Monique Kwachou

Tensions are rising. And while I can’t call that a win, I can say it’s understandable, maybe even necessary. Before sharing this, I had to pray. Because this isn’t about me, it’s about sharing a lesson that’s been growing in my heart for the past year, one that the Holy Spirit has been teaching me through my anger, confusion, and faith. Last year, when Trump won, I was deeply angry, less about the outcome and more about what it revealed about humanity, and the way Christianity was being warped to legitimise a regression into hate. But God showed me the unexpected benefit in this: some things have to come into the light before they can be healed.What we’ve been witnessing, the rise of the far right, the open displays of racism, sexism, and intolerance, etc., these things didn’t appear out of nowhere. They were already there, festering in silence. Those who called themselves “liberal” or “progressive” thought they were winning, but were only louder, not more convincing. People’s minds weren’t changing; we had just learned how to drown out discomfort with better PR. And so, God helped me appreciate (not like nor enjoy) that injustice, hate, and hypocrisy are rising to the surface. It is not only proof that the world is falling apart, but also proof that the sickness is finally being exposed. Because sometimes, the only way to confront darkness is to let it come into the open. You can’t cleanse what you won’t name. I am sharing this lesson from the past year, because I find it particularly valuable to where we are now in Cameroon. Many are upset by the unrest and are “praying for peace”, but too often what we mean is silence, a return to comfort. Because peace without justice is just silence. It’s the quiet that comes from people being too afraid or too exhausted to speak. That’s why I’ve stopped praying for “peace” in the shallow sense. Too often, when we say Father, give us peace, what we really mean is make it quiet again. We want normal, even if “normal” was rotting underneath. But real peace is not quietness; it’s justice restored. The Bible says, Blessed are the peacemakers (Mathew 5:9). Peacemaking is not passive. It’s work. It requires strategy and courage. You can’t make peace unless you first admit there isn’t any. That means naming what’s broken, confronting what festers, and having the uncomfortable conversations that move us toward healing. So if you’re praying for peace, pray also to become a peacemaker, someone willing to have hard conversations, to think critically, to challenge what’s wrong even in your own home. Because peace won’t come from the top down; it starts with us.As I said yesterday, until we start calling out our friends, our uncles, our chiefs, and the elders in our own circles who benefit from upholding this system, nothing will change. This isn’t just about one man or a few men up there. The system survives because of what we have accepted, played into, and kept silent about. And I know many people are thinking they are powerless today, after the declaration of those results and with the spread of violence. But that’s a lie. A dangerous one. That’s one of the biggest lies we’ve been sold. My favourite Alice Walker quote says: “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” You do have power.If you’re raising a child to be civic conscious and to shun ethnic bias and other divisions, you’re shaping a future mind, that’s power.If you can speak up, write, and influence others with your platform, that’s power.Even having difficult conversations is a power. You have power over what you allow to slide unchallenged in your circle. You only lose your power when you say, “What’s the point? Nothing will change.” Many of us are tired and resigned right now, but we still have some power. I’m inviting us to start from where we are. Talk to the people closest to you, especially the ones who think differently, who still believe the system works. You have the power to engage those you disagree with, who you know are complicit in keeping us all down, or who don’t know better. Let’s address our own, speak to that uncle who got you your job through his connections with the party.Address that elder in your church who excuses their participation in this system. Let’s have an honest conversation with the colleague who says, “That’s just how Cameroon is”? This is not about attacking anyone. It’s about peacemaking, the uncomfortable, confrontational and patient work of helping people see differently and finding common ground. Because if we are honest, the greatest evil this government has perfected is divide and rule.Francophones against Anglophones.North-West against South-West.Christians against Muslims.Each of us is taught to see the other as the problem. But the truth is, this system harms us all. Even those in power — they, too, are trapped in a machine that feeds them crumbs while robbing everyone of dignity. We need to acknowledge this division for what it is, a tool of control, and find our way back to common ground. So if you’re wondering, what can I do? Start there.Use the little power you have to spark conversations that matter. There’s a technique I use with my students when teaching feminism, and it works for complex topics too: ask questions that make people think. If you know someone who supports the current regime, talk to them. Pray first (genuinely) so you speak with calm and compassion, not anger. Then ask: 1. Do you recognise that Cameroon is not living up to its potential?That most Cameroonians deserve better, that people shouldn’t have to leave the country or bribe their way through life to survive? 2. Do you acknowledge that leadership is responsible for addressing these issues?That those in power are paid by citizens to serve, not to rule over them? 3. If you agree

