Killed, Then Blamed: How Civilians In The Anglophone Crisis Are Being Punished Twice

When civilians are killed in Cameroon’s Anglophone regions, grief is often followed by judgment. But in some cases, there is no grief. Judgement is often the first reaction.

Before families finish crying, before authorities explain what happened, before armed groups are held accountable, another question quickly appears in comment sections:

Why were they there?

Why did she go out on Monday? Why was he riding a bike? Why were they in a bar at night? Why were they near soldiers? Why did they not stay indoors?

The question is presented as advice. Sometimes, it comes from fear. Sometimes, from experience. Sometimes, from people who know too well how dangerous life has become in the North West and South West regions.

But beneath it is a dangerous shift: the blame moves from the gunmen to the victims.

In less than 48 hours, two incidents in the North West Region have exposed this disturbing pattern.

In Bambui, Mireille Kunyi (previously reported as Mirabel Kunyi), said to be a Level 200 university student, was killed on Monday while riding on a commercial motorcycle. The rider, later identified as Khan Genesis, a young graduate from Mamben, Pinyin, also died after the attack.

Sources said the shooting may have been linked to an earlier failed kidnapping attempt near Bambui Hospital, where armed men were reportedly pursuing a victim who had escaped from captivity.

But in the comments, many people did not first ask why armed men opened fire on civilians. They asked why Mireille and Genesis were moving on a Monday.

One person asked where she was going “on a Monday.” Another said, “Even mad people in the North West and South West know the rules of ghost town.” Others said people should simply respect Monday ghost towns if they want to stay alive.

Then came Nkor-Noni.

On Tuesday night, four people were killed at Choppers Bar in Nkor, Noni Subdivision. The dead include two women, identified as Dimla Carine and Rubin Nkaar, and two military personnel whose names have not yet been made public.

According to Cameroon News Agency, Carine and Rubin were owners of the liquor spot at the Nkor market square. Local sources cited by CNA claimed separatist fighters may have suspected the women of mingling with government forces because some customers at the bar were allegedly security personnel.

Again, as news of the killing spread, the blame began to shift.

Some asked what women were doing in a bar at 11 p.m. Others said people in a crisis zone should avoid late-night outings. Some questioned why they were allegedly around military men. One comment said people are free to choose the life they want, but not the consequences.

But what exactly was the “choice” here?

If Carine and Rubin owned the bar, they were businesswomen trying to survive. If soldiers walked in as customers, were the women expected to chase them away? Could they safely refuse them service? In a militarised environment, does a small business owner really control who enters her premises, who buys a drink, who sits at a table, or who becomes a regular customer?

And if the women were only patrons, not owners, the question remains: when did being in a public place become a crime punishable by death?

The Civilian Trap

The Anglophone crisis has created an impossible trap for ordinary people.

If they speak to soldiers, they may be accused of collaborating with the state. If they avoid soldiers, they may be accused by security forces of supporting separatists. If they open their businesses, they may be accused of defying ghost town rules. If they stay home, hunger waits. If they travel on Monday, they are blamed for taking risks. If they do not travel, school, work, hospital visits, family duties and survival are interrupted.

This is not neutrality. This is captivity.

For years, civilians in the North West and South West have had to negotiate survival under competing powers: the state, separatist fighters, local commanders, ghost town orders, military checkpoints, kidnappers, informants, fear, poverty and hunger.

People who comment from a distance may say, “Stay indoors.” But life does not stop because armed men say so.

Babies are born on ghost town days. Sick people need hospitals on ghost town days. Students write exams. Workers report for duty. Families bury the dead. Traders look for food. Bike riders work because there may be no other income. Women open bars, shops and market stalls because children must eat.

Survival is not always a choice between safety and recklessness. Sometimes, it is a choice between one danger and another.

Precaution Is Not Blame

There is nothing wrong with advising people to be careful. People living in conflict zones often know the dangers better than anyone else. They know which roads to avoid, which hours are risky, which checkpoints are tense, which neighbourhoods can explode without warning.

It is understandable when residents say people should avoid Monday movements, late-night gatherings, military hangouts or areas where armed men may pass.

But caution is not the same as blame.

To say “please be careful” is one thing. To say “they should not have been there” after people have been killed is another.

One protects life. The other quietly excuses violence.

When civilians are killed, the first moral responsibility belongs to those who planned the attack, carried weapons, opened fire and left bodies behind. That responsibility should not be transferred to a student on a bike, a young graduate trying to earn a living, or two women running a drinking spot in a market square.

The Monday Question

The killing of Mireille Kunyi and Khan Genesis in Bambui reopened a long-running wound in the Anglophone regions: Monday ghost towns.

For years, Mondays have been treated in many communities as unofficial shutdown days, enforced through fear, threats and violence. Businesses close. Roads empty. Schools and offices are disrupted. Many people stay home not because they agree, but because they are afraid.

But the Bambui killings force a painful question: who benefits when civilians are punished for moving?

