Background and Some Methodological Issues
An eerie silence has descended on Eritrea, a silence on the part of both governed and governing. Interpreting this silence is no easy matter. The apparent lack of a narrative – the ‘stasis’ of the title – tempts the observer to insert his/her own, to ‘fill in the blanks’. Certainly, it has sometimes been assumed that such silence indicates almost an absence of politics, and demonstrates political ossification. Five years after Independence, a piece in The Economist (21 August 2001) described Eritreans as having been ‘politically passive’,1 an extraordinary claim considering the country's history. But it has sometimes been the last resort of analysts who ultimately seek solace in the comfortable and distinctly African stereotype of brutal dictatorship with its boot on the neck of a cowed, long-suffering populace. Scholars seem to go round in circles, projecting negative imagery about the place. Before our very eyes, Eritrea has made the transition from potential Shangri-la in the mid-1990s to resource-starved amalgam of North Korea and Cuba by 2009. This article represents an attempt to explore other ways of seeing the current situation, and to highlight the various dynamics and processes at work in the very recent past.
In 2005, I argued that the Eritrean People's Liberation Front (EPLF) – known as the People's Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ) since 1994 – had become obsessed with its own history, and that a gulf had opened up between the liberation struggle generation and the country's youth, particularly after 2001 (Reid 2005). My argument was that recent disciplinarian tendencies, and the shift toward more overt repression, needed to be understood in the context of the historical landscape in which the EPLF had situated itself. I stand by most of the interpretations put forward in that essay. Nonetheless, situations mutate, and new (or previously unseen) processes come to light.
In this article, I wish both to build upon some of the arguments put forward in my 2005 article, and to modify others, a perpetual process of revision necessitated by the findings of further research in Eritrea itself, as well as by further thought on the nature of contemporary Eritrean state and society. In very general terms, visits to Eritrea made since 2006, most recently in mid-2008, have reminded me that while it is relatively easy to demonise the EPLF, it is also important to understand what it is the government is attempting to achieve, and how Eritreans have responded to this. The relationship is complex and characterised by ambiguity. Theory is at present a poor substitute for the empirically-based critique, particularly in the attempt to understand a society that is normally (and to some degree fairly) described as closed, reserved and unwilling to discuss its business with foreign researchers. Being there does not, perhaps, lead to any great flashes of comprehension – sometimes quite the opposite – but it does at the very least allow one to garner a wide range of opinion, and facilitates the entry of Eritrean voices into the analysis.
A considerable gulf has opened up between the government and the broader population. However, both parties make regular forays into the curious no-man's-land that lies between them. The government talks of ‘revolutionary values’ and the ongoing ‘national struggle’, and worries about what ‘the people’ (especially young people) are thinking. The country's youth in particular, according to some in the government, seem not to truly appreciate the enormity of the task before them, and have failed to fully absorb the values of the liberation struggle. Ordinary people, meanwhile, despair at the collapsed economy and the lack of socio-political development. But they also fear the alternatives; President Isaias Afwerki continues to command a certain degree of grudging, fearful respect and the population are loath to contemplate serious internal opposition. Instead, young people flee the country, accepting enormous risks in doing so; and thus are sovereignty and legitimacy haemorrhaging.
Nonetheless, it remains the case that Eritrea is not the easiest place in which to do research. There are travel restrictions on foreigners outside Asmara, making meaningful rural fieldwork all but impossible. The Research and Documentation Centre in Asmara has the potential to become an excellent national archive, with an energetic director, but an ethos of service for academics does not yet exist. In terms of current politics or the socio-economic situation, there are few publications, official or otherwise, of any real significance. This article, then, is based on numerous conversations and informal ‘interviews’ with Eritreans from many walks of life – from ex-fighters and party officials, to university graduates, to teachers, to those in military service – who must necessarily remain anonymous.
