The politics of language and national identity

By Pearlvis Atsu Kuadey, Video Journalist

There are moments in a nation’s history when something as simple as a greeting, whether etched on a wall, written on a sign, or spoken at a doorway, can provoke deep questions about identity and belonging. Ghana is currently experiencing such a moment. At the Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, the replacement of the greetings “Woezor” and “Akwaaba” with “Oobakɛ” has ignited a reckoning that extends far beyond the stones of this monument. What could have been viewed as a mere symbolic choice of words has evolved into a debate filled with pride, suspicion, and a sense of wounded dignity.

Authorities have offered clarifications, but the truth is that this debate has struck a nerve. It has forced us to pause and ask: What does language mean to us? What does it say about who we are?

Language is more than words; it is memory, culture, and the invisible thread that ties a people to their identity. The Kenyan novelist Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o captured this when he wrote, “Language carries culture, and culture carries the whole body of values by which we come to perceive ourselves and our place in the world.”

In Ghana, where more than 80 languages thrive, each tongue is more than a tool for communication. It is a vessel of identity, a keeper of memory, a doorway into proverbs, songs, and philosophies that shape our lives. But as this controversy shows, language can also become a weapon sharpened by suspicion and wielded to divide. Our challenge has always been to ensure that language is used not as a barrier but as a bridge.

The digital age has made this challenge more urgent. Words that should bind hearts are now too easily weaponized. A single video, a caption, a tweet, suddenly passions are inflamed, facts give way to suspicions, and resentment creeps into our discourse. The question before us is sobering: do we carry our languages in ways that build bridges, or in ways that burn them?

Social media has revealed both the best and the worst of us. Some see this episode as an opportunity to affirm the rightful pride of Ga heritage, particularly on the soil of Accra. That sentiment is valid; every community deserves to see itself reflected in the national story. But others frame their arguments not in love for their own tongue but in disdain for another’s. Here lies the danger: when language becomes an instrument of superiority, the delicate fabric of unity begins to unravel.

This is why the moment calls for more than rebuttals. It demands leadership, clarity, and civic wisdom that can prevent misunderstanding from spiralling into mistrust. This is where the National Commission for Civic Education (NCCE) must rise to its mandate. Created under our Constitution to nurture civic understanding, the NCCE is uniquely placed to step into moments like these, calming tensions, promoting inclusivity, and reminding us that our democracy recognizes no superior language, only one people bound in freedom and justice.

The Commission can turn this debate into a learning opportunity, demonstrating that diversity is a strength, not a threat.

And perhaps this storm is also a gift. It forces us to ask whether our monuments and national spaces genuinely mirror the diversity of our people. Must one language dominate while others fade into silence?

Greatness is not built on domination but on magnanimity. As Nelson Mandela once said, “If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his own language, that goes to his heart.” Ghana needs hearts touched, not egos bruised.

This episode has highlighted how fragile unity can be in the face of misinformation. A rumour presented as fact, a misinterpreted sign, or a careless comment can easily lead to resentment. Once resentment takes hold, tribal divisions emerge, turning allies into adversaries. This is the critical moment when leaders, whether traditional, civic, or political, must step forward and speak out. Silence in these situations is not a sign of neutrality; it is a form of abdication. Ghana was built not on the dominance of a single language but on the harmony of many.

This is a cultural moment we cannot squander. In our schools, our homes, and our public spaces, let us inscribe not only words of welcome but also words of wisdom. Let every Ghanaian child grow up knowing their language is not inferior, their culture is not sidelined, and their neighbour’s heritage is just as worthy of honour as their own. As our elders say, “No one points God to a child.” In the same way, no one must teach the dignity of a mother tongue; it is innate and sacred. What we must teach, however, is respect for the dignity of others.

So let us see this storm not as a quarrel to be won, but as a conversation to be deepened. If language is indeed the thread that binds us, then let us weave it into a cloth of inclusivity, where no tribe feels erased and no heritage diminished. Ghana is too precious, too hard-won, to be fractured by words that should instead welcome us all.

The measure of our maturity as a nation will not be determined by who controls the wording on a monument. Instead, it will be evaluated based on whether every Ghanaian, regardless of their mother tongue, feels welcomed, respected, and at home in the shared land we all inhabit.

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