By Richmond Keelson, Ontario, Canada 

The phrase “Et tu, Brute?” from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (Act 3, Scene 1) is one of literature’s most iconic lines. It translates from Latin as “And you, Brutus?” or “You too, Brutus?” A shocked Julius Caesar utters these words upon seeing his trusted ally, Brutus, among the conspirators who stab him—a moment that epitomizes ultimate betrayal.

While Caesar could expect an attack from enemies, he never imagined such treachery from a friend he trusted completely. In contemporary Ghana, a melodrama reminiscent of Brutus’ betrayal is unfolding. The once-righteous Ken Ofori-Atta, often clad in his signature white kaftan like a modern-day pontiff and fond of quoting the Bible at public events, now finds himself accused by the Office of the Special Prosecutor, Kissi Agyabeng, of causing financial loss to the state.

Ghanaians may well be borrowing Caesar’s famous phrase to express their disbelief over the corruption allegations against the seemingly flawless Ken Ofori-Atta—a man whose holier-than-thou disposition makes him a walking symbol of piety.

To be clear, no one is suggesting he is guilty of the charges leveled by the OSP. Far from it. But the very idea of corruption allegations against “Saint Ofori-Atta” is a real shocker. In his self-righteous realm, he sees no wrongdoing in using GHC25 billion to collapse indigenous Ghanaian banks when he only needed GHC9 billion to rescue some distressed ones. 

The devastating effects of his so-called banking sector reforms—lives lost, businesses ruined, marriages destroyed—were of no concern to him. If he could eliminate his targets—Papa Kwesi Nduom, Alhaji Agongo, Kwabena Duffuor, and Captain Prince Kofi Amoabeng—men he feared were taking over Ghana’s economy, he was content. And with them out of the way, a perfect space was created for his Databank to flourish.

With the collapse of these banks, Databank conveniently stepped in as the state’s financial advisor, reaping huge commissions from funds contracted by the government—a role that should have belonged to the Central Bank or the Bank of Ghana. This allowed Databank to fill the vacuum left by the likes of GN Bank, Royal Bank, GT Bank, and Unibank.

In the case of GN Bank, Ofori-Atta was determined to annihilate it completely. Papa Kwesi Nduom had long been a target, as the Ofori “Payin Fie” saw him as an obstacle to their grand state capture agenda. It’s no surprise to many that a significant portion of Nduom’s business assets were either stolen or deliberately destroyed, all in a calculated effort to reshape the financial sector to suit their narrative. 

Trust and Deception

The initial reaction to this heinous crime was one of pomp and recognition—perhaps Ofori-Atta was seen as the daring beast who finally dared to touch the untouchables. Behind his chicanery, the deafening stone-throwing frenzy of NPP loyalists was so intense that even the most open-minded observers of the so-called banking sector reforms feared for their eardrums. Many chose to remain silent—or at least pretended to be.

But every storm has its moment of truth. Long before Ofori-Atta became the punching bag of NPP zealots after the 2024 elections, he had already become a fugitive in his own home. NPP MPs openly called for his removal, and he was only shielded by his reticent cousin, President Nana Akufo-Addo.

Now, Kenneth Nana Yaw Kuntukunuku Ofori-Atta has become the ultimate symbol of trust turned treachery. Forget the stoic defenses mounted by his loyalists in Parliament. On the ground, NPP foot soldiers are livid. They see the once-revered Ofori-Atta not just as a betrayer but as the architect of their party’s downfall. Poor souls. 

They now realize that in the cutthroat world of power-driven politics, maneuvering based on populism often leads to unexpected betrayal. Overtime, “Et tu, Brute?” has become a phrase used beyond literature. It’s now a global expression that expresses shock when someone close turns against you. But in our case, we are shocked that the holier Ken Ofori Atta could even be cited in this instance, let alone the possibility of being jailed. 

Ken Ofori-Atta appears poised to betray Ghanaians, his party loyalists, and perhaps even the Ofori Panin Fie—his revered palace. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Literary students will tell you that Caesar’s words signal resignation to fate—once he sees Brutus among his attackers, he stops resisting, accepting his inevitable end. Now, let me hazard a guess—is Ken Ofori-Atta’s fate sealing or merely stalling?

Otherwise, why would his lawyers inform the OSP that his return to Ghana is indefinite? Meaning he could be back in the next hour—or the next 10 years. In fact, even he himself may not know when. Ten years in the U.S. for medical attention? That may sound like hyperbole, but it’s an option worth considering.

Yet, his apologists bristle at the suggestion that he is a fugitive. But isn’t he? From all indications, he is evading legitimate legal scrutiny. Perhaps he refuses to accept that the days of hiding behind “medical check-ups” abroad to dodge accountability are over.

For now, Ofori-Atta retreats to his Kyebi roots, where he once described himself as “a boy born out of wedlock.”No, don’t tell me he meant to say he’s a bastard—spare me that. I didn’t say it.