The government still functions from Yaoundé. Senior officials still travel. The military still moves. The political elite continue their lives. The people most affected are students, traders, farmers, bike riders, patients, teachers, nurses, market women and families already struggling to survive.

If the purpose of ghost towns was to demonstrate resistance, what has it become when the same population in whose name the struggle is claimed is the one being punished?

A comment under the Bambui story captured this frustration clearly: instead of telling civilians not to go out on Mondays, why not ask those enforcing ghost towns to cancel a policy that mostly hurts ordinary Anglophones?

That is the question many people are afraid to ask loudly.

The Bar Question

The Nkor-Noni attack raises a different but related question: can civilians still have public life in a war zone?

If a woman owns a bar, is she responsible for the political identity of everyone who enters? If a soldier buys a drink, does that turn the business owner into a collaborator? If a customer is later attacked, does the entire bar become a legitimate target? If women are seen in the same space as military men, does that make them deserving of death?

The answer must be no.

A bar is a public place. A road is a public place. A motorcycle is public transport. A market square is a place of business. Civilians do not lose their right to life because armed actors decide to treat ordinary spaces as battlefields.

If there were military personnel at Choppers Bar, that raises valid security questions. Were they on duty? Were they armed? Were they in uniform? Did their presence expose civilians? Should security forces avoid socialising in crowded civilian spaces in high-risk areas?

Those questions are legitimate.

But they still do not justify the killing of Carine and Rubin.

The presence of soldiers may help investigators understand the circumstances of the attack. It does not transfer guilt to the women who died.

“The Motive Is Unknown” Does Not Mean “Nothing Is Known”

Some readers also mocked reports that said the attackers were suspected separatist fighters while adding that the motive remained unknown.

But there is no contradiction.

Knowing or suspecting who carried out an attack is not the same as knowing why that specific attack happened, why those specific victims were targeted, whether the women were intended targets, whether the soldiers were the main targets, whether the attack was punishment, retaliation, intimidation, robbery, mistaken identity, or part of a broader pattern.

“Motive unknown” is not ignorance. It is caution.

In a conflict full of rumours, propaganda and fear, responsible reporting must separate what is known from what is assumed.

It may be known that armed men carried out an attack. It may be suspected that they were separatist fighters. It may be reported that soldiers were present. It may be alleged that the women were accused of mingling with government forces.

But unless the attackers claim responsibility, witnesses give clear accounts, or investigators establish the reason, the motive remains under investigation.

That is not weakness in reporting. That is discipline.

Civilians Are Not Collateral Commentary

What is most troubling in the reactions to both Bambui and Nkor-Noni is how quickly victims become lessons.

Mireille becomes a lesson about Monday. Genesis becomes a lesson about bike riders. Carine and Rubin become a lesson about bars, soldiers and night movement.

But they were not lessons. They were people.

Mireille was a young student. Genesis was a graduate working as a commercial motorcycle rider while trying to build his future. Carine and Rubin were women whose families are now mourning them.

Reducing them to “what were they doing there?” strips them of their humanity.

It also gives armed men exactly what they want: a population so afraid that it polices itself, blames itself, and accepts violence as the natural consequence of disobedience.

The Real Questions

The questions should not be why Mirabel was on a bike.

The questions should be: why are armed men shooting at civilians on public roads?

The question should not be why Genesis worked on a Monday.

The question should be: why has economic survival become a death risk in Bambui?

The question should not be why Carine and Rubin were in a bar.

The question should be: why can armed men storm a civilian drinking spot, kill women and soldiers, and disappear?

The question should not be why civilians are not careful enough.

The question should be: why have civilians been abandoned to manage a war they did not create?

A Population Learning To Survive Abnormality

Perhaps the most painful part of the comments is that many are not written with cruelty, but with exhaustion.

People have seen too much death. They have learned to survive by obeying invisible lines: do not travel on Monday, do not sit near soldiers, do not speak too loudly, do not open too early, do not close too late, do not ask too many questions, do not be seen with the wrong person, and do not be in the wrong place when armed men arrive.

This is what prolonged conflict does. It makes abnormality feel like common sense.

But when a society begins to treat civilian death as the predictable punishment for movement, business, work or social life, then the violence has done more than kill bodies. It has damaged the moral centre of the community.

The Killers Carry The Blame

People should be careful. That is true.

But people should also be able to go to school, ride a bike, run a bar, seek medical care, work on a Monday, and sit in a public place without being executed.

The Anglophone crisis has already stolen enough from civilians. It has stolen education, businesses, peace, mobility, family life and trust. It should not also steal the public’s ability to mourn the dead without blaming them.

Mireille Kunyi, Khan Genesis, Dimla Carine and Rubin Nkaar did not create this war.

They were civilians trying to live inside it.

And when civilians are killed, the blame belongs not to the road they used, the day they travelled, the bar they entered, the business they ran, or the hour of the night.

The blame belongs to those who pulled the trigger.

MMI News