On post-elections Cameroon, and the Dangerous Death of Hope

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.