The Sudden Pomposity of Appointees - Kwame Owusu Danso, Esq. Writes

Power, when finally won after years of struggle, sweat, and sacrifice, comes wrapped in expectation. The foot soldiers who endured the dusty rallies, the campaigners who lost their voices at podiums, the loyalists who defended the party in beer parlours and on social media timelines, all of them wait, hopeful that the new dispensation will remember them. Yet the brutal truth of governance is this: not everyone who labours for victory gets the opportunity to serve in government. Appointments are few, ambitions are many, and the arithmetic never quite balances.

It is reasonably expected, therefore, that those fortunate enough to be plucked from the crowd and handed letters of appointment would carry themselves with humility. They are, after all, representatives of a collective dream. They sit in those offices not because they are the only competent hands in the land, but because providence, political calculation, and the goodwill of others placed them there. A measure of gratitude, a posture of accessibility, and a willingness to listen ought to come naturally.

Sadly, what we are witnessing in many quarters is the opposite. Barely have the appointment letters dried before a strange transformation sets in. Phone numbers that were freely shared during campaigns suddenly become "private lines." Calls ring endlessly into the void. WhatsApp messages are read and ignored. Visits to the office are met with an army of aides, personal assistants, and protocol officers whose chief duty appears to be keeping ordinary citizens; including the very people who delivered the votes at arm's length. The same individuals who once attended every wedding, burial, and naming ceremony in the constituency are now "in a meeting" every hour of the working day.

And yet, curiously, these same appointees rediscover their phone numbers and their humility when there is something to gain. When endorsements are needed for a second term, when crowds must be mobilised for a rally, when signatures are required on a petition, when communal sentiment must be weaponised for a political battle; suddenly the calls come through, the visits are arranged, the smiles return. The pomposity gives way, briefly, to a performance of brotherhood, only for the curtain to fall again once the selfish gain has been secured.

This pattern is corrosive. It breeds cynicism in the electorate, hollows out the social contract, and ensures that public office is seen not as a trust but as a personal estate. Worse, it sets the stage for the very political instability these appointees claim to abhor, because a people who feel used will eventually withdraw their consent.

Public office is a season, not a coronation. The aides will disperse, the sirens will fade, and the day will come when the appointee, now a former appointee, will need to make a call of his own, and discover, perhaps for the first time, how it feels when the line just keeps ringing.

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Kwame Owusu Danso, Esq.