Defining Silence
The EPLF has been such a constant in Eritrean life for such a long time that it is easy for those uninitiated into the nuances of Eritrean political culture to ask exasperatedly, ‘but when will change come?’ In fact, change is taking place continually. The EPLF's great success in the past was rooted in its ability to launch sustained attacks on a sequence of single (albeit massively important) issues, and to bring to bear its not inconsiderable moral as well as material firepower on those ‘fronts’ (I1). ‘Independence’, ‘referendum’, ‘constitution’, ‘woyane’ (the Ethiopian regime), ‘demarcation’ – the movement addressed itself to these issues with famous vigour, while the issues themselves provided legitimacy to the movement itself. What is less clear is the EPLF's ability to multi-task. The issues themselves were so important that everything else was considered irrelevant until they were resolved. The question, as ever, is how long resolution? While the politics of silence are characterised by a remarkable degree of patience on the part of the population upon which the government can continue to depend, the latter has rooted its legitimacy in a flame-keeper role, positing itself as the sole interpreter of national destiny, which is obviously unsustainable in the longer term. Legitimacy, in this sense, must be negotiated, not simply assumed.
There is a sense in government circles that some groups in society – especially in and around Asmara – have become selfish, demanding, unconscious of the real dangers confronting the nation, whether wilfully or otherwise. Their commitment to the national cause is suspect. In fact, there is little need for the paranoia evident in government attitudes: in 2008, despite deep bitterness regarding the government's perceived failings, there was still a widely held conviction that there was as yet no real alternative to the EPLF, and to Isaias himself. One of the more worrying developments has been a disengagement of people from the state and what the state purports to represent. Individualism is increasingly replacing the wider sense of ‘national community’, which was discernible (if at times a little contrived) prior to and during the 1998–2000 war. People now care for little beyond their own circumstances and those of their immediate families. The need to open dialogue between governed and governing is ever more urgent, especially when citizens feel that they have sacrificed considerably for the unlistening state, and that the ‘social contract’ – albeit the unspoken contract implicit in the independence referendum of 1993, the results of which the EPLF took to indicate an endorsement of itself – is seen to have been broken.
A key problem, then, is misunderstanding and a failure of communication. Widespread silence has enormous power. It is a political weapon that has been very effectively employed by Eritreans in the past, notably against the regimes of Haile Selassie and the Dergue. It is an insidious, invisible, communal weapon that suggests latent potency as much as it does fear or defeat, and the Eritrean Government is now evidently concerned about the silent disengagement of people from politics and the national struggle. To this end, in 2005 the government organised a series of public ‘seminars’ during which a degree of critical questioning was invited (I1, I4, I9, I10). What took place in these meetings amounts to something of a jumble. A great many people continually asked about salaries and economic conditions more broadly, much to the evident exasperation of the panellists (I9). Yet, political criticism did indeed follow, prompting Yemane Gebreab, presidential advisor and head of political affairs at the PFDJ, to proclaim: ‘If you want power, then take it! Be manly about it and take control!’ Or, according to another account: ‘If the door is closed, then break a window’ (I2, I9). In fact, the EPLF does not believe that anyone else is in a position to do a better job; and most people, however reluctantly, would have to agree. The opposition abroad appears in disarray, and few of its leaders, with the possible exception of Mesfin Hagos, command any respect in Asmara, where they are regarded as something of a joke (I2, I15). Many also made the fatal (and incredibly crass) error of congregating in Addis Ababa. Even outside Eritrea, it is the PFDJ, often through branches of the National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS), which appears rather more energetic and better organised than any opposition equivalent in holding meetings and hosting events. The counterpart abroad to the recent consultations within Eritrea has been a series of visits by Yemane Gebreab to the Eritrean diaspora in the United States and elsewhere, and renewed vigour on the part of NUEYS (I16). All of this may call to mind a certain desperation, and NUEYS – while full of talented, if not exactly worldly, youngsters – is largely mute on anything approaching controversy. Yet this type of activity nonetheless clearly represents an attempt by the government to re-engage, to re-open dialogue.
The sacrifices made by the ‘struggle generation’ are well-known, and widely acknowledged. Yet there is now a new generation in Eritrea that has also sacrificed considerably. Several hundred thousand young men and women between their early twenties and mid-thirties have dedicated their lives – or had their lives dedicated for them – to the survival of a state which is still younger than they are. Indeed, they have had diverse experiences. Some are now low-level cadres within the PFDJ, and many of these might be counted among what we can call the ‘loyal critics’ of their generation, wishing to see a more systematic transition from the older generation to their own. In one of the consultation exercises noted above, one young man pointed out, using the metaphor of the lit torch (kendel or fana) carried on evenings of celebration, that ‘the fire is burning down the torch. When you eventually pass the torch on to us, the flames will burn our fingers’ (I9). Others of that generation have toiled in ministries for many years; and of course others again are warsai, young veterans of the recent war, many of whom have been in service for what seems, to them, an interminable length of time. Some of these have been promoted from the ranks, although the perception is that it is usually those from rural areas, with a comparatively low level of education, who are so favoured, rather than those from Asmara (I3). What all these young Eritreans have in common is a remarkable reserve of patience, and their capacity to silently absorb hardship. Eritrea owes much to them, and many of them know it. A sensible government would do well to move toward promoting or otherwise rewarding them more systematically than it has to date (I9).
