Some Deliberations on the Relations between Constituent Power and the Constitution’, in Michel Rosenfeld (ed.), Constitutionalism, Identity, Difference, and Legitimacy: Theoretical Perspective (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994): 150. Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, 40. Preuss, ‘Constitutional Power Making’, 150. Asafo is a traditional social institution made up of all able-bodied men and women in a town or village. It is organized differently in different communities. It plays several roles. It plays the role of civil society, representing the voice of the people at the grass roots and ensuring good governance by traditional political authorities. It is also a military organization, and its members are mobilized to ensure the security of the community. For a detailed treatment of Asafo, see A. E. A. Asiamah, The Mass Factor in Rural Politics: The Case of Asafo Revolution in Kwahu Political History (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 2000): 8. Boahen, ‘The Concept and Practice’, 26–7. C. C. Reindorf, History of the Gold Coast and Asante, 2nd edn (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1966): 29–30. Kwasi Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars: An African Perspective (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1996): 168. Ga political and social arrangements, like those of other ethnic states in southern Ghana, have over the years developed into a complex system of checks and balances that ensures the prevention of abuse of power. Lamin Sanneh, Whose Religion Is Christianity? The Gospel beyond the West (Grand Rapids/Cambridge: W. B. Eerdmans, 2003): 16–18. Ibid., 18. Peter B. Clarke, West Africa and Islam: A Study of Religious Developments from the 8th Century to the 20th Century (London: Edward Arnold Ltd., 1982): 123. Robert Thurman, ‘Foreword’, The United Nations and the World’s Religions: Prospects for a Global Ethic (Cambridge: Boston Research Centre for the 21st Century, 1959): viii. David J. Silva, ‘Western Attitudes toward the Korean Language: An Overview of Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth-Century Mission Literature’, Korean Studies, 26/2 (2003): 270–86. K. Twum-Barima, The Cultural Basis of Our National Development (Accra: Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1985): 9–13. Harri Englund, Prisoners of Freedom: Human Rights and the African Poor (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 2006): 47–9.

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Chapter 4   1 A. Adu Boahen, Clio and Nation-Building in Africa (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1975): 10.   2 David Apter, ‘Political Religion in the New Nations’, in Clifford Geertz (ed.), Old Societies and New States: The Quest for Modernity in Asia and Africa (New York: Free Press, 1963): 80.   3 Samuel P. Huntington, ‘The Clash of Civilizations?’ Foreign Affairs, 72/3 (Summer, 1993): 5–14.   4 The thesis has been widely criticised by scholars both Western and non-Western. See, for example, Amartya Sen, ‘What Clash of Civilizations? Why Religious Identity Isn’t Destiny’. Slate Magazine (file://C:\Amartya.htm) posted 29 March 2006, 3–9.   5 M. J. Herskovits, The Human Factor in Changing Africa (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1962): 56.   6 J. Maquet, Civilizations of Black Africa (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972): 141.   7 Boahen, Clio, 8; Basil Davidson, The Black Man’s Burden: Africa and the Curse of the Nation-State (Ibadan: Spectrum Books, 2005): 197–242.   8 This way of drawing difference has also been used to explain civil wars in the Ivory Coast, the Sudan and other places. Lazare M. Poamé, ‘Rebellion and Religion in Côte d’Ivoire: The Necessary Change of Paradigm’, Goethe Institute (ed), Conflict: What Has Religion Got to Do with It? (Accra: Woeli Publishing Services, 2004): 219; Davidson, The Black Man’s, 319.   9 Awedoba suggests that there may be between 45 and 50 languages spoken in Ghana. See A. K. Awedoba, Culture and Development in Africa: With Special References to Ghana (Legon: Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, 2002): 40 and 54. 10 Max Assimeng, Social Structure of Ghana: a Study in Persistence and Change (Accra: Ghana Publishing Corporation, 1999): 37. 11 Awedoba, Culture and Development, 40. 12 Ghana Statistical Service, 2000 Population and Housing Census: Summary of Final Report (March, 2000). 13 Awedoba, Culture and Development, 58. 14 Kwame Gyekye, Tradition and Modernity: Philosophical Reflections on the African Experience (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997): 107. 15 N. K. Dzobo and S. Amegashie-Viglo, The Triple Heritage of Contemporary Africa (Accra: Studio 7 KAT, 2004): 5. 16 Kwasi Wiredu, Philosophy and African Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980): 6 and 7. 17 G. P. Hagan, ‘Cultural Pluralism, Religion and Educational Philosophy Paradigm’, in Conflict: What Has Religion Got to Do with It? 229.

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18 Kofi Antubam, Ghana’s Heritage of Culture (Leipzig: Kochler & Amelang, 1963): 27–9. 19 Assimeng estimates the Akan population to be around 50 per cent of the total Ghanaian population (Assimeng, Social Structure, 37) ; Salm and Falola put the estimate at about 48 per cent (Steven J. Salm and Toyin Falola, Culture and Customs of Ghana, [Westport, CT/London: Greenwood Press, 2002] 6); the 2000 Population and Housing Census Report puts it at 49.1 per cent. Their language is the most widely spoken in Ghana (Awedoba, Culture and Development, 63). 20 E. H. Mends, ‘Some Basic Elements in the Culture of Ghana’, Universitas, 7/1 (1978): 41–2. 21 Wiredu, Philosophy and African Culture, 8–9. 22 Quoted by Wiredu, Philosophy and African Culture, 9 and 10. 23 Wiredu, Philosophy and African Culture, 11. 24 Awedoba, Culture and Development, 43. 25 A newspaper editorial commended a Ghanaian Supreme Court judge, Prof. Justice Date-Bah, for admonishing Ghanaians to abandon the ‘Fama Nyame mentality’ and rather insist on their rights whenever those rights are infringed upon. (See ‘Business as Usual Won’t Help’ Daily Graphic [editorial], 28 February 2008). 26 Towards the primaries of the National Patriotic Party (NPP) in 2007, the Senior Minister Mr. J. H. Mensah provoked a debate in the media when he asserted that running for political office was not a ‘beauty contest’ (see, The Chronicle, Monday, 8 January 2007) to which the Minister of Tourism, Mr. Obetsebi Lamptey, retorted: ‘appearance matters’. (The Chronicle, Tuesday, 9 January 2007). 27 Max Assimeng, Social Structure, 43. 28 Max Assimeng, Salvation, Social Crisis and the Human Condition (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1995): 33. 29 Maxwell Owusu, ‘The Akan of Ghana’, in Richard V. Weekes (ed.), Muslim Peoples: A World Ethnographic Survey (London: Greenroad Press, 1978): 16. 30 Awedoba, Culture and Development, 42. 31 Assimeng, Social Structure, 115. 32 David R. Smock and Audrey C. Smock, The Politics of Pluralism: A Comparative Study of Lebanon and Ghana (New York/Oxford/Amsterdam: Elsevier Scientific Publishing Co., 1975): 15–18. 33 According to Wilks, the earliest British writers of Gold Coast history sought to justify colonialism by crediting the process with the creation of the country. Ivor Wilks, One Nation, Many Histories: Ghana Past and Present ( Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1996): 5–8. 34 Davidson, The Blackman’s, 60–73. 35 Wilks, One Nation, 4–7.

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36 A. Adu Boahen, ‘Ghana before the Coming of Europeans’, Ghana Social Science Journal, 4/2 (November, 1977): 98; K. B. Dickson, Historical Geography of Ghana (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969): 37. 37 P. Ryan, ‘Is It Possible to Construct a Unified History of Religion in West Africa?’ Universitas, 8 (1984): 99. 38 Scholars who have contributed to the debate include J. B. Danquah, ‘Obligation in Akan Society’, West African Affairs, 8 (1951); W. E. F. Ward, A History Of Ghana (London: Allen & Unwin, 1967, 4th edn); A. A. Boahen, ‘Ghana before the Coming of the Europeans’, Ghana Social Science Journal, 4/2 (November, 1977): 93–106; and J. K. Fynn, The People of Ghana (Accra: Information Services Department, 1974). 39 Ivor Wilks, ‘The Northern Factor in Ashanti History’ (Legon: Institute of African Studies, University College of Ghana, 1961): 13; Kwasi Boaten, ‘Trade Routes in Asante before the Colonial Period’, Ghana Social Science Journal, 2/2 (1973): 114; Jack Goody, The Gonja: A Locally Autonomous Kingdom (Legon: Institute of Africa Studies, 1964): 6 and 7. 40 Salm and Falola, Culture and Custom, 4–8. 41 Goody, Gonja, 6 and 7. 42 G. K. Nukunya, Kinship & Marriage among the Anlo Ewe (London/New Brunswick, NJ: The Athlone Press, 1969): 1. 43 Ted Nelson-Adjakpey, ‘Penance and Expiatory Sacrifice Among the Ghanaian-Ewe and Their Relevance to the Christian Religion’ ( Doctoral Dissertation, Rome, 1982): 11. 44 Salm and Falola, Culture and Custom, 7 and 8. 45 Boahen, ‘Ghana Before’, 99. 46 Dickson, Historical Geography, 39. 47 Ibid. 48 Ibid., 37. 49 Ibid., 38. 50 Ryan, ‘Is It Possible to Construct’, 99. 51 A. Adu Boahen, Ghana: Evolution and Change in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (London: Longman Group Ltd., 1975): 10. 52 Ibid., 9. 53 Ibid., 15. 54 Ibid., 24. 55 Marion Johnson, ‘Ashanti East of the Volta’, Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 8 (1965): 34–5. 56 Rev. David Asante, ‘A New Route to the Niger’ Travels of Asante and Opoku, 1877’, Geog. Gesllschaft zu Bern, 1880, Beilag VI; Rev. David Asante, ‘Diary, 1884’, edited by Rev. Christaller, ‘Journey to Salaga and Obooso’, Geog. Gesllschaft zu Bern, Mitteilungen, 1886. Cited by Johnson, ‘Ashanti East of the Volta’, 34–5.

Notes 57 58 59 60 61 62

63 64 65 66 67

68 69 70

71 72 73

74 75 76

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Johnson, ‘Ashanti East of the Volta’, 39. Wilks, One Nation, 33. Ibid., 34. G. E. Ferguson, Report, 1894, in Colonial Office, Africa (West), No. 506, 253. J. H. Nketiah, ‘Surrogate Languages of Africa’, Current Trends in Linguistics 7 (1971): 699–732. Kwame Arhin explains that 200 years (1700–1873) is closer to the facts than 300 years. See Kwame Arhin (ed.), The Papers of George Ekem Ferguson: An Mfantse Official of the Government of the Gold Coast, 1890–1897 (Leiden/Cambridge: African Studies Centre, 1974): 126. George Ekem Ferguson, Enclosure in Gold Coast Confidential of 5 October 1896 in PRO CO 96/277, cited by Arhin, The Papers of George Ekem Ferguson, 126. Boahen, ‘Ghana Before’, 99. Ibid., 104. Francis Agbodeka, Ghana in the Twentieth Century (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1972): 15. Kwame Y. Daaku, ‘Trade and Trading Patterns of the Akan in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’ in C. Meillassoux (ed.), The Development of Indigenous Trade and Markets in West Africa (London: Oxford University Press for International African Institute, 1971): 169–70. Wilks, One Nation, 24. Ivor Wilks, ‘Mande Loan Words in Akan’, Ghana Notes and Queries, ix (1966): 23, n.2. The trans-Sahara slave trade preceded the more extensive and disruptive transatlantic one. It is reported that slaves were procured from the northern parts of the country and exported to lands beyond the Sahara. Most of the male slaves, captured in raids by the Dagomba among the Grunshi, the Kokomba and the Bassari, were castrated and sold as eunuchs. (Hans W. Debrunner, A History of Christianity in Ghana (Accra: Waterville Publishing House, 1967): 39; and also, E. F. Tamakloe, A Brief History of the Dagomba People (Accra: Government Printer, 1931): 76. Wilks, One Nation, 25. Daaku, ‘Trade and Trading’, 169. Capt. J. Adams, Remarks on the Country Extending from CapePalmas to the River Congo Including Observations on the Manners and Customs of the Inhabitants (London: G and W. B. Whittaker, 1823). Cited by Boahen, ‘Ghana Before’, 104. Kwame Arhin, ‘A Note on the Asante Akokofo: A Non-Literate Sub-Elite, 1900– 1930’, Africa, 56/1 (1986): 25–31. Assimeng, Social Structure, 42–3. He mentions Danquah, Sarpong, Fiawoo and Opoku among others as examples of scholars who have treated the subject in various works. (Social Structure, 43).

