Philemon Yang: Promises, Power, and the Rot at the Core of the Yaoundé government

This is how decay becomes permanent. This is how a nation is quietly converted into an arrangement. And this is why individuals like Ma Fri Mokom ultimately walked away—not out of anger, but out of clarity.

By Ali Dan Ismael, Editor-in-Chief The Independentistnews

Let us stop pretending. What is unfolding in Yaoundé is not governance. It is not democracy. It is not even politics in the conventional sense. It is the slow, unapologetic consolidation of power within a closed circle that no longer feels the need to justify itself to the people it claims to govern.

The latest revelations—suggesting that the wife of Philémon Yang is already preparing abroad in anticipation of his elevation to Vice President, allegedly based on an old promise from Paul Biya—are not shocking. They are not surprising. They are, in fact, entirely consistent with a system that has reduced state power to a private arrangement among insiders. This is not a republic. This is a reservation system for elites.

A Vice Presidency is being treated like a delayed entitlement, a favor owed, a promise to be redeemed after decades—as if the fate of millions can be casually settled in private conversations between men who long ago stopped answering to the people. If this is true, then what remains of public office is nothing more than ceremonial cover for decisions already made behind closed doors.

And even if it were not true, the more damning reality remains: it is believable. It is believable because Yaoundé has spent decades teaching its citizens that power does not circulate—it settles. It hardens. It fossilizes within families, networks, and loyalties that are never broken, only rearranged. Elections exist, but only as rituals. Institutions exist, but only as ornaments. Accountability exists, but only in speeches. Philémon Yang is not the problem. He is the product.

The son of Solomon Tandeng Muna now stands at the edge of a position that symbolizes not renewal, but continuity—continuity of a system that rewards proximity over merit, loyalty over competence, and patience over principle. If a post allegedly denied in 1984 can simply be resurrected decades later and handed over like unfinished business, then we must ask: what exactly is the role of the people in this arrangement?

Are they voters—or are they witnesses? Because what is being constructed is not a political system. It is a closed loop. A loop where, Power is promised in whispers, positions are distributed in silence, and the public is informed only after the fact. This is not leadership. This is choreography.

While these elite negotiations allegedly unfold, the country itself continues to fracture under the weight of neglect—collapsing infrastructure, economic hardship, and a widening gulf between rulers and the ruled. But none of that interrupts the internal logic of the system. Because the system does not exist to serve the people. It exists to preserve itself.That is its only function. That is its only success.

And this is the final insult: the system no longer hides. It no longer pretends to be accountable. It no longer feels threatened by exposure. It operates in broad daylight, confident that outrage will fade, that dissent will scatter, and that nothing fundamental will change.

This is how decay becomes permanent. This is how a nation is quietly converted into an arrangement. And this is why individuals like Ma Fri Mokom ultimately walked away—not out of anger, but out of clarity. Because once you see a system that cannot correct itself, that cannot open itself, that cannot answer to its people, you are left with only two choices: participate in the illusion, or reject it entirely. She chose to reject it. History will remember that.

And history will also remember those who continued to decorate a system that no longer even pretends to serve.

— Ali Dan Ismael editor in chief The Independentistnews