In January of this year, I was invited by Line Sidonie Talla Mafotsing to share my reflections on Cameroon’s political culture, our history of leadership, and what lies ahead as the country prepares for elections. Unfortunately, it appears that she can no longer publish the piece for which I was interviewed. Nonetheless, I remembered the conversation and how I spoke candidly about what we have normalised as a nation, the muted sense of agency many of us feel, and much more. I’ve decided to publish some of the transcript here on my blog because the interview gave me space to think more deeply about history, memory, silence, and the guardrails we must build if we want change to mean more than just a new face at the top. And as we head into the month where we’ll be seeing yet another (sham) of an election. These words are all I have for now.
What follows is a cleaned-up version of that interview.
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Q: Could you start by telling me your name, where you work, and your area of expertise?
A: I am Monique Kwachou. I am a senior researcher currently working with an institution that I’ll rather leave unnamed for this interview to avoid affiliation issues. However, you could describe me as a writer, researcher, and consultant specialising in gender education and youth development issues.
Q: Cameroon is interesting in that it’s the only country that’s ever known only two presidents – Ahmadou Ahidjo and Paul Biya, who is also the oldest non-royal head of state in the world. From your perspective, what do you think about that, and how has this defined the country’s identity?
A: Well, this question brings to mind a statement that Kah Walla (one of the few Cameroonian political figures I respect) made when we were under the internet ban; I think at the time we held the record for the longest internet ban too. She tweeted that we only make the Guinness World Records for the bad things. So yeah, that’s “what I think about” this particular identifier of ours; we tend to break the records nobody wants to break.
Regarding how this has shaped the country’s identity, it’s interesting because, depending on whom you speak to, the country’s identity is perceived differently. I recall Bole Butake once writing that some have described Cameroon as the “Switzerland of Africa” because, supposedly, we don’t have war. However, with several ongoing crises, I wonder whether they’d still describe it that way.
In my opinion, I would say the identity of the country is one of ‘a laissez-faire people’. Every time I attend conferences with fellow African writers or scholars and activists, I regularly get asked: “So you guys are not tired? Nobody’s standing up, so obviously you must like it.”
In a way, they are right. Yes, it is not that simple. Yet they aren’t altogether wrong.
The fact of two presidents and the loyalty many still show the incumbent president has branded us as very compliant people. I remember a speech where the President described Cameroonians as “resilient people,” and I was so offended. Looking back, I can see the problem with being called resilient – it’s like “strong women,” those are things you never want to be called, neither as a woman nor as a country. It means you can take a lot of trash, and I think that’s pretty much us.
Q: For the majority of the population, Biya has been the only president they’ve ever known. How do you think people in Cameroon view their sense of agency in terms of having power in choosing their elected officials? And how fair can an election be if the same person keeps getting elected for over 40 years, even if opposition parties exist?
A: I can’t speak for everybody, but I would say our sense of agency is pretty muted. There’s only so much you can do when the President is in charge of the Electoral Commission. I repeat, a candidate is in charge of the Electoral Commission. So are you going to vote against the Electoral Commission?
I don’t think anybody’s wondering how fair the elections are. I think everybody knows the elections are not fair. If anyone’s wondering how fair the elections are, then they are being dishonest. We know it’s not fair. It’s called a constitutional coup for a reason. See how easy it is for the government to impose laws and loopholes that benefit the ruling party? The constitution could be changed by the majority party leader, just like that, from five years to seven years.
Moreover, our agency is muted even before the ballot box is considered. People think Cameroonians are apathetic by nature, but no, that apathy is a trauma response. Our apathy is a direct symptom of our agency being muted due to the government’s policy of opaqueness. We live with deliberate vagueness. Take succession, for instance; currently, nobody knows what happens if he dies. It’s vague, and it’s ambiguous for a reason. A lack of information means that your agency is muted; you cannot act without adequate knowledge, so that lack of information is very intentional. Without knowledge of our rights, we cannot claim them. Over time, they’ve made politics a mysterious dance as if it’s something for a select few and a complex game rather than something we all need to be engaged in. As a result of that fog, people keep their heads down. It is a rational response.