228

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77 Oath-taking in the name of deities and the ‘drinking’ of medicine were important means of transactions and treaties in both precolonial and colonial times in Ghana. 78 Lamin Sanneh, ‘The Domestication of Islam and Christianity in African Societies: A Methodological Exploration’, Journal of Religion in Africa, XI/1 (1980): 1–12. 79 He has since then expatiated on the concept in various publications. For example, one of his major works has the title The Africans: A Triple Heritage, published in Boston/Toronto by Little Brown and Company in 1986. 80 Kwame Nkrumah, Consciencism (London: Heinemann, 1964): 67–70. 81 Ivor Wilks, ‘A Note on the Early Spread of Islam in Dagomba’, Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, VIII (1965): 87. 82 N. Levtzion, ‘Early 19th Century Arabic Manuscript from Kumasi’, Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, VIII (1965): 101. 83 Ali al-Khãtim, ‘Islam in West Africa – Its Political and Cultural influence’, Bulletin on Islam and Christian Muslim Relations in Africa, 3/4 (October, 1985): 13. 84 Ralph Wiltgen, Gold Coast Mission History, 1471–1880 (Techny, IL: Divine Word Publications, 1956): 1–25. 85 K. Y. Daaku, ‘European Traders and the Coastal States 1630–1720’ Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, VIII (1965): 11–23. 86 Debrunner, A History of Christianity, 99, mentions the mulatto trader H. Richter, who served as an interpreter to the Basel Missionaries on their arrival in the Gold Coast. 87 Debrunner, A History of Christianity, 96. 88 Daaku, ‘The European Traders’, 11–23. 89 Ibid. 90 Boahen, Ghana: Evolution, 37–8. 91 Pope Hennesy, ‘National and Regional Museums’, Journal of the Society of Arts, 2 May 1873, 437, cited by S. K. Odamtten, The Missionary Factor in Ghana’s Development Up to the 1880s (Accra: Waterville Publishing House, 1978): 43. 92 Article by Rev. Daniel Awere in Kristofo Nsenkekafo (May, 1908): 50–3. 93 J. D. Fage, Ghana: A Historical Interpretation (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1959): 51. 94 Isaac Ephson, Ancient Forts and Castles of the Gold Coast (GHANA) (Accra: Ilen Publications, 1970): 79; see also, W. Walton Claridge, A History of the Gold Coast and Ashanti: From the Earliest Times to the Commencement of the Twentieth Century (London: Frank & Cass, 1964): 99–100. 95 William B. Harvey, Law and Social Change in Ghana (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1966): 354. 96 Daaku, ‘Trade and Trading’, 168. 97 Cheryl Johnson-Odim, ‘Actions Louder Than Words: The Historical Task of Defining Feminine Consciousness in Colonial West Africa’, in Ruth Roach Pierson

Notes   98   99

100

101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109

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and Nupur Chaudhuri (eds), Nation, Empire and Colony: Historicizing Gender and Race (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1998): 82. Kwabena O. Akurang-Parry, ‘Aspects of Elite Women’s Activism in the Gold Coast, 1874–1890’, International Journal of African Historical Studies, 37/3 (2004): 470. Ferguson was a surveyor in the civil service of the colonial government. He worked hard, drawing the boundaries of Ghana and signing treaties with various ethnic states, especially in the northern territories. He stood for a united country made up of virtually all the regions that constitute modern Ghana. C. C. Reindorf was a mulatto agent of the Basel Missionaries. He wrote the History of the Gold Coast and Asante. He argued for a united country made up of the Gold Coast and Asante under British rule. Casely Hayford was the first to call for a union between the Gold Coast and Asante to form one country within the British Empire. Arhin, ‘A Note on the Asante Akonkofo’, 26–31. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Wilks, One Nation, 57. Ibid., 27. R. B. Bening, Ghana: Regional Borders and National Integration (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1999): 342. A. Adu Boahen, The Ghanaian Sphinx: Reflections on Contemporary History of Ghana 1972–1987 (Accra: Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1987): 30.

Chapter 5    1 P. A. Sarpong, Religion in Ghana (Accra: Ghana Information Service, 1977): 1.    2 See Platvoet and Henk van Rinsum, ‘Is Africa Incurably Religious? Confessing and Contesting an Invention’, Exchange, 32/2 (2003): 123–53.    3 John Mensah, National Problems (London: n.p., 1933): 12–13. Cited by David Kimble, A Political History of Ghana (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963): 160.    4 Gary S. Becker, Human Capital: A Theoretical and Empirical Analysis (New York: Columbia University Press for the National Bureau of Economic Research, 1975).    5 James S. Coleman, ‘Social Capital in the Creation of Human Capital’, American Journal of Sociology, 94 (1988): S95–S120; Partha Dasgupta and Ismail Serageldin, Social Capital: A Multifaceted Perspective (Washington, DC: World Bank, 1999); Robert D. Putnam, ‘The Prosperous Community: Social Capital and Public Life’, American Prospect, 13 (1993): 35–42.

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  6 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Forms of Capital’, in J. G. Richardson (ed.), Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education (New York: Greenwood Press, 1983): 241–58.   7 Laurence R. Iannaccone, ‘Religious Practice: A Human Capital Approach’, Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 29 (1990): 299.   8 Rodney Stark and Roger Finke, Acts of Faith: Explaining the Human Side of Religion, (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2000): 120.   9 Kimble, A Political History, 160. 10 Richard Crook, ‘The Role of Faith-Based Associations in Political Change and Development’, Ghana Centre for Democratic Development (CDD-Ghana), Policy Brief, 5 (November 2005): 1. 11 E. K. Quashigah, ‘Legislating Religious Liberty: The Ghanaian Experience’, Brigham Young University Law Review, 2 (1999): 597. 12 See Elom Dovlo, ‘Religion in the Public Sphere: Challenges and Opportunities in Ghanaian Lawmaking, 1989–2004’, Brigham Young University Law Review, 3 (2005): 636. 13 For example, 1992 Constitution, Article 166(1): a, IV and V. 14 Max Assimeng, Salvation, Social Crisis and the Human Condition (Accra: Ghana University Press, 1995): 5. 15 Ibid., 5 and 6. 16 David Apter, ‘Political Religion in the New Nations’, in Clifford Geertz (ed.), Old Societies and New States (New York: Free Press, 1960): 57–104. 17 Geoffrey Bing, Reaping the Whirlwind (London: Macgibbon & Kee, 1968): 125. 18 Ibid., 124. 19 One of his famous statements was: ‘Seek ye first the political kingdom and all other things shall be added unto you’. 20 Cited in K. A. Dickson, ‘Religion and Society: A Study in Church and State Relation in the First Republic’, in Kwame Arhin (ed.), The Life and Work of Kwame Nkrumah (Trenton: Africa World Press, 1993): 140. 21 J. S. Pobee, Religion and Politics in Ghana (Accra: Asempa, 1991): 31. 22 Abraham A. Akrong, ‘Religion and Traditional Leadership in Ghana’, in Irene K. Odotei and Albert K. Awedoba (eds), Chieftaincy in Ghana: Culture, Governance and Development (Accra: Sub-Saharan Publishers, 2006): 193–212. 23 West Africa, 18 June 1966. 24 J. W. Fernandez, ‘Rededication and Prophetism in Ghana’, Cahiers D’Etudes Africaines, X/2 (1970): 229–305. 25 Pobee, Religion and Politics, 93. 26 Ibid. 27 Pobee observes what he describes as ‘striking’ about attempted coups d’état in Ghana during the Acheampong regime. He reports that those who attempted coups always consulted spiritualists (Pobee, Religion and Politics, 45).

Notes 28 29 30 31

32 33 34 35 36 37 38

39 40 41

42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50

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K. A. Bediako, The Downfall of Kwame Nkrumah (Accra: 2RMcHill, n.d.) 11. E. A. Haizel, ‘Education in Ghana: 1951–1966’ in Arhin, The Life and Work, 61. Quashigah, ‘Legislating Religious Liberty’, 593. Dickson’s efforts to find evidence of such a directive from the then president drew blank; however, it is true that after independence, the name of the department was changed (Dickson, ‘Religion and Society’, 131). Kwame Nkrumah, Consciencism (London: Heinemann, 1964): 13. Dovlo, ‘Religion in the Public Sphere’, 634. Assimeng, Salvation, 6. Ibid. Ibid., 6. J. S. Pobee, Religion and Politics in Ghana: A Case Study of the Acheampong Era (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1992): 8. It was the era of the non-denominational evangelical Christian fellowships that believers preached the born-again message and maintained that the surest way to national redemption and prosperity lay in the inner transformation of individual citizens. See, Abamfo Atiemo, ‘The Evangelical Christian Fellowships and the Charismatization of Ghanaian Christianity’, Ghana Bulletin of Theology, 2 (July 2007): 43–65. Atiemo, ‘The Evangelical Fellowships’, 55. Max Assimeng, Social Structure of Ghana: A Study in Persistence and Change (Accra: Ghana Publishing Corporation, 1999): 201. An attempt was made to bring together all Christian youth groups under the banner of an organization called Positive Christian Movement (POCRIMO) in which Apostle Barnabas Akrong and Rev. Fr. Damuah played pivotal roles. However, the refusal by the mainstream churches to allow their youth to participate led to the collapse of the movement. Mike Oquaye, Politics in Ghana: 1982–1992 (New Delhi: Thompson’s Press, 2004): 412–14. P.N.D.C.L. 221. Religious Bodies (Registration) Law, 1989. Section 1 (7). Memorandum submitted by the Christian Council and the Catholic Bishops Conference to the PNDC government through Mr. Justice D. F. Annan, PNDC member, dated 2 October 1989. News from Africa Watch (18 May 1990). Assimeng, Social Structure, 70. Dovlo, ‘Religion in the Public Sphere’, 629. Ibid. Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference and the Christian Council of Ghana: Pastoral Letter (October, 1989): 8.

