In a move rarely seen in Cameroon’s political history, Issa Tchiroma Bakary has declared himself the legal and legitimate President of Cameroon, before the Constitutional Council has spoken. His proclamation, echoing through Yaoundé and across the nation, forces a reckoning: What does this mean for Cameroon’s democracy, for the rule of law, and for the people watching anxiously to see what comes next?
On Wednesday, Tchiroma stood before the cameras and said plainly: “I have been chosen by the people. I am the legal and legitimate president.” That statement, made ahead of any official announcement, has shaken the established order. By law, only the Constitutional Council can declare the winner of the October 12 election. Its verdict has not yet come. And yet, here we are — with a man already claiming the mantle of power.
But declarations, however bold, only have meaning if they are sustained by organization, resilience, and long-term strategy. If the Constitutional Council ultimately declares Paul Biya the winner — as it has so often done before — what happens then? How prepared is Tchiroma’s movement to confront not only disappointment, but the machinery of a state that has mastered survival through patience and institutional apathy?
History gives us a sober answer here. In 1992, at the dawn of Cameroon’s multiparty era, John Fru Ndi and the Social Democratic Front ignited hope across the nation. Crowds filled the streets, convinced that change was near. Yet when the official results reaffirmed Biya’s rule amid widespread allegations of fraud, that movement faltered. Protests dwindled, fatigue took hold, and the corrupt regime prevailed. The regime bet on time, and time won.
Fast-forward to 2018. Maurice Kamto of the MRC also declared victory before the official count. His words were defiant: “We have a clear mandate. We intend to defend it to the end.” The streets erupted. For a brief moment, it felt as though the old order might finally crumble. But again, the familiar script played out: arrests, repression, dwindling protests, and internal fractures. Kamto’s declaration made noise, Ali Bongo’s kind of noise, but without the infrastructure to sustain it, the system absorbed the shock — and Biya, once more, remained in power.
These two episodes form a pattern that should haunt every opposition strategist in Cameroon. Emotional uprisings spark quickly, but they fade unless anchored in structure. Protest energy burns bright but burns out fast. The regime, seasoned by decades of challenge and survival, knows this rhythm very well. It counts on it.
This is the lesson confronting Issa Tchiroma today. His declaration has broken the silence, but if it stops at rhetoric, it will join the long list of short-lived revolts that left no dent in the corrupt regime. His task is not just to claim victory — it is to build the scaffolding that can sustain it. That means preparing for the second week, the third, and the months beyond, when the cameras leave, when exhaustion sets in, and when ordinary citizens begin to wonder whether it’s time to return to normal life.
The reality is this: the regime is betting that nothing has changed. They have seen this movie before. They know how to weather the storm. They will deploy their strategy of patience — a week of protests, a few arrests, then business as usual. The lights dim, the outrage cools, and life resumes. It is a playbook perfected over decades. If Tchiroma intends to break that cycle, he must act differently. He must anticipate not just the state’s reaction, but the human one — the fading of adrenaline, the exhaustion of the streets, the creeping sense that nothing will ever change.
Issa Tchiroma’s challenge is fivefold.
First, he must keep his coalition intact. The ruling party will do everything possible to divide it — offering deals, sowing distrust, and exploiting ambition. If the UFC coalition fractures, his claim to legitimacy evaporates. Unity must be guarded as fiercely as the claim itself.
Second, Tchiroma must prepare for endurance. Protests win headlines; organization wins battles. Sustaining a movement demands networks in every town and city, teams that coordinate logistics, communication, legal defense, and morale. The first week draws passion; the third week tests stamina. Without infrastructure, passion collapses.
Third, he must connect protest to purpose. Ordinary Cameroonians will soon face real-life questions: schools closed, markets disrupted, livelihoods strained. Tchiroma must offer not only defiance but a roadmap — a civic campaign that keeps people engaged without exhausting them. Hope must become a habit, not just an emotion.
Fourth, he must brace for repression. The state’s response will be swift: intimidation, censorship, arrests, and surveillance. To survive, the movement must decentralize — empowering regional leaders, legal teams, and media voices. A movement too dependent on one figure can be decapitated in a single night. A distributed one cannot.
