The Gambian government’s announcement on Sunday, 23 November 2025, confirming that Issa Tchiroma Bakary is under humanitarian protection in Banjul, has sent a political shockwave far beyond its borders. The surprise is not that an African nation extended refuge to a political figure in need; African solidarity is neither new nor unusual. The real shock lies in what this announcement quietly but unmistakably reveals: Cameroon has become a country where an opposition leader cannot feel safe inside his own homeland. This development is not a story about exile alone it is a story about a political system so degraded that political ideas are treated as threats, institutions function as weapons, and dissent has become a dangerous act. And at the center of this system stands the CPDM, the political machine that has enabled, defended, and maintained Paul Biya’s authoritarian rule for forty-three uninterrupted years.
Gambia’s communiqué, crafted in cautious diplomatic language, speaks of “humanitarian grounds,” “ensuring his safety,” “post-electoral tensions,” and the desire for a “peaceful resolution.” Yet behind every soft phrase lies a truth the CPDM has spent decades denying. If a presidential candidate must seek refuge abroad, it means Cameroon is not safe for political opponents. This reality did not emerge suddenly; it is the byproduct of decades of calculated centralization of power, engineered and sustained by a ruling party that has turned political competition into a risk rather than a right. Institutions that were meant to protect citizens courts, electoral bodies, administrative structures no longer serve the Constitution. They serve the regime. The judiciary became an arena for loyalty tests, not justice. The electoral system became a mechanism for predetermined outcomes. Administrative authorities became enforcers of political alignment. The CPDM did not merely inherit this architecture; it built it and defended it.
Gambia’s statement also echoes the now-familiar language of authoritarian regimes: any form of dissent is recast as “subversion.” Even in its reassurance that Issa Tchiroma will not be used for destabilizing acts, the communiqué reflects Yaoundé’s long-standing habit of criminalizing opposition. For decades, the CPDM normalized the idea that political disagreement is a threat to national stability. Public demonstrations, civic protests, demands for transparency all were reframed as attacks on the state. This approach spread fear, discouraged participation, and created a climate where many Cameroonians learned that silence was safer than speaking out.
The CPDM’s responsibility in today’s crisis is undeniable. It backed every constitutional manipulation that consolidated power in the hands of one man. It defended every contested election, no matter how widespread the irregularities. It hollowed out institutions until Parliament became a mere rubber stamp, the Constitutional Council a symbolic ornament, and ELECAM a referee who openly plays for one team. Public resources were used not to deliver services but to reward loyalty: jobs, contracts, and promotions became political currency, not instruments of development. Through intimidation and patronage, the party created a culture where questioning authority meant risking one’s livelihood or one’s freedom.
This system has survived economic decline, corruption scandals, decaying institutions, and rising public frustration. It has weathered crises that would have shaken any normal democracy. What it has not survived, however, is accountability. Gambia’s sober, restrained statement delivered without malice accidentally did what Cameroonian institutions have refused to do for years: it told the truth. It confirmed that Cameroon’s post-electoral dispute is real, not imagined. It signaled that the tensions are serious enough to worry neighboring countries. It acknowledged that an opposition figure needed protection outside the country’s borders. It exposed a regime that cannot manage dissent without attempting to silence it.
For a government that has always presented itself as a model of “stability” and “peace,” this is the most destabilizing revelation in years. It is an embarrassment on the continental stage, undermining decades of CPDM propaganda claiming Cameroon is democratic, united, and secure. If one African nation must shelter a Cameroonian politician for his safety, then the myth of stability collapses instantly. It becomes evident that the CPDM’s legacy is not national unity or peace but a broken system at home and humiliation abroad. Institutions are captured. Freedoms are restricted. Dissent is punished. Legitimacy is questioned. And now, political figures are forced into exile on African soil.
The Gambia did not set out to expose the fragility of Cameroon’s political architecture, yet in offering Tchiroma sanctuary, it inadvertently revealed the depth of the crisis. The regime has lost credibility beyond its borders. The post-electoral situation remains unresolved. Regional actors no longer trust Yaoundé’s narrative of calm and control. And the presence of an opposition leader in exile has become a symbol of a system that is unable to contain its own contradictions.
Once a dictatorship begins exporting its crisis, history shows that it is entering the final stage of its political cycle. Issa Tchiroma’s refuge in Banjul is not an isolated incident; it is a signpost pointing to a regime that has exhausted its tools of repression and lost its moral and institutional legitimacy. The CPDM’s long-protected empire is cracking quietly, steadily, and now visibly on the international stage.
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