Years ago, I began using the hashtag #MakeCameroonHopefulAgain. People thought it was a mockery of “#MakeAmericaGreatAgain”. It wasn’t. It came to mind as I thought of what we needed most. We need hope. I write this having just concluded a conversation with a friend where we discussed our sadness at another sham of an election in Cameroon and the violence already spreading. Something she said reminded me of a video I saw recently, one that explained why Gaza matters so much. Now, I know many Africans hear that and go, “Abeg, we have enough problems of our own; Congo, Sudan, Cameroon…” And they’re right. Others counter that the world isn’t even talking about those places with the same energy, and they’re right, too. Both thoughts are valid. But that video said something that struck me and has made me appreciate Africans like Zukiswa Wanner taking Gaza seriously (read about her experience HERE). There’s something about Gaza that demands attention, not because it’s more tragic than others, but because it exposes one of humanity’s most dangerous delusions. That delusion is the belief in the perfect victim. We’ve been taught, through religion, through moral philosophy, through the selective histories on Martin Luther King Jr and Mandela, that if we are peaceful enough, patient enough, and innocent enough, the world will recognise our suffering. That if we document the injustice, appeal to conscience, show the evidence, people will do better once they know better. Gaza is a brutal contradiction of that belief. We have seen everything: the bombed hospitals, the dead children, the journalists silenced, the white allies targeted, and the churches and mosques alike destroyed. It has been filmed, documented, and verified. All the UN agencies have called it a genocide. And yet, the killing continues. If “doing everything right” still ends in annihilation, what happens to people’s faith in peace, in reason, in humanity? I think back to Nigeria in 2020, and the way I felt after the Lekki Toll Gate massacre. We watched that live, too. We saw the lights go out, and the soldiers open fire on young people singing the anthem. The #EndSARS protests may have been violent in many places, but in Lekki, where most are middle- to upper-class, there was a DJ playing music. That’s as peaceful as an African protest can get. It seems like a very resolute party with young people singing, and mostly on their phones. They still got shot by the army, the same army they fund through their taxes. And years later, one of the men responsible is now the president of Nigeria. What message does that send? It didn’t matter that we knew; it didn’t matter that journalists printed evidence of his other crimes. It says: evidence doesn’t matter. Some people can get away with it. Just as their guilt doesn’t hang them, so too, your innocence doesn’t save you. Do you see the issue? The danger? Now, let’s think of Cameroon. If we think critically, we have already seen this thing play out in Cameroon, with a horrific end. The ongoing Anglophone crisis didn’t start with what we now call “Amba”. Before that, there were teachers and lawyers, peaceful, moderate people asking to be heard and for legal systems to be respected and issues addressed. And they were mocked, arrested, and belittled. When you crush the moderates, when you show that peaceful protest and following due process means nothing, you create a power vacuum. And in that vacuum, beasts rise. That is how we now have the scourge of Amba and a people turned on themselves. People keep saying the Anglophone crisis became violent because guns got into the wrong people’s hands or drugs spread among the youth. But no, before the guns and the drugs, hope left their hearts. When people no longer believe that the peaceful path works, when they no longer trust that justice or accountability exist, what else do you expect them to become? You kill the last bit of hope people have in dialogue when you turn dialogue into a bureaucratic charade (see the 2019 “national dialogue”) and use peace marches for your selfish ends. And once hope dies, people devolve. They stop caring. And here we are, seeing the same thing happen again: people’s cries are being ignored in other regions, and the evidence the masses put together is being ignored. We have seen videos of electoral fraud with no accountability. If we keep letting that happen, if we keep mocking peaceful efforts, silencing reason, and ignoring evidence, then we are the ones feeding the beast. As someone who witnessed the crisis go haywire and spoke up against it from the start, this is a perilous spiral. You cannot control the beast; it turns on anyone and everyone. I’m writing this as a follow-up to a video I shared earlier to make a note, because I am noticing a pattern. People are losing faith in processes, in justice, in peace. And when hope goes, violence rises. In fact, violence has risen, and we must acknowledge that it is not because certain people are just violent, but rather it is evidence of increasing despair. Despair is the beginning of chaos. So please, let’s not joke with the widespread expressions of despair. Protect hope.It’s not sentimental, it’s imperative for survival. Before guns get into more hands, let’s make sure hope hasn’t left their hearts.