The sibling warfare sent me visiting my archives with a duster, ceiling brush, nose mask and all, to excavate ancient files. The emerging truth is that DMB’s 2024 presidential defeat with 41.61%, was not the worst in the Party’s history. NPP lost 1992 presidential with 30.29% (Congratulations, Adu Boahen), and lost 1996 with 39.67% (Congratulations, J.A. Kufuor). Adu Boahen’s 1992 presidential race where he obtained 30%, the lowest in numerical terms was also the most daunting; and did not negate a subsequent attempt in 1996. The Gentle Giant, JAK, who eventually won the presidency in 2000, had behind him one defeat at party primaries in 1992, when he (16.5%) was nabbed to the 3^rd place by Adu Boahen (56.6%); but Kufuor rose from the floor with a vengeance in the 1996 primaries. This time,  he (51.9%) grounded the Professor (35.7%)  right before my eyes at the Great Hall. In all such encounters, there were no confrontations, no show downs, no bitterness! The interest of the Party was paramount. Winners and losers went home in harmony because a predatory hawk, NDC, was watching from above.

1996, I was an eyewitness to Kufuor’s historic victory over five other giants at the primaries.  More importantly, my pen was alive.  Listen now to my ‘write hand,’ April 1996.

Presidential Kufuor

NOT President Kufuor as such, at the time this was written. It’s always safer to avoid the blasphemy of calling someone president so and so, when indeed the pink book allows only one president at a time. So then let’s say, ‘Presidential Kufuor,’ if you don’t want an Abiola on your hands!

Suddenly then a presidential silhouette begins crystalizing in a 58-year-old man, from Atwima Nwabiagya in Ashanti. Suddenly, J.A. Kufuor looks different. Not just dark and tall, but presidential: stout, charismatic, handsome; ‘he will stand him toe-to-toe this time’ were the words I heard last Saturday (apparently referring to Kufuor’s potential opponent Jerry Rawlings).

Within seconds of the results, the real calibre of Professor Adu Boahen also began emerging. One man behind me, in his ecstasy, said it all, “It’s just as well the Professor lost- he is too short… how can a short man be president?”

For once too, the Legon campus was saved carnival processions on its main streets, and spared the environmental assault seen in 1992: a poster invasion of trees and walls. The Great Hall authorities had had the foresight this time to warn congressional mobs: Legon trees are deities; he who defiles them will lose the race. The verdict could also be predicted by popular acclamation. If it were parliament, it would have been tempting to simplify the procedure: All who want the Professor should say Aaaaaaaaye!!! That would have been the end. Unfortunately, the delegates appeared to have their verdicts concealed in their heads; so that even as they loudly acclaimed the popular Professor, their real verdict was under lock and key.

A colleague and I doing random exit polling were absolutely convinced the Prof would win. Some Konkomma delegates summed it up: “it’s only the Prof we know.” Ashanti delegates: “who else apart from Prof… indeed our people have told us we cannot return home without Prof”! We then met a colleague, who referred to one very important group of delegates. “They are all for Prof.” She was referring to the Volta Region. According to her, the entire Volta River had been wrapped up!

The Kufuor crowd was muted, almost silent. It was as if to say, ‘precious beads do not jingle.’ But their man that day started on a rather ominous footing.

Proceedings started without him. Twelve minutes into the programme, his fans held their breath. No show! Prayers had been said. No show. The Chairman’s address had started. Still no show. Can this man be president; is this a serious aspirant? One wondered. Presidential Kufuor sauntered in nearly fifteen minutes into the programme. If the delay was a strategy to hold up proceedings and draw spontaneous applause for a triumphant entry, it backfired. No one was amused, not even his admirers.

When all contestants were seated and eventually introduced, the race started all over. Sitting at a location directly behind them, it was possible to draw a few conclusions. Here were six presidential aspirants, ages ranging between 58 and 68. Strange that from a comparative study of hairline only, the wisest among them was the man whose slogan was ‘try me;’ he was the only one with grey hair. All the other aspirants were unwise teenagers. And how can you rule a nation without a smattering of grey wisdom? The 64-year-old ‘teenage’ Professor, and all his presidential teenage accomplices may then do well to visit the Chemistry Department of Legon and have the litmus process reversed.

But what qualifies one to be president? Except for Dsane Selby, everybody else was a prison graduate, giving you the impression that despite Supreme Court, a little prison is not bad for a presidential future. Yet never rely on prison records alone. Your presidential speech at congresses, may make a big difference, but it may not be relevant. After all, J.A. Kufuor gave the most boring speech, followed by the Professor. The best orator was easily the veteran J.H. Mensah. His ‘We Want Power’ slogan was an instant hit, and shot him past the economic general Jones Ofori Atta, whose tedious speech elicited spontaneous snoring. He gave a thirty-minute funeral oration. But J.H. caused another stir. He drove a nail in the professor’s coffin when he advised the delegates, “Do not be imprisoned by the past gamble that failed us.” Earlier on, Jones had also rubbed it in before his oration degenerated. “This is not 1992. The time was the man. This is not a historical party museum piece…”

It was quite glaring that a consensus was gradually building in the speeches: whoever broke the culture of silence, we thank him, but his time has passed. We are in a new era, where the message is alliance and reconciliation. This was the message preached by all others, including Safo Adu the celebrated medical doctor, a very impressive speaker, except that he who introduced him caused a considerable stir. The man, a political activist of sorts in the Western Region, started by introducing himself as a hardworking NDC in the constituencies. A prolonged uproar followed, with everybody hoping that it was only a slip of tongue. But who knows? The guy probably thought the Congress was a good opportunity to publicly confess, “I am a spy”.

But it’s all over now. The people’s verdict appears to be a vote for alliance. That’s the news, in the overwhelming choice of Presidential J.A Kufuor. (Culled from The Pen at Risk)

Dear friends and followers, towards 2028 worry not about decimals. Simply fear delegates.

kyankah@ashesi.edu.gh

My Write Hand, 1996