Might and Right:
Chieftaincy and Democracy in Cameroon and Botswana*

Francis B. Nyamnjoh (PhD)
Associate Professor
Dept. of Sociology
FSS, University of Botswana
P/Bag UB00705 Gaborone
Tel: (267) 3552674 (work)
Tel: (267) 3919282 (home)
Cell:(267) 71655649
Fax:(267) 585099
Email: Nyamnjoh@mopipi.ub.bw
Nyamnjoh@yahoo.com

Paper Prepared for CODESRIA’s 10^TH General Assembly on "Africa in the New Millennium", Kampala, Uganda, 8-12 December 2002.

Chieftaincy in Africa either has pre-colonial roots, or, as in the case of acephalous or segmentary societies (e.g the Igbo of Nigeria (Harneit-Sievers, 1998) and most peoples of Southern Cameroon (cf. Geschiere 1993)), a largely colonial foundation. Prominent among the approaches in chieftaincy studies have been partial theories raised to metanarratives of expectation of the passing away of traditional societies, institutions and cultures. Modernisation theorists have expected such passing away as a natural course of things, in tune with their evolutionary and homogenising perspectives. Dependency or revolutionary theorists on the other hand have been critical of all traditional institutions, chieftaincy in particular, for having been appropriated or created by colonial, apartheid and postcolonial states for various purposes, including repression and the confection of bifurcation into ‘citizens’ and ‘subjects’ (cf. Mamdani 1996). Both partial theories have tended to see in chieftaincy more ‘might’ than ‘right’, and consequently have wanted chieftaincy abolished or ignored, in favour of citizenship based on the individual as an autonomous agent. These theoretical approaches are prescriptively modernist in their insensitivities to the cultural structures of African societies, and the future they envisage for the continent has little room for institutions and traditions assumed to be primitive, repressive and unchanging in character. Chieftaincy, these theories suggest, would always look to the past for inspiration in the service of exploitation and marginalisation by the highhandedness of African states. Within these frameworks, chieftaincy is seldom credited with the ability to liberate or to work in tune with popular expectations. The tendency in these partial theories to focus analysis ‘almost exclusively upon institutional and constitutional arrangements’, assumes ‘the classical dichotomy between ascription and achievement’ and ‘takes as given that stated rules should actually determine the careers of actors in the public arena’ (Comaroff 1978:1).

In the 1950s and 1960s modernisation theorists predicted that chiefs and chieftaincy would soon become outmoded, and be replaced by ‘modern’ bureaucratic offices and institutions (cf. Warnier 1993:318; Harneit-Sievers 1998:57; Mappa 1998). Even underdevelopment and dependency theorists did not seem to give chieftaincy much of a chance (Harneit-Sievers 1998), which they saw as lacking in mobilisational ability for social and political change. This view has not entirely disappeared, as some continue to argue for a common political and legal regime that guarantees equal citizenship for all, and for the abolition of the bifurcation into ‘citizens’ and ‘subjects’ that the invented customs and appropriation of chieftaincy by colonialism brought about (cf. Mamdani 1996). However, scholars acknowledge the resilience of chieftaincy institutions (cf. Fisiy 1995; Goheen 1992; Fisiy and Goheen 1998). Today a ‘renewed boom’ in chieftaincy is observed and many chiefs are taking up central roles in contemporary politics (cf. Harneit-Sievers 1998; Chief Linchwe II 1989:99-102; van Rouveroy van Nieuwaal and van Dijk 1999; van Kessel and Oomen 1999; van Rouveroy van Nieuwaal 2000). This phenomenon is observed even in Southern Africa where modernisation is believed to have had its greatest impact in Africa. In post-apartheid South Africa, active ‘retraditionalisation’ has been observed through claims to chieftaincy by historically marginalized cultural communities seeking recognition and representation (Oomen 2000). Chiefs and chiefdoms, instead of being pushed ‘into the position of impoverished relics of a glorious past’ (Warnier 1993:318), have functioned as auxiliaries or administrative extensions of many a postcolonial government, and as ‘vote banks’ for politicians keen on cashing in on the imagined or real status of chiefs as ‘the true representatives of their "people"’ (Fisiy 1995:49-50; Mouiche 1992; Miaffo 1993). Although the presumed representativity and accountability of chiefs to their populations have been questioned, this does not seem to have affected the political importance of chiefs in a significant way (cf. Ribot 1999:30-37). A growing number of scholars recognise chieftaincy as a force to reckon with in contemporary politics in Africa, especially with increasing claims for recognition, restitution and representation by cultural and ethnic communities, with the advent of globalisation as a process of flows and closures. A colonial creation or not, chieftaincy as a political and cultural identity marker is there to be studied, not dismissed.

This is a welcome development, since there is need to counter the insensitivities or caricatures of the modernist discourses of mainstream theories and analysts, that have tended, for ideological reasons, to rationalise away chieftaincy and its dynamism. It is important to develop approaches that are sensitive to the reality of intermediary communities between the individual and the state, and to the agency of chiefs and chiefdoms as individuals and cultural communities seeking ‘rights and might’ both as ‘citizens’ and ‘subjects’ in the modern nation-state. Almost everywhere, chiefs and chiefdoms have become active agents in the quest by the ‘the modern big men and women’ of politics, business, popular entertainment, bureaucracy and the intellect for traditional cultural symbols as a way of maximising opportunities at the centre of bureaucratic and state power (Geschiere 1993; Miaffo and Warnier 1993; Fisiy 1995; Goheen 1992; Fisiy and Goheen 1998; Eyoh 1998; Harneit-Sievers 1998). It is in this connection that some scholars have understood the growing interest in the new elite to invest in neo-traditional titles and maintain strong links with their home village through kin and client patronage networks.

In Nigeria for example, investment in chiefship has become a steady source of symbolic capital for individuals who have made it in ‘the world out there’, and also of development revenue by cultural communities who would otherwise count for little as players in their own right at the national and global scenes (cf. Harneit-Sievers 1998). But almost everywhere, such participation and investment have led ‘not to the reproduction but rather to the transformation of the structures and relationships of power’ (Goheen 1992:406), and to creative negotiation and conviviality between continuities and encounters with change and innovation. Granted their persistence and influence in Africa, chieftaincy institutions need to be ‘understood not only, and not even primarily, as belonging to a pre-modern, pre-capitalist past; but rather as institutions which have either (been) adapted to the contemporary socio-political setting, or even have been specifically created for or by it’ (Harneit-Sievers 1998:57). There is hardly any justification to label and dismiss chieftaincy, a priori, when even the most touristic of observations would point to a fascinating inherent dynamism and negotiability that guarantees both resilience and renewal of its institutions.

Such ability to adapt and survive is not confined to chieftaincy in Africa. Monarchies the world over have demonstrated this resilience and adaptability of might in the face of clamours for rights. Even as I write this paragraph (6 am, June 5, 2002 in Gaborone), British television (e.g. BBC and Sky News delivered to my living room by DSTV) is hailing the fact that over one million people have braved the cold and rain to claim their space in history and the best in pageantry at Burkingham Palace in London. The ocassion is the Golden Jubilee celebrations for Queen Elizabeth II, whose love, glory and steadfastness are said to have earned her the respect of her subjects and the Commonwealth. The Queen’s adaptiveness and stature as a symbol of unity have been described by Prime Minister Tony Blair as the reason for the current outpouring of deference from people with whom she enjoys a strong and deep relationship. The monarchy has survived also thanks to shrewd investment of its symbolic capital in the new elite, some of whom have risen to prominence from among the working classes and inner-cities. By extending knighthood and lordship beyond the traditional realm of ‘birthright’ and ‘blue blood’ to embrace achievements within the realms of modern politics, science, business, sports, the entertainment industry and other spheres of modern Britain, the monarchy has earned respect among its most likely critics. The institution has also sustained recognition in the Commonwealth through co-optation of Commonwealth elites into its orbit of symbolic power. The days of empire may be over, but the monarchy remains cherished by the British and the Commonwealth, thanks to its ability to deliver rights even as it continues to claim might.

