The chieftaincy appears to be going through one of its most critical periods of transition. The late Fon of Kom, Jinabo II, captured the reality very succinctly when he so graphically compared himself to an earthworm being eaten on every side by ants. On the one side, the ever increasing exactions of the administration and its gendarmes threaten the Fon. In like manner, the educated sons of the land seek a greater voice in village matters. On the other side, the subjects accuse the Fon of selling-out, by collaborating with bureaucrats to divest them of basic rights over land. These competing demands generate centrifugal forces that may destroy the mystique that enshrouds the chieftaincy.

In matters relating to land, the chiefs realize that real power is slipping from their hands into those of the state elite. This realization has caused some chiefs to formulate strategies that violate both basic principles of customary law and the stipulations of the 1974 Land Ordinances. The rampant alienation of land by sale, especially to strangers (such as Fulani graziers are perceived to be), is seen as egoistic and potentially ruinous to the institution. The chiefs are seen by their subjects as neo-traditionalists whose authority is no longer backed by the gods of the land; they feel betrayed by their chiefs. The emerging situation is one of distrust as chiefs are no longer perceived as reliable intermediaries between their people and either the state or the ancestors. The collaboration of some chiefs in the land registration process, especially those formerly treated as vassal chiefdoms, is another example of their ambivalent relations with both the state elite and their subjects. Some chiefs in urban centres perceive the land registration process as a means of enriching themselves. Here again they are seen by their subjects as collaborating with the state elite to dissipate communal land. At each stage, the chiefs and their notables are caught at the centre of turbulent power relations in the modern state. Their basic instincts are to protect their own welfare, not that of their subjects.

The prevailing institutional and legislative frameworks point to the gradual bureaucratization of the institution of chieftaincy. Decree No 77/245 of 15 July 1977 recognizing and classifying chiefs, and the role assigned to the chiefs and their notables on the land commission inescapably point to that end. The question therefore is not whether the institution of chieftaincy is an anachronism, but to what extent the institution can be transformed to serve new needs and yet still serve as a symbol of continuity for the community. The level of power the chiefs can exercise will be determined by their level of collaboration with those who hold the reigns of power - the state elite. The current regime was even, at one point, contemplating the transformation of the present hereditary titles to elective positions to tie in with the so-called democratic process (Biya 1987: 52). It is needless to insist that such a reform would strike at the very foundation of chieftaincy, which is based on ritual and symbolic authority.

With emerging political pluralism, chiefs have suddenly been caught between the competing demands of different political parties. Their initial classification under the 1977 Law on chieftaincy reduced them to mere administrative auxiliaries. They were subsumed thereby within the wider political framework of the one-party state. To give some political content to their attributes, they closely identified themselves with the ruling CPDM party. Consequently, as the NWP emerged as one of the heartlands of the opposition, the CPDM chiefs (as they were considered by many) had to sever their links with the ruling party if they were to maintain some semblance of neutrality, and also if they were to be seen as being above party politics. Some, such as the then Fon of Nso', publicly declared their neutrality and were prepared to welcome all sons of the land, irrespective of their political affiliations.

Where chiefs have sought to impose the ruling party's ideology, violent confrontation has erupted, and for the first time in the recent history of the province, royal property has been deliberately set on fire. The central core of royal authority, the link that mediates between the past and the present in order to chart the future, through rituals and symbols, was placed in jeopardy and became an arena where meanings were now contested. Any form of objectification of meaning through myth was shattered.

The following eye-witness account of the brutal killing of six persons at Ndu by the forces of law and order in June 1992, tells the whole story:

'Today, Ndu market, one of the largest on the Ring Road since colonial times, has been traditionally closed and is only to be opened after it has been cleansed of the blood of those innocent souls. I am not sure it will be the Fon of Ndu to open it. He is eerily worried, selling after the market and some people are now calling him by name - an abomination in Mbum area'.

The vital cleansing ritual that gives the Fon dominion over the land so that he can govern the people had yet to be performed. Now, seen as an agent of the state, the Fon was even called by his name - an abomination indeed! In this emotionally charged political context, can we still talk of the Fon being a 'vote bank'?