Many have exhibited rather less in the way of patience, and have fled the country, sometimes into Ethiopia, but more commonly into Sudan, from where they attempt to reach the West. This haemorrhage since 2001 is conservatively estimated at tens of thousands. Few, if any, of these youngsters would describe themselves as anything other than proud to be Eritrean, but their desperation to live ‘freely’ – however ill-founded the notion is – and to fulfil their potential abroad motivates them to undertake the hazardous journey across borders. It is not a decision they take lightly. They know that they are leaving behind home and family, and will be unable to return for many years; they are throwing themselves into a harsh, humiliating world of asylum applications, dependency on friends and distant relatives, and new beginnings in strange and hostile environments. It is, ultimately, a form of indirect protest – discernible at various junctures in Eritrea's twentieth-century history – which the government ignores or dismisses at its peril. In recent years, a system has sprung up, within which agents – some of them within the Eritrean army itself – will take money to arrange passage across the Sudanese border. Forty thousand Nakfa will buy a person the safest and most comfortable passage, in a landcruiser (I3). These refugees are living by the old Tigrinya proverb, ‘Either do what they want you to do, or leave the country’, which is as applicable in the first decade of the twenty-first century as it was, say, in the late 1950s and early 1960s.
Flight from Eritrea is another manifestation of the politics of silence. Relatively few refugees appear to become involved in opposition politics not least because they are too busy trying to survive. Although the government might discount them as an inevitable disenchanted minority, it is a tragedy indeed that any young and talented Eritreans regard the situation in their own country as so intolerable as to make years of asylum-seeking a decent alternative. As long as the government is determined to pursue its current ‘national security’ agenda, it is difficult to know what it can possibly do about the haemorrhage, or the disillusionment that has prompted it. But a major step forward would be to regularise the duration of service, and return to the situation as it was before 1998, perhaps creating a revolving door system for military service which would at least facilitate the release of those who have spent their youth in uniform. Above all, the fear which the young have of Sawa ‘national service camp’ must be addressed, and they need to know – as those involved in the early rounds of service did in the early and mid-1990s – that they are not going to be in the army indefinitely, which is unfortunately the current popular perception (I15). The government's position that Sawa was originally designed to promote nation-building, and was thus an explicitly political rather than a military project, is in theory sound (I14); and it worked for several years. At this time, however, it is unsustainable, and a more temperate approach would pay very real dividends.
Silence has long played a prominent part in Eritrean politics. Abroad, much of the liberation struggle was greeted by silence, or so it seemed in the isolation of EPLF's base areas in the mountains of the Sahel. It might be argued that the silence that is the analytical focus of this article signifies the damaging of bonds between generations. Not only is there limited faith in the future, but there is no trust in the past, either, which is in some ways more important. One informant lamented the fact that in Eritrea there has been a markedly disjointed approach to the past, with each generation rejecting the values and goals of the one before. This was the case at the outset of the liberation struggle, with the demonisation of the men of the 1940s and 1950s, and now the fear is that the same thing is happening today, as a new generation finds it increasingly difficult to relate to the tegadelay (ex-fighter) age group (I1). Much needs to be done in the cause of furthering the ‘revolution’, the future of which lies in the hands of a generation which identifies less and less with the one that started it; for that reason alone, Eritrea's need to embrace its own past was never more urgent than it is now.
