Accra, April 19, GNA – When Yao Delali Geh was found in a private space with another man, in March, it took less than twenty-four hours for his life to unravel.
At 43, Yao had lived what many would call a respectable Ghanaian life. He was married, a father, active in church, and steadily employed.
What few people knew in his New Bortianor community was that he was a normal guy. What nobody was prepared for was how quickly a discovery would turn into public judgement.
Yao and his gay partner were subjected to âmob justiceâ by a group of community people, where he sustained a cut on his head and was hospitalised.
After discharge from hospital admission, days after, he feared returning home. He knew too well how such incidents often ended.
He had luck, albeit temporarily. One Kofi Sammy offered Yao a place to stay in Osu, part of Accra, far from New Bortianor, thus giving some protection from the stigma and threats of harm that followed. But Sammy said he could only stay for a short period.
Yaoâs experience reflects the quiet anxiety among non-heterosexual men in Ghana as Parliament moves to reintroduce the Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values Bill, a legislation that has reignited debate over morality, culture, and protection of constitutional rights.
While supporters of the bill say it seeks to protect Ghanaian values and the traditional family, its critics argue it goes much further, that is, criminalising not just expression, advocacy, and support for LGBTQ but also what they call consensual same-sex relations.
Already, existing legislation frowns upon same sex relations. Some argue that if passed, the bill would impose harsher penalties and expand liability to family members, friends, landlords, and activists.
Human rights organisations warn that its broad language effectively turns private life into a legal risk.
For men like Yao who identifies as gay, the danger lies not only in enforcement but, the idea that some misinformed sections of the public might take it as social permission to mistreat persons they perceived as ânot normalâ.
âThe law hasnât even passed,â Kofi Sammy muttered said. âBut people are already acting like it has.â
Exposure without Protection
Yao was not arrested. Instead, neighbours attacked him. Phones were raised. Someone shouted âanti-LGBTâ. Someone else suggested calling the media.
Considering the public commentary that surrounded the proposed legislation, such fears are not unfounded.
The Constitutional Question
Ghanaâs 1992 Constitution guarantees dignity, privacy, equality before the law, and freedom from discrimination.
In fact, it outlines, in Chapter Five, the fundamental human rights and freedoms, that âEvery person in Ghana, whatever his race, place of origin, political opinion, colour, religion, creed or gender shall be entitled to the fundamental human rights and freedoms of the individualâŠâ These protections, lawyers argue, should apply to all citizens.
However, sexual orientation is not explicitly protected, leaving room for moral interpretation and selective enforcement and potential abuse.
Some legal experts also warn that criminalising the expression of gender identity directly conflicts with the constitutional freedoms of speech, association, and personal liberty.
Although the Supreme Court dismissed earlier legal challenges to the bill on procedural grounds, the core constitutional questions remain unresolved.
Vulnerability
Gay men occupy a particularly precarious position. In Ghanaâs social framework, masculinity is closely tied to heterosexual marriage, fatherhood, and moral authority.
When men like Yao are exposed, they are punished twice â for same-sex intimacy and for violating expectations of manhood.
Though no charges have been filed, the consequences have been severe. âHe didnât lose his rights in court,â Kofi Sammy said. âHe lost them in society.â
The last time Kofi Sammy heard from him, Yao was still struggling, seeking a place where ânormalâ life is possible.
Fear as Enforcement
According to some human rights groups, the billâs greatest impact may not be mass arrests, but fearâfear that would discourages people from seeking healthcare, reporting abuse, or maintaining support networks. They fear it would fuel blackmail, extortion, and vigilante behaviour.
Even without becoming law, the bill has already shaped behaviourâencouraging silence, isolation, and self-censorship.
A Nation at a Crossroads?
As Parliament debates the billâs return, citizens face a defining question: can a constitutional democracy protect human dignity that excludes some of its people, or only when it aligns with majority sentiment?
For Yao, and others like him, the issue is painfully personal. The urge for personal preservation fuelled a decision to seek refuge, leaving all he had worked for, leaving all the social connections and support he had known and built all his life.
Whether the law passes or not, Yaoâs story underscores a deeper reality that the true test of Ghanaâs constitutional rights may not lie in text or theory, but in how they protect every member of the society, especially, those seen as minorities, and the vulnerable.
GNA