Also, we must acknowledge that the lack of agency has been bred over the course of our history. If I speak out, if I am more civic conscious, that in itself is a privilege. I recognise that I have a position of relative privilege: I have access to education, some exposure, and no dependents. Even with those buffers, there are limits to what I am willing to risk. For the majority without such cushions, the calculus is harsher. Ask any family that has watched a son disappear into jail…How do you want those who have been scarred, who lack an example of what could be, to hope for better, or to act for it? Of course, their agency is muted; it’s hard to imagine and demand better when you’ve been raised to normalise this political situation.
Q: Can you elaborate on how history has shaped people’s responses to the political situation?
A: (I want to write an op-ed from my response to this question, so only an excerpt of it is presented here)
The repression of the 1960s, ’70s, and ’90s scarred our parents’ generation. I cannot count how often parents warned us to stay away from politics. The first time I ever voted was in 2011, and despite it being the start of a school year, most parents called their kids home away from where they had registered, saying, “make we dey together if we get to die”. The result is learned apathy. So who will change things when we have learned to adapt to it, to accept it as norm…
… In my generation, those of us who can afford therapy have begun to name the harms we normalised from childhood. We are unpacking the notion that “that’s just how it is” in family and society. This personal reckoning has forced me to extend the same logic to the nation. Where was our collective therapy after colonialism and its brutal afterlives? When did we process the repression of the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, 1990s, the years of protest and mass arrests that scarred our parents’ cohort? We didn’t. We hurt, we coped, and we carried on. Coping became a culture. And like the famed frog boiled to death for adapting to the rising temperature, that seems to be our fate here. We have adapted to a 40+ year dictatorial legacy, and each day brings more hopelessness….
It is really a combination of things, history and socialisation at the forefront. There is a history of repression and abuse that has made politics a dreaded and mystified thing. Then there is the reality of how little the efforts of those who resist are appreciated. Add to that the cultural beliefs and norms articulated through ideas and statements like “respect your elders”, “what an old man sees sitting down a young man cannot see from the tallest tree”, “when it is your turn, you should eat too”, “forgive and move on”, “there is a way to counter your elder and still honour them, that is not the way”… This is how we arrived at a point where citizens refer to elected officials as “father” and line up to offer motions of support for their basic duties. It mirrors the colonial script in our schoolbooks, where we were asked to list the “benefits” of colonialism. When gratitude is the only acceptable posture, accountability looks like rudeness.
So, abnormal things get normalised: a president buying a new plane while people go hungry; elected officials treated like “fathers” to be thanked, not servants to be held accountable. We inherited this deference from colonial education practices and content (in fact, in my O-Level year, we were asked to name the “benefits” of colonialism)… In sum, deference was taught, while questioning was regularly punished. Even if they did not mute us at the ballot, we would mute ourselves with that sort of upbringing.
Q: How has this normalisation affected how people view their relationship with leadership?
A: It has been normalised that the President should get a new plane even when his people are barely eating. It’s been normalised that you see your president – an elected official who is supposed to be a civil servant – as a father that you’re supposed to defer to. That paternalism from the colonial master has been inherited and has been normalised.
It has become normalised for government officials to receive exorbitant perks, and there’s a way to address them out of deference. You don’t see them as people who owe you, put in power temporarily to serve you. No, you see them as people you have to thank. You give motions of support. You say how grateful you are for them doing the bare minimum because you see them using World Bank loans to affect development as a favour, rather than just in accordance with the terms of their positions.
This too carries on from colonialism – I recall all the sections of history where we were taught which colonial masters built what schools and compared how much development the Germans gave us versus the French and the British… Postcolonial leaders just wanted to enjoy what they saw the colonial masters enjoy; they didn’t really think of ‘saving’ their people.
If all of that has been normalised, why am I supposed to question it? You need critical thinking skills or some exposure to say, “This is not normal.” And from that questioning, you can now start to fight – but the few who have gotten to that point face harsh repression and possibly lose everything.
I’m thinking of Martinez Zogo, the journalist who was recently killed. When news of his murder broke out, the first thing that struck me was a subsequent update that stated how his brothers bombarded his wife and took over his property after his death, as per “culture”. When you read the comments under that update, you can understand why our apathy is normalised. One particular comment burned into my brain; the person said, “This is why they say mind your business – because who’s going to protect your family now that you have died? Cameroon has not changed, but your children are starving. Your wife is vulnerable.”
That’s the lesson that comes to the rest of us. Even if you’re aware, even if you’re saying “This is wrong,” what when you know your effort would likely not be appreciated and nothing may change.
