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217 27 On the Threshold of a Democratic Breakthrough T oday, in Cameroon, we are standing on the threshold of a democratic breakthrough from the strangulating grip of the repressive dictatorship under which we have been groaning since 1966, and the rapacious plunder that we have all witnessed since the mid-1980s. You may be quite surprised at my optimism, given the very recent indications that our own brand of dictatorship (or advanced democracy, if you prefer) has no intention of simply throwing in the towel and that there is no end to the devious methods and means of survival at its disposal. But, believe me, yours truly, on the basis of my past record. I am often far-sighted (not an ophthalmological ailment) because I am always gazing ahead even when something right on the table (or is it on the ground?) is distracting all of us. Who believed me when I predicted the imminent collapse of Apartheid in South Africa and the victorious triumph of Nelson Mandela? Who took me seriously when, not so long ago, I started talking confidently about the collapse of the French empire in Africa or of the end of Marshall Mobutu? As a critic cum sceptic but not a pessimist, I usually sight the silver linings beyond several horizons of dark clouds from a respectable distance. Cameroon is on the threshold of a democratic breakthrough and the New Deal regime of His Excellency Paul Biya is about to fall a great fall, after hanging on precariously, for several years, from the rafters of illegitimate dictatorial power. I had wondered on this same page how the new dealers expected us to take them seriously when they were proposing to transport us on top of a dead horse into the 21st century, but no one cared to answer me. But Ayissi Mvodo had come out with the first broom and started clearing the accumulated cobwebs of delusive illusions. Then we heard incredible diatribe against HE and the New Deal from erstwhile staunch supporters like Ngijol Ngijol Pierre, who terrorised both 218 Road Companion to Democracy and Meritocracy staff and students on behalf of the New Deal in the heady early 90’s, as Monsieur le Doyen of the Faculty of Arts, Letters and Social Sciences of Yaounde University; from Albert Ndzogang, who all along had been secretly nursing legitimate ambitions to replace his Master; or from Douala Moutoume, who in 1992 foamed at the mouth in defence of the stolen victory. I have been worried that today’s ruling party, even though surely headed for a landslide failure in the coming elections, may not be completely empty of members tomorrow. There are at least some people one would expect to swim or sink with Biya to the end, come what may. But, from the look of things, would Paul be left only with his allogènes anglo Peters, Johns and Ephraims? It would be very sad, and. indeed a sad comment on the moral inglorious moment. Beer is left standing alone the rain. That is why I had very mixed feelings when, on Saturday 12th April 1997, I learned that Pa Foch had uncharacteristically deserted the camp and “gone ahead.” Everyone was asking: “How did he die?” when they heard the news and showing disappointment to learn that he died a perfectly natural death, as if God is a human being who pays people in their own coins. As the hangman of two successive dictators, whom he served with unquestionable fidelity, and as the terror of all Cameroonians bold enough to harbour any “subversive” thoughts, it is admittedly hard to believe that Pa Foch could just decide to pass away so easily, without even a token fight, as if he were some ordinary mortal. Was it les moyem or la volonté of which he used to assure us with a real bully’s wide open eyes most convincingly, that was lacking? He who stood so firmly and shamelessly partisanly behind the New Deal, ready to take off his policeman’s uniform at any time to dance CPDM mbaya, how could he desert the camp at such a critical moment? The answer, my dear friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind! We will propose no epitaph for the spot where he is buried. In Book Two of the Past Tense... we had already done (in advance) what ought to be done on the spot. Oh yes, they shat we spat...

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