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51 Quashigah, ‘Legislating Religious Liberty’, 595. 52 As examples, we may cite traditional practices such as seeking protection from the gods and ancestors at the start of an undertaking such as a journey, the building of a new house, the cultivation of land, marriage and in the time of illness. 53 Malam is a corruption of mu’alim, ‘teacher’. In West Africa, the malam is not only a teacher but also, most importantly, a ritual specialist who performs magico-religious services for people, often for a fee. 54 See report by Kwaku Sakyi-Addo, ‘Ghana Airways Seeks Divine Intervention’, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/2978026.stm (30 June 2003). 55 These functionaries that are consulted may be found in any tradition, including the established religious bodies such as the leading mainline Protestant, Roman Catholic or Pentecostal churches. Omenyo reports about the presence of prophets, healers and exorcists or deliverance ministers in the Roman Catholic and the mainline Protestant churches. See Cephas N. Omenyo, Pentecost Outside Pentecostalism: A Study of the Development of Charismatic Renewal in the Mainline Churches in Ghana (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 2006): 231–7. 56 Paul Gifford, Ghana’s New Christianity: Pentecostalism in a Globalising Economy (London: Hurst & Co., 2004). 57 These are the churches that Pobee refers to as ‘Historic Churches’. S. Pobee, Kwame Nkrumah and the Church in Ghana 1949–1966 (Accra: Asempa Publishers, 1988): 54. 58 E. Gyimah-Boadi, ‘Civil Society and National Development’. Remarks at a symposium on The Church and the State as Development Partners, organized by the KNUST Chaplaincy to mark its fortieth anniversary, 13 October 2006. 59 Donald I. Ray, Ghana: Politics, Economics and Society (London: Frances Printer, 1986): 32; see also Kwame Ninsin, Ghana’s Political Transition, 1990–1993: Selected Documents (Accra: Freedom Publications, 1996): 38–53; Oquaye, Politics in Ghana, 413ff. 60 For a more in-depth discussion of definitional issues, see Jacques Berlinerblau, ‘Max Weber’s Useful Ambiguities and the Problem of Defining “Popular Religion,”’ Journal of American Academy of Religion, 69/3 (September 2001): 605–26. 61 Enzo Pace, ‘The Debate on Popular Religion in Italy’, The Sociological Analysis, 40 (1979): 73. 62 Daniel Levine, ‘Religion, the Poor, and Politics in Latin America Today’, in Daniel Levine (ed.), Religion and Political Conflict in Latin America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1986): 4. 63 P. H. Vrijhof, ‘Conclusion’, in P. H. Vrijhof and J. D. J. Waardenburg (eds), Official and Popular Religion: Analysis of a Theme for Religious Studies (Paris/The Hague: Mouton, 1979): 691.

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64 Manuel Mejido, ‘The Illusion of Neutrality: Reflections on the Term “Popular Religion,”’ Social Compass, 49/2 (2002): 295–311. 65 Peter Brown, The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982): 16. 66 Peter Williams, Popular Religion in America: Symbolic Change and the Modernization Process in Historical Perspective (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989): 6. 67 Bing, Reaping the Whirlwind, 128–9. 68 William Christian Jr., Local Religion in the Seventeenth-Century Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981): 147. 69 Cephas N. Omenyo and Abamfo O. Atiemo, ‘Creating Space: The Case of Neo-Prophetism in Ghana’, Ghana Bulletin of Theology, N.S., 1/1 (July, 2006): 56. 70 J. G. Platvoet, ‘The Akan Believer and His Religions’, in Vrijhof and Waardenburg, Official and Popular Religion, 545. 71 M. J. Field, ‘Some New Shrines of the Gold Coast and Their Significance’, Africa, 13/2 (1940): 141. 72 Barbara C. Ward, ‘Some Observations on Religious Cults in Ashanti’, Africa, 1 (1956): 55. 73 M. Douglas, Purity and Danger (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966): 128–9. 74 See William B. Harvey, Law and Social Change in Ghana (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1966): 352–3; Assimeng, Foundations (Accra: Ghana Universities press, 1997): 41. 75 C. G. Baeta, Prophetism in Ghana (London: SCM, 1962): 6. 76 Religious identity becomes important in several situations at the national level and the state manages the tensions and potential conflicts by recognizing the various traditions in aspects of national policy. 77 M. J. Field, Search for Security: An Ethno-Psychiatric Study of Rural Ghana (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1970): 87. 78 Jack Goody, ‘Anomie and Ashanti’, Africa, 4 (1957). 79 Public commentators on issues – economics, politics, law and education – include those who argue from the religious and moral angles. Then also, public prayer meetings held monthly by groups such as the Women Aglow Fellowship and often telecast on national television focus on current topics in the public domain. 80 Kwame Botwe-Asamoah, Kwame Nkrumah’s Politico-Cultural Thought and Policies: An African Centred Paradigm for the Second Phase of the African Revolution (New York/London: Routledge, 2005): 152. 81 Pobee, Religion and Politics, 33. 82 This was the reason for the term ‘syncretistic’ employed by certain scholars to describe those churches. 83 Kimble, A Political History, 66.

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84 Assimeng, Social Structure, 60. 85 See Kwame Arhin, ‘Some Asante Views on Colonial Rule: As Seen in the Controversy Relating to Death duties’, Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, XVI/2 New Series 1 (January, 1995): 157. Kwame Arhin, ‘A Note on the Asante Akonkofo: A Non-Literate Sub-Elite, 1900–1930’, Africa, 56/1 (1986) 26–31. 86 S. Tenkorang, ‘The Importance of Firearms in the Struggle between Ashanti and the Coastal States’, Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, IX (1968): 1–16. 87 A. Adu Boahen, Ghana: Evolution and Change in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (London: Longman Group, 1975) 163–5; Harvey, Law and Social Change, 18. 88 J. B. Danquah, ‘Obligation in Akan Society’, West African Affairs, No. 8 in the series (The Bureau of Current Affairs, London, 1952): 14. 89 Peter Sarpong, Ghana in Retrospect: Some Aspects of Ghanaian Culture (Accra-Tema: Ghana Publishing Corporation, 1974): 26–8. 90 The case of the Methodists converts in Mankesim who provoked the Mfantse people to anger by farming in the sacred forest of Nananom Mpow, see W. Walton Claridge, A History of the Gold Coast and Ashanti: From the Earliest Times to the Commencement of the Twentieth Century (London: Frank & Cass, 1964): 466–73. 91 Assimeng, Foundations, 41. 92 Arhin, ‘Some Asante Views’, 157–8. 93 Elizabeth Amoah, ‘Concepts of Destiny: Nkrabea and Man’s Moral Responsibility’ (Ph.D. thesis, submitted to the Department for the Study of Religions, University of Ghana, Legon, 1974): 37–8. 94 J. B. Crayner, Akweesi Egu Nananom Mpow (Accra: Bureau of Ghana Languages, 1967); Claridge, History, 469–73. 95 Arhin, ‘A Note on the Asante Akonkofo’, 26–31. 96 It was the youth generally that supported to Kwame Nkrumah’s radical anti-colonial struggle that seized the initiative from the conservative leadership of the mass nationalist movement, the United Gold Coast Convention (UGCC). Pobee, Kwame Nkrumah, 20–1. 97 The Native Customs (witch and wizard finding) Order-in-Council no. 28, 1930. National Archive of Ghana, ADM 11/1/886, ‘Witchcraft – Persecution of Persons Accused of ’. 98 R. Addo-Fening, ‘The Native Jurisdiction Ordinance, Indirect Rule and the Subject’s Well-Being: The Abuakwa Experience: c. 1889–1912’, Research Review NS, 6/2 (1990): 30–2. 99 Natasha Gray, ‘Witches, Oracles, and Colonial Law: Evolving Anti-Witchcraft Practices in Ghana, 1927–1932’, The International Journal of African Historical Studies, 34/2 (2001): 342.

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100 Each of the laws of these shrines was followed by a reminder of the sanctions if they were contravened, and it was almost always, ‘death’. 101 Hans Debrunner, Witchcraft in Ghana: A Study on the Belief in Destructive Witches and Its Effect on the Akan Tribes (Kumasi: Presbyterian Book Depot, 1959): 142. 102 For example, it is reported that as early as 1836, the priests of the Mfantse national oracle, Nananom Mpow, were spreading word that the spirits were displeased with new religion (Christianity), and unless it was rejected there would be no rain (Mary McCarthy, Social Change and Growth of British Power in the Gold Coast (Lanham/ New York/ London: University of America Press, 1983): 112. 103 Debrunner, Witchcraft, 106. 104 Jean Allman and John Parker, Tongnaab: The History of a West African God (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2005): 175. 105 Statement by Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference on ‘the new educational reforms’ issued on 9 November 2007 and signed by the Most Rev. Abadamloora, Bishop of Navrongo-Bolgatanga and president of the Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference. 106 ‘Don’t Swear!’ The Chronicle, 20 August 2007. 107 Gifford, Ghana’s New, 170. 108 Ibid., 169–172. 109 Ibid., 172. 110 Ibid., 168. 111 In his works, he is so frank and passionate about what he thinks is wrong approach in academia and also in the attempt to help bring change in Africa. See for example, Gifford, Ghana’s New Christianity, 181–9; and also, Paul Gifford, ‘Africa’s Inculturation Theology: Observations of an Outsider’, Hekima Review, 38 (May, 2008): 22–5. 112 Gifford, ‘Africa’s Inculturation Theology’, 24. 113 Ibid., 38. 114 Ghanaians have been fast learners of the art of modern governance. From the earliest times as an emerging nation, they made several attempts to invent systems that combine modern institutions of governance with their traditional ones. For example, Allott notes that clause 3 of the Bond of 1844 indicate that from that time on there was a conscious effort on the part of the Mfantse chiefs to mould the ‘customs of the country to the general principles of British Law’. See Allott, Essays in African Law with Special Reference to the Law of Ghana (London: Butterworth & Co., 1960): 102. 115 World Bank, Sub-Saharan Africa: From Crisis to Sustainable Growth (Washington, DC: 1981): 60–1. 116 Parker and Allman, Tongnaab, 166–76.

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117 When the President J. E. A. Mills was criticized by a section of the media for turning the seat of government into a prayer camp, he responded that he wished the whole country was a ‘payer camp’. See ‘I Wish Ghana Were a Prayer Camp’, Ghanaian Times, 13 March 2009.

