There comes a point in the collapse of public integrity when the line between public service and private profiteering dissolves completely. That line was crossed the day Maxwell Kofi Jumah, former Managing Director of GIHOC Distilleries, reportedly mistook a national beverage company for his personal bar—and then some.
Jumah’s recent arrest by National Security operatives has sparked national conversation, not just because of its dramatic details—some say he was picked up without shoes or explanation—but for what it signifies. His case has become the emblem of a growing cancer within Ghana’s state-owned enterprises (SOEs): a culture of impunity, entitlement, and elite pillaging.
The $100,000 Genesis for GH₵4,943
One of the starkest indictments comes from the curious case of a Genesis G90—a luxury sedan with a price tag of over $100,000. Jumah allegedly acquired it for a paltry GH₵4,943.11, a sum that barely covers a used iPhone or a crate of Origin bitters.
And that wasn’t the only car. Two other GIHOC vehicles were reportedly transferred under similar terms, with one frequently spotted being driven by his son, as casually as a campus shuttle. While factory workers scrambled for printing paper, the boss’s family cruised around Accra in executive style.
This wasn’t leadership. It was looting in plain sight—just with the added bonus of official plates.
“Yes, I’m a Thief. So What?”
The most chilling revelation might not be the acts themselves, but the brazen attitude behind them. In a past radio interview, Jumah reportedly declared, “Yes, I’m a thief. So what?” Some dismissed it as dry sarcasm; others heard a confession dressed in arrogance.
Regardless of tone, the statement laid bare a truth Ghanaians know too well: theft in public office is rarely punished. It’s often rationalized, sometimes even defended—especially if the accused wears the right party colours.
A Party Rally, Not a Reckoning
Following the arrest, members of the New Patriotic Party (NPP) leapt to Jumah’s defense, calling the move “politically motivated.” As if public accountability now amounts to persecution, and corruption is just another perk of political survival.
If this is persecution, then stealing ECG meters might as well be rebranded “infrastructure decentralization.”
But this goes beyond Jumah. His story is merely a symptom of a deeper rot—where SOEs have become golden parachutes for political loyalists. These institutions, meant to drive economic growth, have become party spoils. Boardrooms become echo chambers. Audits are bypassed. Losses are normalized.
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Where Were the Watchdogs?
GIHOC wasn’t raided in the dead of night. These were daylight deals—public assets reportedly sold like discounted beverages. So where was the State Interests and Governance Authority (SIGA)? Where were the auditors? What did the Ministry of Trade and Industry know—and when?
This wasn’t just a failure of oversight. It was an open wound, ignored by a system that sees whistleblowers as nuisances and power as immunity.
Time for a Real Audit
Jumah’s arrest must not be the final act in a political theatre. It should mark the beginning of a full forensic investigation—not just of GIHOC, but of every SOE now being run as a party fiefdom.
Let’s be honest. Jumah is not the only one. He’s just the one who got caught without cover.
A Line in the Sand
If this government—or any future one—truly values public trust, then this is its moment. Recover every asset unlawfully acquired. Charge those involved. Dismiss the silent enablers. And finally, redefine public office for what it should be: a place of duty, not a lucky jackpot.
Because if Jumah walks, so will the next one. And soon, we’ll wake up to find our institutions auctioned off by the very people hired to protect them.
Public service is not a distillery. You don’t get to bottle the benefits and drink alone.
Let this be the line in the sand. Or let’s stop pretending we ever had one.
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