The political cost of generalization — and a method to move beyond it

By Franck Essi

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I need to start with a confession.

It still happens to me — in the heat of a debate or a piece written late at night — that these phrases slip out. « Cameroonians must rise up. » « Africa must take its destiny into its own hands. » They come naturally, as they do for everyone. They sound right. They circulate in op-eds, on television panels, at conferences. They give the impression of a shared lucidity, even reassure, so full of common sense do they seem.

But over the past few years, I stop myself. I reread. And I ask myself a simple question: who, exactly, am I addressing?

The answer, more often than not, is uncomfortable: no one.

And when a statement addresses no one in particular, it produces no real effect. It drifts through the zeitgeist, fuels indignation, but transforms nothing. To name things badly, wrote Albert Camus, is to add to the misery of the world. I would extend that: to name actors badly is to add to political impotence.

It is that impotence I want to interrogate here. Not only that of others. Mine too.

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1. « Africans must… » — who are we really talking to?

I remember a strategy meeting among activists a few years ago, as we were preparing for upcoming elections. Someone took the floor with conviction: « Cameroonian youth must get involved. » Everyone nodded. And we moved on to the next agenda item.

But I had wanted to interrupt and ask: which youth? Young people in major cities or those in remote rural areas? Young graduates with nothing to lose from a change of system, or young civil servants with everything to lose from a rupture? Already organized activists, or the millions of citizens who distrust politics altogether?

I did not say anything that day. I should have.

Because behind each of these formulas lie divergent interests, antagonistic ideologies, latent conflicts, sometimes violent power struggles. « Africans » do not exist as a uniform bloc. « Cameroonians » do not constitute a homogeneous political subject. « The international community » is not an entity endowed with a single will. « The opposition » is not a coherent body driven by a common strategy.

When we say « Cameroonians must rise up, » are we talking about civil servants dependent on the system? Entrepreneurs tied to public contracts? Precarious students? Engaged diaspora communities? Disillusioned citizens? Each segment of society has distinct interests. Some have an interest in the status quo. Others have an interest in reform. Others still oscillate, hesitate, waiting to see which way the balance of power will tip.

Grouping them under a single address is not a linguistic shortcut. It is an intellectual dead end. And intellectual dead ends, in politics, carry a very high price.

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2. Generalisation is not always a flaw — but it has a clear limit

I want to be honest about a point I have long sidestepped.

Generalisation is not always laziness. It can be a deliberate and legitimate strategy. Pan-Africanism functioned on precisely this logic: to say « we, the Africans » was to build a common identity where colonization had sown fragmentation. The great liberation movements all used this federating language. « The united people, » « the nation standing tall » — these formulas did not describe a homogeneous reality; they summoned one into existence.

Generalisation therefore has a legitimate role in mobilization. It creates a sense of belonging. It brings people together before the tasks are divided.

But — and this is the boundary I want to draw — it becomes dangerous the moment we move from mobilization to strategic planning. Mobilizing with broad formulas is possible and sometimes necessary. Planning with those same formulas is to condemn oneself to failure.

Generalisation is a fuel. It is not a road map.

And most of our political discourse in Africa remains stuck at the fuel stage, never producing the map.

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3. The illusion of the block: what the words « international community » actually conceal

Let me take a concrete example, I know well, having worked with several of these actors in my capacity as a consultant.

When we say that « the international community must support democratic transition in Cameroon, » what are we actually talking about? Here is what that formula conceals.

France maintains historical, economic and military ties with Cameroon that make the stability of the current regime a near-constant priority of its diplomacy. Its interests in preserving long-established networks generally outweigh any abstract democratic consideration.

The United States holds a more ambivalent position, shaped by domestic political shifts, the lobbying power of the African diaspora, and its own geostrategic calculations in the region. Under certain administrations, pressure on human rights is real. Under others, it recedes behind security concerns.

The European Union holds significant economic leverage — trade agreements, development aid — but its capacity for action is constrained by the need for consensus among twenty-seven member states with divergent interests.

International financial institutions such as the IMF and the World Bank have a strong presence in Cameroon, but their logic is technocratic and conditional, rarely political in the democratic sense of the term.

Human rights organizations — Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch — have a real capacity for documentation and symbolic pressure, but no direct coercive leverage.

That is what the words « international community » cover. Five categories of actors, five different logics, five distinct types of leverage. The moment we begin to distinguish between them, strategy becomes possible: we know who can be mobilized, on what basis, within what timeframe, and at what cost.

Without this breakdown, « the international community » is a prayer. With it, it becomes a strategic playing field.