Chapter 6    1 Amy Gutmann (ed.), Michael Ignatieff, Human Rights as Politics and Idolatry (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001): 3–4.    2 Richard Amoako Baah, Human Rights in Africa: The Conflict of Interpretation (Lanham/New York/Oxford: University Press of America, 2000): 89.    3 Ibid.    4 Ibid., 38.    5 See G. P. Hagan, ‘Political Aspect’, in Human Rights and the Democratic Process. Proceedings of the Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, XIX, 1980 (Accra: Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1993): 35–44.    6 Baah, Human Rights, 21.    7 Ibid., 9.    8 El-Obaid Ahmed El-Obaid and Kwadwo Appiagyei-Atua, ‘Human Rights in Africa: A New Perspective on Linking the Past to the Present’, McGill Law Journal / Revue De Droit De McGill, 41 (1996): 821–2.    9 Although there is abundant anthropological research to show that claims of continuity with the past do not usually constitute such continuity and that much change occurs without people even noticing it, such claims are still being made. The presumption of certain things being ‘customary’ hides that fact of discontinuities. (See Terrence Ranger, ‘The Invention of Tradition in Colonial Africa’, in Eric Hobsbawm and Terrence Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983): 247–62.)   10 Stephen Ellis and Gerrie ter Haar, Worlds of Power: Religions Thought and Political Practice in Africa (London: Hurst & Co., 2004): 145–8.   11 Rhoda E. Howard and Jack Donnelly, ‘Human Dignity, Human Rights and Political Regimes’, American Political Science Review, 80 (September, 1986): 891–919. See also, Rhoda Howard, ‘Group versus Individual Identity in the African Debate on Human Rights’, in A. A. An-Na’im and F. M. Deng (eds), Human Rights in Africa: Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Washington, DC: Brookings Institute, 1990): 159–83.   12 ‘Governance’ is defined by the World Bank as ‘the exercise of political power to manage a nation’s affairs’. It requires the building of ‘a pluralistic institutional structure, a determination to respect the rule of law, and indigenous protection of

Notes

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14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21

22

23 24 25

26

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the freedom of the press and human rights’. See World Bank, Sub-Saharan Africa: From Crisis to Sustainable Growth – A Long-Term Perspective (Washington, DC, 1989): 60–1. Thomas Buergenthal, ‘International Human Rights in an Historical Perspective’, in Janusz Symonides (ed.), Human Rights: Concepts and Standards (Aldershot/ Burlington: Ashgate with UNESCO, 2000): 17–18. Hagan, ‘Political Aspect’, 35–44. El-Obaid and Appiagyei-Atua, ‘Human Rights in Africa’, 821. A. W. Cardinal, The Gold Coast, 1931: a Review of Conditions in the Gold Coast in 1931 as Compared to Those in 1921, Based on Figures and Facts Collected by the Chief Census Officer of 1931 Together with An Historical, Ethnographical and Sociological Survey of the People of That Country (Accra: Government Publishing Press, 1931): 9. G. K. Nukunya, Tradition and Change in Ghana: An Introduction to Sociology (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1992): 71. Cited by Martin Wight, The Gold Coast Legislative Council (London: Faber & Faber, 1946): 35. Wight, The Gold Coast, 34. R. S. Rattray, ‘The Present Tendencies of African Colonial Government’, Journal of the African Society, xxxiii (1934): 29–33. For information about the ancestors, see, Peter Sarpong, Ghana in Retrospect: Some Aspects of Ghanaian Culture (Accra-Tema: Ghana Publishing Corporation, 1974): 33–44. J. B. Danquah, ‘Obligation in Akan Society’, West African Affairs, No. 8 in the series (London: The Bureau of Current Affairs, 1952); Edward Reynolds, Trade and Economic Change on the Gold Coast, 1807–1874 (London: Longman Group, 1974): 18–19; Akosua Adoma Perbi, A History of Indigenous Slavery in Ghana from the 15th to the 19th Century (Accra: Sub-Saharan Publishers, 2004): 117. Margaret J. Field, The Social Organization of the Ga People (London: The Crown Agent for the Colonies, 1940): 76. Ibid., 183. The Ga and the Ewe followed a similar system though the major officers involved were different. At the time I was conducting this research, both Anlo and La were confronted with chieftaincy crisis. In Anlo, attempts to elect a new Awoamefia (the paramount chief of Anlo) had sparked off riots that had become fatal claiming the lives of some policemen and citizens. In La, some elders had decided to depose the La Mantse (the paramount chief of La). Among his charges was that he had refused to perform certain rites associated with his office on the basis that he was a Christian. Kwame Arhin, Traditional Rule in Ghana in Ghana: Past and Present (Accra: Sedco, 1985): 31.

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27 Benjamin Ewuku, ‘African and Western Philosophy: A Study’, in Richard Wright (ed.), African Philosophy: An Introduction (Lanham: University Press of America, 1984): 173. 28 Alexander K. D. Frempong, ‘Chieftaincy, Democracy and Human Rights in Pre-Colonial Africa: The Case of the Akan’, in Irene K. Odotei and Albert K. Awedoba (eds), Chieftaincy in Ghana: Culture, Governance and Development (Accra: Sub-Saharan Publishers, 2006): 384. 29 William B. Harvey, Law and Social Change (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1966): 361. 30 Danquah, ‘Obligation’, 9. 31 The belief that a lineage member’s offence could bring the wrath of the spirits against the whole lineage, made people apprehensive about a relative’s repetitive misbehaviour. In times past, the communities discouraged such lineage members by executing them or selling them into slavery. See, for example, D. K. Fiawoo, Torkor Atalia (London: Longmans Green, 1968). 32 Panyarring was the forcible seizure of a person for debt. The person seized could be the debtor or a kinsman of the debtor; or sometimes, somebody who came from the same village as the debtor. 33 P. E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola (eds), Pawnship, Slavery and Colonialism in Africa (Trenton/Asmara: Africa World Press Inc., 2003): 29; William Bosman, A New and Accurate Description of the Coast of Guinea (1704) (4th edn) (London: Barnes and Noble, 1967): 176. 34 Jr. Nana Kusi Appea Busia, ‘The Status of Human Rights in Pre-Colonial Africa: Some Implications for Contemporary Practices’, in Eileen McCarthy-Arnolds et al. (eds), African Human Rights and the Global System: The Political Economy of Human Rights in a Changing World (London: Greenwood Press, 1994): 236. 35 A Nation-Wide Broadcast by Lt. Gen. J. A. Ankrah, chairman of the National Liberation Council (NLC) on 28 February 1966, Ghana Today, 10/2 (23 March 1966): 1. 36 In the stratified society of the Akan, especially Asante, there were categories of the slaves. In Asante, there were: akoa, odonkor, domum and akyer. The first two terms simply mean ‘slave’, with the second one, odonkor, mostly used of people from the North but applied also to purchased slaves. Domum is a war captive, and akyer referred to people ‘who lived in designated villages that were looked upon as human reservoir for sacrifice. See, Rattray, Ashanti Law and Constitution (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1929): 34–6. 37 Reynolds, Trade and Economic Change, 19; B. Cruickshank, Eighteen Years on the Gold Coast of Africa Vol. I (London: Frank Cass & Co., 1966): ii, 240. 38 For an exhaustive discussion about the contemporary significance of chieftaincy in Ghana, see Odotei and Awedoba, Chieftaincy; John Dunn and A. F. Robertson,

Notes

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41 42 43

44 45

46

47 48

49 50 51

52

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Dependence and Opportunity: Political Change in Brong Ahafo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973); Arhin Brempong, Transformations in Traditional Rule in Ghana: 1951–1996 (Accra: Sedco Publishing Limited, 2001); and Oseadeeyo Addo Dankwa III, The Institution of Chieftaincy in Ghana – the Future (Accra: Gold Type Ltd., with the support of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation, 2004). Article 11(3), The Constitution of the Republic of Ghana, 1992. John Mensah Sarbah, Fanti Customary Laws, a Brief Introduction to the Principles of the Native Laws and Customs of the Fanti and Akan Districts of the Gold Coast, with a Report of Some Cases Thereon Decided in the Law Courts (1904) (London: Clowes, 1897): 23. Harvey, Law and Social Change, 352. Azu Crabbe, John Mensah Sarbah – 1864–1910 (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1971): 56. John Mensah Sarbah, The Fanti National Constitution: A Short Treatise on the Constitution and Government of the Fanti, Asanti, and Other Akan Tribes of West Africa, Together with a Brief Account of the Discovery of the Gold Coast by Portuguese Navigators, a Short Narration of English Voyages, and a Study of the Rise of British Gold Coast Jurisdiction, Etc., Etc. (London: Cass, 1968): 52–3. Hagan, ‘The Political Aspect’, 38. Chris Abotchie, ‘Legal Processes and Institutions’, in Francis Agbodeka (ed.), A Handbook of Ewes. Vol. 1 The Ewes of South Eastern Ghana (Accra: Woeli Publishing Services, 1997): 79. I am grateful to Nana Obentsir-Kumah VIII, Adontsenhen and vice-president of the Gomoa Traditional Council, Nana Okra Tawia, Odzekro of Gomoa Sampah and Nana Amoasi, queen mother of the Adontsen division of the Gomoa Traditional Area for the information about the judicial processes of Gomoa. See also, J. B. Crayner, BorBor Kunkumfi (Accra: Bureau of Ghana Languages, 1989): 78–9. F. Kwasi Fiawoo, The Fifth Landing Stage (Accra: Sedco, 1983): vii–ix. Sandra Greene, ‘Sacred Terrain: Religion, Politics and Place in the History of Anloga (Ghana)’, The International Journal of African Historical Studies, 30/1 (1997): 6. J. A. Annobil, Mfantse Ebirempon (Cape Coast: Methodist Book Depot, 1955): 15–25; see also, Abotchie, ‘Legal Processes’, 80. Abotchie, ‘Legal Processes’, 75. Mike Oquaye, ‘Human Rights in Africa in the Global Order: A Dilemma, (A Ghanaian Viewpoint)’, in Dani W. Nabudere (ed.), Globalisation and the Post Colonial African State (Harare: AAPS Books, 2000): 88. Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, in Abdullahi A. An-Na’im (ed.), Cultural Transformation and Human Rights in Africa (London: Zed Books, 2002): 47.

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53 Articles 27 to 29 of the UDHR are communitarian. The last paragraph of the preamble to the ICCPR reads: ‘Realizing that the individual, having duties to other individuals and to the community to which he belongs, is under a responsibility to strive for the promotion and observance of the rights recognised in present Covenant.’ 54 Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, 48. 55 K. A. Busia, ‘Introduction’, in Cruickshank, Eighteen Years on the Gold Coast of Africa, 17. 56 Chanock, ‘Human Rights and Cultural Branding’, 48. 57 Barbara Bush, Imperialism, Race and Resistance: Africa and Britain 1919–1945 (London/ New York: Routledge, 1999): 113. 58 J. Feinberg, Rights, Justice and the Bounds of Liberty (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980): 151. 59 Arvind Sharma, ‘The Religious Perspective: Dignity as a Foundation for Human Rights’, in Joseph Runzo, Nancy M. Martin and Arvind Sharma (eds), Human Rights and Responsibilities in World Religions (Oxford: One World Publications, 2002): 67–76. 60 Martha Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996): 316–58. 61 Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989): 152. 62 I. Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (New York: Harper & Row, 1964): 96. 63 John Rawls, Lectures on the History of Moral Philosophy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000): 177–80. 64 Kant, Groundwork, 88. 65 J. De Gruchy, Liberating Reformed Theology: A South African Contribution to an Ecumenical Debate (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991): 135–6. 66 Louis Henkin, ‘Religion, Religions, and Human Rights’, Journal of Religious Ethics, 26/2 (Fall, 1981): 232. 67 A. Hansen, ‘African Refugees: Defining and Defending Their Human Rights’, in R. Cohen et al. (eds), Human Rights and Governance in Africa (Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida, 1993): 161–2. 68 Togbe Zewu III who in 2004 said was 74 years old had a secondary-school education and is a practicing Roman Catholic. 69 Nana Okra Tawiah was 64 years old in 2007. He trained and worked as teacher and local preacher in Presbyterian schools for several years. 70 Christian Gaba, ‘The Religious Life of the People’, in Agbodeka, A Handbook, 102. 71 Hendrik M. Vroom, ‘Religious Ways of Life and Human Rights’, in Abdullahi A. An-Na’im et al. (eds), Human Rights and Religious Values: An Uneasy Relationship? (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2004): 25.