Fifth, Tchiroma must internationalize the fight. Global attention brings leverage. When the world watches, the cost of repression rises. Yet, as we saw in 2018, attention fades quickly. Tchiroma’s team must keep the story alive — through human rights groups, regional blocs, and independent media — to prevent silence from setting in.
Now, imagine the scenario most expect: the Constitutional Council declares Paul Biya the winner once again. What happens next? The regime will tighten its grip. It will point to the official verdict, present it as final, and hope fatigue does the rest. The opposition will rage, demonstrations will flare, but the state will outlast them. This is the cycle. Week one: noise. Week two: confusion. Week three: quiet. And the system resets.
To disrupt that pattern, Tchiroma must plan for the “day after.” He must transition from protest leader to architect of a sustained legitimacy movement — one that operates in parallel to state institutions, challenging not only election results but the entire culture of political resignation.
That means building civic infrastructure: neighborhood committees, legal watchdogs, independent media, documentation networks, and community structures that keep citizens connected to the cause long after the protests fade. Real transformation is not forged in crowds alone — it grows in the patient daily work of organization.
For the Cameroonian people, the message is clear. Declarations matter — but they are mere beginnings, not conclusions. Your vote matters, but only if it translates into long-term vigilance. Change is not a sprint. It is a test of endurance. When the regime expects you to go to sleep, stay awake. When they assume life has returned to normal, let your civic engagement prove them wrong.
If you believe your voice was ignored, then the fight extends beyond the count — into the courts, the communities, and the conversations that shape everyday life. Refusing resignation is the most radical act of all. That is what we have been able to do in Ambazonia – refusing resignations or surrender.
And for the international community watching this moment: understand that this isn’t just about who claims victory. It is about whether Cameroonians still believe in the system that delivers it. When an opposition candidate declares himself president before official results, it signals a deep deficit of trust in the institutions meant to arbitrate fairly. The world should pay attention — not only to the protests, but to the process itself. Transparency, accountability, and media freedom must be non-negotiable. Silence in the face of repression is complicity.
As for the powers in Yaoundé — they have seen challenges like this before. They have endured them all. Their confidence lies in routine. They believe that time will smother outrage, that life will pull people back into the rhythm of survival. Their entire strategy rests on one expectation: that the people will get tired.
Tchiroma’s only path forward is to prove them wrong — to show that this time, the movement will not fade when the headlines move on. That means building what previous challengers could not: a long-game vision that fuses protest with persistence, legitimacy with leadership, and emotion with endurance.
He must begin to act, not only as a protester, but as a parallel head of state — issuing policy statements, naming a shadow cabinet, coordinating regional offices, and showing Cameroonians what alternative governance could look like. He could very easily take over the grand north and start from there. That is how he keeps belief alive when fatigue sets in.
Because make no mistake: this will not be over soon. It will test resolve, coordination, and patience. It will test whether Cameroonians have learned from their past — from Fru Ndi’s fleeting hope in the ’90s to Kamto’s frustration in 2018. Each wave taught the same lesson: protest alone cannot defeat endurance. Only organized persistence can.
So as you watch the days unfold, look for the signs. Will Tchiroma’s coalition hold together? Will the protests mature into strategy? Will there be legal challenges, civic campaigns, or international advocacy that keeps pressure alive? Will the regime overreach — or simply outwait the anger?
This moment is a crossroads. One path leads to another week of outrage, then silence. The other leads to sustained, strategic resistance — a shift in the balance of political power that takes time, structure, and sacrifice.
If Tchiroma truly believes he is the legitimate president, he must now prove it not through speeches, but through endurance. He must act as though he already governs — responsibly, visibly, and with the discipline of someone building not a moment, but a movement.
Because in the end, legitimacy is not declared; it is earned, tested, and sustained. And the days ahead will reveal whether Issa Tchiroma Bakary’s claim marks another flicker in Cameroon’s long struggle — or the beginning of something that finally lasts.
