It seems there’s a strong disagreement brewing, with Manasseh Azure, a journalist, feeling that recent arrests are an attack on free speech, and others arguing he’s misinterpreting the situation. Let’s break down the core of this debate, examining how the law, past praise, and the actual workings of government intersect.
Manasseh Azure, in his latest article, has voiced serious concerns, likening current events to a “military regime” crackdown. His alarm stems from the arrests of individuals like Abronye DC for allegedly spreading false news. Now, it’s true that Ghana has a law against publishing false information that causes fear and panic. This isn’t a new law; it predates President Mahama’s current term and was created precisely for situations where misinformation could genuinely disrupt public order, like those bogus earthquake reports Manasseh himself once highlighted. The argument here is that if the state arrests someone under an existing law, it’s a law enforcement action. It’s not automatically censorship. You can certainly argue that the law itself is flawed, or that it’s being misapplied in specific cases. But to label every arrest as an attack on free speech blurs the lines between constitutionally protected expression and actions that might actually be considered criminal under established legal frameworks. Free speech, after all, doesn’t inherently grant immunity from the consequences of breaking laws, even if those laws pertain to the content of one’s speech. The key is whether the law is being applied fairly and constitutionally, not whether any arrest for speech-related transgressions is inherently an affront to freedom.
It’s particularly interesting to consider Manasseh’s current stance in light of his past observations. For eight years, throughout the previous administration, Manasseh was a consistent defender of President Mahama’s approach to free expression. He frequently stated that Mahama’s first term was a golden age for press freedom. In his own words, he recalled “living that freedom under your presidency” and expressed his belief in Mahama’s tolerance, even when Mahama himself was the target of harsh criticism. This prior narrative paints a picture of a president who, according to Manasseh, was a champion of press freedom. But now, Manasseh expresses feelings of “shame” and draws comparisons to a military regime, a significant and dramatic shift. The crucial point here is that this change in Manasseh’s perception seems to have occurred after just a few high-profile arrests. Importantly, there hasn’t been any fundamental alteration to the legal framework governing speech or a change in President Mahama’s public commitment to press freedom. If Manasseh’s earlier assessment of Mahama’s character and policies was accurate, then his current indictment feels inconsistent without concrete evidence of a policy shift or direct orders from the president that contradict his past stance. Without such evidence, it risks appearing as a reaction to political optics rather than a well-founded critique based on tangible changes in governance or policy.
A significant point of contention revolves around the idea of presidential control. Manasseh, it seems, is attributing the actions of the police and prosecutors directly to President Mahama, arguing that because Mahama appointed the Inspector General of Police (IGP) and the Bureau of National Investigations (BNI) Directors, he is therefore responsible for every single arrest. However, this interpretation oversimplifies how executive authority operates within a constitutional democracy. While a president does make appointments, the police and prosecutors in Ghana are meant to function independently in individual cases, free from direct political interference in their operational decisions. Their mandate is to enforce the law as they see fit, not as dictated by the president in every instance. If the actual grievance is that a particular law is being misused or abused, the more appropriate course of action would be to challenge that abuse in court, advocate for legal reforms, or demand clearer guidelines for its application. To declare the president an enemy of free speech purely because he hasn’t personally intervened in every single case sets an impossibly high bar. By that logic, virtually no president in any democratic nation could ever genuinely be considered a proponent of free speech, as presidents typically do not micro-manage every law enforcement action.
This kind of blanket condemnation, where every arrest is equated with an attack on free speech, ironically undermines the very cases where free speech is genuinely under threat. It’s worth remembering that President Mahama’s administration has, in the past, directly acted upon Manasseh’s own investigative work. Manasseh himself has acknowledged that contracts he exposed were cancelled under the Mahama administration, even stating that “there is no greater motivation and encouragement to investigative journalists than acting on their work.” He also once publicly applauded President Mahama for fostering a “conducive atmosphere” for journalists to carry out their duties. When the same administration, previously lauded for its journalistic support, is suddenly labeled a threat to free expression over arrests made under a long-standing law, it creates confusion. It makes it significantly harder for the public to differentiate between legitimate instances of suppression and the more routine frictions that occur in a political system. This blurring of lines ultimately diminishes the credibility of journalists and their warnings when genuine censorship or threats to press freedom truly emerge.
In essence, Manasseh’s current critique appears to be built upon a flawed premise: that any arrest of a critic automatically constitutes an attack on free speech. If there are abuses of the law against false news, the appropriate response is to address the law itself or its specific application through legal and advocacy channels. However, transforming what might be considered a policy disagreement into a moral indictment of President Mahama’s entire commitment to free speech doesn’t align with his past record or the complex workings of how free speech is protected and challenged within a democratic legal framework. It seems to be a case of oversimplified equating, where legal actions are too readily cast as political oppression, potentially weakening the impact of future genuine cries against infringements on liberty.