This paper argues that the rigidity and prescriptiveness of modernist partial theories have left a major gap in scholarship on chiefs and chieftaincy in Africa. It stresses that studies of agency are sorely needed if we are to capture the creative processes underway and avoid overemphasising structures and essentialist perceptions on chieftaincy and the cultural communities that claim and are claimed by it. Scholarship that is impatient with the differences and diversities which empirical research highlight runs the risk of pontification or orthodoxy. All too often we read scholarship of desire and expectations about Africa, rather than scholarship informed by what Africa actually is and by ongoing processes of negotiation of multiple identities by Africans. As Mbembe observes, there is hardly ever a discourse on Africa for Africa’s sake, and the West has often used Africa as a pretext for its own subjectivities, its self-imagination and its perversions. And no amount of new knowledge seems challenge enough to bury for good the ghost of simplistic assumptions about Africa (Mbembe 2001:3-9). Only by creating space for scholarship based on Africa as a unit of analysis on its own right (cf. Mamdani 1996:8), could scholars begin to correct prevalent situations whereby much is known of what African states, insitutions and communities ‘are not’ (thanks to dogmatic and normative assumptions of mainstream scholarship) but very little of what ‘they actually are’ (Mbembe 2001:9). In other words, scholars on Africa ought to demonstrate less might and more right by being sensitive in theory and practice to the predicaments and realities of Africans as bearers and makers of history.

If we consider chiefs as agents and chieftaincy as dynamic institutions, we are likely to be more patient towards ongoing processes of negotiation, accommodation and conviviality between continuities and encounters with difference and innovation on the continent. We would be less keen on signing a death warrant for or seeking to bury chieftaincy alive. Cameroonians and Batswana, like other Africans, have been quick to recognise the merits and limitations of liberal democracy and its rhetoric of rights, because of their lack of might under global consumer capitalism and because of the sheer resilience and creativity of their cultures. With this recognition has come the quest for creative ways of marrying tradition and modernity, ethnicity and statehood, subjection and citizenship, might and right.

Using examples from Cameroon and Botswana, this paper argues that Africans are far from giving up chieftaincy or from making completely modern institutions of it. Instead, Africans are simultaneously modernising their traditions and traditionalising their modernities. No one, it seems, is too ‘citizen’ to be ‘subject’ as well, not even in Southern Africa where westernisation is often claimed to have succeeded the most (cf. Ferguson 1999:1-81), nor in Botswana as Africa’s best example of liberal democracy. Invented, distorted, appropriated or not, chieftaincy remains part of the cultural and political landscapes, but is constantly negotiating and renegotiating with new encounters and changing material realities. The results are chiefs and chiefdoms that are neither completely traditional nor completely modern. Chiefs and chiefdoms shape and are shaped by the marriage of influences that makes it possible for Africans to be both ‘citizens’ and ‘subjects’, and to negotiate conviviality among competing influences in their lives. Being African is neither exclusively a matter of tradition and culture, nor exclusively a matter of modernity and citizenship. It is being a melting pot of multiple identities.

Chieftaincy as a Dynamic Institution in Cameroon

There is little doubt that most of ‘the present ambiguity and ambivalence towards local authorities’ (Rowlands and Warnier 1988:120-1) in Cameroon and Africa at large, were created during colonialism (cf. Mamdani 1996). In the Bamenda region for example, where powerful chiefdoms date back over 400 years, relations between chiefs and the German and British colonial authorities were marked by considerable ambivalence. Chiefs were often co-opted as individuals, disregarding the body of councillors that governed with them and had until then acted as check against possible abuse of power by chiefs. The customary policy-making process was often lost as chiefs took their lead more from the colonial administrative officers than from their ‘indigenous political elite’ (Lloyd 1965:73). Even then, their mythical qualities as moral and sacred authorities gave chiefs room to manoeuvre vis-à-vis both the administration and their own people. At the same time they experienced all the problems associated with indirect rule. If they were perceived by the administration to be overtly in support of their people and institutions, they ran the risk of sanction by government. On the other hand, if they cooperated too closely with the government, they ran the risk of alienating their people. They were often in a predicament, and learnt to play one interest group against the other as circumstances and personal interests dictated (cf. Nkwi 1976:135-170; Nkwi and Warnier 1982; Nyamnjoh 1985; Rowlands and Warnier 1988:120-1; de Vries 1998).

Elsewhere in French Cameroon the situation was much the same (Gardinier 1963; Le Vine 1964). France created ‘warrant chiefs’ in acephalous societies in the southern half of the territory, a region without a tradition of central government. In areas with chiefdoms such as the North and the Bamileke region, France tried to turn their chiefs into auxiliaries of the central administration. Where it met with resistance, France was quick to depose the chiefs in question and replace them with appointees of its own. Under this system, many chiefs ‘lost their prerogatives’, including the Sultans of Bamun and Ngaoundere. The policy everywhere was the introduction of ‘a French created system of local control’ through ‘a gradual erosion of the power of indigenous political authority’ (Le Vine 1964:91-98). Like Britain, France ran into problems of legitimacy with its appointed ‘chiefs’ and ‘conseils de notables’ who, although imbued with authority and backed by the central administration, were not accepted by the people. This legal system ‘encouraged differential treatment’ of Cameroonians ‘according to a cultural rather than a legal yardstick’ (Le Vine 1964:91-104), thus laying the foundation for the distinction between ‘citizens’ and ‘subjects’ that has come to characterise the bifurcated state (cf. Mamdani 1996).

It is evident that the ‘chieftancy reforms’ carried out by the French (Le Vine 1964:97-98) were adopted with very little alteration by the one-party post-colonial state (Nkwi 1976, 1979; Nyamnjoh 1985; Mouiche 1992, 1997). Although at independence Ahidjo promised to ‘draw the basic principles of African democracy’ from ‘our traditional chieftainship’ (Ahidjo 1964:31-3), the role chiefs were eventually made to play remained as peripheral, ambiguous and ambivalent as under France and Britain. The various chiefs were only seen as useful if they could serve as effective instruments for the implementation of government policies amongst their people, policies elaborated centrally by the ‘new elite’ in a single party and nation-building context.

In this light the government took a series of moves to ensure the attainment of its objectives. These included an invitation in 1966 for chiefs to rally round the unified party, establishing criteria for the award of a ‘Certificate of Official Recognition by the Government’ in 1967, a 1969 presidential warning to all chiefs who were seen to be reluctant to change, abolition of the House of Chiefs in 1972, and a decree in 1977 defining the role of chiefs within the new ‘nation-state’ (Nkwi 1979:111-115; Nyamnjoh 1985:102-5). Thus while the pre-colonial autonomy of ethnic communities was not restored, chiefs were defined and treated largely as auxiliaries of the government, subservient to district and regional state administrative officers. This made it possible for the central government to draw from chiefs as ‘vote banks’ often without having to credit them with effective power and active participation in decision making at local and national levels. Legally, the state ‘guarantees the protection of chiefs and the defence of their rights while they are in office’, but it also sanctions ‘those chiefs who fail to live up to the laws of the nation-state.’ Chiefs who fail to conduct their duties within the limits of the laws of the state ‘can be made destitute or thrown out of their traditional office by government.’ Some have seen in this ‘a complete erosion’ of the powers of chiefs who ‘can only survive if they recognize and function according to the dictates of the new political elite’ (Nkwi 1979:115).

From these observations, it is clear that despite ‘a disquieting variety of types of political organisation’ (Rowlands and Warnier 1988:120) in precolonial Cameroon, little was done by the new ruling elite to question the colonial systems grafted onto the country by France and Britain, which were not in gear with local ideas of democracy and government. In the postcolony, the power of the customary chief has continued to be ‘undermined by the central authorities while that of the ‘Warrant chief’ has to be constantly propped up by demonstrations of force against the local populations’, thus making the state out of gear with village communities (Rowlands and Warnier 1988:120; Geschiere and Nyamnjoh 1998). Prior to the re-emergence of multipartyism in the 1990s, the ideology of nation-building and national unity meant that various ethnic groups saw their local and sectional loyalties and interests suppressed and were forced into a relationship of dependence on a highly centralized government (cf. Bayart 1985). For the same reason, cultural communities or chiefdoms felt increasingly sidestepped and powerless, even with their most pressing problems and interests, as the socio-economic changes which they were supposed to help realise were planned and carried out or simply ignored, entirely without reference to them.

