There is a particular kind of disappointment that cuts deeper than anger. It is the quiet, heavy feeling that settles in when you realise that the perpetrator of a disturbing or shameful act is not a reckless youth, but an older person; of sound mind and body, someone who should know better.
It is the feeling that comes when you watch a traffic offence unfold, only to discover that it was committed by an elderly person. Or when you encounter blatant rudeness or disrespect from someone old enough to be a parent or grandparent, directed especially at a younger person. In our Ghanaian culture, and indeed in the natural order of society, much is expected of elders. Respect flows upward, yes—but example, restraint, and wisdom are meant to flow downward.
Today, however, something unsettling is becoming increasingly clear. The long-held expectation that elders should serve as moral compasses and living examples seems to be weakening. In many instances, they are failing us. The stories and scandals that confront us daily leave little room for denial. And it forces us to ask difficult questions.
When young people err, society often explains it away as youthful exuberance; a phase, a learning curve, a moment of immaturity. But what explanation do we offer when similar or even graver offenses are committed by those who have lived long enough to know the cost of wrongdoing? What do we call it when wisdom, supposedly earned through years of experience, is nowhere to be found?
It must be said, clearly and fairly, that there are elders in this country who live lives worthy of admiration. Men and women who have given selflessly, who guide quietly, who continue to contribute to national growth with integrity. They are the steady salt that still preserves hope. We honour and salute them. This reflection is not about them. It is about the exceptions who are becoming too many to ignore.
Every day, we are confronted with accounts of mismanagement, embezzlement, bribery, corruption, and the quiet bleeding of national resources. Painfully, many of these acts are orchestrated by older people; our fathers and mothers, uncles and aunties, grandfathers and grandmothers. Time and again, I have tried to understand how this came to be. Each path of reasoning leads back to the same place: greed and selfishness.
In the pursuit of wealth, some have lost sight of the bigger picture. They justify their actions as provision for future generations, yet ignore the damage done to that very future. They forget that life carries a natural balance; that actions have consequences, that what is sown is eventually reaped. One may outrun accountability for a while, but not forever.
For a society that places immense value on respect for elders, the conduct of some of our older citizens is deeply troubling. Many occupy positions of great influence, yet fail to influence positively. Others cling tightly to power and opportunities that could nurture younger talent, leaving little room for renewal. There are those who loot today, as though tomorrow does not matter, amassing wealth they cannot take with them, while depriving generations yet unborn.
Even more troubling are behaviours that defy moral expectation, relationships and actions that betray the dignity associated with age. We are taught that grey hair is a symbol of wisdom, earned through experience, reflection, and growth. As one grows older, society expects refinement, not regression.
Elsewhere in the world, especially in nations that are rapidly developing, policies are deliberately crafted to secure the future of the younger generation. The measure of leadership is often found in how well tomorrow is protected today.
At home, the picture is harder to accept. Too often, we see elders sharing resources among themselves, leaving nothing at the table for those coming after. Perhaps it mirrors our social customs, where elders are served first at meals. But when the serving never ends, what remains for the children? Only crumbs.
And so, I weep for Ghana’s posterity. Not out of bitterness, but out of concern. How do we expect future generations to build and defend this nation when its foundations are being sold off piece by piece? What values are being modelled for them? What lessons are they learning from those meant to guide them?
Someone may argue that I should weep for myself instead. Perhaps they are right. But in a country where our destinies are intertwined, mourning for the future is also mourning for oneself.
This, after all, is my humble opinion; and my heartfelt appeal.
Anna Esi Hanson
