Every year, like clockwork, a deeply moving national ritual takes place in Ghana. No, I am not talking about the budgeting for a new national cathedral, nor am I referring to the periodic resurrection of stable electricity. I am talking about the annual call to the Bar, a solemn occasion when hundreds of enthusiastic citizens finally earn the right to wear itchy 18th-century horsehair on their heads in 32-degree tropical heat.
And right on cue, as soon as the first camera flashes hit Instagram and TikTok, the familiar chorus of national grief begins.
If social media commentary is to be believed, the legal profession is the single greatest threat to Ghana’s development since the invention of the mosquito. Suddenly, everyone becomes a certified demographic expert and an economic planner. From the comfort of their keyboards, critics launch into the annual tradition of predicting our imminent doom under the crushing weight of too many advocates.
Let us, for a moment, dissect this seasonal performance of economic anxiety with the gravity it truly deserves.
The Myth of the Overcrowded Courtro
The most common lamentation echoing through our digital streets is a simple one: “There are too many lawyers!”
It is a fascinating observation. We look around our country, see land guards terrorising homeowners, contract breaches treated as a standard business practice, public funds vanishing into thin air, and citizens spending decades trying to resolve basic inheritance disputes. Yet, the logical conclusion we arrive at is: “Ah, yes. The real problem here is that we have an oversupply of people who understand the law.”
If you truly believe we have too many lawyers, I challenge you to test that theory the next time life hands you a crisis. When your landlord decides to lock you out of your apartment because his cousin needs a place to stay, or when you find yourself in a messy divorce court, whom do you intend to bring along as your shield? Your quantity surveyor? Your favorite structural engineer? Perhaps you can bring your plumber to argue the finer points of contractual estoppel.
The reality is that we only complain about the number of lawyers until we desperately need one to rescue us from the consequences of our own spectacular lapses in judgment.
The Zero-Sum Beauty Contest
Then comes the classic pivot to the sciences: “The country needs more engineers and doctors, not people who read big books!”
This is undoubtedly true. We do need more doctors. We need more engineers to fix our roads and build our bridges. But nation-building is not a zero-sum beauty contest where one profession must starve so another can thrive. It is not an either-or proposition.
More importantly, let us look at how these professions interact in the wild. When that brilliant engineer builds a bridge that collapses due to a poorly negotiated, inflated state contract, or when a medical professional commits a tragic act of malpractice, who steps into the arena? The local pastor? A team of herbalists?
No. We call the lawyers. We call them to interpret the building codes, to enforce regulations, and to hold institutions accountable. A society with brilliant engineers but no functioning legal framework to enforce standards is simply a society waiting for its infrastructure to collapse with absolute impunity.
The “Arts Student” Delusion
There remains a lingering, highly amusing arrogance among some science enthusiasts who believe that studying law is merely a default setting for arts students who “couldn’t hack it” in chemistry or physics.
It is a comforting myth, usually whispered by people who think legal practice consists entirely of standing up in court and shouting “I object!” in a dramatic voice. They conveniently overlook the reality of the modern world. Interpreting constitutional crises, untangling complex financial regulations, navigating intellectual property theft, prosecuting medical negligence, and drafting frameworks for the law of artificial intelligence apparently require zero cognitive effort.
Some people consistently confuse choosing a different discipline with failing at their own. Rest assured, analysing a complex web of corporate fraud requires just as much brainpower as balancing a chemical equation—only the lawyer’s equation can land someone in Nsawam prison if they misplace a decimal point.
Wigs, Gowns, and Colonial Wardrobes
Now, to be completely fair, the critics do get one thing absolutely right. The wigs and gowns are, without question, an absurd colonial relic.
On this specific point, I agree paaah. There is something profoundly surreal about watching a Ghanaian lawyer, sitting in a courtroom with a failing air conditioner, sweating profusely under a heavy black gown and a white horsehair wig designed for the chilly autumn mornings of London. We can easily modernise the wardrobe without abolishing the profession. The British left us the legal system, but they also left us the keys to our own tailors. Surely, we can improve the uniform to reflect a sovereign nation that experiences actual sunshine.
The Real National Challenge
The true problem facing Ghana is not that we have too many lawyers. In a country of over 30 million people, where legal services remain an inaccessible luxury for the vast majority of the population outside Accra and Kumasi, we actually need more.
The real question we should be asking every October is not about quantity, but about utility and competence. Are we producing professionals—be they doctors, engineers, teachers, entrepreneurs, or lawyers—who are highly competent and driven by integrity? And more importantly, are we building a system that puts them to good use?
So, let the new lawyers take their pictures. Let them post their scrolls. Even if, by some miracle of mass enrollment, everybody in Ghana eventually becomes a lawyer, you can sleep soundly tonight. At the very least, it means somebody will finally be available to obey the law.
By Emmanuel Amponsah
The writer is a former Editor of The Spectator
