Tensions flared in this northern Ghanaian city as hundreds of youths flooded the streets this week, decrying a newly imposed dusk-to-dawn curfew they describe as oppressive and unjust.
The Interior Ministry’s order, effective immediately, restricts movement between 6:00 PM and 6:00 AM and bans all possession of arms in the region—a move authorities claim will curb violence linked to the protracted Bawku ethnic conflict. But for residents, the crackdown feels less like protection and more like punishment.
Protesters in Walewale, the regional capital, set tires ablaze and blocked major roads, their chants echoing frustrations over what many call a heavy-handed response to insecurity. The backlash turned visceral when a crowd vandalized the official vehicle of Regional Minister Ibrahim Tia, underscoring the depth of local anger. “Why lock us indoors instead of arresting the real troublemakers?” asked one young demonstrator, who requested anonymity. “We’re being treated like criminals in our own homes.”
The curfew’s reimposition—previously lifted after earlier unrest—has also drawn sharp criticism from Walewale’s Member of Parliament, Dr. Mahama Tiah Abdul-Kabiru. In a scathing statement, he accused the government of using security measures as a political tool while neglecting systemic issues. “This curfew targets innocent civilians, not the root causes of violence,” he asserted, citing a lack of community consultation and reports of military brutality against civilians during patrols. Dr. Abdul-Kabiru further condemned the timing, arguing it exacerbates economic hardship in a region already strained by unemployment and poverty.
The Interior Ministry has yet to respond to allegations of bias or address claims that the curfew overlooks key drivers of the crisis, including competition over land and political influence in Bawku. Meanwhile, security forces remain on high alert, with orders to arrest anyone violating the arms ban—a policy skeptics argue fails to distinguish between illicit weapons and those used for farming or self-defense in rural areas.
While the government’s intent to quell violence is clear, the North East Region’s upheaval reveals a dangerous disconnect between policy and reality. Curfews may offer temporary calm, but without addressing underlying grievances—from economic despair to perceived state neglect—such measures risk deepening mistrust. The vandalism of Minister Tia’s car isn’t mere vandalism; it’s a symbol of broken dialogue. Lasting peace demands more than restrictions—it requires listening to those who know the conflict’s heartbeat: the people living it.