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72 The idea involved in se as ‘destiny’ is similar to that of the Akan which we discussed in Chapter 4. 73 Kwame Gyekye, African Cultural Values: An Introduction (Philadelphia, PA/Accra: Sankofa Publishing Company, 1996): 13. 74 Ibid. 75 G. K. Nukunya, ‘Social and Political Organization’, in Agbodeka, A Handbook, 52. 76 Ibid., 54; J. B. Danquah, The Ghanaian Establishment (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1997): 299. 77 Harry Lawson K. Agbanu, ‘Moral Evil and “Cremation” Among Mafi Eûe of Ghana’ (Master’s thesis, University of Ghana, 1999): 48. 78 As Gilbert explains, for example, ‘. . . the introduction of Christianity has merely widened the range of categories which can be invoked or chosen in the ever-changing interplay between category and practice’. Michelle Gilbert, ‘Sources of Power in Akuropong-Akuapem: Ambiguity in Classification’, in W. Arens and Ivan Karp (eds), Creativity of Power (Washington/London: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989): 59–90. 79 Sarbah, Mfantse Customary Laws, 283. 80 Abamfo Atiemo, ‘Mmusuyi and Deliverance: A Study of Conflict and Consensus in the Encounter between Christianity and African Traditional Religion’ (Master’s thesis, University of Ghana, 1995): 19. 81 Adultery, if it was committed against a chief attracted the capital punishment. 82 Abotchie, ‘Legal Processes’, 81. 83 The UNCRC, in Articles 7 and 8 provides for the right to have name from birth and be granted nationality and makes it the state’s duty to protect the child’s identity. 84 Reported murders against albinos in Burundi (see ‘Albinos in Burundi Flee Killings’, Daily Graphic (4 October 2008): 5. 85 Recent reported murders of hunchbacks in Ghana were believed to have been carried out for ritual purposes. See, ‘Two More Arrested Over Hunchback Killings’, The Ghanaian Times (2 September 2008): 4. 86 According to Agbanu, the ritual of cremating alleged witches, sorcerers and those who practise bad medicine is still practised among the Mafi Ewe. See Agbanu, ‘Moral Evil and “Cremation”’, 86; Ejidike reports from Nigeria: ‘Those who died with swollen stomachs or struck by lightning were believed to have incurred the wrath of the gods and were therefore denied burial and cursed never to reincarnate. They lost any claim to burial and remain thrown into the forest.’ See Martin Okey Ejidike, ‘Human Rights in the Cultural Traditions of the Ibo of South-Eastern Nigeria’, Journal of African Law, 43 (1999): 75. 87 Ahortor’s study among the Ewe of North Tongu gives an important insight. Disability is explained as being the result of moral failings or wickedness or activities of evil spirits. Such views inform that social attitudes towards people

242

  88   89   90   91   92   93

  94   95   96

  97   98   99

100 101

102

103

Notes with disabilities. See, Godson Ahortor, ‘Traditional Beliefs and Attitudes towards Disability Among the People of North Tongu’ (Master’s thesis, University of Ghana, 2000): 50–64. Ahortor, ‘Traditional Beliefs’, 68–72. A. N. Allott, ‘Marriage and Internal Conflict of Laws in Ghana’, Journal of African Law, 2 (1958): 177. Ray A. Kea, Settlements, Trade, and Politics in the 17th Century Gold Coast (Baltimore/London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982): 303–5. Ibid., 305. Kwasi Wiredu, ‘An Akan Perspective on Human Rights’, in Human Rights in Africa: Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Washington: Brookings Institution Press, 1990): 258. For example, at Bantama during the annual Odwira for the former Asantehemfo (Asante kings), victims of such ritual killings were despatched with the sending-off command ko samandow ko som (go serve in the world of the dead). See R. S. Rattray, Religion and Art in Ashanti (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1927): 139–43. Rattray, Religion and Art, 5, 22, 27n., 132, 153; See Atiemo, ‘Mmusuyi and Deliverance’, 45. J. Max Assimeng, An Anatomy of Modern Ghana: J. B. Danquah Memorial Lectures, 28th Series, March 1995 (Accra: Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1996): 15. A. Adu Boahen, Ghana: Evolution and Change in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (London: Longman Group, 1975): 40–1; G. E. Metcalfe, Maclean of the Gold Coast, 1801–1847 (London: Oxford University Press, 1962): vi–x. David Kimble, A Political History of Ghana (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963): 131. Boahen, Ghana: Evolution, 39. Kwame Arhin, ‘Some Asante Views on Colonial Rule: As Seen in the Controversy Relating to Death Duties’, Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana, 16/2, New Series, 1 (January 1995): 157; K. A. Busia, The Position of the Chief in the Modern Political System of Ashanti (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the International African Institute, 1951): 124. Kwame Arhin, ‘A Note on the Asante Akonkofo: A Non-Literate Sub-Elite, 1900– 1930’, Africa, 56/1 (1986): 28. Some of the newspapers that emerged from the nineteenth century onward were the West African Herald, the Gold Coast Chronicle, the Gold Coast Methodist Times and Gold Coast Echo. For a detailed account of the Basel Missionaries’ involvement in enforcing the Emancipation order, see Peter Haenger, Slaves and Slaveholders on the Gold Coast: Towards an Understanding of Social Bondage in West Africa (Basel, Switzerland: P. Schlettwein Publishing, 2000) and also, Perbi, A History of Indigenous Slavery. Peter Haenger, Slaves, 135.

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104 Max Assimeng, Foundations of African Social Thought: A Contribution to the Sociology of Knowledge (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1997): 40–7. 105 J. C. deGraft Johnson, ‘Memorandum on the Vestiges of Slavery in the Gold Coast’ (National Archives of Ghana, Accra, ADM11/1/975, and 17 October 1927).

Chapter 7    1 See E. Gyimah-Boadi, ‘Confronting the Legacy of Human Rights Abuse in Africa: Lessons from Ghana’ (Ghana Center for Democratic Development, CDD-Ghana, March, 2004): 10.    2 The Chronicle (14 December 2005): 5.    3 Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice, ‘State of Human Rights in Ghana, 2006’ (8 December 2006).    4 Article 12 (1).    5 Kwasi Wiredu, ‘An Akan Perspective on Human Rights’, in Human Rights in Africa: Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Washington: Brookings Institution Press, 1990): 249.    6 Articles 27–29 prescribe the duties of individuals towards the family and society, the state and the international community.    7 This idea seems widespread, especially, in the rural areas. Nana Okra Tawia of Gomoa Sampah thinks that the idea became widespread through the activities of government civic education departments in the post-independence era, in efforts to create a sense of patriotism and civic responsibility in citizens. (Personal interview with Nana Okra Tawia at Gomoa Antseadze on 6 March 2008).    8 A. A. Boahen, ‘The Concept and Practice of Human Rights in Ghana’, in Human Rights and the Democratic Process (Proceedings of the Ghana Academy of Arts and Sciences, XIX, 1980): 28.    9 In fact some African rulers who questioned the usurping of their power by the Europeans, even at a time when there was no formal colonial rule, were ruthlessly dealt with. King Aggrey of Cape Coast, for example, was sent into exile in 1866 for complaining about what he felt was undue interference with the internal affairs of his kingdom by the British officials. It was mainly through the use of force rather than education and diplomacy that the British authorities got the chiefs to do their bidding. As Annobil explains, Ngyiresi aban ennya mbew no do ahemfo won ho adagyer annkyerekyere nsem mu annkyere hon, ntsi hon nyee fa ara etur na aprem ho suro na wodze yee (The British colonial government did not take time to explain issues to the chiefs of the Gold Coast. Instead they used guns and bullets to cow them into submission). See J. A. Annobil, Mfantse Ebirempon (Cape Coast: Methodist Book Depot, 1955): 40–4.

244

Notes

10 Since the 1970s, many state corporations collapsed, and since then governments have not been keen in running businesses. 11 Gyimah-Boadi, ‘Confronting the Legacy’, 1. See also the National Reconciliation Commission (NRC) report 1.4.1.1, on the ‘Ghana Police Service’. 12 See, for example, the booklet, The Church and Ghana’s Search for a New Democratic System: A Study Material for Christians (Accra: Christian Council of Ghana, 1990): 15–17. 13 This came up only in Anlo. 14 Harri Englund, Prisoners of Freedom: Human Rights and the African Poor (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 2006): 48. 15 These are also the terms used by the NCCE in their Akan (Asante) translations of human rights. ‘Human rights’ is translated fawohodie ne wokyefa or onipa kyefa ne ne fahodie ho nnyinasoo. The first one literally translates ‘freedom and your portion/ due’. The second one translates ‘the basis of the human being’s portion/due’. See Ghana Adehyeman Amammuo Ho Mmara Aposoaposo (published by the National Commission on Democracy, 1992). 16 The preamble to The 1992 Constitution of the Republic of Ghana. 17 Johannes A. Van der Ven, S. Jaco Dreyer and Hendrik J. C. Pieterse, Is There a God of Human Rights? A Complex Relationship between Human Rights and Religion: A South African Care Study (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005): 277. 18 P. Van Dijk et al., International Law, Human Rights (Den Haag Koninklijk Vermande, 2000): 454–7. Cited in Van der Ven et al., Is There a God of Human Rights? 276. 19 Van der Ven et al., Is There a God of Human Rights? 276, footnote 14. 20 Matthijs de Blois, ‘Self-Determination or Human Dignity: The Core Principle of Human Rights’, in Mielle Bulterman, Aart Hendriks and Jacqueline Smith (eds), To Baehr in Our Minds: Essays on Human Rights from the Heart of the Netherlands (Utrecht: SIM Special, no. 21, 1998): 524. 21 C. S. Nino, The Ethics of Human Rights (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991): 132. 22 De Blois, ‘Self-Determination’, 525–39. 23 Dr Appiagyei-Atuah, personal conversation with author, 11 December 2008. 24 See Article 12 (2). 25 Van der Ven et al., Is There a God of Human Rights? 283. 26 Zorach v. Clauson, 343 U.S. 306, 313 (1952). Cited in E. K. Quashigah, ‘Legislating Religious Liberty: The Ghanaian Experience’, Brigham Young University Law Review, 2 (1999): 598. 27 J. Moltmann, ‘What Right Has the Image of God’, Evangelische Kommentare, 9/5 (1976): 280–2. Cited by Torleiv Austad, ‘The Theological Foundation of Human Rights’, in Jørgen Lissner and Arne Sovik (eds), A Lutheran Reader on Human Rights (Geneva: Lutheran World Federation, 1978): 55–65.

Notes

245

28 John Finnis, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights’, Political Theory, 10/1 (February, 1982): 133–6. 29 Statement attributed to Sheik Seebaway Zakariah, spokesperson for the COMOG, ‘Muslims Cry Foul Over Population Figures’, Africanews – 71 – February 2002, www.peacelink.it/afrinews/71_issue/ 8. 30 2000 Population and Housing Census: Summary Report of Final Results (Accra: GhanaStatistical Service, 2002). See also, E. Gyimah-Boadi and Richard Asante, ‘Minorities in Ghana’, A Paper Prepared for the Commission on Human Rights, Sub-Commission on Promotion and Protection of Human Rights, Working Group on Minorities (E/CN.4/Sub.2/AC.5/2003/WP.4) 5 May 2003, www.unhcr.ch/ huridocda/huridoca.nsf/0. 31 The Constitution of Ghana, 1992, Article 11 (2). 32 The Constitution, Article 11 (3). 33 Victor S. Gedzi, ‘Principles and Practices of Dispute Resolution in Ghana: Ewe and Akan Procedures on Females’ Inheritance and Property Rights’ ( Ph.D. dissertation, The International Institute of Social Studies of the Erasmus University of Rotterdam, The Hague, 2009): 28, 29. 34 Court Act, 1993 (Act 459) Section 54 (1). 35 Section 55 (1) of the Courts Act, 1993 (Act 459), provide some guidelines for applying customary law in the regular courts of law but in the courts of the chiefs customary laws are applied, in most cases, on the basis of principles that are not explicitly guided by human rights principles. 36 In several towns and villages in southern Ghana, traditional authorities seek to enforce customary laws, including those with obvious religious overlays. The sanctions are sometimes extremely harsh and abusive of people’s human rights as citizens. An incident I witnessed in an Mfantse town, a woman who was said to have consistently refused to contribute to a funeral fund had been handed a very severe sanction. She was not to be seen to fetch water from the public borehole, she was not to buy or sell in the town’s market, and if she died she would be denied the normal funeral rites for citizens. In November, 2007, while collecting material for this work, I heard on one of the FM stations – Peace FM, about a similar incident in Akim-Abuakwa, in which a woman had been put under similar sanctions. When the chief of the town was contacted on air, his explanation confirmed that such sanctions had been imposed on the woman. In Anloga, when Christians refused to observe a customary period of silence, preceding the festival of the gods, the traditional council made attempts to apply similar sanctions. 37 Gedzi, ‘Principles and Practices’, 212. 38 S. Huntington, ‘The Clash of Civilizations?’ Foreign Affairs, 72/3 (Summer, 1993): 22–43.