In the 1990s, however, the advent of multiparty politics forced the chiefs to make more open political commitments, thereby enhancing their potential for prominence at regional and national levels, even as their scope for manoeuvre appeared threatened. The chiefs were caught at the centre of the turbulent relations that characterised the modern power elite, part of which some of them had become thanks especially to their personal achievements in modern education. While it is commonplace to assume that chiefs are manipulated by the new power elite, it is worth researching the extent to which this assumption is true. Such claims deny the chiefs all agency in their actions, treat them as homogenous, and ignore the fact that political choices are predicated upon vested interests which are not fixed and which along with these choices are subject to re-negotiation with changing circumstances.

The empowerment and opportunities the overwhelming presence of central government and bureaucratic state power have brought about for individuals in general and dissenting individuals in particular, have made the customary social structures of chiefdoms more ready to negotiate with and accommodate forms of agency and subjectivity that would certainly have been sanctioned into the margins in the past. On the other hand, successful individuals in the modern and individualistic sense, perhaps because of earlier socialisation into the collectivistic philosophy of their cultural group of origin, or because of awareness of the temporality and impermanence of personal success in the modern world, or perhaps because of both, are just as ready to negotiate with and accommodate customary ideas of what I have referred to elsewhere as ‘domesticated agency and intersubjectivity’ (cf. Nyamnjoh 2002a). The resultant conviviality or interdependence is usually creatively negotiated, the outcome of concessions by both parties, and serves as the basis of future customs, to be referred to and negotiated with by others in similar predicaments. Hence customs are not only being modernised, modernity is being customised. The outcome being neither triumph for ‘tradition’ nor for ‘modernity’ as distinct entities, but rather for the new creation to which a marriage of both has given rise: individuals and communities as repertoires, melting pots and negotiators of conviviality between multiple encounters or competing influences.

Thanks to such adaptability, confinement and marginalisation by the state are far from a total and permanent eclipse. Chieftaincy has survived and continues to influence ongoing processes. Indeed, the idea that chiefs are marginalised and reduced to local level politics or mere auxilaries of the administration must be put in perspective. This was much truer during colonialism and the single-party years of the postcolony, than it is today under multipartyism and the politics of recognition. Especially since the 1990s, prominent chiefs have joined the elite ranks of the ruling party and government even at national level, some of them as members of the central committee, political bureau, government, and parliament, and others as chairmen of parastatals or governors of provinces. Some chiefs, admittedly pro-government, are so powerful that they act as if they were above the laws of the central state. The lamido of Rey Bouba in Northern Cameroon is a good example: he is known to own his own army and can arrest, beat and even kill, with impunity. Other chiefs sympathetic with the opposition have become part of the innercore of decisionmakers and strategists, both overtly and covertly. Increasingly, chiefs are part and parcel of the modern elite, and as victim of manipulation as they are guilty of manipulating. If zombification is possible, mutual zombification is increasingly the reality.

Evidence of the continued relevance of chieftaincy includes the following. An increasing number of highly educated young men, some with doctorate degrees from European and North American universities, are being enthroned chiefs of various communities throughout the country. Unlike the 1950s and 1960s when educated chiefs were rare and Fon Angwafo III’s 1953 Diploma in Agriculture a conspicuous exception, few who become chiefs since the 1980s are illiterate and most are regular civil servants prior and even after their enthronement. A good case in point is Fon Ganyonga III of Bali Nyonga, who returned from Germany with a PhD in Social Anthropology and a German wife, and who inherited and married many other wives following his enthronement in 1985. Initially rejected by some custodians of custom, the German wife, a medical doctor, has earned recognition and endeared herself to the chiefdom by mastering the Bali Nyonga language and through contributions to community healthcare (cf. Fokwang 2002). Struggles over entitlement to vacant thrones are still rampant, and often require the intervention of the Ministry of Territorial Administration to resolve, even if in general it does so in favour of a pro-government candidate. Similarly, more and more modern elites do not seem satisfied with their achievements within the modern sector and bureaucratic state power, and are increasingly investing as well in neo-traditional titles of notability for symbolic capital. On becoming President in 1982, Paul Biya succumbed to an offer by the chiefs of the Bamenda grassfields, to be crowned ‘Fon of Fons’ [Chief of Chiefs]; a ritual with as much potential benefits for the President as it was for the chiefs and chiefdoms who crowned him. In 2000, the chiefs once again collectively honoured Nico Halle, a prominent Douala-based lawyer from Awing in Bamenda, with the title of ‘Ntumfo’ (‘Chief’s Messager’), in recognition of distinguished contributions to the development of the North West Province. The practice by Grassfield chiefs of appointing and installing representatives among their subjects in the diaspora is quite common (cf. Goheen 1992; Geschiere and Nyamnjoh 1998; Tabapssi 1999). As ‘sons and daughters of the soil’ of various home villages, some urban elite do not hesitate to invite their village chiefs to preside over ceremonies and functions aimed at enhancing their chances in the cities where they live and work (cf. Nyamnjoh 2002a). Various chiefs encourage cultural activities among urban migrants from their chiefdoms, and are often called upon to inaugurate cultural halls built by their subjects in cities. Ethnic elite associations proliferate the corridors of power and resources seeking political and economic recognition and representation for their regions or peoples as cultural units (cf. Nyamnjoh and Rowlands 1998; Nyamnjoh 1999), and do not hesitate to call upon their chiefs to facilitate this process of ‘bringing development’ to the home village (cf. Konings 1996, 1999), even if this entails rivalry and conflict with other chiefdoms (cf. Mouiche 1997; Mope Simo 1997). Inter-ethnic conflicts over boundaries between chiefdoms have increased with increase in the politics of belonging and ‘primary patriotism’ since the 1990s (cf. Mope Simo 1997; Geschiere and Gugler 1998; Nyamnjoh and Rowlands 1998; Nyamnjoh 1999; Geschiere and Nyamnjoh 1998, 2000). Visting the Buea and Yaounde archives for colonial maps and records on tribal territories and boundaries has become very popular, with urban elites assisting their chiefs with part-time research into histories.

In the Bamenda grassfields for example, what role chiefs have played in democratisation has been largely determined by anticipation and recognition of or failure to attract state-driven development efforts in their chiefdoms. With the pro-democracy clamours of the early 1990s, chiefs supporting the government felt this was the best way of securing state protection and safeguarding their interests in a context of keen competition and differences along ethnic lines. In a popular aphorism, because the state had ‘scratched’ or promised to ‘scratch the backs’ of chiefs or chiefdoms, it was only normal to return the compliment by ‘scratching the back’ of the Head of State and ruling party. In the politics of give-and-take and a context of severe economic downturns, it was out of the question not to hope to harvest where one had sown, and very dangerous to sow where one was not sure to harvest. Those chiefs who threw their weight behind the opposition parties, or claimed neutrality, tended to be quite critical of the government and ruling party for failure to ‘bring development’ to their home areas, or for politicising chiefship through an arbitrary system of classification into first, second and third class chiefs. In supporting the opposition, disgruntled chiefs were hoping for a new political dispensation that would reinstate the dignity of chieftaincy and reward them accordingly. No position in reality was politically neutral, even by those who claimed that chiefs should be above partisan politics.

Since the late 1990s, with the dwindling political fortunes of the leading opposition party in the area - Social Democratic Front (SDF), corresponds a dwindling number of chiefs openly in support of the opposition or the neutrality of chiefs in partisan politics. With intensification of the politics of belonging and ethno-regionalism since the amendment of the constitution to protect ethnic and regional minorities politically in 1996, Bamenda grassfields chiefs have mobilised themselves under various lobbies to demand more recognition and resources from government, often in opposition to the competing interests of their counterparts within the grassfields and in other regions. While the chiefs are generally conciliatory to the ruling party and government as ‘the finger that feeds or could feed them and their chiefdoms’ and would want re-instated the House of Chiefs abolished in 1972 in favour of the unitary state, there is fierce competition and rivalry amongst them for power and resources from the centre to their various regions and chiefdoms.

