History, they say, moves in unexpected ways. Revolutions often begin with whispers before they turn into shouts.
The march toward independence is rarely a straight path; its twists and turns, shaped by forces both large and small.
The independence struggle of the Gold Coast (now Ghana) was no different, and the events that unfolded seventy-seven years ago today reflects exactly that.
On February 28, 1948, at Christianborg Castle Crossroads in Accra, the Gold Coast’s long and complicated struggle for freedom took a tragic turn.
Three unarmed World War II veterans – Sergeant Cornelius Adjetey, Private Odartey Lamptey, and Corporal Patrick Attipoe – were shot and killed by British colonial police.
The bullets that felled them also shattered the illusion of colonial benevolence and set in motion a chain of events that would ultimately lead to Ghana’s independence.
But beneath this well-told history lies an overlooked detail: the role of bicycles.
Yes, bicycles – those simple two-wheeled machines – played an essential role in how this fateful protest unfolded and, more broadly, in shaping the economic and political landscape of the postwar Gold Coast.
The broken promises of empire
To understand the significance of that day, one must first understand the betrayal that led to it.
The men who marched toward the Christianborg Castle were not ordinary civilians; they were veterans.
These were men who had risked their lives fighting for the British Crown in World War II.
They had seen the battlefields of Burma and North Africa.
They had fought alongside British soldiers under the belief that, upon their return, they would be treated with dignity and given opportunities to rebuild their lives.
But the empire had no such plans for them.
Instead, they returned to find an economy that had no place for them, an indifferent administration, and broken promises.
Their pensions were meagre. Many were jobless. Some resorted to street vending or odd jobs to survive.
The British government, which had relied on them in wartime, abandoned them in peacetime.
And so, on that fateful morning, they decided to march.
Bicycles: The silent witnesses of colonial unrest
But how does a protest spread? How does frustration turn into collective action?
In the postwar Gold Coast, bicycles were more than just a mode of transport; they were a tool of mobility, economy, and resistance.
Unlike automobiles, which were owned by the elite, bicycles were accessible.
A veteran who owned a bicycle could navigate the streets of Accra, looking for work, visiting old comrades, and spreading news.
Many of the veterans who gathered that morning rode bicycles, while others walked.
As the march progressed, those on bicycles moved ahead, pausing to let those on foot catch up.
Their presence shaped the tempo of the protest.
It also made it more difficult for the British authorities to contain.
Colonial administrators had long feared rapid, mobile protests. Trains and newspapers had once spread revolutionary ideas across British India; bicycles were now doing the same in Africa.
When the veterans reached Christianborg Castle Crossroads, they were confronted by police officers under the command of Superintendent Colin Imray.
The veterans, unarmed and orderly, demanded to see the governor. Imray, however, saw a threat.
As the situation grew tense, some of the cyclists dismounted, placing their bicycles to the side.
When the shots rang out, the crowd scattered – those on foot running in one direction, while those with bicycles tried to flee faster, some leaving their bicycles behind. In the aftermath, a striking image emerged: lifeless bodies lying on the street, bicycles overturned beside them, a symbol of both movement and helplessness.
It was a tragic but potent reminder that these men had spent their lives moving across war zones and colonial cities, only to be gunned down when they sought justice
Bicycles and the infrastructure of independence
The Christianborg Castle Crossroads shooting was a spark that set the then Gold Coast’s independence movement ablaze.
In the weeks that followed, riots erupted across the colony.
Shops owned by Europeans and Syrians were looted. British authorities imposed curfews.
The colonial government, realizing that it had lost the trust of the people, was forced to begin conversations that would ultimately lead to self-rule.
But long after the bullets stopped flying, bicycles continued to play a role in the independence struggle.
Political activists rode bicycles to distribute pamphlets, organize meetings, and mobilize communities.
Unlike cars, which were monitored and restricted by the colonial government, bicycles allowed for grassroots activism.
In the marketplaces, it was used to transport goods, strengthening the informal economy that would sustain the nationalist cause.
By the 1950s, bicycles had become more than a means of transport.
They were a symbol of a people on the move – a people who had been denied opportunity, who had been forced to make do with limited resources, but who would not remain stagnant.
Ghana’s independence in 1957 was, in many ways, the culmination of that movement.
The road forward
Seventy-eight years later, the events of February 28, 1948, remain a defining moment in Ghana’s history.
But as we reflect on that day, we must look beyond the simple narrative of police violence and fallen heroes.
The veterans who marched were part of a larger historical arc: one that speaks to broken promises, resilience, and the power of seemingly small things, like bicycles, to shape the course of history.
Today, bicycles are often seen as relics of the past, replaced by motorcycles, taxis, and cars.
But in their time, they were instruments of economic survival, political resistance, and mobility.
The story of Ghana’s independence is not just about speeches and laws; it is also about the movement of people, their struggles, and the everyday objects like bicycles that carried them forward.
So, the next time you see a bicycle leaning against a wall or moving through the crowded streets of Accra, remember: history moves, and sometimes, it rides on two wheels.
(The writer is an award-winning senior media executive, educator, and leadership consultant. He holds master’s degrees in Business Administration, Communication Studies, Education, and African Studies and specializes in media innovation, organizational strategy, and fostering leadership excellence across diverse sectors)
By JIMMY KUTIN
