“I speak up against injustice and work to build a fairer society” – Rachel-Diane Epoupa Mpacko (Cameroon) – 3/3

We conclude our discussion about resistance with Rachel-Diane, the Cameroonian fashion designer. We already talked about her childhood in the first part, and her massive resistance against domestic violence in the second part. In this final part, Rachel-Diane will discuss the impact of this resistance on her life and tell us what she considers her biggest win. 

Rachel-Diane was interviewed by Françoise Moudouthe in late 2019, as part of a global project documenting girls’ resistance. The conversation was also edited into this three-part interview by Françoise, with Nana Bruce-Amanquah and Edwige Dro for our #GirlsResistWA series. You can learn more about the series here.

Trigger warning: this conversation contains mentions of violence and abuse which may be triggering for readers. Kindly take a moment to decide if you want to keep reading. If you do proceed, we encourage you to centre your wellbeing and stop reading at any point, as you need.

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You just explained how you fought against domestic violence as a teenager. At that time, did you feel like what you were doing was powerful? Or do you feel it now, looking back? 

You know what? I have never even asked myself that. I don’t know if it was powerful. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything special. I did it to protect my mother and also to make my father stop humiliating our family. I also saw this as a way to protect him from himself, as if I was preserving his dignity. So, I didn’t feel like what I was doing was powerful. It’s only now that I’m becoming aware of the impact of my actions. 

Who supported you during this difficult period of resistance?

I was very lonely. Even if my brothers and sisters agreed with me, no one ever dared to tell my father to his face: “What you’re doing is wrong”. The fear was weighing on them as well as the education that made us respect our parents regardless of anything. 

To this day, I’m called the family rebel. My father often jokes around and says: “Oh if Diane agrees with this, everybody will too” That’s my label. People will come and talk to me and I’ll go defend them. No one is going to defend me though. It is lonely in that sense. 

Were there people who were really against you besides your father?

In a culture in which you can’t tell the parent that they’re wrong, we blame the child who is seen as insolent and disrespectful to their parents instead. My aunts and uncles couldn’t culturally accept the fact that I refused to greet my father when I arrived at family gatherings or village feasts, despite thinking deep down that I was right. Because even if the child is right, they must always respect their parents. The kid is also the one who has to go ask for the parents’ forgiveness regardless of how they behaved. 

Looking back today, is there anything you would have done differently? Or would you have acted the same?

The real issue is, as a little girl, what could have I done? I really felt like my hands were tied. That’s why I felt the need to leave. When I left Cameroon, it felt like I could relax. I miss my beloved country so much though.

There’s also the fact that by wanting to confront my father, I fell into a pattern of verbal violence with him. I got caught in the same violent behaviour or and I reacted the same way he would. If I could, I would’ve acted otherwise. For instance, I would’ve liked to find other ways to verbalise my anger and frustration to make him change his mind, or prevent him from being violent without necessarily reenacting the same violent mechanisms I was exposed to. 

What resources would’ve truly made a difference for you? What would you have needed to resist more efficiently? 

Phew! Support. I would’ve needed to be surrounded by people who were outraged by this. People who didn’t normalise violence against women, who didn’t normalise having a woman with a broken rib without anybody rising up against that! I would’ve needed the adults to act as such and not let a sixteen-year-old girl be beaten up because she reacted when no one else would! (she cries) I’m sorry, all the bottled-up emotions come back to the surface.

I understand, would you like to take a break? 

No, I’m fine…it’s good to let it out (she laughs). It’s also because it’s the first time I have had the opportunity to talk about this.

I would’ve needed the adults to not let a child fight alone, to not normalise the fact that children constantly saw their mother getting beaten up to the point of having a broken rib and a black eye without doing anything. My siblings’ support would’ve been important as well, especially when the tensions with my father reached their highest. I would’ve needed them to back me up and not let me fight alone. But I understand the powerlessness they must’ve felt and the fear to face the same retaliation I did. 

There’s so much suffering in our societies. So many things to do, so much to advocate for. And I wanted to learn. I wanted to learn how to organise communities, and how to run a successful advocacy campaign.

When I think about my village, I’m conflicted inside. On the one hand, I cherish what it gave me: a sense of community, living together, and the love of one’s neighbour. On the other hand, I’m outraged by the way women were treated there. So yeah, I would’ve liked more support, but, today, I’m learning to become the supportive person I didn’t have by my side as a child. 

How does your resistance come together today? 

I studied Community Economic Development when I arrived in Montreal. Today, I work on equity, diversity, and inclusion issues in international and community development areas. 