Pertaining to agency, certain chiefs, mostly the educated, have succeeded more than others in negotiating conviviality between modern and customary basis of power, and between the interests of the state and those of their chiefdoms. The talents, abilities, education, networks, connections and creativity of individual chiefs determine who succeeds with whom, where, how and with what effects. Certain chiefs such as fon Angwafo III of Mankon and fon Doh Gah Gwanyin of Balikumbat (the only parliamentarian for the ruling Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement (CPDM) of the opposition dominated North West province from 1997 - 2002) have themselves become part of the new elite at the centre of national and regional power. Through their individual capacities or via various associations (such as the North West Fons’ Union (NOWEFU) led by fon Abumbi II John Ambe of Bafut, and the North West Fons’ Conference (NOWEFCO) led by fon Doh Gah Gwanyin of Balikumbat) and networks, these chiefs stake claims on national power and resources for their region and chiefdoms. Fon Angwafo III of Mankon for example, the most educated chief at the time, became the first chief to be elected MP in 1961 (after resigning from the House of Chiefs) in a keenly contested multiparty election in which he ran as an independent. He ignored calls for his resignation as either MP or chief by those who thought it was improper for a chief (whose position is ascribed or by might) to hold an elected office (achieved or by right). From his defiance, he clearly did not subscribe to the dichotomy between ascription and achievement, might and right, that we academics have often insisted upon to the detriment of reality. Upon the re-unification of the English and French Cameroons, fon Angwafo III became a member of the sole party, which he served as president of the Bamenda section. He stayed on as MP until his retirement from active politics in 1988. However, the launching of the SDF in Mankon and the dramatic resignation from the ruling CDPM in 1990 of John Ngu Foncha (anglophone architect of re-unification and prominent statesman), brought fon Angwafo III back to the centre of local and national politics, when he was appointed to replace Foncha as the national vice-president of the CDPM. Fon Angwafo III has been described as ‘a shining example of a pragmatist’, and a man of many faces who has skilfully married two different political cultures. He fails to see why chiefs should be treated as apolitical animals or placed above party politics, when they are citizens just like anyone else. ‘How can you deprive a citizen of involvement in politics simply because he holds a traditional title of fon?’, he has repeatedly defended himself in interviews with the press and with researchers like myself (Nyamnjoh 2002a).

To maintain themselves as embodiments of particular cultural communities, chiefs constantly negotiate their positions within the contradictions between state and such communities on the one hand, and in relation to competing expectations within the communities on the other (cf. Konings 1996, 1999). This is true not only of Cameroonian chiefdoms, and speaks not only of how chiefdoms continue to explore new ways of domesticating the agency and subjectivity of their ‘sons and daughters’ at the centre or periphery of modernity, but also of the mechanisms they have adopted as communities for collective agency and intersubjectivity in changing situations. Such adaptability or dynamism is displayed both towards macro level changes, and towards developments within the family among youth and between genders. Continuity and change are alike determined by mutuality in concessions. Elsewhere I have illustrated with examples of local politics and marriages in Mankon that show how people negotiate conviviality between customs and innovations, and how competing understandings of agency or subjectivity are accommodated (cf. Nyamnjoh 2002a).

Unlike Cameroon, Botswana is part of a Southern Africa where modernisation is believed to have had its greatest impact in Africa. Also unlike Cameroon where autocracy and state repression continue to pay lip service to democracy, Botswana is generally hailed as Africa’s best example of liberal democracy. These perceived differences are sufficiently important to warrant greater effort and detail in proving the resilience of Botswana’s chieftaincy than I have devoted to Cameroon. The argument here is simple: if chieftaincy remains relevant even in countries that have made the most advances in modernisation and liberal democracy, then the assumption that the institution is incompartable with modernity and democracy has no empirical foundation.

Chieftaincy and chiefs in Botswana have displayed similar agency to that noted among their counterparts in Cameroon, siding with forces that best guarantee their interests as communities and individuals, while hostile to those that radically threaten their might (cf Parsons et al 1995; Selolwane 2002). Makgala traces this agency back to the colonial period when Dikgosi [‘chiefs’] were able to reshape to their advantage in 1943 through insistence on the need to respect ‘local political conditions’, a blanket model of ‘indirect rule’ that was introduced in 1935 (Makgala 1999). In 1948 Seretse Khama, prince of the Bangwato chiefdom who had gone to read law at Oxford, married Ruth Williams, daughter of an Anglican English family. The marriage was opposed by Khama’s uncle Tshekedi and by Ruth’s parents, by the aparthied regime in South Africa, and by the British colonial authorities. This resulted in Seretse Khama’s banishment from Bechuanaland in 1950. Patient explaining and negotiation between might and right at various kgotla meetings brought reconciliation eventually, and the couple were finally accepted both by Bangwato and the British government who in 1955 allowed them to come home (cf. Parsons et al 1995:75-149). Khama used his position as a lawyer, a devout liberal and a chief towards independence and nation-building in Botswana, which he served as first president until his death in 1980. These factors combined remarkably to guarantee his ruling Botswana Democractic party (BDP) regular electoral victories in the Central District occupied by his chiefdom, and also in the country as a whole since independence in 1966. Commenting in a recent BTV documentary on Seretse Khama, President Mogae described him as a principled person who insisted on people expressing their views, even though he could easily have been a dictator, given how much prestige and respect he enjoyed and given the fact that he was a chief. Khama’s agency, which has been well documented (cf Parsons et al. 1995), and other examples provided below are yet further indication that as scholars we must avoid the tendency to mistake labels for substance, and to prescribe rather than observe.

The Khama factor in Botswana politics and democracy remains strong even after his death. In April 1998 when Festus Mogae took over as President from Sir Ketumile Masire, Lt. General Ian Khama retired as commander of the Botswana Defence Force to deploy his might as kgosi of Bangwato in keeping the BDP of his late father together, and in maximising its fortunes at the 1999 general elections (cf. Molomo 2000). The party’s landslide victory was largely attributed to his appeal as kgosi, and his appointment as vice-president after the election viewed as a sign of gratitude by President Mogae. Similarly explained was a decision giving him supervisory powers over other ministers shortly after he returned from a controversial year long sabbatical from politics. Like his father, Ian Khama is able to negotiate and manipulate might and right in responding to competing claims on him as kgosi, MP and vice-president by Batswana as ‘citizens’, ‘subjects’ or both. Other Dikgosi have demonstrated similar agency and negotiability in their various chiefdoms and nationally. The popularity of the Botswana National Front (BNF) in the Bangwaketse chiefdom for example, is generally attributed to the traditional support the party has received from Kgosi Seepapitso Gaseitsewe, who in turn has attracted special attention and ambivalence from the BDP government keen to improve its image in the chiefdom and constituency. Kgosi Seepapitso Gaseitsewe’s appointment as Botswana’s ambassador to the UN in 2001 was seen by some as an attempt by government to keep the outspoken and critical chief out of the way.

Despite their relative economic success and advances in modernisation, most Batswana continue to be attracted to customary ideas of leadership in the face of the contradictions of liberal democracy, and realize that pursuing undomesticated autonomy is a rather risky business. There is an ever-looming possibility, even for the most successful and cosmopolitan of Batswana - confident in the future of their diamonds and cattle as they may be, of sudden unexplained failure, and of having to cope alone; hence, nearly everyone’s eagerness to maintain kin networks they can turn to in times of need and misfortunes such as death, insurance schemes notwithstanding (cf. Ngwenya 2000). The long arm of custom and chieftaincy has refused to leave migrants alone, just as migration has failed to provoke a permanent severing of relations with the home village and its institutions. Civil servants, politicians, chiefs, intellectuals, and academics are all part of this quest for cultural recognition even as they clamour for the entrenchment of their rights as ‘citizens’ in a Botswana state. Continued interest in chieftaincy by various elites and elite associations is a good indication of such commitment to community and cultural identities beyond the voluntary associations of the liberal democratic type. Elites from majority and minority ethnic groups alike have created associations such as Society for the Promotion of Ikalanga Language, Pitso Ya Batswana, and Kamanakao to articulate their claims to chiefs, paramountcy and cultural representation, even as the logic of modernisation theorists would portray them uniquely as ‘citizens’ of ‘a liberal democracy’.

