At the 30th anniversary of the Ghana Journalists Association Media Awards, the glittering ballroom of the La Palm Royal Beach Hotel in Accra was filled with people who have spent their lives telling stories, uncovering injustice, and speaking truth to power. But on Saturday, November 7, 2026, the Minority Leader, Alexander Afenyo-Markin, stood before them with a message that was less about celebration and more about the future of free expression in Ghana. He used the platform to call for the repeal of two laws that he argued have become dangerous instruments of censorship: Section 208 of the Criminal Offences Act, 1960 (Act 29), and Section 76 of the Electronic Communications Act, 2008 (Act 775). These legal provisions, he said, are being used to restrict the very freedoms that make democracy thrive. Journalists and ordinary citizens alike should not have to fear criminal prosecution simply for expressing their views, criticising public officials, or publishing information in the public interest. He acknowledged that no right is absolute and that expression must be exercised responsibly, but he insisted that the current legal framework tilts too far in favour of silencing dissent. The event was intended to honour excellence in journalism, yet his remarks served as a reminder that in Ghana, as in many democracies, the right to inform and be informed is never guaranteed. It must be defended, law by law, and the Minority Leader made clear that his caucus intends to defend it. Afenyo-Markin did not mince words. He described the two sections as relics of an old mindset that treats the press as an enemy rather than a necessary partner in democratic governance. He reminded the audience that journalists often operate under pressure, deadlines, and the need to break stories quickly, and that criminal sanctions for honest errors create an impossible standard. In a democracy, he argued, the remedy for offensive or mistaken speech should not be handcuffs. It should be more speech, more facts, more transparency. The law, he said, should be a shield for citizens, not a sword for the powerful.
Afenyo-Markin was careful to separate his demand for legal reform from any defence of recklessness. “Let me be clear, our purpose as a Minority is not to defend irresponsible speech,” he told the assembled guests. “We do not defend lies. We do not defend hate speech. We do not defend incitement. We do not defend reckless publications that destroy reputations, endanger lives or undermine public peace. Freedom of expression is not a licence for irresponsibility.” These words were important, because they addressed a common fear that removing criminal sanctions would open the floodgates to chaos and falsehood. The Minority Leader rejected that fear, arguing that a mature democracy has other, more civilised ways to deal with harmful speech. He pointed specifically to existing civil remedies—court actions for defamation, retractions, apologies, and compensation—as sufficient safeguards for personal reputation and public order. What is not needed, he said, is the threat of prison for a poorly worded column or an angry social media post. By invoking Section 208 and Section 76, he sought to highlight how broad and vague these provisions are. Section 208 criminalises the publication or reproduction of false statements, rumours, or reports likely to cause fear and alarm or disturb public peace, if the publisher knows or has reason to believe the information is false. Section 76 of the Electronic Communications Act makes it an offence to knowingly transmit false or misleading electronic communications likely to prejudice life-saving services or endanger safety. On paper, these may sound reasonable. In practice, Afenyo-Markin argued, they can be twisted to punish legitimate commentary and dissent. A joke, a mistaken report, or a politically inconvenient story could all be framed as a threat to public peace, leaving the journalist at the mercy of a magistrate rather than the court of public opinion. This is not the hallmark of a free society.
Afenyo-Markin expanded on why criminalisation is so harmful. It creates fear, and fear silences. When journalists know that a single complaint can trigger a criminal investigation, they begin to self-censor. They avoid tough questions. They soften coverage of controversial topics. They think twice before publishing information that governments or influential individuals would rather hide. This chill effect, he warned, does not just hurt journalists—it hurts every citizen who relies on the media to hold power accountable. It also discourages ordinary people from speaking out at public meetings, writing letters to the editor, or posting their opinions online, because they know that the same laws used against reporters could be used against them. The Minority Leader argued that defamation, libel, and false publication are essentially private wrongs, not crimes. They involve harm to an individual’s reputation, and the injured party should be able to seek redress through civil proceedings. The law already provides mechanisms for that: a person who feels defamed can sue for damages, demand a retraction, or accept a public apology. These remedies are often more meaningful than a fine or prison sentence, because they directly address the harm and restore reputation. What criminal prosecution does, by contrast, is transform a dispute between citizens into a confrontation between the individual and the state. That gives the state enormous power to intimidate its critics. It invites abuse. It encourages selective enforcement. And it creates a climate in which the safest course is silence. Afenyo-Markin insisted that honest mistakes must not be treated as crimes. Journalism is a human enterprise; errors will happen. The proper response is correction, not incarceration. By shifting disputes from the criminal courts to the civil courts, Ghana would send a powerful message: that speech is protected, that mistakes are forgivable, and that the task of distinguishing truth from falsehood belongs to the public, not to prosecutors.