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4. Stakeholder mapping: a simple method for thinking differently

Faced with any political, social or economic situation, I have imposed on myself a discipline I call stakeholder mapping. It rests on four fundamental questions I try to ask systematically — even if I do not always apply them with the rigor I preach.

Who acts? This means identifying the real actors in a situation: not abstract categories, but the organizations, institutions, individuals and networks that have a concrete presence and capacity for action in that specific context.

In whose interest? Every actor is driven by interests — economic, ideological, identity-based, or political survival. Understanding those interests means understanding why people do what they do, rather than what they say they do.

Against whom or against what? Every change is made against something. Identifying the sources of resistance — the actors who benefit from disorder or the status quo — is just as important as identifying allies.

With what means? Financial resources, popular legitimacy, influence networks, organizational capacity, media access — available means determine what is possible and within what timeframe.

These four questions do not deliver definitive answers. They simply compel us to think before acting. And in our political contexts, that is already a great deal.

I do not claim to have invented this method — it is well known in international advocacy and strategic analysis circles. But I believe it is far too seldom used in our African public debates, where eloquence is often preferred to analysis.

A poorly drawn stakeholder map is better than no map at all. It can be corrected. Emptiness cannot.

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5. Who are your allies? Who are your adversaries? Naming as a strategic compass

This is perhaps the question that weighs most heavily on me in my own engagement within Stand Up For Cameroon.

Naming with precision has a virtue I was slow to fully accept: it forces us to designate the sides clearly. And designating sides risks losing superficial supporters — those actors who prefer the vague benevolence of an inclusive discourse to the discomfort of a clear positioning.

But without that clarity, nothing moves forward.

In every crisis, there are actors who have an objective interest in change and others who have an interest in neutralizing it. This is not about demonizing anyone, but about recognizing the interests at play. When we speak of institutional reform in Cameroon, who has an interest in a strengthened rule of law? Magistrates attached to their independence. Entrepreneurs victimized by administrative arbitrariness. Young graduates locked out of clientelist networks. Civil society organizations operating under a constantly threatened legal framework.

And who has an interest in maintaining opacity? Networks of predation organized around public contracts. Political elites whose survival depends on institutional lock-in. Economic intermediaries who thrive in the grey areas of regulation.

These two lists are not definitive. They shift. Actors change sides depending on circumstances, opportunities and pressures. That is precisely why mapping must be an ongoing exercise, not a fixed document.

Refusing to name adversaries is to offer them anonymity as a shield. And anonymity, in politics, is a highly effective form of protection.

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6. Naming to hold accountable: the ethical dimension of political language

There is one final dimension I want to address, and it touches me closely as an activist.

Precise language has an ethical function: it holds people accountable. When we speak of a « system, » we must be capable of naming its pillars — institutions, networks, economic actors, legal structures. Otherwise, the word « system » becomes a convenient alibi for diluting responsibilities. And diluting responsibilities means diluting our own as well.

Because I ask myself the question: in my own engagement, am I sufficiently precise about what I want to build? When I speak of « change, » what exactly do I mean? A change in public policy? An electoral alternation? A cultural transformation? A constitutional refoundation? These things are not equivalent. They do not imply the same alliances, the same timelines, the same sacrifices.

The recent history of many African countries shows us: poorly conceptualized transitions produce deep disillusionment. Because words were not clarified, objectives were not prioritized, actors were not identified. People ended up celebrating a change of faces while believing they had achieved a change of system.

Precision is not an intellectual luxury. It is an ethical imperative as much as a political one. And it always begins with oneself.

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What all of this teaches me — and an invitation

I am not writing this article from a position of certainty. I am writing it from a place of active questioning, with the conviction that this questioning is itself a form of commitment.

If we genuinely want to contribute to a collective awakening, we must accept this discipline: name with exactitude. It takes effort. It requires stepping away from easy formulas — including those that have long defined us. It demands that we sit with tensions, acknowledge conflicts of interest, and think in terms of alliances and power dynamics.

And I am conscious of a real limitation: naming precisely requires resources — information, networks, time, sometimes protection. Not everyone has equal access to these resources. A grassroots activist in Douala is not in the same position as a consultant working with international organizations. There is an injustice in that, and it deserves to be named.

But this constraint does not invalidate the demand. It enriches it: it reminds us that producing and sharing precise analysis is itself an act of activism. That making stakeholder maps available, decoding power dynamics, analyzing the interests at play — this is a contribution to the collective equipment of those who are fighting.

Because when words are vague, responsibilities dissolve. When responsibilities dissolve, injustices persist. And when injustices persist, crises reproduce themselves.

To name is already to act. And perhaps that is one of the first acts of refoundation: learning to speak with precision, in order to act with precision.

That, at least, is what I continue trying to do.

Franck Essi

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