FOUR LESSONS I LEARNT FROM READING S.R.B.ATTOH AHUMA: Reclaiming the Mind of a Nation Through the Writings of S.R.B. Attoh Ahuma

I was engaged in a conversation recently with a friend on the legacy of Nina Simone and the power of music to transform societies. My friend showed me an unforgettable quote from the Philadelphia Tribune, which was from a review a critic of the African American newspaper had written about a Nina Simone show in 1966. The critic wrote that to hear Simone sing “is to be brought into abrasive contact with the black heart and to feel the power and beauty which for centuries have beat there.” That sums up the entire legacy of the incomparable, inimitable Nina Simone.

I am reading one of the most fascinating books I have ever come across in my life. It is titled “The Gold Coast Nation and National Consciousness” by Rev.Samuel Richard Brew Attoh Ahuma (1863-1921). Rev Attoh Ahuma was the editor of the Gold Coast Methodist Times when the infamous Crown Lands Bill of 1896 and the Lands Bill of 1897, which threatened traditional land tenure systems were introduced. The bills sought to grant the British government control over all lands in Ghana. Rev Attoh Ahuma despite the vehement protestations of the European missionaries running the Gold Coast Methodist church then, used his influence as the editor of the paper to rally significant local opposition to the bill. He later became the editor of the Gold Coast Nation, and also the Secretary of the Gold Coast Aborigines’ Rights Protection Society (ARPS) which had been originally formed to fight the Public Lands Bill of 1897.

The book, “The Gold Coast Nation and National Consciousness”, originally published in 1911 is a collection of articles written by this greatly underrated West African patriot and one of the foremost nationalists of the Gold Coast. It is a book of gem. Here are things I learnt from the book;

 

• “But, if we are a nation, are we self-conscious? Do we manfully strive by legitimate means and methods to realise our responsibilities and obligations? Have we felt that we are endowed with potentialities and inspirations which suggest larger and fuller things than all we have yet seen and done? What reforming agencies are at work in our midst, and what is our individual relation to them? Our weaknesses, foibles, and susceptibilities : our resources, work, and destiny – do these mean anything to us ?”

Rev Attoh Ahuma is posing a very salient question on our collective downward spiral to mediocrity.  This is principally a call to dream big again. A call to derive inspiration from our glorious history to build a great nation. He questions that things that engage our minds. Are we thinking of reforms to advance the development of this state? Do we contemplate on the things we have not done right and how we can change course? One is left wondering what the great SRB would have made of present-day Ghana considering the menace of galamsey and other social ills bedeviling the nation.

• “As a people, we have ceased to be a THINKING NATION. Our forebears, with all their limitations and disadvantages, had occasion to originate ideas and to contrive in their own order. They sowed incorruptible thought-seeds, and we are reaping a rich harvest today, though, for the most part, we are scarcely conscious of the debt we owe them…”

Attoh Ahuma presents us with a stark and sobering truth: the reality of our generational disconnect. His words almost mourn the loss of a time when our best days seemed ahead of us—days shaped by original thought and bold ideas. Our forebears, despite the weight of colonial oppression and limited resources, were not mere recipients of thought. They were thinkers—original thinkers—who dared to dream for a people still finding their identity.

Today, however, we appear to have become passive spectators. We mimic the ideas of other lands, replicating systems and models without questioning their relevance to our context. Why, after over six decades of independence, have we still not carved out a meaningful, productive role for our chieftaincy institutions in our democratic experiment? Is our democracy truly rooted in the historical evolution of our people, or is it merely a borrowed garment, ill-fitting and alien to our cultural fabric?

Where is the creativity and critical thinking that once energized our nationalist struggles? The colonial generation—writers, preachers, activists – dared to craft a vision from their lived reality. They weren’t perfect, but they were intentional.

Even as we stand on the legacy of our ancestors, we must ask: where is the originality in our own thinking? What are we becoming? How do we define ourselves as a people in the 21st century? These are not rhetorical questions – they are necessary ones.

Attoh Ahuma is not just lamenting a loss. He is issuing a call. A call to remember, to rethink, and to re-imagine. This is the time for new dreams – dreams forged from our unique experiences, rooted in our cultural identity, and driven by the needs of our people. We cannot afford to simply admire the harvest of our past. We must plant seeds of our own – incorruptible thought-seeds – for the generations to come.