Interpreting the System
The decade and a half since the EPLF swept into Asmara, rendering Eritrea de facto an independent nation, can be divided into three distinct phases, namely the immediate post-liberation period of 1991–98, the war itself and its immediate aftermath of 1998–2001, and the period since 2001, which can be considered one of transition for the nascent state. The system is still evolving, quietly, in some ways almost invisibly, and at times apparently chaotically. For some, there actually appears to be no system, as such, but rather simply the belief that a system exists. For others, however, the system is at the very least ‘under construction’, and thus extremely fluid. In effect, the government has been the Office of the President;2 since 2001 and the arrests of the ‘G15’ group of former leaders who made a public criticism. The President has periodically switched power between the Party and the army, in some ways playing one off against the other, creating a situation which we might describe as functioning confusion which has effectively rendered the various ministries marginal to policy making (I2, I7, I9, I15). No doubt this situation stems from Isaias' sense of insecurity immediately following the arrest of his most prominent critics in September 2001, when he relied on the army – and in particular such key commanders as Wuchu and Filipos – to help stabilise a potentially dangerous situation. As his position became a little more secure, he was able to incrementally switch power back to the Party, and has now achieved something of a balance between these two pillars of the Eritrean state. The army, obviously, remains essential to national security, both internal and external, despite reported tensions between the President on the one hand, and generals Wuchu and Filipos on the other (I3, I7). The Party is responsible for making policy, which is then passed on to the ministries for implementation, although ministers themselves frequently have no real authority (I9).
In the meantime, the imprisoned former ministers and EPLF founders constitute a problem. While some people might praise the ‘G15’ for briefly publicising emerging problems within the movement in late 2000 and early 2001, others curse them for moving at the wrong time, and playing an undoubtedly strong hand badly (I1, I18). Indeed, the timing of the attempt by several key figures to move against the President at the height of the third Ethiopian offensive in May 2000 appears wholly wrongheaded. They were, of course, unsuccessful at that time, owing to their own diffidence and the fact that Isaias had the support of the army. A showdown was inevitable from that point, and by incarcerating them just over a year later, Isaias has turned them into living martyrs. To some, at least, they have become heroes, and Isaias has undermined his own legitimacy (I1, I2, I18). Yet this is tempered by the fact that there is a general sense – as with prominent opposition leaders abroad – that ultimately they are cut from the same cloth as Isaias, and are hardly any more ‘democratic’ than those currently in power. This reflects a wider disengagement from politics, and a creeping popular scepticism about whether the leadership of the EPLF – past or present – can offer solutions to some of the problems, both political and economic, currently facing Eritrea.
As for the President himself, he is now in a rather odd position, and opinion of him is markedly ambiguous. His periodic and increasing absence from Asmara – he has spent large amounts of time in Massawa at the coast – is the cause for much speculation, irreverent and otherwise, regardless of the official line that he is there to oversee the creation of a free trade zone. On the one hand, he has become something of a semi-mythical figure, and his character and psychological makeup has become a favourite topic of awed conversation (necessarily subdued) in the bars and cafes of Asmara. At the same time, he has become the butt of so many jokes, particularly among the warsai. Many resent the power he has accumulated; yet he is also grudgingly admired as the only one capable of providing some measure of direction and leadership. Urban highlanders quietly grumble about him, yet he is supposedly regarded in some rural areas, particularly in the western lowlands, as the only leader they can trust (I15). Overall, few can imagine Eritrea without him; he has no obvious replacement, either inside the movement or outside the country. As one informant laughingly put it, he is the leader of the opposition as well as the country, for the former simply watch what he does and react accordingly (I1, I2, I9, I15). He has become the system, and sometimes the same people who criticise him for this also quietly wonder at his apparently immense reserves of strength and patience. This situation may have come about, at least in part, by default; but one cannot doubt his cleverness in manoeuvring himself into such a position. Yet it is something of a cliché to suggest that his strengths are also potentially dangerous flaws. His single-mindedness involves an unwillingness to consult and an intolerance of healthy dissent. His belief in the principles of the struggle has reached the point at which he believes that he alone can interpret and defend these. Recent policy, moreover, is suggestive of a deep mistrust of the urban environment of Asmara – many believe that this explains his periodic relocation to Massawa – and a corresponding contempt toward the educated, urban middle classes which arguably dates to the early years of the EPLF. He has also expressed his distaste for the so-called ameches, those Eritreans deported from Ethiopia between 1998 and 2000. His personal prejudices are often reflected in public policy, and have an alienating effect (I2, I15). Nonetheless, among those who remain doggedly loyal – and there are still quite a few – there is no other option. As one informant asserted, there should be a free, critical press, and there should be an alternative to the PFDJ; but not now. There is too much instability, and Eritrea still needs Isaias Afwerki and the EPLF at this time (I11).