To give his argument historical and philosophical depth, Afenyo-Markin invoked the example of former President John Agyekum Kufuor, a figure known for his commitment to media freedom. He reminded the audience that Kufuor, too, understood that the right to free expression must be exercised responsibly and within established rules of engagement. This was not about unbridled licence; it was about a mature understanding that freedom works only when citizens act with integrity and respect for others. The Minority Leader used this reference to show that his position was not radical or unpatriotic. It was, he argued, part of a long Ghanaian tradition of balancing rights and responsibilities. But he insisted that the balance had tipped in the wrong direction. He then offered a memorable formulation that framed the rest of his address: “The answer to bad speech must not always be the criminal law. The answer to falsehood must be truth. The answer to propaganda must be fact. The answer to hate must be ethical journalism, public education and, where necessary, civil remedies. The answer must never be a return to the politics of fear.” The words drew sustained applause, and they cut to the heart of the debate. For decades, governments around the world have responded to fake news and disinformation with heavier penalties, only to see those same penalties used against independent media and political opponents. Afenyo-Markin proposed a different path: instead of criminalising speech, strengthen the institutions that promote truth. Invest in media literacy, support ethical journalism, and trust citizens to discern fact from nonsense. Where harm is concrete and personal, let individuals seek civil remedies. But do not allow the state to use the criminal law as a cudgel. That approach, he warned, is the politics of fear, and it has no place in a country that prides itself on its democratic progress. The audience, many of whom had lived through harder times and knew the value of a free press, understood exactly what he meant.
Afenyo-Markin also raised an issue that is less familiar but increasingly dangerous: strategic lawsuits against public participation, commonly known as SLAPP suits. These are legal actions brought not to win in court, but to overwhelm the defendant with costs and hassle until they give up. The Minority Leader warned that powerful individuals and corporations are using these burdensome lawsuits to attack journalists who criticise them. “We will not accept a system in which the powerful use burdensome lawsuits not to protect their reputation, but to bankrupt journalists, exhaust editors and frighten citizens into silence,” he said. “Justice must never become an instrument of intimidation.” This warning was directed at a growing trend, not just in Ghana but around the world, where the threat of a ruinous lawsuit is enough to kill a story before it can be published. A journalist facing a legal bill of millions may choose to drop an investigation rather than risk losing everything. Editors, similarly, may decide that a story is not worth the legal battle. In this way, a single lawsuit can silence not just one reporter but an entire institution. Afenyo-Markin insisted that courts must be vigilant against such abuse. Judges should be willing to dismiss frivolous claims early, and the law should provide protections for defendants who are targeted simply for exercising their right to free expression. The Minority Leader’s remarks were a reminder that the threat to press freedom does not always come from the state. Sometimes it comes from wealthy individuals who use the legal system as a weapon. But when the state makes that weapon available—by maintaining vague criminal laws and allowing abusive civil suits—it bears responsibility for the resulting climate of fear. Ghana’s courts, he suggested, must not become accomplices to censorship.
In the end, Afenyo-Markin’s call to repeal Section 208 and Section 76 was more than a legal demand; it was a vision of Ghana as a society where open debate, not fear, is the engine of progress. He acknowledged that misinformation is real and that careless speech can hurt people. But he argued that the cure for the diseases of the public square is not state suppression. It is a vibrant, truthful, and ethically grounded media; a public that has been educated to question what it sees and hears; and a legal system that treats reputational harm as a civil matter, not a prelude to a criminal record. Repealing the two sections would be a significant first step, but it would also be a symbol—a sign that Ghana has fully embraced the democratic principle that governments are accountable to the people, not the other way around. The law should make people free, not fearful. It should protect the vulnerable from violence and slander, but it should also protect their right to speak out against injustice. For journalists in the room, the Minority Leader’s speech was a welcome declaration of support, but they know that words must be followed by action. The question now is whether Parliament will take up the call, whether civil society will press for reform, and whether Ghana can set an example for the rest of the continent. Afenyo-Markin left the podium with a simple warning: a democracy that criminalises criticism is not a democracy at all. It is a system waiting to fail. As the 30th anniversary celebrations continued, his words remained a challenge to everyone who believes that the pen, and not the prison, is the proper instrument of human expression.