• “Our national life is semi-paralysed; our mental machinery dislocated, the inevitable consequence being, speaking generally, the resultant production of a Race of men and women who think too little and talk too much. But neither garrulity nor loquacity forms an indispensable element in the constitution of a state or nation…”

The timeless relevance and biting truth of the above statement from Rev Attoh Ahuma can be justified by just a cursory look at Ghanaian social media or early morning radio shows. Our national life and public discourse have been replaced by theatrics and shallow mindedness to the extent that, all one needs is to have a voice and a pretty face and spew all kinds of nonsense in the name of sharing opinion.

In this national tragedy of the absence of thoughtful engagement, a culture of noise has emerged, where people talk endlessly but say very little of substance. The critique of “talking too much and thinking too little” is not an attack on free speech as Rev Attoh Ahuma himself was a fiercely defender of the freedom of speech, but his words are a warning against the culture of empty rhetoric that substitutes performance for real progress. We live in a time of constant commentary – radio, TV, social media, panel discussions, podcasts. Everyone has something to say. Yet beneath the noise, there is often a painful lack of depth. The habit of serious, grounded, independent thinking seems to have taken a backseat to shallow argument and reactive speech.

Policy is often reactive rather than visionary. Institutions struggle to adapt because we are stuck mimicking borrowed systems rather than imagining our own. We talk about problems, but we don’t think through solutions. We admire the past, but we do little to build a future rooted in fresh ideas.

Take the issue of flooding in Accra, for instance. You’d be shocked at how far back the problem goes. While flipping through old newspapers, I came across a Daily Graphic report on flooding in Accra from 1956. That’s nearly seven decades ago. Fast forward to just last month, and flooding was back in the headlines—again. The same city, the same problem, the same reactions.

In all that time, we’ve talked, complained, and analysed – yet we’ve hardly thought differently. Where is the comprehensive, locally rooted, long-term thinking? Where is the courage to implement tough decisions and re-imagine urban planning with resilience in mind? We talk, yes—but do we think?

• “When we become conscious of the place we occupy in nature, and our eyes are opened, all selfish individualism will sink into oblivion, and with the expansion of the soul shall come the yearning, burning zeal and love for country and race.”

This line may not be plastered on billboards or trending on social media, but it says something our nation desperately needs to hear; patriotism begins with awakening.

In a time when public life is often driven by self-interest, rivalry, and survivalism, we must pause and ask – have we truly understood what it means to serve something bigger than ourselves? The quote offers a quiet but powerful answer. It reminds us that selfishness isn’t always a moral failing. Sometimes, it’s simply the result of not seeing clearly – of being disconnected from the wider world, from history, from community.

But when we “become conscious of the place we occupy in nature,” when our inner eyes open, something begins to shift. We no longer see life solely in terms of me and mine. Instead, the soul expands. Our imagination stretches. We begin to care – not just about our own well-being, but about the fate of our people, our country, and our shared future.

And from that deeper awareness flows a genuine patriotism. Not the performative kind – the one that shouts slogans and waves flags for show – but the kind that builds, heals, and serves. The kind that pays attention to the flood in a neighbour’s home, the child without access to education, the community without clean water.

This is what our national life must be built upon: a shared consciousness, a collective sense of place and purpose. Not ego. Not entitlement. Not exclusion. But vision and responsibility born out of expanded hearts and awakened minds.

Our country doesn’t just need more policies. It needs more people whose souls have been stirred into service.

 

In the end, the task before us is not simply to lament what has gone wrong, but to reclaim the thinking spirit that once defined our national character. We must move from noise to nuance, from mimicry to originality, from passive citizenship to purposeful engagement. The call is clear: to awaken our minds, expand our souls, and give ourselves – fully and fearlessly – to the unfinished work of nation-building. This is how we honour the legacy of our forebears, and more importantly, how we secure the future for those yet to come.

These four lessons from S.R.B. Attoh Ahuma are more than just reflections from a distant past – they are urgent prompts for our present. They remind us that nation-building is not the responsibility of a few, but the collective duty of a people who think critically, act purposefully, and love deeply. If we are willing to open our eyes, expand our souls, and embrace the place we occupy in the story of our land, then perhaps, like Attoh Ahuma, we too can sow thought-seeds that future generations will reap with gratitude.