246

Notes

39 John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973) and Political Liberalism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993). 40 Both religious and regional (and sometimes, ethnic) lobby groups put pressure on political parties to give certain appointments to their people. Especially, the position of the president and the vice-president has become, for some people, offices to be shared between the North and the South or between a Muslim and a Christian. 41 See his early writings, especially, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971). 42 John Rawls, ‘Justice as Fairness: Political Not Metaphysical’, Philosophy and Public Affairs, 14/3 (1985): 250. 43 Ibid., 231. 44 Ibid. 45 Cited in J. Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action: A Critique of Functionalist Reason, Trans. T. McCarthy, Vol. 2, Life-World and System (London: Polity Press, 1987): 131. 46 Ibid., 157. 47 Van der Ven et al., Is There a God of Human Rights? 40. 48 Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, 154. 49 Martha Nussbaum, Frontiers of Justice: Disability, Nationality, Species Membership (Cambridge, MA /London: The Belknap Press of the Harvard University Press, 2006): 76–8. 50 E. K. Quashigah, ‘Religious Freedom and Vestal Virgins: The Trokosi Practice in Ghana’, African Journal of International Comparative Law, 10/2 (1998): 194. 51 The Afrikania Renaissance Mission and other influential supporters of the practice seem to have been successful in persuading sections of the international community that the practice is a harmless cultural practice. This is reflected in the 2004 report of the US embassy on human rights in Ghana, which seems to suggest it must be accommodated, as if the very idea of sending a child to serve in atonement for another person’s misdeeds is not outrageous enough. 52 Elom Dovlo, ‘Religion in the Public Sphere: Challenges and Opportunities in Ghanaian Lawmaking, 1989–2004’, Brigham Young University Law Review, 3 (2005): 630. 53 Quashigah, ‘Religious Freedom’, 214. 54 The US Department of State website at www.state.gov (accessed 4 July 2008). 55 Quashigah, ‘Religious Freedom’, 201. 56 Open Society Institute, Ghana: Justice Sector and the Rule of Law (Senegal: Open Society Initiative for West Africa, 2007): 88. 57 Audrey Gadzekpo, ‘Women’s and Girl’s Experience and Understanding of Violence’, in Coker Appiah and Cusack, Violence against Women and Children in Ghana (Accra: Gender and Human Rights Documentation Centre, 1999): 81.

Notes

247

58 A. Halim, ‘Tools of Suppression’, Gender, Violence and Women’s Human Rights in Africa (New Brunswick, NJ: Centre for Women’s Global Leadership, 1994): 28. 59 Corinne A. A. Packer, Using Human Rights to Change Tradition: Traditional Practices Harmful to Women’s Reproductive Health in Sub-Saharan Africa (Atwerpen/Oxford/ New York: INTERSENTIA, 2002): 151.

Chapter 8   1 Fortman and Goldewijk, Where Needs Meet Rights: Economic, Social and Cultural Rights in a New Perspective (Geneva: WCC Publications, 1999): 55 and 56.   2 Examples are: the Universal Islamic Declaration of Human Rights (1981), Rabbis for Human Rights Principles of Faith (2003), a Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the World’s Religions (2000) and the United Religions Initiative Charter (2000). See Gerrie ter Haar and James Busuttil (eds), Bridge and Barrier: Religion, Violence and Visions for Peace (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005): 299–369.   3 In our view, criticisms levelled against what have been termed its ‘claw-back’ clauses are legitimate because of their vagueness. The ‘distinctive African features’ we refer to are the duties the document prescribes for individuals, which have also attracted severe criticisms from scholars and human rights workers. See for example, Amnesty International, Amnesty International’s Observations on Possible Reforms of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (New York: Amnesty International, 1993); C. Flinterman and E. Ankumah, ‘The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights’, in H. Hannum (ed.), Guide to International Human Rights Practice (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992): 166–7.   4 Makau wa Mutua, ‘The Banjul Charter: The Case for an African Fingerprint’, in A. A. An-Na’im (ed.), Cultural Transformation, 75.   5 Edward P. Antonio (ed.), Inculturation and Post-Colonial Discourse in African Theology (New York: Peter Lang, 2006): 1.   6 Antonio, Inculturation, 1 and 2.   7 Ibid., 174.   8 Oduyoye, Daughters of Anowa: African Women & Patriarchy (Maryknoll, NJ: Orbis Books, 1995): 180–1.   9 Dunstan M. Wai, ‘Human Rights in Sub-Saharan Africa’, in Adamantia Pollis and Peter Schwab (eds), Human Rights: Cultural and Ideological Perspectives (New York: Praeger, 1979): 115–44. 10 Jr. Claude E. Welch, ‘Human Rights as a Problem in Contemporary in Africa’, in Jr. Claude Welch and Ronald Meltzer (eds), Human Rights and Development in Africa (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1984): 11–13.

248

Notes

11 William B. Harvey, Law and Social Change in Ghana (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1966): 353. 12 Ibid. 13 G. Mikell, ‘Culture, Law, and Social Policy: Changing Economic Policy of Ghanaian Women’, The Yale Journal of International Law, 17/1 (1992): 225–39. 14 Terrence Ranger, ‘The Invention of Tradition in Colonial Africa’, in Eric Hobsbawm and Terrence Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1983): 212. 15 Quoted by Fortman and Goldewijk, Where Needs Meet Rights, 55. 16 The left hand in Ghanaian culture is considered impure. As part of the socializing process, growing children are taught how to use the right hand in social interactions, since greeting another person, especially an elder, with the left hand is a sign of gross disrespect. The proverb means once somebody has a right to something, no behaviour or condition of that person can be reason enough to deny them the enjoyment of that right. 17 Max Assimeng, Foundations of African Social Thought: A Contribution to the Sociology of Knowledge (Accra : Ghana Universities Press, 1997): 27. 18 S. K. B. Asante, Property Law and Social Goals in Ghana – 1844–1966 (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1975): 281. 19 Max Assimeng, Salvation, Social Crisis and the Human Condition (Accra: Ghana University Press, 1995): 33. 20 Kwasi Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars: An African Perspective (Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1996): 48. 21 Article 28 (4) of the Constitution forbids this in the case of children. 22 See, front-page story of the Daily Graphic, Tuesday, 21 June 2011. 23 See news report, ‘Ghanaians Are Hypocrites – University Don Bares Teeth’, www. ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/artikel.php?ID=222944 (accessed 21 November 2011). 24 E. G. Gifty Ohene Konadu, a member of parliament for Asante – Akim South. See news report, ‘Ghana MP Defends UK’s Pro-Gay PM; Gays Are Humans & Must Enjoy’, www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/artikel.php?ID=22278 (accessed 21 November 2011); and also Nana Oye Lithur, a human rights lawyer. See news report, ‘Nana Oye Lithur: Gays Have Rights & Must be Respected’, www. ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/artikel.php?ID=222923 (accessed 21 November 2011). 25 Corinne A. A. Packer, Using Human Rights to Change Tradition: Traditional Practices Harmful to Women’s Reproductive Health in Sub-Saharan African (Atwerpen/Oxford/New York: INTERSENTIA, 2002): 131–54. 26 In the traditional belief of reincarnation, it was the ancestors who were believed to be reborn as babies.

Notes

249

27 Without discounting other factors that may be scientifically proved, several Ghanaians attribute economic crises to ‘satanic powers’ that control multilateral institutions and the unfair world economic order; businessmen and women actually believe their ventures can prosper or fail through interventions of spirit powers; and traditional priests advertise themselves on television and radio. 28 Wiredu, Cultural Universals, 158. 29 Kwame Gyekye, African Cultural Values: An Introduction (Philadelphia, PA/Accra: Sankofa Publishing Company, 1996): 13. 30 J. B. Danquah, The Akan Doctrine of God (London: Frank and Cass, 1968): 37. 31 Kwasi Wiredu, Philosophy and African Culture (London: Cambridge University Press, 1980): 11; E. H. Mends, ‘Some Basic Elements in the Culture of Ghana’, Universitas, 7/1 (1978): 41 and 42. 32 Johannes A. Van der Ven et al., Is There a God of Human Rights? A Complex Relationship between Human Rights and Religion: A South African Care Study (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005): 274. 33 Martha Nussbaum, Frontiers of Justice: Disability, Nationality, Species Membership (Cambridge, MA /London: The Belknap Press of the Harvard University Press, 2006): 70. 34 Ibid. 35 Ibid., 71. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid., 76 and 77. 38 Ibid., 285. 39 Wiredu, Cultural Universals, 165. 40 Ibid., 41. 41 Ibid. 42 Nussbaum, Frontiers of Justice, 70. 43 Joy Gordon, Human Rights (Ashgate: Darmouth, 2003): 63. 44 Preambles of the UDHR and ICCPR, for example, mention the term ‘human family’, and Article 1 of the UDHR enjoins ‘all human beings’ to ‘act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood’. 45 Danquah, Akan Doctrine, 37 and 38. 46 Assimeng, Foundations, 27. 47 Alexander Baron Holmes IV, ‘Economic and Political Organization in the Gold Coast – 1920–1945’ (Ph.D. thesis, University of Chicago, 1972): 10–22. 48 On the distinction between ‘custom’ and ‘tradition’, see Eric Hobsbawm, ‘Introduction: Invention of Tradition’, in Hobsbawm and Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, 1 and 2. 49 Bonny Ibhawoh, ‘Between Culture and Constitution: Evaluating the Cultural Legitimacy of Human rights in the African State’, Human Rights Quarterly, 22 (2002): 842.