The following examples further illustrate the dynamism of chieftaincy in Botswana, regardless of requiems that prescriptive and normative scholarship has sung in its regard.

Case One: Dikgosi and Marriage

In Tswana chiefdoms, the politics, management, flexibility and negotiability of marriage are well documented (cf. Comaroff 1981; Schapera 1994 (1938):125-184). Chieftaincy has conservative and progressive forces within its ranks on various issues, and its survival depends a lot more on negotiation and conviviality between the forces than on revolutions or insensitivities to the interests of one another. There is a generational dimension to how various chiefs perceive the importance of marriage. The older chiefs see marriage as duty to the chiefdom, while the younger generation see marriage as a personal matter to be realised by the individual chief only when he has found the right woman to make him happy as a husband. Yet despite the public display of difference between the older and youthful chiefs, the very fact that the institution tolerates and provides for both married and unmarried chiefs is evidence of how conciliatory towards custom and innovation, age and youth, chieftaincy is. It guarantees survival for itself by posing as a melting point for competing perspectives on marriage and its role in present-day Botswana.

It is Saturday February 23^rd, 2002, at Goodhope. The occasion is the enthronement of Lotlamoreng II Montshioa, a 25 year old, as Kgosi of Barolong. He becomes one of the youngest paramount chiefs in Botswana. Other young Dikgosi include Moremi Tawana II of Batawana, who is also Chairman of the House of Chiefs. Lotlamoreng is not married, just like Tawana II, Kgari Sechele of Bakwena, and Ian Khama of Bangwato. Kgosi Linchwe II of Bakgatla, oldest paramount chief, revered custodian of culture, and president of the Customary Court of Appeal in Botswana, expresses concern over rapid transformations and loss of dignity in chieftaincy. The onus of restoring the dignity of chieftainship lies with the chiefs themselves, especially with the young breed of chiefs who have lost respect by staying unmarried. ‘Lona ba ba botlana, ga o tsena mo se tilong se, nyala’, Kgafela implored Lotlamoreng and called on other young unmarried chiefs to marry as soon as possible. Linchwe said in their days, a young Kgosi-to-be had to be married, ‘so that your tribe can respect you.’ Turning to Kgosi Tawana II who was also present, Linchwe said: ‘You have to marry. We must know where Dikgosi wake up each morning, not to be emerging from shacks all over the village. You must be flanked by your wife on occasions like this one. [….]This way, you have dignity with your people and they respect you.’ He added: ‘I am touched, Kgosi ga e a tshwanela mo morafeng [A Chief should not be coming in the company of a girlfriend in a public place].’

Kgosi Linchwe’s reputation is such that few would dare to contradict him. But Kgosi Tawana is used to talking back. ‘I realise that Bakgatla are cowardly because there are some people who are not married who are not challenged; but some of us are just attacked without fear.’ Kgosi Tawana II reposted upon realising that Kgosi Linchwe had not mentioned Ian Khama, also present, in his list of unmarried Dikgosi. ‘Go ipalemelwa rona bo Tawana, go tlogelwa ba bangwe’. Turning to Lotlamoreng, he advised: ‘Take your time before getting married so that when you marry you do so for your own benefit and the benefit of your family, not for Barolong and other people.’ He stressed that Dikgosi must separate their lives from their duties, and drawing from his own experience, added: ‘Life is yours and live it the way you feel comfortable. Don’t allow yourself to be under pressure from anybody. You live for yourself, your mother and your family and not your tribe. I made that mistake six years ago when I became chief. I thought my life was inseparable from the Batawana, but suddenly I realised that I had my own life to live. When it is time for you to settle, then you will have chosen the woman who will make you a happy husband – and not one you would leave for other women and schoolgirls. Six years ago, I would not have liked to bring a woman into the Moremi poverty, that is why I am ready to do so now.’

Also critical of unmarried Dikgosi was the Minister of Local Government, Dr Margaret Nasha: ‘ I am pleading with you to go out there and find a wife to wed. I will be waiting anxiously to get news that you are getting married; that is when I will bring you a present, not today.’

Kgosi Lotlamoreng replied: ‘I have been listening to Minister Nasha and Kgosi Linchwe attentively, but while I respect them I agree with my chairman, Kgosi Tawana. As you all know I have been Chief for a short time only and I think it won’t be wise for me to wed before some of the elders’. Although Ian Khama did not express an opinion on the issue then, he later echoed Tawana’s position when he told Lotlamoreng that it was disrespectful to be told by ‘your people to marry, especially at occasions of this kind’.

Commenting after the ceremony, Kgosi Linchwe said he had been taken by surprise by the remarks made by Kgosi Tawana, claiming that these were not in order. ‘A chief should lead by example, if he marries, the tribe will follow suit and the nation will be kept.’ Kgosi Tawana ‘should know that when a chief is given royal counselling, it is abominable for him or anybody to answer back. If you answer back or engage in the game of theorising on the merits and demerits of the advice given, you run the risk of defeating the advice and the sacred exercise. I do not think many would share Tawana’s sentiments because it is a given in our culture that adults, let alone chiefs should marry.’ Linchwe knew Tawana’s father well, and were friends with him during their school days in England. He considers Tawana his son, and is ready to advise him always. ‘On several occasions I have been asked to give him advice and I will continue to do so.’ In his defense against criticism for leaving out Ian Khama from his list of unmarried Dikgosi, Kgosi Linchwe said, ‘it is not because I fear him but merely because I consider him an adult. Why should I bring in such an adult when I was addressing youthful chiefs? I think it was wrong for Tawana to have brought Khama into this when it was clear that the advice was meant for a specific audience.’ Tawana was equally adamant after the ceremony, claiming his conscience was clear. ‘A Kgosi should not just marry because he is Kgosi, he should marry only when he is ready and not because there is pressure.’ He denied he had problems with Kgosi Linchwe, claiming instead that ‘Kgosi Linchwe has always been a father figure to me and he will remain so. He is a very close family friend.’ The difference of perception between them on the issue of marriage could perhaps be the result of ‘a generation gap’, he speculated.

Shortly after the incident Kgosi Tawana reportedly announced his intention to marry Tsitsi Orapeleng of Palapye, his girlfriend since 1998, with whom he has a two-year old son, in January 2003. Around the same period, the press reported that preparations were underway for Lt General Ian Khama to marry his South African girlfriend, Nomsa Mbere, a practising dentist in Gaborone.

One of the arguments advanced against chieftaincy in Africa is the assumption that this is a predominantly male institution. The preponderance of male chiefs has been used as proof of the undemocratic nature of the institution, often in total disregard to subtle and overt mechanisms of checks and balances against authocratic tendencies on the part of chiefs and the males. If one were to take this caricature for reality, the following case would seem to suggest that even this pillar (male-centredness) of chieftaincy is not beyond renegotiation. In other words, the fact that chieftaincy has been dominated by men in the past does not imply that it cannot be reformed to accommodate women. Here again, we see an institution that is adaptable and negotiating with changing political and social realities in Botswana, where individuals are making the best of both worlds. A woman claiming her ‘birthright’ as a ‘citizen’ as provided for in Botswana’s constitution and stressing her leadership skills within the ‘modern’ service industry, is able to access a position customarily defined by ‘might’ and traced predominantly through the male descent line. The outcome, once again, is neither victory for ‘tradition’ nor ‘modernity’, but for Batswana as individuals and groups for whom ‘right and might’ taken together offer the best protection against the dangers of unmitigated dependence on either.

Mosadi Muriel Seboko was born in Ratmostwa in 1950, first child to the late Paramount Kgosi Mokgosi III. She was educated at Moedin College, where she completed her Cambridge Overseas School Certificate in 1969. She joined Barclays Bank in 1971, where she later became department manager and administrator. In 1995, she retired from Barclays, after 24 years of service. In 2001 she worked as floor manager with Century Office Supplies in Broadhurst. Mosadi is mother of four grown up children who are currently pursuing their own careers.