There’s also my brand, Niango. It’s an alternative brand that challenges the dominant trends by emphasising transparency and fair work, highlighting artisanal expertise within women’s communities, and raising awareness about the issues they’re affected by. My brand’s messages are profoundly ingrained in gender equality, the promotion of women’s careers, their strength, their freedom, their identity, and their authenticity. I also strongly believe in the necessity for women to be self-sufficient. In a capitalist world, I think a major part of women’s liberation comes from their financial independence and access to education to then build their power and leave the violent cycle.

How do you see the intersection between your acts of resistance as a girl and your current activism?  

I see it with my professional path as well as in the way I raise my children today. With my son, for instance, it’s really important to me to pass notions of gender equality on to him. So that he doesn’t grow up hearing things that would make him feel that as a boy he is superior to a girl. It all begins with education.

I also believe that it’s important to have strong female figures and role models. Because children tend to automatically copy things. I try to be a role model that my daughter can draw inspiration from. I also make sure she develops her self-confidence, and that she grows up aware of her worth, her rights, and her liberties.

The other item you brought to symbolise your resistance is a mood board with inspiring quotes and words. What does this board mean to you symbolically? 

On the board, there’s a text that I asked a graphic designer to handwrite. This text is a mantra to me. When I was younger, my father would make us recite mantras too. Back then, I was annoyed by that, I wondered “What’s the point?”. But now, I realise that these mantras are important, that by unconsciously repeating them, they become what motivates us later on. Today, these words are part of my life and the education I give my children: I believe in you. Be bold. Be brave. Speak up. Believe in yourself.

I once heard my three-year-old daughter (at the time) say: “Don’t touch me, I don’t want to do that, my body is mine! Right, Mommy?” I was so proud! It goes back to the Be bold. Speak up, see? The fact that she can already assert herself like that fills me with hope. It’s when I look at the way I live my life today that I can feel how my background shaped me.

How did your resistance, partly as a young girl, impact your life, personally? 

My mom would always tell us: “Go to school because if you do, you’ll find a good job, you’ll become financially independent and you’ll never end up in the same situation as me.” I knew I didn’t want to find myself in her situation, so I always kept those words in mind. Not only did I have to avoid ending up like that, but I also had to ensure other women wouldn’t either. At first, my advocacy zeroed in on the injustice directed at women, now it’s extended to the injustice done to all minorities and marginalised people.

When I feel an injustice being done, it’s like every fiber of my being tells me to do something and I do. It’s the essence of who I am. Injustice has a deep-rooted effect on me. In my daily life, in my work, my stances I speak up against injustice and work to build a fairer society. I want to make sure that nobody feels as powerless as I did.

Do you see how your resistance inspires or supports other people’s resistance around you or in the world? 

I saw it with my father. There is a kind of respect that has come between us. I had already noticed that back when I visited him, there were some things that he wouldn’t do. Today, we have a more peaceful relationship, and even if he didn’t verbally ask me for forgiveness, he managed to do it in so many different ways. There’s also a difference in the way he treated my siblings afterwards. For instance, he never financially cut off a child ever again. 

Today, despite this image of a short-tempered rebel that still follows me, I can see respect in my mother’s and my sisters’ eyes when they look at me, even if they don’t say it out loud. I see it in the way my younger sister and my little cousins consider me a role model. Some of my aunts use me as an example when talking to their daughters: “Act like Diane.” I used to be the person you absolutely shouldn’t be. When you start resisting in a place where everything seems against you, you’ll be sidelined. But if you are convinced that what you do is right and fair, that it has meaning, time will prove you to be right, and those who were against you will quickly become those who celebrate you later. Despite everything I’ve been through, realising that my resistance meant something, in the end, that’s my biggest victory.

That’s indeed a major win! What about now? What gives you hope? And how do you see the future? What kind of world are you trying to build?

What gives me hope is the possibility to think about Cameroon without this feeling of depression that invades me each time I do.

Knowing that it is now possible for me to transform this feeling into action fills me with hope. To have become aware of the power of education for young people, the possibility of encouraging critical thinking in children (especially young girls, in connection with the importance of patriarchy in Cameroon), the importance of questioning things, and of being open to other ways of thinking also gives me hope. I want to contribute to exposing the youth of my country to opportunities and to have more choices. I think that is something that gives me hope. I imagine a world where everyone, regardless of gender and circumstance, is treated with dignity. That's what I want. That's what gives me hope. 

What an inspiring story! Thank you so much Rachel-Diane! 

This conversation is part of a series of interviews with women from West Africa on the theme of resistance. Click here to see all the interviews.