The President's Office, the army and the Party will comprise the body politic for the foreseeable future; but within the system itself, increasingly, it is personalities, not institutions, around which the state functions. Isaias Afwerki is the clearest example of the powerful personality, famously able to impose his will on others, but across public life, very often, policies rise and fall, action or inaction predominates, depending on the strength or weakness of the personality in charge. Informants involved in education, for example, cite examples of qualified, enthusiastic individuals who have returned to Eritrea from exile to participate in the ‘nation-building project’, but who are frequently driven away, exasperated. In the meantime, pliable, uneducated people with no relevant experience are placed in positions of ‘authority’. This is clearly a matter of trust, as much as anything else. Moreover, a tactic is employed of ‘freezing out’ individuals for periods at a time, promoting others and, according to some sources this has created tension and mistrust within the ranks of the movement. Those who are frozen continue to collect their salaries, but basically do little else (I1, I2, I7, I15, I17). Therefore, there is a widening (and constantly shifting) gulf between those who are doing comparatively well within the system, and those who consider themselves victims of it. Crucially, the same people were in Sahel together in the 1980s.
The future of the system itself is uncertain, and prognoses depend on who one talks to. Many assert categorically that there will be no change in the near future, but this has become something of a stock response. However, the cautiously optimistic forecast is that transition is coming, and while things may be a little uncertain for a while, they will nonetheless remain relatively stable, and will not involve a sweeping away of the ‘old guard’ – no-one wants that, one informant told me (I10). However, it will involve a gradual diffusion of power to the next generation, and to some extent this analysis appears to be borne out by the concerns of government noted above. There can be little doubt, again, that the government is indeed worried. The very fact that it has felt the need to try to justify itself, however limited the exercise may have been, is at least suggestive of the potential for transition. Almost certainly, however, any transition and reform of the existing system will take place within and under the auspices of the Party, not from outside it. In some ways the potential for intergenerational bonding was demonstrated during the 1998–2000 war itself, in terms of relations between tegadelti and warsai. For every story about how the latter were appalled by their treatment at the hands of the former, there is another which tells of the creation of deep respect between the two, forged in combat (I10). One of the greatest mistakes made by the EPLF since 2001 has been its failure to capitalise on the enthusiasm of the young for their new nation, a zeal evident up to and during the war, and giving that generation a sense of stake in the system (I15). However, although the intergenerational bond is still there for the making, as well as the breaking, and any damage that has been done is not, it seems, yet undoable, the government will need to move soon to make sure of this.
Educating Eritrea
The lack of communication from the top downwards, and the unease which characterises the relationship between the government and the younger sector of the population, is perhaps most clearly manifest in the field of education policy. The de facto closure of the University of Asmara, and its replacement by a series of colleges located in villages and towns around the country, is a project which dates back several years, although only recently has it begun – note only begun – to be implemented. President Isaias may have lost faith in the idea that the university was serving the nation's interests – on a final symbolic visit to an increasingly deserted campus he declared that the institution had produced little of value over the past decade, except ‘self-possessed and unpatriotic’ students – but government hostility toward the university can be understood on several levels. Isaias' mistrust of the university reflects, in many respects, a more general unease within the movement about the aspirations of a younger generation which it suspects of being less concerned with the ‘revolution’ and more with individual achievement. To some extent it is also symptomatic of a troubled relationship with the educated, urban middle class, centred – as we have seen – in Asmara itself.
Many, if not most, academic staff are angry and bewildered by an education policy which, like most other policies, has been imposed from above with no consultation and, apparently, remarkably little forethought. Even senior figures at the Ministry of Education quietly claimed ignorance about the President's long-term plans for education in Eritrea.3 However, at the same time it must be acknowledged that in principle the idea of decentralising and dispersing higher education is a sound one. To have marine biology and some business studies at Massawa, or agriculture at Hamelmalo near Keren, for example, makes a great deal of sense. Indeed, there is no reason why Asmara should have been host to these types of disciplines, and if the President was concerned that too much might be centred in the capital, then that concern is understandable and might even be applauded. After all, it can be argued that the creation of institutions of higher or further education through Eritrea is only part of a larger project aimed at rural development. It is less clear why natural sciences needed to be moved to the technical college at Mai Nefhi, a short distance from Asmara, or indeed social sciences to an institution at Adi Keyih, which is further away. But more importantly, the implementation of the policy itself has left much to be desired.