In an interview with Gary Wills of The Botswana Gazette in November 2001, Mosadi Seboko explained, inter alia, why she wanted to be the paramount kgosi of Balete. ‘The Main reason is that as the eldest child in the family of … Kgosi Mokgosi III this is my birthright. Thus, it’s only fair that I inherit what I strongly believe belongs to me. Secondly, I also do not doubt my capacity to lead my tribe and I believe I’m fit in all respects for such a demanding post. I have no criminal record and certainly there are no skeletons in my cupboard!’ Asked why she, a woman, wanted to become chief in a country where this was considered the prerogative or birthright of men, she replied: ‘Because of the rather patriarchal system practised in Botswana, culturally, people believe a woman cannot lead her tribe as a paramount chief. However, the Constitution of Botswana does not discriminate against women due to their sex. My understanding of the Bill of Rights in the Constitution suggests that actually we have equal rights as men and women, to such positions.’ And to prove that she would make an excellent chief, she was bringing some important skills and experience to the position. ‘In my previous jobs I’ve had the opportunity to handle, manage and supervise people. This has given me capacity to discharge and develop my human resource management skills. Since the chieftainship is highly people-oriented this experience is important, and having been involved with a service industry this has helped me work with people and consider their needs. And … I’ve also brought up children, including of course, helping my mother with my younger sisters and brother (the Late Kgosi Seboko) that is, after my father Kgosi Mokgosi III, died rather prematurely.’

Before her eventual appointment, Mosadi Seboko felt that her appointment would have a positive impact on women in Botswana and beyond: ‘As regards the impact on other women I do feel this will be a plus, especially concerning the empowerment of women. … [W]omen’s NGO’s have, for a long time, lobbied government to look at all sectors with respect to gender neutrality, and this must include the chieftainship.’ Among her supporters was the women’s movement represented by organisations such as Emang Basadi. She also got encouragement and great support ‘from the public in the village, especially the headmen in different wards,’ and ‘from individuals around the country, many of whom are in positions of responsibility.’

Her popularity notwithstanding, Mosadi Seboko blamed delays in her appointment on: ‘the fact that the acting chief, and his team, appear not to accept my wish to become the next paramount chief of the Balete. Actually, they have not taken this issue very well and are not affording it the neutrality that it needs. Obviously, their campaign has been brought to my notice, both from various newspaper articles and through comments I hear from other people. For example, the acting chief Tumelo Seboko stated recently that he would be putting forward Tsimane Mokgosi’s name (who is my young cousin) as the ‘chief designate’. I assume that this is simply because he is male? What other reason could there be? However, he has promised to inform the tribe that I have expressed a desire to become the chief, and a meeting is planned this coming Saturday [1^st of December 2001] at the main kgotla in Ramotswa.’

On January 7^th 2002 Kgosi Mosadi Seboko officially took up duty as paramount kgosi of Balete, following approval of her appointment by the Minister of Local Government, Dr Margaret Nasha. The minister praised Balete ‘for being progressive and breaking with tradition by allowing a woman to take the reigns of traditional power’, and called upon other [tribes] to emulate the example. The minister was confirming a choice made by the people of Balete at a well-attended kogtla meeting in Ratmotswa in December 2001 during which Mosadi was elected to succeed her brother, Kgosi Seboko, who died earlier the same year. The minister’s approval made of Mosadi Seboko the first woman substantive paramount kgosi in the history of Botswana. ‘Although she was the apparent and automatic successor to her late brother Seboko, Mosadi had to fight for her position at a kgotla meeting.’ Reacting to discontent among ‘tribal male chauvinists’, Kgosi Mosadi said: ‘What Balete need is a leader. Whether the leader is a man or a woman is immaterial. The key thing is education. People need to be educated to understand that a woman is capable of being a kgosi. Other than the unwritten customary rites and practices, bogosi [chieftainship], is mainly administrative. As a former administrator, I do not anticipate problems in my new profession as kgosi’.

Kgosi Seboko believes that her appointment corrects an anomaly that has been allowed to fester for years as women were relegated to positions inferior to those of men under the guise that the woman’s position is behind the man. ‘When I assumed office, I never thought for once that I would need to prove to Balete that I am as capable as my brothers were. I know that as a human being I am not infallible. All I am asking of my people and Batswana is to realise that and not to crucify me when I err only because I am a woman.’ She does not wear headscarves and shawls, but would not let herself be told she fails to dress traditionally because: ‘If we have to talk about headscarves and shawls, I would say they are alien to the Setswana culture. In Setswana, women did not wear headscarves. Cloths only came with the colonialists.’

On January 28, 2002, Kgosi Mosadi Seboko and Kgosi Letlamoreng II were both sworn into the House of Chiefs in accordance with the law, which expects members of the house to be recommended first by their ethnic community and endorsed by the minister of local government. In some press reports, ‘Balete’s new paramount chief Kgosi Mosadi Seboko rewrote the history of the House of Chiefs … [as] the first female paramount chief to take an oath of allegiance as a member of the house’.

Although succession disputes and competition for power ‘have occurred with remarkable frequency’ in Tswana and other Southern African chiefdoms, scholars have tended not to view this ‘as sufficiently important to warrant a re-assessment of underlying assumptions’ (cf. Comaroff 1978:1) about chieftaincy as all might and no right. Determined not to see democracy in chieftaincy, the scholarship of dichotomies has branded such negotiability or manipulability of rules and legitimacy ‘anomalies’ and continued with its sterile prescriptiveness, divorced from real life experiences. In his study of Barolong boo Ratshidi of South Africa, a sister chiefdom to Barolong of Botswana, John Comaroff observed that not only was ‘competition for power … a ubiquitous feature of everyday politics and … neither precluded by rule nor limited to interregna’, rules could not ‘be assumed to determine the outcome of indigenous political processes’. Indeed, was succession to be exactly according to prescription, Comaroff estimated that 80 per cent of all cases of accession to the Barolong boo Ratshidi chiefship would have represented anomalies. He also noted that ‘while access to authority is determined by birth, political power depends upon individual ability’, and a significant amount of power in practice is wielded by recruited ‘talented office-holders’. Thus, ‘although entitled to formal respect and ceremonial precedence’, the chief ‘is regarded as a fallible human being who may or may not be powerful, and who may rule efficiently or ineptly’. Placing ‘a high value upon consultation and participatory politics’ as the chiefdom does, would ensure that even an incompetent chief benefits from ‘the advice of his subjects, whether it be proffered informally or in public’ (Comaroff 1978:2-6).

Similar negotiation and manipulation of legitimacy are frequent among the Tswana of Botswana, almost 30 years since John Comaroff’s remarkable insights on the Barolong boo Ratshidi of South Africa. Present day Botswana is characterised by numerous disputes over succession among majority and minority ‘tribes’ alike. This points not only to chieftaincy as an institution that marries might and right in fascinating ways, but also highlights its continued importance in Botswana. Of the eight Tswana chiefdoms with permanent representation in the House of Chiefs, it is not only among the Balete that there have been disputes over succession to the throne. Bakwena have equally been plagued by such disputes since the death of Bonewamang Sechele in 1978, and the designation of his then four-year old son, Kgari Sechele, as heir apparent. Kgari’s cousin, Kealeboga Sechele has laid claim to the throne, describing Kgari’s 1978 designation ‘irregular and accordingly null and void’, and arguing that he is the rightful heir following the death of his father Mokgalagadi in 2000. In March 2002 however, Kgari Sechele III was sworn in at the House of Chiefs, taking over from Kgosikwena Sebele, who had served as regent for 16 years, and who resigned in January 2002. Kealeboga tried in vain through his lawyer to stop the swearing in, and Kgosikwena was not happy with initiatives taken by Kgari supporters without consulting him. In 2000 he was instructed by the Ministry of local government to make arrangements for Kgari Sechele’s assession to the throne. He disobeyed the instructions on the grounds that another Bakwena royal, Mokgalagadi, was also a claimant to the throne on behalf of his son, Kealeboga. Instead, he called upon the Minister of Local Government to appoint a judicial commission of enquiry, as provided for in the law. The Minister refused, insisting that Kgosikwena must make way for Kgari’s enthronement. Kgosikwena took the matter to court, which ruled against him, seeing no credible doubt to Kgari’s legitimacy as heir to the throne. The court did not understand ‘why the applicant was so stubborn as to consult the very tribe upon which his power must largely depend.’ The court also wondered why Kgosikwena, in full knowledge, had delayed for 21 years before raising his doubts about Kgari’s legitimacy as heir apparent. Kgosikwena resigned as regent following the court decision, which he appealed.

