Once upon a time in the Republic of Uncommon Sense, Chairman Wontumi reported to court expecting to face one judge. By the time he arrived, nearly the whole country had already heard the case. By the time the learned judge adjusted her robes and took her seat, millions of others across the Republic had already delivered their verdicts.
Some presided from barbering shops, others from market stalls, trotro stations and offices where work had quietly taken the day off. The rest sat majestically on their sofas at home, smartphones in hand, dispensing justice with remarkable confidence. The Republic’s biggest courtroom, you see, is not in Accra.
It never adjourns, never closes for lunch and never runs short of judges. Every citizen carries a portable branch court in a pocket or handbag. The qualification for appointment is refreshingly simple: a smartphone, a data bundle and an unshakable belief that one understands the law better than the lawyers.
By the time the real court convened, our national courtroom had already finished its work. One side had convicted Wontumi, another had acquitted him, a third had sentenced him and a fourth had declared him the greatest victim of democracy since the invention of ballot boxes. Appeals had been heard and determined before the registrar had even called the case.
Such efficiency deserves national honours. One thing I admire about the Republic’s judges is their versatility. Yesterday, they were football analysts explaining why the Black Stars needed a new striker.
This morning, they became constitutional lawyers. Tomorrow, they will transform into economists to explain why the cedi is misbehaving. We are a nation of unlimited professional flexibility.
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