250

Notes

50 For example, most of the issues that featured at the 2008 review of the fulfilment of Ghana’s human rights obligations by the Human Rights Council’s Universal Periodic Review Working Group were about customary practices or related to them. (See UN Human Rights, accessed on 4 July 2008, www.unhcr.org/refworld/ docid/485b962e0.html). 51 See, for example, ‘Child Labour Still Prevalent in Ghana – LRC Calls for Affirmative Action’, The Chronicle, Friday, 28 June 2008; ‘500 Protest Against Widowhood Rites’, The Spectator, Saturday, 30 June 2007. 52 Victor S. Gedzi, ‘Principles and Practices of Dispute Resolution in Ghana: Ewe and Akan Procedures on Female’s Inheritance and Property Rights’ (Doctoral dissertation, Institute of Social Studies of Erasmus University of Rotterdam, The Hague: Shaker Publishing, 2009): 213. 53 See A. Adu Boahen, Ghana: Evolution and Change in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (London: Longman Group, 1975): 40–1; Antony Allott, Essays in African Law with Special Reference to the Law of Ghana (London: Butterworth, 1960): 102. 54 Packer, Using Human Rights, 182. 55 See, for example, E. K. Quashigah, ‘Religious Freedom and Vestal Virgins: The Trokosi Practice in Ghana’, African Journal of International and Comparative Law, 10 (1998); Elom Dovlo and A. K. Adjoyi, Report on Trokosi Institution (Report of a Research Project Conducted for International Needs, Ghana, 1995). 56 Agnes Kutin, Letter to the editor, Daily Graphic, Friday, 12 July 2008, 9. 57 See Bureau of Public Affairs, US Department of State, Ghana – Country Reports on Human Rights Practices – 2002 (31 March 2003). 58 Rattray’s works include, Ashanti (London: Oxford University Press, 1923); Religion and Art in Ashanti (London: Oxford University Press, 1927); The Tribes of Ashanti Hinterland (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1932). Fields’s works include, Akim – Kotoku: An Oman of the Gold Coast (London: Crown Agents for the Colonies, 1948) and Religion and Medicine of the Ga People (London: Oxford University Press, 1937). 59 For a discussion of the challenges faced by the Colonial Government, see Natasha Gray, ‘Witches, Oracles, and Colonial Law: Evolving Anti-Witchcraft Practices in Ghana, 1927–1932’, The International Journal of African Historical Studies, 34/2 (2001): 339–43. 60 Jean Allman and John Parker, Tongnaab: The History of a West African God (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2005): 163–70. 61 Ibid., 162–3. 62 Hans Debrunner, Witchcraft in Ghana: A Study on the Belief in Destructive Witches and Its Effect on the Akan Tribes (Kumasi: Presbyterian Book Depot, 1959): 85; M. J. Field, Search for Security: An Ethno-Psychiatric Study of Rural Ghana (New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1970): 149.

Notes

251

63 Allman and Parker, Tongnaab, 170–5; Gray, ‘Witches, Oracles’, 359–63. 64 Leda Hasila Limann, ‘Widowhood Rites and the Rights of Women in Africa: The Ugandan Experience’ (LLM dissertation, Makerere University, Uganda, 2003): 25. 65 For a discussion of relevant instruments, see Limann, ‘Widowhood Rites’. 66 See, for example, ‘Widowhood Rites on Ascendancy in Asutifi – A Victim Narrates Her Ordeal’, The Ghanaian Chronicle, 6 June 2006; ‘500 Widows’, The Spectator. 67 ‘Fate of Mo Widows Now Certain’, Graphic Online, 28 June 2008. 68 E. H. Mends, ‘The Rights of the Child in Ghana: The Socio-Cultural Milieu’, in Henrietta J. A. N. Mensah-Bonsu and Christine Dowuona-Hammond (eds), The Rights of the Child in Ghanaian Perspectives (Accra: Woeli Publishing Services, 1994): 7. 69 Christine Oppong and Katherine Abu (eds), Seven Roles of Women: The Impact of Education, Migration, and Employment on Ghanaian Mothers (Geneva: ILO, 1987): 79. 70 Ibid. 71 www.afrol.com/News2001/gha007_child_labour.htm (accessed 3 July 2008). 72 Oppong and Abu, Seven Roles, 80. 73 Sudharshan Canagarajah and Harold Coulombe, ‘Child Labour and Schooling in Ghana’, A paper prepared as part of a World Bank Economic and Sector Work (ESW), Ghana: Labor Markets and Poverty (1997). 74 Canagarajah and Coulombe, ‘Child Labour’, 20–7. 75 G. K. Nukunya, ‘Social and Political Organization’, in Agbodeka, A Handbook, 50. 76 J. B. Danquah, The Ghanaian Establishment (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1997): 297. 77 Asante, Property Laws, 256. 78 Christine Oppong observes that in both patrilineal and matrilineal societies in Ghana, traditional arrangements existed that granted autonomous identity to women apart from their husband. 79 William Bosman, A New and Accurate Description of the Coast of Guinea (1704) (4th edn) (London: Frank Cass, 1976). Quoted by W. C. Ekow Daniels, ‘The Legal Position of Women under Our Marriage Laws’, University of Ghana Law Journal, 39, 58 (1972): 50. 80 Danquah, The Ghanaian Establishment, 29. 81 Nukunya, ‘Social and Political Organization’, 51. 82 Sandra Greene, Gender, Ethnicity, and Social Change on the Upper Slave Coast: A History of the Anlo-Ewe (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1996): 4. 83 David Kimble, A Political History of Ghana (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963).

252

Notes

Chapter 9   1 Kwadwo Appiagyei-Atua and Ahmed El-Obaid, ‘Human Rights in Africa: A New Perspective on Linking the Past to the Present’, McGill Law Journal/Revue De Droit De McGill, 41 (1996): 821.   2 According to Brinkman, almost every transitional situation involves the stage of liminality, an ‘in-between’ situation which can imply an ‘in-both’ that can lead to a creative ‘in-beyond’ – a ‘transcending of both cultures from the inside out’. See Martien E. Brinkman, The Non-Western Jesus: Jesus as Bodhisattva, Avatar, Guru, Prophet, Ancestor or Healer? (London: Equinox, 2007): 247.   3 For example, Martin Wight, The Gold Coast Legislative Council (London: Faber & Faber, 1946): 34 and 35; A. W. Cardinal, The Gold Coast, 1931: To Those in 1921, Based on Figures on Facts in 1931 as Compared by the Chiefs Census Officers of 1931 Together with An Historical, Ethnographical and Sociological Survey of the People of That Country (Accra: Government Publishing Press, 1931): 9.   4 David Herbert, Religion and Civil Society: Rethinking Public Religion in the Contemporary World (Hampshire/Burlington: Ashgate, 2003): 150.   5 Brinkman, The Non-Western Jesus, 17.   6 Robert Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000): 362.   7 Paul Gifford, Ghana’s New Christianity: Pentecostalism in a Globalising Economy (London: Hurst & Co., 2004): 189.   8 Roger Finke, ‘Spiritual Capital: Definitions, Applications, and New Frontiers’ (Prepared for the Spiritual Capital Planning Meeting, Penn State University, 10–11 October 2003) 3.   9 Putnam, Bowling Alone, 67. 10 E. K. Larbi, Pentecostalism: Eddies of Ghanaian Christianity (Accra: Centre for Pentecostal and Charismatic Studies, 2001): 312–13. 11 William Bosman, A New and Accurate Description of the Coast of Guinea (1704) (4th edn) (London: Barnes and Noble, 1967): 176. 12 Abamfo Atiemo, ‘Mmusuyi and Deliverance: A Study of Conflict and Consensus in the Encounter between Christianity and African Traditional Religion’ (Master’s thesis, University of Ghana, 1995): 100. 13 Prof Kwabena Nketiah, former director of International Centre of African Music and Dance (ICAMD), University of Ghana. Personal conversation at his office, May 2002, in connection with a research on the concept and attitudes to prosperity and failure among the Akan. 14 Ecclesiastes 9:11. 15 See, for example, Abamfo Atiemo, ‘Zetaheal Mission in Ghana: Christians and Muslims Worshipping Together?’ Exchange, 32/1 (January, 2003): 15–36, where we

Notes

16

17 18 19

20

21

22 23

24 25

253

report about Prophetess Lehem, leader and founder of the Zetaheal Mission, who is believed by her followers to be the end-time messiah. Her claim to messiahship is explained in terms of the biblical story of the fall caused by Eve, the first woman. She insists in the holy book of the movement that ‘if a woman caused the fall of man in the Garden of Eden, then naturally, it is expected that a woman will stand in to ask for pardon and repave the way for humanity’. Zetaheal Mission, God with Us: Presented by the Angels of God through Lehem (Accra: Consolidated Support Services, 1995): 10. Akrong observes that ‘in Ghanaian folklore the face of witchcraft is feminine’. A. A. Akrong, ‘A Phenomenology of Witchcraft in Ghana’, in Gerrie ter Haar (ed.), Imagining Evil: Witchcraft Beliefs and Accusations in Contemporary Africa (Trenton/ Asmara: African World Press, 2007): 61. Ibid., 62. Gerrie ter Haar, ‘Ghanaian Witchcraft Beliefs: A View from the Netherlands’, in Ter Haar, Imagining Evil, 92–112. Some experts and officials of specialized organisations and NGOs who participated in the research said the fear of possible spiritual harm by rival parties in litigation is one of the factors impeding the smooth growth of human rights culture in Ghana. It could well be that the so-called Fa ma Nyame mentality often has such fear beneath it. Victor S. Gedzi, ‘Principles and Practices of Dispute Resolution in Ghana: Ewe and Akan Procedures on Female’s Inheritance and Property Rights’ (Doctoral dissertation, Institute of Social Studies of Erasmus University of Rotterdam, The Hague: Shaker Publishing, 2009): 134. Prof S. Kwaku Asare, ‘Can Judicial Inefficiency Lead to Mob Justice, Vigilantism and Spiritual Justice’, The Statesman, 11 July 2007. The same article was published in The Chronicle of 6 July 2007. See ‘Juju in Parliament’, Daily Guide, 19 January 2009. In October 2007, a member of the administrative branch of the University of Ghana was taken ill. When treatment at the University Hospital seemed not fast enough, he consulted a prophetess who ‘revealed’ that his illness was a result of juju used on him by a subordinate he disciplined for misconduct. When another friend and I visited him, he told us this story and his resolve to ‘be careful next time’ and not put his life in danger since he had ‘only two years to proceed on retirement’. And in a discussion with a senior public servant, she confirmed that such fear exists among some public servants. Richard Amoako Baah, Human Rights in Africa: The Conflict of Interpretation (Lanham/ New York /Oxford: University Press of America, 2000): 91. Joseph Runzo, ‘Secular Rights and Religious Responsibilities’, in Joseph Runzo, Nancy M. Martin and Arvind Sharma (eds), Human Rights and Responsibilities in World Religions (Oxford: One World Publications, 2002): 15.

254

Notes

26 Kwasi Wiredu, ‘Death and Afterlife in African Culture’, in Kwasi Wiredu and Kwame Gyekye (eds), Person and Community (Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 1992): 145. 27 Open Society Institute, Ghana: Justice Sector and the Rule of Law (Senegal: Open Society Initiative for Africa, 2007): 88. 28 Paul Jenkins, ‘A Comment on M.P. Frempong’s History of the Presbyterian Church at Bompata’, Ghana Notes and Queries, 12 (June, 1972): 23–7.