Commenting on a delegation of Bakwena elders to Serowe (home of Kgari’s mother) to update the Bangwato royal family on preparations for Kgari’s enthronement, Kgosikwena said: ‘I don’t know who sent them to Serowe because I am the one who is the contact between the tribe and the royal family. All communication between these two parties has to go through me. I also hear that last month Kgari was formally introduced to the tribe in the kgotla. How can that be when I am the one who is supposed to do that?’ He was also opposed to the enthronement of Kgari before the court had decided on the dispute over succession. ‘The case of who is the rightful heir to the throne is still before the High Court and at this stage it is premature to be talking about – let alone making preparations, for anyone’s installation. When the High Court rules, either in Kgari or in Kealeboga’s favour, it is only then that we can start talking about installing the next Bakwena paramount chief and sending delegations to other tribes.’ This claim is made despite the Chieftaincy Act, Section 25 of which states that no court shall have jurisdiction to hear and determine any matter concerning chieftainship, particularly with regard to the designation, recognition, appointment or suspension of chiefs. Amid this controversy, Kgari’s enthronement has been scheduled for August 17, 2002. In July 2002 however, Kgosikwena reportedly withdrew his appeal case from the court, because he could not raise the P15000 as security. Commenting to the press, his lawyer, Duma Boko said: ‘It is frustrating to both the lawyer and the litigant when a person with a reasonably arguable case cannot see the light of the day in court just because he cannot raise security for costs.’

Struggles for legimation are also common among subchiefs and headmen of the minority tribes, sometimes not unconnected with the fact that these are paid positions in the civil service. Among the most well known struggles for succession at subchief level, is the court battle between Legodimo Leipego and Anthony Moapare for the position of subchief in Kgalagadi. The court ruled in favour of Anthony Moapare, but to appease the former, the government took the unprecedented step of creating the post of Deputy subchief (cf. Dingake 1995:171-179).

If chieftaincy is unpopular and outmoded, this is hardly reflected in the growing clamours by minority tribes for recognition and representation through chiefs of their own. As recently as June 15 2002, the remains of Bakalanga She (Chief) John Madawu Mswazwi, who died in exile in Zimbabwe in 1960, were reburied with pomp and ceremony in the Central District, in the presence of Botswana Television and Vice-President Ian Khama, whose granduncle Tshekedi Khama, as regent of the Bangwato chiefdom under which the Bakalanga are a minority ethnic group, had instigated his banishment by the colonial government. While Khama called for reconciliation in the interest of national unity, Bakalanga elite celebrated a milestone in their struggles for recognition and representation, even if the came short of getting the apology they wanted from Khama ‘for the wrongful banishment of their chief’. Bakalanga are one of the leading minority groups claiming cultural recognition and representation in Botswana (cf. Werbner 2000, 2002). Chiefdom remains the ultimate symbol of identity and freedom in the plural context of modern Botswana, making difference and belonging to given cultural communities a more convincing indicator of citizenship than the illusion of a unifying national culture that in effect thrives on inequalities and thinly disguised hierarchies among Batswana. As if to unmask the ‘unifying’ Tswana culture for what it really is – an imposition on ethnic minorities, struggles for representation by the latter have been countered by majoritarian efforts to maintain the status quo of an inherited colonial hierarchy of ethnic groupings. In other words, minority clamours for recognition and representation are countered by greater and sometimes aggressive reaffirmation of age-old exclusions informed by colonial registers of inequalities amongst the subjected (cf. Nyamnjoh 2002b).

At his installation Kgosi Lotlamoreng expressed concern with what he termed ‘tribalism’ engineered by those who were rumoured not to want to be called headmen and subchiefs any more. ‘Kana gatwe ga ba batle go bidiwa dikgosana’ (it is rumoured they don’t want to be called headmen and sub-chiefs’). He urged Batswana to ‘fight this tribalism in the strongest possible way. This spirit is evil and deadly. We don’t want civil wars after our reputation of peace and transquility throughout Africa. Unity is one of the major cornerstones of this nation and now it is being compromised’. The concern of minority groups is more than just a rumour. Since the late 1980s, they have been seeking equal recognition as ‘ethnic’ or ‘tribal’ entities with paramount chiefs of their own, and with a right to representation in the House of chiefs on equal terms with the Tswana Dikgosi. Newspapers abound with stories of various ethnic minority groups hitherto represented by headmen and subchiefs asking for their own paramout chief as a ‘tribe’ in their own right. They have taken issue with aspects of the constitution that appear to favour some groups to the detriment of others (cf. Mazonde 2002; Durham 2002; Solway 2002; Werbner 2002).

Of recent, the focus has been the provisions of of sections 77, 78 and 79 of Botswana’s constitution which have been criticised by minority ‘tribes’: for mentioning only the eight Setswana speaking ‘tribes’, thereby relegating all other tribes to a minority status, and providing a basis for discrimination along ethnic lines. Evidence of such discrimination include: inequalities of access to tribal land and administration; an educational and administrative policy that privileges the use of Setswana to the detriment of 20 minority languages, thereby denying the latter the opportunity to develop and enrich Botswana culturally; unequal representation of cultural interests in the House of Chiefs, which is responsible for advising government on matters of tradition, custom and culture. Critics of the constitution on these aspects have argued that such discrimination is contrary to the spirit of democracy and equality of citizenship (Selolwane 2000:13; Mazonde 2002). One of the minority groups at the forefront of this struggle is Bayei (also known as Wayeyi), who have long resisted their subjugation by Batawana, and have sought recognition for a paramount chief of their own (cf. Murray 1990; Nyati-Ramahobo 2002; Durham 2002). In the words of their leader Shikati Calvin Kamanakao I, ‘We all deserve to be recognised as different tribal groupings who together make a whole called Botswana. We cannot achieve unity by denying other groups their identity, the age of serfdom and domination has long passed’. It is noteworthy however, that Calvin Kamanakao’s leadership is not uncontested. Kamanakao’s legitimacy as Shikati of Bayei has been challenged by Moeti Moeti through Jacob Moeti his father, headman of the main Bayei ward in Maun. In a letter summoning Jacob Moeti to a Kgotla meeting to explain his claim, Lydia Nyati-Ramahobo, coordinator of the Kamanakao Association, wrote: ‘We value our chieftaincy, for which we have struggled since time immemorial’, and ‘are not happy to have it dragged in the mud with such a sense of irresponsibility. We therefore wish to afford both of you an opportunity to tell the Wayeyi people in an open, transparent and democratic fashion, the origins of his [Moeti junior’s] claims.’ She warned that ‘failure to attend will not prohibit the proceedings of the meeting and the conclusions reached would be final’, and needed to ‘help Wayeyi to achieve their freedom’.

In November 2001, the Bayei Kamanakao elite association won a partial victory when the High Court ruled in favour of its challenge that Section 2 of the Chieftaincy Act, which mentions only ‘eight tribes’, discriminated against minority ethnic groups like Bayei and needed amendment ‘to afford equal treatment and equal protection by the law’ to all chiefdoms or tribes. The Chieftaincy Act, in the words of the presiding Chief Justice, had ‘serious consequences, when it is remembered that this Act is one of the laws that define which tribal community can be regarded as a tribe, with the result that such a community can have a chief who can get to the House of Chiefs and that only a tribe can have land referred to as tribal territory.’ Following the ruling, Dr Lydia Nyati-Ramahobo, chairperson of Kamanako Association, reportedly remarked: ‘We are now equal to the Batawana; we are no longer a minority group.’ This ruling should be seen within the framework of on-going debates on discriminatory sections of the constitution, which Kamanakao had also challenged, but which the court declined to rule on. And so should the decision by the Ministry of Local Government to amend the Chieftaincy Act in line with the High Court judgement.

The Balopi Commission, appointed in July 2000 by President Festus Mogae to investigate discriminatory articles of the constitution, made public its report in March 2001 (Republic of Botswana 2000:93-110). The commission was both radical and conservative in its findings, but endorsement of any of their more radical recommendations was likely to be hailed by minority groups than by Tswana with vested interests in the status quo.