Q: When your president is 90 years old and the government prohibits media from talking about his health, it becomes concerning how he can lead a population where the median age is 18. How do you see Cameroon’s progress economically, politically, and socially with the idea that Biya is at his age?
A: I wish I could tell you, as a youth worker, that having a younger president would for sure make a difference. I used to be that hopeful, and I’m sorry I’m going to shock you with this answer… I’m not saying he should be that old, but I don’t think that’s the only problem.
Yes, the fact that he’s that old obviously means he’s unlikely equipped to run day-to-day activities, and he’s definitely going to be out of touch. But if we’re being honest, Biya probably isn’t running this country day-to-day. He’s been fortunate to groom very good stooges who are strategically placed everywhere, acting as his hands and feet.
We’ve had months of waiting and wondering, “Where is he now?” Every so often, we say our president is missing, yet the country functions. People go to work. Obviously, it means that somebody they fear more, maybe in his absence, rules the country, or Biya rules through his photos hanging over people’s offices. The fact that only photos serve to spark fear and a reminder that something could happen to you, even if he’s not there… it’s nothing short of voodoo, I tell you
The people who are really ruling are younger than him. The people who are at the airport regularly waiting to welcome, those who are drafting memos threatening us not to speak about his health… they are younger, but they’re the ones propping up his rule. So is it really his age and capacity to lead, or the fact that he has socialised us so well?
He has bred copies of himself. There are many power Biyas strategically placed all over this country. There are Biyas in our churches, the elders and priests who we cannot question, in our homes, in our schools… everywhere. Many people actually believe his way is a good way because it’s worked – he’s successful. So you become the crazy one for thinking we should have someone else and deserve better.
I’m not idealistic any longer. I’m no longer as naive as I used to be, thinking that if we give a younger person power, they will be more in tune with the larger population. There is a likelihood that they could be just as biased, just as corrupted, just as he is.
I don’t think the country is the way it is because he is 90. I think the country is the way it is because, first, there are many like him, and because, as the majority of us, we are selfish, and because we truly do not love the country and ourselves enough to do the work…
Q: How do you think a new person would change Cameroon moving forward? Is the foundation of the country strong enough to sustain a new era where Biya isn’t at the top of it all?
A: If the last five or six years have taught me anything, it’s that people can survive anything – people adapt. I would never have thought that, in five years, we would have driven through ghost towns every week. It’s now normalised that there is no Monday. So we will survive whether or not Biya wins this year’s election. If you don’t die, you actually adapt very easily.
Conversely, I have no qualms about the fact that Cameroonians will adapt to a new person. We’ve adapted to crazier things. That’s not the least of our problems.
When Biya came in, he introduced multipartism under pressure and in a bid to make himself look democratic. I don’t believe that was because he was being kind; he was being strategic. He saw what made his predecessor seem inadequate and did something else, knowing how to control that. I do not doubt that whoever comes next might introduce something else. They might even agree to a federal republic.
Just the fact that there would be a new person in the office brings a bit of hope. With a new person, even if they’re just as bad, it would mean new alliances. There’ll be room to question things because you’ll no longer be asking the president – you’ll be questioning his predecessor. If you say something is bad, it will no longer be him. He can say, “Yeah, it’s sad, let me change it,” and come out looking like a good guy.
So, I think the trick here is not just to say we want a new person – we do – but to ensure that by the time the new person arrives, we have made it impossible for them to consolidate themselves the way Biya did. And that’s where we have already failed, because in focusing on getting Biya out, nobody is focusing on ensuring that whoever comes in will not become another Biya.
If I don’t know the processes of what happens when he dies, and I’m here saying “Let him die” – what happens? We need to ensure that whoever comes doesn’t just do a few good things at first and then become the next long-term ruler.
That’s where our energy should be – I don’t care where the new leader comes from. I wish a lot more people would focus on those guardrails. What will stop the next person from becoming the third and final president for the next 50 years? That’s where I think our energy should be focused.
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What I’ve shared here is only an excerpt from a more extended interview. I’ll also be drawing on parts of this conversation to write an op-ed for another platform in the coming weeks. In the meantime, I’d love to hear your thoughts! What stood out for you in this exchange? What are you thinking and feeling as Cameroon embarks on the ritual of shoddy elections once again? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or reach out directly. These conversations matter most when they don’t end here.