Appendix

Analysis of the field survey General public

Background information Table A.1 Age Range of ages

frequency

per cent

10–20 21–30 31–40 41–50 51–60 61–70 71–80 Above 80 Total

16 30 18 12 12 8 2 2 100

16.0 30.0 18.0 12.0 12.0 8.0 2.0 2.0 100

Table A.2 Gender Gender

frequency

per cent

Male Female Total

64 36 100

64.0 36.0 100

Table A.3 Religion Religions

frequency

per cent

Christianity Islam African Traditional Religion No Religion Total

64 28 6 2 100

64.0 28.0 6.0 2.0 100

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256

Appendix

Table A.4 Educational background Level of formal education

frequency

per cent

None Basic Secondary Tertiary Total

6 28 42 24 100

6.0 28.0 42.0 24.0 100

Table A.5 Ethnicity Ethnic groups

frequency

per cent

Akan Ewe Ga-Adangme Dagbani Nzema Frafra Mossi Total

52 16 20 4 2 2 4 100

52.0 16.0 20.0 4.0 2.0 2.0 4.0 100

Public awareness Table A.6 Do you know about human rights? Opinions

frequency

per cent

Yes No Total

88 12 100

88.0 12.0 100

Table A.7 Give examples of human rights Human rights

frequency

per cent

Right to life Right to the freedom of movement Right to the freedom of speech Right to the freedom of worship Right to health Right to education Right to good drinking water

15 14 12 11 10 9 8

15.0 14.0 12.0 11.0 10.0 9.0 8.0

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Appendix

257

Table A.7 Cont’d. Human rights

frequency

per cent

Right to vote Right to belong to a family Equality before the law Right to work and earn a living Right to marry and have children Right to be treated fairly before the court Total

6 5 4 3 2 1

6.0 5.0 4.0 3.0 2.0 1.0

100

100

Table A.8 Have you heard about the UDHR? Answers

frequency

per cent

Yes No Total

14 36 50

28.0 72.0 100

Table A.9 Do you know about the ACHPR? Answers

frequency

per cent

Yes No Total

8 42 50

16.0 84.0

Table A.10 Which human rights agencies do you know about? Agencies

frequency

per cent

Ghana Police Service CHRAJ DOVVSU FIDA NGOs Total

20 15 8 3 4 50

40.0 30.0 16.0 6.0 8.0 100

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258

Appendix

Table A.11 Why should people have human rights? Reasons

frequency

per cent

To enhance people’s freedom For people to get fair judgements To protect people against some bad cultural practices For equal accessibility of all people to basic needs and resources Total

15 10

30.0 20.0

11

22.0

14

28.0

50

100

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Index Abacha, S.  67 Aborigines’ Rights Protection Society (ARPS)  139, 222 adinkra symbol  130 African-Caribbean-Pacific (ACP)  205 African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights  1, 4, 41, 142, 205, 213, 247, 264, 274  see also Banjul Charter African Independent Churches (AICs)  11, 89, 101 African Union (AU)  141, 145–6 Afrikania Mission  92–3 Ahlus Sunna Wal-Jama’a  34 Ahmadiyya  11 Akaibi Dede  57 Akan  9, 62, 63, 65, 69, 70, 102, 115, 129, 130 chieftaincy  72 culture  46, 62, 65, 72 drum  72 language  10, 72, 106, 166 maxim  30, 148, 186, 196 Mfantse  10 proverb  37, 38 Akonnedi  88 Akrong, A. A.  253n. 16 Akrong, Barnabas  79, 231n. 41 Akwamu  10, 71 Allott, Antony  253n. 114 American Anthropological Association, The (AAA)  47, 220, 277 Amnesty International (AI)  25 Anan, Kofi  145 An-Na’im, A. A.  49 animism  167, 265 Anlo see Ewe Antubam, Kofi  64–6 Appiagyei-Atua, Kwadwo  114 Appiah, Kwame Anthony  37–8 Arhin, Kwame  81–2, 227n. 62 Arrupe, P.  55 asamando  8

Asante  10, 37, 71, 72, 76, 79, 80, 103, 138, 226, 227, 229 before the colonial period  226, 273 civil war  82 kingdom  71–2 property law  251 social life  37 under British rule  229 Asante, David  72 Assimeng, Max  21, 68, 75, 84, 87, 91, 139, 178 Baah, Richard Amoako  112 Banjul Charter  205, 220, 247, 266 Basel Mission  12, 72, 139 Benin  11, 159 Berger, Peter  16, 85, 209n. 14 Brinkman, Martien E.  50, 52, 217n. 123 British Parliament  16 Buddhism  35, 57, 163 Bume  130, 133 Bumenor  130 Cameron, David  40 capital,  capacity to accumulate  81 cultural  85 human  85–6 religious  85–6 religious human  85 spiritual  85–6, 97, 110, 189, 194–5, 197–202, 204 Capitein, Jacobus  87 Casanova, J.  16 Catholic Youth Organization (CYO)  90 Chanock, Martin  44, 56, 123–4 Christiansborg Castle  77, 143 Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS)  94 cold war  24, 26, 44, 50, 123, 221, 267 Commission for Human Rights and Administrative Justice

282

Index

(CHRAJ)  12, 142, 146, 158, 159, 198, 205, 218 Convention Peoples Party (CPP)  87, 90, 119 cultural relativism  7, 43, 46, 47, 48, 50, 52, 164, 193, 221 in current discourse  14 debate  35, 47 and inculturation  52 cultural transformation  49, 53, 206, 219–21, 239, 247, 259, 266 culture,  common Ghanaian  4–7, 14 features of  64–8 roots of  68–83 definition of  45–8, 50–1 as discursive category  44 elite  22–3 global  33–8, 49 and human rights  44, 55 and identity  46 popular  22–3 De Blois, Matthijs,  149 De Graft, William  78 dialogue,  cultural  48 directional  102, 138, 171, 178, 180, 188 formal  7, 55, 58, 169, 194 popular  7, 55, 56, 169, 179, 188 spontaneous  53, 171, 178, 184 domestic violence act  141 Domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit (DOVVSU)  146, 158–9, 259 Donnelly, J.  28, 48, 113 Douglas, Johnston  20 Durkheim, Emile  19 Dutch  77, 79, 187 Dworkin, R.  4, 31 egudodoame  131–3, 148, 172 Ellis, Stephen  19, 21–2 El-Obaid, A.  114 enculturation  15 enlightenment critique of religion (ECR)  16 enyimyam  131–2 European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR)  16, 48 European traders  11, 74 European Union (EU)  109, 205, 218–19, 259–60

euthanasia  39, 168 Evangelical Presbyterian Church  10 Ewe,  Anlo  9, 148 Christians  275 culture  10, 62 ethnic group  10 Eweland  13 Mafi Ewe  241 of North Tongu  241 subgroups  63 territories  72 Faith-based associations (FBAs)  86 Federation of International Women Lawyers (FIDA)  146, 158–9, 257 female-genital mutilation  8, 142 Ferguson, George E.  72, 81 Field, M. J.  11, 99–100, 116 Fort Patience  11 French revolution  22, 56 fundamentalists  33 Ga-Adangme  9, 62–3, 69–71, 115 Geertz, C.  45 Ghana Catholic Bishops’ Conference (GCBC)  94–5, 106 Ghana Armed Forces  12 global  1, 6, 35, 44, 52, 111, 177, 206–7 citizen  177 community  1 concern  1 culture  43, 48, 58, 169, 202 interaction  64 order  208, 239, 263, 275 politics  34 regime  52 standard  30 globalization  15, 26, 32–5, 59, 108, 211, 215–18, 271 Gomoa  9–13, 121, 128, 130, 134, 208, 239, 243 Ajumako  10–11 Assin  10–11 chiefdom  121 East District  21 Sampa  239, 243 traditional Area  10, 239 West District  11 Gordon, Joy  25–6, 199

Index grand scheme  3 Greater Accra  9 Gyimah-Boadi, E.  144 Habermas, J.  156–7, 176, 207n. 36 Hagan, P.  114 Halim, A.  160 Hammond, J.  49 Harrison, Peter  18 Havel, Vaclav  6, 31 Henry, Prince  77 Herbert, David  41, 43, 193 Herskovits, M. J.  62 Hervieu-Leger, D.  20 holy war  87, 92 Huntington, Samuel P.  44, 61–2 hybridity  61 Iannaccone, R.  85 identity-consciousness  33, 35, 44, 78, 129 Ignatieff, Michael  38, 48, 111 interfaith  17, 54 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)  19–20, 25, 124 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR)  25 international treaties  2, 25 interstate relations  1 intra-faith  54 Islam  11, 30, 35, 37, 57, 75–8, 82, 92, 95 and the Hausa  57 mainstream  34 popular  98 Islington council  40 Jacobson. H. K.  2 Joyce, James  50 Judeo-Christian tradition  65 Juvenile Justice Act, the  141 Kente weaving  10 Kimble, David  86, 101 Kla  132 Klaniczay, G.  22 Kumasi  72, 91–3, 113, 144, 199 Lauren, G.  39 League of Nations  10 Locke, John  23 luvo  129, 132

283

Maclean, George  79, 80, 137 Maquet, J.  62 Mazrui, Ali  75 Mends, E. H.  65–6 Mensah, John  86 Merry, Sally E.  54 Mills, John E. A.  40–1 Mohamad, Mahathir  47 Molendijk, Arie  18 Montesquieu, J. J.  28, 56 Mormorns see Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints Musama Disco Christo Church (MDCC)  11 Mutua, Makau wa  164 Namasa  72 National Commission on Civic Education (NCCE)  142 National Commission on Culture (NCC)  61, 93–4 National Liberation Council (NLC)  90 National Redemption Council (NRC)  91 Native Administration Ordinance (NAO)  183 natural law  23, 151, 197 natural Rights  23, 151, 197 Neuberger, Julia  6 ntoro  130 Nussbaum, Martha  50, 54, 156–7, 175–7, 199 Odio-Benito, Elizabeth  20 Oduyoye, Mercy Amba  164 okra  129–3 onyame  130, 173, 177 Oquaye, Mike  40 Orentlicher, Diane F.  48 Pan-African Human Rights Conference, Accra  8 Perry, Michael  4, 31 Pobee, John S.  6, 29, 88, 101 Portuguese  11, 77, 79 Positive Christian Movement (POCRIMO)  92 posuban  121 Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC)  61, 93

284 Quashigah, E. K.  90, 150, 159–60 Quaque, Philip  78 Rattray, R. S.  182 Rawlings, J. J.  67, 87, 91–2 Rawls, John  156 Reindorf, C. C.  56, 81 religious constituencies  39, 86, 92, 152, 164 religious liberty  20, 25 renewal  33–4 dynamic  33–4 fixated  33–4 Rogers, Ben  31 Roosevelt, Franklin  24 Roman Catholic  77 church  10, 89–91, 207 priest  92 schools  106 Rousseau, J. J.  56 Rubin, B.  16 Sarpong, Peter A.  85 secularism  16, 40 secularization  15, 31 Sen, Amartya  32 Shintaro, Ishihara  47 Smith, Joseph  78 Smith, Wilfred C.  21 Soyinka, Wole  67 Sufi  34 Svane, Frederick Pederson  77 Ter Haar, Gerrie  3, 6, 9, 19, 21–2, 27, 29, 53, 107, 109 Tomuschat, C.  25 totemism  66 Towler, Robert  5 Trans-Volta Togoland  10 United Nations  2, 6, 124–5, 141 United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC)  2

Index Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity (UDCD) of UNESCO  45 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)  1, 4, 7, 11 validating foundation  3–4, 30–1, 125, 148, 156, 193 Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action  26, 48, 114 Voltaire  56 Weber, Max  19 Weiss, B.  2 Welch, Claude  165 Whistle Blowers’ Act  141 widowhood rites  8, 142, 145–6, 160, 180, 184–5 Wight, Martin  145 Wilks, Ivor  67, 72, 82 Williams, Robin  5 Wim van Binsbergen  220 Wiredu, Kwasi  38, 57, 66–7, 168, 171, 178 witchcraft,  accusations  8, 103, 180, 198, 201 legislation against  103, 159, 182–3 anti-witchcraft  33, 234, 250, 275 anti-witchcraft shrines  34 and bad medicine  110 beliefs  33, 66, 68, 183 confess to  183–4 and magic and sorcery  75, 122, 123 and religious revitalization  203 Witch-hunting  36 Women and Juvenile Unit (WAJU)  146 World Faiths Development Dialogue (WFDD)  17 Wovenu, prophet  88–9 Yew, Lee Kuan  47 Zongo  76