June is here again.
Ghana finds itself at a crossroads.
Not only because the rains have come.
Not because another disaster has struck.
A bill that seeks to criminalize LGBTQ+ Ghanaians has moved through Parliament and
awaits presidential assent.
The timing is difficult to ignore.
For many Ghanaians, June is not just another month on the calendar. It is a month of
memory. A month of grief. A month that carries the weight of names, faces, and stories that
never got to continue.
June reminds us of lives lost, promises made, and lessons that remain unlearned.
National attention has become consumed by debates over who deserves to belong, who
deserves protection, and who deserves punishment.
Ten years ago, on June 3, 2015, Accra witnessed one of the darkest nights in our nation’s
history.
Floodwaters swallowed streets. Families were separated. People sought shelter
wherever they could find it. Then came the fire.
The images are still with us.
The reports from television stations, radio broadcasts, newspapers, and social media flooded
our screens. We watched rescue workers pull bodies from the wreckage. We listened to
survivors recount how they escaped flames that raced across floodwaters. We heard parents
searching for children and children searching for parents.
For a brief moment, Ghana stood still.
We mourned together.
We promised ourselves that such a tragedy would never happen again.
We spoke about drainage systems, urban planning. sanitation, choked gutters, buildings on
waterways, accountability, and governance.
We said lives had been lost and lessons had been learned.
But ten years later, as another June arrives, one cannot help but ask:
What happened?
Where did all that urgency go?
Where did all those promises go?
Today, national attention is consumed by debates surrounding legislation that would further
criminalize LGBTQ+ Ghanaians. Politicians spend valuable time discussing how to police
the identities of citizens. Public resources are being directed toward determining who belongs
and who does not.
Meanwhile, many of the issues exposed by June 3 remain painfully familiar.
For some, this is politics., For others, it is personal.
Because we are not talking about what people have done.
We are talking about who people are.
We are talking about citizens who are increasingly being told that their existence itself is a
problem to be solved.
They are being criminalized for their existence, not their actions — for who they are, not
what they choose to be.
The legislation itself is wrapped in the language of family, values, and protection. Yet many
Ghanaians continue to ask a simple question:
What family problems does this bill solve?
Does it make housing more affordable for struggling families, reduce maternal mortality,
improve education, create jobs for young people, lower the cost of living, strengthen child
protection services, provide support for families caring for elderly relatives, address domestic
violence and tackle poverty?
For a bill that speaks so often about families and values, remarkably little of its energy is
directed toward protecting families from the challenges they actually face every day.
Flooding continues to threaten communities whenever the rains arrive. Drains remain
clogged. Infrastructure struggles under pressure. Entire neighbourhoods still fear the clouds
gathering overhead.
Ten years after we buried hundreds of our fellow citizens, are these truly the priorities we
should be demanding from our leaders?
Whether one supports or opposes LGBTQ+ rights, there is a deeper question every Ghanaian
should ask
Why are we not equally passionate about demanding solutions to the problems that cost
lives?
Why are we not holding politicians accountable for promises made after national tragedies?
The June 3 disaster did not ask people who they loved before claiming their lives.
The floodwaters did not distinguish between religion, ethnicity, political affiliation, or
identity.
The fire did not stop to determine who deserved protection.
It was a national tragedy because every Ghanaian life mattered.
And every Ghanaian life still matters.
Yet again and again, supporters of the legislation frame identity as a choice. A lifestyle. An
imported habit. A foreign influence.
The argument is familiar: this is not Ghanaian, they say. This came from the West.
But there is a contradiction at the heart of that argument.
If foreign influence is truly the concern, why are international anti-rights movements being
welcomed into our national conversation?
Why are foreign organizations, foreign campaigners, foreign networks, and foreign funding
sources invited to shape our laws and public discourse?
Why are some forms of foreign influence condemned while others are embraced?
The answer appears to depend less on sovereignty and more on whether the influence aligns
with a preferred political agenda.
Soon, Ghana is expected to host gatherings and conferences centred on so-called “family
values.” The language sounds comforting. Reassuring, even.
Among those who survived the night of June 3, among those who lost loved ones, among
those who continue to live with trauma, there are undoubtedly people from every walk of life
and every community. They all suffered the same loss. They all carried the same grief.
Our nation showed its humanity on June 3.
We cried together, mourned together and stood together.
How did we move from demanding accountability for failures that cost lives to demanding
punishment for people whose existence makes others uncomfortable?
How did we become more interested in controlling citizens than scrutinizing power?
How did we become more willing to investigate identities than investigate broken promises?
That spirit of collective responsibility should not disappear simply because the conversation
has changed.
A country is not measured by how effectively it punishes people. A country is measured by
how effectively it protects them.
As June returns once again, let us remember the victims not only with ceremonies and
speeches, but with action.
Let us remember them by demanding safer cities.
Let us remember them by demanding accountability.
Let us remember them by insisting that public resources be used to solve the problems that
threaten lives every day.
And that should concern all of us.
Not because everyone must agree on questions of sexuality but because our country’s focus
currently remains fixed on a small group of citizens whose primary offence, in the eyes of
their critics, is existing openly.
let us never become so distracted by who people are that we forget the responsibilities of
those elected to serve us.
The victims of June 3 deserve more than remembrance.
They deserve a Ghana that learned from their loss.
Ten years later, that remains the unfinished work before us.
PRECIOUS AMEVOR, June 2026
Precious is a community organiser and independent activist working at the intersections of healthcare , SRHR, community organizing and Antiretroviral care. You can reach over amevorprecious1432@gmail.com