The college at Mai Nefhi serves to highlight the issues. One of the problems for observers and teaching staff alike is that the college appears to be run more along the lines of a military camp than an institution for further education. Students cannot move freely in and out, and are closely guarded; parents cannot visit the students, nor can outsiders enter. An army officer is the de facto principal of the college, which lacks books and other essential equipment. In addition to a small but significant arsenal of automatic weapons on the site – presumably in anticipation of trouble – there is a jail for students who fail to attend classes. On a visit in 2006, I was told that this jail was also home to a number of students who had recently been caught ‘cheating’ in exams (I2). Despite the fact that NUEYS claims, among other things, to be involved in ‘students’ welfare', the organiser I spoke to was taken aback when told about this incident. Students also undertake physical exercise, in the form of digging trenches, for example, which they wryly and rather wonderfully refer to as ‘digology’. One army officer was using this student labour to build his house in nearby Mai Nefhi village (I2). While there are some Eritrean teachers there, moved from the university as well as brought in from elsewhere, a great many are Indians whose own level of both education and commitment is in many cases questionable. The morale among local staff is extremely low, although nowadays if is more likely that a sense of melancholic resignation will be encountered, rather than the angry frustration that was apparent among university staff some months ago (I8).
The government's approach is in many ways inexplicable. The frustration experienced by most teachers is borne of the fact that no one knows where the policy is headed, and that they are never consulted but simply ‘ordered’. They are ultimately made to feel worthless and dispensable within a system created by a movement famous for its excellent use of scarce human resources. This was wholly avoidable, and it is to be hoped that it will be addressed, and soon. For many quiet critics of the government, Mai Nefhi College and education policy more broadly are symptomatic of the government's insensitivity and anti-intellectualism, its suspicious nature and tendency toward militaristic solutions to complex problems. Above all, the implementation of policy has been characterised by incompetence, although perhaps the appearance of incompetence is what results from the application of principles learned in Sahel in the 1980s to problems peculiar to the first decade of the twenty-first century.
Nonetheless, the official position is that – as with most issues in Eritrea at the moment – these things take time, and that only after two or three years will the fruits of current education policy become clear. There are teething problems, and wholly unavoidable logistical challenges, but in time the University of Asmara will have been successfully replaced by a system of higher education colleges that will serve the nation's need much more effectively. When it is suggested to those involved that, whatever happens, these colleges have little chance of being recognised internationally – thus potentially crippling a generation of graduates in terms of further study – the reply is that this is missing the point. These colleges are designed to equip students with the skills necessary to address peculiarly ‘Eritrean’ problems, nothing more and nothing less. The extent to which this might be achieved remains very much an open question.
The government may be concerned, as described above, that it is ‘losing touch’ with youth; but current practice in the field of education may well negate any progress made on that front through public consultations. I have yet to meet any student there – or indeed any member of staff – who has any faith in the system, and it would be foolhardy of the government to dismiss all of these as merely symbolising the tendency of highlanders (and especially ‘Asmarinos’) to complain about everything, all the time. Criticism and disillusionment cannot solely be put down to some kind of pessimistic national personality; pessimism is not disloyalty. However, at the same time the government has another plan aimed at addressing youthful disengagement, namely the expansion of the school of social science at Nakfa in the remote Sahel region. Several thousand young people have already passed through the cadre school there, having taken short courses on politics, and Eritrean history and culture. The belief is that young people have become too apolitical, and need to be made to ‘re-engage’ with politics and become reacquainted with the patterns of Eritrean history (I14). Therefore, many have become ‘cadres’ through their attendance at Nakfa, including – strangely, perhaps – university graduates, products of the same institution charged with producing little of use in the last decade. These new cadres may be less reliable than the government might have hoped: one told this author that there was no room for discussion during these training courses, and that projects and other work is undertaken within clearly understood parameters. The only reason to be happy about being a cadre was that his salary had increased a little (I4). Another, who has spent years muttering darkly about the shortcomings of the sha'abiya,4 was shocked when he was told to go to Nakfa. He has not changed his mind since his ‘training’ (I13). Again, the location of this school in Nakfa, rather than Asmara, has a symbolic significance which is too obvious to require further elaboration; and it is clear that the government hopes to bring young people back into the system, by ‘educating’ them about the principles of the struggle – which it is believed they are losing – rather than allowing them to open up the system or fundamentally rethinking it.
