The recent proposal to amend Ghana’s Chieftaincy Act to formally include Queen Mothers in the sittings of the National and Regional Houses of Chiefs and to create a separate “Chamber of Queen Mothers” has stirred a passionate national conversation. While some see this as a progressive step toward gender inclusion, the Asantehene, Otumfuo Osei Tutu II, has stood firmly against the proposal. And his position is not only culturally grounded, it is constitutionally sound, historically necessary, and spiritually profound.
We must be careful not to confuse sacred traditions with modern political aspirations. Chieftaincy in Ghana is not a government creation. It is not a state appointment. It is a sacred inheritance, built over centuries, rooted in bloodlines, community allegiance, and ancestral authority. In the Asante tradition, and many others across Ghana, the structure of chieftaincy is spiritually configured not legislated. The chief does not simply lead; he carries the soul of a people. And alongside him stands the Queen Mother; not behind him, not below him but within a different chamber of sacred influence.
In Asanteman for instance, the Queen Mother the Asantehemaa is one of the most powerful figures in the traditional governance system. She nominates kings. She counsels on justice. She holds sacred wisdom passed down through generations. Her seat is not ceremonial but it is spiritually constitutional. Her power is rather exercised in a different domain. She rules not by debating alongside chiefs in political forums, but by upholding the spiritual balance of the land, guiding the women, and speaking the will of the ancestors.
This distinction is not a flaw but it is the brilliance of our system. The male and female energies in leadership are not in competition. They are complementary, woven together in a sophisticated architecture of balance and respect. To reduce this into a Western-style parliamentary format is to risk collapsing the spiritual fabric that holds our traditional systems together. When we impose modern structures on sacred institutions without understanding their metaphysical foundations, we weaken the very legacy we claim to protect.
We must remember that Ghana has seen this before. During the early days of independence, Kwame Nkrumah’s government attempted to modernize and absorb the chieftaincy institution into the state apparatus. In the process, it diluted its sanctity and autonomy. The result was confusion, resistance, and a legacy of tension between traditional authority and political ambition. Today, we stand on the edge of repeating that mistake, only this time under the banner of gender equity.
Let’s be clear: this is not a rejection of women’s leadership. Queen Mothers are already leaders deeply respected, culturally grounded, and spiritually powerful. Their role doesn’t need reinvention. It needs recognition on its own terms. Attempting to make Queen Mothers more visible by mirroring them in the structure of male leadership only affirms the idea that political power is superior to spiritual authority.
Across many Ghanaian ethnic groups like Akan, Ewe, Ga, Dagomba; women have always played essential roles in governance and spiritual affairs. In the Ga tradition, for example, the concept of God is not strictly male. God is known as “Ataa Naa Nyɔŋmɔ”—a Father-Mother Creator. The divine is balanced. So too must our systems reflect that sacred equilibrium, not undo it by forcing equality through sameness.
What is being proposed may seem inclusive on the surface but beneath it lies a political current that seeks to reshape chieftaincy into a modern model it was never meant to become. We must ask: who benefits when the structures that have preserved our culture for centuries are redefined through parliamentary law? Is this really about empowerment, or is it a quiet attempt to turn chieftaincy into another tool of the state?
We must resist the urge to fix what is not broken, especially when it comes to sacred customs. Reforms should come from within through the traditional councils, through consultation with elders, and through the wisdom of the people and not through top-down political interference.
Otumfuor’s stance is not a refusal of progress. It is a defense of our cultural sovereignty. It is a call to protect what has endured for centuries not by freezing it in time, but by allowing it to evolve in its own rhythm, through its own rituals, and with its own internal logic.
Let us not repeat history’s mistakes. Let us not trade spiritual structure for political symbolism. And let us not measure power only by visibility, for the most powerful forces in our traditions have always moved behind the veil. The Queen Mothers of Ghana do not need a new chamber to prove their worth. They have always had a chamber which is sacred, ancestral, and enduring. Let us honour that, and protect it.
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