“State of Emergency!” This might sound like the title of a Netflix thriller or a trending hashtag on TikTok to the Gen Z, but in real life, it’s a country’s way of hitting the big red panic button when things get really serious.
Think wars, floods, pandemics, or violent clashes.
For Gen Z, who live online 24/7, like to be “outside” and don’t like long grammar, outspoken, creative, and highly connected.
They thrive on social media, value freedom of expression, and are quick to mobilize online movements.
A generation that balances “soft life” vibes seeking comfort, self-expression, and opportunities with a deep concern for social justice, jobs, and their future, this matters because it could affect your movement, your social life, and even how businesses run.
It’s about knowing what happens to our freedoms, our businesses, and even our Friday night hangouts if the country suddenly switches into crisis mode.
Imagine your “outside” life coming to a halt, road trips, the Sunday fufu and trying new places seized due to some greedy folks who do not care about your peace and sanity and have decided to destroy the country’s forest and water bodies.
No concerts, no link-ups, no weekend flexing. Social media, their main playground, might face tighter monitoring, dimming their loud online voices.
Think of a state of emergency as Ghana’s “crisis mode button.” It is the government’s way of saying that normal systems aren’t enough to handle a serious threat like war, violent unrest, a pandemic, or a natural disaster.
It gives the state special powers to move faster, but the Constitution makes sure it is not a free-for-all. There are rules, checks, and time limits built in.
Now let’s bring it closer to home. Recently, there has been a loud chorus of voices calling for Ghana to declare a state of emergency over illegal mining, commonly known as galamsey.
Civil society groups, labour unions, and even the Ghana Journalists Association are saying galamsey isn’t just an environmental issue anymore; it’s a full-blown crisis.
Rivers are poisoned, forests destroyed, communities losing livelihoods, and water scarcity is looming.
If clean water is at risk, that’s literally life at risk. And under the Constitution, that could qualify as grounds for emergency powers.
But here’s the catch: Declaring a state of emergency in galamsey zones could mean tighter control curfews in mining areas, heavy military presence, shutting down illegal operations overnight. It might fast-track environmental cleanup and protect water bodies.
For Gen Z, that could mean safer drinking water in the future and less toxic land, but also restrictions on movement in affected communities and possible job losses for those who depend on small-scale mining.
The hustle and grind you put in to afford “the soft” life you want is pushed back, days, months or even a year. How would you survive?
In Ghana, only the President can declare a state of emergency. Even then, the President cannot just wake up and do it alone. He must first act on the advice of the Council of State, then issue an official proclamation in the government Gazette.
The moment this happens, Parliament must be informed immediately, with the facts and reasons clearly laid out. Parliament has seventy-two hours to decide whether to approve or reject the proclamation. If Parliament does nothing, the declaration lapses after seven days.
If a majority of MPs vote in favour, the emergency can run for three months, and any extension after that must be renewed month by month. Parliament also has the power to revoke it at any time, which means the executive cannot hold onto emergency powers unchecked.
The Constitution goes further to make sure people’s rights are not erased completely. During a state of emergency, some freedoms like movement, assembly, or even expression can be restricted if the situation demands it. Curfews, checkpoints, and bans on large gatherings are examples of measures that may come into play.
However, core rights such as the right to life and freedom from torture cannot be suspended under any circumstances. When someone is detained during an emergency, the law insists on strict safeguards: the detainee must be told the reason for their arrest in writing within twenty-four hours, their family must be notified, and after ten days a tribunal made up of judges must review the case.
That review is repeated every three months if the detention continues, and once the emergency ends, everyone held under those powers must be released immediately. The courts remain open, and citizens can still challenge abuses through processes like habeas corpus.
For ordinary people, the effects of an emergency declaration are felt in daily routines and in the economy. Nightlife and market activities are often the first to be disrupted because curfews force businesses to close early.
Taxi drivers, food vendors, and others who depend on night-time activity lose income, as happened during the Dagbon crisis in 2002 when Tamale and Yendi were placed under dusk-to-dawn curfew.
At the same time, government resources are often redirected to relief and security efforts, which can slow down normal development projects but bring in aid and emergency assistance.
Investors and businesses also pay close attention, since a prolonged emergency can shake confidence, at least temporarily.
Ghana has been very careful with this tool. Since the 1992 Constitution came into effect, a nationwide state of emergency has never been declared. It has only been used twice in specific regions: first in 1994 during ethnic clashes in the Northern Region, and again in 2002 after the assassination of the Dagbon king.
Both times Parliament renewed the declaration until calm was restored, and both times curfews, heavy security deployments, and stricter media controls became part of daily life. Later crises, such as the 2015 floods in Accra or even the COVID-19 pandemic, were handled with other laws rather than invoking Article 31, showing how rare and serious this measure is.
For Gen Z, the big takeaway is that a state of emergency is not just a dramatic headline. It is a constitutional process that balances swift government action with democratic oversight. It changes how society functions for a period of time, limiting certain freedoms while focusing on restoring order and protecting lives.
And because Parliament and the courts remain involved every step of the way, it is also a reminder that even in crisis, the rule of law still matters.
Not everyone thinks it’s the magic fix, though. Some experts warn that the galamsey problem is so deep tied to politics, corruption, and poverty that a state of emergency might end up hurting innocent people more than stopping the real culprits. Others fear it could give government too much power, risking abuse in the name of “fighting galamsey.”
So here’s the bottom line. A state of emergency is Ghana’s way of saying, “things are out of hand, let’s act fast.” It gives the government muscle to tackle urgent threats, but the Constitution makes sure that muscle has limits.
In the galamsey debate, declaring a state of emergency could show just how seriously the country takes the fight to save our environment.
But like every power move, it’s a double-edged sword and Gen Z needs to understand both sides, because the choices made today will shape the Ghana we inherit tomorrow.
Source: Carolyn Tetteh