Nonetheless, one might have some sympathy with the government in this respect. While there may be grounds for suspicion that an unsettled external environment suits the government's purposes very well, it remains the case that the external environment is indeed unsettled, and thus the government's strong desire to run the proverbial tight ship is understandable in many respects. According to one participant, certain senior figures did indeed invite critical questioning on a range of issues; the answer – whether to questions about the lack of a free press, the imprisoned former ministers, or the holy grail of demobilisation – was invariably that everything was subordinate to national security. Until Eritrea's interests were secure beyond (or indeed on) its borders, then there would be no room to discuss these issues. Nothing would be entertained that might, in one way or another, threaten internal stability or unity (I13). Eritrea is certainly not unique in the world at present in pursuing that particular line, and it is disingenuous and hypocritical of certain Western governments to criticise Eritrea's for doing so. Whether or not the strategy is sustainable, of course, is another question, as is that concerning the degree to which the strategy itself may be encouraging the instability and disunity the government so evidently fears.
Border Demarcation, Home and Away
It is a common refrain that once demarcation of the border with Ethiopia takes place, then political change will follow. However, hopes that demarcation will indeed happen rise and fall on a regular basis, depending on statements from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, or from the Ethiopian Government, or the latest interpretation of the stance of the ‘international community’. The best that can be said at present is that demarcation would probably involve some form of demobilisation, and possibly a relative relaxation of the grip of the state, although there would inevitably be caution, and it could be expected that the official line would be that Ethiopia cannot yet be trusted, and that time is needed to see if the peace will indeed hold. But demarcation would remove a key obstacle to political reform, and would certainly heighten demand for it, at home and abroad. Popular patience might well wear thin if no concessions were forthcoming, and again this is less about ‘democracy’ than it is about demobilisation and the economic opportunity which many believe is now their right. Some might privately believe that the President is content to leave the issue of demarcation simmering in the background, as the maintenance of the external threat is the best means of maintaining (and justifying) internal control. However, if the reform which has already been suggested proceeds, it is presumably the President who will want to direct it and take advantage of it, in effect leading Eritrea into the ‘fourth phase’ of its young history, a phase which would almost certainly culminate – one way or another – in the withdrawal of Isaias' own generation from the centre of the political arena.
Approaches to the Ethiopian ‘problem’ have diversified. Frequent meetings with the Southern Sudanese, and in particular visits to Asmara and Massawa by President Salva Kiir, as well as improving relations with Khartoum – Isaias' support for Omar Bashir's position on a UN force for Darfur, and an agreement on the rebel Eastern Front – suggest a regional jostling on the part of the Eritrean Government which may well strengthen its position in the medium term, at least. It also demonstrates a pragmatism in foreign affairs, which is perhaps all too easily overlooked. Pragmatism is also evident in Eritrean policy in Somalia, where political and material support for the Union of Islamic Courts, and now the insurgency, is a continuation of a rather older policy of attacking Ethiopia on its southern flank (see Gilkes, 2002, and contributions from Lyons and Menkhaus in this issue). Critics might point to the EPLF's inherent expansionism, yet at the same time this is no more or no less than Eritrean realpolitik. The government now seems more determined than ever to secure Eritrean interests beyond its borders, and to stabilise its position in the region. Yet the implications of this for change within Eritrea remain unclear.
The Ethiopian factor in Eritrean politics, the concept of the ‘enemy at the gates’, is clearly crucial, even though it is perhaps less overt – in terms of media coverage, especially – than it once was. It is also inextricably bound up with the fundamental belief in the treachery and perfidiousness of the ‘international community’, which is seen to have failed to enforce the findings of the Boundary Commission, gone to great lengths to accommodate Ethiopia, and generally lived up to its reputation – in place since the 1950s – that it hates Eritrea. National neurosis, perhaps; but it unfortunately is grounded in historical reality, and needs to be taken rather more seriously by foreign representatives charged with dealing with the Eritrean Government. This said, it may be possible to suggest that anger vented at the ‘international community’ among ordinary Eritreans is displaced emotion, representing a type of criticism by proxy of their own government's failure to see an end to the issue – the border with Ethiopia – that so blights their lives. This is indelibly intertwined with domestic politics because, ultimately, it is now clear that demarcation of the border with Ethiopia should also mean demarcation of the boundaries between government and state, state and Party, and between all three and ‘the people’. As we have seen, the ‘national security’ agenda currently pursued by the government has involved the subordination of all other issues to the question of Ethiopia. But sovereignty, like charity, begins at home, and ultimately the question of demarcation will become one of legitimacy for the government itself.
