When the New Patriotic Party (NPP) lost the election to the National Democratic Congress (NDC), a popular narrative quickly emerged: that the party had long foreseen its defeat. But the evidence points in a different direction. The NPP, far from anticipating a loss, campaigned with the conviction of a party assured of victory. Their slogan, “We are breaking the 8”, was not just a rallying cry — it was a declaration of confidence. They believed their achievements, however contested, were enough to secure another mandate.
Armed with this optimism, the party poured enormous resources into its campaign machinery. Their complementary slogan, “It’s possible”, carried them through rallies, roadshows, and media engagements. At every step, the NPP projected a party convinced that the electorate would reward it with another four years.
One of the central pillars of this confidence was the Free Senior High School (FSHS) programme — the flagship social intervention the NPP proudly claimed as its legacy. Although critics argued that the policy was rushed for political gain, its implementation boosted enrolment. The unforeseen force, however, came in the form of the COVID-19 pandemic. What had been a bold educational venture suddenly became a logistical nightmare. The introduction of the double-track system was a desperate attempt to manage the overwhelming numbers under pandemic conditions. But the combined effects of rushed implementation, structural weaknesses, and global health challenges left deep cracks in the programme.
Beyond education, the NPP’s administration suffered a credibility problem. The weight of unfulfilled promises — one village, one dam, one district, one factory, massive job creation — began to haunt the party. Coupled with an alarming rise in public scandals and a rapidly ballooning national debt, many Ghanaians began to question the competence and sincerity of the government.
When hardship tightened its grip on households, the political narrative shifted dramatically. The party that had sold hope was now seen as the architect of economic distress. The NPP did not need a political scientist — or a “ticket scientist”, as some would say — to explain their defeat. Yet they commissioned internal investigations, not to confirm that the grassroots were angry, but to uncover just how deep the resentment ran.
The report confirmed a glaring truth: the party had abandoned its grassroots. Those who had sacrificed time, money, and energy to secure victory were left struggling for opportunities while the powerful insulated themselves in comfortable offices. Disappointed foot soldiers promised a “showdown” — and delivered precisely that at the polls.
Today, the NDC must pay close attention to this unfolding lesson. Early murmurs from within their own base are disturbingly familiar. Supporters are already complaining that party leaders ignore calls and messages, that opportunities are bypassing the very people who worked tirelessly to return the NDC to power.
History often whispers before it screams. And as the saying goes, “the memory of the dead is a warning to the living.” The NDC shouldn't think the grassroots will forget it when the time comes for the party to need them.
If the NDC fails to nurture and respect its grassroots, it risks sowing the same seeds of discontent that uprooted the NPP. Busy schedules are no excuse; leaders must remember that political power is built on relationships — relationships strengthened by accessibility, respect, and genuine engagement.
The grassroots must not be reduced to election-day machinery. They need to feel valued, seen, and included. They must benefit from opportunities so that when the time comes, they can proudly tell their communities, “This is what our party has done for us.”
If the NDC fails to heed this warning, they too may learn, painfully, that political victory is never guaranteed, and that neglecting the very hands that lift you up is the shortest path back to opposition.
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