Minority Leader Alexander Afenyo-Markin has pushed back against criticism of his rigorous questioning during recent parliamentary vetting sessions, framing his approach as a time-honored duty rather than political theatrics.
Speaking on GTV’s Breakfast Show, the Effutu MP dismissed claims that his lengthy interrogations were aimed at stalling or embarrassing nominees, insisting they align with decades of parliamentary precedent.
“My questions follow three pillars: verifying qualifications, addressing public controversies, and probing policy positions,” Afenyo-Markin explained. “This isn’t personal—it’s about accountability. If a nominee has made statements on social media or elsewhere, Parliament has a right to scrutinize them.”
Critics, however, have accused him of overreach, with some arguing his marathon sessions—which occasionally stretch for hours—border on obstruction. Yet Afenyo-Markin countered by invoking the legacy of past minority leaders, including current Speaker Alban Bagbin and Haruna Iddrisu. “Go watch tapes from 2001 or 2005. Bagbin grilled Kufuor’s nominees relentlessly. My questions are shorter than theirs,” he asserted.
The Minority Leader traced the tradition of unfettered scrutiny to 1997, when Ghana’s Fourth Republic saw its first robust opposition under figures like J.H. Mensah. “Unlimited questioning isn’t new—it’s constitutional. The opposition’s job is to probe, not applaud,” he said, urging media to contextualize current debates with historical coverage. “Journalists must educate the public, not just report headlines.”
Political analysts remain divided. While governance expert Dr. Kojo Pumpuni Asante acknowledged that “thorough vetting is a pillar of democracy,” others noted that today’s polarized climate amplifies perceptions of partisan motives. “In the past, scrutiny felt more policy-focused. Now, every exchange is dissected for ‘gotcha’ moments,” said Accra-based commentator Nana Ama Agyemang.
Afenyo-Markin’s defiance comes amid rising public impatience with prolonged vetting processes, particularly for non-controversial nominees. Yet he remains unapologetic: “If we shortcut scrutiny today, we’ll pay for it tomorrow. Democracy isn’t a speed race.”
Afenyo-Markin’s stance underscores a tension at the heart of Ghana’s democracy: balancing rigorous oversight with efficient governance. By anchoring his methods in history, he deflects accusations of bias, but the comparison glosses over shifts in political culture. Where past leaders operated in a less digitized, slower-paced era, today’s vetting unfolds under the glare of social media, where every pause or rebuttal risks viral misinterpretation.
His call for media to “educate, not just report” is both a critique and a challenge. It highlights the need for nuanced public understanding of parliamentary norms, yet also risks deflecting accountability for how scrutiny is conducted. As Ghana approaches another election cycle, the line between diligent opposition and performative grandstanding will remain a flashpoint—one where tradition and modernity collide.