Tentative Conclusions
The ‘national security’ agenda will continue to define government policy for the immediate future, and all other issues will be subordinate to that agenda. However, there are indications that the first movements toward transition and reform may be closer to hand than might first appear to the casual observer. Change, if and when it comes, will be internal, characterised by attempts on the part of the Party to ‘pass the torch’ to selected members of the next generation. It seems unlikely that change will come about through ‘external’ pressure, whether from the opposition abroad or from the ‘international community’. The overriding popular desire is for relative peace and some form of economic development, and not for anything approaching a wholesale dismantling of the current regime. ‘Resistance’ to the current government is likely to be confined to attempts by the young to flee the country, and not in any form of violent demonstration, of which, in any case, there are remarkably few examples in modern Eritrean history. The government will continue to urge patience with what it defines as temporary problems, and it is likely that it will be both greeted by silence, and granted the patience it requests. The former is a matter of concern for the government, because ultimately it represents a form of disengagement from the state, but the latter will continue to be the defining feature of Eritrean political culture for some time to come.
The government will continue to involve itself in regional affairs and conduct proxy confrontations with Ethiopia. However, it is highly unlikely that it will risk initiating another round of fighting with Ethiopia, directly at least. Another war is completely inimical to Eritrea's political development and will destroy any prospect of economic recovery. Nonetheless, normalised relations with Addis Ababa are also improbable at the present time, and there is a growing confidence in PFDJ circles that it will outlive Meles' government by some way, given the domestic troubles faced by the latter (see articles by Clapham, and by Aalen and Tronvoll in this issue), which Eritreans consider to be much more acute than their own. That this situation has come about is certainly noteworthy, given the crises confronting Isaias and the Party in 2000–01. No doubt it reflects the capacity for survival of both.
There are many who have been disappointed by the fruits of independence – from older ex-fighters who find themselves on the wrong side of the President's Office, or who had hoped for greater professional and material advancement, to the youngsters described above who feel themselves downtrodden and denied the opportunities normally associated with their age group. No doubt disappointment was inevitable. There have been some small indications that the government recognises the very real mistakes that have been made. It may yet attempt to address these, cognisant as it is of the dangerous space that is opening up between it and the population. However, a bombastic inflexibility remains at the heart of the Eritrean state, which has proved itself to have no faith in ‘the people’. As for the latter, a situation in which there are no alternatives will not persist indefinitely. In the meantime, the desire to make modern Eritrean society in the image of the liberation war in the Sahel remains powerful, although the status of Asmara as well as significant sections of the Eritrean population in this ongoing project is uncertain. Regardless of the appropriateness or otherwise of the project itself, flexibility and selectivity at this time would ensure that the gains of the ‘revolution’, such as they are, are not irretrievably lost in the long term.
Select List of Informants5
I1. Former senior figure in the EPLF, c.60 years old. April and September 2006.
I2. Teacher, c.40 years old; member of the ELF in his youth. March–April and August–September 2006.
I3. Warsai, c.34 years old. Served throughout the 1998–2000 war. August–September 2006.
I4. Recent university graduate, ‘1997 batch’, now cadre, c.28 years old. April 2006.
I7. National service, c.35 years old. Was imprisoned in Ethiopia before being deported. March–April and August–September 2006.
I8. University teacher, c.50 years old. March 2006.
I9. Journalist with Ministry of Information, c.35 years old. March–April and August–September 2006.
I10. Businessman, former organiser for EPLF overseas, c.55 years old. March–April 2006.
I11. Journalist and researcher with PFDJ Central Office, former EPLF fighter, c.40 years old. March–April and August–September 2006.
I13. Teacher, c.35 years old. April and September 2006.
I14. Senior figure in the PFDJ, c.55 years old. September 2006.
I15. Former EPLF fighter, officer, formerly involved in the organisation of military service, c.60 years old. August–September 2006.
I16. NUEYS activist, c.24 years old. September 2006.
I17. Former member of the ELF, journalist, c.45 years old. September 2006.
I18. Businessman, former EPLF activist overseas, c.60 years old. September 2006.