A political party is, at its core, a paradox: an assembly of ideals, ambitions, and ideologies fused into a collective identity that seeks to lead, shape, and govern. It is neither a perfect community of saints nor a gathering of nefarious demons. It is a reflection of society itself, a microcosm of human ambition, frailty, and contradiction. Within the confines of its banner, the party becomes both the hero and the villain, moving in a never-ending cycle of virtue and vice.
To understand the composition of a political party is to recognise the coexistence of seemingly opposing forces. Every party, regardless of its message, is made up of individuals with different motives. Some genuinely want to serve, to build a just society, and to uplift the vulnerable. Others are driven by power, personal gain, or blind loyalty. These forces do not exist in separate corners. They blend, clash, and influence decisions. The virtuous may pull the party upwards, but the vices often drag it into compromise or even disgrace.
Take Ghana’s two major political parties: the National Democratic Congress (NDC) and the New Patriotic Party (NPP). Both have had their high moments, and their scandals.
Mahama First Chapter
The NDC, under John Mahama’s first term, embarked on a wave of infrastructure development aimed at modernising Ghana’s economy. Roads, hospitals, schools, and power plants dotted the national landscape, visible signs of a government keen on leaving a legacy of progress. The Terminal 3 at the Kotoka International Airport, the Kwame Nkrumah Interchange, and the expansion of access to health facilities and community day schools were widely cited as achievements of the administration’s “Better Ghana” agenda. The narrative of development was built on concrete and steel.
Yet beneath these physical accomplishments, troubling signs emerged. The era was marred by persistent allegations of corruption, weak institutional oversight, and a failure to hold public officials accountable. The GYEEDA programme, originally designed to tackle youth unemployment by providing vocational training, became a cautionary tale of mismanagement. Contracts were awarded without due diligence, with millions of cedis diverted into the pockets of private contractors and political insiders. Reports revealed that some training modules were non-existent, while others were vastly overpriced.
The Savannah Accelerated Development Authority (SADA), set up to bridge the developmental gap between the north and the south, fared no better. SADA was given millions in public funds to undertake ambitious projects, from tree planting to animal husbandry. But implementation was chaotic. The infamous guinea fowl project, where birds supposedly flew to neighbouring Burkina Faso, became a national joke and a symbol of state dysfunction. Ghost trees were “planted,” and huge sums vanished with little to no impact on the target communities.
Then came the Bus Branding saga, a scandal that pushed public frustration further. The government spent over GH₵3.6 million to decorate Metro Mass Transit buses with images of Ghanaian presidents, using a sole-sourced contract. Public procurement procedures were side-stepped, and the cost of the exercise raised eyebrows across civil society. For many, this was not just about wasteful spending, but about tone-deaf governance at a time of economic hardship.
Public trust took a heavy blow. While infrastructure was rising, confidence in leadership was declining. Good intentions were consistently undermined by poor supervision, blurred lines between party and state, and a culture of impunity. The Mahama administration’s message of transformation was slowly drowned out by growing perceptions of elite capture and state neglect.
Akufo-Addo Era: Vision, Gains and Gaps
When President Akufo-Addo took office, he did so on the back of key promises. Among the flagship programmes was One District, One Factory—a bold initiative aimed at industrialising the economy from the grassroots. It quickly became a symbol of a government in motion, with the promise of jobs, local value addition, and rural revitalisation. While a few factories were indeed commissioned, many others remain incomplete, under-resourced, or operational only in name. The vision was clear, but the execution proved uneven. Factories that never took off became stark reminders that ambition without sustained planning yields more headlines than results.
Another centrepiece of the government’s agenda was the Free Senior High School policy, which opened the doors of secondary education to thousands who might otherwise have been excluded. It was a transformative move in principle, one that touched the lives of many families. However, the roll-out exposed serious infrastructural and logistical weaknesses. Overcrowded classrooms, strained teaching staff, food shortages, and inadequate boarding facilities soon surfaced. Worse still, the impressive enrolment figures often touted as political achievements were, at times, inflated, obscuring the full extent of the system’s burden. What should have been a triumph of access also became a lesson in the costs of under-preparation.
Then came one of the most controversial projects of the administration: the National Cathedral. Touted as a sacred national monument and a legacy project by President Akufo-Addo, it was positioned as a symbol of unity and spiritual renewal. But instead of unifying the nation, the project became a lightning rod for criticism and controversy. Public funds (initially claimed to be voluntary contributions) were later revealed to have been redirected from state coffers without full parliamentary oversight. Contractors were paid millions, yet construction stagnated. Allegations emerged around non-transparent procurement processes and the involvement of politically connected individuals. For a government elected on the wings of anti-corruption promises, the National Cathedral saga felt like a betrayal. What was meant to be a symbol of national faith began to resemble, for many, a monument to mismanagement and misplaced priorities.
Mahama’s Return: Redemption or Reflection
The 2024 General Election returned John Mahama and the NDC to power. For many Ghanaians, his return signals a chance to reset the system—to confront past failures with renewed resolve and steer governance toward greater accountability and vision. This comeback is not merely political theatre; it carries the weight of expectation. Voters are hoping that lessons have been internalised and that the shortcomings of the past will not be repeated.
And just when the public begins to adjust to this cycle of hope and disappointment, a fresh scandal jolts the nation. A woman with fake medical credentials was appointed to the National Health Insurance Authority (NHIA) Board. Presented as a doctor and publicly endorsed by leading members of the NDC, she was positioned to help guide one of the most sensitive areas of national life—healthcare. But she is no doctor. Her qualifications are fake. No proper checks were done. How could this happen in a government that had seen such mistakes before?
This incident goes beyond party lines. It raises a deeper concern about political culture—a culture where loyalty sometimes outweighs merit, and where systems built to protect the public can be manipulated or ignored. If someone can fake their way to the board of a health agency, what else can slip through?
Conclusion
A political party is a metaphor for the human condition itself—a constant balancing act between noble aspirations and deeply rooted flaws. It is a vessel that carries both hope and despair, sowing seeds of transformation even as it permits the weeds of corruption to thrive. In the end, political parties are not congregations of saints nor hordes of demons. They are reflections of us all—paradoxical, imperfect, and always evolving. The balance of good and evil within each remains ever fleeting, and the cycle, ever spinning.
But as democratic disillusionment deepens across West Africa, Ghana’s own political leaders must heed the warning signs. The growing mistrust in electoral promises, partisan excesses, and unchecked corruption is not just a domestic concern. It is the very soil in which coups and authoritarian alternatives take root. Any government (whether led by Mahama or anyone else) must confront the human weaknesses and systemic failures that, if left unchecked, could erode Ghana’s democratic stability.
In this fragile moment, John Mahama is not merely a returning candidate—he is, for many, Ghana’s last best hope: not because he is flawless, but because he has been tested, humbled, and now stands at the crossroads of redemption or relapse. Whether he can rise above the cycle, or merely become part of its repetition, remains the ultimate test.