It is therefore not surprising that an initial government draft white paper informed by the Balopi Commission Report, met with approbation from the minority tribes and resistance from the Tswana majority, and pushed President Mogae, who himself is from a minority tribe - Batalaote, to embark on a nationwide explanation tour of different kgotla. The initial white paper was criticised by the major tribes, who saw it as aimed at eroding chieftaincy in Botswana (by emphasising territoriality over birthright) and dividing the nation by ‘placating minority tribes to the detriment of the rights of tribes that are mentioned in the Botswana Constitution’. Particularly distasteful to the major tribes was the amendment of certain sections of the constitution, and membership of the House of Chiefs. On the latter, the draft white paper had argued that, ‘it makes sense to remove the ex-officio status in the membership of the House and subject each member of the House to a process of designation by morafe. The same individual may be redesignated for another term if morafe so wishes.’ In drafting the white paper, a central concern was to ensure that ‘territoriality rather than actual or perceived membership of a tribal or ethnic group should form the fundamental basis for representation in the House of Chiefs.’ The discriminatory sections 77, 78 and 79 of the constitution, were to be replaced with new sections ‘cast in terms calculated to ensure that no ‘reasonable’ interpretation can be made that they discriminate against any citizen or tribe in Botswana’. The draft white paper also endorsed the creation of new regional constituencies, ‘which are neutral and bear no tribal or ethnic sounding names’. Regions were to have electoral colleges of Headmen of Record up to Head of Tribal Administration to designated members, and each region was to be entitled to one member of the House. The President would appoint three special members, ‘for the purpose of injecting special skills and obtaining a balance in representation.’

However, under pressure from the major tribes, President Mogae reportedly ‘backtracked’ on some key aspects of the draft white paper such as more equal representation in the House of Chiefs and change of names of some regions, by appointing a panel to redraft the relevant sections in time for submission to parliament. In a ‘war of words’ meeting with Bangwato in Serowe, the President was told, among other things: ‘It is of course fair that some [minor] tribes should be represented at the House of Chiefs, but their chiefs should still take orders from Sediegeng Kgamane [acting paramount chief of Bangwato]. We do not want chiefs who will disobey the paramount chief and even oppose him while there [in the House of Chiefs].’ In his retraction statement, President Mogae stressed that as a democracy, it was only proper for his government to draft ‘the white paper in good faith with the intention of telling the nation what we as government thought was the best way to implement the motion passed by parliament’.The revised white paper, which re-introduced ex-officio as ‘permanent’ members and raised the number from eight to twelve and which increased the total membership of the House to 35, was finally adopted by parliament in May 2002. The four additional ex-officio members will be chiefs from the districts of Chobe, Gantsi, North East and Kgalagadi, elevated to paramount status, while the traditional eight from the Tswana tribes will be mantained.

The adopted revised white paper was rejected by most minority tribes, some of whose elite petitioned President Mogae, claiming that the changes were ‘cosmetic’, and accusing the government of having succumbed to pressure from Tswana tribes to ignore the findings of the Balopi Commission, that had cost huge sums of money. The authors of the petition argued: ‘As a general issue, we are rather not happy with the fact that while the Tswana-speaking tribes were consulted and indeed some modification made on the basis of their inputs before the paper was adopted by Parliament, the non-Tswana were consulted after the paper was adopted. This served as a psychological oppression to disillusion these tribes. It reflected on the ethnic imbalance, as to who gets listened to in this country and who does not.’ They argued that the revised and adopted white paper had merely entrenched Tswana domination over other tribes by simply translating from English into Setswana, words such as ‘House of Chiefs’ [Ntlo Ya Dikgosi] and ‘Chief’ [Kgosi], oblivious of the fact that minority tribes have different appelations for the same realities [e.g. ‘Chief’: She for Bakalanga, Shikati for Bayei].

The petition accused the government of having betrayed its original intention to move from ethnicity to territoriality as a basis for representation, by yielding to Tswana pressure to maintain their tribal identities and to be represented by chiefs who assume office by virtue of birth. ‘While the Tswana chiefs will participate on the basis of their birth right as chiefs of their tribes, the non-Tswana groups will be elected to the House as sub-chiefs, that is, of an inferior status.’ On the contrary, ‘territoriality as a basis of representation is only applicable to the non-Tswana-speaking tribes’ as ‘their dominant ethnicities remain unrecognised’, even for the four regions, which will henceforth have the option to elect representatives or paramount chiefs. And what is worse, non-Tswana tribes, will not even participate in the election of their chiefs to the Ntlo Ya Dikgosi, since the chiefs ‘will be elected by government employees serving as subchiefs and chiefs and by the Minister.’ They considered this process ‘undemocratic as it takes away the people’s rights to participate in the selection of those who should represent them in the House of Chiefs.’ Also, while it is possible for homogenous Tswana speaking regions to have more than one paramount chief (e.g. Balete and Batlokwa for the southeast district, and Barolong and Bangwaketse for the southern district), this was not possible for other regions shared by Tswana and other tribes (e.g. Tawana and Bayei of the northwest district).

The petition also called for ‘the repeal of tribalistic names of landboards, which promote the entrenchment of Tswana domination over the rest of the tribes’, and insisted that the so-called ‘lack of land’ of the minorities must not ‘stand in the way of the recognition of our paramount chiefs, as we the tribes have and live on our own land.’ It was clear, they argued, that ‘the discrimination complained of has not been addressed’, as ‘The White paper fails to make a constitutional commitment to the liberty and recognition of, and the development and preservation of the languages and cultures of the non-Tswana speaking tribes in the country, other than the ethnic Tswana.’ Instead, it has entrenched Tswanadom; but ‘the Tswana speakers will not enjoy their superiority at the expense of our justice under discriminatory laws.’ Other voices critical of the revised white paper claimed it had left unresolved the fundamental issue of tribal inequality, and had actually brought things ‘back to square on’. The ruling Botswana Democratic party and government had demonstrated that they were for the interests of the eight principal tribes and chosen few, making it difficult for the minority tribes to ‘trust a government like this one’.

This study on chieftaincy and democracy in Cameroon and Botswana has argued that instead of being pushed aside by the modern power elites as was widely predicted both by modernisation theorists and their critics, chieftaincy has displayed remarkable dynamism, adaptiveness and adaptability to new socio-economic and political developments, without necessarily becoming erased by the latter in the process. Chiefdoms and chiefs have become active agents in the quest by the new elites for ethnic cultural symbols as a way of maximising opportunities at the centre of bureaucratic and state power, and also at the home village where control over land and labour often require both financial and symbolic capital. Chieftaincy, in other words, remains central to ongoing efforts at harnessing democracy to the expectations of Cameroonians and Batswana as individual ‘citizens’ and also as ‘subjects’ of various cultural and ethnic communities.

The study provides evidence to challenge perspectives that present chiefs and chieftaincy as an institution trapped in tradition and fundamentally undemocratic. The idea that chieftaincy and chiefs are either compressors of individual rights with infinite might, or helpless zombies to be co-optable by custom or by the modern state, denies chiefdoms and chiefs community or individual agency. The empirical reality of actual chiefdoms and chiefs in Cameroon and Botswana suggests that these are, and have always been active agents even in the face of the most overwhelming structures of repression. Chieftaincy is also a dynamic institution, constantly re-inventing itself to accommodate and be accommodated by new exigences, and has proved phenomenal in its ability to seek conviviality between competing and often conflicting influences.

In the realm of democracy, chieftaincy in Cameroon and Botswana has influenced and been influenced by modern state institutions and liberalism. The result of this intercourse is neither a victory for ‘tradition’ nor ‘modernity’, ‘chieftaincy’ nor ‘liberal’ democracy’, ‘might’ nor ‘right’, but a richer reality produced and shaped by both. Chieftaincy may be subjected to the whims and caprices of the power elite, but such whims and caprices are not frozen in time and space, nor are the elite a homogenous and immutable entity. Changing political and material realities determine what claims are made on chieftaincy, by whom and with what implications for democracy. The adaptability and continuous appeal of chieftaincy makes of democracy in Cameroon and Botswana an unending project, an aspiration that is subject to renegotiation with changing circumstances and growing claims by individuals and communities for recognition and representation.

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